Kevin Ashman - Mortuus Virgo

‘Does not the Senate take him to task?’

‘He sees himself above the whims of the Senate and revels in debauchery of the worst kind.’

‘I hear his tastes grow even more deviant.’

‘His preferences degenerate and I would not hurt you ears with description,’ he said.

‘I have heard as much,’ she answered, ‘And my concern grows.’

‘We have to go, Holy Mother,’ said Dragus, ‘The Emperor awaits.’ He dropped to one knee and the high Priestess gave him her blessing. He got to his feet but as he turned away the high Priestess called out once more.

‘Dragus!’ she said,

He turned and looked back.

‘Watch over her,’ she said indicating the litter, ‘She has the aura of the Goddess about her.’

The movement of the litter was quite relaxing to Rubria as it rocked on the shoulders of the slaves. The drapes were drawn back at her request for quite apart from the pleasure it would give those she passed to catch sight of one of the priestesses, to be truthful she was just as interested in them. She had never walked the streets of the city and at eighteen was still relatively unwise in the ways of the world.

Before the small procession marched a Lecter, the personal bodyguard that had been afforded her by the Senate for her visit to the Emperor. In one hand he carried a staff to indicate his authority and strike any coming too close while in the other he carried an axe, a reminder he had the power of execution in the service of the state. The Contubernium marched before and behind the litter and the Centurion brought up the rear so he could see any threat.

‘A Virgin approaches,’ came a cry and Rubria peered forward to see a commotion in the street as several of the populace rushed to get a better view.

‘Clear the path!’ shouted the Lecter, ‘Make way for Vesta.’

‘ Bless me, priestess! ’ called a woman and ran towards the litter.

A soldier broke ranks and pushed her back.

‘Control them!’ called the Centurion, ‘Keep the way clear.’

They soon cleared the streets and within ten minutes the litter had been put down in the grounds of the Domus Transitoria. Rubria waited until the slaves and the guard had withdrawn before she got out of the litter. Before her stood the Lecter, his staff resting on the floor and axe hanging at his side. The Centurion still sat astride his horse.

‘From here you will proceed alone,’ said the Lecter, ‘Go through the doors and proceed past the royal pools to the double doors at the far end. The Emperor awaits.’

‘Thank you,’ she said gently and looked up to thank the Centurion. What she saw took her aback.

The soldier was staring at her with an intensity that was frightening.

‘Centurion, are you okay?’ she asked.

Dragus snapped back to reality. For a moment he had been swept away in the glory of her beauty. Her face, her piercing blue eyes, even her very demeanour took his very breath away. Never had he seen a vision such as this and he realised why the Holy Mother recognised such promise in her.

‘I am fine, Holy Sister,’ he said,’ I will wait at the gate for your return and will escort you back to the temple.’

‘Thank you,’ she said and held the stare of the handsome soldier for a few more seconds than was proper, before lowering her eyes. She turned and walked through the gates, her silk wrap flowing behind her.

Dragus watched her go, confused, annoyed and frightened at the feelings coursing through his blood. He was on fire, his skin tingled and he breathed as hard as if he had run a race. This was all wrong! The girl was a Priestess and beyond the reach of any mortal man but never had he felt such as this. Surely it was a test sent from Vesta herself.

Rubria walked towards the inner doors, past a line of fountains feeding a beautiful pool. For the first few paces she considered the reaction of the guard but quickly put it out of her mind as she concentrated on the audience she was about to undertake. Nero had ruled as Emperor for ten years and the first five had been kind and prosperous with the aid of his mother, Aggripinna but as he had grown more confident and took more control of his own fate, he had seen her as a threat rather than an ally and arranged her murder five years earlier. Despite this, Rubria held her head high for no-one was beyond the reach of the Goddess and perhaps she, Rubria, could reach out to the kindness within.

London 2010

‘So, who is he?’ asked Brandon.

‘Unless I am mistaken,’ answered India, ‘It is Phillip the Second of Macedonia.’

‘Means nothing to me, who was he some sort of Roman god?’

‘No, not a God,’ she said, ‘Not even Roman.’

‘History wasn’t one of my strong points in school,’ he said, ‘More interested in rugby, women and cider.’

‘It figures,’ she said.

‘So who was this Phillip?’

‘Phillip the Second was the king of Macedonia in the fourth century BC and father of Alexander the Great,’ she said, ‘Surely you must have heard of Alexander. He conquered most of the known world at the time including Persia, Egypt and Syria. Died at the age of thirty two having only ruled for thirteen years and is reckoned to be one of the best military leaders of all time.’

‘Heard of him,’ said Brandon, ‘But what about his father, this Phillip guy?’

‘He was a great leader as well but not on the scale of his son.’

‘So what is the link here?'

‘Don’t know,’ said India, ‘Though I am almost certain the necklace is fake.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, from what I can recall the reverse should have some sort of Macedonian God or date or similar. The one stolen from the library had neither.’

‘What did it have?’

‘That’s just it, I have seen it before but can’t recall where. What we need is the necklace so we can compare it to the records.’

‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘That is not possible. The thief has long gone so that avenue is closed. Would there be any in the museums?’

‘I doubt it,’ she answered, ‘There would be coins of Phillip but I would bet they are Macedonian coins with normal Macedonian images. There wouldn’t be anything like this.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because it is a modern coin, minted no more than a few hundred years ago, Sixteenth Century is my best guess.’

‘And you’re sure about this?’

‘When you have seen as many coins as I have and spent half your life dating them you tend to get a hunch about these things.’

‘Okay, assuming your right, what else can you tell me?’

‘That’s about it,’ she said, ‘Without the actual necklace to analyse there is nothing else. Oh.’ She said suddenly, her mind racing. ‘Hang on, it’s bloody obvious.’

‘What is?’

‘Why didn’t I think of it before?’ she crossed the room to his laptop and switched it on.

‘You online here?’

‘Yes why?’

‘What’s your password?’

‘Manchester United, one word!’

She gave him a derisive look and logged on.

‘You think you can find a picture on the internet?’

‘No, don’t have to. I know where I can find the image of the exact necklace.’

‘Where?’

‘Hammersmith Numismatic Society,’ she said, ‘My Mr Jones , as you so often refer to him, kindly posted a picture on there asking for information a few days ago. She hit the return key and spun the screen around to face him with a flourish. Her face dropped as she saw he was holding up a print out of the exact screen shot displayed on the computer.

‘You already had a picture all along,’ she said in astonishment.

‘Sorry India,’ he said, ‘I had to make sure you were straight.’