mischief.'
'Good!' Burrus beamed. 'The Empress sends this.' Two bulging leather purses were thrown on to a table. 'And this.' A third followed. Polybius scooped them up in the twinkling of an eye.
'The Augustus and his mother will dine here tonight just after sunset.' Burrus gestured at more servants filing in with their burdens. 'They have sent what they intend to eat and drink, and look forward to tasting the recipes of your new chef.'
Celades, standing in the kitchen doorway, clasped his hands and moaned with pleasure. Polybius chewed his lip as he weighed the sacks, quickly scrutinising what was being brought in.
'No one else.' Burrus' left hand descended on the thin shoulder of Simon the Stoic. 'The Excellencies and their guests will celebrate the victory of their champion.' He glanced fierce-eyed around the eating hall. 'A great honour! So be prepared.' The German waited until the imperial servants had delivered all their burdens, gave Polybius a mock salute, winked at Claudia, then left slamming the door behind him.
At first silence reigned, then Poppaoe began to wail. Polybius stood disconcerted but Celades rose to the occasion. He quickly inspected the contents of the linen bundles and bustled back, leather apron on, to announce he would prepare a banquet fit for the gods.
'Braised cucumbers, mushrooms in honey,' he proclaimed, 'baked plaice, fried liver, ham in red wine and fennel sauce.'
The die was cast. Polybius decided he'd turn his favourite part of the orchard into a dining area: lamp-stands were brought out, more were begged and borrowed, lanterns hung from trees, tables, couches and stools loaned by the likes of Apuleius and other friends and neighbours. Polybius wondered how many guests there would be. Claudia, who suspected what was about to happen, replied about ten in all. The garden of the She Asses was transformed into a veritable paradise, the air sweet with the fragrant smells from the kitchen. Polybius turned away his usual coven of rogues as he became aware of the great honour being bestowed on him, declaring that by tomorrow evening all Rome would know that the She Asses was a tavern frequented by their Excellencies.
Murranus eventually came down. Claudia dispatched him up the alleyway so Torquatus could cut his hair, shave his face and take him to the nearest baths.
'And don't drink a drop!' Claudia shouted after him. 'You must be stone-cold sober.'
Murranus bowed mockingly to her and sauntered off. Claudia slipped into the kitchen and drew Polybius and Celades aside. She told them what would happen and what they were to do. Polybius shrugged in resignation. He knew better than to question his iron-willed niece. Celades was astonished, but readily agreed to carefully follow her instructions.
Darkness was falling as the imperial entourage arrived in a clash of arms and the fiery glare of torches. The imperial litters, curtains drawn, massed in the small square before the tavern, which was immediately ringed and sealed off by rank after rank of the imperial guard. Burrus and his contingent filed into the eating hall then out into the garden to patrol the walls and guard the gates. Polybius' household, Claudia included, knelt to receive the distinguished guests. Claudia sighed with relief when she saw the party: Constantine, Helena, Sylvester, Urbana, Cassia and Leartus. The Emperor, clad in purple-edged snow-white robes, waggled his fingers at them and immediately went into the kitchen, emerging with a slice of ham which he ate noisily, slurping wine from Polybius' favourite goblet.
'Mother,' he spluttered, 'this is marvellous.' He glanced quickly at Claudia, a calculated, cold-eyed stare, a sign that the Emperor, as usual, was acting the buffoon.
Helena graciously greeted them all and, hugging Claudia close, kissed her on both cheeks. Claudia sensed the Augusta's excitement; her unpainted face was tense, her dark eyes watchful.
'Be careful, little mouse,' she whispered, 'but the stage is now yours.'
She drew away, hitching the silk-tasselled purple mantle around her shoulders, fingering the amethyst on its gold chain around her neck. She glanced around and, in mock anger, asked where the champion was. Constantine demanded the same. Polybius blustered that Murranus wanted to be well prepared and would their Excellencies like to go out into the garden? Constantine replied that their Excellencies would like nothing better. Claudia exchanged cool courtesies with the rest of the guests and followed them out. She was relieved when Murranus joined them. Constantine, seated at the centre of the couches arranged in a horseshoe, immediately began to question the gladiator about his victory in the arena.
'There'll be more rewards for you, my boy!' he shouted, and promised the gladiator the cup he was drinking from, immediately apologising when Helena whispered loudly that it wasn't his to give.
While the first courses were served and the wine cups filled, Murranus held the guests spellbound as he described his tactics.
'I wanted them overconfident,' he declared, 'but above all I wanted them to separate. I guessed that some would not be as brave or as skilled as others. Once that happened, my chances improved.'
Constantine, of course, interrupted with a spate of questions. The wine flowed, the guests were drinking copiously, and, judging the moment was ready, Claudia nodded to Polybius and held up her hand to speak.
'Excellencies.' Claudia swung her feet off the makeshift couch. 'Let us sit in silence in the Frisian custom,' she ignored Murranus' questioning look, 'until our cups are filled, then let us toast our champion.'
Constantine thought it was a splendid idea. Polybius, Poppaoe and Narcissus circled, filling goblets. Celades approached Leartus to serve him.
'Larg na maiihV Celades asked in a loud voice.
'Larg na maith malan,' Leartus replied without thinking — then froze.
'What's that?' Constantine asked. 'I thought you said this should be done in silence?'
Leartus stared owl-eyed across at Claudia.
'Celades is a Pict,' Claudia declared. 'He just asked Leartus in his own tongue if his goblet should be filled with red or white wine. Leartus is supposed to be a Parthian, yet he understands the Pictish tongue, an astonishing achievement. What was his reply, Celades?'
'I want red, please!' declared Celades, standing behind Leartus.
'Celades,' Claudia continued conversationally, 'you told me earlier how the son of a Pictish chieftain has a sacred circle, a tattoo on his right thigh imprinted there just after his twelfth year.'
'Yes, mistress.'
'Leartus, modesty aside, show us the sacred mark.'
'What is this?' Urbana shrilled. Cassia too became agitated, her hand going out to grasp Urbana's arm.
I was correct, Claudia thought — you are both terrified because your guilt will soon be known.
'Burrus,' Helena called into the darkness. The German stepped forward.
'There is no need.' Leartus rose to his feet. He shrugged, undid his belt and opened his tunic.
'Amongst our tribes,' Celades declared, 'the circle would be coloured in sacred paint.'
Burrus brought across a torch and held it as close as he could. Claudia studied the tattoo engraved on Leartus' thigh.
'Slightly faded, the skin puckered, but still clear to see.' She gestured dismissively with her hand. Leartus picked up his belt, wrapped it round himself and sat on the edge of the couch staring coolly across at her.
'You are no Parthian!' Claudia accused. 'You made a mistake during the recent games, — carried away by excitement, you shouted 'narifa', the Pictish word for victory — you repeated it twice. You, Leartus, are a Pict, a warrior, the son of a chieftain. Eighteen years ago your father included you as part of his war band. I will not repeat the details, everyone knows them. The band were massacred by a wing of Roman cavalry led by Stathylus. He captured your father and cruelly tortured him to death. Stathylus and his companions thought your father was the only survivor, but you also survived. You left your jewellery on another corpse and hid in the heather. Your father survived for hours, — his only consolation was that he knew what you had done. He realised the corpse they'd brought was not you. You wanted vengeance for him. In the full light of day you saw what happened to your father. More importantly, you also had time to study the faces of his torturers: Roman cavalrymen who, now the fight was over, took off their helmets and pushed back their coifs. Later you followed that cavalry troop south to Colchester. You caught one of them, probably when he was drunk, killed him and abused his corpse.
'I don't truly know what happened then, but I suspect you were captured, enslaved and made a eunuch. The legions were withdrawing to Rome and you were taken with them. Once in the city, you entered the service of Cassia. Celades told me how the Picts are skilled in sign language; you became proficient, her companion as she moved from courtesan to Christian. I suspect you had a pleasant life until General Aurelian decided to hold one of
