Not a sound from the other side.
Turning the handle gently, she pulled it open a crack. No cry of alarm. A glimmer of light from an oil lamp further down the corridor revealed that no one was about. Barefoot, Fabiola slipped out of her room, closing the door. From the chamber beside hers came the loud sound of a man snoring. It was echoed in the others that she passed. Yet her tension grew and grew. If she was discovered, the veterans’ reaction would not be pleasant. The thought stopped Fabiola in her tracks. She had had two lucky escapes already that day. It was pushing her luck to continue.
Down the dim passageway, in the atrium, she saw the large statue of Mithras, cloaked and mysterious. The bull he was crouched over had its head raised and was looking straight at her, knowingly. Disconcerted, Fabiola shivered. Then curiosity, and a reluctance to admit defeat, got the better of her. Involuntarily, her feet began to move again across the cool mosaic floor. Soon she had reached the door which Secundus had closed. A quick glance to either side was enough to tell Fabiola that no one had heard her. The sole witness was the bull, and it did not speak.
Thankfully the portal was not locked. Nor did its hinges creak as she pushed it open. Inside the room was totally dark. Yet Fabiola did not dare to find flints to ignite a lamp. Once she was in the Mithraeum perhaps, but not before. If any of the veterans happened to see a light burning in here, her game would be up. She pushed the door to, almost closing it. Just the slightest glimmer from the corridor came through the tiny crack that she left between its edge and the frame. Fabiola hoped it would be enough. Sliding her bare feet cautiously across the tiles, she moved to where the middle of the chamber should be. On her hands and knees in the utter blackness, she searched with her fingertips. To her frustration, only the finest irregularities between the tiny pieces of tile which formed the mosaic were apparent. When Fabiola stopped, the only sounds were her own breathing and her rapid heartbeat. It was unnerving, and she had to pause a number of times to calm herself. For what seemed like an eternity, she found nothing.
At last her fingers closed on an iron ring. Careful probing revealed that it was attached to the middle of a rectangular stone slab. A rush of relief flooded her, yet goosebumps rose on her skin as she lifted the trapdoor, allowing a current of cool air to rise from the depths, bringing with it the smells of stale incense and men’s body odour. This was hallowed ground, and she was forbidden from entering it.
Yet even if she had wanted to, there was no going back now. The draw of what she might find was too much. Mithras awaited. Taking a deep breath, Fabiola slid her legs over the edge, praying the drop would not be far.
It wasn’t.
The staircase was steep and narrow, each step carved from a single piece of smooth stone. As long as Fabiola took care, she would not fall. It was just a case of descending into the utter darkness. Running her fingertips along the wall, she could feel no plasterwork. It was extremely difficult to determine where the joints between each slab were, if there were any at all. Whoever had built the hidden structure had been a master of engineering.
Only the faint slap of Fabiola’s feet on the stone broke the silence. It felt quite terrifying, just as she imagined a descent into Hades might be. Keeping her mind occupied by counting the steps, Fabiola had reached eighty-four by the bottom. The Mithraeum was deep underground. The walls had not opened out at all either, meaning she was in a narrow passageway. It led forward, beyond her touch. Now Fabiola’s fear grew too great to continue without illumination. Who knew what lay down here? She searched along the wall for a metal bracket or an oil lamp. When her fingers closed on the familiar shape of a bronze bowl, Fabiola almost cried out with relief. Beside it, in a little alcove, she found two sharp pieces of stone. Striking them off each other, she used the sparks generated to ignite the lamp’s wick.
After so long in the dark, the light which flared felt blinding. Wisely, Fabiola looked away, letting her eyes grow accustomed. The first thing she noticed was the ornate mosaic floor beneath her feet. She had seldom seen tiny tile pieces as delicate, or designs as well executed. It would have taken a workman of great skill many weeks to lay the surface. With a plain stripe of dark colour running along the walls, the passage centre was divided into seven panels, each of which was filled with various symbols. It was immediately clear that what she was seeing was of huge importance.
The first depicted a black bird with a powerful beak, a caduceus, the symbol of commerce, and a small cup. Fabiola was delighted by the raven’s image. And yet the majestic bird, one of her favourites, only represented the first stage.
The second square contained an oil lamp and a diadem. She walked forward, her eyes soaking in the wealth of information on the floor surface. There followed a lance, helmet and sling bag, and then a fire shovel, a rattle and Jupiter’s thunderbolt.
Already a deep sense of reverence and of belonging had calmed Fabiola’s initial nervousness. The panels clearly represented symbols sacred to the worshippers of Mithras. She longed to know what they meant.
The next stage was represented by a sickle, a dagger and a crescent moon with a star. Second from the end was a square filled with a torch, a whip and an ornate seven-rayed crown. The last had in it a Phrygian cap, a staff, a libation bowl and a large sickle. The cap was the same as that worn by the statue of Mithras in the atrium above.
Air moved over her face, telling her that the passageway had opened out. Moving slowly forward into the darkness, she lifted her lamp to light others in brackets on the wall. Their yellow glow revealed a long, rectangular room, its slatted roof supported by regularly placed wooden posts which had been driven into the floor. Low stone seating ran the entire length of both side walls. Covered in inscriptions, three small stone altars dominated the far end of the chamber. Above them, on the back wall, was a massive, brightly painted representation of the tauroctony. Crimson blood spurted from the wound in the bull’s neck, and Mithras’ dark green cloak was covered in bright dots of light that could only be stars. A male figure stood on either side of the god, each bearing a torch, one upright and the other pointing downwards. Positioned around him were animals and objects: Fabiola made out a raven, a cup and a lion. There was also a dog, a scorpion and a snake. More images covered the plaster panels to her left and right. Her mouth dropped at their quality and detail.
There were men feasting around a table, waited on by others bearing drinking cups and plates of what looked like bread marked with an ‘X’. In others she could see Mithras in his Phrygian cap holding hands with an imposing golden figure wearing the seven-rayed crown. Was this the sun? The same god-like creature was in many of the pictures, seated with Mithras behind the dead bull’s body, standing in a horse-drawn chariot, accepting gifts from lesser mortals. Even the floor was decorated. Its tiles were divided into twelve squares, depicting a variety of animals and symbols: twin children, a ram, a bull, a scales and a scorpion among others.
By now, Fabiola was reeling with the wealth of information she had just been exposed to.
She tiptoed across the mosaic, beginning to feel very self-conscious. Although there was no one else in the chamber, it felt as if there were. Her nerves returned, making her palms sweaty. Standing before the trio of altars, Fabiola looked up at Mithras. Had a woman ever stood here in this way? Should she leave? Blood pounded in her ears, but nothing struck her down.