– other guests, slaves, a few neighbours who’d been attracted in by the sound of chaos. The place must have been that way for a while. Only half the lamps had been lit, and some of those were beginning to smoke badly.
‘It was around nightfall,’ she continued. ‘It was ages ago. He went alone, and he ain’t back. No one never goes out alone at night in Rome… Oh my!’
She pressed both sets of knuckles to her face, in a gesture of fear and despair that chilled my blood. But I at least had to stay rational. In a moment, Maximin would step through the door, announcing he’d been for a stroll before supper. In the meantime, someone had to take charge of this mob.
‘Did Maximin tell anyone where he was going?’ I shouted, trying to be heard above the babble. No answer.
‘For God’s sake,’ I bellowed now, ‘will you please shut the fuck up!’
Silence.
I continued at normal volume: ‘Did he say where he was going?’
Gretel stepped forward. Her face had the same ghastly look as her mistress’s. ‘Sir, I heard him say he had business with the Sisters of the Blessed Theodora.’
‘Where is that?’
‘I – I don’t rightly know, sir.’
‘I do,’ the old watchman volunteered. ‘It’s by the Shrine of Saint Tribonius.’
Leaning forward, Martin answered my blank look. ‘It’s by the Salarian Gate, sir,’ he said. Behind the freckles, his pale face shone white in the lamplight.
That was miles away, on the east of the north wall.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘we’re going out. I want a search party.’
I pointed to the two largest of the household slaves, and to the two Lateran slaves who’d come back with me. They were big men.
‘A solidus for each of you who come with me,’ I said. ‘Five solidi,’ I added, ‘and the price of your freedom to any who brings Maximin back safe by morning.’
I turned to Marcella. ‘I want these men armed – swords and knives, if you please.’ She nodded, fiddling with the key chain she carried so the armoury could be opened. ‘And a good stock of torches.’
‘Sir,’ the old watchman stepped forward. ‘I’m no good with a sword now, but I know this city better than anyone.’
‘You come too,’ I said. ‘The same terms.’
I turned to Martin. ‘How are you with weapons?’ Though weedy, he was, after all, a barbarian. But he shook his head, more scared than ever.
‘No matter. Come with me anyway.’ I paused, and added: ‘Same terms.’
He stared back at me as if I’d hit him, but then went off for his cloak.
Rome this night was a place of nightmares. The sky had clouded over and a slight drizzle was starting. The streets were utterly black and, except for us, empty and silent. Even the rats were few in number. I’d thought of riding ahead. But a horse in these streets at night would have been slower than going on foot. In any event, we had to keep reasonably close together.
We raced down the streets. I kept running ahead, and had to keep slowing down to wait for the others. Wheezing and gasping behind us, the old watchman called out directions for the quickest route to the convent. Even so, it seemed to take an age to get there.
The convent was a high, dark building; more fortress than house. It wasn’t possible in the night to see that much of the place, but it loomed forbiddingly above and around the fortified gate. It stood alone, the neighbouring buildings having fallen down or been demolished.
‘Open!’ I cried, banging hard on the gate with the pommel of my sword. ‘We seek information about one of your visitors.’
No response.
I banged again, harder. Two of the slaves shouted in unison.
There was a shuffling sound within. A little slot opened a few feet above my head.
‘There are no strangers within,’ an old man quavered. ‘Go away. We have arms, and know how to use them.’
‘I seek a priest who visited you this evening,’ I said, trying to sound urgent yet reasonable. ‘I need to know if he is safe within.’
‘Go away. There are no strangers within. There have been no visitors. There’s no priest here. If you want to see the abbess, come back in daylight.’
The slot closed.
‘Open this fucking gate,’ I roared, ‘or I’ll have it broken down. Open up now – or I’ll wring your fucking old neck.’
No response.
I banged again and again, my sword pommel bouncing back from the solid, nailed timber. A full military assault would have had trouble breaking that down.
‘Sir,’ Martin pulled at my cloak, ‘sir, the reverend father isn’t in there. I can get you a search order tomorrow if you want. But we need to look elsewhere now.’
I sheathed my sword. He was right. But where to look? Rome was gigantic, and Maximin could be anywhere. A full search even of the streets would take days at least. I thought quickly. We’d have to break up into smaller parties.
‘You two,’ I spoke to the Lateran slaves, ‘go west.’ To the household slaves: ‘Go east round the wall. Keep going in decreasing circles. We’ll meet in the Forum.’
To the old watchman and Martin: ‘You come with me.’
To the old watchman: ‘Where is the most crowded place in Rome at night?’
‘That’ll be the Suburra, sir,’ he said. That was the central area of the city. We set off as quickly as the old man could hurry.
The Suburra was a place of narrow streets with densely packed buildings – some still very tall, others fallen down. The main streets were brightly lit with torches, and crowded with stinking, verminous trash of all conditions. I saw nobles in their shabby robes, the usual assortment of whores and rent boys plying for trade, food sellers, common people, beggars with limbs missing or covered with hideous sores. I saw a party of barbarian pilgrims, staggering with their crosses and jugs of beer as they gawped up at the remaining high buildings.
Once, I came across a man dressed in very fine clothes. I gathered that one of the slaves carrying him had slipped in the mud and pitched him out of his chair. He now stood screaming over the fallen wretch, while his other three slaves smashed down savage blows with the cudgels they carried for defence. Passers-by stopped to watch and cry encouragement to the three slaves.
In one of the smaller squares, a crowd had gathered to watch some travelling acrobats who’d stretched a rope between the central column and an upper window. Some boys were dancing on this, high overhead. As I watched, one fell off to a round of applause, landing in a net stretched below.
From the crowded wine shops came music and raucous laughter.
But no Maximin.
I suggested going into one of the wine shops and getting help for the search. Martin warned me off. ‘At best, sir, they’ll be useless. They don’t know what the reverend father looks like. They might even try attacking us to get at your money.’
We moved on through now dense crowds of revellers. We found ourselves somehow back near the dancing acrobats. I grabbed at one of the more sober spectators. Had he seen a priest? I sketched Maximin’s height and round shape with my hands. He shook his head. I stopped a passer-by, and then another.
No information.
With rising desperation, I ran from the square, not caring if the others were keeping up with me. I stopped people at random. I waved a bag of coins. I begged for any information.
Nothing. No one had seen Maximin.
‘You want a priest, big lord?’ a rent boy simpered tipsily at me. ‘You’ve come to the wrong place for that. But you’ll find one down there if you look hard.’ He giggled, pointing down a side street.
