Secrets of the Dead Read Free Page B

dead man I’m being forced to carry. But I still resist. ‘I don’t know anything about the Christians.’
    ‘Not true.’ Constantine reaches out and touches my shoulder. Once, it would have been a natural and intimate gesture. Now his arm is rigid, holding me back. ‘You know enough to know that they feud like cats in a sack. If I send in one of their own, half his colleagues will immediately come to me condemning him as a schismatic and a heretic. Then the second half will arrive and denounce the first half for the same crimes.’
    He shakes his head. God though he is, even he can’t fathom the mysteries of the church.
    ‘Do you think a Christian killed him?’
    His shock is so natural I almost believe it’s real. ‘God forbid. They spit and scratch, but they don’t bite.’
    I don’t disagree. I don’t know anything about the Christians.
    ‘But people will speculate. Others will say the murder of Alexander was an attack on all Christians by those who hate them. These wounds are raw, Gaius. We fought fifteen years of civil war to unite the empire and restore peace. It can’t fall apart now.’
    He’s right to worry. He built his city in a hurry. The cement is hardly dry, and already cracks are appearing.
    ‘In two weeks, I’ll leave on campaign. In two months, I’ll be a thousand miles away in Persia. I can’t leave this problem behind. I need someone I can trust to do it quickly. Please, Gaius. For our friendship.’
    Does he really think that’s something to sway me? There are things I’ve done for our friendship that even the god Christ, notoriously lenient, wouldn’t forgive me.
    ‘I was going to go home to Moesia next week. Everything’s arranged.’
    Something like nostalgia enters his expression. His eyes take on a far-off look.
    ‘Do you remember those days, Gaius? Playing in the fields outside Ni š ? Climbing into the hen coops to steal eggs? They never caught us, did they?’
    They never caught us because your father was the Tribune . I don’t say it. You meddle with an old man’s memories at your peril.
    ‘I should go back there – feel native soil under my feet again. When I come back from Persia.’
    ‘You’ll always be welcome at my house.’
    ‘I’ll be there. And you’ll be there sooner. As soon as you’ve solved this problem for me.’
    And there it is. A god doesn’t have time for protracted wrangling. We could have debated it for hours, days, but he’s condensed all his arguments into a single sentence. And all my resistance and evasions, my determination not to get involved, collapse to an instant decision.
    ‘Do you want a culprit? Or do you want me to find out who actually did it?’
    It’s a crucial question. In this city, not all murders are crimes. And not all criminals are guilty. Constantine, more than anyone, understands that.
    ‘I need you to find out who did it. Discreetly.’
    He wants the truth. Then he’ll decide what to do with it.
    ‘If I go knocking on the Christians’ doors, will they open for me?’
    ‘They’ll know you’re there for me.’
    I’m there for you. All my life, I’ve been there for you. Your counsellor and friend; your right arm, when action was required and you had to sit still. Your audience. You perform, I applaud. And obey .
    He claps his hands and a slave appears out of air and shadow. I’d forgotten: in this city, there’s always another audience. The slave carries an ivory diptych, two panels hinged together with leather bands. The front is carved with a cameo of the Emperor, his eyes turned skyward and a solar crown on his head. Next to it, the familiar X-P monogram, the same as on the necklace. A few lines of text inside derogate Constantine’s authority on me.
    ‘Thank you for doing this, Gaius.’ He embraces me, and this time something like warmth passes between our two old bodies. He whispers in my ear: ‘I need someone I trust. Someone who knows where the bodies are buried.’
    I laugh; it’s the only