Queen of the Night

silent litany of new curses against Helena, the Emperor and the mob. The customers at the She Asses caught her mood and kept well away. She refused to mix with them, even when Petronius the Pimp held a special evening to give a mock lecture on Priapus and popular devotion to the cult of the penis. This was well attended and the raucous laughter echoed across the garden where Claudia sat staring down at her scraps of parchment. Celades tried to tempt her with filleted beef cooked in a rich pepper sauce. The Pict was now a transformed man, cheery-faced, full of schemes for the future. He, Polybius and Narcissus the Neat dreamed of a marvellous partnership: Polybius and Celades would look after the body and all its pampering before death, while Narcissus, with his embalming skills, would set up shop in the same insula and offer a service second to none for life after death. However, everyone knew that such matters would have to wait. Murranus was about to fight for his life, and Claudia realised that, instead of blaming him, she must accept that she had played her own part in what was happening. She berated herself, cursing her own self-absorption, and vowed not to act the victim. She sent Murranus a love note. He replied by slipping into the She Asses for a brief while, going out into the garden with her, holding her tenderly yet passionately, whispering that he would not die and she must trust him.
    'We'll save the day,' he whispered. 'We will sit here with our own children's children, play the fife and dance the dance. Trust me, Claudia, I am a warrior. My death does not call me, not yet.' He kissed her gently and left.

Chapter 10
    Ita feii ut se mori sentiat.
    Strike him so that he may feel he is dying.
    Suetonius, Lives of the Caesais, Caligula

    The following morning, the day of the games, Burrus and a company of German guards stormed into the She Asses. They occupied the eating hall, spilling out into the garden. Claudia had hoped to go with Polybius and Poppaoe. Burrus soon changed that. After she'd washed, dressed and come down to meet them, he and his rough-faced rogues surrounded her. Blue eyes glaring in his wine-flushed face, Burrus knelt before her, one great paw on her shoulder.
    'Little one, Freya's child, you must come with us. The Augusta has ordered it. We knelt before her this morning. We have taken the oath. You must come with us, you are to be her guest in the imperial box. You are not to meet Murranus. Little one,' he pleaded, noting Claudia's angry expression, 'Murranus has to fight. He must not be weakened or distracted. You are to come with us and stay with us until…' Burrus shrugged, 'until the end…'

    'Salve! Salve! Salve Impeiator!' The crowd packing the Flavian amphitheatre rose as a man to greet their Emperor as he entered the imperial box, which was draped in purple, cloth of gold, painted ivy and silver-coated laurel leaves. Constantine, at least three cups of wine down him, was in a jovial mood, resplendent in his purple-edged snow-white toga, a gold-encrusted victory wreath around his head. He lifted his hand and returned the salute of his devoted people.
    'Ave atque salve!' he roared back before lowering himself into the gorgeous peacock throne overlooking the red-gold sand of the amphitheatre. On each side of him stood the imperial standard-bearers, heads and shoulders covered with wolf pelts, bearskins and the hides of other animals. They raised their standards, each boasting the glorious golden eagle with outstretched wings, the sacred emblem of Rome's power. Constantine abruptly remembered himself, and rose to gesture to the throne beside him, as his mother, the Empress Helena, took her seat. Again the crowd roared. Helena acknowledged this with a flick of her hand. Others filed in: the Vestal Virgins in their old-fashioned robes and Greek hairstyles, the officers and flunkies of the court, together with personal guests, Senator Carinus, his daughter Antonia, and other parents whose children had been abducted. The imperial box had been extended and lavishly furnished with imitation walls, its high ceiling festooned with all the signs and symbols of victory: carvings of champions, victorious athletes, gladiators with raised swords, laurel crowns and palms of victory. The corners were draped in purple and silver cloths. Along the sides stood a range of tables from which slaves served tasty morsels of fish, spiced meats, honey cakes, iced fruits, as well as cups of chilled wine