Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fantasy Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Historical Fiction, #Vampires, #Rome, #Saint-Germain
Roman Dusk (2 page)
“That I do,” said Vulpius, his chin angled upward. “It is regarding my uncle’s Will. I have my copy with me.”
“Oh, yes; I remember now. The official transference, without reservation, so long as the taxes are paid, and his daughters provided for,” said Telemachus Batsho as if he had a long line of petitioners waiting, all of them unknown to him, all desperate for his services, and all having his four percent commoda to pay for them. “I have the Will among my pigeonholes, if you will permit me to fetch it?” He turned as if to leave, then swung back to look at Sanct-Franciscus with sudden suspicion. “And you are? I need your full name to find the proper records, since it is obvious you are not a relative of Vulpius’.”
“Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus,” he answered promptly. “I have a villa beyond the city, on the northeast, some distance from the Praetorian Camp. My title to the land is of long standing, my taxes are paid, and so is my Foreigner’s Fee.”
The decuria studied him carefully, his hands resting on the low rail. “You fully own the villa, or have you some other arrangement for your tenancy?”
“I own it and the land around it,” said Sanct-Franciscus promptly. “It has been held by those of my blood for several generations, as I have said.”
“There are no monies owing on the land, either to the state or private parties?” Batsho asked.
“I own it outright, as did my predecessors.”
Batsho nodded. “I see,” he said flatly. “Very well. I shall ascertain your status and return with the Will and any other documents requiring signing and sealing. It is not a lengthy process, but it has to be done properly. Tuccu, go bring the sealing wax so we can attend to this.”
The slave ducked his head. “At once,” he said, and scurried off.
“If you will give me a moment, I will return with the Will and the Writ of Transfer, and your entitlement document.” Batsho ducked out of the room, a meaningless smile smeared on his lips.
“Officious,” said Vulpius quietly as soon as Batsho was gone.
“He has a high regard for his position,” Sanct-Franciscus agreed. “A small man who enjoys using the power he has. He knows full well why we are here, but it pleases him to make us wait.” He had encountered the type before, and had grown wary of them.
“I’ll be glad when we’re done.” Vulpius fumbled with the buckle on his belt in order to keep his hands busy. “This is a most aggravating procedure.”
“But it is in accord with Roman law,” Sanct-Franciscus reminded him.
“I know, and I know it is necessary. Still, I don’t like it,” said Vulpius.
“It will not last long,” Sanct-Franciscus soothed. “Think of the festivities this evening, when you celebrate this moment.”
Vulpius opened his mouth, but said nothing as Telemachus Batsho returned, three large scrolls of papyrus tucked under his arm. “Here we are. If you would step around the rail, we will go to the second table. I think the light is best there.”
“I will do so,” said Vulpius promptly, relieved to have something to do at last. “What shall I sign with?”
“If you will use that ink-cake?” Batsho pointed to the lipped tray on which it was laid. “We have styluses for you to choose.” He indicated a container of tarnished brass writing implements. “And Tuccu will prepare the wax for your seal.” He nodded toward the slave. “Prepare a lamp, Tuccu, and have the wax ready. The honoratus is not to be kept waiting.”
“My father was honoratus,” Vulpius pointed out. “I am honestiorus.”
“Your pardon, Patronus,” said Batsho. “I had assumed the title was also yours for courtesy if not service.”
“How could it be?” Vulpius asked. “I have not governed anything beyond a provincial town.”
Sanct-Franciscus watched the two with a growing sense of unease ; now the lack of other decuriae in the office no longer disconcerted Sanct-Franciscus, for he realized that Batsho was pursuing his own purpose; if a witness were not required for the signatures and seals, Sanct-Franciscus was convinced that Batsho would find some reason to exclude him from this meeting, and the recognition of ulterior motives made him apprehensive.
“Be good enough to ready your seal,” said Batsho.
“If this is what you wish,” said Vulpius, wanting to get on with it. He removed his cylinder ring.
Batsho spread out one of the scrolls. “Read this—it is your acceptance of the conditions and terms of your uncle’s Will.”
“I have a copy of it,” Vulpius reminded him.
“Of course, of course,” said Batsho unctuously. “But it is required that you read the one on file here in my presence.”
Vulpius gave a single, jerky nod. “I understand.” He started to read.
“This is where you sign and seal. Foreigner, if you would—?” He motioned to Sanct-Franciscus. “Come and read this and then sign and seal below this noble man’s signature and seal.”
Sanct-Franciscus saw Batsho’s eyes narrow as he looked at him, and he had a moment’s disquiet as he rose and came around the end of the railing. “Shall I stand by Vulpius, or wait until he has finished, then take the scroll to another table to read and sign?”
“Choose another table, if you would,” said Batsho, as close to dismissing Sanct-Franciscus as he dared to venture.
Sanct-Franciscus selected the smaller of the two, and waited to be handed the scroll. The smell of hot wax caught his attention, and he watched as Vulpius rolled his seal through the dollop of wax on the bottom of the sheet.
“There,” said Vulpius, and handed the scroll to Batsho. “What next?”
Batsho passed the scroll to Sanct-Franciscus, and said, “Witness this, foreigner.”
“I will need wax,” Sanct-Franciscus reminded him.
“Tuccu will attend to you,” Batsho said, snapping his fingers in the direction of the elderly slave.
“Thank you,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “Is there an ink-cake—”
Batsho took the one from Vulpius’ writing table and handed it to Sanct-Franciscus. “Use this and give it back. The patronus has need of it.”
“May I take a stylus?” Sanct-Franciscus asked.
“Go ahead,” said Batsho with a burdened sigh.
“Decuria,” said Vulpius in a cautionary tone, “my witness was born the son of a king. It is improper to treat him as one of the humiliora.” This admonition was delivered with a faint smile. “He is one of the honestiora, as well you know.”
“Son of a
foreign
king, who has had to seek refuge here,” said Batsho, settling the matter with a mendacious smile. “His records say he is an exile.”
foreign
king, who has had to seek refuge here,” said Batsho, settling the matter with a mendacious smile. “His records say he is an exile.”
“Do you suppose you could show me which scroll I am to sign next?” Vulpius offered Sanct-Franciscus a slight shrug behind Batsho’s back.
“Of course, Patronus.” His obsequiousness was so obvious that Vulpius had to choke back a laugh.
“This is the accounting of your uncle’s fortune, a compilation of his lands and other holdings, and the makeup of his households. Please review the addition before you sign, and put your seal at the total, to show you acknowledge the amounts as the basis of taxes.” Batsho had moved so that his shoulder was between Vulpius and Sanct-Franciscus.
“And your commoda,” said Vulpius. “Four percent—for every signature.”
“That is the custom,” said Batsho, working to suppress a smile.
“I am prepared, assuming your amounts coincide with my own records,” said Vulpius, another implied warning in his comment.
“And why should they not?” Batsho asked, then went silent as Vulpius held up his hand while he reviewed the various figures on the page. “Is all in order?”
“All but this,” said Vulpius, pointing to the number of slaves listed for the Bononia estate. “There are three more slaves than listed here—two are coopers and one is a vine-man. I have acquired them since this Will was filed with you.” His edginess was growing worse.
“Three more, and all with skills,” said Batsho, making a note on his records.
“The transaction took place ten days ago. I can tell you what I paid: nine aurei and four denarii for each of the coopers and eight for the vine-man.”
“A goodly sum, even for skilled workers,” said Batsho. “I have made a correction, you will sign next to it, as well as at the foot of the scroll, and when you have the transfer in hand, you will provide me with an authenticated copy within a week, or face penalties for such failure. I believe you would like to avoid the penalties.” He nodded once, as if concurring with himself.
“I agree,” said Vulpius. “Sanct-Franciscus will testify to it.” He signed where he was supposed to, and fixed his seal where Batsho pointed. “Another one for you, Sanct-Franciscus,” he said, holding out the sheet.
“Should I sign and seal at the bottom only?” Sanct-Franciscus asked Batsho.
“Of course. Unless you think the addition is incorrect.” He waited, an avaricious light shining at the back of his eyes.
“I am certain Vulpius calculated the sums accurately,” said Sanct-Franciscus, being deliberately more formal.
“Then sign under his final signature, and set your seal under his.” Batsho was already opening the third scroll. “This is your verification to the Senate of your family and its position, as well as your position within it, so that your status as your uncle’s heir cannot be later disputed. It sets out the validation of your claim and your heritage. Any misrepresentation is punishable as fraud.”
“Should I review it?” Vulpius asked.
“If you would. If you have anything to add, append it to the foot of the page; remember each alteration has its own commoda; the law provides for it.” Batsho rounded on Sanct-Franciscus. “Foreigner: is there any record of your family on file in this office?”
Sanct-Franciscus would not be goaded to a hasty reply. “If you mean in this immediate office, I cannot say, for I am not privy to the methods of you decuriae.”
“You mock me,” Batsho said darkly, watching Sanct-Franciscus with an expression of distaste.
“No; I proclaim my ignorance,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“Do not make light of us,” Batsho said critically. “The courts depend upon our labors.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Sanct-Franciscus, aware from his manner that Batsho had taken him in dislike. “There are records of my blood’s titles and lands going back more than two centuries, and I assume they are somewhere in this building,” he said as he held out the second page with his signature and seal drying on it.
Batsho took the scroll and glared at it. “I will have to look into what you’ve said,” he vowed, his muted-brown eyes seething.
“Can’t we get on with this?” Vulpius complained.
Batsho turned back to Vulpius, all accommodating and exuding spurious good-will; when he handed the last scroll to Sanct-Franciscus, he glowered for an instant, then lost all expression as Sanct-Franciscus reached for the sealing-wax and lamp. “Yes, foreign exile, I will look into you.”
Text of a report from Rugeri in Alexandria to Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus at Roma, written in Greek, and carried by the merchant ship
Minerva
; delivered twenty-four days after it was written.
Minerva
; delivered twenty-four days after it was written.
My master,
You have no doubt heard that the Emperor’s campaign is not doing well. Everywhere the streets are full of rumors, that Roma will fall, that Caesar is doomed, that the times are evil. We have heard such things in the past, but in this instance, I am fairly certain that there is some basis in fact for all the tattling making the rounds. I should add that Hebseret, the present High Priest of Imhotep, concurs. and not for any reason of omens or alignment of stars, but because of the diminished Roman garrison farther up the Nile, whose Legionaries have been called into Mesopotamia. Hebseret has only just been elevated by his fellows, replacing Mateheb, who died a month after your departure, to his position, and is being especially careful to guard his remaining followers from any harm or discovery. Priests of Imhotep are not much valued by the Romans—you know their distrust of Egyptians—but the Romans are not the most pressing problem they face: there are groups of Christians in this region who are becoming most zealous, and they dislike the old Roman gods as well as the older Egyptian ones.
As you have requested, I have donated fifty aurei to the priesthood to enable them to continue their duties of treating the sick and injured. They have had to reduce their services due to lack of funds, and your gift will restore their temple once again. Hebseret has expressed his gratitude repeatedly, and I am charged with reporting such to you; he has made one journey downriver to Alexandria for the purpose of acquiring certain herbs in the market that are difficult to grow in their temple, nine thousand paces beyond Luxor.
Trade continues brisk, and I anticipate that the
Fair Wind
and the
Polaris
will soon arrive at Ostia with ample cargo as well as valuable information. They say all the signs are good for an abundant wheat harvest later in the year, so you may want to assign another ship to the Ostia-Alexandria-Ostia route come August, for we should be able to fill all holds with grain, and I will by then have the latest shipment of Syrian wine to send along. I have been informed that their harvest this year is ample, so in two years there should be many more amphorae of wine to import.
Fair Wind
and the
Polaris
will soon arrive at Ostia with ample cargo as well as valuable information. They say all the signs are good for an abundant wheat harvest later in the year, so you may want to assign another ship to the Ostia-Alexandria-Ostia route come August, for we should be able to fill all holds with grain, and I will by then have the latest shipment of Syrian wine to send along. I have been informed that their harvest this year is ample, so in two years there should be many more amphorae of wine to import.
Other books
Our Little Secret by Jenna Ellis
Death Al Dente by Leslie Budewitz
Spare Brides by Parks, Adele
Alaska Black Gold Box Set by Erica Storm
A Sweet Murder by Gillian Larkin
Beyond Complicated by Mercy Celeste
A Secondhand Murder by Lesley A. Diehl
Just Believe by Anne Manning
Passing On by Penelope Lively
Summer Season by Julia Williams