A Mist of Prophecies rsr-9

by Steven Saylor

  We mounted the steps. A huge bronze ring on the door served as a knocker. Davus lifted it and let it fall, delivering a dull, reverberating clang. We waited. So far as I could see, no peephole opened in the door, but I had the uncanny sensation of being observed. Clodius's passion for installing secret passages, concealed doors, and hidden spy holes had been notorious.

  Eventually I heard the sound of a bar being thrown back on the other side of the door, and then it slowly opened, creaking slightly on its hinges. An athletic-looking slave ushered us inside, then quickly closed the door and let the heavy wooden beam fall back into place, barring it securely.

  I had been in this foyer before, in the hours and days that followed the murder of Clodius. It appeared that Curio, in becoming the new master of the house, had made no changes. The floors and walls were of highly polished marble. Red draperies shot with gold threads framed the passageway that led to the atrium, where the ceiling, supported on soaring black marble columns, rose to the height of three stories. In the center of the atrium, a shallow pool was decorated with shimmering mosaic tiles of blue-black and silver, picturing the night sky and the constellations. The actual sky, visible through an opening far above, was just beginning to deepen to the rich blue of twilight.

  I turned to the slave who had admitted us. "Tell your mistress that Gordianus-"

  "The mistress knows who you are and why you've come," he said, with a sardonic smile. "Follow me."

  He led us through halls and galleries decorated with wall paintings and statues. Slaves moved quietly about, lighting braziers and lamps set in sconces on the walls. I was fairly certain that I had traversed the same passageways before, but the house was so sprawling that I couldn't be sure. Eventually we mounted a flight of steps and were shown into a room with large windows, their shutters thrown open to admit the last of the day's light. The walls were stained green and decorated with blue-and-white borders in a geometrical Greek design. Through the windows I saw the golden light of the lowering sun glinting across Palatine rooftops and lending a warm glow to the west-facing temples atop the distant Capitoline Hill. The reflected glow flooded the room, giving it a cozy feeling despite its lofty ceiling and spectacular view.

  Fulvia and her mother, Sempronia, sat before one of the long windows, dressed in stolas of darkest blue. A tiny child-Curio's son-was attempting to walk-on a blanket at the women's feet. Fulvia's other children, her son and daughter by Clodius, were not in the room.

  "Your visitors, mistress," said the slave.

  "Thank you, Thraso. You may go." As Fulvia turned her gaze to me, she lifted a stylus from the wax tablet upon which she had been writing and laid the stylus and tablet aside. There was a popular catchphrase regarding Fulvia and her ambition: "She was not born to spin." Indeed, it was hard to imagine walking into her presence and finding her in the midst of some common female occupation. Instead, like a man of affairs with numerous ideas and projects to keep track of, she kept a wax tablet and stylus about her.

  Her mother, Sempronia, despite her hard features, seemed the more maternal of the two. She ignored Davus and me while she clucked and cooed and reached out to the little boy on the blanket, encouraging him to rise to his feet and attempt another faltering step.

  "Thank you for seeing me, Fulvia. But I'm curious-how did you know it was me, when I never announced myself?"

  She glanced at her son, who managed to stand upright for a moment before tumbling forward onto his hands and knees, then she turned her gaze back to me. "There's a hidden peephole at one end of the porch. Thraso took a good look at you, then ran to give me your description. It could only have been you, Gordianus. 'Nose like a boxer's; a full head of iron gray hair shot with silver, but eyes that sparkle like those of a man half his age; a beard trimmed by a wife to suit herself.' "

  "Actually, my daughter, Diana, trims my beard these days. But I feared you might have forgotten me, Fulvia."

  "I never forget a man who might be useful to me." She turned her gaze to Davus. "But I don't think I've met this other fellow. 'Shoulders like a Titan's," said Thraso, "but a face like Narcissus.' "

  "This is Davus, my son-in-law. Thraso also told me that you know why I've come. Surprising, since I'm not sure of that myself."

  She smiled. "Aren't you? I saw you at the funeral; you must have seen me. I've been half-expecting you to call on me. This is about Cassandra, I presume?"

  Sempronia abruptly clapped her hands. A slave girl came running. Sempronia planted a kiss on her grandchild's forehead, then told the girl to take him from the room. As he was carried out, the boy began to cry. His wails echoed and receded down the hallway. Sempronia bit her forefinger and fidgeted, but Fulvia showed no reaction.

  "I hope you didn't send the boy away on my account," I said.

  "Of course not," said Sempronia, finally looking at me and raising an eyebrow at the notion that I could consider myself important enough to merit any action regarding her grandson. Since I had last seen her, one of her eyes had become cloudy white; if anything, it seemed to fix on me more penetratingly than the other. Under her gaze, I quailed a bit. Strange, that a woman who could be so tender to a child could be so intimidating to a grown man. "If we're going to talk about the witch, it isn't fitting for a man-child to be present," she said.

  "Is that what Cassandra was? A witch?"

  "Of course," said Sempronia. "Did you think she was a mere mortal woman?"

  "She was most certainly… mortal," I said quietly.

  "She was murdered, wasn't she?" said Fulvia. With both of them now looking at me, I realized that the daughter's gaze was no less piercing than her mother's, yet somehow it gave me no displeasure to be looked at so openly by Fulvia. Sempronia's gaze was caustic; it stripped a man naked. Fulvia's gaze seemed cleansing, as if its purpose was to strip away whatever veils of confusion or misunderstanding might intervene between us. Her eyes were intelligent, lively, inviting. No wonder she had secured two of Rome's best and brightest, if unluckiest, to become her husbands.

  "Why do you think Cassandra was murdered?" I asked.

  "Because I know the curious circumstances of her death. How she died suddenly… in the marketplace… in your arms. Was it poison, Gordianus? They say she was wracked with convulsions."

  "They?"

  "My eyes and ears."

  "Your spies?"

  Fulvia shrugged. "There's very little that happens in Rome that doesn't reach me."

  "What else do you know about her murder?"

  "If you're asking me who might have done such a thing or how or why, I can't tell you. I don't know. But a woman like Cassandra might have been dangerous to any number of people. She couldn't just see the future, you know; she had visions of faraway events."

  "Could she see the future?"

  "She was a witch," said Sempronia, interrupting. Her tone implied that I had already received my answer and should pay closer attention.

  "A witch, you say? Did she cast spells, place curses, heal the sick?"

  "She did none of those things in this household," said Sempronia, "but who can say what powers she possessed? She most certainly was able to see beyond the present moment and the four walls surrounding her."

  "How do you know that?"

  Sempronia opened her mouth to answer, but Fulvia raised a hand to silence her. "Let me tell him, Mother."

  Sempronia huffed. "Why should we tell this fellow anything?"

  "Have you forgotten, Mother? When Clodius was murdered, Gordianus was among the first to come to this house to pay his respects. He cared enough to seek out the truth."

  "But he's an old lackey of Cicero's!" Sempronia spat the name.

  Fulvia's eyes narrowed. She and Cicero were old and very bitter enemies. "It's true that you made your reputation working for Cicero, isn't it, Gordianus?"

  "I wouldn't say that. I would say, rather, that Cicero made his reputation while I was working for him. I was never his lackey. Over the course of many years, we've had our ups and
downs. Of late, I've lost touch with him completely. I haven't heard from him in months."

  "Yet you visited his house only today," noted Fulvia. I raised an eyebrow. "I told you, Gordianus, there's little that happens in Rome that I don't know about."

  "Yes-your eyes and ears. Yet you don't know who killed Cassandra?"

  Fulvia smiled ruefully. "I'm not omniscient. I do have… blind spots."

  I nodded. "Yes, I went to Cicero's house this morning to see Terentia for the same reason I've come to see you. You made an appearance at Cassandra's funeral, which suggests that you must have known her in more than a casual way. Who was she? Where did she come from?"

  I addressed Fulvia, but her mother answered. "She was an Egyptian witch! It stands to reason. All the most powerful witches come from Egypt these days. They carry Greek blood in their veins-which explains Cassandra's blond hair and blue eyes-but unlike the modern-day Greeks, they haven't forgotten the old magic. The traditions are still kept alive in Egypt-the making of amulets, the memorizing of curses, the arts of fortune-telling. Cassandra was an Egyptian witch."

  "We don't know that for a fact, Mother," objected Fulvia. "It's only a supposition."

  "Your eyes and ears never told you where Cassandra came from?" I asked.

  "Where she was concerned, I was strangely deaf and blind," admitted Fulvia. "It was as if Cassandra dropped to earth on a comet-and for all I know, she did."

  "When did you first encounter her?"

  "Many months ago."

  "How many?"

  "It was in November of last year."

  If that were so, Fulvia had encountered Cassandra even before the day in Januarius when I saw the Vestal Fabia take her into the temple. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I am! How could I forget that bitter day?" Her face darkened. "Just how much shall I tell you, Gordianus? Everything? Yes, why not?" She raised a hand to silence her mother, who seemed poised to object. "Caesar was still here in Rome, flush from his triumphs in Spain and Massilia. Word from the Adriatic Sea was not so good; Dolabella was powerless against Pompey's fleet. But from Sicily…" She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "From Sicily there had come the excellent news of my husband's conquest of the island, followed by the even more promising news that Gaius had pressed on… to Africa." She lowered her eyes and cleared her throat.

  "Every day, here in this house, we waited for word of his progress. A messenger arrived with the news that he had taken Utica. We rejoiced. Then a second report arrived that contradicted the first, saying that Utica was still under siege but would fall into Gaius's hands at any moment. The mood in this house was one of joyful restraint. We lived in anticipation of great and glorious news. My mother made a joke, that soon…" Her voice broke. "Soon Gaius would have a new honorific to append to his name, and we would thereafter be the family of Gaius Scribonius Curio Africanus-conqueror of Africa!" Fulvia shook her head. "It's bitter to be left behind. A woman should be allowed to follow her husband onto the field of battle."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Pompey's wife went with him when he fled from Rome. I understand she's with him even now."

  "I don't mean that-to follow along like baggage! In a better world I should have been allowed to go along with Gaius, not merely as his wife, but as his co-commander! Yes, I know, the notion is absurd; no centurion would ever take commands from a woman. But I should have been there-to counsel Gaius, to help him weigh the advice of his subordinates, to evaluate intelligence from the field, to plot strategy. If I had been there…"

  Sempronia touched her arm to comfort her. Fulvia gripped her mother's hand and went on. "Instead of going with him, I waited here in Rome. Is there any torture worse than waiting and not knowing? Some days I felt as if I were riding a storm-tossed ship, pitched between hope and despair until I thought I'd go mad. Other days were so still and quiet it was like being trapped on a ship in flat water-hours passing without a word, without a sign, only endless waiting and watching and wondering. Until…"

  She drew a deep breath. "As I said, it was on a day last November. I had been to the house of one of Gaius's relatives to see if they had had any news of him, but they knew no more than I did. I was on my way home, passing through the Forum in my litter. The curtains were drawn. No one could see in, but because it was a bright day and the curtains are not entirely opaque, I could see out, at least well enough to tell that we were passing by the Temple of Castor and Pollux. I was thinking about Gaius, of course. Then I heard a voice.

  "It was a woman's voice. It came from outside the litter. But the quality of that voice was so strange… and because of the words it spoke… it seemed almost to come from inside my head. The voice said: He's dead now. He died fighting. It was a brave death.

  "Those words sent such a chill through me that I thought I might faint. It suddenly seemed dark inside the litter, as if a cloud had swallowed the sun. I called on the litter bearers to halt. My voice must have been very nearly a scream. The litter stopped so abruptly that I was pitched forward. Thraso stuck his head through the curtains, looking alarmed. He asked me what was wrong.

  " 'Did you not hear it?' I asked. He looked at me blankly. 'A woman's voice,' I said. 'She spoke to me as we passed the temple.'

  "Thraso looked back, toward the way we had come. 'There's no one there,' he said, 'except a crazy woman muttering to herself and pacing the temple steps.'

  " 'Bring her!' I told him. He went to fetch her. A few moments later he pulled back the curtains of the litter, and I first saw Cassandra.

  "She was dressed in a filthy tunica. She looked frightened and confused. Thraso had to hold onto her tightly, or else she would have fled. 'You spoke to me just now,' I said, 'as my litter passed the steps.' She shook her head and looked at me as if I were the mad one. 'You spoke!' I insisted. 'Say it again. Say the words you said before!'

  "The voice that emerged from her was so otherworldly that even Thraso quailed a bit. It didn't match her body, you see. The voice was too old for such a young woman. It didn't quite seem to come from her open lips, yet there was nowhere else for it to have come from. It was uncanny, unnerving. 'He's dead now,' she said. 'He died fighting. It was a brave death.'

  "The words were even more disturbing the second time I heard them. They shattered me. I began to shiver and weep. I ordered Thraso to take me home as quickly as possible. 'What shall I do with this one?' he asked. I could see he wanted nothing to do with the woman, but I told him to bring her along with us. He made a face, but he tightened his grip on the woman's arm. He let the curtains drop and ordered the bearers to hurry homeward.

  "When we arrived, I told Thraso to bring the woman here, to this room. She was even dirtier than I had realized. Her clothes were ragged and worn. She had a distinct odor, as if she hadn't been to the public baths in days. In a voice as normal as anyone else's, she told me she was hungry. There was nothing menacing or uncanny or even odd about her. She seemed intimidated at being in such a grand house, and rather pathetic. I told Thraso to fetch some food and drink for her. Then I asked her what she had meant by what she said."

  "And what did she tell you?"

  "She said she couldn't remember saying anything at all. I was already shaken. I became angry… confused… I pressed her. She cowered and wept. Suddenly she began to quiver and twitch. Her eyes rolled back. She spoke again in that strange, hollow voice that seemed to come from the ether. She described to me a desert plain, blinding sunlight, a hot wind. She heard men shouting, saw flashing swords, heard the sizzle of blood spattered on hot sand. She saw Gaius-it could only have been Gaius, for she described him to me perfectly: his curling black hair, his glittering blue eyes, his defiant jaw, the half smile that would light his face when prospects were grim. She saw him clothed in shimmering armor, though his head was bare, for he had lost his helmet. He was alone, cut off from his men, surrounded, slashing his sword through the air, until finally… he fell. They swarmed over him. And then-"

  "Fulvia, no!" Her mother gripped her
arm with white knuckles, but Fulvia pressed on.

  "And then… she saw Gaius's face rise up again, as if by some miracle he had gotten to his feet, even amid all that murderous swarm. Not only that, but he was… smiling. Grinning like a boy, she said. But then… then she saw the vision more clearly and realized… there was no body below his neck, which was severed and dripping with blood. His head was being held aloft by the Numidian who had beheaded him. He only seemed to smile because… because the fist clenching his black curls pulled taut the muscles of his face, opening his mouth, baring his teeth…"

  Throughout this long recitation, Fulvia kept her eyes on mine as if daring me to look away. At last I did, unable to bear the pain I saw there. It was not the glimmer of eyes brimming with hot tears, but a hard, dry grief, tearless and cold.

  Fulvia drew a deep breath. "As abruptly as it began, the spell ended. She was simply a meek beggar again, dazed, hungry, with no recollection of what she had just said. I was stunned, shocked, speechless. Food was brought. I watched her eat. She was like a beast, with no manners at all. Her odor offended me, so I sent her to be bathed. I ordered that her old rags should be burned and told one of my slaves to find a proper tunica for her. The slave found an old blue one that suited her. When I saw her cleaned and properly dressed, I realized how beautiful she was. I told Thraso that she should be given a place to sleep, and that he should keep watch on her.

  "At dawn Thraso came to me and told me that the woman had slept the night through, quite soundly. I myself had slept not at all. I told Thraso to keep the woman in the house, to offer her whatever food and drink she wanted, to lock her in her room if he had to. But I was the one who behaved like a prisoner. I shut myself in this room. I saw no one, spoke to no one, not even my mother. I simply waited, sick with dread. From these windows I watched the sun rise and fall over the city. I passed another night without sleep.