'As I've said, Polybius is a different matter, he is following a very dangerous path. The Empress is devoted to her relics, the antiquities of the Christian past. If it came out that a tavern-keeper near the Flavian Gate had fooled her…' His words hung like a noose.
Claudia stretched out her hand; Sylvester clasped it. 'You have my word,' she promised. 'I will do what I can, and if
I discover the truth about Fulgentia,' she chewed her lip, 'you'll be the first to know. Oh, Presbyter, there is something else.' 'What?'
Claudia quickly described the murders of the veterans, their service in northern Britain, the savage desecration carried out on their corpses.
'I've heard something of this,' Sylvester murmured, 'but how can I help you? Such deaths have no connection with the Christian Church.'
Claudia laughed abruptly. 'Very little, Presbyter, but I need your assistance. Many followers of your way are slaves or servants, — I want you to make diligent enquiry for me amongst them. Are there any Picts in Rome? I need to talk to someone who knows their tongue, customs and culture.'
'Perhaps a survivor from that attack?'
'No, Presbyter, there were no survivors. Or at least I don't think so. I just need someone to describe for me the Pictish way of life, explain what could be happening here.'
Sylvester held up his hand. 'I will do all I can, Claudia.' He smiled. 'You know Sallust the Searcher and his family?'
Claudia grinned; she certainly knew Sallust!
'I'll employ him,' Sylvester declared, getting to his feet. 'He can find anything in Rome…'
A short while later, just as the water clock of the tavern she'd left indicated the seventh hour, a different Claudia entered the cemetery which stretched along the Appian Way. She had gone to a seller of perfumes and powders, cosmetics and paints for ladies, and bought herself a dye and some powder. Afterwards, she'd stopped at a secondhand clothes-seller and purchased a few rags, a pair of battered sandals for her feet and a polished walking cane. She'd sheltered in a tavern near the city gates and changed, dusting her hair and face, rubbing ash on to her hands and arms before putting on the smelly, tattered rags. She had perfected the walk, the slight stoop of an old crone, from her days as an actress.
Now she followed the winding path into the jungle of undergrowth, tombs, monuments and sarcophagi which stretched to the great heathland in the far distance where she could glimpse the arches of the Claudian Aqueduct. To her right rose the dust from the Appian Way, as farmers, merchants, traders and tinkers either left or made their way into the city. She could still hear the hum of conversation, the creak of wheels as she fought her way through the tangle. Eventually all sounds faded except for bees buzzing above the wild flowers and the occasional scuttle of some animal fleeing from her approach. Claudia was used to visiting the cemetery. In the past, she'd often met Sylvester in the catacombs to the north, though there was now little need for such subterfuge, — their recent meeting at the deserted Temple of Minerva proved Sylvester's growing confidence in being able to carry out his affairs when and where he liked. Claudia paused, resting on her staff, and closed her eyes. She must remember that. When she'd first begun her relationship with Sylvester, the Christian Church had only recently come out of the catacombs and Constantine's Edict of Milan had been fresh in everyone's minds. Since then, the Church had worked vigorously and swiftly to reinforce its authority as well as to gain patronage and favour at court.
Claudia started from her reverie at the harsh cawing above her; glancing up, she glimpsed the buzzard circling above her. She continued on her way. She was now approaching the main part of the cemetery, walking slowly, using the stick to drive away the tangle of bramble, gorse, wild grass, and nettles which scored her ankles and made her gasp in pain. Yet she kept up the pretence, stopping every so often to look at the various funeral tombs, as the old do, as if still relishing their hold on life: a fresco of a man set in a wreath, a small cremation chest to mark his wife, the pitiful sarcophagus of a child, carved figures lamenting around the deathbed of a young girl, a dead woman portrayed as Venus triumphant, a married couple exchanging vows. Some of the stone was pure marble from the Sea of Marmara, other monuments were of rough stone hewn from a local quarry. Most of the tombs, sarcophagi and memorials were at least a hundred years old and slowly crumbling under the lashing rain, winter frosts and summer heat. The tomb of the tribune where Antonia was to be released lay on the far side of the cemetery, deep enough in this tangle of stone and bramble for the gang to free their hostage and escape unscathed. Now and again Claudia paused and looked up. Across the cemetery grew different trees, many in weird, grotesque shapes; any of these could house a lookout posted to spot approaching soldiers.
Claudia, aware of the oppressive, brooding silence, paused at a tomb of a young man, his likeness carved on the front in the form of the sleeping Endymion. She leaned against this and turned slowly in the manner of an old woman. She was certain she was being followed; just a coldness on the back of her neck, a slight agitation in her stomach. She listened intently, scrutinising the brambles and tangled gorse behind her for any sign of movement. Only silence, nothing but that buzzard still cawing noisily above her. Had it been disturbed, forced to flee whatever morsel it had been plucking at? Claudia sighed, her face and body now coated in sweat, then pushed on along the trackway. She entered a clearing and was about to cross it when four figures emerged from behind a chest tomb. She immediately recognised what they were: Inferni, dirty, dishevelled men dressed in rags but armed with wicked- looking knives and clubs. They blocked her path.
'Hello, old one.' The pig-faced leader stepped forward. 'What are you doing here? Haven't seen you before.'
Claudia leaned on the stick and peered at them, assessing their strength. She felt fear, but at the same time she could throw off her disguise and run faster than any of these. The one on the far left had a slight limp; the others looked fat, with the unhealthy colour and sagging cheeks of men who drank copiously of cheap posca and other foul wines.
'Well?' The leader edged forward.
Claudia stepped back.
'Come on, old lady, let's see who you really are. Let's have a look at your hands.' He made an obscene gesture with his groin. 'You can still work your wonder here.'
Claudia was about to turn and flee when Burrus and five of his companions slipped out of the undergrowth as if they'd come up from the very earth itself. Despite their size and bulk, they moved swiftly and deadly. The four Inferni didn't even have a chance to resist. For a short while the silence of the clearing was shattered by grunts and moans as Burrus and his companions dispatched them. Claudia watched, horror-struck. Within a few heartbeats, all four men lay dead, their throats cut. Burrus and his companions squatted down, cleaning their swords and daggers on the long grass. The captain glanced up and winked at Claudia.
'We've been watching you, little one, ever since you left that tavern. We knew it was you.' He and his companions laughed softly and came crowding round this little woman whose bravery they admired.
Claudia put down the cane and wiped the sweat from her face.
'You've been following me?'
'Of course, little one. This is no different from our forests in Germany. An entire war band could move around here and not even disturb the birds on the branches.' Burrus crouched down and stared into her eyes. 'You're unharmed, little one. They were tracking you. You're not as old as you look.' He grinned and tweaked her cheek. 'Go on, we will be behind you.'
Claudia crouched down, gesturing at Burrus and the others to join her.
'Why are you here, to protect me or to hunt the kidnappers?'
'Both,' Burrus replied, squinting up at the sky. 'The Augusta thought that if any soldiers could get close, we were the ones. None of the fancy boys from the guards; they'd go blundering about like a child in water. We are different. There are more of us, at least two dozen out there heading towards that tomb.'
Claudia suppressed a chill of fear and pointed to the trees. 'You could be seen from there.'
'I doubt it,' Burrus declared. 'We'll be crawling on our bellies.'
Claudia was about to reply when one of the guards lifted his hand.
'Look, look!' he urged.
Claudia glanced to her right. Black smoke plumed against the blue sky, followed by flames darting greedily up. Such fires were common in summer along the dry heathland round the city, but this fire had started too quickly. Claudia followed Burrus as they hurried back through the tangled undergrowth, no longer bothering to conceal their
