The Memory of Snow by Kirsty Ferry Page A

inside. ‘Come. We will leave a message and hope
that the Pater finds it in his heart to answer you.’
    Janus nodded, silhouetted in the grey light outside the door.
    ‘Thank you for coming with me,’ he whispered, squeezing in
beside Marcus who still held the door open. Marcus pushed a block of stone
against the door to prop it open so some light filtered through. ‘In the name
of the gods...’ muttered Janus looking around him. ‘It is nothing like I
expected.’
    ‘What did you expect?’ laughed Marcus. ‘It is a temple. That
is all.’
    ‘But it is like a cave; it is a sacred cave!’ said Janus, his
voice echoing around the building.
    ‘Yes. Mithras was born from a rock within a cave,’ said
Marcus. ‘That is why we worship in places like these. Come. Let us leave the
message and go. It is never very pleasant when there is nobody else around. It
is very different when we have a ceremony. You will see. Now – here is the
chest which contains the writing equipment. Write your message and I shall
place it where the Pater will find it.’
    Janus took the stylus and the wax tablet from Marcus. The
tablet consisted of two frames of wood laced together, filled with wax. Any
messages could be written then erased, and this preserved the secrecy of the
contents. Janus thought for a moment, tapping the stylus on the stone altar.
    ‘No. Janus. Not the altar. Please, don’t tap on the altar,’
said Marcus, stifling a laugh.
    ‘Oh! Oh dear. I am sorry,’ said Janus, looking horrified.
‘Forgive me Mithras!’ He moved away from the altar and bent over a stone bench.
He scraped his message into the wax tablet and folded it up with a small thud.
He handed it to Marcus, along with the stylus. Marcus replaced the stylus in
the chest and felt around in the wall. All the cult members had access to this
secret area. They were bound to read the messages as part of their duty, and
also to act upon them as necessary.
    ‘Ah!’ said Janus. ‘I knew it! Yet it is hardly the cursus
publicus is it?’ He was referring to the very efficient postal system. Messages
and dispatches were sent through various messengers and various postal houses
along the route to their destination. In extreme cases, one messenger had to
travel throughout the whole empire, stopping at these places on the way for a
change of horse and a bed for the night. Less important mail came via oxen and
changed hands frequently along the route. Marcus snorted with suppressed
laughter and dislodged a large, rectangular brick. He reached into the gap and
his fingers touched something hard and cold. Someone had already left a tablet
there. Marcus pulled it out and put Janus’ tablet in its place.
    ‘Excuse me for one moment,’ Marcus said. ‘Cursus publicus it
may not be, but it serves our purpose. Let me read this.’
    Marcus took the tablet to the doorway and opened it up in the
light, leaving Janus staring around the temple in awe, fingering things here
and there.
    ‘Leave the artefacts alone,’ called Marcus, his eyes never
leaving the tablet. He heard Janus apologise again, but he was more interested
in the wax tablet. What he saw made his heart beat faster.
    Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex. The Pater decrees that you
shall be initiated to the rank of Nymphus, the bridegroom. Your protecting
deity from that day forth shall be Venus. This ceremony is to take place on the
market day in March. This is the second time the Pater has decreed your
initiation. It has been observed that you did not attend the original ceremony,
although the information was displayed for you in good time. Remember – you are
a servant of Mithras and as such should do his bidding. There will be no third
chance.
    Marcus wasted no time in returning to the chest and seizing
the stylus. He wrote his acknowledgement of the message on the bottom of the
tablet, frowning as he pushed the tablet back into the hole and replaced the
brick. It was market day today. He dreaded to think what