‘Poor man,’ Helena declared. ‘He has drunk too much wine, followed by a long hot walk in the sun, and now his life has just been changed. He’ll sleep for a while, you look after him. I’ll give you some money for him, but that’ll have to wait. Come over here.’
Helena led her across to a table covered in scrolls. She searched amongst these and brought out a map of the Middle Sea depicting the main ports of Italy, Asia Minor and Greece.
‘During the recent games,’ the Empress explained, ‘I received reports from a spy that Licinius, Emperor of the Eastern Empire, had sent a battle group of warships, triremes and support vessels into the Bay of Corinth. He is also strengthening the garrisons of Greece. Now, of course, according to the protocol signed between us, Licinius has to inform us of such manoeuvres. He claims to be mustering his forces against a powerful pirate fleet which attacked some merchantmen.’
‘Are you fearing an invasion?’ Claudia asked.
‘No.’ Helena shook her head. ‘Licinius isn’t capable of that, though he’s steeped in treachery. I suspect he’s planning a surprise.’ She took out a local map, tracing the short distance between the Villa Pulchra and the Italian coast. ‘If you are correct, Claudia, and I think you are, a whole series of fires were lit in a direct line starting at the Villa Pulchra and ending just above the cliffs on the seashore. I know what you are going to say, little one: we should alert the Emperor, have troops moved into the area. But what’s wrong with that?’
‘We don’t know who the traitor is and we’ll only alarm him — or her.’
‘Precisely.’ Helena smiled. ‘I think it’s best if you leave that to me and my noble contingent of German heroes. Now, let’s get Narcissus removed.’
Helena summoned servants, who brought a stretcher. Claudia had the still prostrate corpse-embalmer taken back to her own chamber and placed on the bed. The chamberlain who escorted them there tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Leave him for a while,’ he whispered. ‘I shall sit with him. The Augusta wants words with you.’
By the time Claudia had returned to Helena’s bedchamber, the Empress had changed and was wrapping a purple shawl around her shoulders. Servants in the adjoining chamber were laying out robes, mirrors, combs and pots of perfume. Constantine had decreed that there would be another imperial banquet that night. Helena kicked the door closed with one sandalled foot and beckoned Claudia to sit next to her on a stool. The Empress pushed her face only a few inches from Claudia’s, studying her carefully.
‘I can be trusted,’ Claudia whispered.
‘I know you can, mouse. What worries me is who else can I trust? We have the business of the missing sword, the death of Dionysius, the destruction of the House of Mourning; now we have a traitor in our midst and it could be anyone. Narcissus has earned his freedom. What he saw were beacon lights, and I suspect they stretch down to the coast. Somewhere to the south, hiding from our searchers and lookouts, lurks a war trireme, its sail reefed, oars down, probably supported by supply ships and flying false colours. I suspect a cohort is to be landed and this villa attacked. If I alert the harbour masters and port commanders, this warship will simply vanish. If I tell my son, he’ll go back to Rome or send out a fleet, and the traitor will simply bide his time and strike again.’
‘But you are in danger.’
‘No, no.’ Helena’s face became flushed with excitement. ‘We are playing a game, Claudia, as dangerous as any your Murranus faces in the arena. At Nicomedia in the East, Licinius, our rival, sits and plots, or should I say, lounges and plots,’ Helena added drily. ‘He’s received information that his great rival Constantine has gone to his summer residence not far from the coast, and has decided to strike. I shall frustrate that and, at the same time, show my beloved son that Licinius has to be destroyed.’
‘You want war, don’t you?’ Claudia stared at this middle-aged woman. Once again the legions would march and the world echo with the clash of empires. ‘You want war,’ she repeated.
‘No, Claudia, I want peace. I want those who write history to talk of the great Pax Augusta, a time when the world slept, when the harvest grew and was collected, when people lived in peace.’ Helena leaned a little closer in a gust of fragrant perfume and sweet wine. ‘A new Empire, Claudia, with a new line of Emperors, a new state religion which binds everyone together. We will never have that whilst Licinius and his gang strut the East and look for an opening. That’s the way of the world,’ Helena added wearily. ‘Wars don’t begin,’ she stared round, ‘in the council chambers of kings and princes, but often in boudoirs like this where a single decision is made and the die is cast. Now, little one,’ she pressed a finger against Claudia’s lips, ‘keep these sealed. Tell no one, trust me, and make sure Narcissus enjoys his freedom.’
Claudia left the Empress’s quarters and walked back to her own chamber. She stopped at a window embrasure and looked out at the flowers. Their scent was heavy, and even the bees and butterflies seemed to be overcome by such a fragrant opiate, a warm, lazy place ablaze with colour. She stared at a bust of some long-forgotten Emperor gazing sightlessly from its plinth. She walked over and read its inscription, short and terse, giving glory to the ‘Divine Hadrian’. She studied the heavily bearded and moustached face, the sharp nose, the eyes carved as if the Emperor was looking upwards, a fashion sculptors had imitated from the many carvings and paintings of Alexander the Great.
‘I wonder,’ Claudia murmured, ‘if in a hundred years someone will stare at a bust of the Augusta?’
She recalled the Empress’s impassioned speech, and for a moment she was pricked by suspicion about the Augusta’s intentions. Was Helena merely a spectator in all that was happening? Or was she, once again, controlling events? Claudia dismissed this as unworthy. She remembered Narcissus and hurried back to her own chamber. The chamberlain announced that the embalmer was still asleep, so Claudia sent for the court leech, who came shuffling along with a phial of pungent oil. He half dragged Narcissus up, pushed the oil beneath his nose and gently slapped his face. Narcissus wakened with a shake of his head, eyes fluttering. The leech examined him carefully, telling him to open his mouth, feeling the blood pulse in his neck and dragging down the folds of skin beneath his eyes, all the time keeping up a commentary to himself.
‘Shall I bring some wine?’ Claudia asked.
‘Yes, yes, that’ll be very nice,’ the leech replied. When it arrived, the fellow promptly drank it, declared the patient was in better shape than he was and left. Narcissus pulled himself up.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped, sinking back on the bed. ‘I truly don’t believe it.’
‘It’s true.’ Claudia smiled. ‘Your observations were most valuable; you are a free man, Narcissus.’
He stared at her, then burst into tears.
‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’ he wailed. ‘I cannot go back to Damascus. All my kith and kin are dead, those who survived will only think I’m a spy. I know nobody in Rome, I’ve got no money.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Claudia was about to berate him when there was a knock on the door and an official entered, one of the Emperor’s pretty boys, with black curly hair and smooth face. He was garbed in a skimpy tunic which showed his long legs off to their best effect.
‘Claudia?’ He looked her up and down, glanced at Narcissus sprawled on the bed, and sniggered behind splayed fingers, the nails of which were painted a bright scarlet. Around his wrist was fastened the leather strap displaying the seal of an official nuntius, or messenger, of the Imperial Chancery. He handed over a scroll and a small leather pouch, which clinked as it fell into Claudia’s hand. ‘I think,’ he lisped, ‘this is for your friend,’ and he flounced out.