Swords Around the Throne (40 page)

‘Fair enough,' Castus said. Now he was seated he could feel the fatigue soaking through him. His blood was still rushing with energy, and his limbs ached with it, but he had not slept since well before dawn and the day had been long and hard. He wanted to slump forward and put his head in his hands, but dared not show his weakness. The old woman, Epaphra, placed a tray of food and a cup of wine on the low table beside him.

‘Eat, drink,' she said, still smiling.

Castus looked warily at the food. He had heard that Christians refused to eat the food of normal people; was there something abnormal about their own food? Was it somehow...
funny
?

‘Don't worry,' Epaphra said, widening her eyes. ‘It's just bread and oil, cheese and olives... not polluted!'

Shrugging, still not entirely convinced, Castus sipped the wine and picked at the bread and cheese. He heard the thud of a door from deeper inside the house, and the sound of voices. Newcomers were arriving, pacing quickly into the main chamber to join the assembly in their muttered debate. At the third or fourth arrival Castus sat up sharply, reaching for his sword. The stocky well-dressed man in the doorway was the magistrate who had tried to shout down the bishop during the demonstration on the quayside. Had they been betrayed so soon?

‘Don't worry,' Epaphra said, placing a dry hand on his arm. ‘That is Brother Trigetius. He is on the city council, one of the aediles. But he is also a reader of our congregation. You can trust him.'

‘How many followers does your priest have?'

‘Oh, our congregation numbers nearly a thousand citizens and another thousand again slaves and foreigners,' the old woman said. ‘Not including catechumens.'

Two thousand? Castus felt a stir of hope in his heart. But it sounded incredible – surely one in ten of Massilia's inhabitants were not Christians? Then again, if men like Trigetius were among them, they were certainly diverse in their opinions.

‘Where's your altar?' he asked, glancing around the room. ‘Where do you... do your rituals?'

‘Oh, no!' Epaphra cried, amused. ‘This is not our
ecclesia
! Our congregation gathers in the Basilica of Saint Victor... This is the home of Antonia Sosibiana, whom you see there.' She pointed towards the plump jowly woman. ‘We meet here to receive word of our blessed Oresius,' she went on, her expression growing sad.

Castus nodded, then drank more wine. It was strong, and helped him to focus his thoughts. By the sound of it, the debate was also gathering focus now. About time, he thought. It must be approaching midnight already. Every now and again the attention of the room shifted to him; he felt the collective gaze upon him, like a heat on his face.

Then, at last, the hushed conversation died away into silence, and Castus stood up as Nazarius, the tall man they had called a deacon, approached him. His head reeled briefly from the wine.

‘It has been decided,' Nazarius said, and half turned to also address the people behind him. There are others, sympathetic to our cause although not of our faith, who may also agree to assist.'

Castus nodded. He could see several members of the assembly shaking their heads, their eyes downcast. The white-bearded Arcadius and Trigetius the magistrate were among them. Those two could be dangerous, he thought.

‘So, tell us what you propose,' Nazarius said.

‘Tomorrow night,' Castus began, squaring his shoulders and hooking his thumbs into his belt, ‘an hour before dawn, have your people assemble near the Sea Gate. There's a public portico, about a bowshot down the street...'

‘The portico of the coppersmiths,' somebody said.

‘Assemble there, and the watchers at the gate won't see you. But try to be unobtrusive.'

‘Several of our congregation have houses near there,' Nazarius said. ‘We can go to them in daylight tomorrow, and spend the night in prayer and vigil.'

‘If you want. Any that own weapons can bring them, whether they mean to use them or not. I'll meet you there, and tell you what to do.'

Nazarius swallowed visibly, nervous, and glanced back at the assembly for confirmation. There were a few nods, some mutters of agreement.

‘One more thing,' Castus broke in. ‘I need somebody – a volunteer – to go over the walls tonight and warn the emperor of our plans, so he can have a strong force waiting to enter the city when the gates are opened. I'd go myself, but whoever leaves won't be able to get back in...'

He paused, shifting his gaze from one face to the next. Nobody met his eye. Nazarius was staring at the floor, his face reddening. The white-bearded Arcadius wore a smile of quiet satisfaction.

‘I'll go,' a voice said from the back of the room.

It was a boy, Castus thought at first as the figure stood up from one of the rear couches. Then he saw that the figure was female, a girl of about fifteen, plainly dressed, with an oval face and very wide eyes. He recognised her; she had been one of the group gathered at the cell window that first evening he had seen them there.

‘Sit down, Luciana,' Arcadius said angrily. ‘This is no business for a child!'

‘No!' Nazarius cried. ‘No, the spirit has moved her... And is it not fitting that the holiest virgin among us should undertake this most dangerous of duties?'

Fantastic
, Castus thought grimly as the girl moved forward between the couches. Her face was glowing, wide open, and she appeared slightly breathless. It was a look that Castus had only seen before on the faces of men in the moments before battle.

‘This is Annia Luciana,' Nazarius told him. ‘She is a ward of the Bishop Oresius, and came to us six years ago from Carthage. Her family were destroyed in the persecution there.'

‘The beast raged most ferociously in Africa!' said Epaphra.

‘You're really ready to do this?' Castus asked her. He already knew the answer.

‘With all my heart,' the girl said, smiling widely.

* * *

Nazarius led them through to a side chamber and left them there. Castus had requested a private talk with the girl, but the lady of the house, the plump Antonia Sosibiana, insisted on being present. Stifling his annoyance – what did they think he would do? – Castus sat down on a stool facing the girl.

‘Listen,' he told her. ‘I need to give you instructions, and I need you to remember them exactly.'

Luciana nodded with a look of grave determination.

‘I'm going to take you to the wall and make sure you get across, but once you're outside you're on your own. You need to get to the emperor's encampment as fast as you can. Don't speak to anyone except a centurion or a tribune. Can you recognise them?'

‘I think so.'

‘Good. Tell them you have a message for the emperor – only for him. Don't give the message to anyone but Constantine himself or his prefect, Probinus. Understand?'

‘Yes,' the girl said. She was beginning to blush now, her eyes shining.

‘I'm going to tell you the message. If I write it down, it might fall into enemy hands...' Not that I could write it anyway, Castus thought. But then he remembered the torture chamber at Arelate: the hooks and chains, the scourging whip, the fearsome catapult. He tried not to think of this blushing girl being subjected to that.

‘The message is this: tomorrow night, an hour before dawn, I will open the Sea Gate and hold it until Constantine's men can enter the city. There must be a strong force waiting ready in concealment near the gate, ready to advance at my signal. I will fire the beacon above the gate as a sign to show that it's ours. Once inside the city there must be no sack, no looting. Got that? Repeat it.'

‘Sea Gate, an hour before dawn. Force waiting ready. You'll fire the beacon above the gate as a sign, no looting,' the girl said, and nodded.

‘Good. Another thing – we'll need a watchword and a response.' He thought for a moment. ‘Right – the watchword is
Sol Invictus
, and the response is
Lord of Daybreak
. Repeat that for me.'

The girl blinked and bit her lip. ‘I cannot,' she said.

‘What?'

‘I cannot... It's a blasphemy.'

Castus looked away, then scrubbed his fingers across his scalp. For a moment he considered inventing some lewd or obscene alternative.

‘All right... the watchword is
Constantine Augustus
, and the response is...
Ever Victorious
. Can you manage that?'

‘
Constantine Augustus...
Ever Victorious
!'

‘Good.' Castus turned to the woman, Sosibiana, who had sat through the exchange with a look of vague disapproval.

‘But wait,' the girl said, concerned. Castus looked back at her. ‘How will they know the message is genuine?' she asked. ‘Why should they believe me?'

Castus frowned heavily. He had not even considered that. Sosibiana raised an eyebrow at him.
Think...

‘Here,' he said, and reached into the pouch sewn into his broad military belt. He brought out a thin vellum scroll, crumpled and almost flattened now.

‘This is an imperial codicil,' he told the girl, ‘appointing me to the Corps of Protectores. It was given to me by the hand of the emperor himself. Show this to anyone who questions you, and they'll know you've been sent by me.'

Luciana took the codicil and held it in both hands with an expression of reverence. ‘The emperor,' she said quietly.

‘And all I need now,' Castus said, turning again to Sosibiana, ‘is a thirty-foot length of strong rope.'

The cocks were crowing in the city as they made their way through the dark streets, and by the time the first faint blush of light was in the eastern sky they were crouching together beneath a wooden lean-to, within sight of the wall.

It had not been an easy journey. Luciana had led the way, moving fast and silently through back yards and alleys, but several times they had been forced to stop and conceal themselves as patrols or gangs of drunken soldiers passed. At one point they had watched from the shadows as four legionaries kicked and beat a civilian at the door of his house, demanding to know where he had hidden his store of wine. Castus had taken a step towards them, his anger flaring, but Luciana stopped him with a hand on his arm. She was right, he knew; whatever protection he could offer would never be enough.

The Sea Gate stood at the furthest western end of the land walls, only a few hundred paces before the city fortifications angled southward to follow the shoreline. It was the smallest of the city's three gates, and the only one without a deep ditch beyond it; the ground outside was too low and sandy for excavation, and the defenders had contented themselves with digging up the causeway that carried the road up to the gates. Castus had determined all this days before, during his tour of the walls with Brinno. But now, staring at it, the gate appeared formidable enough. Sixteen men in the garrison, more or less, with probably another four in each of the towers along the wall to either side. The idea of trying to take and hold it with only a rabble of poorly armed civilians, most of them with a moral disgust for violence, seemed like the wildest madness.

But the plan had been desperate from the start, and it was too late to give up now. Squatting against the mossy brick wall at the back of the lean-to, Castus tried to remain alert. Gods, he was tired. Every time he closed his eyes he felt sleep massing in his head. The girl beside him seemed entirely awake, her eyes gleaming in the dark.

‘You're very brave,' he muttered. ‘Volunteering for this.'

‘Maximian killed my parents,' she replied. ‘Or his governors did. When you were talking back there... I agreed with all you said. I would do anything to defeat him.'

‘Even so,' Castus said, shrugging. He felt the ache in his shoulders. ‘Listen,' he went on. ‘When you get outside the walls, you have to be careful, understand? Some of the men out there... well, they aren't good men.'

‘I know what you mean,' the girl told him. ‘But I'll be all right.' She looked up at Castus and whispered, ‘The Lord Jesus Christ will be my shield and my guide!'

Castus just grunted. He was watching the wall, trying to make out the movements of the sentries. There were two of them, each pacing a slow and weary route between the towers. They crossed in the middle, and for a short space of time both of them were walking away, before they reached the towers and turned back again.

‘See the steps there?' he whispered, pointing. ‘As soon as the guards cross, we have to get to them, quick as we can. We go up to the walkway, and you climb over the parapet. I'll lower you down on the rope and then drop it after you. Then you
run
, understand?'

He saw her nod in the darkness. Then he took the rope and looped it loosely around her body, beneath her arms.

‘Why are you doing this?' she asked as he secured the rope in a firm knot over her chest. ‘I mean, why you out of all the soldiers in the city?'

Castus bunched his forehead. ‘It's my job.'

He coiled the rest of the rope and slung it across her shoulder; once she was over the other side she could slip easily out of the noose.

‘You're a good man, aren't you?' she said, and he paused in his work and gazed at her. He remembered the last time a woman had told him that: Marcellina, the envoy's daughter, back in Eboracum many years before. He just grunted again, checking the knot.

‘I'll pray for you,' she said, with sudden passion in her voice. ‘And I'll pray that one day your heart is opened to the love of God.'

‘If you like,' Castus said, sitting back against the mossy bricks. He peered into the dark, trying to pick out the moving shapes of the sentries on the wall.

‘Get ready,' he said. He eased himself into a crouch, and then stood. Luciana took his hand and pulled herself up beside him.