came another presbyter and a deacon. Unlike Appian, they were stumbling and staggering. One fell and had to be set on his feet by the other two.
The Christians were led to the crosses. Ropes were produced and the men were tied to the wood. There was some muttering from the stands, a few catcalls. A voice called out, 'What is wrong with nails?' Ballista ignored a sharp look from Flavius Damianus.
There was a breathing space as attendants piled kindling around the base of the crosses. Two of the condemned lolled in their bonds, mouths slack. Appian looked around him. His prominent eyes lighted on the divine statues.
'The emperor Valerian,' Appian shouted, 'the theos, god, Valerian.'
Everyone stopped. Everyone gazed at him. Even the men on the other two crosses seemed to raise their heads and regard him. Was he about to recant, about to acknowledge the divinity of the emperor? If so, he must be released. Ballista, much surprised at Appian's composure, hoped he was.
'Theos in name but not in nature,' Appian yelled. 'Valerian was given a mouth uttering boasts and blasphemy. He was given authority and forty-two months.' There was a shocked silence. There was no way back now. This was treason. Even to inquire into the length of the emperor's reign brought the death penalty. There could be no pardon from publicly predicting his death. Forty-two months. Three and a half years. Ballista did some rapid calculations. Valerian had been on the throne for five years. The Christian must mean that the emperor had forty- two months to live. Whatever, he would not be around to see if his prediction came true.
Appian was not finished. He tipped his head back and addressed the heavens. 'Behind Valerian, whispering in his ear like a teacher of evil, stands the magician, the cripple, the lame Macrianus – leading him on to perform devilish rites, loathsome tricks and unholy sacrifices, to cut the throats of wretched boys, use the children of distraught parents as sacrificial victims, to tear out the intestines of newborn babies, cutting and mincing God's handiwork, as if these things would bring them happiness…'
Ballista signalled Maximus to come close. 'You got them to use ropes not nails, but why did that one not get the drugged wine?'
'He would not drink it,' whispered Maximus. 'Some religious reason, said it was a Friday or something.'
'A pity.'
'Sure, it is for him.'
Appian raved on. 'I see plague, earthquakes, the Euphrates running with blood. I see the mighty of the imperium grovelling in the dust by the hooves of the barbarians' horses.'
Attendants put lit torches to the kindling. Some accelerant must have been used, as tongues of flame shot upwards immediately. One Christian was still comatose. The third opened his mouth in a silent scream.
Above the sound of the fire Appian shouted. 'I will burn now. You will all burn for eternity in hellfire.'
Ballista forced himself to release the arms of his curule. His palms were wet with sweat, there were livid marks where he had gripped the ivory. He wiped his hands on his thighs. He had his mandata. He would do his duty. The Christians would be persecuted. But this, the burning, he could not stand.
Smoke billowed into the stands. It carried the revolting sweet smell, so close to roasting pork. All three Christians were screaming now.
Ballista stood up. The auxiliary archer was well disciplined. He betrayed no surprise when Ballista ordered him to hand over his bow. Ballista took three arrows from the soldier's quiver. Carefully, he placed two of them on the parapet of the box. He notched the third and drew the bow.
Closing his mind to the smell and the noise, Ballista focused on the sinew, bone and wood in the belly of the bow. He aimed. He released.
The arrow thumped into the Christian's chest. Appian's body arched, went into spasm, was still. Twice more Ballista notched an arrow, drew, aimed and released.
All three Christians hung limp in their ropes. They had died quickly. The fires raged on, consuming their bodies. Maybe their souls now were seated at the right hand of their Christ. And maybe not. The north African frumentarius known as Hannibal stretched luxuriously. One of the better things about working for Ballista was the privacy. The barbarian always insisted on the smallest possible staff and the palace where they were lodged in Ephesus was designed for the entourage of a proconsul, so everyone, down to a humble scribe such as himself, had a room of their own. As soon as the spectacles at the stadium were over, he had hurried to his quarters, locked the door and set to work. Now it was done. He looked out of the window at the dark, moonless night. He flexed the fingers of his writing hand and reread the central part of the letter to his spymaster, Censorinus. I will attempt, Dominus, to answer all the questions in your last letter as fully and truthfully as I am able.
With regard to the schemes of the Comes Sacrarum Largitionum et Praefectus Anonnae Marcus Fulvius Macrianus, it is true that so far I have uncovered no hard evidence. However, there is much that raises disquiet.
On three occasions I have managed to overhear private conversations between Marcus Clodius Ballista and members of his familia. It is worth noting that, as one might expect from a northern barbarian, Ballista never confides in any of his official staff or indeed in any free citizen. As you well know, he only opens his mind to his own sort, the two slaves from the barbarian north called Calgacus and Maximus. An exception to this circle of northerners is Ballista's slave-secretary, a Greek boy called Demetrius. This slave is well educated, but obsessed with religion and the supernatural. I have feigned similar interests and, over time, in these last years have become familiar with him and I think to some degree to have won his trust. It was he who unwittingly gave me the opportunities to eavesdrop.
Ballista continues to be puzzled and deeply concerned as to why Macrianus, 'that devious lame bastard,' as he customarily refers to him, should have supported if not engineered his appointment to persecute the Christians in Ephesus. The northerner and his familia have no answer, but they are convinced that is a part of some deep plot on the part of Macrianus. Similarly, the familia are convinced that Macrianus has been in clandestine communication with the leading magistrate in Ephesus, the scribe to the Demos, Flavius Damianus, but for what nefarious reason they do not know.
Today, one of the Christians executed, one Appian, son of Aristides of Miletus, uttered terrible words against our sacred emperor, including the treasonous prediction that the noble Valerian had but forty-two months to live. The atheist did not say who or what would kill our noble emperor, but three rumours run round Ephesus: the perpetrator will be Shapur the Sassanid, a high-placed Roman, or, which cannot be true, the gods themselves. Appian went on to claim that the emperor had been led into impiety, namely the persecution of the Christians and the performing of human sacrifice on newborn babies, by none other than Macrianus.
To turn to the actions of Ballista himself. Since he arrived in Ephesus, he has carried out his duties quite commendably overall.
In the area of public security, he has performed outstandingly. When, a month ago, a boatload of Borani pirates were reported to be hiding on a small island south of Ephesus, he took prompt and decisive action. Thirty- two were killed and twelve enslaved and sold in the agora. While it is thought a few may have escaped to the mainland, it is most likely that these have subsequently been hunted down by the locals. The operation was carried out at the cost of just four auxiliaries dead and five wounded.
As far as the persecution of the Christians goes, Ballista has applied himself reasonably diligently, if with some seeming reluctance, until today. To celebrate the birthday of Great Artemis, Flavius Damianus had organized a splendid spectacle. Yet as it came to its climax, the burning alive of three notorious Christians, Ballista seized a bow from one of his guards and shot the criminals dead with his own hand. This extraordinary act cannot be interpreted other than as a shameless attempt to win favour with the mob. That would do. Hannibal sealed the letter with his frumentarius seal: MILES ARCANUS. By next morning it would be on its way to Censorinus' office in the imperial palace at Antioch, winging its way along the cursus publicus at some fifty miles a day.
*
There was no moon, but the silver coins glinted in the starlight as they were counted out. There were a lot of them. There needed to be.
'It is enough.' The centurion did not try to keep the contempt out of his voice. 'Wait here. I heard something over by the Gymnasium of Vedius. I will take my boys to investigate. Half an hour – if you are still here when we return, you will not leave.'
The twelve men waited, crouched in the darkness under the wall of the stadium. There should have been fifteen of them, but three had lost their nerve. Torchlight flared out from the gate. The distinctive sounds of
