The Roman sotk-2

by Mika Waltari

  In girlish tones, Aunt Laelia replied at once. “I’m bathing in your spring,” she said. “The wonderful water covers me completely so that I am quivering all over.”

  “Just go on with your divine bath, Laelia,” said the magician, and then to me he added, “This kind of witchcraft means nothing and does no harm to anyone. I could bewitch you so that you were always stumbling and injuring your feet and hands. But why should I waste my powers on you? Let us anyhow tell your fortune, now you are here. Helena, you are asleep.”

  “I am asleep, Simon,” replied the priestess, immediately submissive though her eyes were open.

  “What do you see about the youth called Minutus?” asked the magician.

  “His animal is the lion,” said the priestess. “But the lion is approaching me and I cannot come past it. Behind the lion is a man attacking him with mortal arrows, but I cannot see what he looks like. He is much too far away in the future. But I can see Minutus clearly in a large room in which the shelves are full of scrolls. A woman is handing him an opened scroll. She has blackened hands. Her father is not her father. Be careful of her, Minutus. And now I see Minutus riding on a black stallion. He is wearing a shining breastplate. I can hear the roar of a crowd. But the lion is rushing at me. I must run away. Simon, Simon, save me!”

  She gave a cry and covered her face with her hands. Simon hurriedly ordered her to waken, gave me a penetrating look and then asked, “You’re not practicing witchcraft yourself, are you? With your lion protecting you so jealously? Don’t worry. You need have no more bad dreams if only you remember to call on your lion in the dream. Was what you have heard what you wished to hear?”

  “The main thing I heard,” I admitted. “And that was a pleasure to me, whether it was the truth or not. But I shall certainly remember you and your daughter if I ever find myself mounted on a black stallion in a shouting crowd.”

  Simon the magician now turned to Aunt Laelia and spoke her name.

  “Now it’s time for you to rise from the spring,” he commantled. “Let your friend pinch your arm as a sign. It won’t hurt, only sting a little. Wake up now.”

  Aunt Laelia woke slowly from her trance and felt her left arm with the same rapturous look as before. I looked at her curiously and on her thin arm there really was a large bruise. Aunt Laelia rubbed it and trembled all over with pleasure so that I had to turn my eyes away. The priestess Helena smiled at me with her lips appealingly half-open. But I did not want to look at her either. I was confused and felt prickly all over. So I said farewell to them, but I had to hold Aunt Laelia’s arm and lead her out of the magician’s room, she was in such a dazed state.

  In the shop, the priestess picked up a small black stone egg and handed it to me.

  “Take this as a present from me,” she said. “May it protect your dreams when the moon is full.”

  I was seized with the greatest reluctance to take anything from her.

  “I’ll buy it,” I said. “How much do you want?”

  “Just a strand of your hair,” said the priestess Helena, stretching out her hand to pull a hair from my head. But Aunt Laelia intervened and whispered that it would be better if I gave the woman money.

  I had no small coins so I handed her a gold piece, and perhaps she had earned it with her fortunetelling. She accepted the coin indiffere tly.

  “You set a high price on your strands of hair,” she said scornfully. “But perhaps you are right. The goddess knows.”

  I found Barbus in front of the temple, doing his best to hide the fact that he had this opportunity to take a drink or two of wine so that he staggered unsteadily along behind us. Aunt Laelia was in a gay mood and she stroked the bruise on her arm.

  “Simon the magician was more gracious to me than he has been for a long time,” she explained, “I feel enlivened and refreshed in every way and haven’t a single ache in my body. But it was a good thing you didn’t give a strand of hair In his shameless daughter. With its help she could have visited your bed in n dream.”

  She put her hand to her mouth in fright and glanced at me.

  “You’re already a big boy,” she said. “Your father must have explained these things to you. I’m certain Simon the magician sometimes bewitches a man to sleep with his daughter. Then that man falls completely in their power, even though he in exchange has received success of another kind. I should have warned you beforehand, but I didn’t think about it as you are still a minor. I didn’t realize until she asked you for a strand of your hair.”

  After the meeting with Simon the magician, my bad dreams did not occur again. When a nightmare tried to take possession of me, I remembered Simon the magician’s advice in the dream and called upon my lion. At once it came, lay down protectively beside me and was in every way so living and real that I could stroke its mane with my hand even if, when I woke up from my light sleep, I noticed I had been stroking a fold in my covers.

  I was so pleased with the lion that once or twice I called on it just as I was falling asleep. Even out in the city, I could imagine the lion walking along behind me and protecting me.

  A few days after the visit to Simon the magician, I remembered my father’s request and went to the library below Palatine. I asked the crusty old librarian for the history of the Etruscans by Emperor Claudius. He was contemptuous at first because of my youthful attire, but I was already tired of the superior attitude of the Romans, and I snapped at him that I was thinking of writing to the Emperor himself to complain about not being allowed to read his works at the library. So he hurriedly called on a blue-clad slave who took me to a room in which there was a large statue of Claudius, and showed me the right section.

  I was left looking at the Emperor’s statue in amazement, for Claudius had had himself represented as Apollo, and the sculptor had in no way beautified his thin limbs and drunkard’s face, so the statue looked more absurd than imposing. At least the Emperor was not vain, allowing a statue of himself such as this to be erected in a public library.

  At first I thought I was alone in the room and presumed that the Romans did not rank Claudius very high as an author since they left his scrolls collecting the dust in their slots. But then I noticed that over by a narrow reading-window a young woman was sitting with her back to me. I hunted for the Etruscan history for a while. I found the history of Carthage which Claudius had also written, but the slots in which the history of the Etruscans was evidently kept were empty. I looked again at the woman reading and noticed she had a whole heap of scrolls beside her.

  I had allotted the whole day to this dreary task, for one may not read by lamplight in the library because of the danger of fire, and I did not want to leave without having accomplished my work. So I plucked up courage, for I was shy of speaking to strange women, went over to her and asked her whether she was reading the history of the Etruscans and whether she needed all the scrolls at once. My voice was sarcastic, although I knew perfectly well that many well-brought-up women are bookworms. But they certainly did not usually read history books, but more likely Ovid’s fantastic love stories and adventures.

  The woman started violently, just as if she had only then noticed my arrival, and she looked up at me with her eyes glittering. She was young, and judging by her hair style, unmarried. Her face was not beautiful but rather irregular and coarse of feature. Her smooth skin was sunburned like a slave’s, her mouth large and her lips full.

  “I’m learning the words of the holy rituals and I’m comparing them with each other in different books,” she snapped. “It’s not funny.”

  Despite her bad temper, I had a feeling that she was as shy of me as I was of her. I noticed her hands were blackened with ink and that she was making notes with a leaky pen on a papyrus. One could see from her handwriting that she was used to writing but the poor materials blurred her script.

  “I assure you I’m not laughing,” I hastened to say, smiling at her. “On the contrary, I am full of respect for your learned occupation. I don’t wish
to disturb you in any way, but I’ve promised my father to read this book. Of course I shall not understand as much of it as you, but a promise is a promise.”

  I had hoped she would ask me who my father was so that I could ask after her name. But she was not as inquisitive as that. She looked at me as one looks on a troublesome fly, then poked among the heap of scrolls at her feet and handed me the first part of the book.

  “Here you are,” she said. “Take it and leave me in peace from your advances.”

  I flushed so violently that my face burned. The girl was certainly mistaken if she thought I had trumped up an excuse to get to know her. I took the scroll, went over to the reading-window on the other side of the room and began to read with my back to her.

  I read as quickly as possible without attempting to try to memorize the long list of names. Claudius evidently considered it necessary to enumerate from whom and how he had received every piece of information, what other people had written about it and what he himself considered to be the case. I did not think I had ever before read such a finicky and tedious book. But at the time when Timaius had ordered me to read the books he liked, I had learned to read swiftly and to memorize a few things that interested me. I used to cling stubbornly to these when Timaius later questioned me on the contents of the book. I thought I would read this book in the same way.

  But the girl would not let me read in peace. She sat tittering to herself and sometimes swore aloud as she rustled the scrolls. In the end she tired of constantly sharpening her useless pen, broke it in half and stamped her foot in a rage.

  “Are you blind and deaf, you horrible boy?” she cried. “Go and get me a proper pen at once. You must be very badly brought up if you can’t see I need one.”

  My face burned again and I was annoyed, for the girl’s own conduct did not exactly point to a good upbringing. But I did not want to quarrel with her over the scrolls just as I had finished the first one. So I controlled myself and went to the librarian and asked for a spare quill. He muttered that according to the library rules, quills and paper for notes were free, but that no citizen was so poor that he had the nerve to take a pen without paying. Angrily I gave him a silver piece and he happily handed me a bundle of pens and a scroll of the worst paper. I returned to the Claudius room where the girl snatched the pens and paper out of my hand without even thanking me.

  When I had finished the first book, I went back to her and asked her for the second.

  “Can you really read so quickly?” she asked in surprise. “Do you remember anything of what you’ve read?”

  “At least I can remember that the Etruscan priests had a deplorable habit of using poisonous snakes as throwing weapons,” I said. “I’m not surprised that you’re studying their customs and habits.”

  I had a feeling she was already regretting her behavior, for in spite of my nasty remark she humbly handed me a quill and like a little girl, said, “Would you mind sharpening my quill for me? I don’t seem to be able to do it. They start leaking almost at once.”

  “That’s because of the poor paper,” I explained.

  I took her pen and knife, sharpened and carefully split the point for her.

  “Don’t press so hard on the paper,” I said, “or you’ll get a blot at once. If you’re not too rough, it’s quite easy to write even on bad paper.”

  She gave me a sudden smile, like lightning in dark stormy clouds.

  Her strong features, wide mouth and slanting eyes looked suddenly lovely, such as I could never have believed before.

  When I remained standing, staring at her, she grimaced, stuck her tongue out and snapped, “Take your book and go away and read, since you think it’s such fun.”

  But she still kept disturbing me, coming over and asking me to sharpen her pen again, so that my fingers were soon as black as hers. The ink was so lumpy anyhow that she cursed her inkstand several times.

  At midday she took out a bundle, opened it and began to eat greedily, tearing off long strips of bread and taking huge bites out of a country cheese.

  When she noticed my look of disapproval, she began to make excuses.

  “I know perfectly well you’re not allowed to eat in the library,” she said, “but I can’t help that. If I go out, I get pushed about and strange men follow me and say shameless things because I’m alone.”

  She paused and then, with her eyes lowered, she added, “My slave is coming to fetch me in the evening when the library closes.”

  But I soon realized that she did not even have a slave. Her meal was simple and she presumably had no money for pens and paper which was why she had commantled me so haughtily to fetch her a pen. I felt baffled, for I did not wish to offend her in any way. But I also felt hungry when I saw her eating.

  I must have swallowed, for her voice suddenly softened.

  “Poor boy,” she said. “You must be hungry too.”

  She generously broke the bread in half and also handed me her round cheese so that we could bite from it in turn, and the meal ended before it had really had time to begin. When one is young everything tastes good. So I praised her bread.

  “That was real country bread and the cheese was a fresh country cheese, too. You can’t get those in Rome every day.”

  She was pleased with my praise.

  “I live outside the walls,” she said. “If you know where Gaius’ circus is and the burial ground and the oracle, then it’s in that direction, behind Vatican.”

  But she still would not tell me her name. We went on with our reading. She wrote and mumblingly repeated by heart several old texts which Claudius had written about in his book on the holy scripts of the Etruscans. I read one part after another and memorized everything about the wars and warships of the city of Caere. In the evening the room grew dark as the shadow of Palatine fell over the window. The sky had also clouded over,

  “We mustn’t ruin our eyes,” I said finally. “Tomorrow is another day, but I’m already tired of this moldy old history. You, who are an educated woman, would be able to help me and note down briefly what is in the parts I haven’t read, or at least what the most important things in them are. My father has property near Caere, so he’ll probably question me on everything Emperor Claudius says about the history of Caere. Please don’t be offended at the suggestion, but I feel like having some hot sausage to eat. I know a place and would like to invite you, if you will help me.”

  She frowned, rose and looked at me so closely that I could feel her warm breath on my face.

  “Don’t you really know who I am?” she asked suspiciously, and then went on at once: “No, you don’t know me, and you meant no harm. You’re just a boy.”

  “I’m just about to receive the man-toga,” I said, offended. “The matter has been held up because of a number of family circumstances. You’re not much older than I am. And I’m taller than you.”

  “My dear child,” she teased, “I’m already twenty and an old woman compared to you. I’m certainly stronger than you. Aren’t you afraid of going out with a strange woman?”

  But she swiftly stuffed the scrolls willy-nilly back into their slots, collected her belongings, smoothed her clothes and eagerly prepared to leave, as if she were afraid I might regret my offer. To my surprise, she stopped in front of the statue of Emperor Claudius and spat on it before I could stop her. When she noticed my horror, she laughed loudly and spat again. She was indeed badly brought up.

  Without hesitating, she thrust her arm into mine and dragged me with her so that I could feel how strong she was. She had not boasted for nothing. She haughtily said good-bye to the librarian who came to see that we had not hidden any scrolls beneath our clothes. He did not examine us very thoroughly however, as suspicious librarians sometimes do.

  The girl made no further mention of her slave. There were many people out on the forum and she wanted to walk up and down there for a while between the temple and the Curia, all the time holding my arm as if she wanted to show off her prize and possess
ion to people. One or two people called something to her as if they knew her, and the girl laughed and replied without shyness. A senator and a couple of knights and their following met us. They turned their eyes away when they caught sight of the girl. She took no notice.

  “As you see, I’m not considered a virtuous girl.” She laughed. “But I’m not entirely depraved. You needn’t be afraid.”

  Finally she agreed to come with me into an inn by the cattle market where I boldly ordered hot sausage, pork in a clay bowl, and wine. The girl ate as greedily as a wolf, and wiped her greasy fingers on a corner of her mantle. She did not mix her wine with water, so neither did I. But my head began to whirl, for I was not used to drinking undiluted wine. The girl hummed as she ate, patted my cheek, abused the landlord in simple market language and suddenly struck my hand completely numb with her fist when I accidentally happened to brush against her knee. I could not help but begin to think that she was a little odd in the head.

  The inn was suddenly full of people. Musicians, actors and jesters made their way in too and entertained the guests, collecting copper coins in a rattling jar. One of the ragged singers stopped in front of us, plucked at his cittern and sang to the girl:

  “Come, oh daughter Of the hang-jowled wolf, She who was born On the cold stone step; Father drank And mother whored, And a cousin took Her virginity.”

  But he got no further. The girl rose and slapped him across the face. “Better to have wolf blood,” she screamed, “than piss in your veins like you!

  The landlord hastened up to drive away the singer and he poured us out some wine with his own hands.

  “Clarissima,” he pleaded. “Your presence is an honor, but the boy is a minor. I beg you to drink up and go. Otherwise I’ll have the magistrates here.”

  It was late already and I did not know what to think of the girl’s unrestrained conduct. Perhaps she was in fact a depraved little she-wolf whom the landlord only jokingly addressed as honorable. To my relief she agreed to leave without any fuss, but when we were outside, she seized my arm again firmly.