Paul Doherty - The Song of the Gladiator

‘Was anyone in there alive?’ he bawled.

‘Just two corpses, Excellency,’ Timothaeus shouted back. ‘Dionysius and a wanderer in the woods, a beggar man found dead on the track outside.’

‘Well, they are truly dead now, grilled and cooked to a cinder!’ the Emperor joked.

Helena gestured at Claudia to draw closer. Constantine blew her a kiss. Sylvester, still standing behind the Emperor, sketched a bow whilst Chrysis, his fat, oiled face beaming with pleasure, poked his tongue out at her.

‘Lovely fire,’ the Emperor sighed. ‘Marvellous to watch the flames.’

‘Arson,’ Helena snapped back. ‘An imperial building has been destroyed.’

‘Arson?’ Constantine glanced up at his mother. ‘By all that’s holy, who would want to burn corpses?’

‘Perhaps the Imperial Treasurer?’ Chrysis sniggered. ‘It’s saved the cost of a burial.’

‘Was it arson?’ Constantine repeated, all humour draining from his face.

‘Look at the fire,’ Helena answered exasperatedly. ‘What would cause flames to burn so fiercely? Timothaeus,’ she shouted, ‘was there anything combustible in there?’

‘Nothing, Augusta.’ Timothaeus came over, face covered in ash. ‘Nothing at all.’ Without being invited, he sat down on the grass, mopping his face with a rag.

‘Why arson?’ Rufinus the banker repeated the Emperor’s question.

Helena nudged Claudia.

‘Dionysius was murdered.’

‘Speak up, girl!’ Constantine barked.

‘Dionysius was murdered,’ Claudia repeated loudly. ‘His body was placed in the House of Mourning. I suspect the corpse bore some clue as to the identity of his killer.’

‘But what?’ Helena asked. ‘He was sliced like a roll of ham and bled to death. I scrutinised his corpse.’

‘Augusta,’ Claudia smiled, ‘you asked me a question and I replied. I’m not too sure what the arsonist wished to hide.’

‘It could have been someone else.’ Chrysis’s voice was rich with spite. ‘Oh, how these Christians love each other! Don’t they say that those who attack the teaching of their faith will be consumed, body and soul, in Hell’s fire?’

‘Not at my expense they won’t,’ Constantine grumbled. ‘Chrysis,’ the Emperor got to his feet, ‘find the bastard who started that blaze, and if he hasn’t got a good explanation, crucify him outside the gates. Mother, I’ve seen enough of this. We need to talk.’

The imperial party swept back into the palace. Claudia stayed under the sycamore tree, and in the light from the fire she read the scroll Gaius had given her. The letter was short and to the point. Signed by Dionysius, it was directed to Athanasius, leader of the orthodox party. In it, Dionysius confessed how he had prayed, fasted and reflected, and now saw the error of his ways. Accordingly, at the appropriate time, when the Holy Spirit directed him, he would renounce his errors publicly and accept the forgiveness of his Bishop.

‘Doomed in life! Doomed in death!’ The voice was rich and carrying. Claudia looked up. Three men stood like shadows before her, their backs to the fire.

‘I’m sorry,’ she smiled, quickly hiding the letter, ‘are you talking about me or the late departed?’

The figure in the centre walked forward. Short and thick-set, narrow-faced with fierce eyes and hungry mouth, he was dressed in a simple dark tunic over thick baggy leggings.

‘My name is Athanasius.’ He gestured to his two companions. ‘This is Aurelian and Septimus. We wondered who was speaking to the Empress and someone told us you are Claudia, Augusta’s messenger. Others say you are her spy.’ Athanasius leaned down, lips parted to show fine, strong teeth. ‘Presbyter Sylvester speaks highly of you.’

Claudia moved so she could get a better look at these three members of the orthodox party. Athanasius exuded strength, with his harsh mouth and square jaw. He reminded her of a soldier, his auburn hair cropped close to his head, while his clothes were those of a mercenary rather than an orator. His two companions were more disciples than colleagues, young and smooth-faced with shaven heads. They too were dressed rather coarsely, in long gowns with cords round the middle and sandals on their feet.

‘They’re my disciples,’ Athanasius explained, ‘who have been baptised and accept the one true faith. Do you accept the true faith, Claudia?’

‘I accept the truth,’ she replied, gesturing at the fire, ‘and I do wonder, as your God will, why Dionysius should die in such a horrid fashion and his corpse be so dishonoured. Don’t you Christians have burial rites?’

‘It is the spirit which counts; the flesh doesn’t matter.’

‘Does that include yours, Magister? If Dionysius was murdered, why not another orator? Has murder replaced philosophy in the debate?’

‘We don’t know why Dionysius died,’ Athanasius replied.

‘And we don’t really care,’ Septimus shouted, like a spiteful child. ‘He got his just deserts.’

Even from where she stood, despite the poor light, Claudia could see the prim set of Septimus’s mouth, and the quivering disapproval in his face.

‘People will ask,’ she gestured at the fire, ‘are you responsible?’

‘We are not responsible,’ Athanasius declared.

‘Why are you so certain?’ Claudia took a step forward. ‘Is it because Dionysius was planning to change sides, acknowledge your arguments?’

Athanasius looked shocked; his two companions hissed their disapproval.

‘He was planning to change sides,’ Claudia continued remorselessly. ‘I have seen a letter dictated to you, Athanasius, in which Dionysius denounces his own beliefs and accepts the orthodox position, which, I believe,’ Claudia closed her eyes, ‘is that your Jesus Christ is of the same substance as the Father.’

The smoke made Claudia cough. She felt the phlegm at the back of her throat so she turned and spat, a gesture she knew would offend these men.

‘You say I’m a spy, the Empress’s messenger, so let me take a message to her from you.’

‘Which is?’

‘Where were you when Dionysius was killed?’

‘We were gathered in council,’ Athanasius blustered. ‘Sharing ideas. You cannot place his death at our door.’

Claudia glared at these philosophers so passionately righteous about themselves. Athanasius returned her stare but looked away as Justin came over. He was acting the role of the professional mourner.

‘Even in death,’ he wailed, ‘they will not leave us alone.’

Athanasius immediately asked what he meant by ‘they’ and an argument ensued. Claudia, bored, walked away. The flames were dying, the front wall had now buckled completely and all she could see were a few charred timbers. She crouched in the grass and plucked at a wild flower. She was sure the fire was arson, and certainly started by the same person who had killed Dionysius. The motive could have been to insult the dead man’s corpse, though Claudia wasn’t so sure about that. Arson took time to plan and posed risks for the perpetrator. She recalled the alarm being raised, hurrying across with Gaius. By the time they arrived, the fire had caught hold, so it must have started when they had been sitting near the fountain. The inside would have been soaked with oil and a fire brand thrown in, but why?

She rose to her feet and stared around. The spectators were now drifting away. She noticed Gaius talking with some of his soldiers near the entrance to the palace. She walked over and waited until she caught the Captain’s eye. Gaius excused himself and strode across.

‘Claudia, you should go to bed. There’s been enough excitement for one day.’ He waved a hand to waft away a gust of smoke. ‘Undoubtedly arson.’