Paul Doherty - The Song of the Gladiator

‘No, no, your Excellency.’

‘Augusta will do.’ Helena smiled, ‘Oh, forgive my friendliness. I drank one cup too many of Falernian. But yes,’ she caressed Claudia’s hand, ‘that’s where Murranus could have made a terrible mistake. It was obvious Spicerius was in difficulties. You saw me watching? I was fascinated. I even forgot the letter I was reading. Any other gladiator would have closed in, seized the moment, and that’s where the real trouble would have begun.’

‘And what would have happened?’ Claudia asked. She had forgotten her tiredness and the fact that she was in the presence of the Empress.

‘I don’t really know.’ Helena chewed the corner of her mouth. ‘That’s an interesting question. My son will know, I must ask him. But come.’ She got to her feet, dragging Claudia with her. ‘I’ve drunk too much and it’s hot in here.’ She gestured at the oil lamps on the table. ‘And if I keep staring at them, I’ll fall asleep.’

The Empress took her out into the small garden, one of those private paradises especially set aside for the imperial family, with a lawn, flowerbeds and marble seats around a fountain carved in the shape of Cupid carrying a fish. The garden was bounded by a high red-bricked wall with no gate, the only entrance being from inside the palace.

‘You see,’ Helena declared, sitting down on the marble bench with her back to the fountain, ‘you can sit here, chatter away and watch the entrance. Not like those other gardens, eh, where a spy can crouch under a bush or even up a tree? Oh yes,’ she laughed, ‘I’ve heard of that happening. Now, Claudia, forget about your gladiator and listen to what I have to say.’

The Empress’s description of the theft of the Holy Sword and the murder of Dionysius was similar to Timothaeus’s except that, as usual, Helena saw darker, more sinister motives.

‘The sword could have been stolen,’ she concluded, ‘to embarrass me or, perhaps, so that suspicion would fall on the Christians gathered here. After all, I do know they resent a pagan like myself collecting their sacred relics.’

‘But you are not a pagan, Augusta. You support the Christian faith.’

‘I haven’t been baptised,’ Helena whispered, ‘and neither has my son. One day, perhaps, but until then, in the eyes of many Christians I am just another pagan.’

‘And Dionysius’s murder?’

‘Again,’ Helena dabbed water from the fountain pool on to her face, ‘it might be the work of a troublemaker trying to provoke the resentment which separates the two groups of Christians.’

‘Or?’ Claudia asked.

‘May the Lord of Light prevent it, but Dionysius’s murder may truly be the work of the Christians themselves. That’s why you are here, Claudia.’ Helena stood up and patted her gently on the cheek. ‘Tomorrow morning begin your scurrying, ask your questions.’ She began to stroll away, but then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. ‘Go to bed, little mouse, and never forget, where there’s mice there’s always a cat!’

‘It’s strange, isn’t it, how the white lotus flowers only at night and the blue only in daytime?’

Claudia whirled round. The man in the shadows behind her was dressed in a long tunic, the folds of his toga hiding one arm, but in his free hand Claudia caught the glitter of a wicked-looking curved sword. Its owner brought it up in a swift arc, slicing the air between them. Claudia remained still; again the sword cut, swishing through air, then the stranger brought it back so the flat of the blade was against his face, the tip pointing upwards.

‘Claudia, I salute you.’

‘Some people would say you are trying to frighten me.’

‘And some people would say that’s impossible. I know all about you, Claudia. The Augusta calls you her “little mouse”, though one, I suspect, with very sharp teeth and claws.’

Gaius Tullius came into the pool of light. Claudia had seen him before, though only from afar; she recognised the sharp, narrow face and rather soulful eyes. Gaius was a professional soldier, one of the Emperor’s drinking partners, a man he trusted implicitly. Now he sketched a bow, placed the sword on the ground and sat down next to her on the edge of the pool. Claudia never moved, watching the soldier stare into the water, rippling it with his fingers, sending the carp darting away.

‘I’ve drunk too much,’ he sighed, flicking the water from his fingers. ‘Imperial supper or not, there’s still duties to be done and guards to be checked. I know you arrived a short while ago; I met Timothaeus. That man runs around like a frightened duck, but he’s good-hearted enough.’

‘I bring you greetings,’ Claudia replied. ‘Spicerius the gladiator said you are to have no airs and graces, for he remembers you when you were a bare-arsed boy. .’

‘So long ago,’ Gaius declared wistfully. ‘So much has happened.’ He pointed to the lotus blossom. ‘I served in Egypt. I visited the temples of Memphis, Karnak and Luxor. The lotus always fascinated me. It is carved everywhere, a symbol of so much.’ He leaned a little closer, his eyes smiling. ‘It is also the source,’ he whispered, ‘of the most fragrant perfume, Kiphye. They say Cleopatra bathed in it.’

‘I thought she used asses’ milk?’

Gaius pulled a face. ‘Not so sweet,’ he conceded. ‘Anyway,’ he shrugged, ‘in ten years there will be Christian symbols everywhere. All is changing.’

‘Are you opposed to them?’

‘I don’t care, Claudia. I’m a soldier. I pay my dues to the Sun God Mithras and fight the enemies of the Empire.’

‘Timothaeus told me you found Dionysius’s corpse?’

‘Yes, pegged out like a tanner’s skin. Sometimes it’s hard to realise how much blood the human body contains.’

‘Do you suspect anyone?’

‘Perhaps his colleagues.’ Gaius stared up at the sky. ‘Or one of his friends. I’m telling you a lie,’ he murmured. ‘I’m not really here just because of guard duty. In fact, I’ve been searching for you. I’ve brought you this.’

He dug into the folds of his robe, took out a small scroll and handed it to Claudia.

‘I had Dionysius’s corpse brought to the House of Mourning,’ he explained. ‘It’s nothing more than a brick-built shed with a tiled roof. It’s the villa’s mortuary. Then I went to Dionysius’s chamber. I thought the motive for the killing might be robbery, but the room was undisturbed, though not very clean — after all, Dionysius was a philosopher. There were a few books, some manuscripts. I searched amongst them and found that.’ Gaius half smiled. ‘I know that you work for the Empress!’ He patted Claudia on the shoulder and got up. ‘Read it. I’m not sure if it is a draft or the original.’ He picked up his sword and walked away.

‘Gaius! I can call you Gaius?’

‘Of course,’ he smiled, coming back.

‘Did you see anything about that corpse, any evidence pointing to a possible killer?’

He shook his head.

‘And the Holy Sword?’

Gaius snorted with laughter. ‘I was fast asleep when it was stolen, but how, why and by whom?’ He was about to continue when the air was rent by a high-pitched scream, followed by the bray of trumpets and the clash of cymbals as the alarm was raised.

By the time they had hurried along passageways and colonnades, across gardens and through gates, the House of Mourning at the far side of the villa was almost consumed by fire. The flames were so strong, the heat so intense, the roof had already fallen in and the facing wall was buckling. Servants, officials, soldiers and members of the imperial family came hurrying through the trees, yet there was nothing to be done. Timothaeus was trying to organise a chain of water carriers but this was fruitless. Burrus ran up with a bucket but he was so drunk he threw both water and bucket into the fire then nearly careered into the burning house and had to be pulled back by a member of his own retinue. The Germans then began to sing and dance, intoning one of their wild hymns, until the Empress’s voice cut like a lash telling them to shut up. Claudia turned and glanced across, the smell of wood smoke making her cough. The imperial party was sheltering under an outstretched sycamore. She walked towards them. Sylvester was standing serenely behind the Empress; Constantine sat on a camp stool, face all flushed, hands on his knees, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.