Roman Dusk (24 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fantasy Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Historical Fiction, #Vampires, #Rome, #Saint-Germain
“You may delay my meal if you like. The rest of the household may dine when the food is ready. I would like a little time alone with the honestiorus Sanct-Franciscus, to discuss my mother’s condition. I’ll summon you when he has departed.” She closed her eyes briefly.
“Yes, Doma Ignatia,” said Starus, and left her to supervise the prandium.
A short time later there was a tap on the door, and Sanct-Franciscus let himself into the reception room. “I think she is soundly asleep. She should continue to sleep for most of the afternoon, no matter how loud the Flavian Circus may become.”
“She truly does miss the Games,” said Ignatia, opening her eyes and staring at him, feeling as if she were lightly touched with fever. “You do her so much good.” Her fascination increased as he approached her.
“That is what I am supposed to do, as her physician,” said Sanct-Franciscus, drawing up the short bench so he could sit directly across from her. “But it seems I am failing you, Doma Ignatia.”
She made herself look away from him, afraid that her interest in him was becoming too obvious. “You could not fail me.” She felt his nearness like a flame in the warm room. When she laughed there was a catch in her throat, and she hurried to conceal her rush of emotion. “You’ve done more than anyone in this household has to make her better.”
“That may be, although there is little I can do for her. You are still tired and worn, and I hope you will permit me to leave a medicament to help you to rest. You have not been sleeping, and you are pale,” Sanct-Franciscus said gently. “I wish I had some means of alleviating your circumstances.”
She could feel her pulse quicken; she reminded herself sternly that his remark had no hidden meaning, and that only her desires read more than courtesy into his words. “That … that’s very kind of you.”
“I know you have much to contend with,” he went on, his dark eyes fixed on her averted ones. “You must not let her carping cause you despair; those who suffer from her disease often see those nearest to them as enemies, and attribute villainous motive to them for their care. That may not make her barbs more tolerable, but you need not fear there is truth in them.” He did not add that those with this incurable condition usually became worse in all ways over time, and that before she died, Adicia would likely be addled and spiteful.
“I have done nothing to deserve her praises,” said Ignatia, hoping she would not start to weep.
“You have done
everything
deserving of praise. No one could expect more of you than you have done. Your sister and your brother are in your debt for what you have achieved for Domina Adicia’s benefit, little as they may know it.” He waited until she met his gaze with her own. “You have nothing to be ashamed of—nothing.”
everything
deserving of praise. No one could expect more of you than you have done. Your sister and your brother are in your debt for what you have achieved for Domina Adicia’s benefit, little as they may know it.” He waited until she met his gaze with her own. “You have nothing to be ashamed of—nothing.”
“I don’t do it for their good opinion,” said Ignatia, staring at him with such yearning that he took her hand.
“You deserve it, nonetheless,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“It is what one of us must do, and I am the—” She stopped, and self-consciously pulled her hand away. “If more of us had lived … but honestiora do not always have children who thrive. Had there been more of us, I would not have to tend to my mother without help from any but the slaves.” Her expression grew more somber. “She might like me more if others of her children shared in her care.”
“That was what I meant,” said Sanct-Franciscus, his compassion for this young woman making him keenly aware of every nuance of her behavior, of the despair that leached strength from her, of her hunger for him. “Your brother could help, or your uncle could send his daughters to assist you.”
“They are about to be married. Both his daughters have pledged to marry.” She was appalled to hear herself sniff.
Sanct-Franciscus studied her for a long moment. “As responsible as he is, your uncle is lax in not making a marriage for you.”
“My uncle doesn’t want his sister under his roof, and he is presently staying away from Roma, being out of favor with the Emperor’s mother and grandmother,” said Ignatia with a bitterness that surprised her; she put her hand to her lips. “I don’t mean that he should welcome an invalid to his house. He may have three daughters, but he has only one son, and the boy is deaf.”
“No doubt that provides him a reason to keep his distance—that and the state of Roman politics,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “Have you any other relatives who could provide you some respite from your mother’s care?”
She thought briefly. “My father’s aunt lives near Neapolis. She is quite old—fifty-six, I think—and keeps to herself.”
Sanct-Franciscus shook his head. “You need not trade one burden for another. Is there no one else who would welcome you for a month or so?”
“I don’t know,” Ignatia admitted. “My mother has driven many of our relatives off with her accusations and recriminations.”
“All the more reason for you to spend a little time away from her.” He rubbed his jaw, noticing that Rugeri had trimmed his beard with special care. “Tell me you will consider securing an invitation for—shall we say—September? You will have ample opportunity to arrange things for your mother during your absence. I will help you with her, so she will not hold your going against you.”
“I … I’ll try,” she said, her mouth feeling unusually parched.
“Very good,” Sanct-Franciscus said, and briefly laid his hand on hers, intensely aware of her pulse and her ardor. “You need time to yourself, Ignatia. You are losing flesh and there are bruises under your eyes from exhaustion.”
She was barely aware of the slow tears that slipped down her face. “I am … rather tired.”
“Then you must recuperate.” He offered her a quick smile. “During your absence, your mother may come to appreciate all you do for her.”
“I don’t think so,” said Ignatia as she used the edge of her palla to wipe her eyes. “It is generous of you to imagine she might.”
He reached out and touched her chin, turning her face to his. “Then do not blame yourself for her state of mind. You have no part in it: believe this.”
Before she could stop herself—had she wanted to stop herself—she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his mouth, her senses reeling at her unaccountable temerity. She felt his hand on the back of her neck, supporting her without restricting her movement, which was just as well, for after a short, delirious moment, she pulled back from him, and felt her face grow rosy with distress. “Oh … Oh; Bona Dea!” She rose and started across the room, away from the temptation of his nearness. “What must you think of me?”
Five centuries ago, he might have pursued her, pressed his advantage with her, but now he remained where he was, saying only, “I think you are lonely, Ignatia, and that your loneliness has worn you down.”
She stepped into the deep window embrasure and stared out at the cluster of apple trees. “You’re being kind to me again.”
Another whoop from the hydraulic organ heralded the next booming song: “Pride of the Tibrus,” a paean to Roma; the crowd in the Circus Maximus bellowed it out enthusiastically.
Sanct-Franciscus waited briefly, then told her, “It is you who are kind to me, Doma.”
“I?” She studied him, searching for any hint of deceit. “Kind? To you?”
He returned her gaze steadily. “I, too, am lonely.”
She dared not let herself wonder what he meant. “That must be hard.”
“As you know,” he answered, his voice so low it was barely audible above the crowing anthem.
She could hardly breathe; as if sleepwalking or moving in water, slowly she made her way back across the room to him, sat down once more, and held out her hands, laying them in his.
Text of a letter from Djuran in Alexandria to Rugeri in Roma, carried from Ostia by Natalis.
Greetings to the deputy of the owner of Eclipse Trading Company, the bondsman Rugeri, presently in Roma, from Djuran in Alexandria,
Most respectable Rugeri, I have done all that I may to review the accounts of the last year, and it is my unfortunate duty to tell you that a number of records are missing, some perhaps due to negligence, but most, I fear, have been removed as a means of concealing the theft the records revealed. I have also noticed that many of the accounts that should contain the seal of the Prefect of Trade have not been so marked, which leads me to two probable explanations: one—that the records were not presented to the Prefect or a decuria of the Prefect, which will double the commodae that must be paid when the lack of such seal is amended, as amended it must be; or two—that such a seal was obtained and what is in the records are either copies with misinformation, or forgeries.
That admitted, I wish to inform you that I will appear before the Prefect in a week’s time to present the case to him, and to ask
for consideration, given that there is ample proof of embezzlement and pilferage, all of which is traceable back to Perseus, as I will demonstrate, I trust to the satisfaction of the Prefecture. It is difficult to know what the outcome may be, for the Prefect is known to be willing to be bribed, and therefore, I am going to proceed carefully.
for consideration, given that there is ample proof of embezzlement and pilferage, all of which is traceable back to Perseus, as I will demonstrate, I trust to the satisfaction of the Prefecture. It is difficult to know what the outcome may be, for the Prefect is known to be willing to be bribed, and therefore, I am going to proceed carefully.
As you suggested, I am setting aside two hundred aurei to have in reserve to pay for any assessments that the Prefect may levy against Eclipse Trading Company. Little as the owner will like it, I have also purchased two young, beautiful slaves, accomplished and willing to devote themselves to the art of pleasing their owner, to present to the Prefect as a token of the owner’s regard; I have decided to offer them to the Prefect at the next convivium sponsored by Hebseret and his priests, for they, too, would benefit from the goodwill of the Prefect. I do not know if this will result in any true advantage, but it will indicate that the owner knows how the game is played, and that can save time in settling things: the Prefect can then inform me what bribe will resolve the problem quickly so an order may be issued for Perseus’ arrest. I have also informed the Prefect that the Company will compensate Iolus Ioloi for the loss of Perseus, to whom the Prefect sold Perseus upon the initial discovery of his crimes. It is my belief that now that the full extent of his malfeasance is known and his culpability is fully determined, the sentence passed on Perseus will result in him being chained to the oar of a military trireme for the rest of his life. I believe Iolus Ioloi will be relieved to have such a slave removed from his household, but he will still want recompense for giving him up, no matter how justly.
I am preparing a full set of rectified accounts, to the extent they can be reconstructed from the information on hand. I will notify you of the completion, and, at your instruction, either prepare an authentic copy for you, or await your return here to present them to you, whichever best serves you or the owner of Eclipse Trading Company. It is my earnest intention to finish this project by Roman November, which will mean the stormy season will have begun. If the weather permits, I will dispatch you word before spring, but if it is unsafe to take to the sea, I will wait until clement conditions prevail.
On behalf of the Priests of Imhotep and this office of the Company, I tender my sincerest respect to you and the owner,
Djuranclerk and compiler of records
At Alexandria on the 29
th
day of May, AUC for Roma 972
th
day of May, AUC for Roma 972
As the sky faded from sunset to twilight, the torches of Roma blazed to life. On every avenue, street, and alley of the city, Watchmen set pitch-soaked staves in brackets, then lit them from their own torches, before passing on to the next corner to repeat the process. Throughout the city there were people gathering in the fora and fountain-squares to see this evening’s entertainment, for this was the Summer Solstice, the Feast of Balus, the Emperor’s Syrian sun-god, and he had promised a spectacular celebration to mark it, with dramatic reenactments of the story of Balus, accompanied by songs and heroic recitations—prospects that brought the Romans out in force. Already companies of musicians were cavorting among the crowds, playing their instruments and accepting copper ae for their efforts.
“They say he’s ordered two hundred carpenta filled with rose-petals for the grand convivium; there are said to be more than two hundred guests invited; a carpentum of rose-petals for each guest, it appears,” Vitellius remarked disapprovingly as he returned from lighting the torch by the outer gate of Domina Clemens’ house; beyond the gate, the Temple of Hercules shone from the light of a dozen torches. “The boy is quite mad.”
Aedius could not bring himself to disagree with Vitellius. “It is his religion. Everyone with a single god is mad.”
“True enough,” said Vitellius. “But two hundred carpenta of rose-petals? What kind of god wants so many rose-petals?”
“He would need an army of slaves to pluck them,” said Aedius, chuckling at the thought. “Five petals to a rose … how many slaves would it take to fill a single carpentum, let alone two hundred?” He shoved the gate-bolt in place and started across the courtyard to the main house.
“Will you climb to the roof to watch the festivities?” asked Vitellius.
“I may,” said Aedius. “If it turns out to be more than torches and noise.”
“Do you think it won’t?” Vitellius was both amused and disgusted. “That child is being permitted license enough to ruin him, if only he had the wits to see it. Chariot races with bears and ostriches! Who knows what he will present at his Games tomorrow?”
“Who knows what he will offer the people tonight?” Aedius said.
“His caprice is boundless,” Vitellius said, shaking his head that the Emperor should set such an unRoman example.
“I think that is the intent—to show his power through whim,” said Aedius, surprised that he and Vitellius were in such accord. “I think he is being turned into a distraction, a gaudy diversion so that others may work invisibly.”
“It’s his mother and grandmother doing that,” said Vitellius.
Aedius nodded. “It will be a hard day for the Emperor if Julia Maesa and her daughter Julia Soaemias ever turn against him.”
“Julia Mamaea is already against him.”
“Well, she has a son of her own to advance,” said Aedius. “You can’t expect her to support her nephew over her own son.”
“And she is truly ambitious, as all honorata and illustriata are,” said Vitellius. “They are dangerous as serpents.”
“Who is to hold them accountable for being that—are we?” Aedius said, and laughed.
“No, probably not; an uprising of slaves would do little to change the nobility. The Praetorians may yet take a hand in dealing with the Emperor, if they become sufficiently revolted by his actions; Heliogabalus would have to pay attention to them, and so would his mother and grandmother,” said Vitellius, entering the house correctly onto the right foot. “You and I are far from such corruption.”
“And that is a reason to thank Hercules and Vulcan, who protect all who labor,” said Aedius with as much piety as he could summon. “Their help is always needed, and they will do much for those who burn incense to them.”
“Yes, and to Carna, who guards our bodies. If she deserts us, our hearts and livers fail.”
“And Verplaca—without her, there is no harmony in households.” Aedius stopped walking. “We should burn incense to all of them tonight, to show that in spite of Heliogabalus, we haven’t forgot them, nor lost any esteem for them.” He saw Vitellius nod in agreement.
“And ask Verplaca to send wisdom to the Emperor’s family, as well,” Vitellius said.
“Truly. Or let the Juliae scheme amongst themselves and leave honest slaves alone,” Aedius declared.
“Just so,” said Vitellius, suddenly wary; it was not always safe to make a joke of the ruling family—there was no telling who might be listening. He spat to protect himself from evil, then said, “There is a fine convivium for all the household tonight. The master does well by us.”
“He’s foreign,” said Aedius. “It helps to do the right thing when you’re foreign. People notice if you don’t.”
“He doesn’t attend the Great Games; Romans notice that,” said Vitellius. “Says he has lost his taste for carnage and display.”
“Foreign,” Aedius repeated; the two stewards paused at the edge of the atrium. “In an hour, we dine.”
“Yes,” said Vitellius, feeling awkward now that their burst of camaraderie had faded quickly as it had risen. “Well, until the convivium.”
“Until the convivium,” said Aedius, and went off toward the dining room to supervise the final preparations for the household convivium.
Vitellius went up the stairs to the gallery and busied himself lighting the torches set in place there to provide the illumination Heliogabalus had ordered for all villas and households with gardens. He was almost at the end of the gallery when a voice spoke out of the darkness; Vitellius nearly dropped his torch.
“I prefer the stars to torches,” said Sanct-Franciscus, stepping out of the dense shadows into the fluttering light of the flames. He was very grand tonight, in a Persian chandys of dual-colored silk—deep-red and black—that shone glossily; he wore bracae of fine-spun black goat-hair from Asiana, and had thick-soled peri of tooled, black leather on his feet. A silver bracelet ornamented with three large rubies was clasped to his left wrist and a silver chain around his neck held his eclipse device: displayed silver wings with a black sapphire supplying the disk. “I apologize for startling you, Vitellius.”
“No matter,” said Vitellius. “You … took me by surprise. I didn’t know you were in your quarters.”
“I am not, now,” said Sanct-Franciscus with a trace of amusement.
“No; I can see that.” Vitellius took three steps back. “I will not intrude.”
“You are not intruding,” Sanct-Franciscus told him. “I am about to go to my study. Rugeri and I have a few matters to discuss before I depart for the Capitolinus Hill and the official festivities.”
“Will you want an escort? You are wearing jewels and there are many thieves about on such a night as this.”
“Thank you; I have arranged for Natalis to accompany me; he should suffice,” said Sanct-Franciscus, and saw the look of outrage that crossed Vitellius’ features.
“The man is a thief, master, no matter what he may say to you. You put yourself in danger when you are in his company.”
“Do you really think so?” Sanct-Franciscus asked lightly. “I would think he would keep me safe; he knows the dangers I might encounter, and can avoid them.”
“Because of his trade,” Vitellius muttered.
“Yes, that is why he is valuable to me.” Sanct-Franciscus smiled slightly and passed on along the gallery, noting with satisfaction that the torches were making no real headway against the stars.
Rugeri was at the writing table in the study, going over a stack of folded scrolls by the light of a branch of nine oil-lamps. He was dressed in an elaborately pleated pallium of dove-gray linen belted in bands of braided rust- and straw-colored silk. As Sanct-Franciscus entered the study, he looked up, and rose respectfully, taking stock of Sanct-Franciscus’ appearance. “My master. You’re going to be warm tonight, I think; it will stay more hot than cold.”
“Hot and cold, as you are well-aware, mean little to me, my friend,” said Sanct-Franciscus, smiling slightly. “I see the records have come from Alexandria.”
“This is only half of them, and they are copies. They arrived three hours ago, carried by hired courier. I provided five denarii as a commoda for him. Generous, but not remarkable.” He patted the scrolls before sitting down again.
“You have begun your review of them, it appears.”
“I have,” said Rugeri, “and I have to agree with Djuran: Perseus was stealing from the Company at a shocking rate, and so boldly that I can only assume he had help from someone in the Prefecture. It cannot be an accident or an oversight that so much money is missing.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“At least for Perseus,” said Rugeri. He frowned. “Do you intend to approach the Prefect of Trade on his behalf?”
“I hadn’t planned on it, no, and not now if you suspect he had an accomplice there.” Sanct-Franciscus studied Rugeri’s demeanor. “Do you recommend it?”
“No; in his case I do not.” He tapped his stylus on the table-top. “In general I understand your advocacy for slaves, and I applaud it. But in a case such as Perseus’, I cannot see the use of sparing him the consequences of his crimes.”
“Nor can I,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “It is apparent to me that he is beyond reclamation.”
“So the evidence demonstrates,” said Rugeri, looking down at the two opened sheets on the table. “Do you want me to inform Djuran?”
“If you would, please, and the Priests of Imhotep,” said Sanct-Franciscus, then changed the subject. “While I am out tonight, I ask that, in spite of your work here, you serve as my deputy. I know I can rely on you to keep the evening from becoming raucous. Let the slaves keep the convivium merrily, but not beyond all conduct. And with so many torches about the city and the house, be sure there are always four on watch for fire.”
“There are already six barrels of water in the courtyard, my master, and men assigned to each of them, with relief to be provided two hours after sunset.” Rugeri hesitated, then said, “Should I expect you back tonight?”
“I hardly know,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “Since it is a celebration for all of Roma, I may not find the opportunity I seek. And the festivities may go on far into the night.”
“And will you … feed?”
“I doubt it. There would be a high risk, with so many folk about.” He looked toward the window. “It is such a strange feast they offer—flesh everywhere, and most of it willing, but without any passion beyond a short-lived thrill. It is as if in their gorging, they do not wish to be touched, not in their souls. I have had no trouble in getting adequate sustenance since I returned here, but nourishment—that intimacy that is more than the meeting of skins—that is proving to be rare.”
“That is a concern of mine,” Rugeri said diplomatically. “You may go hungry for too long, and that is a troublesome prospect.”
“Not without cause, my friend. Melidulci occasionally approaches true closeness with me, but she does not trust the emotions that come with it.” Sanct-Franciscus took a turn about the room. “If you would not mind manning the gate after midnight, my late return should not cause any comment among the household.”
“I will attend to it,” Rugeri promised. He cocked his head toward the window, now with the shutter half-lowered. “Should the house be secured?”
“On the lower floors, yes, until the festival is over, and then all windows should be shuttered and latched for the rest of the night. The household may spend the evening in the gallery while the celebration goes on. With the shutters open on the upper floor, the household may watch from the gallery, and the rooms along it—those that are unoccupied.”
“That’s … very generous.”
“It’s preferable to having them try to slip out or find places from which to watch that no one knows to secure,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“You’re thinking of Persia again,” Rugeri said with obvious chagrin. “I should have been more diligent.”
“You did not understand the state of Srau’s mind,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“It isn’t an error I will make again,” Rugeri vowed.
“I have no doubt of that, my friend,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “Look for me after the celebration is ended and the torches are quenched.”
“I will. After midnight, I’ll take up the post at the gate.”
“Until then, my friend, may the gods—known and forgotten—guide your labors,” said Sanct-Franciscus, and left the study making for the door, the courtyard, and the gate beyond. At the gate Natalis was waiting, in a calf-length dalmatica of mauve cotton, blending him with the shadows. “Are you carrying any weapons?”
Natalis pulled a long, thin dagger from a hidden sheath in the sleeve of his dalmatica. “If needed, I am.”
“Excellent,” Sanct-Franciscus approved. “Let us hope you will have no cause to use it.”
“Then we should keep away from the areas where the greatest numbers of people are congregating. It’s too hard to maintain protection in a crowd.” Natalis fell into step slightly behind Sanct-Franciscus on his left side as they made their way past the Temple of Hercules and entered the broad street leading toward the Forum Romanum.
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