Curses and Smoke

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  “You know, I only said I had a surprise guest for you. I never said it was Pliny.”

  Lucia’s mouth dropped open. “What are you saying? He’s not coming? He never was coming?”

  “The special guest I have for you is not Pliny,” Cornelia admitted. “Instead it is someone who I think will be more valuable to you.”

  “I don’t understand!” Lucia’s throat constricted. How could Cornelia do this to her? She’d been so excited. Meeting Pliny was going to be a dream come true! “Who could possibly compete with Pliny? Cornelia, please explain what is happening.”

  At that moment, they heard male voices being ushered through the atrium toward the triclinium. One of Cornelia’s slaves entered the room. “The guest has arrived,” she announced. “The master has instructed that you join him now.”

  “See, Antyllus is waiting for us. Come, I will explain on the way.”

  Lucia felt heat spreading up her chest. “No, explain now.”

  Cornelia waved the slave away with a tell him we are coming command. Then she looked at Lucia. “Maybe I should have said something earlier. I was just afraid that you wouldn’t come if I told you.”

  “Cornelia …” she said through gritted teeth.

  “It’s just that you were being either too shy or too stubborn to pay serious attention to the opportunity. So I decided to help it along.”

  Lucia leaned forward. “I. Still. Don’t. Understand.”

  “Quintus Rutilius is our special guest,” she said. “He is an excellent contact for Antyllus. And … and if we can arrange something between you two, your father will see that Quintus clearly is a better marriage choice for you than Vitulus.”

  Lucia gaped at her friend. Cornelia took her hand. “Don’t you see? He lives in Herculaneum. At least I wouldn’t lose you to Rome.”

  “His villa, his father’s ‘country house,’ is in Herculaneum. The rest of the year, he lives in Rome,” Lucia said. “So there is no point.”

  “Even so, part of the year you’d live close by. And once you have babies, you could convince him to live in Herculaneum year-round. See? We would not be separated. Our children would grow up together, just as we always dreamt.”

  Lucia’s disappointment was so profound, she could barely make sense of what her friend was saying. She sat down dully on an ornate bronze stool. “But … but why lead me to believe it was Pliny?”

  “I didn’t mean to!” Cornelia said. “I was just afraid that if I told you who was really coming, you would have refused to join us.”

  Lucia stared up at her. She was right on that point. “So he is here, now.”

  “Yes. He told Antyllus that he thinks you’re charming but that you seem to be always avoiding him. So I just thought —”

  “That throwing us together like this would lead to romance and a betrothal,” Lucia said, scowling. “This is so outrageous, so unlikely, I do not even know what to say.”

  Cornelia’s face was flushed. “Well, at least I’m trying to help you get out of marrying the old man — which is more than what you are doing!”

  Lucia stood, halfway tempted to rip the ribbons out of her hair, turn around, and go home.

  Cornelia’s eyes filled. “I’m sorry, Lucia. I … I could have — should have — handled this better. But don’t you see? I don’t want to lose you to a terrible old man and to Rome forever. I know you cannot defy your father, but don’t you think this is at least worth a try?”

  The impossibility of the situation made her bones feel like they were filling up with molten bronze. She had willfully refused to think about Vitulus or try to do anything about her upcoming marriage, choosing, instead, to focus on Tag. But perhaps her friend was right. She did not care for Quintus, but he was certainly better than old man Vitulus, wasn’t he?

  Sighing deeply, Lucia nodded. She was still angry at Cornelia for tricking her like this, but she also knew her friend had guessed correctly — she probably wouldn’t have come for a dinner if she knew Quintus, her own houseguest, for Minerva’s sake, was going to be there.

  Cornelia smiled. “Come, then, my friend,” she said, linking arms with Lucia. “Let us have a fine meal. The food will be good and you can still share your theories with all of us while, hopefully, dazzling Quintus Rutilius.”

  Tag stood stiffly beside a red column outside a glittering triclinium where he had been told to wait. Quintus had insisted he accompany him to a fancy dinner party. He had argued against it — what if someone needed medical treatment at the school? — but Quintus had gone to Titurius, so there he was, a trained medicus escorting one spoiled rich man to another rich man’s party. He gritted his teeth at the indignity.

  He turned to the sound of approaching footsteps and lost his breath at the sight of a very pregnant woman arm in arm with … Lucia?

  He blinked, trying to make sense of the image. Her dress clung to her breasts and hips. She looked older, more elegant, and even more enticing with her hair piled up. She stopped at the sight of him too. “Tag? What are you doing here?”

  “Tages, from your household?” Cornelia said. “It is good to see you.”

  “Thank you, Domina,” he said, inclining his head at Cornelia. “May Juno and Diana continue to bless you with health for you and the baby.”

  “What are you doing here?” Lucia asked again.

  He tried to keep his face impassive. “Quintus commanded I attend him tonight.” He wanted to ask the same question of her, but he didn’t want to appear overly familiar in front of her friend.

  Cornelia released Lucia and said, “Let me go in and greet our guest. Take a moment out here and make a grand entrance, Lucia. You are going to dazzle him.” She waddled into the torch-lit room.

  “There is no Pliny,” Lucia said despondently, in a low voice. “There never was. This was all designed to get me and Quintus together!”

  “What?” Tag nearly hissed.

  “It’s Cornelia’s plan for getting me out of marrying Vitulus. I’m half tempted to leave and go home. I was so looking forward to meeting Pliny!”

  “I will accompany you home if you so desire —” he began. He did not want her going in there. Not after what Quintus had said about redoubling his efforts to win her affection. He clenched his fists to keep his hands at his sides.

  “Luciaaaa,” trilled Cornelia. “Come in, come in!”

  “Too late,” she murmured. Straightening her spine, she gave Tag one last desperate look and entered the room.

  Tag heard the oohs and aahs, heard Quintus’s voice praising her “more polished” appearance, and wanted to run. Now Lucia’s friend was trying to arrange something between her and Quintus? But why? Why had Quintus insisted he accompany him? Did he suspect about him and Lucia? A deep sense of unease spread through his middle.

  “Boy!” an elegantly dressed slave snapped at him.

  Tag raised his eyebrows. Clearly, this richly dressed triclinium slave thought himself superior to Tag.

  “Your master wants you to pour his wine,” the slave said. “Go. Now.”

  “He is not my master,” he mumbled.

  The man flicked his eyes up and down over him. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.” He hustled off toward the kitchens.

  Tag closed his eyes. Quintus, it seemed, was determined to humiliate him. And all in front of Lucia. Another slave scurried by and whisper-yelled, “Your master awaits!”

  Reluctantly, Tag entered the room, looking for Quintus. He had been placed at the couch of honor with Lucia stretched out next to him. He gritted his teeth at the sight of their forced intimacy and walked over to stand behind the patrician.

  Quintus’s eyes crinkled at the sight of him, and it took everything Tag had to not turn around, walk right out of the room, and keep on walking until he got home. He was laughing at him. The patrician asinus was laughing at him! He wouldn’t look at Lucia; he did not want to see his humiliation reflected in her eyes. When they were alone, he could forget his status as slave and knew she did to
o — but this …

  Quintus held up an exquisitely carved silver goblet. With a set jaw, Tag took it. “I know not what to do,” he said softly, bending toward Quintus’s ear. His insides bubbled with mortification. “As a slave, I know only of lora,” he added. Lora was the thin, bitter brew made from the dregs of grape skins and stalks. How could he possibly know what rich people drank?

  “Ah,” Quintus said, turning his hot breath to Tag’s ear. “We are starting off with mulsum.” He waved his hand in the direction of a large, bronze, wide-bellied container with three lion-paw legs on a table manned by a slave. “Bring my cup to that slave and he will pour you the hot wine. Then mix in some honey from the flask next to it. You can never add too much honey in my view.”

  With ears aflame, Tag went to the wine server, who ladled the warm gleaming liquid into the goblet. Tag added a glop of honey and mixed it with a bronze spoon. Stiffly, he walked back and handed the cup to the patrician. Quintus took a sip and smacked his lips. “Falernian wine and Attic honey! This mulsum is fit to be served by Ganymede in Olympus!”

  Cornelia tittered. Tag swallowed his indignation. I am not a cupbearer like Ganymede, but a highly skilled surgeon and healer, he wanted to shout. He just needed to get through this without making a scene, if possible. But sneaking a look at Lucia — seeing her stretched out comfortably in her bare feet, swathed in shimmering fabric — reminded him once again of just how far apart their worlds were. His spirits sank even lower.

  A line of slaves bearing trays of food entered the room. Cornelia beamed. “To begin, we have milk-fed snails,” she said, pointing to the first plate, “some wonderful cheeses soaked in wine and garum, and my personal favorite, squash with minced lamb brains. But leave room for the sow udders later! Now, please — eat. Eat!”

  Cornelia’s husband — what was his name, Antyllus? — seemed bored and irritated. He downed a cup of wine and indicated with a head jerk that his slave should fill it again. His attendant swooped in, refilled it, then dabbed at the corners of the rich man’s mouth with a silk napkin. Tag willed himself not to roll his eyes. If Quintus expected him to wipe his mouth for him, he had another thing coming.

  Cornelia turned to Quintus. “So, please tell us how a man of your stature ended up training at a gladiatorial school?” she asked.

  “I did not sign myself up,” Quintus began, smiling. “You can thank my father for that.”

  “I am curious why you ended up at the Titurius School and not at the better one near the amphitheater,” Antyllus added, wrinkling his nose as if the Titurius name itself came with a stink. “There must be a story behind that.”

  Tag looked at Lucia. She had stiffened at the insult to her father’s name.

  Quintus chuckled. “My father purposely picked the lowest-ranked school in Pompeii,” he said. “This was all a gambit to humiliate me, to throw me in with the worst beasts of the lot. But I outsmarted him. A bit of gold dangled in front of the owner’s face, and I am shielded from the vermin and treated like a prince.”

  “Gentlemen, you are aware you are speaking of my father,” Lucia said, sitting up. Two spots of red flared on her cheeks.

  Quintus chuckled and rubbed her arm. “Oh, such loyalty to family. I am impressed, Lucia.”

  Tag wanted to swat his hand away.

  “We apologize,” Cornelia said, giving her husband a sidelong glance. “No insult meant, truly, my dear. But yes, Quintus, Lucia is very loyal. However, her shyness can be quite debilitating, you know,” she added with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “It especially shows itself when she likes someone.”

  “Cornelia,” Lucia warned. “Stop —”

  “Oh?” Quintus said, leaning forward. “I had feared that lovely Lucia had taken a dislike to me. She always seems to avoid me.”

  “Oh, no,” Cornelia said. “You are all she talks about!”

  Tag swallowed. This couldn’t be true, could it? He calmed when he noticed Lucia staring daggers at her friend. Quintus leaned up a little higher on his left arm and grinned. “Really? And what does she say about me?”

  “Why, how fine you look when you train as a gladiator,” she said.

  “Cornelia!” Lucia squeaked.

  “You said it yourself, darling. ‘Not many men of such high status could carry off the subligaculum.’ I hear you fill out yours quite well. But, sir, you had better move fast — her wedding to that loathsome Vitulus is in just two weeks. You do not want to miss your chance now, do you?”

  Tag was stunned at Cornelia’s bluntness. Lucia groaned and dropped her face into her hands.

  “No, I do not — Oh, now look what you’ve done. She is going to run away from me again,” Quintus said. “Every time I try to steal a kiss, she runs.”

  Every time?

  “Oh, no, she won’t run now,” Cornelia said. “I won’t let her.”

  Tag clenched his fists. Quintus turned to glance at him, and Tag wondered again if he suspected him and Lucia. Luckily, his blank slave expression held steady.

  Lucia cleared her throat. “You know, there was a terrible misunderstanding. I thought Pliny would be joining us, and so I came prepared to discuss my theories on the strange happenings in Pompeii.”

  Antyllus almost spit out his wine. “You actually thought that you were qualified to tell the great man your theories?”

  Lucia stared at her host in dismay during the silence that followed. “I am sorry, but I do not understand your meaning,” she finally managed.

  Antyllus glanced at the hand his wife had placed on his arm. “What I meant to say is that I’m sure we would all be interested in hearing your theories, just as Pliny would,” he said, as if he had been coached. Tag clenched his teeth at the condescension in his voice.

  Lucia glanced at her friend, who smiled and nodded encouragingly at her. She paused, then told the group about the strange phenomena she had seen, many of which she’d already shared with Tag: the earth tremors, the springs that disappeared, the smell of sulfur, and the smoke-like white birds people claimed to have seen atop the mountain. “I had hoped to ask Pliny if he had seen any similar strangeness in Misenum.”

  “I think he would tell you that shaking in this part of the world is so ordinary as to be unworthy to discuss,” Antyllus said.

  Tag glanced at Quintus, whose brow was furrowed as he took another sip. His host’s antagonism, it seemed, was bothering him too. Tag studied Cornelia’s husband. He looked to be in about his late twenties, with long limbs, a strong nose, and hair styled with curls arranged forward on his forehead in the style of the emperor. With his fine tunic and large colorful rings, he almost rivaled Quintus in his ostentatious display of wealth.

  “Aside from the shaking,” Lucia continued, clearly determined to ignore his disrespect, “I have also noticed movement that is more subtle, more like vibrations. Look at your wine cup, sir, and you will see what I mean.”

  Everyone, including Tag, leaned forward to look into Antyllus’s goblet, which he had placed on the small round table between the couches. And indeed it appeared the skin of the wine moved as if an invisible child was gently blowing on it. Yet Tag could feel no corresponding tremor or vibration. He thought of the spiderweb Lucia had shown him.

  “Which only leaves me wondering what it could all mean,” Lucia continued. “The animals seem to detect something as well. One of Father’s horses kicked a hole through his stall recently, the roosters have been crowing at odd times, and do you know, I have even seen spiders in their webs —”

  “Spiders!” Antyllus laughed. “Thank the gods Pliny is not here. Imagine how embarrassed we would all be for you in front of my patron if you talked about such inanities.”

  Tag forced himself to take a deep breath, swallowing the familiar rage of powerlessness, of being dismissed — but this time, on Lucia’s behalf.

  Lucia glared at her host. “Nevertheless, I think there is more to it,” she said. “I have a theory.”

  “Do tell us,” Cornelia jumped in
before her husband could respond.

  Lucia turned to her. “My apologies if my observations seem indelicate, my dear friend, but I have seen your unborn babe move and shift. It is an amazing sight. These movements of the earth, I believe, are similar in nature. The earth is twitching and rolling in preparation for some kind of event, perhaps a birth of some sort….”

  She trailed off at the sight of Antyllus and Quintus exchanging a look. Her cheeks warmed, but she plunged on. “Do we know how the gods create islands or new mountain ranges? What if all the phenomena we are witnessing is the divine process of a new mountain emerging, or a break in the earth for a new waterway? And if that is so, how do we protect ourselves and our cities?”

  Antyllus gulped the rest of his wine and held the cup out to his slave again. “Perhaps your time would be better served on poetry, given your imagination,” he said, waiting for his slave to blot his lips with the napkin. Turning to Quintus, he added, “Only the mind of a female would consider signs that have always existed as a precursor to a … a birth!” He sniggered. “Seems to me, someone’s feeling a bit broody and wants to start having babies soon.” He winked at Quintus.

  Lucia swung her legs around and stood. She locked eyes with her friend. “I am sorry, Cornelia, but I must be leaving now. Thank you for the fine food.”

  Cornelia pushed herself to stand with a grunt. “Lucia, no, please don’t leave,” she said. “Antyllus is not himself tonight. He … he has been suffering from a terrible head pain. Please apologize, husband. My friend has misunderstood your attempts at humor.”

  To Tag’s astonishment, Antyllus merely swirled and sipped his wine. A heavy, awkward silence filled the room as a slave brought Lucia’s sandals to her and began helping her put them on.

  “Lucia, stay,” Quintus said, standing as well. “I find your theories charming.”

  Tag stepped forward. “I will escort you home, Domina,” he said.

  “No,” Quintus said to Tag, unexpected iron in his voice. “You will stay here with me.”

  Tag blinked in surprise and confusion.

  “Lucia, I don’t want you to go,” Cornelia said, her face splotched and her expression pleading.