Queen of the Night

trackways leading to the Via Tusculana, which cut through the Severan Wall. Even though the sun had yet to rise, the city had come to life. At the top of the alleyway, Torquatus the Tonsor was busy preparing for business behind his stall under the gnarled sycamore tree, sharpening his razors on what he boasted was a special stone imported from Syria. He was full of chatter about magical stones, herbs and animals. He was already pontificating to a small group that had gathered. On any other occasion Claudia would have stayed to listen. Torquatus was fascinating, a born actor with an inexhaustible fund of stories, but General Aurelian, being an old soldier, would surely be an early riser, and it would be best to see him before the business of the day began.
    The streets were filling with merchants as well as water-carriers, sweepers and rakers. The sewer men were out with their wheelbarrows emptying the latrines and cesspits, all shouting good-natured abuse at each other. The grimy cook-shops were open, the portable stoves and ovens being set up at judicious places to attract those who'd risen, as one notice brazenly proclaimed, 'with an empty stomach and a dry throat'. A funeral procession was gathering with professional mourners, priests and an Egyptian choir dressed in blue and scarlet head-dresses. A group of dancers from Spain, ejected from some tavern and desperate to earn money to buy from the water-carriers with their fresh supply, were offering to do a dance for anyone who'd pay them a couple of coins. Linen-clad, shaven-headed priests of some Babylonian god went by, guzzling wine, blowing horns, their long curled hair whirling in the breeze. Scholars, eyes swollen with sleep, staggered out for morning school whilst their mothers stood in the doorways of apartments and houses with brooms of green palms or twigs of tamarisk, heather and myrtle. Already the heralds were busy proclaiming what was on sale in the city, particularly the latest wigs, which could be found in a shop near the Temple of Hercules.
    The day's heat was beginning to make itself felt, and by the time they reached the city gate, Claudia's lips and throat were bone dry. She and Murranus stopped at an ale booth to refresh themselves and wipe away the dust with cracked cups of fruit juice. They remained silent, not talking until they were out into the countryside, following the via as it cut through fields of ripening corn. After taking directions from a farmer, they left the road, going along a trackway which wound past cypress, plane and pine trees. On either side meadows and harvest land stretched up to the main gate of Aurelian's villa. Here the porter carefully inspected the seal Claudia carried bearing the imprint of the Empress and, on the reverse, an instruction ordering everyone on their allegiance to help its bearer with her enquiries. The gates were promptly swung open, and Claudia and Murranus entered another world, of pebbled paths, lawns, orchards, small copses of trees, fountains, pools of purity, all carefully laid out on either side of the path which swept up to the atrium of the magnificent villa.
    At the house, servants greeted them with bowls of perfumed water so they could wash their hands and faces. Afterwards they were taken through the atrium, a splendid affair with a small lake beneath an opening in the roof, then down a porticoed walk to the inner chambers. Claudia was aware of beautiful stone walls decorated with paintings and frescos in yellow amber, bronze, Damascene copper; pillars of Phrygian marble, doors and lintels inset with malachite and tortoiseshell, ceilings sparkling with gold and precious objects. Everything was cool, fresh and sweet-smelling.
    For a while they had to sit in a chamber with a wood-laced ceiling of Lebanese cedar; on the walls beautiful paintings celebrated the triumphs of Ceres, Goddess of Spring. Claudia tapped Murranus on the thigh and put her finger to her lips as a warning to remain silent. She knew that many of these villas, built specially for their owners, often had secret eyelets or gaps where people could eavesdrop on any conversation taking place. Claudia leaned back against the cool marbled wall and closed her eyes. The previous night's sleep had not been good, her mind still tortured by images of Stathylus lying in that filthy alleyway and Theodore sprawled out on the bed, his face twisted in agony. She wanted to be by herself just to make sense of the chaos in her mind, but