James White - The First Protector

Klum'bgaa shook his head. "My master can introduce you to men more learned than I who will explain or debate these matters with you. He might even arrange an audience with Constantine, who is a firm and just man who has a mind, my master says, that has no closed doors. It is expected, or perhaps it is only a hope, that he will become the first Christian Emperor. But I myself can tell you only of stories and sacred writings that have been handed down to us for three centuries, and others that come from even further in the past. But I have no proof of their truth, only a strong belief that they are true.

"But three centuries ago," he went on, "there was only one Christian and many who became merely interested. Now there are many Christians. Perhaps in time you will become one of them."

In the light of the newly lit torch Ma'el's expression was as unreadable as ever. He said, "As a foreteller of the future I cannot see such an extraordinary event ever taking place where one of ray people is concerned. This part of the tunnel is familiar to me. Please turn into the opening on the right."

"Please reconsider, Master," said Klum'bgaa in a worried voice. 'That is a steeply descending tunnel which has not been used in living memory and perhaps for centuries. It has sustained many rock falls, there are noxious odors and the water seepage is…"

"There is no danger," Ma'el broke in gently, making a complicated, fluid gesture with one hand. "The noxious vapors are gone and the sound of dripping water is silent. You may pass the torch to Declan and await our return while we investigate…"

"I am not afraid!" the Nubian broke in. "At least not for myself. I was charged to guide you in safety, but if you insist on taking risks then I must take them also."

Ma'el inclined his head and a moment later they were following Klum'bgaa into the descending tunnel.

Declan had never been happy in confined spaces and the time that followed was a waking nightmare for him. Not only was he choked and blinded by the smoke from the torch, the tunnel floor was covered by fallen rock so deep in places that they were forced to scramble over it on hands and knees. The smoke could not disguise the stale smell of the air around them and the torch flame was reflected in glistening red patches of wetness from the uneven ceiling. He thought of turning back, but the second thought of what Sinead, who was less than two paces ahead of him, would say about that made him go on.

She was climbing over a loose pile of rocks and had put up a hand to the ceiling to steady herself when she made a sudden, surprised sound.

"What's wrong?" said Declan. "Did you cut yourself?"

"No," she replied in a perplexed voice. "This area of rock above me. It's shining and looks wet but it is completely dry to the touch. The whole ceiling ahead seems to be the same. Feel it for yourself as you move past."

Declan did so and found that the surface was dry, hard, smooth and with no flaking or traces of rock dust around it. Suddenly a childhood memory, one of the few pleasant ones, came back to him.

"I remember being shown a very small rock like this," he said excitedly, "by a visitor to my father. He told me it was a piece of melted stone from a volcano. But there are no volcanoes under Rome…"

He broke off because suddenly the tunnel had opened into a chamber that was just high enough for them to stand upright and so large that the torchlight did not reach to its farther walls. The floor was clear of rubble and the ceiling reflected back the torchlight as if from the black ripples on a pool that had been frozen into immobility. The quiet voice of Ma'el seemed to fill the chamber.

"Stay together and move around the walls until you have located all of the torch supports," he said. "Sinead, Declan, place one of the spare torches in position after Klum'bgaa lights them. Look around for signs of cracking or subsidence in the ceiling or walls of the main chamber and those opening off it, and if you find any report them to me at once."

With torches burning at intervals around its walls and reflecting bright, uneven highlights from the rippled ceiling, the size of the chamber became clearly apparent as did the fact that there was no supporting structure other than at its bordering walls. No wonder, Declan thought, Ma'el wanted them to look for evidence of a ceiling collapse.

There were a few long and very low tables in the middle of the room with even lower stools grouped around them, and small platters and cups crudely fashioned from clay and wooden utensils to the same diminutive scale were scattered across the top surfaces. Some of them still contained scraps of food that had been rendered rock hard by the passage of time. Scattered across the tables and on the floor around them were small blocks of wood in the shapes of cubes, triangles, rectangles, and long pegs, with a few pieces that had been roughly carved into human shape. When Sinead lifted one of them, a piece of cloth encircling its waist fell away in scraps of dusty fiber.

"Master, I see no signs of rock falls here," she said, waving her free hand around her. "But this furniture: a few pieces are adult-sized, and all these small tables and stools and the childrens' playthings scattered about. What kind of catacomb was this?"

Before Ma'el could answer her, a low, moaning cry came from one of the side chambers. Quickly they followed the sound to its source. The voice was barely recognisable as that of Klum'bgaa. He was standing before a wall painting that was partially hidden by his body, but as soon as they entered he dropped to his knees before Ma'el.

"Master, Lord," he said, bowing his head almost to the ground, "or are you an angel? Should I have recognized you? I am but a sinner and unworthy of a visitation from on high, but you have only to command me and I shall…"

"Please stand before me, Klum'bgaa," Ma'el broke in gently, "and do not distress yourself. I am not an angel and I am certainly not your Lord, nor are you mine to command."

The Nubian climbed to his feet, doubt showing on every line of his dark face as he turned and moved his torch closer to light the picture that covered most of the wall behind him. Faded with age because it had been executed in charcoal and a few colored pigments, it showed upward of thirty very young children standing, sitting, or playing around a tall figure in a dark cloak, the cowl of which had fallen backward to reveal a shining, hairless head and a cast of features that were unmistakable. Sketched faintly in the background were a few adult women who appeared to be caring for the children. The artist had given the tall man a halo.

"There are stories told of secret places like this," said Klum'bgaa, looking as if he wanted to go down on his knees again, "that date back to Nero's persecution of the Christians. Few remember the stories that were passed down to us, and nowadays fewer believe them, of a place cut out of the living rock by an angel sent by God. It was a sanctuary for little children whose parents were martyred in the arena. They were hidden here until they could be moved to foster homes in the city or country. But that…" he pointed unsteadily with the torch at the tall, cloaked figure, "… Master, that is you"

They were all staring silently at Ma'el and waiting for a reply that did not come. Declan began a shiver that turned into an irritated shake of his shoulders, and spoke quickly so that he would not have time to think.

"It is not him!" he said harshly to the Nubian. "Think, man, and stop trying to frighten us. The event shown in the picture happened three centuries ago. Ma'el is frail and bald and ancient in years, but he cannot possibly be as old as that. We are seeing a person skilled in the magical arts as is our master, one of his countrymen, no doubt, who was…"