London - Edward Rutherfurd [46]
The street side of the palace consisted of a ragstone wall, in the centre of which was a handsome gateway leading to a large courtyard. In front of the gateway, on a marble plinth, stood a tall, narrow stone, almost the height of a man. This was the central marker from which all the milestones in southern Britain took their distances.
The sentry seemed to like standing in front of the stone, surreptitiously resting his back against it, but every little while he would slowly march along the empty street, turn, and march back to his resting place.
Julius watched carefully. The man took twenty-five paces in one direction, then, after a pause, twenty-five in the other. To make sure, Julius watched again, then a third time. It was always the same. He calculated his moves carefully. There would just be time.
When the sentry began his next turn along the street with his back to him, Julius moved quickly out, and, keeping the stone between him and the sentry for cover, ran swiftly and silently forward, ducking into the shadow of the gateway just before the fellow turned.
It took him only a moment to slip into the courtyard. On the far side, under a portico, was the main door of the residence. It had been left open. He walked boldly in. And found himself in another world.
Perhaps no civilization has ever invented better homes for its richer classes than the Roman villa or town house. The governor’s mansion was a splendid example of the latter. The high cool atrium with its pool of water set the tone of stately repose. The sophisticated system of underfloor central heating – the hypocaust – kept the house warm in winter. In summer, the stone and marble interior was cool and airy.
As was common in the better houses in Londinium, many of the floors had beautiful mosaics. Bacchus, god of wine, was depicted here, a lion there; dolphins graced one hall, whilst elsewhere there were intricately woven geometric patterns.
After an admiring glance at the splendour of the main rooms, Julius moved quickly to the smaller chambers. These, too, though more intimate, were fine. The walls were mostly painted in panels of ochres, reds and greens, with the lower panels in some cleverly painted to look like marble.
Julius knew what he was looking for. It had to be something small. If the mariner’s wife were seen with a valuable piece of jewellery it would excite comment and lead to trouble. He wanted a single, modest object; something so small they would probably think it had just been lost.
It did not take him long. In one of the bedrooms he found on a table a mirror of polished bronze, some silver brushes and three jewelled brooches. There was also a beautiful necklace made of huge uncut emeralds set in a gold chain. The emeralds, he knew, would have come from Egypt. He picked it up and admired it. Just for a moment he was tempted to steal it. He could never dispose of the emeralds, of course – they would be far too conspicuous – but he could melt down the gold. Then he put it down again. It seemed a pity to destroy such beautiful workmanship.
Beside it, however, was exactly what he needed: a simple gold bracelet without any markings. There must be a thousand like it in Londinium. That was what he would give Martina. Picking it up, he slipped quickly out.
The house was still silent, the courtyards deserted. Hugging the wall, he made his way towards the gate. All he had to do now was to get past the sentry who had resumed his watch in the street. As long as he doesn’t come into the courtyard now, he prayed. He edged to the inside of the gateway.
He could see the sentry’s back as he lounged against the stone. As far as he could judge, the street was