'I have enough to read by,' she said. 'Is it possible for me to see the General's memoirs?'

The librarian brought them across as if they were sacred objects from a temple. He laid the collection of scrolls, each carefully numbered, on the table.

'The General wrote them clearly in his own hand,' he explained, 'to be copied out later by me.'

Uninvited, he sat down on a stool at the side of the table and watched curiously as Claudia untied the scrolls. She'd seen the like before. General Aurclian was no different from any veteran officer describing his campaigns in Britain and elsewhere: his opinions about fortifications, troop movements, the defences of the Empire. Claudia moved to the last scroll, undid it and went through it carefully. The General had a neat, precise hand, marking each turn of events with a new paragraph and writing in the margin what each section was about. Again, he was full of all the woes of empire: the weakness caused by civil war, the need to strengthen the army, rebuild the navy, protect the Corn Fleet from Egypt, items that were discussed daily in the forum and elsewhere. There were sections about his family, notably Alexander; another about Christianity, which Aurelian tolerated with good-natured humour. Claudia could find nothing remarkable or significant. She rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the librarian.

'What were you looking for?' the man asked.

'Nothing,' Claudia replied absent-mindedly, 'nothing at all really.'

The librarian moved away. Claudia sat, elbows on the table, staring down the library. She wondered when Burrus would return. She was about to leave when the door at the far end opened and a figure entered. She narrowed her eyes as she recognised the careful walk of Presbyter Sylvester.

'Ah, Claudia,' he called out, 'I've been looking for you. Come, I've something to show you.'

He led her out of the library, down a gallery and into a small garden, where he took her over to a flower-ringed arbour and made himself comfortable beside her.

'You are well, Claudia?'

'You know what's happening,' she replied. 'The Empress is angry. I've made no progress.'

'But I have.' Sylvester picked up the leather satchel he'd been carrying, opened it and took out a dog-eared, yellowing manuscript which he placed in her lap. 'You may keep that.' He smiled, it's rather battered old copy of Celsus' De Medicina. Now,' Sylvester crossed his arms and continued conversationally, 'Celsus wasn't a physician but a keen observer of human beings. He was a contemporary of Plutarch; he lived about two hundred years ago. He has a marvellous appendix in his work about the death of Alexander the Great in Babylon. He quotes all the sources, Diodorus Siculus, Justin, Arrian and the rest…'

'Presbyter Sylvester, what has this got to do-' 'Listen,' he replied, 'Alexander died at the height of summer in Babylon. Immediately fighting broke out amongst his leading commanders about who would succeed him. A real crisis developed. Alexander's corpse was left unattended for at least a week. When the Babylonian and Egyptian embalmers finally managed to reach it, they found it marvellously preserved.'

Claudia felt a chill. This was not about the hideous crimes committed in this villa, but Uncle Polybius' Great Miracle.

'Now the same sources,' Presbyter Sylvester continued, 'emphasise Alexander's deity by pointing to the fact that, despite the intense heat, corruption hadn't begun. The same authors also provide a detailed summary of Alexander's death at a private banquet some nine or ten days before. They list the symptoms: nausea, violent pain, stomach cramps and high fever. Celsus believes Alexander was poisoned. The great commander had just returned from fighting on the borders of India, where there is a potion, arsenic, which in small doses can also be used to treat stomach pains and even serve as an aphrodisiac. This intrigued me, Claudia, so I read Celsus, Plutarch and other commentators avidly. Arsenic is also a powerful poison, which comes in many forms and colours. Its effect is deadly, but it also slows down, and even stops, the process of decomposition and corruption. Certain symptoms become apparent. If the corpse isn't burned on a pyre, a yellowing of the skin ensues which could appear slightly golden; the corpse also exudes a powder, a thin coating of dust. So, Claudia,' he paused, 'the blessed Fulgentia, I believe, has a great deal in common with Alexander the Great. The Empress and her son have most generously bestowed certain buildings to serve as our churches in Rome. I was,' Sylvester smiled, 'or rather I am, preparing a sarcophagus for the Blessed Fulgentia. Helena regards her as a holy virgin martyr.'

'But she isn't,' Claudia broke in, 'she is not a saint. It's trickery, isn't it?'

'Yes, I am afraid it is. I've had that corpse stripped and washed. I removed the thin wax-like coating from her skin and-'

'Apuleius,' Claudia muttered.

'And,' Sylvester continued, 'as soon as I did, I began to detect a reddish powder between the fingers and toes and in the small of her back. In my view, Claudia, the Blessed Fulgentia is really a murder victim, poisoned by arsenic and buried in your uncle's garden.'

'That doesn't mean Polybius is guilty.'

'The Empress,' Sylvester whispered, 'will not care, and, in a strange way, neither will I.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' Sylvester got to his feet, 'it doesn't really matter, Claudia. Sanctity is a matter best left to the good Lord. I don't really care, nor do I want you to think I am threatening you. I am not. Have no worries, your uncle will not be troubled. I will personally see to the burial of the Blessed Fulgentia.' He leaned down, his face close to hers. 'I have assured the Augusta that all is well. The snooper Ophelion? He has been reined in and given a fresh task to do.' Sylvester straightened up. 'There'll be no more awkward questions. What I want you to do, Claudia, is bring this business to a swift end. The Empress calls you her "little mouse". Some mouse,' he added wistfully, 'sharp-eyed and sharpteethed! Go scurrying about, Claudia. Helena wants to know who is responsible for these abductions and publicly punish them, to bolster the confidence of the senators and merchants, the powerful ones of Rome. She also wants the murder of those veterans resolved. Once all this is finished, she will return to more pressing matters.' He pointed at the manuscript. 'Read it.'

Chapter 9

Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus.

The one and only true nobility is virtue.

Juvenal, Satires

Claudia watched the Presbyter walk across the grass and glanced down at the manuscript. She trusted Sylvester. All he wanted was the Empress' attention. If she brought this bloody mayhem to an end, discovered the abductors, the murderers, and handed them over to imperial justice, Helena would be more susceptible to Sylvester's diplomacy. Meanwhile, Claudia chewed her lip, once she returned to the She Asses Uncle Polybius would have a great deal to explain! Claudia leaned back in the flower arbour and thumbed through the manuscript. At first she attempted to read it quickly with a swift study of the appendix, but Celsus fascinated her with his clever, shrewd observations about medicine and potions, the different effects of certain powders. She returned to the beginning, read the prologue and carefully studied everything Celsus had written. The more she read, the more certain she became that Sylvester was correct. The Blessed Fulgentia had been murdered by a powerful poison called arsenic, but how, why, and to what extent her uncle and Apuleius were involved were matters she still had to resolve. Sylvester would protect her. She also thought about Theodore. Something pricked her memory, something she'd remembered.