Roman Dusk (8 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fantasy Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Historical Fiction, #Vampires, #Rome, #Saint-Germain
Catching sight of Ignatia and Sanct-Franciscus approaching, Philius turned his pair around and brought the biga up to them. “They are ready to go,” he declared as he got into the biga, holding the reins lightly but firmly.
Sanct-Franciscus helped Ignatia to climb into the open chariot, then got in behind her, setting his chest on the floor of the vehicle between his feet. “When you like,” he said, and signaled Holmdi to open the gate for them.
The night was cool with a sharp wind out of the southwest stroking the seven hills; the full strength of summer was not yet upon them, and would not be for another two or three weeks, providing a pleasant prelude to the fury of July. The streets were fairly empty except near the gaming taverns and in the lupanar, where men continued to carouse through the dark hours. Due to riots at the Flavian Circus earlier in the day, uniformed Praetorians moved along the streets in small companies of four, ready to deal with any infractions of law or peace they came upon. For the most part the biga passed unnoticed and unchallenged, but near the Temple of Diana-the-Huntress, a trio of Praetorians signaled them to halt.
“It’s late,” said their apparent leader. “Why are you abroad?”
“This young woman summoned me to treat her mother, who is ailing,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “I have done so several times before, and I have brought medicaments with which to minister to her complaints.” He patted his case.
“Is that a fact?” the Praetorian asked boldly. “Are you sure you aren’t making off with an heiress?”
“If I were, why would her slave be driving, and why would I be going away from the house where I live?” Sanct-Franciscus asked pleasantly. “If you are truly concerned for her welfare, you may follow us to the Laelius house on the Via Decius Claudii.”
“I know that place,” said another of the Praetorians. “Has a long porticus, octostyle, I recall.”
“That it does,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“A fine old house, from the time of Traianus,” the first said.
“My mother is in pain, good Praetorians,” said Ignatia suddenly.
One of the men laughed in disbelief. “It is a late hour for such a visit.” He winked.
“All the more reason to allow us to hurry,” said Sanct-Franciscus, ignoring the last implication. “The case is urgent, as the Doma says.”
The leader of the trio motioned the other two aside. “Come. Let’s go see if Marutius is able to stand up yet.” He chuckled and reached out to slap the rump of the nearer horse. “I hope your treatment is successful, foreigner,” he called after the biga as it began to move.
When they reached the end of the street and turned toward the Laelius’house, Ignatia spoke up abruptly. “Why did you let them say such things? How dared they? They suggested—I cannot think of it! I was mortified. As if I would pander for my mother!”
“You have no reason to be troubled,” Sanct-Franciscus assured her. “Soldiers make a habit of such remarks; they are meaningless. By morning, they will be forgot.” Had Philius not been there, he might have laid a comforting hand on her arm, but with the slave as witness, he did not want to cause Ignatia any more discomfort than she already felt. “Make sure you have hold of the handrail—you know how sharp the turn is for your villa.”
They moved around onto the Via Decius Claudii and covered the last two blocks at a brisk walk. As the pair were pulled to a halt, Sanct-Franciscus took his case and stepped down from the rear of the biga, prepared to help Ignatia; a noise behind him attracted his attention: he swung around as the oil-lamps flared.
The door was opened by Starus, who looked tired and worried. “She has been weeping, Doma Ignatia,” he said.
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Ignatia earnestly as she got out of the biga behind Sanct-Franciscus, stepping down onto the pavement with care. “I take it she is still awake.”
“And fretful,” said Starus. “Tallia is with her. I sent Mirza to bed—she’s so worn out, she’s falling asleep where she stands.”
“A wise thing to do,” said Ignatia, going through the porticus into the house, taking care to cross the threshold on her right foot, for to fail in this custom would be seen as the most dreadful omen. She paused by the lares and left a coin on the narrow shelf, a token of her regard and need.
Following after her, his case of medicaments in hand, Sanct-Franciscus took a bead of amber from his wallet and placed it in a shallow dish next to the household gods. “For your mother’s improvement.”
Ignatia looked around at him. “The whole household thanks you.”
Although he doubted this, Sanct-Franciscus kept his opinion to himself. “That is unnecessary,” he said as he picked up his case and prepared to go on to Adicia’s room.
“But it is,” said Ignatia, walking slightly ahead of him. “I know you can find your way, but my mother would be shocked to have such a breach of manners.”
“I have noticed that she prefers to keep the traditions,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
“Because of her regard for her family.” Ignatia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She is worried about her brother Drusus, who is fighting with the Emperor in the East.”
“Word is that things are not going well,” said Sanct-Franciscus, his voice also lowered.
“The Senate is abuzz with rumors,” said Ignatia, a bit louder. “My mother hears the news from her visitors, and she is upset, and that makes her—”
“—more unwell,” Sanct-Franciscus finished for her. “Yes; this is not uncommon.”
“We have tried to advise those who call upon her to say nothing about the current scandals,” said Ignatia.
“I know you are conscientious,” said Sanct-Franciscus, his tone soothing.
It was as if she had not heard him. “—but she frets if she is not told the whole, and then she accuses her family and slaves of working against her—” She stopped, looking around as if hoping to discover they had not been overheard.
“Your mother’s illness makes her most trying,” said Sanct-Franciscus, moving toward Adicia’s room.
“Oh, most trying,” she exclaimed. “If only she had remained well!”
“Since that is not presently possible, I would like to suggest that you go to your own chamber, summon your own slave and be massaged so you will be able to sleep,” he said. “Starus will escort me, and you will not have to worry yourself into discomposure. You have already done more than most daughters would for their mothers.” He touched her shoulder, hardly more than a brush of his fingers; it held her attention. “It is unfortunate that your mother suffers, but there is no reason you must do so.”
Ignatia sighed. “She will wonder why I was so lax not to escort you.”
“And I will explain it to her,” he said gently. “You need rest. Doma Ignatia.”
She looked away from him. “You’re right, I suppose.”
“Go rest, Doma Ignatia,” said Sanct-Franciscus softly. “You mother will manage without you—my Word on it.”
She considered, then reached over to touch his hand. “You will have me wakened if anything goes ill with her?”
“Certainly,” he said.
Reluctantly she nodded. “Very well. I will try to sleep. I am tired.” She broke away from him and went quickly along the corridor as if she was afraid she might change her mind.
Sanct-Franciscus went along toward Domina Adicia’s room, aware that the household slaves who were up kept wary eyes upon him. By the time he reached Adicia’s chamber, he could hear the whispers in the dark. “Good evening, Domina,” he said as he stepped through the door. “I am sorry to hear you are unwell.”
Adicia smiled as she glanced at him, and although she was pale and thin, she held out her hand to him. “How good of you to come to me at this late hour. You appreciate my need.”
“Your daughter was kind enough to fetch me,” said Sanct-Franciscus as he came to her side. “She gives you most persevering care.”
“So she would have you believe,” Adicia said, pulling her hand back.
“You have no reason to doubt it,” said Sanct-Franciscus as he motioned to the exhausted slave dozing at the end of the bed. “Will you bring a basin of hot water from the kitchen?”
The slave ducked her head yawning, and hurried off.
“None of my household cares what becomes of me,” Adicia muttered.
“You know that is not the case,” said Sanct-Franciscus as he felt her pulse, finding it hard and ragged. “You must not blame them for failing to restore your health.”
“How can I not, when I continue to ail?” She reached out again and took his hand. “You don’t understand how difficult this is for me. I strive to have courage, to keep my dignity, but I am—” She stopped and drew his hand to her cheek. “You know I’m still a woman, and that I truly—”
Carefully he extricated his hand from her grasp. “I know you are ill, Domina Adicia, and that you may improve if you permit me to treat you.”
Adicia shook her head. “She’s working on you, isn’t she? She’s always looking to take advantage.”
Sanct-Franciscus paused in the opening of his case. “She?”
“My daughter,” said Adicia as if the word were venomous. “I know what she is, and how she connives to gain the sympathy of others, so I must suffer for the loss of affection she has caused.”
Taking a vial from his case, Sanct-Franciscus began to mix a potion for the wretched woman. “This is the burden of your illness speaking, Domina,” he said as he poured a little tincture of pansy into the infusion of crushed nettles he had already decanted, “Your daughter has embraced your well-being and has modeled her—”
“Not she!” Adicia burst out. “She’s subtle, I grant you.”
“She is not the reprehensible child you think,” he said, adding another ingredient to his compound. “Do not trouble yourself, Domina.”
“A fine state of affairs,” Adicia muttered, drawing herself under her covers. “That my own physician should not see anything so obvious. My brother is just as blind. But then, men are always fools about Ignatia.”
Sanct-Franciscus held out the vial. “If you will drink this, I believe you will have enough relief to be able to sleep without pain.”
“So she can work her wiles on you?” Adicia asked, but took the vial and drank the contents. “I will not relinquish your fondness to her without making an effort to keep it.”
He took the empty vial. “Domina Adicia, I hope you will believe me when I tell you that whatever my feelings may be toward your daughter, they do not alter my emotions in regard to you.”
There was a scratch at the door, and then another slave entered, a steaming basin of water in her cloth-wrapped hand. “For my mistress.”
Adicia frowned. “Why do you need that?”
“So your slave may bathe you while you feel more comfortable. You are in need of a bath, are you not?” He indicated where the woman should set the basin down. “Keeping your body clean is important, Domina Adicia, especially when you spend so much time abed.”
Her sigh this time was eloquent of ill use. “If you insist, I suppose I must.” Then she flashed him a sensual smile. “You might bathe me to better purpose.”
Sanct-Franciscus said nothing as he stepped away from her and went toward the door, the frown between his fine brows deepening as he went.
Text of a letter from Lucius Virginius Rufius to Marius Octavian Laelius, carried by a Greek private courier and delivered clandestinely.
To my newfound brother in Christ, the Kiss of Peace and the blessings of the glorious Apostle Paul from those of us who follow the Paulist creed, with my fervent wish that you grow in faith and grace with every passing hour.
There is to be a meeting and a Mass at the house of Celestia Delphina Hilaria Pario, who lives off the Via Appia about two thousand paces from the walls of Roma. Tomorrow night at sunset is the time the celebration will begin. Four of us are planning to go together to this wonderful event, and returning together as well. So I have the happy task of asking you if you should care to join us. If you are able to come, bring a new loaf of bread with you, along with either a jug of wine or a basket of fresh-caught fish for the Mass and our fellowship. If you wish to travel with us, inform me if you will have your horse or will wish to ride in my biga, or the biga of my cousin, Gelasius Virginius Apollonius Metsari? If you will inform me by tonight what you intend to do, I would be most grateful.
A few of us are planning to walk about the city after Mass, to see what evils we may strive to undo. We have done this in the past occasionally, and have saved a man from being robbed, as well as prevented lewdness, and offered a mantele to a naked beggar. On one of our ventures, we spent an hour speaking to some Fora Guards bound for a tavern, exhorting them to leave their dissolute ways and join us as Christians.
Of course we will continue to pray for your mother, that God may send her a healing through your devotion. It is what we Christians must do, to demonstrate the power of our faith, and our trust in God. See that your own grace is not lost in pressing for her relief of suffering: all men must suffer, and women the more so, for the sins of Eve. Have patience, hope, and faith, and you will see your mother restored to you again, in radiant health and open heart, for the Glory of God.
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