Robert Fabbri - False God of Rome

‘Now!’ Felix whispered.

As the two guards busied themselves with opening the door and shoving the goose inside, much to the honking consternation of its fellows already within, Felix led Vespasian and Magnus at a sprint across the open ground to the temple, getting around the side wall out of view of the guards as they closed the door.

‘How did you know that they would try and catch the geese?’ Vespasian asked as they made their way along to where the temple abutted the Soma’s surrounding wall.

‘I stole them from the geese enclosure this evening,’ Felix replied, stopping by a wooden ladder attached to the wall. ‘The guards would have known that they were two geese short so when they saw them they assumed, rightly as it happens, that they were the missing two. Up we go.’

At the top of the ladder they stepped over a low parapet onto the flat roof and crept towards the hole in the centre.

‘This should be fine,’ Felix said with relief, testing the solid iron hinges with which the hatch was attached to the roof. ‘I didn’t fancy having to hold the rope all by myself.’ He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a coil of hemp rope with a lead weight tied to one end and began to knot the other around the hinge. ‘Now we wait.’

‘What for?’ Vespasian asked, looking down through the hole. As he did a pale light faintly illuminated the chamber and he could make out the shapes of geese waddling around the floor; a cacophony of honking erupted as the second goose was thrown into their midst. The light went out; the door had closed.

‘That.’ Felix began to let down the rope.

Far below, the dim glow of the sconces in the burial chamber showed the position of the viewing passage; after a couple of nervous attempts Felix managed to get the lead weight into its entrance and continued feeding out the rope, swinging it slightly so that the weight clattered lightly against the stone sides of the passage.

‘That’s to alert Ziri that it’s on its way down,’ Felix explained. ‘We don’t want it cracking the crystal, do we?’

A few moments later he felt a couple of tugs on the rope. ‘Good, he knows we’re here.’

Vespasian peered down into the gloom and eventually was able to make out a shadowy figure at the top of the steps leading to the burial chamber, seemingly waving its arms around; there was a slight increase in the honking and the patter of many feet.

‘Down you go, gentlemen,’ Felix said, giving Magnus his leather bag. ‘The breastplate is in here; be as quick as you can. The geese won’t want to eat all night.’

‘I’ll go first, sir,’ Magnus offered, ‘I’m the heaviest.’ He took hold of the rope and lowered himself through the hole.

Vespasian watched him descend; as he reached the balustrade around the viewing passage he swung slightly and managed to land on the temple floor. There was a slight increase in goose activity as he landed in their midst but the bread and grain seemed to be doing a good job at distracting them from their guard duty.

Felix helped Vespasian into position on the rope. ‘They’re unsettled at the moment so the guards won’t worry about a bit of honking; just make sure that you don’t tread on one.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Felix,’ Vespasian replied as he let himself down into the gloom.

Following Magnus’ example, Vespasian swung gently over the balustrade and landed lightly next to it, eliciting a smattering of honks from the geese close by before they settled back down to their surprise midnight feast. Stepping carefully around the dim grey forms pecking at the ground, he came to the steps, swiftly descended and joined Magnus and Ziri down in the burial chamber.

With no light source other than the flaming sconces, Alexander’s body seemed even more ethereal in its crystal cocoon than it had when they viewed it with daylight seeping down the shaft.

‘Ziri, get the rope and untie the lead weight,’ Vespasian ordered as he and Magnus got either side of the coffin. ‘We lift it just enough to get the rope under, all right?’

Magnus nodded and, easing their fingers under the lip of the lid at the level of Alexander’s chest, they braced themselves.

‘Ready, Ziri?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the little Marmarides replied standing at the head end.

‘Go.’

With a huge effort they prised the lid from the base lifting it at an angle; a waft of the preserving spices and incense filled the chamber. Ziri quickly fed the rope through and they lowered the heavy crystal back down with relief.

‘Minerva’s slack tits, that’s heavy!’ Magnus exclaimed, rubbing his fingers together. ‘Here, Ziri, give me that rope.’ He took the loose end and tied it in a secure knot back on itself around the lid. ‘All right, Ziri, you and I help support this while Sir does his bit.’ He gave the rope a tug and the slack was taken out of it as above them on the roof Felix began to pull.

Very gently the lid rose until Vespasian could see the mummified face undistorted by the crystal; in the soft flame-light it looked more weather-beaten than preserved but the dry skin lacked the sheen associated with living flesh and Vespasian felt an illogical relief: he would not be disturbing the great man from a deep sleep, he was quite patently dead.

The lid was now raised high enough to be able to get at the breastplate; Magnus and Ziri stood with legs braced taking some of the weight from the rope.

Vespasian leant in and, feeling the buckles on either side, started to work on them to find that they were not done up: the cuirass had been simply laid on the body’s chest. ‘That makes matters simpler,’ he muttered, placing his fingers in each of the arm holes and lifting the plate tentatively. It came free. Holding it with his left hand he moved his right hand down to gently lift Alexander’s arms, which were folded across his body at the waist. The touch of the dried skin thrilled him as he raised the arms a thumb’s breadth and slid the breastplate out.

He held it up in the faint light to examine it and sucked in his breath. ‘Shit!’

‘What is it?’ Magnus asked nervously.

‘There’s a stain here,’ Vespasian replied, pointing to an area just below the left pectoral.

‘Blood?’

‘Could well be.’

Removing the replica from the bag, he laid the two breastplates side by side on the floor and then, taking his knife from its sheath, slit the tip of his thumb. The blood oozed out and Vespasian carefully rubbed his thumb on the replica, creating what he hoped would be a tolerable imitation of the stain. Once satisfied he buffed the stain with his tunic, drying it and then, picking up the replica, began the process of replacing it.

It fitted perfectly.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Magnus said, giving two tugs on the taut rope.

Very slowly the lid lowered. Vespasian looked at his handiwork; in this light it was impossible to tell the difference, then something caught his eye. ‘Shit! Stop.’

Magnus and Ziri took the weight of the crystal lid; the rope went slack for a moment and then tautened, taking the strain.

‘What’s the matter?’ Magnus hissed.

‘I’ve left blood on the neck-edging,’ Vespasian replied, leaning forward and wiping away a spot of blood that must have dripped from his thumb.

Magnus gave another couple of tugs on the rope and the lid lowered until it was a hand’s breadth above the base when Magnus and Ziri halted it; Vespasian quickly undid the knot and slipped the rope out before they lowered it the last short distance. With a slight grate it came to rest.

‘That was surprisingly easy,’ Vespasian commented, putting the breastplate into the leather bag.

‘We ain’t out yet,’ Magnus said, heading for the steps. ‘Come on, Ziri, and watch out for them geese.’