The Snake Catcher

by Bilinmeyen

  “Tell me,” I said tightly. She had been ill? How often? How often was my child ill?

  She touched my belly fondly and smiled coyly. “The boy asked if she had a husband. He is in love with her.”

  I nodded. “I hope she said she has one, but she probably said he is a bastard, a rotten thing.” I smiled, feeling a tear in my eye.

  “She said she had a lovely, dutiful husband,” Julia said, and I saw there was a look of remorse on her face. “Dutiful.”

  I sighed, and stroked her. “It’s confusing, but it’s certainly not all duty.” It was duty with Julia, after Brimwulf and Mathildis died, but I had gotten good at lying.

  She smiled at me like a weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “My husband is well on his way to come home from Germania. Preparing, dealing with issues as he travels. He is a great hero, they say. He always was, though a less spectacular than Drusus.”

  “I know. No major, daring battles they say. He has killed thousands in his swift raids, and hardly lost a century’s worth of men. He is a good general. Though, perhaps, not a good man.”

  “He is not,” she said sadly. “He … might be to the right woman, but not me. Will you do something for me?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said and turned to look at her. “Am I not your servant, lover, and guard?” There was tightness in her voice I didn’t understand.

  “Listen. I need something. I need to do something, actually,” she said nervously. She went quiet and smiled.

  “What is it? Should I guess?”

  She got up. “My husband returns home. And you are right. He is not a kind master,” she answered. “Not kind husband at all.” She had a furious look on her face, and I sensed something was about to take place. I sat up and kissed her neck. She resisted it at first, then moaned and slapped me gently. “I’m old, barbarian,” she smiled, and got up. “I cannot do it all night.” She sat next to me, and pulled my foot fondly as I handed her the goblet. “I’ll need to do something this very night.” She lifted a bag from the side of the floor.

  I nodded carefully. She was going out? Was she going to this place, the insula, to meet the witch? Was she important, after all? I shrugged, carefully. “Shall I stay here?” Tudrus and Agetan were outside, so were Livia’s many slaves and servants, having waited for months and months for Livia to move. I begged, after years of guarding, that they would be awake.

  “I hoped … I thought you can come with me,” she smiled shyly. “And you bring a tunic and a cloak with you. Not your toga and the Guard’s gear. Hide a sword under you cloak. I’m going near the Theatre of Marcellus. It will be night, and it’s dangerous.”

  She was going to the place. “Have you been there before?”

  She nodded. “I have, and I feared the trip every time. It is terrifying to walk the city at night. But, the night is the only time I can do this. There is a woman who does magic. And I need such magic.”

  I nodded and grabbed my gear. “Yes, of course. Though I wish you would tell me what I’m supposed to do when I get there.”

  She slapped my leg. “You’ll think it weird. But, if it works, you might like it. Do nothing, but keep me alive. Be a guard and a servant this night.”

  If it finally gave us a lead to her fellow conspirator, I’d be happy indeed.

  ***

  In an hour, we were moving through the dangerous nightly streets of Rome. We took to the street that passed the Forum, and I, yet again, wondered at the silence of city. There was life all over the place, but hidden behind the doors of the domus, the feasts of the rich could be only barely heard. Behind the shuttered windows of the tall insulae, families argued or loved, and behind the doors of taverns, the adventurous gambled and spent the night. We walked down muddy track of Vicius Iugarius, and I gazed up to the Capitoline Hill, where fires burned before the great temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Its pillars looked ghostly against the fires of cauldrons.

  “Give me fortune,” I whispered, and hoped Woden didn’t think ill of the great Roman god. We walked in the shadow of the hill, and a group of ruffians walked past us. All were drunk, others also stupid.

  “Ah, a fair fruit to be picked so late in the evening,” said one, a toothless villain.

  Julia didn’t stop, the man tried to put a hand on her, his three friends half ready to jump in, and I pulled Nightbright. I stepped next to the offending man, and placed the sword on the man’s arm, producing a thin wound.

  He stared down at the bleeding arm, blathering something, but Julia, her mind cold as ice, concentrating carefully on her trek, didn’t care to stop. I shoved the man to his friends, who took steps away at the sight of the blade, and only from afar, foully dared to curse after us.

  I heard one yelp, and to my relief, I knew they had found Agetan’s fist.

  I eyed the streets and the corners, saw the pitiful ex-tenants in the street, children with them. I smelled the rancid piss, and roasting meat. We stepped aside, as a string of wagons made their way up a street. Mud was splattered on Julia, and she cared not. Her face was still under her hood. Her mood was ominous, dangerous, and I thought I might actually be led into a trap. We walked past some statues painted with bright colors, and passed a street corner where a man was bleeding, surrounded by men in chainmail, the vigiles who patrolled the city during the night.

  Then I saw it, the miraculous, round theater, though it was silent and closed. She walked past it, took an abrupt turn to an alley, and descended swiftly into the dim light. Cats slunk away, meowing in protest. A man walked from the shadow, and turned away, his eyes red and a bulbous abscess in his neck glistened with puss.

  She stopped before a doorway to an insula, entering. I followed her, and found we had entered a stairway. Under it, a man with a cudgel slept with resounding snores. He was the house’s guardian, and a bad one at that. She climbed the stairs, then another set, until she reached the very top, where the less wealthy residents lived. People were speaking softly behind their doors, there were large jars on all the levels, where piss were collected, and I retched as the putrid stench hinted they had not been emptied for days.

  Finally, we reached the top floor, and Julia peered up at me. “Not a word,” she said. I noticed she was clutching the bag.

  “None,” I answered, my hand on my sword. I cursed the lack of my armor, and hoped to surprise any assailant who might be lurking inside. I discreetly pulled the blade.

  She knocked.

  Silence.

  People below and across the level could be heard whispering in their apartments, some nervously, and I felt the noise was ominous, as if the damned and the mad were afraid.

  What opened the doorway, was not unlike a völva.

  She was ancient, and had a harried look on her old, yellowed face. Her tunica was stained with food and wine, and her fingers were crooked. She stopped to squint up at Julia, because even the tiny noble was far taller than the woman. She held out a hand. Julia gave her the bag. The woman hefted it and squinted at the insides, opening it deftly, and then, held out another hand. Julia dug out something and gave it to her. There was a clink as coins disappeared under the woman’s filthy tunic.

  She opened the first bag right there at the doorway, and I stiffened with fear as I saw what she pulled out.

  Hair.

  A fistful of hair, and what I thought were nails. Clipped, yellowed nails.

  I felt cold shivers travel up and down my spine, but then Julia pushed in, and I followed her, though reluctantly. In Germania, one would expect to call forth evil spirits with such items. Julia went to stand to the right corner of the room, while the old lady went to the opposing corner, which I assumed would be her kitchen. There, she began to work. Her old hands were accustomed to such work, working deftly in the shadows, and I breathed warding prayers in Woden’s name, because the old woman was indeed creating an evil curse. What was taking place on the old table was a fearful token of the darkest spirits. She was hissing, sputtering, and cursing
, as she made a figure of a man out of clay. She let the nails sink into it, and the hair topped its head. It was dark hair. And I knew the statue was a male, because it had an erect penis. Julia didn’t move. She didn’t say anything, her hands were clutched tightly to her sides, and I stood still, until a long time had passed.

  In the end, the old woman cackled softly, and turned to Julia. “What shall you ask of the spirits?”

  She whispered hoarsely, and pulled out a small scroll, which the old woman took. “The curse is here. Let him die. Let him die, and leave me to rule my own destiny.”

  Tiberius.

  She was creating a thing to kill Tiberius. Was this it? The only evil thing she did? Magic? Was she not meeting with someone who was really plotting to slay the great man? Perhaps Kleitos had truly been the only one who had been guilty, and now, she only had the gods.

  I rubbed my face, cursing softly. Julia’s eyes flicked to mine with a warning, and I nodded gently.

  This would prove nothing.

  I stroked the iron in my sword with my thumb to ward off evil in that room, and the woman worked diligently. Finally, she was done. She gingerly lifted the clay puppet, and placed it in a bronze capsule with the scroll. She sealed it with clay and walked to Julia, whom she gave it to.

  Julia took it with trembling hands.

  The hag spoke. “Take your leave, my lady. This time shall work. It shall work very well indeed. I feel it. It shall be most powerful tomorrow, if you give it to the gods at midday,” she said, and Julia nodded, hesitated, and then made her way out of the house.

  I followed her, staying at arm’s length, and walked all the way back to the Palatine and her domus, where she finally held her face, shaking. “Now you know.”

  “I know you want him dead,” I said. “With a curse?”

  She was nodding. “A curse. A curse is a powerful thing, Hraban. Never doubt its powers. Even if it is performed by a hag pretending to have a connection to the spirits, some evil god or spirit might hear her spells nonetheless. I’ll spend the coming hour in prayer.”

  “Yes,” I agreed softly. “Praying might be a good idea. And what happens next?” I was bewildered. Would I go tell Livia she is merely casting spells at her son? That all our efforts had been wasted thus far?

  “It is none of your business,” she said tersely, and then went white as a sheet, and took a step closer. “There are things taking place, Raven. Have been for years. I’m going to change some of the things that are ill in my life. I will gain control of my sons.”

  Gaius and Lucius. “I see.”

  “And I shall be widow, finally, ready to marry again.” Her eyes shone with regret. “Though not to you. I need to marry again to power for my sons. That won’t mean I shall let you go. And I won’t put you in danger.”

  “Yes, my lady,” I said. So there was still someone else aside from Kleitos. “And what will you do with that … thing?”

  She smirked at me. “I’ll take a wagon out of the city tomorrow morning,” she said. “Will you travel with me? Guard me?” She grasped my tunic. “A woman needs a man in her life. One man of worth, at last. A woman needs men who can fight, who will do anything for her, even murder, and I shall need such men, if I am to do what we plan to do. I need you, Corvus. I’ll take the doll away tomorrow, to a well of Anna Perenna, and there, I shall leave this to the gods. May it bring us fortune and success”

  I nodded, feeling helplessly entangled in a plot sure to get me killed. “I shall gladly accompany you there tomorrow.”

  She smiled. “Get your gear. I thank you.” She hugged me and went upstairs. I followed, picked up my weapons and armor, and pulled them on in the stairway. I went down, opened the door, and looked at Wandal who was standing outside. He nodded to the side. I saw Tudrus there, pushing his hair aside. “We followed you.”

  “Did you see anything?” I asked him.

  “No,” he answered. “There were only you two.”

  I nodded. “She goes to pray tomorrow.” I looked at them. “Tomorrow, follow us. She spoke of Tiberius this night, and of her plans. What she did in that insula was treason, but we need more. We are close to freedom, though I have no idea what her part is in this. If the information on Tiberius’s trip hasn’t been sent forward already, she will deliver it soon. She will fall, and this lie shall end.” I hesitated, and Wandal nodded.

  Tudrus, the observant one, smirked. “She’s in love with you,” he said neutrally.

  “She is,” I agreed. “And I love Cassia.”

  “And Brimwulf and Mathildis shall be avenged,” he said. “Don’t let her fool you.”

  I pulled on a helmet, cursing him. “Never again.”

  He poked me. “Make sure not to let down your guard. And don’t get us killed. We have lost too much.”

  I shook my head. “No, we shall conquer. Things will change.”

  I was right.

  CHAPTER 20

  The trip out of the city was a small, but public affair. Julia travelled in a carruca, a covered wagon, and I didn’t see her behind the shades, but Tudrus, Wandal, and I rode after the wagon, and a horde of servants walked with us. There were also the men of the fourth, who were supposed to guard her that day, and a century of praetorians.

  The trip was not long.

  We walked out of the gates, passed the walls and the insulae, and walked for half an hour, until we reached a green hill, filled with peaceful orchards. There, Julia got out of the carruca, pulled a palla over her head, and headed up a lush, beautiful hill. She placed a hand on the hand of a young girl, who carried a leather bag, again the oddly calm, concentrated woman she had been the night before. We walked after her, the praetorians spread left and right, the slaves and servants settled to wait, and the people visiting the fountain were awestruck by the high lady visiting the hill. We walked up the green hill, rumored a site of a great, lovemaking feast in March, until we reached the top, and there were olive and fig trees swaying gently in a small breeze.

  And in the middle was a fountain of water, deep and dark, the surface rippling, its sides bricked up.

  We stared at it, until Julia walked closer, and leaned close to the surface. She sat on the edge, probably praying to the goddess for a new dawn with no Tiberius, and her fingers tracked the surface of the water. She seemed to be praying, because her lips were moving, and she did it for long minutes, until she nodded at the girl. The girl produced the large rod, the one with the curse and the dreadful doll, and she took it gingerly. There were others there, praying and leaving their requests to the gods. Some had jars, others nothing at all, many dropped coins, which disappeared under the surface. In these items went with plops, and gurgling sounds, as air escaped to the surface after their passage to the unknown depths where the goddess supposedly sat and spent her time reading what the humans desired.

  Julia nodded, and let go of the tube. It fell away near soundlessly.

  She got up, smiling to her slave girl. Her eyes snaked to mine, and she moved down towards the carrugi. We followed her, walking down the paths, and were soon in the midst of the trees, dodging people, the praetorians moving to the sides, looking for trouble.

  I stopped.

  Tudrus looked up at me. “What?” he whispered, as Julia moved away.

  Wandal was frowning up at me. “Speak, Hraban. What is happening?”

  “The tube made practically no sound as she dropped it,” I said, and nodded towards the high lady. “Go with her. I shall meet you in the Block,” I said. “Go.”

  “You—”

  I ran up the hill, dodging the praetorians, and pushed to the summit, holding on to my spear and shield. I reached the trees surrounding the holy site, grouched by a bush, and grabbed the helmet off my head, and stared at the spring.

  By it, stood a group of unassuming men.

  One was smaller than the others, short as Julia, with wide, powerful shoulders. He and another were hooded. I crouched in the shadows of an olive tree, as the two men approached t
he well, and I tried to keep still. There was nothing familiar about them, and yet, something was off. They were not there to pray, but strode purposefully for the spring, pushing people aside. I put a hand on my sword hilt, but held my breath, tried to gather patience from the recesses of my soul. I tried to see the faces of the men, who were now practically in possession of the spring. One of them stood to face the people around them, another sat down to stare at the fountain.

  The man reached out and came up with Julia’s tube.

  It was dripping with water, but only a bit. There must have been an outcropping where she had dropped it.

  The man whirled and walked off, carrying the thick rod.

  They were cheating the goddess of her curse, and I bet Julia had finally delivered what she knew about Tiberius. And I had a hunch she had no interest in seeing Tiberius share her bed, or enjoy a triumph.

  I rushed after them in my ridiculous gear. I stopped, cursed, and ripped off my cloak, stuffed it on my shield, topped it with my helmet, and pushed them under a shadow of a huge stone and some shrubs. I kept the spear, and ran after them. I was puffing hard, my breath caught in my throat. They were not too far. One of them wore a red tunic, and that was flashing in the greenery. I stumbled my way down the hillside, and flattened behind a boulder, as they boarded another, yellow painted carruca. Two men jumped to the driver’s seat, the short, wide one rushed inside, and they went off at a respectable pace.

  And so I ran.