Paul Doherty - The Song of the Gladiator

‘But that’s not the end of it,’ Claudia interrupted. ‘He will have to face Meleager the Magnificent, the Marvel of a Million Cities.’

‘Would you like to meet him?’ Rufinus asked. ‘Meleager? He’s been in the villa since you arrived. Meleager,’ Rufinus called across to the dark-haired stranger Claudia had noticed earlier. ‘You best come over here, I want to introduce someone to you.’

Meleager slid from the couch and came across. He was tall, and just the way he walked reminded Claudia of a panther in a cage. He was thick-set and heavily built but moved as gracefully as any dancer. He crouched down before Rufinus and stared at Claudia. He had deep, close-set eyes, high cheek bones, a slightly twisted nose, and thin lips above a firm chin. His black hair had been cut and dressed to cover a hideous scar close to his left ear. Claudia looked at his wrist; there was no purple tattoo.

‘Meleager, can I introduce young Claudia, messenger and maid of the Augusta, dear friend of Murranus, whom you shall meet in the arena?’

‘My lady.’ Meleager took Claudia’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Your friend has won a great reputation. I hope to meet him at the games held in honour of the Emperor’s birthday. My lady, are you well?’

Claudia’s mouth had gone dry. She wanted Meleager to let go of her hand. She didn’t want him to know how cold she had gone. He might not have had any tattoo on his wrist, but up close she recognised that voice, she recalled the smell, a mixture of perfume and sweat; even his touch was familiar. This was the man who had raped her, the killer of poor Felix.

‘I. .’ Claudia’s eyelids fluttered. She prayed she wouldn’t faint. The room was moving. ‘Do you know something,’ she laughed, withdrawing her hand quickly, ‘I’ve drunk far too much wine, I need to be sick.’ And, scrambling off the couch, she fled the chamber.

She didn’t know where she was going. She raced past guards and sentries, ignoring the challenge of an officer. She ran down a colonnaded walk, climbed a wall and fled into the darkness. She reached a tree and felt she could go no further. Her legs were growing heavy and a terrible pain pounded in the back of her head. She felt as if her breath had stopped and, falling to her knees, she was violently sick. As she retched she wiped the hand that Meleager had held, to brush away not just his touch but the very skin. She continued to be sick until her belly was empty; the acid bubbled at the back of her throat but she felt better. She moved away and lay face-down on the grass. It was wet and cool, just like that sand where she and Felix had been playing. He had been hunting for shells when the shadow had appeared. She began to cry, just letting the tears come.

‘Claudia! Claudia!’ She felt her hair being stroked, and tensed. A hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her gently over; she didn’t resist but let herself flop, and stared up at an anxious-faced Sylvester. He took off his cloak, put it over her and sat beside her, plucking at the grass.

‘I saw you leave. The others thought you were going to be sick. Claudia, you are never sick, you are never drunk! What happened there? Meleager thinks he frightened you.’

‘He did,’ Claudia replied, and struggled to sit up. She took Sylvester’s cloak and wrapped it round her shoulders. ‘He terrified me, Magister. He’s the one!’

‘The one?’

‘The man who raped me and killed my brother.’

‘Impossible! You saw the tattoo?’

‘It’s been washed off.’ Claudia felt her strength returning. ‘I know it’s him, I’ll never forget his smell, that voice. .’

‘Hush now.’ Sylvester took her face in his hands. ‘I’m a priest of Christ, Claudia, so what I’m going to say is hard. You must pretend, as you have done since that terrifying night. If justice is to be done, then let God take care of it. I swear by His Holy name that He will. Meleager is a gladiator. If he suspects, even for a few seconds, that you know who he truly is, then you are in very grave danger. No, no.’ He pressed his fingers against Claudia’s lips. ‘Claudia, I beg you by all that is holy, hide your face and curb your heart! I swear that if God does not act, I will. I owe you that.’ He took his fingers away. ‘Think, Claudia,’ he added, his words hissing through the darkness, ‘think of yourself, and of Felix!’

Claudia stared into the night. The pain was going, her stomach was empty and she felt hungry. So many thoughts milled about. Sylvester was stroking her hair just like her father used to. She leaned against his hand.

‘Help me up,’ she whispered, ‘then I’ll help myself.’

Claudia, unsteady on her feet, walked into the darkness and paused. She turned, cocking her head slightly.

‘What was that?’ she asked. ‘Did you hear it, Magister?’ She tried to sift the noises of the night. ‘The clash of weapons, cries and yells?’

Sylvester listened intently. Claudia heard the sounds again. They were coming from somewhere to the south, beyond the villa walls.

‘What is happening?’ She was glad of the distraction. She listened again but the sounds had faded. She recalled those beacon fires, Helena poring over the maps. ‘What is going on, Sylvester?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sylvester shrugged. ‘In the early evening Augusta was very busy. Have you noticed Anastasius is missing? She has left him to watch things in Rome. She has also sent an urgent message to the main German camp not far away. Did you observe her at the supper party? She was very distracted. She didn’t want anyone to leave the triclinium. In fact,’ Sylvester smiled through the darkness, ‘it was she who told me to follow you.’

‘Well, I’m safe and I will go and change.’ Claudia lifted her hand. ‘Sylvester, I thank you. I will act on your advice and,’ she added, ‘keep a still tongue in my head.’

Claudia reached the palace and went straight to her old chamber. Its door hung loose, and one side was badly scorched. She took a lamp and went inside. The floor was covered by a carpet of sand and ash and she had to probe with the half-burnt leg of a stool to ensure nothing was left. She was busy prodding when she recalled the sand in the cellar.

‘Of course,’ she whispered, ‘it must be that!’ She stood staring at the ash, then collected a few items still useable and went along to her new chamber.

Helena had been most generous — this room was more spacious. Scenes from a vineyard decorated the walls: dark green bushes with ochre-red trellises covered with snaking gold branches from which full purple grapes hung. Children collected them in heaped baskets. The painting on the next wall showed the workers in the wine press. Claudia again recalled wading through the sand in that cellar as she tried to flee from her attacker. The stuccoed ceiling was emblazoned with a brilliant picture of Phoebus in his chariot, whilst the mosaic on the floor depicted a young boy playing a flute. The bed was one of the couches taken from the triclinium. The rest of the furniture, stools and small tables, were gifts from the Empress’s stores. New clothes and robes had also been provided. Claudia washed her face in a gleaming bowl, stripped and dressed again. She glanced in the copper-edged mirror, plucked at her cheeks, tidied her hair and sprinkled some of the perfume Murranus had brought her after he had won his last fight.

When she returned to the triclinium, she was relieved to discover her presence had hardly been missed. Athanasius was loudly demanding the whereabouts of Septimus. Chrysis the chamberlain was drunk; he had already been sick and listened bleary-eyed as he shared the couch of the strident orator. Constantine was talking to Rufinus, heads close together like fellow conspirators. Helena was missing. Claudia retook her own seat. She glanced quickly at Meleager, but he hardly spared her a glance; too busy playing the love dove with Rufinus’s wife. Claudia controlled her anger. She felt like crossing the floor and confronting him. Her eye caught a sharp meat knife on the table, and she brushed it with her fingers. It would be so easy to grasp it, run across and plunge it into that bull-like neck! She was about to pick it up when a cherry hit her on the side of her face. She glanced up. Sylvester was staring across, shaking his head.