The Sacrifice Stone (21 page)

The rear wall looked as if it had once been carved. Although centuries of damp and erosion had eaten into the rock, and although it was half-obscured by ancient tangled roots and streaks of moisture, still a vague outline was visible. Stepping carefully towards it, Adam reached out a hand and ran his finger around it.

‘What is it?’ she whispered, moving up beside him.

‘Can’t you see?’

‘No!’

He was still tracing. ‘I could be wrong — it’s possible I’m seeing what I want to see — but to me it looks like a bull.’

She followed his finger as he traced the faint outline again. ‘Head, thrown back — shoulders — backbone — tail. Can you see it now?’

She frowned in concentration. ‘Only just. I must say, I think your imagination is working overtime.’

‘Quite possibly. What do
you
make of it?’

The match had burned down, and he struck another. The bright light after the temporary darkness shone on the relief, and for a moment she thought it moved. ‘There’s a man on the bull’s back!’ she cried. Then he was gone. ‘No, sorry, I was wrong. It must have been a trick of the light.’

He said softly, ‘I saw it, too.’

‘How did it happen? Why should a sudden light make us see a moving figure? And why didn’t we see it the first time?’

‘I have no idea.’

They stood staring at the wall, striking several more matches. But the illusion of the moving figure didn’t come back.

Eventually she said softly, ‘This is it, isn’t it? The Mithraeum?’

‘No doubt about it. I’ve never seen a bull-slaying relief outside a museum. Maybe they left this one where it was because it’d be virtually impossible to remove it — it wouldn’t be worth the effort, especially as it’s in such poor condition.’

She stroked her hand across the raised areas in the stone, feeling almost protective. ‘I think it’s marvellous. Its condition isn’t important — even worn almost away, it’s still full of power.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘And you know something else? It’s not threatening — or at least I don’t find it so.’

‘Nor do I. You’d think we’d have been scared silly, in here in the dark with that carving leaping out at us, but we weren’t. Awestruck, yes. But not frightened.’

‘There’s no need to fear power if it’s beneficial,’ he said. ‘And, as you pointed out yesterday, I’ve always been a fan of the Mithraists.’

She smiled. ‘If the atmosphere in here is anything to go by, I’m beginning to see why.’

‘I’m nearly out of matches. Shall we go while I can still light our way out?’

Reluctantly she said, ‘Okay.’

There’s nothing else to see, she thought as they edged their way out again, whatever else there once was in this secret place is buried under tons of soil and rock. We’d find nothing, unless we came back with shovels, and that would probably be contravening some French ancient monuments regulation.

They emerged into the daylight, and Adam pushed the thorny undergrowth back in place against the rocks.

‘Why are you doing that?’

He looked slightly sheepish. ‘I don’t know. Because I don’t want anyone else to go in there, I suppose. Selfish, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe.’ She went to help him. Then, as they stepped back to look at the effect, ‘Is this it, Adam? Is it the place you were shown?’

She’d had to ask, was quite unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added, ‘perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘It’s all right.’ He perched on a humped rock, and she sat on the grass beside him. ‘It could be — the rocky backdrop and the sandy soil are just right, and I did have a sense of recognition when I saw that figure on the bull move. But ...’

He was quiet for some time. ‘But?’ she said softly.

‘That isn’t the crucial part of the vision,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’m not explaining very well — I see a dark interior, which could be that one, with candlelight and figures moving. That’s the good bit.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s as if whoever is showing the scene to me is preparing me for what comes next — setting the scene, if you like.’ He drew in a breath. ‘Then I’m taken somewhere else — although I get the feeling it’s very close — and I see the rest.’

He didn’t seem to want to describe the rest, up there, and she could well understand why. ‘So you don’t think this is the place the Roman was showing you?’

‘I don’t know. No.’

She said, aware she might be pushing on when he’d rather stop, ‘Should we look around some more? I mean, it’s very small inside the Mithraeum — you could hardly sacrifice a rat in there, never mind a bull. Do you think they did the slaughtering somewhere else, and that’s what you’re being summoned to find?’

She wished she’d phrased it more diplomatically; the concept of being
summoned
was uncomfortable. Even to me, she thought, and I’m not the one who’s been shown the rock and the gore.

He was gazing around the hilltop. ‘There’s nothing else to look around
at
,’ he said. ‘We’ve circled it, and there are no slabs of stone.’

She was looking at the steep, rocky cliff rising above the outcrop. ‘There’s the suggestion of a gap there. Yes, it’s overgrown and doesn’t look much now, but there could be a way through. Do you see where I mean?’

He turned his head. ‘Yes.’ Then, without saying more, he got up.

She went with him. He picked up his stick again, and once more hacked at the thorns. With them pushed out of the way, a narrow passage opened up between two shoulders of rock.

Adam walked through it: it was wide enough for him not to have to turn sideways. It would have to be, she thought, hard on his heels, if they once led sacrificial animals through it.

The passage ran on for several yards, then the right-hand spur of rock abruptly ended, affording a sudden view down the hillside; beyond, the first range of the Alpilles soared into the blue sky.

Jutting out from the left-hand wall, looking almost like a table that had been set up there, was a thick slab of stone. Some fifteen feet across, its depth ranged from roughly three feet to five.

She found herself wondering whether it was entirely natural, or whether man’s hand had shaped it.

Then she heard Adam. It wasn’t a shout or a cry, it was more a groan.

Spinning round, she saw he’d slumped to the ground. He was pointing, saying something again and again.

‘What is it?’ she demanded anxiously. ‘What’s wrong?’

He said, audibly now, ‘Blood. Covered in blood.’

She turned back to the rock. ‘Blood? I can’t see any blood! I can’t see anything!’

Then suddenly she could. Not blood, but a man. A boy. He was screaming. Or was it a bull making the noise? There was a bull there, held by a grim-faced man in a dark cloak.

The screaming got louder. She realized it was her.

‘Come on,’ — she caught hold of Adam’s arm, dragging him to his feet — ‘we’ve got to get away from here, they —’

She looked for the figures. They weren’t there. But now she could see what Adam was seeing: a broad slick of blood flowed lazily across the slab of stone.

Feeling the retching begin, she pulled Adam back along the passage.

*

They got no further than the hilltop. She was sick twice, Adam looked as if he’d pass out if she tried to make him go any further. When, some time later, they began to feel better, she said, ‘This is the place. Isn’t it?’

He nodded. He still looked very pale. She felt a surge of compassion for him, and reached out to take his cold hand. Poor Adam, she thought, if
that’s
what he knew we were going to endure, no wonder he was so reluctant to face it.

‘Did you see him?’ she asked gently. ‘The Roman?’

‘No. But I know he’s here, or was once. I can sense him, very strongly. What about you?’

‘I saw a man, but it wasn’t him. There was a boy, too.’

She’d wondered if that would be enough. If Adam would make the connection, too, and come up with the same hunch.

He didn’t.

‘Adam, did you hear what I said? I saw a boy. I also saw a bull.’

‘That thing down the rock passage is a sacrifice stone,’ he said quietly. ‘You probably saw a fleeting glimpse of the rites.’

‘I don’t think so. If I did, they weren’t rites connected with the temple we’ve just been in — they felt wrong.’ She wasn’t ready to elaborate. ‘A boy, a bull, a man. Remember I told you about Joe and his boy saint, whom he’s decided got himself killed for refusing to pay homage to the Roman gods?’

‘You said Joe thinks the officer was a Mithraist.’

He didn’t continue. He must surely have realized, she thought desperately. It’s crystal-clear, it must be!

‘Adam
!’ Are you doing this on purpose?’

He fixed her eyes with his. ‘It’s your theory,
you
say it!’ His voice was harsh, and he was almost shouting.

‘All right, I will!’ Angry, upset, she pulled away from him and began pacing to and fro across the hilltop.

It was strange, but having geared herself up to speak, she felt almost that the words were catching in her throat. As if they shouldn’t come out.

‘Listen to this,’ she said, with an effort. ‘Joe’s Little Saint Theodore — that’s his name, Theodore — becomes a Christian. He’s got to be a new convert, or perhaps a first-generation one — they’re always the most zealous. He’s meant to be involved in sacrificing to one of the Roman gods — let’s say Joe’s right and it’s Mithras — and he refuses. Says his God is the Christian God, the Father of Jesus, who, far from wanting his followers to sacrifice to him, would hate the idea and virtually forbids it. The Roman in charge tells Theodore he’s got to sacrifice or else he’ll be killed, because if the people stop keeping the gods happy, then the whole Roman Empire will suffer. The boy still refuses, so the Roman brings him up here with a bull and a priest and says, “This is your last chance.” ’

‘The boy won’t do it, so the Roman sacrifices him instead,’ Adam said distantly. ‘Back there, where the blood is.’

‘Yes!’ She was aware of feeling cold; a chill wind seemed to have blown up. From the rocky heights came a sound like an animal moaning in fear. Ignoring it, she ploughed on. ‘But what if the Roman —’

She got no further. The sudden wind howled and whirled to a tornado, and she and Adam were thrown to the ground. Cowering, arms over their heads for protection, they felt a hard rain of dust, pebbles, leaves and twigs.

The wind ceased. In the silence, their eardrums still reverberating, they sensed it about to begin again.

But this time it sounded like words, spoken in their own tongue. A voice roared like a hurricane, the sound bouncing off the rocks and echoing down through the valley and out across the plain.

She thought it shouted,
‘It’s
not
true
!’

PART FOUR

ARLES

AD 175

21

I hadn’t wanted her to return to that desolate house on the marshes the first time she came to me. The second time, it was all I could do to let her go.

But she was a determined woman. As well as a resourceful and courageous one: when, after the incredible joy of our night together, she calmly got up, washed, dressed and said she would set off for home straight away, before it was fully light, I thought she must be joking.

But she wasn’t.

‘Why do you have to go?’ Why
now
, I could have added, when any reservations you might have had before about committing yourself to me must surely no longer apply? Unless —

‘Unless’ was not to be contemplated. And, for all that she had come to me and made no secret of why she’d come, I was absolutely sure that what had happened between us had meant as much to her as it had to me.

She must have understood what I was feeling. She came to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out her hand to touch my cheek. ‘Don’t think I want to go,’ she said. ‘The temptation to get back into bed with you, then later get up, eat, walk, talk, go together to fetch Theo,’ — her voice almost broke over that, but she recovered herself — ‘is all but swamping me.’

‘Then why —’

‘Because I have to get back to Gaius.’

‘You —’

‘Stop interrupting! I don’t mean it like that, as well you know.’ She looked exasperated, but she was smiling too. ‘Let me tell you about Gaius. When Theo and I were homeless and virtually penniless, he offered us somewhere to live in exchange for the sort of work that, even if it was repetitive and sometimes demanding, certainly was no worse than the daily lot of many people. We didn’t complain.’

In my head I heard Theo’s angry voice. ‘He gives me work to do that I can’t do well enough, just so he has an excuse to beat me.’ Before I could think what I was saying, the protest burst out. ‘But Theo —’

He hadn’t wanted her to know. I clamped my mouth shut.

‘But Theo what?’ Her eyes were on mine, her expression wary.

‘Nothing. Go on.’

After a moment, during which she went on eyeing me, she did. ‘Seems he took a fancy to me,’ she said bluntly. ‘Gaius, I mean. He began bringing me little presents. At first it was delicacies to eat, sometimes a jug of wine — I was pleased enough with them, I can tell you, especially the food. I tried to make Theo eat it all, only he wouldn’t have that — said we had to share.’ She laughed briefly. ‘Mind you, a hungry boy with his head down over his dinner doesn’t bother getting out the weighing scales to make sure two plates contain exactly the same amount.’

‘You must have been happy to see him enjoying himself.’

‘Of course. If it had just been food and drink, it would have been all right. I didn’t realize what Gaius was up to till he started bringing things that were obviously meant just for me — he even said once that he hadn’t been going to all that expense just for Theo to pig most of the stuff, but when I tackled him over it, he pretended to laugh it off.’

‘So he brought you more personal gifts.’

‘Yes. A length of cloth, flowers, amber beads.’ She had been gazing across the room, but now her eyes shot back to mine. ‘I gave the beads back. It puts you under an obligation, accepting a gift as valuable as that.’

That explained why Theo had tried to steal an amber necklace from the fat merchant. But I was quite sure I didn’t need to point it out.

‘How did Gaius react to that?’

‘Seemed to think I was playing hard to get and redoubled his efforts. I felt sorry for him, to tell the truth — you always do, don’t you, when someone clearly shows that they fancy you and you don’t feel the same?’

I nodded, not that it had happened to me all that often. ‘You do.’

‘Well, pitying him didn’t last long. Only till the day he said if I didn’t start acting more grateful, if you understand me,’ — I did, although I wished I didn’t — ‘and being a bit friendlier, he had plenty of willing women who would be more than ready to take my place.’

‘He was threatening to chuck you out of your job and your house if you didn’t ...’ I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

‘If I didn’t become his mistress,’ she supplied for me. ‘Yes.’

There was a long silence. Then she said: ‘I’m sorry, Sergius. I wish I could say I refused, told him to go stick himself, but I can’t.’

I thought she might have said more. Offered excuses for having slept with a man she didn’t love, such as, I had to think of Theo. We needed security, food, a roof over our heads. They would have been reasonable excuses, more than reasonable, and anyway, gods knew, I had no right to sit in judgement of her. Wouldn’t any woman have done the same, in her place?

But she didn’t say another word.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed with admiration for her: it was as if she were saying, this is what I did, relating merely the facts with no attendant explanation to soften them.

What a woman.

I thought of various things to say, dismissed them all, and eventually pronounced feebly, ‘Sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like ourselves for doing.’

She raised her head. ‘You understand, then?’

I took her hand in both of mine. I could have said ‘Yes, of course,’ or, ‘It doesn’t matter if I do or not, you’re not answerable to me.’ But I just said, ‘Yes.’

She nodded then, disengaging her hand, stood up. ‘Time to go.’

I said, ‘You haven’t told me why you have to return.’

She sat down again. ‘No, I suppose I haven’t.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just that he’s still angry and suspicious, and if I disappear now, he’ll try to find me. And, since I shall want to reclaim my son, that’ll mean he’ll also find Theo. I need to get back to normal with him — if I can lull him into believing I’ve accepted that Theo’s gone, then, when I finally leave, he may well think I’ve simply drowned in a ditch, or been taken by the gipsies, or murdered by some ruffian. I’ll think of a way to encourage him to believe something of the sort.’ I didn’t doubt it — as I said, she was a resourceful woman. ‘In the meantime, I’ll tell him I’ve been to Arelate and found out that Theo’s in prison and there’s nothing I can do to get him out. Then, after I’ve sobbed and wailed for a while, I’ll have to persuade him I’m happier with just the two of us.’

I snorted in disbelief. ‘You’ll never make him believe that! Not unless he’s amazingly stupid or outstandingly arrogant!’

She smiled briefly. ‘He’s both. And I’ll make him believe it, don’t you worry.’

Although I tried to prevent it, a vivid memory of our recent lovemaking flooded my mind. And my body. The thought of the means she might employ to make that sod Gaius believe she enjoyed being with him, so much that she no longer missed her own son, filled me with such furious jealousy that I had to turn away.

I felt her hand on my arm. ‘There are ways other than in bed,’ she said quietly. ‘Did you never hear the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his belly? And Gaius, since his initial enthusiasm cooled, hasn’t been much of a one for billing and cooing.’

She might have been saying it purely to calm me, but I chose to think she was telling the truth: her eager response the previous night suggested it might have been some time since she’d made love.

Reading my mind — which can hardly have been very difficult — she said, ‘I might have slept with him, but I wasn’t truly a participant. I’ve been dead, that way, since Theo’s father was lost.’

I rolled over and put my arms round her. ‘You didn’t have to tell me that,’ I mumbled against her comforting breast, ‘it’s no business of mine.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ she agreed calmly. ‘But I wanted you to know.’

I raised my head and, pulling her down towards me, kissed her.

Later, when once more she was straightening her clothes, I asked her how long she was expecting to take over convincing Gaius she’d adjusted to Theo’s absence, and was settling to life alone with him.

‘Not long.’ She smiled grimly. ‘He never enjoyed Theo being around, so he’s already halfway to being convinced — he hasn’t the imagination to realize that others might see things differently from him.’

‘He
certainly won’t miss Theo,’ I said. I was hurrying to get dressed which, although not an excuse for saying what I said next, is an explanation of how I came to be so careless. ‘Well, only as someone on whom to vent his anger.’

There was an awful silence. Then she said, ‘What do you mean?’

I tried to cover up. ‘Oh, nothing — just that I expect he used to find Theo irritating, so he probably shouted at him. Maybe clipped him round the ear sometimes.’

She stood quite still in the middle of the room. She wasn’t looking at me. ‘Did Theo tell you that?’

‘Theo? Gods, no, I’m just conjecturing. It’s what most men would do, isn’t it, with a boy they didn’t like?’

‘What makes you say Gaius didn’t like him?’

‘I ... Theo ...’ I trailed to a halt. It’s not that I was a poor liar, just that I couldn’t lie to her.

‘Come on,’ I said with hollow heartiness, ‘if we don’t get going soon, it’ll be fully light, everyone will see us, and the village will start gossiping and your good name will be irrevocably ruined.’

I caught a glimpse of her face before she arranged her veil and turned away. If she’d had her suspicions before, I had now made her life hell by as good as confirming them.

*

Just like before, I took her as far as the southern outskirts of Arelate. Again, I watched her walk away until she was a small dot on the horizon, then I went home.

But, this time, I didn’t know how I was going to bear being without her.

*

When I got back, the villa seemed more lonely than it had ever done before. Typical, I thought, full of hurt and quite unjustified resentment, there I was, living a peaceful bachelor existence, and first Theo then his wretched mother come crashing into my life, filling these empty rooms with non-stop chatter, only to flit away again and leave me —

I made myself stop. The maudlin self-pity was threatening to make me sick.

Callistus arrived in the afternoon and, humming cheerfully to himself, began preparing an elaborate meal for my supper. ‘Just you, is it, sir?’ he asked innocently. ‘The lad’s still over at the farm?’

‘Yes!’ I snapped.

Callistus looked quite hurt. Then, rallying, ‘Nice woman, his mother. She —’

‘Go and find Didius,’ I ordered. The last thing I wanted to do was stand assessing Zillah’s good and bad points — she didn’t have any bad points that I’d detected — with Callistus while he peeled garlic and chopped onions. ‘I want a massage.’

Callistus muttered something about evil-tempered employers who needed a good pummelling to stop them picking on hapless servants, but he did as I asked. And, not very long afterwards, I was lying on my stomach feeling as if Claudius’s elephants were dancing on my back: it hurt, but it stopped me pining for Zillah. Temporarily.

*

Before I went to bed, I prowled round the house checking that the shutters were secured across the windows. Then I went out to inspect the outside, but there was no sign that anyone was about. No one hiding under the terrace, no suspicious cache of wooden poles or piles of stones to facilitate a climb over the walls.

I had walked all the way round and was coming up to the gates, the key in my hand ready to lock them behind me, when he struck. I say he, but it could have been she, I suppose — I didn’t see. Whoever it was must have slipped silently out of whatever shadows he’d been hiding in and crept up behind me on wings, light-footed as a cobweb.

But there was nothing light about the way he hit me. I heard the swish of something whistling swiftly through the air and, as I began to turn, the blow fell just above my left ear. There was an instant of sheer agony, my head seemed to fill with brilliant orange, then it burst open. Or it seemed like it. I felt myself falling, then nothing more.

I don’t know how long I was out, except that I hadn’t noticed the moon earlier and, when I came round, it was high in the sky. As I tried to raise myself to elbows and knees — even without trying, I was sure that any idea of standing was over-optimistic — I felt something in my hand.

Unclenching my fist, I looked down. It was a small fragment of parchment, the cheapest sort made of sheep’s skin, and it was a scrap taken from a used piece — I knew because it was the sort of thing we used in the office for rough drafts.

Someone had written on it before they’d hit me and pushed it into my hand. I tried to make out the words in the dim moonlight and through a pounding headache.

They said, ‘Your time is running out.’

*

In the morning I debated whether I was well enough to get out of bed. The self-pitying part of me moaned that, with a lump the size of an egg above my ear and the sort of headache I hadn’t had since my wild drunken nights as a young legionary on leave, I owed it to myself to take it easy. Doze away the morning, summon Callistus to make me a delicate invalid’s lunch and get Didius to pamper me for a couple of hours in the afternoon.

But I had given my word I’d be at the temple today.