“Maybe there is a way, Mistress,” Shafer said.
“Right now, I’m open to all suggestions,” Macha answered. They skirted the Basilica Julia and turned onto shop-lined Jugarian Way.
Shafer drew closer to the litter and Macha bent her head. “I know a house slave at the Vestal home,” Shafer said in a voice almost drowned by the noisy passersby’s crowding the street. “She owes me a favor.”
“That’s wonderful. Can she be trusted to deliver a secret message to Sister Antonia?”
“I think she can.”
“We must chance it.”
“But we should wait until early tomorrow morning, when she goes shopping for the kitchen staff,” Shafer suggested. “If you allow me, Lady Carataca, I’ll leave at dawn and find her.”
“You have my permission.”
Before returning to Bassus’ home, Macha and her escort stopped at the busy flower and produce shop of Clodia and Lepidus. The fragrance and possession of newly cut flowers had been one of Macha’s few comforts in alleviating her anguish over the kidnapping of her son and imprisonment of Titus.
Trestle tables containing baskets of fresh and weathered fruit and yellowing vegetables were displayed beneath the canopy on the crowded sidewalk. Macha spied the flower woman passing by the entryway as she headed for the stall’s interior. Again, Clodia’s gaunt appearance shocked Macha. Her long homespun tunic hung from her thin shoulders, and she spat dark thick blood into an old rag she kept inside the fold of her blue and yellow apron.
Assisted by the litter bearers, Macha stepped out of the chair and entered the vendor’s stall. She scanned the array of roses, daisies, and other sweet smelling flowers, as Clodia greeted her. Shafer browsed at the far end of the room while Macha’s slave guards, lead by the big Spaniard, Viriatus, stood outside around the shop’s perimeter and kept a suspicious eye on the jostling crowd.
Clodia gossiped about the neighborhood while Macha listened and smiled. When the woman mentioned the commotion the night before outside their flat, Macha turned to her from a display of lilies. Shafer stopped and peered across a tray of cabbages, her almond eyes focused on Macha. Even Viriatus swung about from his position on the sidewalk outside and appeared to be listening.
“Those awful thugs chased two women,” Clodia said. “Prostitutes they looked by their clothing, but they were smart and they stayed to the roof. Those sons-of-slime, pardon my language, Lady, jumped the fence and landed in the slop barrels of Patronius’ dung cart,” she added with a crooked smile. “Served them right for running after those poor wenches. Kept slipping and sliding they did. Must have taken them a quarter hour to climb out. A stinking lot they were—covered head to foot in filth. Even the daughters of Venus don’t deserve rape and murder. Like us, they’re only tryin’ to survive.”
Neither Macha nor Shafer said a word.
After Macha purchased a bouquet of Persian roses, Clodia wrapped them in lily pads tied up with flaxen twine. “Could you do me a favor, Lady Carataca?” she asked while tying the last knot.
“If I can, certainly.”
Clodia snatched a clump of orange poppies from another bundle to fatten the ones she had tied, then handed Macha the flowers. She wiped her scaly hands on her threadbare apron. With practiced aim she turned her head and spat blood out the open partition into the alley.
“I know you’re a kind woman,” Clodia said. “It isn’t for me I ask—it’s for my daughter, Silvia.” She searched about and saw her husband, Lepidus, haggling with a customer at the other end of the shop. She lowered her voice. “This isn’t easy to say, but I’m dying.”
Clodia shook off Macha’s protest. “No, it’s true, and nothing can be done. Isn’t it obvious?”
There was an uneasy silence. Macha wanted to say a few comforting words, but concluded denial would only insult Clodia.
“Can you sponsor Silvia as an initiate into the sacred order of Vesta?” Clodia asked. “It would bring honor to our home and some peace to my husband when I’m gone.”
“I’m flattered by your request, Clodia, but right now there aren’t any vacancies.”
“Rumors say Priestess Antonia is retiring soon,” Clodia persisted. “It’s not too early to make your wishes known. We are poor people, Lady Carataca. Our little girl’s only chance of being chosen is through someone of your rank and influence.”
“But I’m the wife of an accused traitor, Clodia. What influence I once had may be gone.”
Clodia paled and coughed several times in quick succession, spitting blood onto the hard packed dirt-floor. Clodia stumbled, but Macha steadied her and led her to a stool in one corner. Clodia sat there, catching her breath.
“I’m sorry, Lady,” Clodia rasped. “I didn’t mean to carry on like this but sometimes I can’t help it.”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“I’m frightened for my family, especially for Silvia,” Clodia related. “She’s a bright girl and has a knack for business. But she’s too young, and I want something better for her. If I hadn’t seen her born between my own legs I’d swear me and the old man couldn’t produce such a gem. She’s…special. Everyone knows it.”
“I understand,” Macha answered. “She’s intelligent and has a magnetic personality.”
Macha recalled how Silvia smiled sincerely at prospective customers when selling flowers. She complimented men and women alike on some aspect about their appearance or speech. So much did she charm and impress her patrons, they found the nine-year-old irresistible and bought anything she offered. She also had an eye for displaying produce to its best advantage, attracting more buyers. Indeed, the girl was worthy of admission to the Sacred Order. The Vestals needed a woman with a sense of business, sacred duties notwithstanding.
At the same time Macha couldn’t help but think Clodia was appealing to her sympathetic nature. She understood the woman was desperate and knew Macha was her best, her only hope, to keep her daughter from a life of drudgery and squalor.
Clodia pulled Macha out of her thoughts. “Lady, your husband is known to be a loyal Roman officer. My husband and I believe he’s innocent. We believe in him and you. That’s why we still want you to sponsor our girl.”
“All right, Clodia, I will,” Macha said.
“Bless you, Lady Macha. May Mother Vesta praise you.” Clodia’s face gained some of its original coloring, and her voice cleared. A smile rippled across her gaunt face, revealing gaps in her yellow teeth.
“There is one important question I want answered,” Macha said, almost in a whisper. She pulled the thin green mantle, she was wearing over her stola, tightly about her chest.
“Yes, anything.” Clodia seemed unable to stop smiling, and forced another bundle of flowers into Macha’s hands.
Amused by what seemed to be a miraculous recovery, Macha asked, “Does Silvia want to be a Vestal Virgin?”
“Oh, yes, very much. I think Silvia understands what’s involved. When other women are getting married and having children, she’ll be giving thirty years of her life to the House of Vesta.”
The Sacred Order contained no more than ten members at one time, and competition for a coveted opening was fierce. Although children from poorer families had been selected before, the wealth and power of the rich usually prevailed. But there were few girls among the nobility who possessed little Silvia’s qualities and fewer as deserving as she.
“Don’t worry, Clodia,” Macha said touching the flower woman’s rough hands. “Silvia is a unique girl. I shall do everything in my power to see that she is admitted to the order. The Priestess Antonia is my friend. I’ll seek her help—she’ll recognize what your daughter has to offer.”
Clodia’s eyes moistened. “Thank you, Lady Carataca. I pray that my wish will come true before I die.”
“It will,” Macha assured her, “and you will live a long time.”
Macha hoped she would be right on both counts. Highly regarded by the Emperors, the Vestal Virgins possessed special po
wers of dispensation. The Vestals had been known to pardon common criminals condemned to die. They sat in a special box in the arena next to the Emperor, accountable to no one but him. As keepers of Rome’s sacred flame and hearth, they kept important documents such as wills and other papers in a securely-locked vault within the temple confines.
Macha realized something else was within their powers. Their vault was the perfect place to hide a death list.
Chapter 23
Anguished and Urgent Meetings
The next morning Shafer found the Vestal slave and had her deliver Macha’s message to Antonia.
Upon returning home and discovering Macha in the library, Shafer said, “She says I’m to meet her this afternoon in the Forum of Julius Caesar for her mistress’ reply.”
“Pray that Priestess Antonia has one,” Macha said, without much conviction. “In the meantime, I shall visit my husband.”
Macha, escorted by her entourage and Shafer, journeyed from Bassus’ home on Aventine Hill to see Titus. The Praetorian Barracks, built outside of Rome’s west wall, loomed ahead of them. Knowing how Titus would respond to the news of their son’s kidnapping, she had dreaded this moment. For two days she had postponed this trip. But her husband had a right to know.
The jailer slammed the door to Titus’ cell behind Macha. Titus jumped from the backless stool and started toward her with open arms. Appalled by his haggard appearance, she gasped, took a step backwards, then shot up an arm in front of her, palm outward.
Titus halted. His dark ringed eyes widened as if surprised. “What’s wrong?’
“Darling, you look awful, what have they done to you?” His stubble face seemed more pale and gaunt than when she last saw him three days ago, his hair dirty and matted. A rumpled tunic hung like a limp rag from his broad shoulders.
“Nothing has changed since you were last here,” he answered.
She put her hand to her mouth. “But you’re so pale.”
“You would be too, if you were caged like me.” Titus looked beyond Macha’s deceptively delicate shoulder to the cell door before bringing his eyes back to her. “Please, Macha,” he asked in a soft voice, “Let me hold you. It’s been too long.”
Macha had missed him so much, all the empty days and lonely nights without him. Just his presence without even saying a word was company enough. His appearance didn’t matter. She ran into his arms and tight embrace. His rough whiskers against her soft face felt like small jagged rocks and his clothing reeked of sweat—it made no difference to her. They were together again, even if for only a short time.
After lingering for a few minutes, reluctantly, she pulled away. “Darling, there are matters we must discuss.”
In Titus’ cramped room, they sat across from one another at the small table, Macha on the cot and he on the lone stool, their hands entwined on the table. She looked into his piercing blue eyes and choked out the words, “Our son has been kidnapped.”
Titus head snapped back as if punched in the face. A guttural sound escaped as he jerked his hands away from Macha. “What!” he rasped. “Kidnapped!” He bolted from his stool.
Macha winced and turned away as if slapped.
“By the thundering gods,” he roared, “it’s bad enough I may lose my life, but not my son!” His eyes widened and he balled his big fists. “What harm can he do?”
“Cnidius Rufus is searching for him,” Macha said attempting to calm her own emotions. “I’m sure he’ll do everything he can to find our son.”
“Jupiter Thunderer, I pray Rufus finds them. If he doesn’t, when I’m released, I’ll find the bastards and kill them myself.” He slammed the side of his fist against the table and winced.
“I’m sure Helena’s husband is doing everything he can,” Macha answered.
Titus paced the tiny room. He clamped his lips together and shook his head. “I know Rufus is doing his best, but will it be enough? I feel like a caged lion, helpless to do a damn thing.”
He snatched the wooden stool and was about to throw it against the wall. Apparently, he changed his mind. His shoulders drooped as the tension drained from his face. Exhaling, he returned it to the floor and stepped to the cell door. Titus leaned his back against it, facing Macha.
She thanked Mother Goddess Anu that her husband managed to bring his outburst under control.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Here I’m acting sorry for myself, and I’ve failed to ask about your feelings.”
“I’m frightened, darling. The fear of what might be happening to Young Titus keeps roiling in my mind. I can hardly think about anything else. He must be found and soon. Senator Bassus has ordered the Watch to search the city just in case he’s been brought here. Bassus is making his own queries, too.”
“Thank the gods Senator Bassus is on our side,” Titus answered. “The Watch wouldn’t lift a finger to help without orders from him.”
Macha described the arrest of Crixus and their use of him as a spy.
Titus returned to Macha and sat next to her his arm around her waist. “Bassus is no fool, but why did he offer Crixus immunity? He’ll betray us the first time he receives a better offer.”
“He believes he is our best hope to learn who is involved in the plot.”
Titus pulled his arm from around Macha. He moved a short distance, turned and placed a powerful hand on her shoulder. His dark eyes like a stormy sea studied her. “Do you honestly believe anyone would confide in a man of Crixus’ reputation?”
“Bassus doesn’t think the nobility will—he’s just not on their level.” She sighed and turned her head for a few seconds. “But Crixus can listen at doors and talk to servants and learn useful information, especially, at the baths and docks. He probably wouldn’t betray us because he’s receiving the monopoly on all courier horses between Rome and Mediolanum.”
“It must be a ploy,” Titus said. He dropped his hands to his lap. For a few seconds he sat in silence as if pondering his next words. “There has to be another reason why Bassus made the offer to Crixus. The Senator has his own network of spies. They’re watching Crixus for signs of betrayal.”
“He denied knowing about little Titus’ kidnapping. Perhaps Bassus thinks he lied.”
Titus snorted. “I know he lied. Bassus wants Crixus to lead him to something else, but the question remains, what?”
“We have no choice but to wait and see.”
“Pray Minerva not for long because soon I go on trial. Unless he or someone else proves my innocence, I’ll be condemned as a traitor.”
Macha grabbed his hands and held them tightly in hers. “That won’t happen,” she reassured him. “There are other people working on your behalf.” She didn’t have the heart to say it was only Bassus, herself and perhaps, Pomponius Appius if what Bassus said was true, that he could be trusted. And Antonia, if Macha could persuade her.
Titus stared at the cold stone wall on the opposite side of the cell. “They’ll clear me,” he said none too convincingly. “I don’t have much choice but to put my trust in them and the gods—if they exist.” For a few seconds Titus closed his eyes. Opening them once again, he said, “I don’t know why I didn’t think about it sooner.”
“What, darling?”
He gazed at Macha. “When did the Watch’s search for our son begin?”
“Last night.” She explained the details of Bassus’ request to the Commander of the Watch.
“Thank the gods,” Titus said. “But we must be certain the search continues after Bassus leaves for Misenum.”
“Why shouldn’t it?”
“It’s only because Bassus is a Legate that the Watch agreed to the search. They have no interest in looking for the son of an accused traitor.”
“Then I shall see Pomponius Appius,” Macha said interrupting Titus’ thoughts. “Perhaps he’ll help us. He has doubts about your arrest.” She shuddered. It was unthinkable no one wanted to find her son.
Titus nodded. “Good. We need every ally we can muster
. If the Watch hasn’t already done so, suggest to Appius to search the Subura District, one of the worst cess-pits in Rome.” He rubbed his eyes and glanced to the gray-stone ceiling, stained from years of lamp lighted smoke. A cockroach scurried across and disappeared into a crack at the far corner. Titus shook his head and continued, “If they don’t find him there, he can try the caves beneath the city around the Cloaca Maxima. That great sewer is an ideal place to hide a captive, stink and all.”
“Darling, I’ll do anything to convince him.”
“That’s all I ask—for our son’s sake.”
She hugged and kissed Titus, gave him a last smile and left his cell.
* * * * *
After Macha returned to Bassus’ house, she sent a message to Pomponius Appius requesting a meeting with him. She explained Titus’ concern and his suggestion where to search next for their son.
While Macha waited for his reply, she wrote a letter to her brother-in-law, Rufus. She detailed her suspicions regarding her slave, Jason, and asked him to further investigate the matter. Ever since she had left Mediolanum, the possibility of Jason being involved in the conspiracy had nagged her. Only now did she find time to contact Helena’s husband. Macha hoped Appius would allow the letter to be included with the army dispatches which were sent to Mediolanum on a daily basis.
To Macha’s surprise, Tribune Appius arrived at Bassus home within an hour of her sending the letter. After the usual salutations, she and Appius proceeded to the tablinum. They sat across from each other at a citrus wood desk, surrounded by canisters full of parchment scrolls, where she explained in greater detail Titus’ request to search for their son.
For a split second, he crinkled his nose and stared through her as if seeing right into her soul. Macha shivered. “Earlier I expressed to you there may be a possibility your husband was not guilty of treason,” Appius said. “And now, because of Crixus’ confession and news of your son’s kidnapping, I am finding it harder to believe your husband a traitor. Therefore, I will request a detachment from the Watch to continue their search.”
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