The Seven Stars Read online

  At about six o’clock her concentration was broken by a discreet tap on the door, followed by the appearance of Moretti. ‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

  ‘Slowly,’ she replied, handing him a piece of hand-written paper. ‘But I’m making progress. Here, take a look.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a translation of one of the fragments. This one to be precise,’ said Flora, holding up a dark brown triangle of parchment, sandwiched between two layers of glass. What I’ve just given you is the translation of the plain text from the front and this one is the decode of what was written on the back.’ She laid a second piece of paper on the desk in front of him.

  He held them both up and peered at them intently, switching his gaze from one to the other. Then he frowned. ‘Unless I’m missing something, these are almost identical.’

  ‘They are identical. The differences in the text comes from the fact that I’ve only got a fragment of the page to work with.’

  ‘So are you saying Josephus isn’t telling us anything we don’t know?’

  ‘Depends whose point of view you take,’ said Flora. ‘For me it’s fascinating, but for Lombardi, what he hoped was going to be the key to his mystery looks like nothing more than a coded version of what’s on the other side of the paper. The discrepancies come from the fact that they’re both written right-left and so where there’s damage, different things are missing from the two sides.’

  ‘So it’s been a waste of time,’ he said. To Flora’s ears he sounded almost relieved.

  ‘Not at all. I came across what I call “mirror-image text” in one of the documents I was looking at the other day. This one to be precise,’ she said, tapping the screen of her laptop. ‘And so I wondered if the same recto-verso, plain text-cipher technique had been used on the fragments from your dig. None of the keys I had from the existing copper grids worked so I fooled around, seeing if I could reverse-engineer the key by simply transposing the two sets of text. And guess what?’

  ‘You’re not telling me it worked?’ asked Moretti, suddenly animated once more.

  ‘It certainly did and now I’ve got about a quarter of the missing key already. Assuming all the others use the same one then I should have the whole key by tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ve done brilliantly, Flora. That’s fantastic.’

  She held up a hand in caution. ‘Steady on, Francesco, let’s not get carried away. It may let me work backwards to create a missing grid, but all we’ve got is the same thing written in two different ways on the same piece of parchment.’

  ‘Hardly the Rosetta Stone, I agree,’ he said. ‘But it’s still an incredible piece of detective work. There’s one thing that bothers me though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Why bother? I mean, if you’re going to write “the cat sat on the mat” on one side of the page, why go to all the effort of encrypting it word-for-word on the other?’

  Flora shifted her reading glasses onto the top of her head. ‘It’s been puzzling me too,’ she said. ‘Maybe it was his way of making sure that his scribes, or anybody else’s, come to that, didn’t change his text when they copied it out. If they did, all you’d need to do – assuming you had the key of course – would be to decode it.’

  ‘How would that work? And again, what reader would go to all that effort?’ asked Moretti, perching on the corner of the desk and looking over her shoulder.

  Flora put her hands up in a gesture of despair. ‘Well, it’s a hopelessly weak theory, I know, but say someone copied it and the plain-text didn’t match up with the encrypted text then it would show the copy was inaccurate.’

  ‘And if whoever copied it didn’t bother copying the encrypted text because they thought it was gibberish, then what?’

  ‘Then my theory falls apart. Why do you think he did it?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Moretti. ‘Everyone likes a good mystery and I’m sure people were no different then. Maybe you’re right and Josephus deliberately got the word out that there was secret learning embedded in the cipher-text in the hope it would encourage future scribes to copy it rather than just copying the plain text.’

  ‘I think we’ll be getting into UFO territory if we’re not careful,’ laughed Flora. ‘Old Josephus was a past-master at looking after number one, so I can’t see him going to all that effort if there wasn’t something in it for himself.’

  ‘Of course, the entire theory falls down when we come up against the pages where there’s no plain-text,’ said Moretti. ‘But whatever he was up to, you’ve done an incredible piece of work.’

  ‘Thanks. But more importantly, what’s happened down at the dig?’

  Moretti smiled. ‘I think you’ll like this. They’ve uncovered what looks like an extension to the scriptorium on a lower level and apart from the area the mechanical digger tore up, the mosaic floor’s in fabulous condition.’

  ‘That’s great, but what makes them think it’s an extension of the scriptorium?’

  ‘I was coming to that in a minute, but you just wait till you see the design on the mosaic.’

  Flora was beside herself with excitement ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, we’re not 100% sure yet, but it looks like a representation of Ursa Major. Just like the copper grids. The seven stars motif again – it can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘I’ve got to see this – ’

  ‘Hold on, there’s more. My diggers have found what look like duplicate copies of some of the copper grids. The tombaroli didn’t get everything after all.’

  ‘Can we go down there now?’ asked Flora, bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement.

  ‘Well, strictly speaking, no. But I’ll call Lombardi and ask him if his boys will let us in: the site’s better guarded than Fort Knox right now.’

  Chapter Nine

  Syracuse, AD 62

  It was stiflingly hot inside the city walls as Josephus, Gubs and Alityros made their way towards the harbour. That the Puteoli squadron was in port was evident: from an inn on the corner of the narrow lane came the sound of drunken singing and as they drew closer, to loud cheers, two bodies flew through the bead curtain and out into the street followed by the appearance of a man wearing a wine-stained apron whose bulk filled the doorway. ‘If you two girls want to cause trouble, you can do it in someone else’s place and not here,’ he shouted after them while the two men continued brawling in the gutter.

  ‘Nice place,’ said Josephus, stepping delicately around the cursing tangle of arms and legs.

  ‘Oh, there are worse,’ said Gubs airily. ‘Marseille can get quite frisky of an evening, especially when the Classis Britannia is in.’

  Alityros snorted. ‘Tell me about it. We had two slaves from Britain and they were nothing but trouble. All they wanted to do was to drink themselves stupid. Being chained to an oar is all they’re fit for. I’d send the lot of them home if I had my way.’

  As they approached the port, the crowds grew thicker and the air rang with cries in a dozen different languages. Shouldering their way through the press of bodies, the three men walked the length of the docks, eventually arriving at a fortified building which sat at the base of the pharos itself.

  ‘You two stay here,’ said Gubs. ‘I won’t be long.’ He spoke to one of the sentries at the gate who welcomed him in with a slap on the shoulder.

  ‘So far so good,’ said Josephus and turned once more to Alityros. For a moment he thought there had been an eclipse, but standing in front of them was a man at least twice the size of the chucker-out at The Flying Fish whom they’d seen in action a few minutes earlier.

  A voice boomed down from above. ‘Are you two looking for work?’

  Alityros and Josephus looked around to see who he was talking to, but since there was nobody else close by, it had to be to them. In their dirty, salt-stained tunics he had mistaken them for seamen.

  ‘You auditioning then, luvvie?’ asked Alityros.

  The giant’s brow
furrowed. ‘Are you trying to be funny, little man?’

  ‘You mean you didn’t catch my Peniculus in The Menaechmi? I got wonderful reviews.’ The joke went sailing over the man’s head – a considerable altitude for humour to attain – and he picked the podgy actor up by the front of his tunic leaving his feet paddling in thin air.

  ‘Put him down, Quadratus, he’s with me.’ A tall, angular-faced man in military uniform stood in the doorway next to the stockier form of Gubs. The giant obeyed immediately and dropped Alityros who fell to the ground in a heap.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Gubs. ‘Allow me to introduce Sextus Volusius Proculus, Navarch of the Puteoli squadron and who has kindly offered to take us to the mainland.’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Proculus, leading them past the sentries who snapped to attention. ‘And please try not to pick any more quarrels while you’re here,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Gubs tells me you haven’t eaten since last night. Let’s get you sorted out with a meal and then we can get those stinking rags off you – you smell worse than my oarsmen.’

  Fed, clothed and bathed, the three travellers passed a comfortable night in the officers’ quarters of the fleet barracks and early the following morning followed Proculus along the quayside to where the bireme, Liburna Minerva, nodded at its moorings. With a staring eye painted on the bow, an overhanging tail of a stern-post and its long ramming prow semi-submerged in the clear water, it looked more like an exotic water fowl rather than a warship. Gubs followed his former skipper up the gangplank onto the outrigger which sat above the two banks of oar slots. He nodded appreciatively at the row of brightly painted shields lining the sides of the upper deck and the two catapults, one mounted forward of the main mast, the other nearer the helmsman’s station. ‘Our new toys,’ said Proculus.

  ‘Are you expecting trouble then?’ asked Josephus nervously.

  ‘Not these days,’ Proculus replied. ‘Pirates won’t risk coming near a ship like this. Don’t worry, we’ll have you home in no time. Now, I need you to stay out of the crew’s way until we cast off. Gubs, you can come with me.’

  They watched fascinated as the crew tightened the forestay before hoisting the mainsail. Then came a clatter from beneath their feet as the lower bank of rowers manned their sweeps – reacting as one to the shouted commands of the pilot – to steer the long, narrow craft into the open waters of the straits of Messina where a stiff westerly breeze was already giving white tops to the dark blue waves.

  Driven on by its sails, the Minerva made good speed and soon the land began to dip beneath the horizon. Josephus leaned on the lee-side shield wall, watching Rhegium and the toe of Italy recede from view while musing on the task ahead. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Proculus. ‘Gubs tells me you’re on a mission,’ he said.

  Josephus pondered his response before speaking. ‘With no disrespect, sir, I hoped he’d have kept that information to himself.’

  The captain gazed out at the horizon, squinting against the brightness. ‘Up to you if you don’t want to talk about it, but I think I can help,’ he said.

  ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘Play your cards right and you should have a receptive audience.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Your work on the Empire’s behalf in Patras and also in Judea hasn’t gone un-noticed. Nero himself is very appreciative and he has a long memory…when it suits him, and that’s the problem.’

  ‘But how do I know when it’s likely to suit him?’

  ‘Exactly. You won’t. None of us do. I wouldn’t claim to know him well but we’ve met on several occasions.’

  ‘And is he really mad?’ asked Josephus.

  Proculus wagged a finger at the young man. ‘You can start by keeping questions like that to yourself: even wooden walls like these have ears. He’s highly intelligent but – how do I put this? – he lives in a world of his own where the usual rules of human conduct don’t apply.’

  ‘So what do you suggest, sir?’

  ‘If you want to bring those three priests home in one piece then he needs to believe it was his idea to release them all along. And the way you do that is through Poppaea Sabina: he dotes on her and she’s the only one who dares stand up to him. Now I’m only going as far as Puteoli, but I can give you a letter of recommendation to her.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ replied Josephus. ‘Alityros has said he’ll introduce me. But at the risk of asking an indelicate question, why would you put yourself out like that?’

  Proculus smiled. ‘You are a diplomat, aren’t you, young man? What you mean is, “what’s in it for me?”’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I told you. You’re a friend of Rome, and we need all those we can get in Judea if what I hear is true. And secondly, Gubs speaks very highly of you: he told me how you saved Alityros’ life when the Cygnus went down.’

  ‘So what have you heard about Judea?’

  ‘Oh, the same old story. The Jews are upset about something again – not as bad as in Caligula’s day of course – but since Governor Festus died, the usual suspects have been stirring things up.’

  ‘The Sadducees you mean? Not my favourite people.’

  ‘Not Rome’s either, so just make sure you back the right horse,’ said Proculus.

  ‘Even if the horse is called Governor Lucceius Albinus and has his snout so deep in the trough that you can’t even see his feet?’

  ‘That’s politics, Josephus. It’s the price you pay for stability. Which would you prefer: Albinus with his snout in the trough or your country given over to direct rule by the Sanhedrin?’

  ‘Neither.’ Replied Josephus. ‘All I want is a return to the natural order of things: that those who are born to govern be allowed to do so and that they act in accordance with the word of God.’

  Proculus snorted disdainfully. ‘You’re getting way ahead of yourself, young man. I’d stick to being nice to Poppaea. And forget the pipe-dreams. Talk like that will end in tears.’

  ‘Yes, but if you Romans are going to govern a place, then the least you can do is to do it properly. You talk about the usual suspects stirring things up but you’ve no idea how bad things got in Judea after Festus died and before Albinus finally deigned to show up.’

  Proculus switched his gaze from the horizon and now looked at Josephus full in the face. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn,’ he said. ‘Whatever position you may’ve been born to in Judea and what your people see as the “natural order” counts for nothing with us and if I were you I’d be very careful before you start giving lectures in governance to members of the Equestrian class.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Josephus. ‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that, but we just felt abandoned. Rome took away our ability to defend ourselves and then didn’t act when the Greeks attacked us again. And then to rub it in, my uncle was murdered by some of Ananus’ people.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Who’s Ananus?’

  ‘The High Priest of Judea.’

  ‘Well that just proves my point, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What point?’

  ‘That whatever rank you hold in Judea, your entire system counts for nothing with Rome.’ Josephus began to bluster but Proculus cut him short. ‘I’m not saying it’s right or wrong, but those are the facts.’ Josephus stared back at him, his expression a mixture of bafflement and truculence. Proculus continued. ‘You still don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘How your country, your people and your religion appear to civilised peoples.’

  ‘Our civilisation is older – ’

  ‘Don’t argue and don’t interrupt. You’re a good lad and I’m trying to help you; now listen to me, Josephus, or you’ll end up in the same cell as your three priests.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking down.

  ‘It’s distasteful to you, I know, but the view from the Palatine is that all Rome’s provinces, yes even Judea, are fly-blown shitholes,
fit only to send tribute to the empire. Play by our rules and you’ll get along fine: kick up trouble and we won’t think twice about crushing you. Not nice to hear but that’s how Rome sees things. And the way you Jews behave only makes it worse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well for starters you’re antisocial: you’re quarrelsome, you’d sooner huddle together with other Jews than mix with us. You won’t eat our food: fat, succulent pigs that would make perfect eating die of old age in your country – what a waste. You won’t observe our holy days but put your feet up for an entire day once a week. Then there’s your cock-eyed superstition that won’t accept our gods, whereas we happily accept gods from all over the empire. Have you seen the altar in the stern?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well take a look: it’s dedicated to Minerva to whom we entrust the well-being of this ship which bears her name, but it’s also dedicated to her British counterpart, Sul. You see; we’re a reasonable people so we don’t like it when subject peoples disrespect us.’

  ‘It’s not that we don’t respect Rome,’ said Josephus. ‘We believe there is but one true God and we follow his teachings as given to Moses and our other prophets. He commands us to fight in his name for what is right.’

  Proculus rolled his eyes in despair. ‘Don’t talk to me about fighting. That’s precisely the attitude I’m talking about. Do you know what we say about the Jews?’ Josephus shook his head. ‘Lock a Jew in a room on his own and within five minutes a punch-up will break out.’

  Josephus’ features showed that the message had sunk in. ‘So you’re saying my journey’s wasted?’

  ‘Not a bit of it. You as an individual are highly thought-of in Rome and if you can swallow your pride, play the game by our rules and make allies rather than enemies, you’ve every chance of getting what you’ve come for. On the other hand, if you strut around the place like the lord of the dunghill, you’ll get your comeuppance hard and fast.’

  Josephus returned his gaze out to sea and pondered Proculus’ words. Finally, he nodded and said, ‘Thanks for your advice, and I didn’t mean to be rude earlier.’