Blood Games (66 page)

All this is very distressing to learn, and this Monostades has begged me to write down what he scribbles in the earth and see if there is a way for the information to reach the authorities.

I realize that we have had little contact, but surely our love of the Lord is such that our interests must march together in this matter. I have copied out all he has said on the back of the teachings of our faith. You, being a clerk, have access to the Senate. It would be possible for you to lay this letter and the transcription before someone in power, would it not? Please, in the name of the Mercy of Christ, do this thing, for the peace of this man Monostades’ soul. He is ill now, and may soon die. Before he leaves this dreadful world, he desires above all things to show how his master used his wife. He has said also, in moments of despair, that he wants to bring his master down to lower than he has been brought, but this is the petulance of an instant, and he has begun to listen to what I tell him. He is pleased to know that at Judgment Day we will all stand equal in the Sight of God and all that we have done and all that we have not done will be revealed and each of us will stand answerable for our lives.

Monostades has sworn by the Living God and the gods of Rome that what he has said is true and accurate, that at no time has he said one thing which is exaggerated or untrue. He further says he will declare the same truth in any place required.

Do reflect on the plight of this unfortunate man, Lysander, and help him to make restitution for the great wrong he has done this blameless lady, and aid him in his attempt to reveal to the world the great evil her husband has inflicted on her and other helpless souls. For as long as men like this woman's husband have power and honor on the earth, the Kingdom of Christ is far off for all of us. This is surely the work that Our Lord bade us do, or nothing is.

Labor goes on here, as anyone can see if they choose to look, but in spite of the rumors that are circulating in Rome, I tell you the Flavian Circus will not be ready this year, or the next, or the year after that. The structure is enormous now, and will be much larger before it is done. The building of it would wear out all beasts of burden but man in the course of a summer.

We must pray for the Christian who followed the misled teachings of Paul, for he has gone from the earth. A pillar of marble was upset and it fell on him. He suffered greatly, but with fortitude. I knelt and prayed with him, keeping with him until his soul returned to God and Christ. His austerity was sad to behold, but he was strong in his faith and never wavered. He worshiped with the brotherhood that meets at the Fisherman's Cove Inn on the north side of the city. It would be charitable to let them know of the man's death so that they can pray for the joy of his soul.

I rely on you to put the enclosed testimony before the Senate, and I thank you and Christ that it was given to me to help bring a terrible wrong to an end. I pray for you all, and long for the day that Christ calls me, and my earthly travail will end. There is no sweeter promise than that of resurrection and eternal life. Think of the love that Christ had, that bestows everlasting life on those who accept Him, think of His Holy Blood that saves us, think how he bade us love one another as He loves us.

In the Name of the Risen Christ, my blessing for all that you will do for Monostades, who will praise you on that Day which will come upon us before any of us are aware of it.

By the Fish, the Cross and the Dove,?

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BETWEEN THE Tiber and the Via Appia was a long row of tombs, stretching from the city walls to a wide bend in the river, some two thousand paces farther south. There were large mausoleums looking like small temples; there were low tombs like stone cushions; there were tombs with crenellated towers and battlements as if the dead expected to have to defend themselves against the living; there were tombs in the shape of pyramids, and boxes, and beehives, and cylinders.

The moon was bright, four days short of full, and it lit the high curdled clouds with a soft light that made them glow. It was a beautiful and silent night, as no Roman liked to be among the tombs after sunset, for fear of the ghosts that lingered around their earthly remains.

Mounted on his blue roan, Saint-Germain came along the Via Appia, his dark eyes piercing the night with intensity. Among these thousands of tombs, there was one he sought, the one where Olivia waited for him.

Three days before, on orders of the Senate, she had been entombed alive, and a guard of two soldiers set to watch her. At sunset the guards had at last been dismissed from their duty. Now there was no one to hamper Saint-Germain's work, and he felt profoundly relieved, for after three days Olivia would be very frightened, for three days walled into a tomb, as he had learned, was a prolonged and unique torture.

There were three tombs for the Silius family, two of which were large and handsome, containing urns of the most distinguished ashes of their family. Eighteen generations were represented on the plaques and inscriptions, from a minor tribune in the Republic to the high-ranking members of the staff of Divus Julius, to the Gaius Silius who had been foolish enough to love Claudius’ wife, Messalina.

Somewhat behind the first two was a third mausoleum, this one little more than a large stone box, with the name of Silius appearing over the entrance, an entrance that was now bricked up. This was where the disgraced Silii were sent to lie after death, where they could be forgotten by the more illustrious members of the family. Four days ago there had been an iron door to the tomb. The closely laid bricks were new. No laudatory verses were pasted to the wall of the tomb, no flowers or fruit lay on the threshold of the bricked-up door.

Saint-Germain dismounted and led his blue roan behind the elaborate tomb of the Marco family, tethering the horse and taking a long iron pry-bar from the lashings that held it to the saddle before pulling the saddle off the roan and concealing it. He had wanted to bring an iron mallet, also, but he had not wanted to carry too many articles with him that might arouse suspicion in an officer of the Watch. With a pry-bar he could claim he was going to lever a chariot out of a ditch, but with a mallet as well, other possibilities arose.

The grass was high around the tomb except where the guards had trampled it. There was a cold, neglected air about it, and the little stone building seemed aware of this disapprobation, for it kept to the shadows behind the grander, more acceptable tombs. Saint-Germain approached it, touching the bricks with his outstretched hand, fingering the mortar in the hope it might be damp enough to make his job easier. Roman workmen mixed their mortar with whole crushed eggs and the stuff that resulted was the most tenacious mortar Saint-Germain had ever encountered. He wanted to call out to Olivia, but knew that she could not hear him, and that his voice might bring soldiers to investigate. Not far from him, the bulk of the slaves’ prison rose up, and Saint-Germain could see the occasional smudges of brightness that revealed that the guards there were still awake.

He reached under his woolen dalmatica and found the bandages around his side. He untied and unwound these, fingering the deep grooves that remained along his ribs. The grooves would be there forever, he knew. There would be grooves, but no scar.

The bandage was made of close-woven linen, a strong, rather thick cloth that could take rough treatment. Saint-Germain bent down to grab handfuls of dry grass, which he tied to the end of his pry-bar with the linen. This would muffle the sound of his work. He tapped the bricks with the bound end of the bar and was rewarded with a sound less noisy than horses’ hooves on sand. Somewhat reassured, he began to test the bricks, going systematically from the top of the doorway to the bottom, pressing each one to see if it was loose. None of them were. The tomb was sealed tight. Though Saint-Germain was not surprised, he had been hoping that he might find such a brick, so that his task would be quicker and easier.

Rogerian was waiting even now at an inn seven thousand paces to the south. A traveling chariot was waiting, four strong matched horses to pull it, their route set from Rome to Terracina, where one of Saint-Germain's merchant ships, the
Capricorn
, was waiting, bound for Crete, Ephesus and Byzantium.

He chose one of the bricks and began to work on it, tapping and scraping with the unmuffled end of the pry-bar, tapping and scraping, working patiently and persistently, resolutely determined not to notice the too-rapid passage of the moon through the night sky.

The clouds were growing denser, blotting out the moonlight. It was early for rain, but perhaps, thought Saint-Germain as he paused in his work, the autumn would come early to Rome this year. He leaned on the pry-bar, inspecting the linen and straw to be sure the metal had not yet poked through.

A little while later, Saint-Germain heard the sound of approaching horses, and he dropped back into the shadows by the tomb, keeping very still, his eyes alert in the darkness.

The hoofbeats drew nearer, and then three riders swung into view, one of them carrying a lantern that caught the molten colors of the capes and loricae worn by the soldiers. One of them carried a short brass baton with a Roman eagle mounted on it, a sign that designated them imperial messengers.

They had almost gone past the Silius tombs when Saint-Germain's blue roan whinnied.

The soldiers faltered, one of them drawing up sharply.

"Don't bother about that. It's probably lovers. They like their privacy,” called the one with the lantern.

"It might be someone wishing to intercept this message. Those are the Silii tombs there,” the one who had reined in objected.

"You don't think that any man would wait near his wife's tomb at night, do you?” scoffed the third. “If he was going to stop us, he wouldn't let his horse give us warning."

The first officer had ridden his mount closer to where Saint-Germain was hidden in the shadows. “If you're going to attack us,” he called out, “do it now!"

Saint-Germain was still.

"Brutus, I've been in the saddle for most of today. I'm tired, I'm sore and I haven't had a decent meal since sunup. Come on,” protested the one with the lantern.

Brutus rode between the two big tombs and squinted at the third one. “Looks all right,” he said suspiciously.

"When we get back to the barracks, you can tell the tribune to send troops out to check it, if you think there's any real danger that someone might be desecrating the place,” the third said, and yawned. “By Venus’ tits, I'm tired."

"You don't suppose,” said the one with the lantern, “that she's still alive, do you?"

"After three days? No food, no water, no air?” the other mocked. “She's dead; no doubt of it."

Brutus pulled his horse back. “Let's go on. But someone should come back and have a look at this. Silius could be attempting to deceive us again...."

"Brutus,” complained the one with the lantern. “Tell the tribune. Come on."

"All right.” He wheeled his horse about and rejoined the messengers on the road. “The tribune better get men back here before dawn, or whatever is going on will be over.” He kicked his horse into a run, and the three were soon gone into the night toward the walls of Rome.

Saint-Germain leaned against the wall of the tomb, his arms quite suddenly tired. He had thought there would be more time, but he was very much afraid that Brutus’ report would bring soldiers to the tomb before first light. Grimly he picked up the pry-bar and set to work on the brick again.

It was more than an hour later that he was able to knock the brick through the wall into the tomb. It made an eerie, drumlike echo as it fell. Immediately Saint-Germain spoke into the small opening. “Olivia!"

There was a sound, soft and scraping, and Saint-Germain feared that perhaps she had been chained within the tomb, or mutilated in some way, so that she could not come to the hole. He raised his voice a little. “Olivia!"

This was met with strange silence, and then he heard a few faltering steps. “Saint-Germain?” Olivia said, as if afraid of the answer.

"Yes. Are you all right?” It was a foolish question, he knew. She had been entombed three days.

"I think so. Yesterday...was it yesterday? I felt very faint, and I think I must have been delirious, or unconscious, or sick, but I'm all right now.” Her voice grew stronger. “I am all right, Saint-Germain."

"Good.” There was just room enough for him to stretch his hand through, and he felt her fingers close on his own. They were strong and vital. “Listen to me, Olivia,” he said when he had withdrawn his hand again. “It's very late, and there are some soldiers coming here at first light. We will have to work very quickly, or we will be discovered. Neither Justus nor Vespasianus would be pleased to find us here.” Something one of the soldiers had said claimed his attention then. Something about Silius deceiving them. For a moment he wondered what the messengers had meant by that, but then the more urgent matter was on his mind. “We can't make too much noise, but we've got to be quick. As soon as we have a big enough hole for you to climb through, we'll be fine. I'm going to put the end of the pry-bar in this hole, and I want you to push it against the bricks from your side while I do the same on mine. When I tell you, push.” As he spoke, he carefully put the end of the pry-bar through the hole. “Can you see that?"

There was a tug on the end of the pry-bar. “Yes,” she said, sounding quite confident.

"We've got to be as quiet as possible,” he reminded her, working with his end of the pry-bar to get it into position.

"I'll remember,” she whispered through the hole left by the missing brick.

The first time he lined the tool up and gave his command to press on it, nothing happened. The metal thrummed against the brick, there was a steady grating noise as the pry-bar scraped on the bricks, but nothing else occurred.

"What now?” Olivia asked, not letting her disappointment be heard in her voice.