evidently been cast aside and picked up by someone’s spy or passed through many hands until it reached the Emperor’s intelligence services. It had apparently been written in good faith as evidence of the child Jesus’s power, but Valerius doubted it would ever find its way into any Christian account of their hero’s life. Petrus would hardly want to claim that the Messiah had either killed another boy or been responsible for his death when he was just five years old.
Little more was recorded until his mid-twenties when some transformation had taken place in his life. Now he was a healer and a teacher — a man who believed he was the son of a god — travelling across Judaea and preaching against the temple authorities, railing against sacrifice and the worship of idols. According to the source you chose, Christus could be a man torn by his desires and overcoming them, or one untouched by earthly temptation. Confusingly, his supporters seemed to be unsure whether he was man, god, or some mixture of both. In fact, this Jesus Christus appeared to be a remarkably convenient shape-changer who could dazzle and bewitch at will. A man — or a god, if he so chose — capable of being all things to all men. Unless your name was Simon Petrus.
Petrus and the brothers John and James had been the constants in Christus’s early life, and though they were later joined by other acolytes it was they, as far as Valerius could ascertain, who had been responsible for creating the Jesus legend. First-hand accounts of miracles came from either one or all of the trio. They and they alone had witnessed the anointment of Christus by his father, God — the only discernible evidence that he fulfilled the Messiah prophecy. From what Valerius read, without Petrus, Jesus Christus would have remained an obscure mystic wandering through the desert in search of his next meal.
It was Petrus who had built up and organized a following of thousands who believed in Christus and his God, and had so terrified the Judaean authorities that they had convinced Pilatus to kill him. And it was Petrus, his organization disintegrating around him, who conveniently witnessed the unlikely resurrection of Christus and restored the nerve of his few remaining followers. And Petrus who, with most Jews unwilling to continue their support for a dead Messiah, received a message from God that the time had come to bring Gentiles into the Christian fold.
Valerius could barely believe what he was reading. True, much of it was the work of government agents with a talent for dissembling and an interest in exaggerating the organization they had been sent to infiltrate, but even so Petrus’s accomplishments were astonishing. Jesus Christus might be the figurehead, but the sect which worshipped him was the creation of one man. Simon Petrus.
He shook his head, half admiring and half in frustration. It was all very interesting, but it wasn’t bringing him any closer to his man. He turned over the last piece of parchment, another learned discourse on the Christian rituals, and he was about to cast it aside when one passage caught his eye: The Christian rite of baptism involves full immersion in running water, whereas the Judaic is merely a washing or cleansing. The Christian Messiah is said to have been baptized beneath a waterfall in the upper reaches of the River Jordan and each of his followers must undergo a similar ritual before they can gain entry to the Kingdom of Heaven. Since the Christian faith has been proscribed, baptismal rites have generally been carried out in larger groups and in great secrecy.
For a moment he was back by the pool on his father’s estate. Ruth had been baptized in her homeland and he hoped she had been welcomed into the Christian heaven. But where were Petrus’s Roman converts baptized? Not in the filth of the Tiber, that was certain. And not in any public place; it would attract instant arrest. Ruth had said that where possible Petrus would seek out a waterfall, and Petrus hadn’t struck him as someone who would be diverted by a minor difficulty such as the fact that none was available. So what would he do? Gradually an idea formed in his mind. He remembered the ornamental waterfall in Nero’s reception hall. Not there, certainly. But for a man of enterprise like Petrus an artificial waterfall would not be too difficult to find… or perhaps even create. The problem was, in a city that accounted for each and every drop of its water, where would he source the volume needed to supply it?
The answer came from a harsh, braying voice that echoed through his head. Thousands of gallons a day from the water castle up on the Cespian Height. A veritable river siphoned off somewhere between there and the Subura.
XXXII
Valerius sent a message to Honorius requesting an urgent meeting at the commissioner’s offices. He could imagine the reaction when the engineer discovered that his lawyer was still neglecting his court duties. He wasn’t disappointed.
‘You are a disgrace to your profession, young man,’ Honorius spluttered. ‘We agreed a two-week suspension, yet it has been almost two months since I last laid eyes upon you. The villain should have been long since whipped and his supply capped. Now you have the audacity to come to me seeking assistance in some foolishness.’ But the old man’s eyes brightened when Valerius explained what he needed. ‘So you think these Christians are stealing my water?’
‘It’s possible. If they are, it will be in large amounts. The last time we spoke you talked of a veritable river?’
‘That is true. From the supply controlled by the water castle on the Cespian Height. But the source is a mystery. My investigators have been unable to discover a leak or a deliberate breach.’
Valerius hid his disappointment. He had hoped the break would be obvious, but if Honorius and his men were mystified it must be well hidden. The water castle on the Cespian Height overlooked the ancient temple of Juno Lucina, which was an omen if you liked. It was one of many dozens ingeniously sited across Rome to control the supply of water from the city’s aqueducts to the palaces, mansions, baths and public fountains, the ironworks and the tile factories and the state farms that thrived within the city boundaries. Each castle was sited on high ground and distributed water where it was needed through lead pipes and stone channels. As their name suggested, they were enormous structures, constructed in two or even three sections, and each contained a substantial reservoir in case of drought, or interruption of the supply from an aqueduct.
Honorius reached below his desk and produced a map of the water system, an enormous scroll formed of many different sections of parchment. He unrolled it and weighted it down with short sections of worn lead pipe.
‘See here.’ A plump finger indicated a point in the centre of the map. ‘The castle is one of the thirty-five supplied by the Old Anio, which takes its waters from the Tiber above the twentieth milestone and enters the city close to the Viminal Gate.’ Like every Roman, Valerius knew that the Old Anio, as opposed to the New Anio, was notorious for the poor quality of its waters, known universally as rat’s piss and of similar colour and taste, but Honorius insisted on elaborating. ‘Only six per cent of the supply will ever reach an imperial building, and that for the latrines. Most is used for industry or irrigation. The rest ends up in the Subura, where they are less inclined to complain about a little cloudiness.’
Mention of Subura reminded Valerius that the warren of streets overlooked by the Quirinal, Esquiline and Viminal hills provided a perfect refuge for a secretive cult like the Christians. It was here Petrus had set up his herb shop and surgery, and close by that they had stumbled upon the young man preaching at the crossroads. He noticed Honorius frowning.
‘Now that I consider it,’ the water commissioner mused, ‘this would be the perfect supply to tap if one needed any great quantity. We treat Old Anio with a little less respect than we give to the other aqueducts, precisely because of the quality of the water and whom it supplies.’ He shook his shaggy head. ‘Regrettable, but understandable. It may be that the engineer I sent to investigate this leak did not treat it quite as diligently as he would if he had been inspecting the Virgo or the Aqua Claudia.’ He let out an unlikely chuckle and Valerius recognized the enthusiasm of a true professional. ‘Perhaps it is worth taking a second look?’
Honorius summoned a work detail and they set off for the Cespian Height. Their route took them through the bustling heart of the Subura, but Honorius was a magistrate whose rank warranted the accompaniment of six lictors and their progress was swift as the crowds parted before the heavy ash rods of the bodyguard. As they walked, with the lictors at their head and the water gang behind, Valerius studied the narrow streets and wondered if he was wasting precious time. Was it really possible to find one man in all of this? Twenty minutes later they reached the base of the slope and it took another five to climb to the water castle. In scale, though not in splendour, the
