The House of the Vestals rsr-6

by Steven Saylor

  A gust of icy wind whipped beneath my cloak and sent a shiver up my spine. Lucius's teeth began to chatter. My mood grew dark. What if I was wrong, after all? What if the thing we sought was not human, but something else…?

  A twig snapped, then many twigs. Something had entered the thicket. It was moving toward us.

  "It must be a whole army!" whispered Lucius, clutching at my arm.

  "No," I whispered back. "Only two persons, if my guess is right."

  Two moving shapes, obscured by the tangle of branches and the deep gloom, came very near to us and then turned toward the cypress tree that hid the tunnel's mouth.

  A moment later I heard a man's voice, cursing: "Someone has blocked the hole!" I recognized the voice of the growling giant who guarded the house on the Caelian Hill.

  "Perhaps the tunnel has fallen in." When Lucius heard the second voice he clutched my arm again, not in fear but in surprise.

  "No," I said aloud, "the tunnel was purposely blocked so that you could not use it again."

  There was a moment of silence, followed by the noise of two bodies scrambling in the underbrush.

  "Stay where you are!" I said. "For your own good, stay where you are and listen to me!"

  The scrambling ceased and there was silence again, except for the sound of heavy breathing and confused whispers.

  "I know who you are," I said. "I know why you've come here. I have no interest in harming you, but I must speak with you. Will you speak with me, Furia?"

  "Furia?" whispered Lucius. The drizzle had ended, and moonlight illuminated the confusion on his face.

  There was a long silence, then more whispering-the giant was trying to dissuade his mistress. Finally she called out. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Gordianus. You don't know me. But I know that you and your family have suffered greatly, Furia. You have been wronged, most unjustly. Perhaps your vengeance on Titus and Cornelia is seemly in the eyes of the gods-I can't judge. But you've been found out, and the time has come to stop your pretense. I'm going to step toward you now. There are two of us. We carry no weapons. Tell your slave that we mean no harm, and that to harm us will profit you nothing."

  I stepped slowly toward the cypress tree, a great, shaggy patch of black amid the general gloom. Beside it stood two forms, one tall, the other short.

  With a gesture, Furia bade her slave to stay where he was, then stepped toward us. A patch of moonlight fell on her face. Lucius gasped and started back. Even though I expected it, the sight still sent a shiver through my veins.

  I confronted what appeared to be a young man in a tattered cloak. His short hair was matted with blood and blood was smeared all around his throat and neck, as if his neck had been severed and then somehow fused together again. His eyes were dark and hollow. His skin was as pale as death and dotted with horrible tumors, his lips were parched and cracked. When Furia spoke, her sweet, gentle voice was a strange contrast to her horrifying appearance.

  "You have found me out," she said.

  "Yes."

  "Are you the man who called at my mother's house this morning?"

  "Yes."

  "Who betrayed me? It couldn't have been Cleto," she whispered, glancing at the bodyguard.

  "No one betrayed you. We found the tunnel this afternoon."

  "Ah! My brother had it built during the worst years of the civil war, so that we might have a way to escape in a sudden crisis. Of course, when the monster became dictator, there was no way for anyone to escape."

  "Was your brother truly an enemy of Sulla's?"

  "Not in any active way; but there were those willing to paint him as such-those who coveted all he had."

  "Furius was proscribed for no reason?"

  "No reason but the bitch's greed!" Her voice was hard and bitter. I glanced at Lucius, who was curiously silent at such an assault on Cornelia's character.

  "It was Titus whom you haunted first-"

  "Only so that Cornelia would know what awaited her. Titus was a weakling, a nobody, easily frightened. Ask Cornelia; she could always intimidate him into doing whatever she wished, even if it meant destroying an innocent man. It was Cornelia who convinced her dear cousin Sulla to insert my brother's name in the proscription lists, merely to obtain our house. Because the men of our line have perished, because Furius was the last, she thought that her calumny would go unavenged forever."

  "But now it must stop, Furia. You must be content with what you have done so far."

  "No!"

  "A life for a life," I said. "Titus for Furius."

  "No, ruin for ruin! The death of Titus will not restore our house, our fortune, our good name."

  "Nor will the death of Cornelia. If you proceed now, you are sure to be caught. You must be content with half a portion of vengeance, and push the rest aside."

  "You intend to tell her, then? Now that you've caught me at it?"

  I hesitated. "First, tell me truly, Furia: did you push Titus from his balcony?"

  She looked at me unwaveringly, the moonlight making her eyes glimmer like shards of onyx. "Titus jumped from the balcony. He jumped because he thought he saw the lemur of my brother, and he could not stand his own wretchedness and guilt."

  I bowed my head. "Go," I whispered. "Take your slave and go now, back to your mother and your niece and your brother's widow. Never come back."

  I looked up to see tears streaming down her face. It was a strange sight, to see a lemur weep. She called to the slave, and they departed from the thicket.

  We ascended the hill in silence. Lucius's teeth stopped chattering and instead he began to huff and puff. Outside Cornelia's house I drew him aside.

  "Lucius, you must not tell Cornelia."

  "But how else-"

  "We will tell her that we found the tunnel but that no one came; that her persecutor has been frightened off for now, but may come again, in which case she can set her own guard. Yes, let her think that the unknown threat is still at large, plotting her destruction."

  "But surely she deserves-"

  "She deserves what Furia had in store for her. Did you know that Cornelia had placed Furius's name on the lists, merely to obtain his house?"

  "I-" Lucius bit his lip. "I suspected the possibility. But Gordianus, what she did was hardly unique. Everyone was doing it."

  "Not everyone. Not you, Lucius."

  "True," he said, nodding sheepishly. "But Cornelia will fault you for not capturing the impostor. She'll refuse to pay your full fee."

  "I don't care about the fee."

  "I'll make up the difference," said Lucius.

  I laid my hand on his shoulder. "What is rarer than a camel in Gaul?" I said. Lucius wrinkled his brow. "An honest man in Rome!" I laughed and squeezed his shoulder.

  Lucius shrugged off the compliment with typical chagrin. "I still don't understand how you knew the identity of the impostor."

  "I told you that I visited the house on the Caelian Hill this morning. What I didn't tell you was what the old slave woman across the street revealed to me: that Furius not only had a sister, but that his sister bore a striking resemblance to him-so close, in fact, that with her softer, more feminine features, she might have passed for a younger version of Furius."

  "But her horrid appearance…"

  "An illusion. When I followed Furius's widow to market, I saw her purchase a considerable quantity of calf's blood. She also gathered a spray of juniper berries, which her little girl carried for her."

  "Berries?"

  "The cankers pasted on Furia's face-juniper berries cut in half. The blood was for matting her hair and daubing on her neck. As for the rest of her appearance, her ghastly makeup and costuming, you and I can only guess at the ingenuity of a household of women united toward a single goal. Furia has been in seclusion for months, which explains the almost uncanny paleness of her flesh-and the fact that she was able to cut off her hair without anyone taking notice."

  I shook my head. "A remarkable woman. I wonder why she nev
er married? I suppose the turmoil of the civil war must have destroyed any plans she had, and the death of her brothers ruined her prospects forever. Misery is like a pebble cast into a pond, sending out a wave that spreads and spreads."

  I headed home that night weary and wistful. There are days when one sees too much of the world's wickedness, and only a long sleep in the safe seclusion of home can restore an appetite for life. I thought of Bethesda and Eco, and tried to push the face of Furia from my thoughts. The last thing on my mind was the haunted soldier and his legion of lemures.

  I passed by the wall of his garden, smelled the familiar tang of burning leaves, but thought nothing of it until I heard the little wooden door open behind me and the voice of his old retainer.

  "Finder! Thank the gods you've finally returned!" he whispered hoarsely. He seemed to be in the grip of a strange malady, for even though the door allowed him more room to stand, he remained oddly bent. His eyes gleamed dully and his jaw trembled. "The master sent messengers to your house-only to be told that you're out, but may return at any time. But when the lemures come, time stops. Please, come! Save the master-save us all!"

  From beyond the wall I heard the sound of moaning, not from one man but from many. I heard a woman shriek, and the sound of heavy objects being overturned. What madness was taking place within the soldier's house.

  "Please, help us! The lemures, the lemures!" The old slave made a face of such horror that I started back. I reached inside my tunic and felt my dagger. But of what use would a dagger be, to deal with those already dead?

  I stepped through the little door. My heart pounded like a hammer in my chest.

  The air of the garden was dank and smoky; after the drizzle, a clammy cold had descended like a blanket on the hills of Rome, holding down the smoke of hearth fires, making the air thick and stagnant. I breathed in an acrid breath and coughed.

  The soldier came running from within the house. He tripped, fell, and staggered forward on his knees, wrapped his arms around my waist and looked up at me in abject terror. "There!" He pointed back toward the house. "They pursue me! Gods have mercy-the boy without a head, the soldier with his belly cut open, all the others!"

  I peered into the hazy darkness, but saw nothing except a bit of whorling smoke. I suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded. It was because I had not eaten all day, I told myself; I should have been less proud and presumed upon Cornelia's hospitality for a meal. Then, while I watched, the whorl of smoke began to expand and change shape. A face emerged from the murky darkness-a boy's face, twisted with agony.

  "See!" cried the soldier. "See how the poor lad holds his own head in his fist, like Perseus holding the head of the Gorgon! See how he stares, blaming me!"

  Indeed, out of the darkness and smoke I began to see exactly what the wretched man described, a headless boy in battle garb clutching his dismembered head by the hair and holding it aloft. I opened my mouth in awe. Behind the boy, other shapes began to emerge-first a few, then many, then a legion of phantoms covered with blood and writhing like maggots in the air.

  It was a terrifying spectacle. I would have fled, but I was rooted to the spot. The soldier clutched my knees. The old slave began to weep and babble. From within the house came the sound of others in distress, moaning and crying out.

  "Don't you hear them?" cried the soldiers. "The lemures, shrieking like harpies!" The great looming mass of corpses began to keen and wail-surely all of Rome could hear it!

  Like a drowning man, the mind in great distress will clutch at anything to save itself. A bit of straw will float, but will not support a thrashing man; a plank of wood may give him respite, but best of all is a steady rock within the raging current. So my mind clutched at anything that might preserve it in the face of such overwhelming, inexplicable horror. Time had come to a stop, just as the old slave had said, and in that endlessly attenuated moment a flood of images, memories, schemes and notions raged through my mind. I clutched at straws. Madness pulled me downward, like an unseen current in black water. I sank-until I suddenly found the solid truth to cling to.

  "The bush!" I whispered. "The burning bush, which speaks aloud!"

  The soldier, thinking I spied something within the mass of writhing lemures, clutched at me and trembled. "What bush? Ah yes, I see it, too…"

  "No, the bush here in your garden! That strange, gnarled tree among the yews, with yellow leaves all around. But now the leaves have all been swept in among the others… burnt with the others in the brazier… the smoke hangs in the air__"

  I pulled the soldier out of the garden, through the small door and onto the pathway. I returned for the old slave, and then, one by one, for the others. They huddled together on the cobblestones, trembling and confused, their eyes wide with terror and red with blood.

  "There are no lemures!" I whispered hoarsely, my throat sore from the smoke-even though I kept glimpsing the lemures above the wall, cackling and dangling their entrails in the empty air.

  The slaves shrieked and clutched one another. The soldier hid behind his hands.

  As the slaves grew more manageable, I led them in groups to my house, where they huddled together, frightened but safe. Bethesda was perplexed and displeased at the sudden invasion of half-mad strangers, but Eco was delighted at the opportunity to stay up until dawn under such novel circumstances. It was a long, cold night, marked by fits of panic and orgies of mutual reassurance, while we waited for sanity to return.

  The first light of morning broke, bringing a cold dew that was a tonic to senses still befuddled by sleeplessness and poisoned by smoke. My head pounded like thunder, with a hangover far worse than any I had ever gotten from wine. A ray of pale sunlight was like a knife in my eyes, but I no longer saw visions of lemures or heard their mad wailing.

  The soldier, haggard and dazed, begged me for an explanation.

  "The truth came to me in a flash," I said. "Your annual ritual of burning leaves, and the annual visitation of the lemures… the smoke that filled your garden, and the plague of spirits… these things were all somehow connected. That odd, twisted tree in your garden isn't native to Rome, or to Italy. How it came here, I have no idea, but I suspect the seeds for it came from the East, where plants which induce visions are not uncommon. There is the snake plant of Ethiopia, the juice of which causes such terrible visions that it drives men to suicide; men convicted of sacrilege are forced to drink it as punishment. The river-gleam plant that grows on the banks of the Indus is famous for making men rave and see weird visions. But I suspect that the tree in your garden may be a specimen of a rare bush found in the rocky mountains east of Egypt; Bethesda tells a tale about it."

  "What tale?" said Bethesda.

  "You remember-the tale your Hebrew father passed on to you, about his ancestor called Moses, who encountered a bush which spoke aloud to him when it burned. The leaves of your bush, neighbor, not only spoke but cast powerful visions."

  "Yet why did I see what I saw?"

  "You saw that which you feared the most-the vengeful spirits of those you killed fighting for Sulla."

  "But the slaves saw what I saw! And so did you.'"

  "We saw what you suggested, just as you began to see a burning bush when I said the words."

  He shook his head. "It was never so powerful before. Last night was more terrible than ever!"

  "Probably because, in the past, you happened to burn only a few of the yellow leaves at a time, and the cold wind carried away much of the smoke; the visions came upon some but not all of the household, and in varying degrees. But last night you happened to burn a great many of the yellow leaves at once. The smoke filled the garden and spread through your house.

  Everyone who breathed it was intoxicated and stricken with a temporary madness. Once we escaped the smoke, the madness passed, like a fever burning itself out."

  "Then the lemures never existed?"

  "I think not."

  "And if I uproot that accursed bush and cast it in the Tiber, I will never
see the lemures again?"

  "Perhaps not." Though you may always see them in your nightmares, I thought.

  "So, it was just as I told you," said Bethesda that afternoon, bringing a moist cloth to cool my forehead. Flashes of pain still coursed through my temples from time to time, and whenever I closed my eyes alarming visions loomed in the blackness.

  "Just as you told me? Nonsense!" I said. "You thought that Titus was pushed from his balcony-and that his wife Cornelia did it!"

  "A woman pretending to be a lemur drove him to jump- which is almost the same," she insisted.

  "And you said the soldier's old slave was lying about having seen the lemures himself, when in fact he was telling the Tilth."

  "What I said was that the dead cannot go walking about unless they have been properly mummified, and I was absolutely right. And it was I who once told you about the burning bush which speaks, remember? Without that, you would never have figured the cause."

  "Fair enough," I admitted, deciding it was impossible to win the argument.

  "This quaint Roman idea about lemures haunting the living is completely absurd," she went on.

  "About that I am not so sure."

  "But with your own eyes you have seen the truth! By your own wits you have proved in not one but two instances that what everyone thought to be lemures were not lemures at all, only a vengeful pretense in one case, intoxicating smoke in the other- and at the root of both cases, a guilty conscience!"

  "You miss the point, Bethesda."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Lemures do exist-perhaps not as visitors perceptible to the senses, but in another way. The dead do have power to spread misery among the living. The spirit of a man can carry on and cause untold havoc from beyond the grave. The more powerful the man, the more terrible his legacy." I shivered-not at lurid visions remembered from the soldier's garden, but at the naked truth, which was infinitely more awful. "Rome is a haunted city. The lemur of the dictator Sulla haunts us all. Dead he may be, but not departed. His wickedness lingers on, bringing despair and suffering upon his friends and foes alike."