Roman Dusk (18 page)

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Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fantasy Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Historical Fiction, #Vampires, #Rome, #Saint-Germain

BOOK: Roman Dusk
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Perseus has been turned over to the Prefecture of Trade here, his case assigned to the chief decuria for assessment. I will inform you of any decision made in regard to his actions, and the punishment that is meted out to him. I believe it must be strict, if not severe, but I will not ask for him to be condemned to the arena unless you tell me that is your wish. Given your past treatment of slaves, I believe you would not want him to suffer anything so grievous as that.
I have a few pieces of good news to pass on to you: I have secured four full barrels of pepper and will dispatch them with Captain Bion. No doubt you will be able to sell at a handsome profit. And I have met with a physician from the East, one who has come across the Arabian Sea, and who is eager to find a place to practice his art. I have introduced him to Hebseret, who has said that Chandolar’s skills will be useful to the Priests of Imhotep, and so have provided him money to purchase the herbs and other substances of his medicaments. When more is known of his abilities, I will send on to you the proportions and methods of preparation this Chandolar employs.
For now, I will say no more, in case this should fall into unfriendly hands in spite of all my precautions. I ask you to be circumspect in your reply, again as a precaution. Captain Bion is expecting to carry a message back to me from you, and has given his word to keep the letter in a locked box for the duration of his voyage; his reliability is known to us both, but it is as well to be discreet.
In all devotion, and trusting in your resolution and fairness, I commend myself to you,
Rogerian of Gades
Rugeri of Alexandria
 
in my own hand on the 10
th
day of January in the 972
nd
Year of the City
The letter as received by Sanct-Franciscus.
To my master,
I am pleased to tell you that I have secured three fullbarrels of pepper and will dispatch them to you as soon as I may; the ship carrying this letter should bring the barrels as well. I have hope that we will have more such cargos to deliver in the coming months. You should be able to make a handsome profit in the fora with these barrels.
I have also dealt with the priests you have expressed interest in, and they are now moving up the Nile to a more distant temple where they can practice their rites unimpeded by the Romans and others who disapprove of Egyptian sorcery. There have been many complaints about them, and this seems to me to be one way to dispel the ill-will they have gained over the last few years. You, being in Roma, will not have seen the rising hostility the people have of these priests, who may not be worthy of your loyal support. I urge you to consider ending your association with them, so that your dealings are not tainted with their magic and malice—for whatever they may seem to be to you, others find them malefic, which cannot accrue to your benefit. I ask you to give this matter your full and immediate attention.
I was told by the local prosecutor that your taxes here are likely to be higher in the near future, due to the debasement of the denarius, the burden of which has reached all the Empire. The merchants from across the Arabian Sea have asked for gold coins only, or if they are silver, they must come from Fars, or be from the reigns no later than Marcus Aurelius. I have assured those merchants that we will deal in gold, and so I ask you to dispatch as much as you can spare so that my pledge may not be construed as false.
I will have to replace a few of the slaves in my household and those who labor for this business. Some have proven to be disloyal, and those I have given—in your name, of course—to the Legions to serve the men in any capacity they should choose. I will inform you of the new slaves when I have purchased them. One will be for my own use, as a body-servant and to fulfill my desires, something you will not deny me I am sure.
I have bought copper and tin in abundance, and struck a good bargain for the metals. I know if they are carried to you on different ships, you will not be accused of bringing materials for weapons into Roma, and you should be able to turn a handsome profit on the sale of the metals to the Praetorians, who always want new swords and shields and spears and daggers and cudgels. I will put guards on the ships carrying the metals, and I advise you to meet the ships at Ostia yourself, to make sure they are not set upon by thieves and robbers.
Your loyal factor,
Rugeri of Iberia
 
at Alexandria in Aegytpus on the 11
th
day of January in Roma’s 972
nd
Year
 
Before the biga was entirely stopped, Ignatia had jumped out of the vehicle and was running toward the gate of Domina Clemens’ house, her face flushed, her eyes reddened from weeping. She pounded on the gates, shouting for someone to admit her, while Philius brought his pair to a halt and turned them around in the space in front of the Temple of Hercules, then came back to the gate where Ignatia was still demanding to be let in, announcing her name and her mission. A waning moon imparted its gelid light from the eastern sky, marking the first clear night in the last four.
“Do you know how late it is?” a sleepy voice asked from behind the sturdy upright planks of the gate. “Call back at a sensible hour, and the master will see you, if it is convenient.”
It took all of Ignatia’s determination to give a sensible answer. “It’s very late, I know, and I apologize. But this is urgent. Most urgent. I would not have come if it weren’t.” Toward the end of her words, she managed to steady her voice enough that her sobbing was no longer apparent.
“It is unsafe to be abroad at this hour,” the voice admonished her. “Women of good character should not be abroad this late.”
“That is no business of yours: you forget yourself,” Ignatia yelled, no longer adhering to her discipline of a moment ago, but giving her temper free rein. “Let me in! I must see Sanct-Franciscus!”
“You could be set upon by ruffians or worse,” said the slave, “riding abroad at this time of night.”
“My groom carries a whip and a cudgel. Not that it is any concern of yours. What does it matter to you? We are wasting time,” Ignatia said firmly, and tried to keep her tone steady. “Is Sanct-Franciscus about? I must speak with him. Now!” She bludgeoned the gate for emphasis.
“Yes, he is here. He is in his study; we are not to disturb him,” said the under-steward, taking a deep breath. “You must wait until morning, I fear.”
“
Let me in!
” Ignatia shouted. “My mother has fallen into a lethargy and has not awakened since early afternoon yesterday.”
“Do you mean twelve hours since, or thirty-six?” the slave asked, curious in spite of the hour and the circumstances of this most unseemly demand.
“Thirty-six.
Thirty-six!
I would not bother your master for less than that,” Ignatia said, her voice beginning to falter. “Let me speak with him. If he says there is no reason for concern, I will leave, I promise you. I am sorry to intrude—you may tell him that. Just let me talk with him for a little while. Please.”
“I will tell him you are here, and why. If he is willing to see you, I will escort him to the gate.” Tigilus coughed for emphasis. “Wait here.”
“Even though it is dangerous?” Ignatia asked with an edge in her voice.
There was a pause, and then Tigilus said, “I will admit you, but you must remain in the courtyard. You may not come into the house unless the master permits it.”
“Thank you for that,” Ignatia said, keeping the sarcasm out of her response. She motioned to Philius. “You heard him. We’re being admitted to the courtyard.”
The sound of the bolt being drawn back seemed unusually loud in the night, and the moan of the hinges was like the sighing of giants. As soon as there was room enough, Philius put the biga through, Ignatia following behind. Tigilus pointed the way to the stable, saying, “There is a night-groom who will see to you and your pair. You had best stay with them until you are needed.” Then he indicated a small alcove along the inner peristyle. “Wait there,” he said to Ignatia; with a shrug of annoyance, he trudged off into the house, across the atrium and on to the study where Sanct-Franciscus was working at a beehive-shaped oven that had been installed at the far end of the room. The athanor was hot, the door closed and bolted shut so that the jewels being made within it would not be damaged by a sudden lessening of heat.
“What is it, Tigilus?” Sanct-Franciscus asked as the under-steward tapped at the door.
“Doma Laelius is here,” said Tigilus.
“At this hour?” Sanct-Franciscus sounded more worried than surprised.
“You’re right: it is too late. I will send her away,” Tigilus offered.
“Did she say why she came?” Sanct-Franciscus began to bank the fires of his athanor, preparing to leave at the mention of Ignatia.
“Her mother has been in lethargy for thirty-six hours, or so she claims,” said Tigilus.
“How deep a lethargy? do you know?” Sanct-Franciscus opened a tall, red-lacquer chest, and began to select unguents and vials from its pigeon-hole shelves.
“No,” said Tigilus, not wanting to admit he had not asked. “She came with a groom, in a biga.”
“Very sensible, and more useful than a messenger,” said Sanct-Franciscus as he packed the items he had selected into a small, leather case. “Have one of the night-slaves come in here, to be sure my oven cools properly. There is a pail of water at the end of the trestle-table if he needs to stop a fire.”
“Do you anticipate fire?” Tigilus could not keep from inquiring.
“No, but it is well to be prepared,” Sanct-Franciscus answered. “Where is Doma Laelius?”
“In the courtyard,” said Tigilus, sounding a bit uncertain.
“You should have brought her into the house, and provided her with hot wine to drink,” said Sanct-Franciscus as he picked up his abolla and pulled it on, then made for the door, his leather case in hand. “She has a position in the world that must be recognized.”
Tigilus stood aside as Sanct-Franciscus came out of his study and closed the door. “She is waiting.”
“So I assumed,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “I will go with her, of course.”
“She’ll be relieved,” said Tigilus with a suggestion of sarcasm in his observation; he took as step back as Sanct-Franciscus turned toward him.
“Why do you slight her? Have you taken her in dislike?” Sanct-Franciscus asked.
“Slaves have no opinions on such things,” said Tigilus.
“Of course you do,” Sanct-Franciscus countered. “You may tell me what they are.”
Tigilus hesitated. “I don’t dislike her; it is only that she clings on you, so that troubles me. What manner of character has she, that she would have to do that?” He sniffed to underscore his disapproval.
“Is it that she lacks resolve in your eyes or that she depends upon a foreigner instead of a Roman?” Sanct-Franciscus did not wait for an answer, but went on, “Do not speak slightingly of that young woman. She has had heavy burdens placed upon her that she cannot hope to discharge, but which she bears nonetheless. If nothing else, her devotion deserves our respect.” He continued on, his steps loud in the stillness while Tigilus fell behind, chagrined and perplexed.
“Sanct-Franciscus,” Ignatia exclaimed as she saw him come out of the house. “You have decided to see me.”
“I have decided to accompany you to your house,” said Sanct-Franciscus, and saw her pinch her nose to keep from crying again. “Tell me about your mother.”
Ignatia waved, signaling Philius to bring the biga out of the stable, and as she climbed into the open chariot, she made room for Sanct-Franciscus beside her. “My mother is in a very bad state, I fear. I hoped she would … that she would revive of her own inclination, but … It began a day-and-a-half ago.” Taking a deep breath, she launched into her account. “She had been fretful all morning, and I was at a loss to ease her discomforts. She ordered Starus to beat Benona because something Benona did displeased her—he didn’t, on my enjoining him not to, but now Benona has asked not to have to attend to her, and she is better in the sick-room than any of the rest. My mother refused the honied wine I had made for her, and she would not eat anything more than bread with baked marrow spread on it.” She took a second, uneven breath as the courtyard gate was opened and Philius snapped the pair to a trot. “Then she became calmer, and I thought she had improved; I ordered a prandium made for her, which she refused, but which was entirely dishes she usually likes. She said she wanted to be left alone, to rest. But she soon fell into a slumber that was more than sleep. I have tried to rouse her, but without success. She continued in her dazed condition, neither sinking deeper nor emerging from it. When she did not waken after our evening meal, I became more worried, so I watched her, which is when I discovered that her eyes were open a little, showing only whites, and that is when I decided to seek you out.”
“Has she urinated or—” Sanct-Franciscus began.
“Once. I ordered her sheets and blankets changed, but carefully, so she would not be disturbed. I thought she needed to sleep, you see. She had complained of not sleeping just a few days ago, and it seemed to me that she must require …” She made a complicated gesture, composed of distress, guilt, and a need to put it all aside. “That was yesterday, when she had been asleep for four or five hours. She has eaten so little that nothing else has left her body, and that worries me. She eats no more than a kitten, and she drinks two cups of water in a day at most.”
“Insufficient to support life, if carried on for long,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “That is something we must attend to, whether or not we waken her.”
“You can cause her to drink though she sleeps?” said Ignatia, her dubiety making the comment into a question.
“I hope to, yes, with your help,” Sanct-Franciscus answered.
Ignatia considered this, then asked, “Do you think you can—waken her?” her voice rising in near-panic.
“I trust I may,” he said, taking hold of the side of the biga as it swayed around a particularly steep corner. “Do you have a slave keeping watch on her?”
“When I am not tending to her myself, I do. She prefers me to sit with her.”
“No doubt,” said Sanct-Franciscus, and fell silent for a short while.
“Have you ever seen this condition before?” Ignatia pursued when the quiet began to trouble her.
“A few times, yes,” he said, thinking back to various forms of stupor he had observed during his centuries of service in the Temple of Imhotep. He had encountered such relentless semiconsciousness a few times since then, and was aware that the probable outcome was not what Ignatia would want, for even if Adicia recovered from her stupor, it would be likely that she would suffer a change from it, and not for the better.
“Was the outcome … satisfactory?” Ignatia almost held her breath.
“In two cases the sufferer made a good recovery,” said Sanct-Franciscus, keeping his demeanor as calm as he was able.
“Two cases. Only two,” said Ignatia.
“Three others less so,” he admitted.
“And what do you think my mother will …” Her question faded, unfinished.
“Until I see her, I have no way to determine that,” he told her gently.
The biga turned toward the Laelius house, the horses beginning to labor; Philius pulled them in to a walk, saying, “It isn’t much farther to go, Doma, and they are tired.”
“Niger and Neva deserve a respite,” said Ignatia. “I hope they won’t be harmed by this night’s work.”
“They shouldn’t be,” said Philius. “I will see they are walked before I brush them down and stall them again.”
“I will tell Starus that you need not rise at dawn with the others, Philius,” said Ignatia. “You have earned your rest. And so have the pair.” She smiled in the direction of Neva and Niger as if the horses would recognize her gratitude.
“I thank you, Doma; I’ll give them an extra measure of grain,” said Philius, expertly negotiating the narrow approach to the front of the Laelius house; he pulled in his pair so that Ignatia and Sanct-Franciscus could alight.
“That’s very good of you,” said Ignatia, stepping down from the biga after Sanct-Franciscus had done so. “I will see you later in the morning, and you may be certain that I will reward your service.”
“Thank you, Doma,” said Philius as he started the horses moving toward the stable.
“Starus has waited to admit us,” said Ignatia to Sanct-Franciscus as she hastened toward the door. “Half the house is awake, I venture.” She rapped on the door, adding with a quivering smile, “Ironic, isn’t it? that we should be awake because my mother is asleep?”
“And sad,” Sanct-Franciscus said as the door was opened for them. Crossing the threshold on his right foot, he turned to Starus, and began without other salutation, “How is Domina Laelius?”
“She sleeps. Still,” said Starus, and then went on to Ignatia. “Your brother’s gone out. He said he is going to ask his Christian friends to pray for your mother.”
Ignatia gave a little, vexed shake of her head after lighting an oil-lamp over the lares in their alcove next to the door. “Well, that may be more useful than fretting about here. At least he won’t bother the household.”
“He didn’t say when he’d be back,” Starus added.
“That cannot concern me just now,” said Ignatia with an expression that revealed her irritation with her brother more than her words did. “Who is with my mother?”
“Tallia, but she is very tired, and needs to rest,” said Starus. “Had you been away much longer, I was going to wake Mirza to relieve Tallia.”

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