“Do not fear, my dear,” Helvia embraced her. “The city magistrate will not let her escape.”
Carvillia pushed her away, and stood with fists clenched. The murderous rage of her father suddenly shaped the young bones of her face. She summoned her guards. “Take the slaves away. Kill them all,” she ordered.
“You don’t have to put them all to death,” Helvia said, horrified. “Servia is the only guilty one, and she is gone.”
“It is the law. It is my right,” Carvillia proclaimed.
Nothing Helvia could say would persuade the girl to mercy. Sickened by the injustice, she left Carvillia as the guards whipped the weeping slaves from the house.
She visited Titus, and found him poor company. Legionaries had ransacked Zoninus’ shop, and taken all his records. Such violence was bad for business, Titus complained. Indeed, the slave market was not its usual bustling self. Trade was slack and crowds were thin. Many stalls were empty.
Smoke rose from fires on the horizon. There were always fires, somewhere in Rome, but this smoke struck Helvia as ominous. It was as though it obeyed some sinister yet undefined pattern.
She turned for home. As her litter passed the Iberian temple she raised the curtain and looked out. The building had collapsed. Smoke rose from the ruins. Would she ever know the fate of Servia, Zoninus or the priestess?
The bathhouse next door was intact. She stopped to talk to the proprietor. He was a tall, ascetic man with a shaved head, a disciple of Aesculapius, and normally a picture of calm. Today his serenity was shattered.
The water of the baths ran thick, red and stinking. All customers had fled. The cause was the temple next door, the proprietor said. Legionaries had gone in and not returned, so their legatus ordered the building razed. After its collapse the Cloaca Maxima was blocked, the water flooded red, and noises were heard in the depths.
Helvia felt a vast pounding beneath her feet, as though a giant were running the length of the sewer. The murky water bubbled and heaved. The proprietor’s face showed his utter fright.
The visit intensified her unease. She hurried home, seeking refuge from this strange, foreign Rome. As she alighted from her litter at her front door a man brushed past and muttered. “To you, great Not-to-Be-Named.”
Had she imagined it? The man was gone.
She hurried inside and felt reassured by calm and tranquility of her house. Uncle Marius dozed over Cato’s On Agriculture in his study. She kissed his bald head. He woke with a start. “Has anyone come in?” she asked.
“Not a mouse,” he replied.
“Are you sure?”
“I have been reading here. I would have noticed any visitor,” he said, with quiet dignity.
She stepped out into the garden. The fountain played soothingly, but the water was tinged red. The smoke from the fires filled the air until even the sunlight seemed congealed. The nursemaid sat at Lucretius’ door, shelling peas. She looked up as Helvia appeared.
“All well?” Helvia asked, reassured.
The girl smiled.
A cry came from inside the room.
“Lucretius,” Helvia cried, and rushed for her darling boy. The sluggish sunlight dissolved into dreadful memory: Iberius leaning over the cradle. That was when she knew, with dreadful certainty, that the Miri Nigri had found a weak point after all.
The thing in the cradle was mottled and shapeless like a toad, but it raised two boneless arms to be embraced.
***
It fell to Uncle Marius to tell the family’s clients that Helvia had retired to the country to raise her son in the peaceful rusticity of the family estate at Tusculum.
Lines in the Sand
by Tom Lynch
Caius stood by the columns just inside the house and looked out onto the balcony and beyond. Her ladyship, Domina Julianna, was busy reclining on her new silk couch behind imported lace curtains, which, frankly, was the best way to behold her. The years had not been kind. Mind you, she’d never been the great beauty she considered herself to be, but people put up with it because her late husband, General Arrius Primus, had been so kind and charming to everyone. It was serving in the army with that great man that led Caius here. Officially, his title was attaché to his lordship, but his role went way beyond that. Given his military background, and his work with spy networks, he was more of an underestimated bodyguard and finder, in addition to being responsible for the day-to-day management of the estate. After the general left this plane for the Underworld, Caius had stayed on as “head of household” while continuing his previous work for his lord’s widow, out of respect for the late general.
And now, here they all were, exiled to Syria by Roman society. It was quite funny if you thought about it. Julianna was so loathed by absolutely everyone, that her circle conspired a way to be rid of her. They convinced her multitude of surgeons, priests, and healers that the only way she could live more than a few months would be to relocate to these desert climes. Upon suggesting somewhere in Eyptos, Julianna was told that humidity from the Mediterranean and the Nile would irritate a rare skin condition, turning her ever-so-lovely complexion greenish. So putting her bravest face on it, Domina Julianna relocated here. Alone. With none of her “friends” to accompany her.
It wouldn’t be so bad, Caius thought, if she wasn’t convinced that she was Venus incarnate. It was one thing to be at least moderately attractive and throw yourself at every male in the vicinity, but when someone like Julianna did it, the result was horrifying. Bachelors were caught unawares and netted by her overly-perfumed, meaty hands. Caius shuddered. She’d even approached him shortly after the general’s death, but with some quick thinking, he’d lied saying he was a eunuch, and would be unable to satisfy her needs. He shuddered again, and walked back into the house.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running sandaled feet. One of the maidservants dashed up to him. All of the servants in the household were female for the simple reason that it helped to avoid uncomfortable situations. There were male slaves who were used for such purposes, though. “Oh!” she breathed. “I found you. Good. Her ladyship has a visitor! A man!”
Caius’ eyes bulged. “She has what? Say it again, Antonia.”
“She has a gentleman visitor!” Antonia cried.
“Gods! Very well. Where is this visitor?”
“He’s in the vestibule. It is just one man, but he says he represents a powerful neighbor and asks for an audience.”
“He will have it. This will lift her spirits no end. Is he at least well-formed? Her ladyship will most certainly need a good servicing.”
The young woman shuddered. “I, uh. I don’t know, Sir.”
“How can you not know?”
“His raiment is strange to me. He is completely covered in loose garments, and his face is behind a veil.”
“In this heat? Gods. A local minor noble, perhaps. Well, he’ll have to do. You go tell her ladyship while I alert the kitchens to send refreshment.” Caius had served in the legion in this part of the Empire almost 20 years ago during the wars with Parthia, and the description didn’t sound familiar. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t let that stand in the way of satisfying Lady Julianna’s needs.
Sometime later, with slaves waving palm fronds about overhead, they all sat in the shade watching the shadows lengthen between the dunes. Platters of seasoned dates and carafes of chilled, spiced wine were passed around frequently, yet their guest remained covered. He slipped food and drink behind his veil while he talked of the wonders they could achieve if some agreement were met.
“Your ladyship would have riches beyond imagining,” their guest said.
Her ladyship sighed. “Money I have, Sir. What I miss, what I no longer have, what I truly pine for is companionship. Specifically,” she continued, favoring her guest with a yellow-toothed smile while waving everyone away, “male companionship.”
Caius led the staff in a subtle, quiet retreat from the balcony, but he himself stayed behind one of the col
umns, in case he was needed. He still served as bodyguard for her ladyship, and he hoped his services would not be needed, since no one really knew who this visitor was.
He did his best not to hear the muttered whisperings and the hushed chuckles, until he was jolted forward by a shriek of terror.
“Get him away from meeee!” Julianna cried.
Caius launched around the corner, gladius in hand, to see the guest concealing himself behind his flowing robes and veil. “Back, servant!” the man hissed. Caius stopped, finding himself unable to move further. “Beware, harlot! You have offended me, so you have offended my king. In so doing, you have cursed yourself and all in this house.” He then spun and leapt over the balcony railing. Suddenly released, Caius ran forward to look for a sprawled form below, but saw their guest running faster than the swiftest steed out into the twilit desert.
He turned back to his mistress who was weeping uncontrollably, clutching her semi-removed clothing to her body. Try as he might, Caius was unable to soothe her. Moments later, her personal maid arrived, and Caius had the maid escort her ladyship to bed with instructions to give her a powder to help her relax and sleep. He then stalked back to the balcony’s edge, and looked out into the growing darkness. Just who or what was that visitor? There were questions that needed answers.
“I-i-it was a creature from Haaaadeeees!” her ladyship wailed the next morning as her staff sat around her in the bedroom.
“Domina, please,” Caius said. “I need details! I will find this demon, but I need information!”
“How can you be so calculating at a time like this, Caius? The Underworld is rising up to swallow us all! We’re doomed!”
Caius sighed, “Very well, Domina. As you say.”
“You see?” she declared with renewed vigor. “Even the wise Caius agrees!” and then she began to weep and wail again.
Caius strode out of the house and gestured to the stable boy for his horse. He wasn’t sure who he’d go see first, but he had to figure out who this bastard was, and what he wanted with Lady Julianna. The young slave boy brought Caius’ horse over to him and held the animal so Caius could mount up. As he trotted out the main gate, he stopped suddenly. There, sticking in the stout wood of the gate, was an ornate dagger holding a strip of fabric to the door. Caius leaned over in his saddle to examine it. While it has once been a very fine blade indeed, it was now old, pitted, and hadn’t been well cared for. His years of military training railed against this offense to such fine craftsmanship. The strip of fabric was a faded off-white color made of a loose weave, and it fluttered in the light breeze. Caius looked closer, but the strip of cloth wouldn’t stop moving. He was sure there was writing there, but he simply couldn’t read it.
“Slave!” he called out. The young stable boy rushed forward again, bowing and wiping his hands on his dirty loincloth. He was a native to these parts, maybe eleven years of age, sold to them as part of the estate. “Fetch that blade for me.”
The boy reached up, and stopped. His eyes grew wide, and he stumbled back.
“What is it?” Caius asked. “Do as you’re told, or you will be beaten!”
“Sir!” he cried. “Dominus. Please. You do not understand. This is a very bad thing. A curse. The whole house is doomed now.”
Caius hawked and spat in the dirt. “Bring me a rag. Now.”
The slave dashed off to do as he was bidden, and came back with a large piece of cloth. Caius snatched it out of the slave’s hand and wrapped it around the dagger, and wrenched it out of the door, being careful to get the ribbon of fabric fixed to the door by the dagger, and wrapped the whole thing in the square of cloth. He pulled his horse’s head around and galloped off to the local garrison.
***
“I don’t give damn what you think, Centurion!” boomed the voice from inside the garrison’s headquarters. “I want evidence! I didn’t ask for analysis, but I did ask for facts. You have six hours to provide those facts or your head will decorate a pilum at the gates!”
Caius’ face split into an evil grin. It felt like yesterday that he served in this region under Furius Magnus, known by his men as “Hell Belly.” He’d been on the receiving end of that thunderous voice more than once. It was a joy when the General Arrius came into camp and commandeered the “promising young tribune” and made him his attaché.
The centurion trotted out of the legion commander’s office and disappeared out into the square. Caius poked his head in. And pulled it back as a wine goblet hurtled at his head. “Gods, man! Is this how you treat old friends?”
“Who’s there?” shouted the commander from inside. “Another of my useless staff?”
“I’ve been called many things, Magnus, but ‘useless’ was never one of them,” Caius said, peering around the corner again.
“Caius, you sneaky bastard!” the commander strode forward with arms open.
The two men embraced. “Much better,” Caius said. “That’s a description I agree with at least.”
“How long has it been? Not almost 20 years!”
“Eighteen years since I was allowed to leave Damascus.”
“You could have served the legions so much better if you’d stayed here by my side as spymaster. You had such promise as my tribune.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, Magnus. I rather like how things have turned out, and I’m in a better position now than I would have been if I’d stayed in the military. Besides, had I stayed, you might not have climbed to Legion Legate. You’ve done well for yourself, my friend.”
“I love it here. Just think if you’d stayed, though. Gotten yourself a nice local girl for a wife as I have. Talk about exotic spices, let me tell you!” he boomed. Then leaned in to whisper loudly, “And I’m not talking about the food, either!”
Caius grinned and shook his head. “My path was a good one. I’m pleased how it turned out.”
The commander shrugged. “There is that. As you say: a matter of opinion. Now what brings you to my camp?”
“This,” said Caius, bringing out the dagger and unwrapping it, holding it out for him to see.
Magnus cried out and leapt back, as if confronted by a basket of writhing asps. “Get that thing away from me! Out! Get it out of here, Caius! Now!”
Caius paled. Anything that scared a man like Magnus must indeed be a terrible thing. Caius hurriedly wrapped his bundle and left the building. He went around to his horse, and looked around. Now what was he going to do? He’d have to rely on a local sage, which meant money, and likely a great deal of it to keep minds focused and mouths shut. He was about to mount up, when a legionnaire approached him. He saluted, and at Caius’ return salute, he said “The legate will see you by the gate, but…um…he told me to say to ‘keep your bloody curses to yourself.’”
Caius grinned. “Very well, Legionnaire. Thank you.”
He stuffed the bundle in a saddle bag, noticing that the fabric wrapping the dagger had started to pull apart. He’d been sure it was a fresh piece of cloth earlier. He’d have to talk with that slave in the stables when he got back: giving his betters tattered rags was unacceptable. Leaving his horse where it was, he walked over to the gate. Magnus came out shortly and took him by the arm. “Listen, Whiplash,” the commander said. Caius smiled at the use of his old nickname. He still liked that moniker. “I have enough trouble with the Jews making as much trouble as they are. The last thing I need is any of the locals seeing a death curse like that in the camp.”
“A death curse? But what can you tell me about it?”
“Not much, but every time anything like that has appeared, decay and death have followed, and it was never pretty. A wasting disease, open sores, and a slow cruise across the Styx.”
“How do I protect Her Ladyship? Can you spare me some regulars so I have some bodies to put between this threat and her?”
“That I cannot my friend. With the troubles off to the south and west, I don’t even have enough men here to form a solid cohort. However, I think I can
help guide you to one who can help. There’s a man in the market you can go see. Give him this coin. It’s a sign. He’ll know that I sent you. He may look like a local beggar, but he’s one of my best operatives, even compared to you.”
Caius arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, Caius, he is that good. And don’t show him the bloody dagger in public. I don’t want a riot in the market on my hands, but describe it, and he can tell you what he knows. He’s closer to this sort of thing than I am.”
“This thing is that bad?”
“The locals certainly think it is. It’s only happened a handful of times in the years that I’ve been stationed out here, but every time, we all hear about it and no good comes of it.”
Caius shook his head and sighed.
“Caius,” the commander said. “If anyone can find a way to beat this thing it’s you. I believe that. But other than this, how are you enjoying life back in the Eastern Provinces?” Magnus grinned at him and winked.
“Between the complete lack of weather other than hot and dry, and the complete lack of diversion for her ladyship, I do believe I’m coming to my wits’ end!”
The commander thumped Caius on the back. “That’s the spirit old friend. Off with you. Happy hunting.”
***
Caius flipped the crippled beggar the coin he’d been given, and the little man on the ground let out a cry, “Ah! Efendi! How may I serve your graciousness?”
“Walk a ways with me, my good man, and tell me a story.”
“Oh-Ho! Hassan knows a great many stories,” said the cripple as his clambered to his twisted feet.
Caius beckoned, and Hassan followed. “I’m interested in one story in particular, and it involves a pitted dagger with a strip of fabric hanging from the tip of the blade.”
Hassan stumbled and Caius spun to catch him. As he did, Hassan leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Ride home with haste, Efendi, and I will see if the legate can spare any men. I will meet you at Lady Julianna’s estate within two hours. Pray to your gods that you are not too late.”
Tales of Cthulhu Invictus Page 10