Having left the comparative sanctuary of Hieronymous's home, Barbara Wright didn't have the faintest idea of where she would, or could, go next.

Or, wherever that was, whether she would be safe from persecution there, because of her nationality and pale skin.

By the Jews, or the Romans, or the Arabs, or anyone else for that matter.

She wasn't even sure whether, if she looked at someone in a way that they took exception to, whether she would find herself with her throat slashed, bleeding to death and gasping her final breath in the gutter of some Byzantine backstreet, cursing the dark November evening in London that she and Ian Chesterton had decided to investigate their mysterious and unearthly child. Which is a wonderfully paranoid notion to have constantly in the back of your mind, she thought, as you wander through the streets of a strange and glittering metropolis. In a complex political and social landscape where you are a total outsider and with many inexplicable peoples, cultures and creeds. And in a brutal time of troubles and inhumanities.

A time of great sorrows.

And, to think, Barbara had been the one who had been excited by the prospect of coming to Byzantium in the first place.

That was a good idea. was a good idea.

Silly, silly girl, she reproached herself. Next time you want to go exploring the annals of history, stick to the British Library. At least you normally don't get stabbed in the back while in the reading rooms.

Uncertainty was a key word for Barbara just at the moment. More so than usual. The only thing that she knew for certain was that her future lay somewhere other than sharing a house with the old Pharisee, Hieronymous, however painful for both of them that fact was.

As she walked along the cobbled and narrow streets of the Jewish quarter, she began to formulate a plan in her mind that would at least point the way towards whatever the future held in store for her. Firstly, she decided, she would need to return to the market square, the scene of the apocalyptic horror that had taken her friends from her and destroyed the one constant thread in her life.

It would be painful and hard, but it was was necessary. necessary.

While Hieronymous had been discouraging about the chances of her companions surviving the terrible atrocity of almost two weeks before, there had still been no definitive word from anyone as to whether Ian and Vicki and the Doctor had been among the casualties. Unlikely as it was that any or all of them may have survived, it was, Barbara had decided, time to find out one way or another.

Only once that question had been settled within her own mind could Barbara face the prospect of what was to come.

She felt a little like someone walking towards their own execution.

In the way that only a moment of clarity amid clouds of confusion can produce a line from Steinbeck, an image of Tyburn Hill and the beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots shared sudden and equal prominence within Barbara's mind.

And then they were all gone and she felt hollow, sad and alone.

Yet there was so much going on around her that she could have stopped and observed for hours and days. If she'd been interested in them any longer.

Dionysiac House o f Mysteries House o f Mysteries artwork surrounded the approaches to the market-place. These depicted devotees of the Bacchae, and other Euripidian forms of pleasure, performing wild and ecstatic dancing to the accompaniment of the artwork surrounded the approaches to the market-place. These depicted devotees of the Bacchae, and other Euripidian forms of pleasure, performing wild and ecstatic dancing to the accompaniment of the aulos aulos and working themselves into a delirium while watched by Dike, the Greek G.o.ddess of justice. and working themselves into a delirium while watched by Dike, the Greek G.o.ddess of justice.

Just waiting to administer the pain that must go hand-in-hand with the joy.

Much to her discomfort, this upset Barbara greatly. She had always found masochism (religious, or otherwise) really tacky.

At the entrance to the market was a temple to Isis and Osiris, Egyptian G.o.ds drawn into the h.e.l.lenistic-Roman spheres of influence, like Byzantium, by those who travelled through the empire and brought back with them to Greco-Roman sh.o.r.es these strange and exotic foreign ideas. The incorporation of the pagan G.o.ddess Isis into Roman society was, Barbara remembered, largely due to the mad, bad, and dangerous-to-know Emperor Caligula, who had erected a temple to her on the Campus Martius.

Was that before or after he'd made his horse a senator, Barbara briefly wondered? Then she let the thought pa.s.s and moved to the edge of the square itself.

She paused, frozen to the spot by a fear that had no rationality, but was there just the same.

The bloodstains that still marked the spots where so many had been crushed and trampled to untimely deaths made her wince.

For a moment she almost turned and ran from the market-place.

But, just as the fear was present, so also a strange fascination held her steady.

The colours were brilliant. brilliant.

Simply breathtaking.

Blues and purples and reds and yellows of every shade of the rainbow. And beyond.

The mosaic-tiled floor of the market square was chiefly what caught Barbara's attention, despite the dust, the footprints, the blood and the horse manure - a representation of Zeus at the top of Mount Olympus, looking down upon the world.

His world.

The Romans had, of course, replaced an original Greek inscription, renaming the portrait as that of their own Father of the G.o.ds, Jupiter, the centre of family life, of authority and discipline.

The G.o.d of the G.o.ds themselves.

Al around, she noticed statues of Greek deities that had become Roman, like a series of irregular fractions changed beyond all recognition, simply by being rechristened. A beautiful metaphor for the way in which the Romans had simply stretched themselves across the template of Greek culture and had become become it. Poseidon into Neptune. Artemis into Diana. Hermes into Mercury. Aphrodite into Venus. Prometheus into Vulcan. it. Poseidon into Neptune. Artemis into Diana. Hermes into Mercury. Aphrodite into Venus. Prometheus into Vulcan.

ReChrist-ened... The word, and all of its connotations, amused Barbara greatly.

Just as the bustling, thronging ma.s.ses of plebeians, freedmen, citizens and slaves, of Greeks, Mesopotamians, Jews, Arabs and Romans excited her. A melting-pot of civilisation. Where the east meets the west and produces something neither one thing nor the other, but all things to all men (and women).

But, at the end of the day, the Doctor had been right when he said that these were not the glorious times that they were often made out to be. For some of the population, anyway. Many features of the social organisation of both the empire in general, and Byzantium in particular, had contributed to the debasing of any existing morality. That was what Barbara had always been led to believe, and here it was before her very eyes. Slavery gave occasion to cruelty and s.e.xual licence. The punishment of alleged criminals through torture, public humiliation and execution by crucifixion showed the casual, almost dismissive brutality of these times. Combined with gladiatorial contests of which Byzantium seemed, thankfully, for the most part free, this reflected a cruel, barbarous outlook on life. The Roman policy of bread and circuses to keep the fickle populace content had prevented any great intellectual and social advances and emphasised, instead simple sensual pleasures.

Which was all very well if you liked liked that sort of thing. but wasn't really Barbara's cup of tea. At least, not with any old Tomus, d.i.c.kus or Harryus. that sort of thing. but wasn't really Barbara's cup of tea. At least, not with any old Tomus, d.i.c.kus or Harryus.

Many subsequent Christian writers had argued that the Greco-Roman world was characterised by moral and physical corruption. Some Jewish apologists suggested that the mortality rate sprang from idolatry, but anyone with eyes in their head could see the reality of life in the Roman empire.

And then there was the place of women within the order of things. Although the picture of cla.s.sical Greek women kept in seclusion and bondage all of their lives had been long since disproved, historically, the average Greek woman's sphere was still definitely within the home. The Romans, on the other hand, were happy for their women to pa.s.s from the subjection of the father to the husband. And as for the Jews, a wife might be the mistress of the home, but nowhere else.

Oh, the Byzantines had their entertainments, to be sure. If not bread and circuses, then, at least, bread and spectacles. The lack of an arena within the city was more than made up for by other pleasures, as Barbara had discovered. There were several amphitheatres built into the hillsides that surrounded the city, with richly decorated tiers of colonnaded niches filled with statuary, at which lascivious masques, dramas and tragedies were performed by talented hypokrites hypokrites and amusing comedians. There were the and amusing comedians. There were the pankration pankration athletic contests that accompanied Greek and Roman festivals, which began with a sacrifice and a prayer and, more often than not, ended in bloodshed of a different kind. And there were gymnasia and public baths and widespread social banquets. athletic contests that accompanied Greek and Roman festivals, which began with a sacrifice and a prayer and, more often than not, ended in bloodshed of a different kind. And there were gymnasia and public baths and widespread social banquets.

All of it fascinating, and yet in its own way as trivial and unin-teresting to Barbara as the football matches, Odeon cinemas and fashionable Knightsbridge dinner parties of 1960s London. Dear G.o.d, Barbara reflected. It was coming to a pretty pa.s.s when the complexities and intrigues of history (and, especially, as unique a historical time as this) didn't excite her any more. Maybe she was just getting jaded by her proximity to it all.

Loose morality, s.e.xual perversion and an unhealthy disregard for the sanct.i.ty of human life were not (by any stretch of the imagination) att.i.tudes only to be found here.

Barbara resolved that, whatever else happened to her, and wherever she ended up, that she would experience every moment from now on with a spring in her step.

So, with this in mind, she conquered her sudden claustrophobic terror and stepped into the market-place of Byzantium, where her friends and companions from the future had (probably) died.

And, on standing on the Zeus mosaic, a question raised a moment before was fully answered. How, she had wondered several times in the days she spent with Hieronymous, would she feel when she stood where Vicki, Ian and the Doctor had breathed their last breath?

Now, she knew, She felt nothing. Nothing, but a vague sense of outrage that they had died here, of all places.

Byzantium. A terrible place to die.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Rust Never Sleeps

And she went and told them that had been with him, as they mourned and wept. with him, as they mourned and wept.

Mark 16:10

The triclinium triclinium dining room of Marcus and Agrinella's villa home was an opulent homage to all of the riches that Marcus's life had brought them. A statue of Ceres, the G.o.ddess of the harvest, in finest Athenian marble (imported at great expense), rested within a tiny fountain in the room's centre. It was surrounded by oil lamps and candles that reflected the trickling flow of water across the arched ceiling in mutated shards like moving pictures. dining room of Marcus and Agrinella's villa home was an opulent homage to all of the riches that Marcus's life had brought them. A statue of Ceres, the G.o.ddess of the harvest, in finest Athenian marble (imported at great expense), rested within a tiny fountain in the room's centre. It was surrounded by oil lamps and candles that reflected the trickling flow of water across the arched ceiling in mutated shards like moving pictures.

Agrinella entered the room, hitched up the hem of her palla palla dress and reclined, lazily, on the couch, drinking her wine as she kicked off her sandals and watched with a drunken amus.e.m.e.nt as they fell to the floor with a hard slap. dress and reclined, lazily, on the couch, drinking her wine as she kicked off her sandals and watched with a drunken amus.e.m.e.nt as they fell to the floor with a hard slap.

She inclined her head to one side, observing the richly coloured painting that decorated the far wall of the triclinium triclinium from such an angle as she had never seen before. It was a spectacular (and only mildly p.o.r.nographic) depiction of a Dionysian scene, a baroque representation of the from such an angle as she had never seen before. It was a spectacular (and only mildly p.o.r.nographic) depiction of a Dionysian scene, a baroque representation of the Villa I tem Villa I tem outside Pompeii. A mostly naked woman was kneeling at the feet of the emperor, her head resting in his lap whilst the demonic figure of Dike, the personification of pleasure and pain, stood behind her. And, all the while, other women (wearing masks to hide their shamed faces) and mythical satyrs and maenads danced in joyous and total abandon, cymbals crashing, scarves whirling aimlessly. 'Glad outside Pompeii. A mostly naked woman was kneeling at the feet of the emperor, her head resting in his lap whilst the demonic figure of Dike, the personification of pleasure and pain, stood behind her. And, all the while, other women (wearing masks to hide their shamed faces) and mythical satyrs and maenads danced in joyous and total abandon, cymbals crashing, scarves whirling aimlessly. 'Glad someone someone is having a good time,' pouted Agrinella as she fell from the couch into a crumpled heap, spilling the wine over her is having a good time,' pouted Agrinella as she fell from the couch into a crumpled heap, spilling the wine over her palla. palla.

As she struggled to stand and banged noisily on the floor for a slave to come and help her, Marcus entered the room.

When he saw Agrinella sprawling on the floor, drunk, a look of disgust and contempt crossed his face.

'My sweet,' Agrinella stammered, 'I have been waiting here for you.'

'Get up,' Marcus snapped. 'You are drunk, madam. And, therefore of no use to man nor beast of the field.'

Agrinella began to cry, hot and shameful tears. 'But you were so long...' she wailed.

'Get up, you drunken mare,' Marcus repeated as he picked Agrinella's fallen cup from the floor, took aim and threw it at her as he would a pilum a pilum lance at a staked-out prisoner. Agrinella flung up her hands to deflect the impact, but the goblet still caught her a glancing blow on the side of the head and then skittered away across the floor. lance at a staked-out prisoner. Agrinella flung up her hands to deflect the impact, but the goblet still caught her a glancing blow on the side of the head and then skittered away across the floor.

The tribune's wife raised her head, her face tear-stained and a thin trickle of blood seeping from her temple where the cup had broken the skin. P rolapsus ab alvo. rolapsus ab alvo. b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of a wh.o.r.e,' she screamed, suddenly finding the ability to stand that had been denied to her seconds earlier. 'Limp and tiny man of great infamy,' she continued as she advanced on Marcus who was rooted to the spot, unblinking. 'How dare you treat me like some chattel, some thing from the gutters of Rome? My father will have you tied to a horse and dragged through the streets for what you do to me...' b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of a wh.o.r.e,' she screamed, suddenly finding the ability to stand that had been denied to her seconds earlier. 'Limp and tiny man of great infamy,' she continued as she advanced on Marcus who was rooted to the spot, unblinking. 'How dare you treat me like some chattel, some thing from the gutters of Rome? My father will have you tied to a horse and dragged through the streets for what you do to me...'

Her voice trailed away and she fell to her knees, weeping, her fists bunched tightly in front of her face to hold in her wracked sobs.

Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. 'Woman, arise,' he said, with a gentle softness that belied the situation. Is this any way for the daughter of a legate to behave?' he asked.

Agrinella stared at him and did not reply. 'Whimpering and crawling like a whelped babe. Your father would have you you dragged through the streets before me for such a show of weakness and self-pity.' dragged through the streets before me for such a show of weakness and self-pity.'

Still Agrinella said nothing. She wiped her eyes without taking them from Marcus's calm and handsome face.

'Is that any way for the wife of a future praefectus praefectus to behave? For the wife of a future senator?' to behave? For the wife of a future senator?'

'For the wife of a future emperor?' she asked at last.

'All things in the world are possible,' said Marcus, taking a handful of his wife's golden hair between his fingers and using it to dry a tear on her cheek. 'Without you, I am but nothing nothing.'

'And I, you, my wonderful soldier.'

Marcus swept Agrinella off her feet and cradled her in his arms, lifting her to his chest and carrying her towards the door. 'The world is ours for the taking, my heart,' he said as she clung to him tightly. 'We alone shall inherit the gifts of the G.o.ds.'

The door burst open and a terrified slave stood silhouetted in its frame.

Marcus allowed Agrinella to swing back to the floor. Both heads turned in the direction of the interloper.

'What is the meaning of this loud intrusion?' bellowed Marcus.

'Forgive me, master,' replied the slave, 'Cartethus is nowhere to be found and an important visitor beseeches an audience with you.'

'Get out of my way,' said Antonia Vinicus, pushing the slave away from the door and looking closely at Marcus and Agrinella, their arms still wrapped around each other. 'I pray to all of the G.o.ds that I am not interrupting anything too interesting,' she said with a calculated sneer.

'Antonia,' Marcus replied, with a sigh. 'This is not a particularly good time for social intercourse.'

Agrinella giggled at Marcus's deliberately coital double entendre, but Antonia wiped the smile from her friend's face in an instant.

'Edius Flavia has been arrested,' she said flatly. 'As far as I can ascertain, he was caught in flagrante del icto in flagrante del icto in the chamber of that simpering worm, Felicia.' in the chamber of that simpering worm, Felicia.'

'Arrested for what?' asked Marcus, angrily. 'Since when is the taking of a slave to your bed a crime of any description?'

Antonia laughed at Marcus's naivety. 'Sine the manipulative, and no doubt by now much richer, puella meretrix puella meretrix in question screamed "rape" with ten praetorian guards stationed just outside of her door.' in question screamed "rape" with ten praetorian guards stationed just outside of her door.'

Now Marcus understood. 'He was tricked by cruel chicanery?'

'Yes, yes, he was a fool unto himself and all others,' Antonia replied. and he will pay a heavy and deadly price for his rashness. But now we have a bigger problem to deal with than Edius's d.a.m.nable libido.'

The shock of these revelations had quickly sobered Agrinella. 'Sweet merciful G.o.ds, what are we to do?' she asked in a panic.

'That is very much for your husband to decide,' Antonia told her. 'But whatever it is, make it quick. Calaphilus will not wait for long before he acts.'