Paul Doherty - Queen of the Night

'Will that man ever shut up!' Claudia murmured. She swung herself off the bed and walked across to the lavarium. She took a sponge and a tablet of her precious soap and washed herself carefully, cleaning her teeth with the powder Apuleius had recommended. She rubbed oil into her body and tinctured herself with a little of the precious Kiphye perfume, distilled from the blue lotus, which Murranus had bought her. She put on green linen underwear, dressed sensibly in a brown tunic, a belt around her waist with a thin sheath for a knife, and put on what Polybius called her marching boots. She threw a cloak around her shoulders, took her staff with a carved face on its handle from the corner and left the chamber, going down the stairs into the spacious eating hall. The place was still very busy. Daylight was fading so the oil lamps and lanterns had been lit. The kitchen was doing a most profitable trade, although Theodore, refusing the food on the platter before him, sat nursing his stomach. 'You'll have to wait!' Claudia whispered to herself.

Poppaoe went bustling by carrying a dish of steaming food; behind her trotted Sorry, holding a tray of wine cups. The kitchen was also full, people hiring stools so they could sit in a corner and eat from their platters. Claudia escaped into the garden. Murranus, Polybius, Apuleius and Narcissus were gathered in the far corner. Polybius had been drinking heavily and grinned benevolently as she approached. Claudia forced a scowl. She could tell by the almost empty jug that Apuleius and Narcissus had been matching him cup for cup. She quietly muttered a prayer of thanks, — at least Murranus was sober. She refused to sit down but gestured back at the tavern.

'Are you sure about what you've found?'

'Certain,' Apuleius slurred. 'The corpse of that young woman is perfectly preserved. I can't find any cause of death.'

'I would agree,' Narcissus quickly intervened. He picked up the wine jug and emptied it into his own goblet. He toasted Claudia, took a generous sip and tried to look sober as he half rose, wagging a finger in Claudia's face. 'I've seen more corpses,' he declared, 'than you have gladiators.' He started to laugh at his joke, then sat down trying to pull his face straight. 'I'm a professional embalmer/ he continued. 'Before I became a slave and the Empress freed me, I prepared the dead, young and old, male and female, rich and poor. I can tell just by looking at a corpse how they died, and that one is a real mystery!'

'What we need,' Polybius slurred, 'is a professional cook to cater for our increased clientele. That pompous actor for one doesn't like our food. Ah well, our Great Miracle has certainly brought increased custom!'

Claudia was tempted to ask more questions, but the sun was setting and a cool breeze was blowing. She had to meet those veterans at the tavern. Murranus was also impatient, tapping his fingers on the table and studying one of the garden statues, a carving of the goddess Diana of the Ephesians, as Polybius liked to describe it. Claudia touched the gladiator on the shoulder, then absent-mindedly kissed Polybius on the brow, patted Narcissus on the head and wished them all good night. She and Murranus left by the side gate. The gladiator paused in the alleyway to tighten the sword belt beneath his cloak. He grasped a heavy cudgel in one hand, Claudia's hand in the other, as they both went down into the busy square.

Claudia always found Rome at twilight a fascinating place, that time between night and day when the Citizens of the Light returned to their garrets, houses or apartments and the Citizens of the Dark came to life! They were all gathering to greet the night. The prostitutes, faces painted, balding heads covered in garish wigs, clustered like a collection of multicoloured butterflies on the corners of alleyways or the entrances to decaying houses and apartment blocks. Sharp-eyed pimps were touting for business. Hawkers and traders were setting up their stalls, most of their goods being the plunder from robberies or what other markets had rejected. Cooks were firing their portable stoves and grills, shouting what they had to sell, most of which was grilled or roasted until it was burned and the putrid taste hidden under cheap sauces and spices. Second-hand clothes-sellers hung their products from the branches of trees, whilst the money-changers, the receivers of stolen goods, lurked deep in the shadows advertising their presence with a tinkling bell. A small boy ran up with a cage of yellow birds; another tried to pester them with purses made out of snakeskin. Claudia just ignored them. She kept thinking of those abductions. Whoever organised the gang would draw their recruits from a place like this, a shifting population of former soldiers, outlaws, tricksters, rejects, slaves on the run, desperate men and women who'd sell their souls for a cup of wine and kill without a qualm for a silver coin.

The deeper into the city they walked, the busier the crowds became. Here and there a squad of auxiliaries or a group of Vigiles squatted outside the door of some tavern keeping an eye on what was happening, though they were more prepared to take a bribe and look the other way than do anything. Of course people recognised Murranus and greeted him with good-natured abuse and catcalls, which the gladiator just ignored.

'I wish…' Claudia paused at the corner of the alleyway leading down to the Lucia Gloriosa tavern.

'What do you wish?' Murranus bent down to hear above the sound of a line of clattering carts.

'I wish I'd questioned Theodore more closely.'

Murranus just squeezed her hand. 'Oh, don't worry about him,' he reassured. 'Theodore will make himself at home. He'll relax and tomorrow it will be all the easier to question him.'

Claudia agreed and walked on towards the Lucia Gloriosa, a fine, spacious eating-house and wine shop, in many ways very similar to the She Asses tavern. The owner, a former soldier, explained that there were no chambers upstairs, only a long, high-ceilinged room into which he ushered them. The chamber's pink plaster walls were unadorned except for hanging baskets of woven reeds and the occasional coloured cloth. The veterans were already assembled, grouped at one end of a trestle table in the middle of which stood a small portable Lares, its doors open to display a statue of some god, a figure on a rearing horse. The statue looked old. Fashioned out of bronze, it had already turned slightly green, the metal starting to flake. Before the statue glowed two small oil lamps placed either side of a loaf of bread, a bunch of grapes and a jug of wine. The three men were busy, heads together, talking amongst themselves. At first they ignored the new arrivals, then Murranus coughed and the three men drew apart.

'What do you want?' The large, burly-faced man sitting at the end of the table spread out his hands and stared at them aggressively. 'Who do you think you are coming up here? Don't you know?' He glared at the tavern-keeper, who was still standing in the doorway.

'I think you'd better explain,' Murranus whispered.

Claudia undid her cloak, laid it on the end of the table and came forward, hands extended. 'My name is Claudia,' she declared. 'I have been sent by the Empress Helena; she wishes me to investigate the deaths of your two comrades.'

'You? Investigate?' One of the men sniggered and turned away.

'You had better listen to me,' Claudia retorted. 'Two of your comrades have been killed: a cut to the belly, their throats sliced and then castrated.' She paused. 'I am Claudia, agent of the Empress. I carry her bulla, her seal. Shall I call up a squad of Vigiles or those mercenaries lounging in the nearby market, then we can go to the palace so all this can be verified? Oh, by the way.' Claudia noticed how the veterans had shifted their attention to her escort. 'This is Murranus, Victor Ludorum — Champion of the Games, but also a freedman.'