by C. R. May
* * *
Catumanda blew out her cheeks and held up a hand. ‘No, really I am quite full, thank you.’ Despite her protestations another plate of stuffed vine leaves was placed before her, and she smiled weakly as the family fussed over the son that they had thought lost to them. She glanced about her surroundings and sighed with contentment as she surreptitiously massaged her aching belly. The food was delicious, if a little spicy, and her insides were beginning to growl. She knew that there was enough wind in there to propel a good size ship halfway back to Iberia, and the effort it was taking to contain it was taking up all of her attention. She had to find a place where she could release the pressure and soon, or she might just spoil the boy’s homecoming. Her druid clothing had been taken away for wash and repair and, even if the loose-fitting garment that she had been supplied with felt strange and unfamiliar, there was no doubting the fact that it had made the difference.
She managed to catch the eye of Philippos’ mother and winced as she patted her stomach. The woman understood immediately and pointed out a passageway with a knowing nod and a flick of her eyes. Catumanda smiled her thanks, leaving the celebrations behind her as she passed into the cool of the marble paved home. Small wooden shutters lined the righthand wall; they had been opened to allow the plants that filled the outside space to add their delicate fragrance to the home. Light slanted in and the druid could see that the facing wall contained several more doors. The room which she needed was at the far end of the corridor, and she made her way quickly there.
She had already recognised the house, before Philippos had led her with great excitement to the heavy oak door. Now, finally inside the building from her dream, the sense of anticipation within her mounted as she left the communal bench and returned to the passageway. Rounding the corner she caught a glimpse of a sight even more incongruous than herself in the civilised surroundings, as a stocky figure in a deerskin cloak and antlered headpiece flashed her a grin before disappearing into a side room.
Catumanda stole across, pushed the door ajar, and grinned like a fool. There was no sign of her spirit guide but the reason for his visitation stood propped against the far wall, gleaming dully in the half light. The objects, she could see now, were not shields but large tablets of bronze, each one the height of a man’s forearm. Divided into a number of vertical columns marked by figures representing suns and moons, Catumanda could see immediately that it was a method of measuring the passing of time and the seasons. Immersed in attempting to understand the complexities of the tablets she jumped as a voice spoke at her shoulder. ‘I see that you have found them. What do you think?’
Catumanda swung around and began to blurt out an apology, but the old man held up a hand to silence her, and she was shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes. ‘Druid, you have no idea how long I have been waiting for this day to arrive.’ Philippos’ grandfather held his arms wide and smiled warmly. ‘May I hug you without being diced by your moon blade? I am aware of your rules about such things.’
Bemused, Catumanda held out her arms and the old man embraced her lightly. Stepping back he indicated that the druid take a seat beside to him on a bench there. ‘My name is Demokritos, and the gods have sent me shadowy visions of you for nearly seventy years. My old friend Abaris told me in Massalia many years ago that his gods would send a messenger to me one day to learn of my calendar.’ He began a chuckle that developed into a spluttering wheeze as he went on. ‘He didn’t say that it would be an attractive young woman though!’
Despite her familiarity with the workings of the gods Catumanda was staggered. ‘Abaris was my old master in Albion. He took me from my family when I was little more than a bairn and taught me the ways of the brotherhood. When did you know him in Massalia?’
Demokritos chuckled again and laughter danced behind rheumy eyes. ‘Let’s just say that we were both young men.’ He shifted on the bench and suddenly grew serious again. ‘Let us begin, you have much to learn and very little time.’ He turned to the tablets and added, mysteriously. ‘We will both be setting out on a long journey tomorrow; but our parting will be brief, and we will meet again soon.’
Catumanda faced the tablets and ran her eyes across the figures and images that had been delicately worked into the face of the bronze. She could sense the old man’s pride in his voice as he spoke again. ‘Tell me what you see.’
The druid’s eyes flicked across the waxy surface as she studied the markings. ‘I am familiar with the ideas expressed here but I have never seen it in written form before. It is a means of measuring the passing of time using the sun and the moon.’
Demokritos nodded. ‘I call it a lunisolar kalendae. Please,’ he said, gesturing with a hand, ‘continue with your explanation.’
‘Each column represents one year, divided into twelve months. Each month is split again into a dark and light period corresponding to the waxing and waning of the moon, as shown by these symbols.’ She pointed out the various images of the moon as she spoke. ‘The month starts with the full moon and the first, dark half of the month is fixed at fifteen days as the moon wanes. The light side of the month alternates between fourteen and fifteen days in length.’
She glanced at him for confirmation and he nodded sagely as he confirmed her thoughts. ‘It is as you say, but that will lead us to a year containing only three hundred and fifty-four or five days.’
Catumanda ran her finger across the smooth surface of the tablet and pointed to the third column. ‘That is why you have repeated this month every two and a half years. It will bring the…’ She squinted as she tried to recall the words he had used to describe the tablets. Her mind was a whirl of numbers and figures, but all at once she recalled the name, and he started as she almost shouted it out with glee. ‘Lunisolar kalendae!’
They shared a laugh as Catumanda reeled off the facts contained on the tablets to the astonishment of the old mathematician. ‘The years are divided into dark and light halves, beginning with the start of the dark months of the year with the first full moon at Samhaine. You have used the rising of the star marked here to fix the beginning – that star must be Antares. That means,’ she continued as the astonished old man gawped beside her, ‘that the other festivals are also fixed by the stars. Look, here,’ she pointed, ‘is Aldebaran in the constellation of Taurus, next to the mark for Beltaine. Once you understand the methodology it’s perfectly straightforward.’
A strangled wheeze came from beside her; Catumanda looked at Demokritos in alarm as she worried that the old Greek was choking, but the wheeze became a rolling laugh as he pulled a scroll down from a shelf. Shaking his head in amusement he mumbled to himself. ‘The work of a lifetime! It’s all perfectly straightforward she says!’ Dabbing away tears on the back of his hand Demokritos unrolled the yellowish sheet and smoothed it out on the table before them. ‘This we call biblos – it is made from a plant known as papuros. The gods have sent you here, Catumanda, to take this knowledge back to your people in the north. Copy my work in a form that will incorporate your beliefs and festivals in such a way that it will be easy for other druids…’ he smiled warmly as he paused, ‘druids perhaps not as astute as yourself, will find easy to understand.’
Catumanda looked up in surprise. ‘There is no need, I understand the kalendae completely. I can teach my brothers when I return home.’
Demokritos placed his hands, the backs of his aged skin almost indistinguishable from the biblos beside them, onto the bench and levered himself up. He bent low and kissed the young woman tenderly on the crown of her head, allowing it to linger for a moment before moving off to the door. Turning back, she let out an involuntary gasp at the great age of the man as he stood, a hunched silhouette surrounded by a corona of sunlight from the window opposite. ‘Let me tell you a truth of the gods,’ Demokritos said sadly. ‘Before I return to my family.’
Eighteen
The forum resembled the heaving mass of a gigantic squid, its tentacles frantic citizens as they made their
way through from the surrounding viae and headed for the dome of the Janiculum and the road to Caere beyond. Numerius guided his horse to one side and dismounted as he mentally sifted the tasks he wished to accomplish before the arrival of the Gauls into some sort of order. Armed men were in evidence once more and a sense of order prevailed among the groups despite the chaos that had gripped the city. As he made the decision that he would cross the forum to the Senate house to seek his father a familiar voice hailed him.
‘Numerius! Just got back?’
He turned to see the grinning face of his cousin, Gaius Fabius Dorso, and he smiled for what felt like the first time since he had left his brothers outside Veii. His cousin was irrepressible; it would take far more than the rout of the army of Rome and the impending destruction of the great city to dampen his spirits. He reached out and they gripped forearms in the Roman greeting. ‘Gaius, you don’t know how good it is to see you.’
They stood side by side, watching as the flow of humanity swept past the massive stone columns that ringed the space, the faces of the great men and gods inscrutable as they regarded the chaos below. Gaius sniffed. ‘A shitty day.’
Numerius snorted and nodded. ‘The shittiest day ever I would say. How long have you been here?’
Gaius indicated a turma of equites who were waiting patiently for him near the foot of the Capitoline. ‘We were called back from the south last evening and reached the city around midday. We had been out hunting those bloody raiders in the hills around Tiburum but we never got close – it was like chasing fog.’ He suddenly averted his eyes and lowered his voice. ‘I heard about Licinia and the girls. I am very sorry.’
Numerius shook his head. ‘There is no need cousin, save your pity for those who suffered far greater injury. They were humiliated and we lost property, but none of them were despoiled in any way. I have that to thank this Solemis for, at least. They are Roman matrons – what does not kill them will strengthen them.’ He raised a brow. ‘Your family?’
Gaius looked at him with amazement. ‘They are on the Capitoline of course, with the others.’ It was Numerius’ turn to look surprised and his cousin grew apologetic. ‘I am sorry, you really have just got back! I will explain what I know about the situation here and you can decide what you want to do.’ He looked across to his men and indicated that he would be along shortly. Numerius noticed that the men’s expressions were tense – they were obviously keen to be away.
As Gaius opened his mouth to speak the ominous rumble of falling masonry carried down to the forum from the north, and a great groan of fear rose from the crowd. To his surprise Numerius saw a flicker of fear pass across Gaius’ features before his cousin reasserted his control and glanced in the direction of the sound. ‘That can only have been the Colline Gate coming down. Nobody in our imbecilic army thought to close the door behind them in their rush to save their skin, and the first barbarian scouts seized it and fired the gates earlier.’ Numerius looked stunned, but his cousin shook his head. ‘It is of no consequence. The city has been given up for lost. The decision has been taken that all men of patrician rank and fighting age are to retire to the Capitoline and fortify it to withstand a siege.’
Numerius was horrified. ‘Women and children?’
‘Only patrician women of childbearing age and their offspring.’
‘Plebs?’
Gaius shook his head. ‘There is no room for the whole city on the hill; every extra body is another mouth to feed. This is a siege Numerius, even the older members of the patrician class are to be left to their fate.’ He nodded across to his men. ‘We are one of the groups who are having a final sweep for supplies before the walls and pathways are sealed.’
Numerius looked aghast as the desperation of their situation became clear. The city was still full of people and he looked back to the forum as the sound of fighting carried to them. The crash made by the collapsing gate had changed a fearful but relatively disciplined population into a panicked herd. If the collapsing wall heralded the arrival of the barbarian army they could be expected to round the corner and descend upon the forum at any moment.
A woman screamed as a thickset man was stabbed and pulled from his horse. Mounting the beast, the killer had only advanced a few paces before he too was dragged from its back and replaced by another equally desperate to escape. The scene began to repeat itself throughout the forum as order began to break down and Gaius took Numerius by the sleeve. ‘Come, cousin – it’s started. We need to reach safety.’
Numerius shook his head. ‘I came here to see my father. Do you know if he is at the Senate house or the Temple?’
Screams and crashes drew their attention across to the place where the crowd were exiting the forum. The roadway narrowed as it cut between the twin hills of the Capitoline and the Aventine, and the panicked mob had begun to overturn carts and wagons in their haste to escape. The pathways that led up to the heights of the Capitol were nearby, and Gaius could see that his men were growing increasingly impatient to scale them before they were sealed. He reached out and grasped Numerius by the forearm and fixed him with an earnest stare. ‘Most of the paterfamilias have decided to dress in their finest and meet the Gauls before their homes. I would look for your father at the Domus Publicus.’
Numerius watched as Gaius crossed to his men and wondered if they would meet again. He had to admit to himself that the plan to fortify the Capitoline was sound; not only would the Temple of Jupiter be saved from desecration, but the presence of an army within the bounds of the city would be important psychologically. Unless the hill was taken neither the Romans nor the Gauls would consider the city to have truly fallen. Siege warfare was common; it had taken the Romans themselves a decade to subdue Veii, and often the difficulties facing the besiegers were as difficult as those within the walls. Lifted by the thought Numerius remounted and began to skirt the edge of the forum.
The crowd had begun to calm as it became clear that the barbarians were not about to inundate the city after all, but Numerius drew his short sword and held it in clear view as he passed along the edge of the multitude. Although the sun was dipping away to the west now the temperature in the crowded forum was stifling as the great stone buildings and the paved surface gave up their store of heat. Above them all the bronze and gilded statues of the ancients became flaming torches in the evening glare, guiding the people to the hoped-for salvation of distant Caere.
Sullen looks marked his passage, and for the first time Numerius could feel the hostility of the crowd as they recognised him, if not for a military tribune, then certainly as a member of the class who had abandoned them to their fate. Fortunately their numbers quickly thinned before the shouts and curses could threaten to become a physical attack, and he guided his mount along the frontage of the area which the people called the new shops. Most had been ransacked as law and order disintegrated, and he took a firmer grip on his sword as he passed by the premises of wine merchants and thermopolia.
The shops here were occupied by men and women who had long ago given up any thoughts of flight, succumbing to the temptations of Bacchus and beyond caring whether their last day had arrived. A particularly fine thermopolium stood at the head of the forum opposite the Temple of Regia. Numerius knew it well; it was a favoured meeting place of the senators once the business of the day had been completed, but as he grew closer it was clear that the standards of dress and behaviour expected of their customers had been relaxed somewhat. A wide dining area looked out across the gentle slope of the forum to the grandeur of the Temple of Jupiter high on the Capitol. On any other day the terrace would bear witness to politicking and learned conversations, as the finer points of law were discussed and deals were struck. This evening, Numerius could see from his elevated position, the area was awash with the lowest sort of citizen, each one desperate to live their final hours to the fullest. At least one of the visible bodies had been stabbed repeatedly and several couples were copulating in full view of the last families to leave the ci
ty, cheered on by the drunken mob.
Numerius steered his mount aside and angled away towards the road that led up to the Domus Publicus, but his heart sank as bleary cries called out in his wake. Conscious not to inflame the mob he looked straight ahead and kept the pace of his horse steady, but the sound of running feet forced him to turn and confront the rabble. He gripped his sword tighter and lay it across his lap where it could be plainly seen, but kept his tone as pleasant as possible. ‘Go back to your wine, friends. Enjoy yourselves before the Gauls arrive.’
A bull of a man threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, we are all friends now are we?’ He turned his head as he reached out to grasp the bridle of Numerius’ horse and the tribune saw that the man’s neck was smeared with blood, his ear little more than a gory flap of skin. Fresh cuts and grazes covered the knuckles of his ham-like fists, and it was clear that the oaf had been taking full advantage of the unique opportunities that the current situation offered his sort. Numerius knew instinctively that one of them was about to die. The man turned back with a sneer, and Numerius locked eyes with him as he slowly brought the point of his blade across his thigh so that it pointed directly at the thug’s pockmarked face.