After Casperius Niger departed, I turned about and spotted the crumpled blanket that contained the tiny, blood-encrusted corpse of our baby.
“I’ll get rid of it,” the physician said, noting my glance.
“No!” I picked up and handed the small bundle to Imogen, who returned from disposing the sheets. “See that she is cremated at once.”
She nodded and took the child.
“Imogen!” I called. She paused. “Have her ashes returned to me.” My voice choked off further words. Again, she nodded and carried our daughter away.
I sent for Porus and gave orders for a servant to stay with Eleyne day and night. “If there is the slightest change in her condition,” I said, “summon me and Soranus at once.”
A few minutes later, I dispatched a messenger to Sabinus, informing him of Eleyne’s accident. Since arriving at Budar’s home, I had placed my servants into positions of authority. As he had been in my previous homes in Rome and Hispania, Porus became chief steward, to the consternation of Budar’s staff. But my uncle had allowed it. Now, at a time when I knew he would have wanted to be here, he was on business, in the city of Mediolanum Northern Italia.
Leaving the physician with Eleyne, I trudged into the triclinium and called for wine and two cups. Dutifully, Chulainn, who had waited outside the cubilicum, followed. Porus removed my hot armor before I took a seat. I found his devotion to our family . . . touching. Shoulders slumping, as if distraught by the loss of Eleyne’s child, my loyal servant, now in his early fifties, shuffled from the room. Wearily, I dropped onto the cushioned couch.
“Sit down,” I told Chulainn, who stood silently by with his hands clasped behind his back.
We sat in silence. Chulainn appeared uncomfortable sitting in the presence of his master. I was too consumed with my thoughts to worry about Chulainn’s feelings. In concern for Eleyne, I had not fully obtained all the details surrounding her accident.
When the slave brought a vintage Tusculum, I took a long drought, letting the white liquid burn its way down my throat.
“Give Chulainn the second cup,” I ordered.
Both he and Chulainn raised eyebrows and exchanged glances. Customarily, slaves didn’t drink or eat with their masters. After hesitating the span of a couple heartbeats, the servant gave Chulainn the cup and departed.
“It’s all right, Chulainn,” I said. “Pour yourself a cup—you deserve it as much as I.”
“That’s kind of you, sir.” He took the pitcher and poured the wine into the silver cup, diluting it with a small amount of water. Sipping at first, he then tossed his head back and drained the vessel.
“Chulainn, tell me again what happened this morning. Hold nothing back.” I gestured for him to refill his cup.
He did, and gripping it between his hands, leaned forward. “As I said before, it was an accident.”
Returning from the Subura, Eleyne and her entourage of slaves and German litter bearers had left the city beneath the Arcadian Arch. They crossed the River Tiber over the Neronian Bridge, traveled a short distance along the Triumphant Way, and turned onto Mercury Street, which trailed up Vatican Hill to our home, adjacent to the public Gardens of Nero.
“The street was crowded as usual,” Chulainn said. “The other slaves and I kept forcing a passageway through the mob. I heard a cry from somewhere behind us shouting, ‘Assassins! Stop them!’
“I turned and spotted four men running. Their faces were partially covered by mantles and hoods and were shoving everyone out of their way. They knocked down an old woman hobbling on a crutch and a boy carrying live chickens by the legs, scattering them. Close behind a squad of ten guardsmen chased them, but the stinking crowd hampered their way.”
Chulainn hesitated, his hands started to shake.
“Easy man, go on,” I said softly.
He nodded, wrapped one hand around the other, and held it firmly in his lap.
“I knew I had to get our people out of the bandit’s path—they were heading our way. I ordered the litter bearers, carrying the mistress, to head for an open space next to a tenement wall. It was across from an alley way.”
“Is that where the jagged stepping stones cross the street?”
“Yes, sir, the same.”
Heat rushed to my face, shoulder and arm muscles tightened, knowing what came next. I had to keep myself under control. I could not show my true feelings in front of a slave. “Go on.”
“We passed the mouth of the alley, but the assassins saw the entry about the same time. They headed in our direction.” He huffed. “They didn’t give a damn that we were in the way. The bastards bounded right into the litter carriers.”
Chulainn unclenched his hands and slapped them on his thighs.
“Big as they were, the litter bearers were spun off balance by the impact. They stumbled and lost control. Mistress Eleyne screamed and was thrown from the cushions onto the filthy rocks.”
Chulainn paused, his hands shaking as he attempted to hold them together again.
Even though I felt my heart pounding like a hammer, I managed to keep myself under control—it was important for Chulainn to finish his story. “It’s all right, what happened wasn’t your fault.”
Another minute passed before Chulainn brought his hands under control. “The mistress used her right arm to break the fall, but she slammed onto the high stones, her stomach took the full force.” He paused and exhaled. “Her face struck the edge of the rock ahead of her and legs grazed the rear one. The dirty bastards stumbled over her body and disappeared down the alley. No one recognized the mistress as your wife, sir. Except for the people of our retinue, there was no attempt to aid her.”
“Typical of the damned mob! Go on.”
He swallowed and nodded. “At first the mistress didn’t say a word—I thought she was dead. Then, thank the gods, she groaned, and I ordered her placed in the litter and rushed home. As the bearers lifted her into the litter, she screamed her water had broken, and soon she would give birth. That was later confirmed by the midwife who was with us.”
“I remember Eleyne telling me she would be with her. Go on.”
“As I ran with the litter bearers carrying the mistress, she complained of bleeding. I had to get her home right away and tell Porus to send for Soranus.” He shrugged. “You know the rest, sir.”
I curled my toes attempting to remain calm, which grew more difficult with each passing minute. Incensed by the bearers’ clumsiness, I wanted to execute all of them. But realized the absurdity of my thoughts. The collision with the fleeing assassins had been enough to strike down even the strongest slaves.
Chulainn’s face tightened. “Sir, the litter bearers are terrified.”
“Why?”
He gulped. “They fear you’ll blame them for the mistress’s injuries, and they’ll be punished.”
“Tell them not to worry—they’re faithful slaves.” I knew I was wrong, but in my anger, I found their clumsiness unforgivable. Although I gave no order, Porus, sensing my displeasure, sold the Germans the next day to a slave buyer from the marble quarry at Carrara.
“What about the woman, Agnes?” I asked as an afterthought. “Did she lose her baby?”
“No, sir, the girl was safely delivered.”
I flinched.
When Chulainn finished his story, I got up and went to the library. I returned minutes later and gave him a pass permitting him to travel outside of Rome and a pouch filled with enough gold for a dozen wagons of snow. I dispatched Chulainn with instructions for the snow merchant to send a wagon load every day until notified to stop shipping.
At this point I stood. I wanted to scream, but I wasn’t about to let the slaves hear me. Instead, I threw my cup against the wall, splattering the leavings of wine. Its metallic sound echoed as it bounced and rolled back to me across the mosaic floor. I kicked, and it spun off toward the entrance to the dining area. I picked up Chulainn’s from the table and hurled it to the wall with the same effect.
“Clean up the mess, and then tell Porus to come here,” I said.
Porus arrived, and I ordered him to send a messenger to the Praetorian Barracks, billet of the City Guard, to fetch the cohort commander of the troops involved in the chase.
Once the messenger had departed, I asked Porus where my sons were.
“They are with Diogenes in the Gardens of Nero.”
“At least they weren’t here when Eleyne was brought home.”
“Actually, they were here,” Porus answered.
“Where?”
“In the usual place, the household gardens where Diogenes was teaching them their lessons,” Porus said. “But as soon as the mistress was brought home and I saw her condition, I sent for the physician. Then I went out and told Diogenes to take your sons to the park.”
There was a door in the back part of the wall that surrounded our house and private garden, adjacent to the public park. “A wise move, I don’t want young Marcellus and Sabinus to see their mother until after I have explained to them how she was injured.”
Porus nodded. “That was my guess. I believe young Marcellus and Sabinus did not have time to notice anything before Diogenes took them away. I told their tutor they were not to return until you sent someone for them.”
“Do you know where they might be? That’s a big park.”
“Most likely by the pond. I suggested to Diogenes to continue their lessons there.”
“Send someone now to bring them back,” I said.
“I will personally see to it.”
*
The boys returned and found me near the opened roof area by the shallow pool that caught rain water, the impluvium. The tutor, Diogenes, stood at the entrance, and I waved him away. Marcellus, the eldest, and Sabinus, wearing dusty tunics, ran over to where I sat on a cushioned bench. “Da!” they cried.
I raised my arms wide. “Here, give me a hug.” They bent over and wrapped their arms and hands around my legs. I motioned to them to sit beside me, Marcellus to the right, Sabinus to the left.
Sabinus’s pale, long face, smudged with dirt, leaned back, his dark-brown eyes looking into mine. He smiled. “Diogenes took us to the park, Da, we had fun. He said we could play after we finished our lessons. We did.”
I grinned. “I can see that. Good for you.”
Marcellus shook his short, black, curly hair. “Why did he take us to the park, Da?”
“Didn’t you like it?” I asked.
He looked about and seemed to hesitate, his piercing-blue eyes studying mine. “I did, but most of the time we don’t go to the park until later. I heard a noise from the house. Then Porus came out to us.”
“Is that so unusual?” I said.
“He whispered to Diogenes and then told us to go to there. Is something wrong?”
I glanced to Sabinus then Marcellus. “You are very smart for your age, Son. Yes, Mum is very sick.”
Marcellus shook his head. “Mum sick? No!”
Sabinus’s eyes widened. “What kind of sick?”
I took a couple of deep breaths. How do you explain this to a couple of young boys? “Remember I told you she was going to have baby?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“She’s been badly hurt in an accident. The baby was born too soon—it died.” I didn’t believe it necessary to tell them bandits had been involved. Their mother was injured and that’s all they needed to know.
The boys released their hands from my legs. They stood back, mouths opened.
“Will Mum live?” Marcellus asked.
Sabinus grabbed my leg again, holding tight with his little hands. “Will she get better?”
“Soranus is doing his best to keep Mum alive,” I said. “But it will be awhile before she is well.”
Although the boys were familiar with death, witnessing the passing of three slaves at the latifundia to accidents and disease, this was personal. They had lost a sister and could still lose their mother.
Sabinus sniffled. “I don’t want Mum to die.” I rustled my hand through his straight, auburn hair again.
“Me neither,” Marcellus said. He, too, snuggled against me. “Can we see her?”
“Not now. She’s asleep.”
“When can we see her?” Marcellus asked.
“Later, when she’s better.” I smiled. “Enough of this for now. It’s time for you to have your baths. We can talk about this at dinner. Perhaps we will have some good news about Mum then. In the meantime, I have business to take care of.” I called for Porus, and he escorted the boys to our private bath.
*
Cornelius Martialis, Commander of the Twelfth, offered his condolences on his arrival at my house. I motioned to a wooden couch, cushioned with a leather backing of zebra hides. Young for a junior commander, Cornelius was bright, promising, and, above all, a trustworthy officer, according to Casperius Niger.
“It’s about the assassins, isn’t it, sir?” He rested a shiny, brass helmet on his right thigh and leaned forward.
“Aye. Did an assassination actually occur?”
“No, sir, the would-be assassins failed. But I’m certain they’re the same ones who injured your wife.” He hesitated. “And killed your unborn child—their descriptions fit in both incidences.
My muscles tightened. “Who are they? Who was their intended victim?”
Martialis squinted his pale-brown eyes. “We’re not sure who the suspects are, but they appeared to be Roman citizens, probably from the mob.”
“Describe them.”
He shrugged, glanced away, and thought while stroking his broad, clean-shaven face with long, thick fingers. “They had short hair and wore no beards. So they probably aren’t foreigners.”
“Are you sure? Weren’t they wearing hoods?”
“The hoods slipped back from the heads of a couple of them as they ran from my men.”
“Any additional description?”
“One was a three-letter man.”
“A convicted thief turned assassin.”
“Yes, sir, the branding scars on his forehead were fresh. The letters FVR for being habitual thieves were still pink and barely healed.”
“I’ll ask Lord Sabinus to have his court clerks check the records during the last four months for all criminals branded as thieves. Any further information, Cornelius Martialis?”
“Two wore white, ragged tunics, maybe Italians—Samnites from the south like me,” he answered. “Unfortunately, they all got away.” Cornelius rubbed a big hand over his olive face, and squared jaw.
“As to the intended victim,” the tribune continued, slowly turning his helmet on his thigh, “he’s Apollonius the cement merchant, from Neopolis.”
This sounded like Gallus’s work. He had many building interests. I knew he was deeply involved in the Imperial intrigue that raged within the palace and city. Apollonius may have been the target of one of many political factions. If Gallus had any part in this, it was doubtful he would have employed such incompetent assassins. However, he couldn’t be ruled out. “Apollonius holds the government cement monopoly,” I said.
“Excuse me, sir,” Cornelius said, “I don’t understand.”
“Like most Neapolitans, Apollonius is Greek. He’s hated by the local merchants because he is not Roman and has the nerve to hold a government franchise.”
“Makes sense. Imperial contracts are worth a fortune.”
“Indeed. He bribed enough government officials for the privilege. In the process, my wife was nearly killed and our daughter born dead.”
My mind turned to another matter of importance. “I’m sending a dispatch with you to the commander of the Ninth Cohort. Effective immediately, the first two centuries of his cohort are reassigned to patrolling the Trans-Tiberina under your command.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My reports indicate even the poorest s
hop owners are being extorted in that district. If nothing else, perhaps our increased presence will prompt people to step forward and give information leading to arrests.”
“Don’t bet any sesterces on it, sir. They don’t tell us anything. They fear and hate the Guard more than the parasites and thieves that suck their blood.”
“Perhaps we can at least create an illusion that the streets are safer.”
“If they see enough of our men patrolling, it might work, during daylight. But forget the nights—they’ll never be safe, even if we could double the Guard and the Watch.”
I dismissed Cornelius and returned to Eleyne’s room. I stood silently and prayed to the Horse Goddess, Epona, to ride swiftly with Casperius Niger on his journey to the Apennines for the precious snow for her recovery.
Nothing else mattered.
Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Eleyne’s fever raged as day drifted into night. No longer perspiring, her skin burned to the touch. Imogen and the midwife attempted to cool her body with wet sponges and compresses to little success.
Soranus, the physician, stayed with her throughout the day and night. Despite his ministrations, Eleyne became delirious.
“I don’t know how much longer she can last,” Soranus said. “Even if she survives, the prolonged fever may damage her brain.”
That possibility tore at my soul. She could revert to childlike behavior or worse. I stayed at home while Eleyne hovered near death and prayed to the gods for a recovery free of madness. Sabinus sent a message of encouragement and hope.
Periodically, I checked with Soranus. Each time I entered Eleyne’s room, the sight of her emaciated face made my heart pound so loud I thought those around me could hear it. Pitifully, Imogen glanced at me through her dark-ringed eyes as she dabbed Eleyne’s cracking lips with a wet sponge.
Knowing I was in the way, I left feeling helpless—lost.
More than twenty-four hours had elapsed since Casperius Niger and Chulainn had left Rome. Were they encountering unforeseen problems? Had all the snow melted?
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