feed the homeless part time around Victoria Station.’
‘So you know the victim, you’ve got the murderer, why are you involved?’
‘We need the motive.’
‘Can’t you ask him?’
‘He’s dead, killed himself with some sort of poison as the police broke down the door to his flat.’
‘Poison?’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s all a bit too Agatha Christie for me as well, but that’s what happened.’
‘So how am I involved?’
‘Well we interviewed all the other workers obviously but as far as they were concerned he was perfectly normal, but there was one thing about him that a few people noticed. He always wore a particular necklace. Seems like he was a bit paranoid about losing it as well, said it belonged to his mother but when we found him it was missing. We searched his flat top to bottom but there was no sign of it, apparently he had been the victim of a burglary the week before and we think it was stolen then.’
‘And you think it was the same necklace that Mr Jones brought in to the library.’
‘We do, though at the time we failed to realize its significance.’
‘How can you be sure it’s the same one?’
‘Your Mr Jones posted a picture of it on the net last week.’
‘That’s right, he did. I remember him telling me, but I still don’t understand the importance of one coin. What possible relevance could it have?’
Brandon took a deep breath.
‘What I am about to tell you stays in this room,’ he said. ‘Last Friday, a young girl was abducted from a local hotel. Okay, you may say that this sort of thing happens sometimes but this was different. First of all the girl was a daughter of a very important person and before you ask, I can’t tell you. Secondly, there is a blanket ban on any news being released about the abduction. Again, I don’t know why but the father must have some serious clout. He has instructed a total news blackout. Thirdly, and most importantly, we have a picture of the abductor.’
He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a picture, passing it over the table.
‘It just so happened, a secretary was monitoring the CCTV when the girl was taken and zoomed in with the camera. Take a look.’
She stared at the black and white image of a man wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses, holding his hand against a struggling young girl’s mouth.
‘Can’t tell much,’ she said, ‘Most of his features are covered.’
‘Forget his features,’ he said, ‘Look at his hand.’
She looked again at the hand over the mouth. On the middle finger he wore a ring made from a coin, and staring back at her was the face of Phillip the Second of Macedonia.
Chapter 5
Rome 64 AD
Sister Rubria, as she was now known, sat staring in to the flames with love and respect. This was one of her duties as a Priestess of the Goddess, to oversee the fire for half a day, every three days, sharing the work with the five other priestesses. Despite the long hours and the strange one legged stool designed especially to stop the watchers falling asleep during their vigil, it was a task that Rubria embraced with all her heart. The fire represented the very soul of the Goddess and was the central hearth of the empire of Rome. Though the inner Temple was sacrosanct and denied to any person not of the order, a second fire in an iron pot was taken each morning to the entrance of the Forum. Every morning, there was a line of children waiting outside the gates for the fire of Vesta to arrive so they could ignite the kindling in their own clay pots before taking take it back to their homes.
During the vigil, food and water were denied to any Priestess watching over the flames and a request to be relieved for any personal need would result in a severe admonishing by the Pontifex Maximus and a week of enforced solitude, praying to the Goddess Vesta for forgiveness for falling to the demands of the flesh.
The fire itself was contained within a granite hollow in the floor of the Temple and was fed constantly by logs brought into the city from the imperial forests to the west of the Apennine Mountains. Rubria’s duty was to ensure the flames were fed from the stockpile contained in the six alcoves around the circular walls of the Temple and honour the Goddess with the suitable prayers on the stroke of every hour. It was a duty of love and one she cherished with all her heart.
Rubria rose from her knees at the culmination of the twelfth prayer and checked the fire’s strength. She retrieved the soft broom and started to gently sweep the marble floor surrounding the hearth. Though there was never any mess other than the occasional fall of ash, the act ensured the Temple was always as pure as the Goddess herself and was a ceremony that reached back over a thousand years to when the original flame was in a much more humble setting. She knew that at the sound of the bell a fellow Sister would enter the Temple to take her place and she would be able to continue with her other duties.
Today was a special day for Rubria. She had been inaugurated as a Priestess six weeks earlier and had since spent most of the time in prayer and carrying out her duties to the Goddess but today would be different. For the first time she was being taken out of the Forum grounds and up the nearby Palatine hill to the Domus Transitoria, the home of the Emperor. It was intended that she would be presented to Nero himself though no one quite knew if he would be there or not, nevertheless, Rubria briefly experienced the sin of excitement as she hurried back to her rooms on the upper level of the balcony surrounding the Forum.
As usual her servants had prepared the sunken bath with hot scented water and fresh clothes lay folded on her bed. Her room was a far cry from the rough cell she had occupied during her time as an Acolyte and the sumptuous surroundings reflected her elevated position in the spiritual life of the city. Colourful tapestries adorned three of the walls and thick carpets from the east protected her feet from the chill of the marble floors. A huge Lectus dominated the room, its Dias making it so high that the bed had to be accessed by a small set of wooden steps and the entire sleeping area was draped with swathes of white silk, making a sanctuary of purity where the Priestess could rest. Against one wall was an ornate couch with carved arms at both ends where she could sit and entertain visitors. A table with a washing bowl stood in a corner and finally, in the middle of the one unadorned wall was the most important thing in the whole room, a niche containing a candle to the Goddess. This was her own shrine where she prayed daily, reasserting her devotion and begging forgiveness for her transgressions.
Rubria undid her broach and handed her veil to the one servant left in the room before stepping fully clothed into the sunken bath and kneeling in the cleansing hot water. The servant followed her in and helped Rubria remove her clothing.
‘You may do my hair now, Antonia,’ said Rubria eventually.
The servant poured soap on Rubria’s re-growing hair and worked it into the scalp. Antonia had been appointed Rubria’s personal servant and though born a Roman citizen, had surrendered the rights to serve the Priestesses as had many young girls. When she had finished she poured fresh jugs of hot water to clear the soap and walked out of the bath to obtain the woollen wrap. She averted her eyes as Rubria walked out of the bath and held open the towel to await her mistress.
‘Thank you, Antonia,’ said Rubria as the servant wrapped the robe around here, ‘You may leave.’
The servant dropped to her knees and closed her eyes, her hands held together in prayer as Rubria turned to give her blessing. It was the only payment sought or given and she finally left the room, refreshed in the blessing of the Goddess. Rubria dressed herself in the crisp white robes and, after a prayer at the shrine, left her room to descend to the courtyard below.
‘Are you ready, Rubria?’ asked the High Priestess gently as she approached the awaiting litter.
‘Yes, Mother,’ she answered.
‘Then take her word forth,’ she said and opened the litter doors.
As Rubria bent to enter the sumptuous litter, the High Priestess touched her on the arm. Rubria stopped and looked at her mentor, seeing a slight look of concern on her face.
‘Be careful, Rubria,’ she said.
