Conspiracies of Rome (28 page)

    The main building was a series of filled-in brick arches, supporting a number of brick domes, most of them still sheathed in lead. It had survived the troubles of the previous seventy years in pretty good shape.

    Close by was the shrine of Saint Tribonian. This looked for all the world like a ruined privy. Perhaps it was. I believe Bishop Arius, who caused so much trouble with his heresy, died in a privy in Constantinople. His stomach exploded. It was a miracle, Maximin had explained in Canterbury. A Frankish monk who was inclined to Arianism had later whispered to me it was poison. Of course, that privy was soon demolished and the whole area redeveloped to pre-empt any claims of further miracles. Saint Tribonian, doubtless, had been an orthodox martyr.

    Martin knocked on the door. It opened, and an old man – the one from the other night? – bowed and motioned us to enter. He took our weapons and placed them beside his small office. He led us down the carriageway straight into a large courtyard garden. This was neatly maintained, and planted, so far as I could tell, with various medicinal herbs. On the other side, we entered into a hallway, from which doors and passages led off to the interior rooms.

    This hall had once been richly decorated with mosaics. These were now crudely painted over with a whitewash that still showed the occasional street scene in its thinner places. The marbles were cracked and broken. It was as if efforts had been made to remove all traces of former wealth from the room.

    The rooms through which we passed were empty, but showed signs of recent use. I saw balls of thread and stitching frames in one room; in another a freshly broken loaf of dark bread. From far away inside came a collective whisper of prayers. The ladies of the house did not receive male visitors, and evidently preferred not to be seen by any who did come.

    These rooms had also been made plain. In a few cases, a larger room had been divided up using wooden screens that reached to the whitewashed ceiling. A couple of rooms had even been partitioned with rough, unplastered brickwork.

    The abbess sat alone on a chair placed in the middle of a library room. Around her I could see shelves of books and racks of papyrus rolls. Her face set sternly, she was dressed from head to toe in black. It was impossible from her face alone to tell what age she was. Early middle age was the best guess I could make.

    She motioned to the old slave. He brought another two chairs so that Lucius and I could be seated. Martin stood back against the wall. We’d agreed to make a record of the conversation afterwards from our joint memories.

    ‘You are the men who disturbed our peace two nights ago,’ the abbess began in a stiff, clear voice. It was less a question than a statement of fact. I nodded.

    ‘I deeply apologise for any alarm I may have caused in this house,’ I began. ‘But, Reverend Mother, I was looking for my friend. He said before setting out from his lodgings he was coming here. Before he reached you, however, he was brutally murdered in the street.’

    ‘This world,’ she replied, ‘is a place of many dangers. I have heard the reports of that murder, and you have my sympathies. My own brother was murdered not long since.’

    She sighed and let a fold of her black robe fall down from her body. She wore black underneath. ‘They are both now in a finer place. But our nature is to miss those who are parted from us. You have my sympathies.’

    ‘Father Maximin was my friend,’ I continued. ‘I believe he had no kin, and I was all he had at the end. I disturbed you the other night because it was my duty to find him. I am now here in discharge of my duty to find his killers and bring them to justice.

    ‘I do not think Father Maximin was able to visit you on the night of his death. But are you able to give me the purpose of his visit?’

    ‘Young man, I am not able,’ she said. ‘You were our only visitor on that night. I was given no notice of any other visit.’

    I hadn’t expected this emphatic denial of contact. I showed her the parchment. ‘This letter was received by Maximin shortly before he went out,’ I explained. ‘He said as he left that he would be calling at this house.’

    She looked at the sheet. ‘No such letter could have issued from this house,’ she said flatly. ‘Parchment is a sinful indulgence for the writing of letters. It is to be used only for copying the Holy Gospels or for recording the lives of the saints. For correspondence, it is our custom to reuse the papyrus from the more profane books in this library.’

    She raised her arm and waved it at the surroundings. I looked closely for the first time. There were still many books in place. But I could see a pile of wooden spindles and empty cases over in a corner. Like mice, these women were eating their way through one of the few ancient libraries left in Rome. They were ripping precious manuscripts apart and reusing the sheets for occasional notes.

    I was there on other business. But that wasted library was a sight that brought added pain to me. For how much longer would there be any books in Rome worth saving?

    She watched me looking at the surrounding waste. ‘This house came to me from my grandfather. He was a senator in the old days, and less than attentive to his spiritual duties. I have given the house over to the service of God, so that we poor sisters may offer prayers for the rescue of his soul and the salvation of our own.

    ‘We are not accustomed to receive male visitors. We are not accustomed to receive visitors. The world outside these high walls is a place of sin and sudden death. Within, we have attempted to create a refuge of safety and peaceful contemplation. We maintain that peace by limiting communication to the absolutely necessary.

    ‘Again, I am sorry that your friend is dead. Your own earnestness in seeking justice for him surely testifies to his many good qualities. But your informant is mistaken in saying that he was to visit this house on the night of his death. There was neither visit nor summons to this house. I am sorry that I am not able to help you further.’ She spoke with great sadness and equal finality.

    And that was all. Back in the street outside, I sent Martin off to the Lateran. Someone had to supervise the work of copying that had continued regardless of all else since I’d set it in motion. With Lucius I retired to a wine shop that he said was above the common run.

28

‘Have another cup,’ said Lucius, raising the jug. We’d been sitting inside the wine shop much of the afternoon. Around us, various merchants and professional men did business or whiled away the hot afternoon hours. I’d made my record of our conversation with the abbess. We’d then gone over the written notes of the past few days, reviewing the case.

    Lucius had been right in his theory of knowledge. By investigating for ourselves and asking questions, we had gathered much in the past day. We knew how and where Maximin had been killed. We knew a small amount about who had killed him – at least, we knew how big their feet were and perhaps how heavy they were.

    ‘I think,’ said Lucius, shuffling his notes, ‘we are now in a position to jump from facts known to facts reasonably open to guess.

    ‘Maximin was called by the dispensator to hand over those letters. Someone knew he had been called in for this purpose – or thought this was the purpose. He was then told by the next visitor – the pseudo-monk, this was – to wait in the house for further instructions. Finally, he was given a note that told him to take the letters to a certain place. He went out, and was attacked. Your One-Eye was one of the killers, though the pattern of prints indicates he may not have struck the killing blow. That old woman didn’t see the murder. But I fail to see why else he could have been there.

    ‘Will you agree this is a reasonable construction of events?’

    ‘Yes,’ I said. The whole investigation was becoming an odd source of comfort. In proceeding from the known to the unknown, it wasn’t so different from trying to get the meaning of a corrupt text in one of those monastic libraries in France.

    I continued: ‘We still haven’t explained the first visitor. And the further question arises of how the killers knew enough about Maximin’s planned movements to stand him down from going to the Lateran. This we haven’t answered. Nor do we know why he said he was going to that convent, when he never got there. Nor do we know what Ambrose meant about the Column of Phocas.’

    ‘These are questions that will be answered in due course.’

    I took another sip. ‘What could Brother Ambrose have meant by his dying words?’ I asked again. ‘What is this Column of Phocas we must destroy?’

    ‘You’ve seen the dreadful thing in the Forum. I can’t say I know of any other.’

    ‘Yes,’ I continued, ‘but this is plainly a matter of significance. Ambrose couldn’t have known Maximin would be found dumped by the column. Yet he still mentioned it. And dying words are important things.’

    Lucius shrugged. ‘
If
they really were his dying words. We have only the word of a drunken slave. If that is what he said, we still haven’t enough information to make even a guess.’ He paused. ‘I think we should give more thought to the content and whereabouts of those letters.’

    I insisted again they had been taken from Maximin. That was now plain. He’d been called out with them.

    Lucius rolled his eyes and set his cup heavily on the table. ‘Listen to me, my dear boy – if we are to get anywhere with this investigation, we must proceed on the basis of evidence. Just because you cannot find those letters, that is no reason by itself to suppose they were taken. Perhaps they were taken. Perhaps Maximin destroyed them. Perhaps he left them somewhere after he’d read them.

    ‘I’ll accept, for the moment, they aren’t with the Sisters of the Blessed Theodora – though we do need to explain why Maximin said he was going there. But we need to think where else they might be. Do bear in mind that, if we can recover those letters, we shall almost certainly know why your friend was murdered. We may even know by whom he was murdered. Perhaps they will lead us to One-Eye. Find him, after all, and the matter is probably solved.’

    I remained unconvinced. Maximin’s papers had been searched. I didn’t think the dispensator’s men had found anything there. Earlier, with Lucius, I’d searched the stables and other places in Marcella’s house where the letters might have been hidden. They couldn’t be at the convent – even were the abbess lying, I didn’t see how Maximin could have had the time to go there.

    I asked about the abbess. Was she yet another of his relatives?

    ‘There is a relationship,’ Lucius said, screwing his eyes together. ‘My great-grandfather was a cousin of . . .’ He broke off. ‘I’m related to everyone, though I can’t always say exactly how. But today was our first meeting. The woman never leaves the house, so far as I can tell. If you want me to get you back in there for a longer audience, I’ll have to think hard for any common acquaintance.’

    ‘I’m not sure we’ll need that,’ I said.

    A slave came over to us. ‘My lord Basilius: as agreed, the lawyer Venalianus awaits your instructions.’

    Lucius closed his eyes, impatient at his own forgetfulness. ‘My dearest Alaric,’ he said wearily, ‘I have some business at home that went clean out of my head. One of my tenants is making a fuss about a charge for repairs to the common parts. It looks as if the whole thing will end before the prefect unless we can reach a settlement. I hardly need explain that I can’t have that! Could you possibly excuse me for this evening? I have no idea how long I’ll be with the wretched lawyers. We have tenancy agreements and a trust going back to before I was born. Some of the relevant documentation went in a fire.

    ‘It isn’t yet dark. You can get back alone. But I’ll send some slaves back here if you feel the need of an escort.’

    So long as I had my sword with me, I needed no escort – certainly not in daylight. I agreed to call on Lucius the following day. We’d fix the time by prior message.

    ‘I was hoping that we could dine again,’ he said. ‘There are so many things to discuss – and not only about this deeply sad matter that has brought us so very close together. Tomorrow, you shall be my guest again. We shall dine in greater style – and for longer. That much I do promise.’

    With that, he was off.

    I sat a while longer in the wine shop. It was nice to sit there, unregarded, taking in the busy atmosphere. And the wine was rather good. I sat longer there than I’d intended.

    I left just as the moon was coming up in the cloudless sky. The streets were silent and empty, except for the usual rats. I traced my way back towards the centre of the city, though I soon realised I had taken a wrong turning – one collapsed façade looks very like another, you know. I thought to turn back and retrace my steps to the last place I definitely recognised.