‘You’ll never get in there,’ Russo declared as he and Harker watched the latest guest arriving at the main entrance to the Baths of Caracalla. The security guard scrutinised the invitation which the man had handed to him, then with a gracious nod he swung open the metal gate and allowed him to pass inside.
‘How many have arrived so far? Over twenty?’ Harker surmised, as he poked his head around the temporary metal fencing surrounding the adjoining car park. ‘The guard over there seems to only be interested in one thing, and that’s an invitation. Harker brandished the piece of card they had retrieved form the young boy earlier. ‘And I’m on the guest list.’
The detective shrugged his shoulders despondently. ‘While all I need to do is show my ID and we’re in, simple as that.’
Harker was already shaking his head at this idea. ‘No, I need to find out what’s going on here and if we waltz in there flashing your badge, they are likely to clam up.’
They both turned away as another car pulled into the dusty car park and two more men wearing black-tie got out and made their way over to the waiting guard. ‘OK, wish me luck,’ Harker said and, with a reassuring pat on the back from Russo, he strolled through the entrance and headed towards the guard who was still in the process of admitting the latest guests.
With the invitation already clutched in his hand, Harker tried to look as relaxed as possible, even if his stomach was beginning to rumble nervously. The worst thing that could happen now was to be refused entry and if that was to happen, then he’d come back with Russo and do the whole police badge thing. But if it was that simple, why did he feel so apprehensive? Oh, I don’t know, he thought maybe because someone tried to drown you earlier and your nerves are still shot to shit? This seemed the likely cause, but as Harker reached the navy-suited guard he could not shake the feeling that something was extremely wrong here.
‘Lovely evening,’ Harker said with a smile, holding the invitation out before him in the same manner as the guests preceding him.
The guard gazed down at the invitation and then promptly whisked it from Harker’s fingers. ‘You are aware it’s a black-tie event, sir,’ he said on taking note of Harker’s jacket and the slacks that still showed signs of dampness from his earlier encounter with the fountain.
‘Don’t ask. It’s a long story,’ Harker replied, managing to retain an air of superiority. ‘But I could not miss this evening’s event for anything, so here I am.’
The guard maintained his judgemental stare and then, with eyebrow raised, he examined the invitation card and passed it back. ‘Follow the illuminated path to the main bath house, where your additional attire may be picked up at the entrance.’
Harker’s ears pricked up at the mention of ‘additional attire’ because, except for perhaps an eccentric-looking top hat, what could anyone possibly add to black-tie. ‘Thank you,’ he replied and began making his way slowly along the path with flaming torches set on either side.
In its heyday the baths were considered the pinnacle of Roman ingenuity, and they could accommodate a staggering sixteen hundred people at one time in a number of hot, cold and steam rooms, as well as fifty-metre, Olympic-sized swimming pool. Built by two Emperors, Septimius Severus and his son Caracalla, the facilities were free and open to all citizens of Rome. The complex itself was so huge that a single extension aqueduct was constructed to provide enough water, which was then heated via underground coal and wood burners. An impressive feat even by today’s standards, it must have been a sight to behold back in the day. Of course, after a couple of millennia of neglect and weathering, all that stood now were the walls but at thirty metres high they still commanded respect, and as the sun set over them this made for a spectacular setting.
Harker followed the torch-lined path all the way to the base of one of the massive walls where, from a small arched opening, a short man, no taller than five foot, wearing a distinct red and gold hooded cloak approached him. With long white hair tied in a ponytail, he would have fit in perfectly at a wizards’ convention and Harker had to suppress the urge to look surprised by this little fellow’s odd appearance.
‘Can I help you sir?’
The man’s voice was unusually shrill with a high-pitched squeak that could have made even a professional castrator proud.
‘I’m here for this evening’s events,’ Harker declared with a ring of entitlement in his voice, passing over the invitation. ‘Forgive my attire but it could not be helped.’
The odd little man looked him up and down after inspecting the invitation and cast a look of distain at Harker’s clothing, which seemed rich considering his own bizarre get-up. He finally offered a nod and then directed an arm towards the open archway. ‘Please, follow me.’
The sky overhead now beginning to darken, Harker was led through the ruins, room by room, until they reached a small alcove in one of the limestone walls, where a metal clothes stand had been placed. It was an odd to see this piece of modern equipment set here against the backdrop of such ancient architecture, but Harker remained silent as the little man selected a coat hanger holding an identical robe to the one he himself was wearing.
‘You are the last to arrive,’ the little man said, just managing to wrap the garment caringly around Harker’s shoulders and, with a hop, flipping the hood up to conceal the newcomer’s face. ‘They are waiting for you,’ he announced and that statement produced a pang of alarm in Harker. But, as he was guided into the adjoining room his nerves immediately settled. In the middle of the large unroofed space burned a small fire that had been built on the grass and around it stood more than thirty people, all in exactly the same hooded robes as he wore. With so many people present it was reasonable to assume that not every face would have been recognised by the diminutive guide, and Harker’s hood afforded enough anonymity for him to observe without being rumbled as an outsider.
He made his way closer towards the fire and took a place amongst them, but seemingly not one of these people even registered his presence. Instead all seemed to be mesmerised by the fire there in their midst.
‘Welcome,’ called out a loud and joyous voice, and all hoods, including Harker turned to a gap in the farthest wall, where a man dressed in a white tunic and black trousers addressed them with hands high in the air. He was six-foot tall, completely bald, and with his thin, black goatee and manically happy smile, there was about him a whiff of Ming the Merciless from the famous comic strip Flash Gordon. Without another word and still with no verbal reaction from the people assembled, the man made his way towards the fire, stopped suddenly at a piece of broken rock about a foot in height which protruded from the earth, then stepped up onto it.
‘This night your dedication is rewarded and you will become far more than you were,’ he proclaimed. ‘Now find your equals.’
They don’t hang around, Harker concluded as all the hooded individuals now began moving about one another, checking each other’s sleeves and, as he stood there bewildered as to what he had now stumbled into, he noticed a symbol embroidered onto the left arm of his robe in yellow cotton. It was a simple V, the Roman numeral for the number five and he watched as pairs of attendees with identical numbers began to link arms with one another – until everyone there had a partner except himself. It was at this point Harker felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
He whirled around to face a robed figure holding up his right arm, which also had the ‘V’ symbol sewn into the sleeve. Even through the hood made identification impossible, it was obvious by the size of the figure’s hands that this was a male.
The man slipped his arm under Harker’s and began to lead him over towards the others, who were already lining up in a series of two rows of ten people in each. Even though every fibre of his being was telling him to run for it, Harker remained compliant as his partner pulled him into position at the end of the first row.
‘Now each of you address your brother, and administer the bonds of strength,’ ordered Ming the Merciless, with that same smile still resolutely emblazoned on his face. ‘For through this act you may step into a new realm and let light shine over you for all eternity.’
Harker’s new-found ‘brother’ took him by the hand and with his own other hand produced a thin strip of tanned leather string which he proceeded to wrap around both their wrists, as the other robed figures all did likewise.
To say that Harker felt uncomfortable at this moment would have been a mammoth understatement and as the bald-headed cartoon-strip lookalike began to speak again, he found himself desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on. The hoods, the fire, the ancient setting… it was all reminiscent of pagan worship, maybe even Devil worship, but it wasn’t a ritual he was familiar with – or wanted to be familiar with, for that matter.
‘Now pray with me, brothers.’ Ming continued, whereupon all the hoods lowered their heads to the ground as he began mumbling something unintelligible with his eyes closed.
This mumbling lasted for well over a minute and all the while Harker kept his head bowed along with all the others, until finally Ming looked up and gazed out upon them all, then spoke aloud once more.
‘It is below the glowing stars that you enter a new stage of your existence and, by the power God has placed in me, I now pronounce you joined in union and forever more in holy matrimony.’
‘What!’ Harker exclaimed loudly enough that every hood in both rows instantly turned their attention towards him. But if Ming had heard anything, he didn’t show it, and instead wrapped up the ceremony as quickly as it had begun.
‘Congratulations, my nymphs. Go forth and rejoice now until next we meet.’
Harker was still reeling from the implications of what was just said as all the hoods – without saying a word and including his ‘partner’ – went off into the dark bowels of the baths’ ruins leaving him on his own in a state of complete and utter bewilderment. What the hell just happened? he wondered.
Then, after a few seconds of stunned silence, a voice called out to him. ‘It is finished.’
Harker turned around to see the same little fellow who had met him at the entrance.
‘May I have the robe please.’ Then without pause, he made his way around behind him and gently tugged the garment off him before folding it neatly. ‘Please now follow me.’ And Harker was led out through the entrance and back onto the path beyond, still lined with flickering torches. ‘Have a pleasant evening,’ he said, with a courteous bow, then headed back amid the shadowy ruins until he was out of sight.
Harker’s head was spinning and he stood motionless in a confused daze, feeling like he’d just been mugged even though nothing was taken. It was clearly a ritual but unlike anything he had ever seen or even heard of.
‘Professor.’
Harker spun around to see Detective Russo making his way up the pathway towards him and looking highly suspicious. ‘That was quick,’ he pointed out, looking surprised. ‘I saw people leaving by car out the front, so I flashed my badge and came in here to find you. Are you OK? What happened?’
Harker still felt shell-shocked as he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled a long deep breath. ‘I’m not sure exactly,’ he glanced back at the ruins in confusion. ‘But I think I just got married.’
Russo stared at him blankly. ‘Uhh, congratulations?’ He followed this up with an uncertain smile.
‘Thanks,’ Harker said doubtfully, ‘but I think it was to another bloke!’