Free The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction by Mike Ashley Page B

brighter shafts of moonlight. Dangling from a rocky roof three or four times the height of a man, suspended from a silver chain, I saw the Pan pipes. They were in the very centre of the chamber and I could see no way to reach them.
    A third chamber lay beyond. It was the smallest and the darkest. Only by feeling my way around the walls did I discover a small door, hardly big enough to admit a stooping man. I attempted to pick the lock, but I dropped my tools, and in the darkness despaired of retrieving them. As I was searched about, my hands chanced upon several objects, including a knife and an axe of the sort the Megabyzoi used to sacrifice animals, and a sack of some strong material, large enough to accommodate a small body.
    Then I touched something bony and pointed, like a horn, which seemed to be attached to an animal’s hide.
    I gave a cry and started back, hitting my head on a outcrop of stone. By the dim light, I saw the glinting eyes of some beast, very close to the ground, staring up at me. My heart pounded. What was this creature? Why did it make no noise? Was this the guardian of the cave, some horned monster set here by Artemis to gore to death an impious intruder like myself?
    Gradually, I perceived the true shape of the thing that seemed to gaze up at me. It was the stag’s-head mask that had been worn by Chloe in the dance of Actaeon.
    I picked it up and carried it into the larger chamber, where I could examine it by a better light.
    Suddenly I realized that I had never shut the door by which I had entered. I returned to the antechamber, pulled the door shut, and heard the bolt drop into place inside.
    Taking my time, I retrieved the tools I had dropped and eventually managed to open the door in the third chamber. Fresh air blew against my face. I ventured a few paces outside and found myself in a rocky defile overgrown by thickets. No apparent path led away from it. Clearly, this was a secret rear entrance to the cave.
    I stepped back inside the cave and locked the small door behind me. I returned to the large chamber and tried to find a comfortable spot. I had no worries that I would fall asleep – I kept imagining that the stag’s-head mask was staring at me. Also, from time to time I imagined I heard someone else in the cave, breathing softly and making slight noises. I remembered another of my father’s lessons – His own imagination is a man’s most fearsome enemy – and assured myself that I was completely alone.

    Eventually I must have dozed off, for suddenly I awoke to the muffled sound of women lamenting, and the discordant music of rattles and tambourines from beyond the iron door.
    A ceremony was taking place outside the cave. The words were too indistinct for me to make them out, but I was certain I recognized the stern voice of Theotimus, the head Megabyzus.
    At length, I heard the iron door open, and then slam shut.
    The music outside ceased. The crowd grew silent.
    The sound of a girl sobbing echoed through the cave. The sobbing eventually quietened, then drew nearer, then ended in a gasp as Anthea, dressed in a simple white tunic, stepped into the large chamber and perceived me standing there.
    The light was too dim for her not-yet-adjusted eyes to recognize me. She started back in fear.
    “Anthea!” I whispered. “You know me. We met yesterday in your father’s house. I’m Gordianus – the Roman, travelling with Antipater.”
    Her panic was replaced by confusion. “What are you doing here? How did you come to be here?”
    “Never mind that,” I said. “The question is: how can we get those pipes to play?” I gestured to the Pan pipes dangling above our heads.
    “They really exist,” muttered Anthea. “When the hierodules explained the test to me, I didn’t know what to think – pipes that would play a tune by themselves if I were truly a virgin. But there they are! And I am a virgin – that’s a fact, as the goddess herself surely knows. These pipes will play, then.