Foreign Devils

by John Hornor Jacobs

  ‘Yes, Father,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘Once you stop to think about it – consider Tamberlaine’s current displeasure – nothing else will do.’

  ‘But …’ He faltered then. ‘Mithras’ cankerous prick.’

  ‘Father, no need for such profanity.’

  ‘There is much need. Ia dammit, I need a drink.’

  At that, Carnelia called for the carriage to stop and not waiting for any slowing or cessation of forward movement, leaned forward, wrenched open the door, and let fly a thunderous stream of vomit.

  Father, looking vaguely disgusted and leaning away from her bilious breath, said, ‘Where do you keep it all, ’Nelia?’

  We reached the villa at dusk. A watchful footman with a militant aspect and hefting a carbine considered us closely and after a moment opened the barred gates.

  The carriage rolled into the courtyard, surrounded by sandstone walls. Father – possibly having used his one of his own Quotidians to alert Fuqua, his manumitted head of household, that we would be returning – led us inside into a bright atrium that smelled of lemon and myrrh. The slaves and servants stood in an expectant line, waiting to greet him.

  Fuqua bowed, deeply. ‘Father,’ he said. ‘We are ready to serve you.’ As a group they bowed until Cornelius walked past, tapping each servant lightly on his head.

  ‘I am well pleased, Fuqua,’ Father said, spreading his hands as if giving a benediction. My father is many things: childish, abrasive, impulsive, drunken, wise, bellicose, foolish, addled. But he always obeys the traditions and I think that has kept him well, through the years. He has risen higher than more intelligent (or moderate) men. His natural choleric demeanour belies a greatness of spirit that you may not have seen, my love. He can be mean, he can be menacing, he can be maudlin, he can be mawkish. How many men have so many aspects warring within them and rise so high? I do not think many.

  I recognized none of the slaves’ or servants’ faces. It had been years since I had spent any extended time under my father’s roof: first due to my marriage; then due the divorce and my mother’s illness; last, due to the three and a half years I spent in the west during Father’s governorship in Occidentalia. I have become a stranger in the place I once called home.

  We dined in the small triclinium, waiting for our personal effects, luggage, and cargo, to arrive from Ostia under Rubus’ watchful eye.

  Father, popping an olive into his mouth and then washing it down with a swig of wine, said, ‘All right, son, you are prepared? I have put the senatorial gears into motion and set my own personal daemon in the form of Messalla Corvinus to light the benches on fire for you. He has successfully lobbied to allow you a time to say what you will. You will have the floor on the fifth hour.’

  Secundus looked up from his reading material and smiled, a genuine one. On his return home, he’d immediately disappeared to Father’s office and wasn’t seen until dinner where he sat poring over an old, musty tome, watering his wine heavily and eating only the barest amount.

  ‘I shall be ready, Father,’ he said, brightly. ‘Since I am no senator, as yet, it is quite an honour you have done me.’

  ‘Nonsense. It is our honour – and your sister’s – you preserve.’ Father’s eyes brightened with interest. ‘How is your speech coming along?’

  ‘Well, Father,’ Secundus replied. ‘Very well. In fact, I had planned to go to the library at …’

  A soft cough came from the door. Fuqua said, ‘A Mister Tenebrae to see young master Secundus, sir.’

  Father raised his eyes. ‘Tenebrae? Here? I assumed …’

  Secundus hopped up, tossed his napkin onto the near empty plate he’d been pecking at, and said, ‘No, we’re to find one last little nail in Metellus’ coffin in the Trebinal Quarter’s library. Are there horses in the stable?’

  Father nodded, pride suffusing his face. Either from Secundus’ pursuit in the reclamation of my (and consequently the Cornelian) honour, or his love of horses, I could not tell. ‘I imagine your Phrineas is still bucking about. He may be a bit more creaky in the moving bits, but I took him out the day before we left.’

  ‘That was almost four years ago, Father.’

  ‘Well, he may be a bit creakier. Fuqua’s reports indicate he’s still in fine dander.’

  ‘I shall see,’ Secundus said, moving out of the triclinium.

  Father smiled and occupied his mouth with more of the Falernian. Carnelia, now that she was able to keep down solid food, said, ‘Those two have become quite close.’ She raised her eyebrows in an arch manner and glanced at Father.

  ‘Tenebrae is a fine young man,’ Father said.

  ‘Very close,’ Carnelia restated.

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ I said to Carnelia.

  ‘What?’ She looked at me, batting her eyes, full of innocence. Since that fateful day, last autumn, when we rode out onto the shoal plains for the auroch hunt and Gnaeus was mortally wounded, my sister has not been able to keep her weight. I imagine that most of her sustenance comes from unwatered wine: when she smiled at me, her teeth were roan. ‘Have I said something?’

  ‘Sister, have you ever been to Gall?’

  ‘You know I have not, sissy.’

  ‘In Gall, they have a wonderful way of fattening ducks. They call it gavage. Are you familiar with the term?’

  ‘No,’ she said, only half paying attention to what I was saying and burying her nose in her wine-cup.

  ‘They take the ducks and shove a funnel down their throats,’ I said. Carnelia giggled. ‘Then, holding the ducks firmly, they pack its stomach full of herbs and feed. In a short time, the birds grow grossly obese and their livers are positively gargantuan.’

  Carnelia put down her cup and looked at me, the smile on her face growing wan and failing altogether.

  ‘I am married with child. Secundus is who he is—’

  ‘Damn fine lad,’ Father said, oblivious to what I was saying to my sister.

  ‘Hush, Tata,’ I said. Turning back to Carnelia, I said, ‘Secundus will someday will take a wife, despite any of his other … affections, because he must. And you, my sister, now that we’re back in Rume – if only for this short while – will be made available for any men of acceptable birth and political connection.’

  A strange expression crossed my sister’s face then, comprised of equal measures of excitement and wariness. She knew I was taking the long route round the villa.

  ‘Quite right, Livia,’ Father said. ‘Quite right. I still intend to speak with Tamberlaine about Marcus.’

  ‘Should that fail, we will have to pursue other measures.’ I paused, took a large breath. ‘You are too thin,’ I said, briskly. ‘No suitor would believe that you will be able to bear children. If you do not put down the wine, finish everything on your plate, and eat all of that lovely tart—’ I looked at her as sternly as I was able. ‘I will order two of the burliest slaves to hold you down and I will fetch a funnel and a pail of goat’s milk.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Carnelia said, outraged. ‘Anyway, I would order them to let me go! Where would you be then?’

  ‘Who do you suppose they would obey?’

  Father laughed, wiped his mouth with a napkin and then clapped his hands. ‘This is getting interesting. Fuqua!’

  Fuqua came in, peering at a piece of parchment with a half-distracted look on his face.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ Fuqua said.

  ‘The girls are going to see which one of them has more control of the servants! I’ll wager ten thousand sesterces that it’ll be Livia.’

  ‘Respectfully, sir, you don’t pay me enough for that kind of bet,’ Fuqua said. Then he peered first at me and then Carnelia. ‘And even had I that amount and was willing to risk it, I do not think that would be the bet I would take. My pardons, madame,’ he said, bowed to Carnelia, and exited.

  Father chuckled and said, ‘Ia’s blood, that man has no sense of adventure.’

  I looked steadily
at Carnelia. ‘Eat, or I shall call them.’

  Carnelia picked up a hunk of crusty bread and shoved it in her mouth and began sullenly masticating. When she had a moment to breathe she said, ‘I don’t understand you, sissy. I hope you’re not like this on the voyage to Tchinee.’

  Father, alarmed, sat forward. ‘What’s this? Carnelia? Tchinee?’

  I shot Carnelia a withering stare – it was far too premature to bring Father into the discussion – but there’s no unbreaking an amphorae once it’s been dropped.

  ‘We were, once we’d settled back here in Rume, going to speak with you about this.’

  He frowned, his whiskers shifting into a greyish slump. ‘I don’t like being alone, Livia. A father’s solace is his progeny. A father’s joy is his children.’ He looked about. ‘Lupina! Whiskey!’

  When Lupina did not appear that instant, magically bearing a glass of liquor, he harrumphed, shifted, and settled into his chair like a disgruntled dog might on finding himself sleeping outside.

  ‘Lupina and Rubus are with our luggage, Tata.’

  ‘I know that, child. Do you think I don’t know that?’

  ‘Possibly,’ I said. ‘As I was saying, we wanted to wait to speak with you regarding this but I would ask that you allow Carnelia to accompany me to Tchinee.’

  ‘Whatever for? Won’t she just be underfoot?’

  ‘Father!’ Carnelia said, indignant.

  ‘No,’ I said slowly, placing my hands on my belly. ‘I am with child and this is a diplomatic mission. I do not want to be half-way around the world with no family near me when it’s time for the baby.’

  ‘You’ll be back before then,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘There are no guarantees of that.’

  ‘You’ll have Secundus,’ he responded, picking up his wine-cup and looking miserably at the dregs. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

  ‘Secundus? I need my sister. A woman. And you won’t be alone, Father. You’ll have all of Rume at your disposal.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ he grimaced. ‘No, I won’t allow it.’

  I looked at him steadily. Sometimes, my stare will cause him to flinch or look away. Sometimes it won’t, especially when he is being particularly obstinate.

  He glanced again at his cup.

  ‘Let’s not fight about this, Father. I think it is best if I have a woman of my family with me in case the baby comes when we are away. I will respect your decision, but I wish you would think of your grandson.’

  His eyes softened. It was my apparent capitulation that allowed him to be magnanimous.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘She should be with you.’

  Carnelia squealed and clapped her hands lightly.

  ‘I do, however, insist that she be a veritable dumpling on her return.’

  Carnelia, beaming, said, ‘Of course, Tata,’ and picked up the tart from the dessert tray and crammed it into her mouth.

  Word had spread about our return. The next morning, there were a crowd of suited gentlemen and women – Father’s clients – standing in the courtyard when the cock crowed. I rose early, before the sun, and spent my morning sitting on a balcony watching as the rising sun poured its light into the streets.

  I have conflicted emotions regarding Rume itself, her denizens and leaders. Her customs. There is something rotten at the heart of it, and I cannot tell how much culpability I have in that. We live inside monsters, sometimes, and cannot wholly see the evil they do because our senses have grown used to monstrosity. But the city! The city itself! My love, I do not know if you remember it, but Rume is a study in contradictions and I have, and always will have, an ardent desire to know it. Life teems here. The insulae brim with peoples from every nation of the earth, and the early morning is a riot of sensations: the streets are flocked with vendors cooking sizzling sausages, lamb, hemdrælla, pork, shrimp, chingale, while the air hangs heavy and luxurious with the exotic spices of Indus and Cythia; the bells ring as the refulgent morning light falls across the domes and spires of the Cælian Heights, the ranked soldiers lining the weathered walls of old Rume’s city like cypress trees; the plumes of kitchen smoke and household daemon-fires rise like accusations over the rooftops; the sluggish Tever in the distance catches the light and stinks of Rume’s effluvium; the brays of donkeys and clatter and nicker of horses drawing wagons through the lightening streets; the light itself, a hazy golden liquor, motes hanging in the sluggish air; children laughing and singing; a waggoneer yelling profanities; the heavy clomp and tread of vigiles; priests moving toward their devotions, chanting Ia’s Precatio – admonishing the living to live well before their journey and final judgement by the Pater Dis. It is a great panoply of life, the centre of all of the world.

  Rume. A terrible beauty.

  At some point Fuqua opened the main doors and allowed Father’s clients into the atrium, took their names, and announced them one by one, to enter his study. I knew not where Secundus was, but I assumed getting ready to make his suit.

  Carnelia and I, after a short amount of time speaking with Fuqua and the slave Selwina, the female head of household, and Fuqua’s paramour (as far as Carnelia and I could tell) determined that the slave market nearest Tamberlaine’s palace proved the best hope of finding an educated midwife for the trip to Far Tchninee and the area offered other shops and stores where we might purchase enough presents for Ia Terminalia. As we prepared to leave, a soft knock at our bedchamber doors revealed Lupina, looking a bit out of sorts.

  ‘Madame Livia,’ she began, her hands clutching one another. ‘Master Cornelius has got Rebus and Fuqua and them house slaves tending to him. So I thought might be I could …’ She let the unasked question trail off.

  I realized then that the half-dvergar woman was experiencing Latinum for the first time. In Rume, all of life is a spectacle and many spectacles spring from the rare and the exotic. Being half-dvergar like Mr Ilys, she could command quite a fee for appearances or … other unmentionable things … should my Father consent to allow her to keep the money. I daresay he would. But now that Father was showered with the attention of multiple slaves and servants, the attention of his clients, Lupina had found herself if not usurped, then not immediately required. She was entirely out of her element. I wonder what thoughts were churning behind her eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, gesturing her to enter. She began picking up Carnelia’s clothes that were strewn about the room we shared.

  ‘Sissy,’ Carnelia said, ignoring the slave woman. ‘I’ll be ready in a trice,’ she said, as she fiddled interminably with her hair. ‘Maybe we could lunch at Rimbenus’?’

  ‘Possibly,’ I replied. A thought occurred to me. ‘Lupina, have you ever served as a midwife?’

  ‘For a master or master’s wife, ma’am? No.’ She shook her head.

  ‘Ah, that is unfortunate.’

  ‘Though I’ve got five sisters and three brothers, all with wives. Done my share of birthing babies.’

  I raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Let me ask you this: would you feel competent to deliver my baby?’

  She narrowed her eyes, looked at my waist. She came close and said, ‘May I?’

  I nodded.

  Lupina took my hand and felt at the wrist. Then she placed her hands on my stomach. ‘When the boy kicks, he kicks hard or does it got a flutter?’

  ‘Right now, a flutter. But it feels quite martial.’

  ‘That’s ’cause you’re thin. If you had some meat on you, you’d barely notice it. It’s early yet. You in your fourth month?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d have a problem delivering your ’lil one, ma’am. But it’d help if you fatten up some.’

  Carnelia laughed. ‘Serves you right!’ she said from the vanity.

  I laughed. ‘The world wishes us to be quite fat, sister,’ I said. And even Lupina grinned. I looked at her. I’m ashamed to admit that I never really had considered her closely, though she’d been owned by Father for nearly fo
ur years now. ‘Even though you are my father’s property, I would not take you away from him, or into harm’s way, without your express permission.’

  She looked at me closely. She had a plain, blunt face, a compact frame like most dvergar and arms as strong as any man’s. Her large brown eyes were intelligent, though, and filled with curiosity.

  ‘Would you come with me to Tchinee as my midwife?’

  She thought for a long while, her eyes shifting in their sockets as she studied my face.

  Eventually, she said, ‘I will, ma’am, if Master Cornelius allows it and has no more need of me.’

  ‘That’s that, then,’ I said, standing. I moved toward the door. ‘I will speak to my father.’

  The atrium was still full of clients wishing to ask or give favour to my father, their patron. The conversation was hushed and the fountain made a soft tinkling sound. Slaves delivered water and lemons and trays of toasted nuts and fruit for the clients that must wait a long while. Father valued his own comfort and the comfort of others. In a more sly and typically Ruman fashion, his food offerings to his clients – a practice not all patricians followed – sent the message that Father would take care of their needs, even the most small and inconsequential. It reinforced the covenant between them.

  ‘I hear he’s brought back a tame elf from the new world,’ I heard one woman say as I walked toward my father’s office.

  ‘Nonsense. The Rume Pandect reports that they’re quite bellicose and that none save one had been taken alive.’

  ‘They bring back lions from Aethiopicum, do they not?’

  ‘Rarely.’

  Another man with a lazy eye said, ‘I hear our patron has also brought one of his dwarf lovers from overseas. Dvergar, they’re called. And this one is like rutting with a little wolf. What I’d give to have a go at such exotic—’

  I stopped to look closer at the man with the lazy eye. While affluent looking, he had a distasteful oiliness to his character I didn’t care for. And that kind of talk – the gossip of Rume – needed to be nipped at the branch.

  The trio of gossipers stopped, taking notice of me watching them. The woman bowed stiffly and the men inclined their heads. I simply stared at them and then brushed past the rest of the supplicants and into Father’s office.