‘Shut the door. Apollinos. Hurry!’
Thank Bacchus they made it! My old slave slams the door and throws down the iron bolt. Smash of stone and murderous shrieks is muffled now the office door’s shut. The boys are terrified.
Aeson’s hair is caked in blood. Where’s it coming from… is that a cut on his hairline?
‘You’re hurt my boy.’ A coughing fit doubles me over. The smoke’s getting thicker.
‘Have you lost your mind, Rufius? We can’t stay here. The Archbishop will be up the stairs in moments. We need to get to the slave staircase before that’s overrun by monks too.’
Cassius opens his book bag for me to pass him the book I’m still clutching.
‘Hold it open, Cassius. Apollinos, you should see Aeson’s handwriting now, dear.’
Cassius takes The Book of Wisdom, and squashes it into the leather bag thrown across his chest.
‘Are you mad, Rufius? Forget the books. Cassius – give me your sword. We won’t get out of here without a fight. Rufius, you go first with Apollinos.’
I haven’t seen that determined look on Aeson’s face since the night I caught him in my library trying to pinch the very same book.
‘No madder than usual, dear. There’s another way. Shift those shelves back from the wall, boys.’
The boys are scared, but do as they’re told. Apollinos puts his weight behind the bookshelves as the boys push. The bookcase shudders stacked with ancient scrolls, tube upon papyrus tube.
What’s that? The room trembles. That must have been Serapis’ torso. The thud is followed by butcherous screeches.
Aeson grabs me tight on the shoulders. It is a desperate grip.
‘This is no time for interior decoration, Rufius.’
‘Trust me, dear. Help the boys. Such brave boys. Push.’
The bookshelf scrapes as it drags on the marble, papyri bounce and scatter on the floor.
‘Watch this.’
The wall’s smooth. Where is it, where is it? My hand fumbles for the catch.
Here’s the little lever.
Stone scuffs stone and separates to reveal a narrow vertical slash of darkness. The entrance to the hidden limestone passage slowly widens, grates and groans as the ancient mechanism opens onto a narrow passageway.
‘In you go, boys. And you, Aeson.’
Aeson’s face scrunches from grief to anger.
‘You could have saved her! You could have made her go – ’ His voice cracks.
Apollinos puts a hand on Aeson’s shoulder to console him.
The pound and scrape of an army of disorderly feet makes the floor shudder. They’re on this floor. We all look at the bolted door on the other side of the room.
‘Blame me later. We need to get the boys to safety. ‘Here, take this torch, Apollinos. I’ll be right behind you.’
Apollinos shakes his head. ‘No, master, I will not leave you.’
He guesses my intention.
‘Apollinos, get – ’ His eyes fill with tears. My hand lifts to stroke his cheek. That will make him worse. A slap across the face: that should do it.
‘Take the boys, Apollinos. Keep them safe… my old friend.’ My voice is soft.
He nods, takes the torch, stoops and bends his head to fit under the low doorway.
A thud on my office door lifts the iron bolt. It clanks free.
Aeson’s strong legs stride past me across the room. He clicks the bolt into place. Oh the yearning to clean the cuts and grazes disappearing up his thighs under his short tunic, like I once did when he came home from school bullied by Library brats. He never cried.
‘Cinaedus –’
‘Cinaedus –’
‘Sinner –’
‘Cinaedus –’
‘Fuck off! Filthy swine.’ They terrify me but hearing my own voice gives me spirit for what I must do.
Aeson strides back across the office towards me. Anger replaced by urgency.
‘Rufius, get inside the passage.’
‘No, dear. This door needs to be closed or none of you will have a chance of escape. You must go now, Aeson.’
His bare shoulder, the smell of his skin calms me. We stare into the darkness: a low doorway roughly carved in the days of the Pharaohs. A cool briny dampness travels up from the entrance.
The mob’s ransacking the room below us. Thuds, cheers, the educated voice of a librarian begging for his life… his last pained scream makes me want to piss. This is no longer my office, but my impatient grave.
‘Go! Before I lose my nerve.’
Strong hands rest on my shoulders, turn me gently to face him. My breathing slows down in his grasp. The fury of the mob, the choking smoke, the fear falls away as I return his gaze. There are only his eyes, flickering as if a golden light is illuminating them from their depths. Drink them in, Rufius. Let this be the image I recall in my final moment. What is he searching for in my eyes? Some stolen treasure? ‘I have nothing left to give, my darling boy.’ Sobs stutter up from my stomach. ‘W-was I ever more to you than an old fool?’
A faint smile begins in his eyes, but does not reach his lips. ‘You made me, Rufius.’
The thump of hatred on the wooden door throws the bolt free again from its iron latch. Aeson dives on it; shining muscles force it back.
‘Go, now.’ The panic’s gone from my voice. My belly is a bag of smoke, but my heart gives me courage. The foreign sensation propels me towards him, pushing his hard chest into the passageway. He looks disorientated as he shuffles backwards through stray papyrus. It’s elating, the strength I have in my body from this new bravery. ‘Mind your head.’
He ducks, bends his knees to fit under the low ceiling of the passageway.
‘It will take you to the Necropolis.’
He looks shocked. At the change in me? I want to laugh from the lightness I feel.
‘Now GO!’
The wooden door buckles, cracks and spits under the weight of the monks. They’re working together now.
‘Go on.’ I push him further into the passage.
‘You’re coming with me, Rufius.’
‘No chance of out-running them with my old legs. Go, my darling. Run.’
I understand for the first time why the Greeks put lovers into battle together. I would rather die than live without honour in his memory.
He leans forward and pulls me to him in an embrace. His smell, sea-salt and leather, coupled with a foreign sensation. So this is what it feels like to love from my heart, rather than my loins. This whole wretched life of mine was worth this one moment.
‘You must go now, Aeson.’
He’s frozen, hunched bent-kneed in the damp mouth of the passage. No matter, as long as I can get this bloody door back in place. No one can see the joins when it’s closed. Now, let’s push the door back in position. As long as Theophilus gets what he wants he’ll be satisfied. And the Archbishop wants this old cinaedus’ arse nailed to a crucifix. Don’t think about it, keep pushing. They’ll knock the door bolt free any moment. Every thrust hurts my old knees.
Wood splits. An axe winks maliciously through the splintered gash in the door. A hot fear burns my skin from the inside. The roar of the mob makes my stomach jerk. No time to vomit, Rufius.
The gap’s narrowing.
What’s he doing in there?
‘There’s a torch in the wall bracket. Pick it up and RUN!’
Nearly there… one more heave and I’ll have the secret stone back in place. This will be my final act. Oh no! Accompanied by incontinence it seems from the warm wetness trickling between my legs. Skidding in my own urine is not the way to do it.
Right, let’s regain my footing, that’s it. Now, heave.
Another hack: a metal axe head glints through the wood.
Push, Rufius, Push.
Sweat drips from my hair onto my dry lips. Salty. I miss the dinner I’ll never eat. The wine jug’s still on my desk where I left it.
No time. I cry and push, grunt and push.
The old stone grates. The black gap narrows. I have the chance to do my duty before I die: a father’s duty… one more push, Rufius… on an empty stomach, incontinent and bloody sober. Well Bacchus, it seems the only god I ever really worshipped will have the last laugh.