reputation.
Now, I cursed that decision. If only I’d insisted on staying put, Maximin would still be alive. And I could have insisted. Maximin had come to take my firm advice in such things. Oh, it was his idea to get the relic back. But without the gold as well, I’d soon have talked him out of that. Without the relic, I knew I’d still have talked him into getting the gold. There was no symmetry in the mutual encouragement. And if only I’d paid more attention to his troubled state of mind the previous morning…
If only, if only. And now he was stiff and cold and surrounded by onions and cured hams. Worse, he was about to be taken away from me and pickled for use by the Church even after his death. However I looked at the matter, it all seemed to be my fault – my irresolution, my greed, my vanity. And now Maximin was dead, and I was all alone in the world.
My thoughts went in circles. At last, I closed my eyes. I only meant to do so to rest them from the brightness of the sun. But it was as if I’d thrown myself backwards into a dark ravine. I sank into the blackness.
I did dream. But my dreams were mostly of the faint and disconnected sort that you can never remember on waking. My mother was there, and the rats from the streets, and the sacrifice in the Colosseum. One-Eye came and went. I didn’t see Maximin. But I felt his presence in all the varied images that flitted through my head. It was a presence half comforting, half sad. He was still with me, but was powerless to help in anything I might now attempt.
One dream I did recall on waking. In this, the figures came to life from a set of triumphal friezes I’d seen attached to a temple in the Forum. They wound in a slow, silent procession through a Forum of buildings that still stood in their ancient freshness. I saw the trumpeters, and the purple chariot of the Triumph, and the purple-clad figure within. Behind came slaves, flinging coins from great baskets to the multitude. Behind this marched the soldiers – thousands of them – and then the prisoners in a long line, their backs bowed from the weight of the heavy chains that fastened them, and from the knowledge of what fate would be theirs once the Triumph had culminated in the Temple of Jupiter.
And every one of those prisoners looked like me.
I woke with a start. The sun had moved from behind me to my front left. It was late afternoon. Someone stood over me, holding up a shade to keep the sun from my face. It was an act of kindness, but I could feel I’d already caught the sun while asleep. Beside me on the bench, Lucius was watching me, on his face a look of polite and patient composure.
‘How… how long?’ I gasped. My mouth was dry as dust.
‘A very long time,’ Lucius replied, handing me a cup of wine. The slave holding up the shade did look rather strained. ‘You really should take more care in the sun. Northern skin can’t take the force, you should know.’
‘How did you find me?’ I croaked.
‘You weren’t at your lodgings. I spoke to your slave, who said you’d return late. You weren’t at the Lateran or in the library of poor old Uncle Anicius. Therefore, you had to be somewhere else in Rome.’ He laughed, ‘And you’ll be sure there are few others in this city who fit your description.’ His face turned serious. ‘But Alaric, I am most terribly sorry about your loss. I came looking for you as soon as I heard the news. If there is anything I can do – anything – do please ask.’
I gabbled an apology for missing dinner with him the night before. He waved that aside. I told him about the prefect. Lucius turned up his nose. ‘The man is useless. The only reason he spends any time in his office is because his rooms in the Imperial Palace have no running water. It’s an insult to us all that the exarch doesn’t get him recalled. I know the priests have got him by the balls over money. But there’s any number of natives here who could do more with the job than this wine-sodden little Greek insert into our lives.’
I decided to tell Lucius the whole story as I knew it. No one else had been willing or able to lift a finger. At least he might be able to offer sympathy.
As I finished, he put up his hand and tugged at his fringe. ‘You know, I receive messages from the Gods. Since I became their servant, they have served me in turn. They told me the other evening you were to be my best friend. It was confirmed at our secret sacrifice.’
I said nothing about the alleged secrecy of what had happened in the Colosseum. He’d only have said the Gods would protect him. Beyond doubt, his connections did that – plus, of course, the fact that the Church was rather more worried about heresy than a handful of furtive pagans.
He continued: ‘I wish we were deepening our friendship in less terrible circumstances. But you won’t deny the power of the Old Gods who brought our paths to cross.’ He dropped his earnest tone, continuing: ‘I could blame you for not opening those letters when you could. But in your position, I’d not have done that much. I’d have tossed them over my shoulder as I galloped off.’
For the first time that day, I smiled. I could imagine the scene, complete with the look on the face of old Big Moustache as he picked them up and roared for his horse.
‘Do you feel up to starting the investigation now?’ Lucius added. ‘No time like the present, after all.’
‘An investigation?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I will investigate, and I will have revenge – revenge according to the justice of my own people. Back home, we handle these things ourselves. We get hold of whoever’s done us over, and take personal revenge, or we make some appeal for customary justice. But here – here, I haven’t a clue how to find the killers. They came. They went.’
‘Things aren’t so very different here nowadays. You do these things for yourself, or they don’t get done… Now, my dearest Alaric, I don’t pretend I had the best education. You’ve probably read more books than I’ve touched. But I do know about knowledge. Some things we know by direct revelation from the Gods. Other things we know by patient collection and judgement of facts. I can’t tell you now who killed your friend Maximin. But I can tell you how to find who did. It’s a question of slow and patient method. You dig and dig, until something turns up. You just have to know where to begin. And,’ he pointed far over to the high buildings that surrounded the Forum, ‘that looks to me the obvious place to begin. We still have the light if we hurry.’
Fair point. I pulled myself up and staggered a little from stiffness.
Lucius laid a hand on my arm. ‘Listen – are you up to this? We need to act pretty fast if we’re to find any evidence over in the Forum. But if you don’t feel too good, I can start by myself.’
‘No,’ said I, ‘let’s make our start. There may be something important that only I can see.’
So began the investigation.
23
The gold of the statue shone bright in the afternoon sun. The Column of Phocas cast a long shadow toward the Senate House. Flowers were already piling up at the spot where Maximin’s body had been found. A mixed crowd of locals and pilgrims had gathered, and a priest was directing the prayers.
‘He was a leader of the mission to far-off Britain, where the light of the sun is hardly seen. By the power that flowed from the Holy Ghost through his pure soul and body, he worked miracles without number, bringing over thousands of converts from the dark heathenism of their race to the True Faith of Holy Mother Church. Pray for the soul of the Holy Martyr Maximin. Pray for the Intercession of Saint Maximin, who will surely soon be seated at the right hand of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of the Father.’
It was lie after fanciful lie from the grey creature. I’d heard this sort of stuff so often before. But it shocked me to hear it in connection with Maximin. Would we be told any truth about Maximin my friend? About his partiality to red wine? About his ability to lie with a straight face? About those bursts of good humour that could make his body shake with laughter? Not a word. It was all now about the many good works and the utter orthodoxy of Maximin the candidate saint.
Had I seen this priest earlier, hanging around the dispensator’s office? I probably had. It sickened me.
Lucius and I crossed ourselves with convincing reverence as we pushed through the crowd to the spot where the body had been found. Lucius took up some of the flowers that concealed the exact spot.
‘Here, what do you think you’re doing?’ the priest cried. ‘Those flowers are private property. I’ll have the dispensator on you.’
‘Do you know who I am?’ Lucius asked, standing up and looking down at the priest. He spoke in the cold tone he reserved for his inferiors.
