The Song of the Gladiator (23 page)

‘Sit down on the grass.’

‘It’s wet,’ Timothaeus declared. ‘Haven’t you forgotten, Claudia, it rained last night?’

She shrugged and sat on a marble seat, inviting Gaius to join them.

‘The wanderer in the woods,’ she began. ‘The old man found dead near the villa shortly before the Emperor arrived.’

‘That’s right,’ the steward agreed, blinking wearily. ‘Don’t you remember, Gaius, I came and saw you about him. The old man was a nuisance.’ Timothaeus turned back to Claudia. ‘He wandered the woods and often came to the villa to beg for scraps. He was well known to the farmers around here, though there aren’t many of these left now,’ he added mournfully. ‘I understand our attackers slaughtered everyone who couldn’t flee. We should have crucified those prisoners.’ His fingers flew to his lips. ‘Crucified!’ he muttered. ‘I’m a Christian, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?’

‘Tell me about the wanderer in the woods,’ Claudia insisted.

‘One of the guards found the old man on the track.’ Timothaeus tapped the left side of his face. ‘He had bruises all along here. Sometimes he was drunk, I thought he’d had a fall or fit. Isn’t that right, Gaius?’

The Captain agreed. ‘At any other time,’ he drawled, ‘we would have tossed such a corpse into the undergrowth, but I felt sorry for him. The villa has a burial pit just beyond the eastern wall. I had the corpse taken to the House of Mourning and wrapped in a shroud. Timothaeus here,’ he added sardonically, ‘as a Christian, claimed it was a pious act to bury the dead, say a prayer and pour a libation over the grave.’

‘Are you a Christian,’ Claudia asked Gaius, ‘or any of your family?’

‘Go through the records, Claudia. I didn’t take part in the persecution, but my family are no friends of the Christians. Nevertheless,’ Gaius patted Timothaeus on the shoulder, ‘some I like. Timothaeus is a good fellow. Anyway, my man declared what he had found, and Timothaeus asked for my help. I had the wanderer brought in; his body was dirty, the head all bloodied.’

‘Could he have been murdered?’ Claudia asked.

Gaius made a face. ‘Possibly. But who would want to kill an old man? All I can remember is that he stank worse than a dog pit. The Emperor arrived in the early afternoon, just after we found the body.’ Gaius moved his head from side to side. ‘It was taken to the death house and then the fun began: Dionysius’s murder.’

‘Timothaeus, you said . . .’ Claudia paused; she wanted to be precise as possible, ‘you claimed the wanderer in the woods was a nuisance?’

‘Well, he had been for the last few days before he died. Mistress, I don’t know whether he had a fall or was attacked. I had his body taken up because I felt guilty. The old fellow kept knocking at the gate saying he wished to see the Emperor. I told him to bugger off.’ Timothaeus looked wistfully at her. ‘Perhaps I should have been kinder? We didn’t really look at his corpse, did we, Gaius? The soldiers wrapped him in a shroud, no more than a piece of sacking, put it on a stretcher and brought it in.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Gaius asked.

Claudia stared at the ruined House of Mourning.

‘What sort of people were taken there?’

‘Now and again,’ Timothaeus replied, ‘the occasional guest dies. Anybody with family, well, we hold the corpse until kith and kin come and claim it. As for the rest,’ he rubbed his eyes, ‘usually servants, household slaves. They are put there and later buried or burnt.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now, mistress, I have duties, and so does Gaius.’

They both drifted away. Claudia got to her feet and walked over to the sycamore tree where the Emperor had sheltered on the night of the fire. She walked back to examine the remains of the meal strewn on the hard-packed earth. She also noticed how, here and there, the ground had been dug up, but now it was baked hard.

‘Claudia!’

She got to her feet, brushing off the dust, and peeped around a bush. Narcissus was walking up and down, arms flailing. ‘Claudia!’

‘Just the person!’ she whispered. She stepped from behind the bush and tiptoed quietly up to Narcissus, pushing him hard on the shoulder. He whirled round.

‘I’ve been looking for you, Claudia.’

‘And I’ve been looking for you!’ She smiled back. ‘Come, sit and talk with me!’ She patted his arm. ‘I thought I was a good actress but, Narcissus, your acting ability is equal to mine.’

‘What do you mean?’ he spluttered. ‘Claudia, now is not the time for teasing. I want to know where I’m going to live. How long are you staying at the villa?’

‘Never mind that.’ Claudia gestured to the garden seat. ‘I want to talk to you about the wanderer in the woods. No, Narcissus, don’t start trembling or crying. You knew the old man?’

‘Of course,’ he muttered, avoiding her gaze. ‘Everyone knew him. But I’m frightened. Claudia, what happened last night?’

‘You know what happened, Narcissus: the villa was attacked. The beacon lights? You were the one who saw them, weren’t you?’ She noticed how flushed he’d become. ‘The wanderer in the woods, do you think he was murdered?’ She grabbed his wrist and dug her nails in. ‘Don’t lie, Narcissus. You examined his corpse, as you examine all the bodies taken into the House of Mourning. Some of those you don’t dare to touch, but as for others, don’t you practise your embalming skills on them?’

Narcissus refused to reply.

‘Do you know something?’ Claudia continued blithely. ‘I think you’ve been telling me lies about a lot of things.’

‘I . . .’

‘Oh, don’t start acting. You’re an embalmer from Syria who became involved in a revolt and were sold into slavery. Yes?’

Narcissus nodded.

‘You were dispatched to Italy and . . .’

‘I came here.’

Claudia slapped his face. ‘I’ll slap you again if you lie. I liked you, Narcissus, but I don’t really know who you are. You’ve been at this villa some time, haven’t you? You know people like Timothaeus. You also know me, and you owe me a great deal, so let’s have the truth.’

‘I arrived in Italy,’ Narcissus began slowly. ‘I was put up for sale in Tarentum.’

‘Capua,’ Claudia interrupted. ‘Don’t forget Capua, Narcissus.’

‘Well, yes,’ he continued hastily. ‘I was sold to a farmer who regarded me as next to useless, so I ended up on the slave block, where I was bought by a Christian family.’

‘Ah,’ Claudia smiled, ‘and you’re a Christian, aren’t you, Narcissus? I’m sure you are a convert.’ She patted his arm. ‘You made a mistake. You actually wondered if there was a different funeral rite for the Arians as opposed to the orthodox. Strange, I thought, how come a pagan slave, a man immersed in the burial rites of Egypt, is so knowledgeable about orthodox Christians and Arians? Who knows,’ she peered at him round-eyed, ‘you may have made other slips.’ Claudia was pleased; she wasn’t ready to confront Narcissus on everything, but her remark had truly frightened him. ‘You were saying?’ she urged.

‘My new master was a funeral manager. He was kindly, with a large family, boys and girls. They lived in a villa on the edge of the town, a lovely place, mistress, gardens and orchards, olive groves and a vineyard. He made his own wine; it tasted very good. I was so happy. What my master wanted, I wanted. I accepted the White Christ. I would believe anything my master did. I was often used by him as a messenger, as a trusted confidant. He admired my embalming skills. He used to laugh, slap me on the shoulder and claim I made the most grotesque corpse kissable. On the Sabbath day, just before the evening meal, his villa became the meeting place for Christians. Their priests, who received what they call the laying on of hands, would come to celebrate the Agape, the Eucharist, what they term the love feast: the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine. They believe it’s the Body and Blood of Christ.

‘Now, my master was very wealthy. He was patron of the oratory school in the town; he liked nothing better than to invite speakers to his villa for the Agape. After the ceremony was over we would have supper out under the stars, the night air sweet with the perfume of hyacinth. The speakers would entertain us debating some topic or other. On other occasions my master would take his entire household down to the school to watch the orators declaim.’ Narcissus put his face in his hands. ‘An idyllic time! Virgil would have sung about it in his poetry.’

‘And?’ Claudia asked.

‘Oh, I met everyone there. The school of oratory at Capua was famous; even Chrysis came, to improve his speaking and public presentation. He considered himself a new Cicero. He loved to quote the
Pro Milone
or the
Contra Catilinam
and other speeches of the great orator. I’m not too sure,’ Narcissus screwed his eyes up, ‘I think Chrysis had to leave, some scandal about paying fees, or in his case, not paying them.’

‘And Gaius Tullius?’

Narcissus shook his head. ‘I’ve talked to him. He spent most of his time in Gaul or Britain. He is a pagan through and through and can’t see what all the fuss is about. I never met him until I came here.’

‘And the steward Timothaeus?’

‘He never came, but I understand he had a brother there.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He disappeared during the persecution. Timothaeus doesn’t know whether he fled, was arrested or killed.’ Narcissus shrugged. ‘No one knows! The rest of the speakers were there, Athanasius, Dionysius and the rest. They were young then, learning the art of public speaking, being trained to deliver a speech with a pebble in their mouth or recite without notes. Looking back, they were all puffed up as barnyard cocks. Justin regarded himself as the new Demosthenes.’

‘You’re an educated man, Narcissus, you know all the names.’

‘My master was a great scholar. He educated me, he let me read his library.’

‘Then it all ended?’

‘Yes, it all ended,’ Narcissus declared wearily. ‘I loved that family, mistress. My master promised me my freedom, planned to have me as a business partner. We could have cornered the trade in that town. You should have seen his warehouses. He had the best funeral paraphernalia: masks, fans, caskets, even his own group of musicians. Diocletian ended all that. He issued his edict, Christianity was once again proscribed, its scriptures and symbols banned.’ Narcissus began to cry, sobbing quietly. Claudia noticed his fists clenched in balls, the veins in his arms standing out like tight cords. This man, she reflected, could kill. And what about Timothaeus? He had had a brother in Capua who apparently disappeared. Chrysis? He was a different matter. He was always known for his sticky fingers, reluctant to pay his debts.

As Narcissus sobbed, he reminded Claudia of a child, his tears being those of anger rather than sorrow.

‘My master’s family,’ he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, ‘were denounced. The soldiers came in the dead of night, they found a copy of the Christian scriptures, the
Chi
and
Rho
and the icthus sign, the fish, the letters of which, as you know, stand for “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour of the World”. I was there shivering in the dark when the soldiers pushed this symbol into my master’s face asking him to renounce it. He refused, as did his family. They were all taken up, bound and tied, pushed out of the door and into a cart. I was ignored; you see, I was a slave, I didn’t exist. I was left like a ghost in that empty house. I stayed there for about four days. People came asking what had happened. I couldn’t believe it! I saw it in their eyes: I was the traitor, I had betrayed my master. So I fled, and hid out in the countryside.’

‘How did you survive?’

‘I knew about the Christian community, names and places. Once I was in hiding, fleeing for my life, I was accepted as one of them, but I faced many dangers. I could be branded as a traitor by the Christians or a runaway slave by the authorities. If I was captured I could expect the cross or end up facing some great bear in the arena. One of the farmers I sheltered with told me how the authorities had now made a tally of my master’s possessions. I was on it but missing. They wanted me.’ Narcissus held his hands up. ‘Mistress, I swear I never betrayed them, but I knew if I was captured I would be tortured. I lurked out in the countryside,’ he blew his cheeks out, ‘oh, two or three years, then I was passed north and given shelter in the catacombs. I looked after the graves of the dead. The years passed quickly. I came to the attention of the presbyter Sylvester and confessed my whole story to him.’

‘I’m sure you did.’ Claudia smiled thinly. ‘And Sylvester arranged for you to come here?’

‘Yes, mistress, because of Constantine’s Edict of Toleration. Our new Emperor made it very clear: runaway slaves had to recognise their status and surrender to the authorities. Sylvester explained he could do nothing for me but soften the blow. He would arrange a good post; sure enough, I was presented to Chrysis and dispatched here.’

‘So you haven’t been here five years?’ Claudia smiled.

‘Of course not.’

Claudia studied him closely. She believed Narcissus was telling the truth, or at least part of it. She could also understand the Augusta’s generosity towards this Syrian embalmer. Helena knew everything and would have learned all about Narcissus’s previous life.

‘You’re a spy, aren’t you?’ Claudia asked. ‘Sylvester made that one of his conditions. Anything you learn you pass on to Timothaeus or someone like me; that’s why you approached me in the garden in the first place. Sylvester does nothing without setting a price, which is always the same: the advancement of the Christian community. It’s good to have a spy at the Villa Pulchra.’

‘Just information,’ Narcissus protested. ‘I know what I saw that night, I mean the beacon fires. I swore an oath of loyalty to Sylvester and I kept it. At that time, sitting out under the stars, I didn’t realise that what I had seen was so important.’

‘Who did betray your master?’

Claudia had deliberately changed the questioning, and for a moment she caught the shift in Narcissus’s eyes, a hard, calculating look. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you must have made enquiries. People talk. Names,’ she snapped, ‘you must have overheard names?’