Aside from that, the room was comfortable. A circular iron stove radiated warmth from a blazing pinewood fire. A stack of the wood lay nearby. Even the gentle drumming of the downpour on the tile roof was soothing. Arcadia hung their wet capes on a peg near the stove before they went down to supper.
Julius Blussus’ cook—his wife, he said—had prepared a thick Julian soup of spelt grits, minced pork brain, and rib meat, flavored with lovage and fennel. It was served with fresh bread and a pitcher of Caesena wine.
The meal was filling, and both Getorius and his wife were tired afterward. The early drive from Ravenna, with its unnerving encounter at the gate, the emotional meeting with Rabbi ben Zadok, and the two walks through town had combined to sap their energy.
When Getorius went to bed, the steady, rhythmic patter of rain and the warm room made him fall asleep quickly. Arcadia listened to the rise and fall of his breathing for a moment before wetting her finger and pinching out the lamp wick. Her last drowsy thought was that it would be good to be home again the next day.
Except for a slit of light showing under the door, the room was black when Arcadia was awakened by something brushing her face. Her first reaction was that a roach had crawled onto her, and she lashed out frantically with one hand. The wild fling hit a solid object above her. She heard a muffled curse somewhere near the ceiling, and screamed out her husband’s name.
“Getorius!”
Before he could awaken and react, the room’s door was smashed off its retaining bolt, and left hanging loosely by one hinge. By the dim light from the hallway, Arcadia recognized the bearded Syrian, and saw the glint on the blade of the sword he held. Getorius was just sitting up as the man lunged toward her. Arcadia covered her face with her arms in a reflexive hug of protection, thinking that now there would be two fewer witnesses to tell of the papyri.
She felt the bed sway from the man’s weight, and heard the mattress rip as the ropes holding it in place broke. But she did not feel the expected sword slash. Uncovering an eye, she saw the Syrian thrust his weapon at a leg disappearing up the rungs of a rope ladder dangling from above.
Blussus appeared in the doorway wearing a ridiculously short night tunic. The manager was too stunned to speak as he watched the bearded man, who had eaten a noon meal in his dining room, pull his foot out of the broken bed.
Arcadia’s first reaction was to ask the stranger, “You…you followed us this afternoon. Why?”
“My apologies,” he replied. “Mordecai, with the Rav’s blessing, assigned me to keep a watch on you.”
“Keep watch? Who are you?” Getorius demanded, bringing a trembling Arcadia to sit on his bed and putting an arm around her.
“My name is Nathaniel, a student of the Rav.”
“Judean? You…you broke your Sabbath for us?”
“The Rav teaches that the Commandments are to help us live, not to allow someone to die because of them.” Nathaniel reached up with the tip of his sword and pulled down the frayed end of the ladder until it dangled over Arcadia’s bed.
“That’s what brushed my face!” she exclaimed.
“Strange that bandits positioned the ceiling opening directly above a bed.”
“Nathaniel, my husband moved the bed over there because the floor was wet.”
“Then the Lord protected you through that simple act. If the man had reached the floor in silence you might have both been killed.” Nathaniel indicated the ceiling and broken door to Blussus. “Manager, you have repairs to make and questions to answer about your accomplices.”
“My…my slaves are in charge of this floor,” he stammered in protest. “It’s the cursed Donatist Circumcellions. They’re still everywhere.”
“Leave us,” Nathaniel ordered. “Find these people a room on the first floor for the rest of the night.” Blussus bowed and shuffled off to vent his frustration on the slave staff. Nathaniel propped the door shut and sat on a chair to explain. “I was not told of your reason for visiting the Rav, only that it merited breaking Shabbat.”
“Who are these Circumcellions that Blussus mentioned?” Getorius asked.
“Fanatics of Donatus, one of your exiled heretic bishops. They prey on strangers and gladly die for their beliefs, but I don’t think your attacker was a Donatist. I believe these were common bandits who bribed or coerced Blussus into letting them rob guests of their belongings. His slaves may have made an honest mistake in preparing this particular room for you.”
“I see.” Getorius was not that sure. Tomorrow he and Arcadia would go back to Ravenna to deal with the deaths of people who had known the papyrus existed. Galla Placidia, Protasius, and possibly Aetius knew about their trip to Classis. The intruder might have been part of a conspiracy, sent to silence them both as witnesses to the will’s accidental discovery.
“Nathaniel, we owe our lives to you,” Arcadia said.
“The act was a timely mizvah, a blessing. I shall accompany you and Rav ben Zadok back to Ravenna.”
Getorius grasped his hand. “We appreciate that, Nathaniel. Thank you.”
Arcadia also felt better at the news, but her sleep for the rest of the night was disturbed by images of the bandit’s hairy legs disappearing up the ladder, and the bloated, leech-encrusted face of Archdeacon Renatus slowly turning toward her inside the grisly vat.
Ravenna
Chapter fourteen
A steady rain that continued all morning slowed the drive back to Ravenna. At the bridge a little more than a quarter of a mile north of Classis, the Via Armini was flooded. Ochre water surged over the paving stones, hampering a detail of sodden legionaries who struggled to clear away tree branches and brushwood. The debris
