The Dead Virgins (The India Sommers Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  The Dead Virgins

  By

  K M Ashman

  Book One of the

  India Sommers Mysteries

  Published by

  Silverback Books

  More books by K M Ashman

  The India Sommers Mysteries

  The Dead Virgins

  The Treasures of Suleiman

  The Mummies of the Reich

  The Tomb Builders

  The Roman Chronicles

  Roman I – The Fall of Britannia

  Roman II – The Rise of Caratacus

  Roman III – The Wrath of Boudicca

  Roman IV – Boudicca’s Daughters

  (Coming Soon)

  The Medieval Saga

  Medieval I – Blood of the Cross

  Medieval II – In Shadows of Kings

  Medieval III – Sword of Liberty

  Medieval IV – Ring of Steel

  Medieval V – Warrior Princess

  (Coming soon)

  Novels

  Savage Eden

  The Last Citadel

  Vampire

  Audio Books

  Medieval 1 – Blood of the Cross

  The Last Citadel

  Follow Kevin’s blog at:

  WWW.Silverbackbooks.co.uk

  Or contact him direct at:

  [email protected]

  Copyright K M Ashman 2010

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

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  All characters depicted within this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter 1

  Rome 54 AD

  Rubria was playing with her dolly the day the soldiers came.

  She had been a very good girl for the bed was already made, the wooden rocking horse so lovingly crafted by the estate carpenter was pushed into the corner and even her clothes were stacked neatly on the shelves. She looked at her pretty dresses, not quite sure why she couldn’t take them all but mummy said she had to wear the white one, even though the pink one with the ribbons was her favourite.

  ‘Is it time, Maria?’ she asked, her fingers playing nervously with her dolly’s hair.

  ‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ answered the servant, trying her best to hold back the tears building up like a dammed river behind her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Maria,’ said Rubria, ‘mummy said I am going somewhere nice and I am going to be a very important person.’

  ‘Oh, you are, miss,’ answered Maria, reaching out to take the child’s hands in hers, ‘you are going to have such a wonderful life. Kings will seek audience with you, the people of Rome will bow their heads as you pass by and even the Emperor himself will seek your counsel.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything,’ said Rubria innocently.

  Maria wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her Peplos.

  ‘That is why you are going, miss,’ she said, ‘you are going to be taught great and wondrous secrets, things poor old Maria couldn’t even dream of.’

  ‘Will I be rich?’

  ‘Richer than you or I could ever imagine with more money than you could spend in a hundred lifetimes.’

  ‘Do you think they will let me have a puppy?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about a puppy,’ said Maria, ‘you will be far too busy.’ She looked nervously over the girl’s shoulder toward the closed door that would open at any second.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Rubria, ‘I will ask daddy for one on my next birthday. I expect I will be back by then and he always said I could have a puppy when I am nine.’

  ‘Oh, miss,’ sobbed Maria as the dam finally burst and the tears came. She pulled the girl into her arms to hug her tightly. Although she was only a slave, she had been Rubria’s nursemaid since the girl’s birth and had built up a bond as close as any mother. For eight years she had spent each day pandering to the little girl’s every whim. She tucked her into bed at night and in the mornings, she was the first person the child saw when she opened her beautiful blue eyes. Maria even slept in a small room next door so she could be at her bedside should the night demons come but all that was about to end. The previous night, a delegation had arrived from Rome along with an entourage the likes of which she had never seen before. Now they were lined up outside, waiting to take her precious little girl away from her.

  Amy, another servant of the household, had described them from the window when they had arrived at dusk. First, there were forty horsemen carrying pilae, the iron tipped lances resting snugly in the tubular leather pouches attached to the left sides of their saddles. A gladius hung from their belts on the right side, the ornamental hilts far more extravagant than the swords carried by the legions on active service and every helmet was adorned with a plume of scarlet horse hair, sweeping front to back along the crest. Their bronze ceremonial armour glistened regally in the fading sun as they reined in their mounts, for these were the Praetorian Guard, the legion posted permanently within the limits of Rome and tasked to protect the person of the emperor and the officials of the city. Though despised by the regular legions of the army, they had total control of the eternal city and their commanders had the ear of the emperor himself.

  Another man rode behind, advanced in years and dressed in a white ceremonial toga. Although Maria or Amy did not know the man’s role, he had an air of authority about him and was accompanied by a covered wagon pulled by a team of four horses. Finally another forty riders came behind, completing the century of cavalry sent to secure this one little girl.

  Maria had not been interested in all the comings and goings, she had just sat at Rubria’s bedside, watching the girl sleeping the entire night through as she gazed at the little girl she would never see again.

  Finally the day she had been dreading for weeks had arrived. The representative in the white robes had spent the night in the guest suite and had joined the master and mistress to break his fast, while the cooks gave the soldiers hot cereal from the kitchens. The soldiers had bunked down in the stables with their horses and had spent the first hour of the morning wiping the dust from their armour before parading in front of the villa. It was certainly an impressive sight as eighty fully armoured Praetorian Guard lined up in silence, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The cart had been reversed against the veranda and the tail was lowered, enabling anyone to see the walls draped with silks and a floor covered with the finest of cowhides. An ornate chair at the far end was draped in luxurious animal furs while at either side of the cart were two old women swathed in pure white linen, their faces covered with the finest of veils.

  A knock came at the bedroom door and Maria let out a gasp as Amy peered into the room.

  ‘It’s time,’ she said and withdrew out of sight.

  Rubria jumped from the bed and held her hand out to Maria with a sweet smile.

  ‘Come on, Maria,’ she said, ‘let’s go.’

  The servant knelt down in front of her.

  ‘You look after yourself, miss,’ she said through her tears, fussing with the girl’s ribbons. ‘Mind that you don’t forget me and one day, when you are all grown up and if I have earned my freedom, perhaps I’ll come by and ask for your blessing.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what that is, Maria,’ said Rubria solemnly, ‘but if I have any, you can have one.’

  The servant smiled and hugged the girl one last time and after wiping her eyes, led her out into the atrium of the villa.

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  ‘Here she is,’ said her father with a smile and dropping to one knee. Rubria ran forward and he swept her up into his arms. It was not often she was able to see her father as he was a very important person in Rome. Rubria wasn’t quite sure what he actually did but she knew it was something to do with a Senate, whatever that was. Rubria’s mother took the child from her husband’s arms and kissed her gently on her cheek.

  ‘Are you ready, dear?’ she asked and received a shy nod in return.

  Maria bit her lip. She couldn’t understand how anyone could give up their daughter so easily but it was more than her life was worth to criticise the mistress. The whole family were there dressed in their finest attire, the master and the mistress, their two sons and their eldest daughter. Rubria was the youngest and she smiled at her siblings, not quite sure of the enormity of the proceedings which were unfolding. All around the atrium stood the servants of the household, waiting with bated breath to see the final moment that would bestow untold honour upon this family. Rubria looked at the kindly old man dressed in white and smiled as she recognised him. He was the nice gentleman who had picked her as his favourite when they had visited the place with the pretty ladies a few weeks ago.

  The old man smiled at the child and nodded to her mother. She placed her daughter on the floor and Rubria stood between her parents holding a hand of each. Silence fell and the old man stepped forward, his smile fading as he addressed Rubria.

  ‘Rubria Antonius of the house of Gaius Paulo Antonius,’ he announced formally, ‘on behalf of the Holy Mother, I take you to be a Vestal priestess, protector of the sacred rites and keeper of the flame. I do this on behalf of the Roman people and those who have been shielded from her light.’

  Rubria’s smile faded slightly and she glanced over to Maria for reassurance. The servant held both her hands over her mouth to stop any sound escaping and nodded in encouragement, her tears flowing down her face.

  ‘Is it time now?’ asked Rubria.

  ‘It is,’ answered Maria.

  Rubria turned to the old man.

  ‘Can I take dolly?’ she asked.

  The man knelt down to face her at her own level.

  ‘The time for such things is over, Rubria,’ he said gently, ‘there is much to learn and the goddess awaits.’ He gazed into her blue eyes. At the presentation there had been twelve beautiful girls but it had been those eyes that had swung his decision. He had never seen such a piercing blue.

  Rubria walked over to Maria and offered her the doll.

  ‘Will you look after dolly for me?’ she asked.

  Maria nodded, took the child’s beloved toy and as Rubria walked into the back of the cart, the servant burst into heart-wrenching sobs before running from the atrium. The old man turned to the family to say his goodbyes.

  ‘Look after her,’ said her father.

  ‘We will,’ answered the old man. ‘You may visit her in the outer chambers in one year but until then, we request you stay away, it will be easier on her.’ He handed over a leather pouch containing promissory notes for one hundred thousand denarii and though it was supposed to be compensation for the loss of a daughter, everyone present knew that the honour and social standing of the family would be greatly enhanced by the selection of one of their daughters and much greater riches would surely follow.

  Outside, the sound of the cart tailgate closing focused their attention and everyone left the atrium to stand on the veranda. Paulus put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and watched the old man get on his horse. The whole century of Praetorian Guard saluted as one and wheeled left, awaiting the order to leave the estate. The old man, otherwise known as the Pontifex Maximus, High Priest of the temple of Vesta gave the order to proceed and without further ado, the procession started their journey back to Rome. At their centre rolled the cart containing its very precious cargo as Rubria, daughter of nobility, pure of body and mind, set out on the first day of her life as a Vestal Virgin.

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  Chapter 2

  London 2010

  ‘Good night, India,’ came a voice, interrupting the librarian as she finished scanning the last of bar codes on the returned books.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Thomas,’ she said looking up, ‘find anything interesting?’

  ‘Actually, I did,’ replied the portly woman as she paused by the door, ‘this internet thing is quite good once you get going. I’ve just found out my great, great grandfather was a jewel thief.’

  ‘A jewel thief, how exciting,’ said India, ‘I wonder if he left any of his ill-gotten gains hidden under your patio.’

  ‘No such luck,’ said the woman, ‘anyway, I’ve turned the computer off to save you the trouble.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said India, ‘see you next week?’

  ‘You will, goodnight.’ The woman left the library as India checked the clock on the wall. Quarter to seven, thirty more minutes and she could finish for the day.

  She looked around the room. The last of the ancestry group had gone and there were only three users left, the two teenage boys sat giggling at a computer in the corner and a lone man browsing the history section between the aisles. She returned to the barcode reader but was interrupted once more when the man coughed gently to attract her attention.

  ‘Oh.’ she said, standing up suddenly, ‘you startled me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘you seemed to be somewhere else for a while.’

  ‘I wish,’ she laughed, ‘the Bahamas would be nice, I could do with a holiday.’

  ‘Me too,’ said the man, ‘the weather has been awful lately.’

  ‘That’s Britain for you,’ she said, ‘how can I help?’

  ‘I was wondering if you could help me identify a coin.’

  ‘What sort of coin?’ responded India, her interest suddenly rising.

  ‘Well, it’s a necklace really but the pendant itself is definitely a coin. I’ve searched the internet but can’t find anything quite like it.’

  ‘Do you have it with you?’

  ‘I do,’ he said and reached into his inner jacket pocket to retrieve a neatly folded paper towel.

  ‘May I?’ she asked, unwrapping the package and lifting the necklace up to the light, her experienced eyes took in the detail as it revolved slowly.

  The first thing she noticed was the chain and the coin was of two different eras. The chain was probably silver and no more than twenty years old. However, the coin was of a completely different era altogether and if she wasn’t mistaken, it bore the image of Phillip the Second of Macedonia.

  ‘Interesting,’ she said, ‘is it yours?’

  ‘Well, I found it but I’m not sure what the legal position is with treasure trove. What do you think?’

  India did not know how to let him down gently. She was known within numismatic circles as a bit of an expert and was often approached by amateur collectors hoping she would make their dreams come true by confirming some rusty coin they had found was worth a fortune.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘what did you say your name was?’

  ‘Jones,’ he said a bit too quickly, ‘Mr Jones.’

  ‘Well, Mr Jones,’ said India, ‘I recognise the image but it doesn’t seem to be any coinage I recognise, so I can’t really put a value on it.’

  ‘I’m not worried about value,’ he answered, ‘just the history. Is there anything you can tell me about its provenance?’

  She glanced at the clock on the wall, five to seven.

  ‘Well, we are about to close,’ she said, ‘but I am a bit of an enthusiast when it comes to coins and I have a whole shelf full of reference books at home. I’ll bring them in tomorrow and see what I can find out. Why don’t you leave it with me and come back then?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It will be a pleasure,’ she said, ‘I’ll put it in the safe.’ She paused. ‘Oh, I am so sorry, how presumptuous of me, I don’t even know you and here I am asking you to trust me with your necklace.’

 
‘It’s okay, Miss Sommers,’ he laughed, ‘if I can’t trust the local librarian, who can I trust?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’ she asked, a slight frown forming on her brow.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ he asked, ‘I posted a picture of the coin on the web page of the local numismatic society asking for any information.’

  ‘And were they any help?’

  ‘No, not really, though several recommended I come to you. Sorry, I should have said earlier.’

  ‘No problem, I suppose I should be flattered. Anyway, I promise I won’t run away with your necklace.’

  ‘I trust you,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow night at about six’. He pointed at the two lads nudging each other near the row of public computers. ‘Do you need any help to sort them out?’

  ‘No, they’re harmless enough,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said and left the library. A few minutes later, the doors opened again and the two lads were ushered out into the night, disappointed that the librarian had just cut short their first foray into murky websites.

  ‘Banned for a week.’ shouted India as they ran laughing into the darkness. She smiled as she locked the library doors behind them and turned the computers off before tidying the last of the shelves. She placed the necklace in the safe and a few minutes later, set the burglar alarm before running quickly through the drizzle with a magazine held over her head.

  India was looking forward to getting home. A quick stop at the local supermarket for a bottle of red wine and a microwave lasagne and she would be set for the night. She reached her car but as she retrieved her keys from her bag, she tripped over someone lying on the floor.

  ‘Oh my god.’ she gasped, staring at the body at her feet but within a few seconds she came to her senses and dropped to her knees.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘are you okay?’

  The victim groaned and turned slightly, forcing himself onto his side. Despite the state of his severely beaten face, she recognised him as the man with the pendant she had met earlier. India retrieved her phone from her coat pocket and a few minutes later, having given all the details to the emergency services, knelt in the rain to reassure the man lying in the growing pool of his own diluted blood.