by Assaph Mehr
I stared at him blankly. “What?”
“It’s the light. The light! It must be the light. That’s the only way, the light. Surely you see it?” he pleaded.
“What are you babbling about?”
I got nothing coherent out of him. Araxus kept babbling something about the light, how bright it was, how it distracted him, how he could not look at it, how surely I should be able to see how it was related. I couldn’t. I had no time or patience for his mad ramblings, all he did was remind me of Helena. Some days he was lucid and sharp as he was in our youth. Some days his mind was gone, a dangerous raving lunatic. Eventually I ejected him none too kindly from my home. A bad ending to the day.
Chapter IX
I got up the following day, the day after the Nones of Avrilis, five days after starting the investigation, in a foul mood. Running into Araxus last night resulted in sleep plagued by bad dreams again. Feet sore to match my head and heart, I set out early to try and chase leads about this case.
The day did not disappoint my low expectations. I started by trying to locate Caeso’s friends, to ask them again about Zymaxis or Mahatixa. Drusus, it appeared, had sailed off on an errand for his magister at the Collegium Mercatorum. Of Caeso’s two other friends, Porcius and Lutatius, there was no sign. The door slave at the Collegium was as snooty as ever, and no bribe offered seemed to satisfy him. I had to hasten away with my tail between my legs, before he called the guards.
Trying a different tack, on the way back from the forum I stopped at another acquaintance, Brewyn the tattoo master. His shop, if one can call it that, was at the rear of another shop of sundries in the Subvales, where the large tenements and stews of Egretia were. His clientele was made up of other Pictonii, Arbarii and Capilanii — all the people we subjugated, who mark their skins in a very un-Egretian manner.
I walked into the outer shop, walked past the snoozing elderly man on his rickety chair, past the bags and shelves haphazardly loaded with miscellaneous sundries and supplies, nodded to the elderly wife at the counter who gave me a sour look, and passed through the curtain to the back room. Brewyn was sitting with his back to me, the blue woad tattoos on his neck and muscular arms peeking out from under his light tunic. A large man in his thirties, his dun coloured head of hair showing no signs of receding.
He was working carefully on a man sitting in a chair in front of him. “Wait your turn,” he said without turning.
I stood obediently at the door, leaning on the frame and watching him work. He was finishing a design on the man’s face, an intricate spiralling maze of lines and dots. He had the lines traced in place, and was carefully pricking the skin with a sharp fish-bone needle. After each section, he daubed at the blood and then rubbed the blue ink into the wounds.
“There,” Brewyn said as he straightened up. “Give it a few days, and rub the ointment daily. You’ll be able to go back to your family in Capirica, and no one will be the wiser about the marks your dominus left on you here.”
The man thanked him, picked up the small pyxis with unguents from Brewyn, paid generously, and left. Brewyn finally turned and lifted his eyes to me. “Oho! Felix the Fox! I thought you might come by. Here, have a seat,” he indicated the client’s chair.
“You liked the commission I sent your way then?” I asked as I sat down and accepted a cup of wine.
“Indeed, indeed. A very peculiar case. Took me the most of the night, to defuse the stercus that the young mentula had on him. What did that rich cunnus get into? I thought you Egretians despised tattoos.”
“You know we do. I have been hired by his father to find out exactly what mess he got himself embroiled in. I was hoping you could tell me something about it.”
“I could tell you it wasn’t your regular corner-store fellator who gave him those. Those were power tattoos — stigmas. But you knew that, didn’t you?” He looked into my eyes with a half-smile. “That is why you had him ask for me, to work with the embalmer.”
“I thought it would be prudent. Did you recognise the design, or the method?” I asked.
“No. The design was detailed enough to look… specific, though I have never seen a combination of lines and arrangements such as this. I tattoo people of all nations who pass through Egretia, or at least notice them on people more than most. And I thought I saw them all! However, that was not a style I have ever come across.”
“And the method?”
“It was a reasonably clean hand, though not a professional. Definitely not a hand I recognised. I would say that whoever did this probably practised some on animal skin but does not tattoo for a living. I could see more hesitant lines at the edge of the pattern, growing bolder and surer as the work progressed.”
“And the power, could you tell how it was done?”
“After it was completed if you ask me. I have drawn a few power stigmas myself, albeit not this big. There are several ways of getting the magia into them, some from the beginning, some at the end. It depends on the method used and the effect desired. This one… This one was drawn first, and then juiced up with a lightning bolt. It was still crackling on the poor stercus’ corpse. I had some fun getting rid of the residues, I shit you not.”
I sipped my wine and gathered my thoughts. “What can you tell me that will help me track the one who did this?”
“I don’t know the hand or the style, but… The ink for those tattoos was not regular woad, nor any of the dyes I encountered in my many years of tattooing. That much I am certain. If you get me the recipe for the ink, perhaps I could help you track who might deal with those items, and who might have the skill to prepare it. There will not be many found in Egretia, and exotic materials could be traced by their suppliers.”
I thanked him, stood up, and promised to return when I discovered the recipe.
“Why don’t you let me tattoo you, eh?” Brewyn asked me. “I can do you some nice design, under the toga. No one will ever know except the ladies you entertain. I can even put some power into them, so those ladies will be guaranteed entertainment,” he said with an awful leer.
“Mentulam caco,” I declined.
* * *
After a hasty lunch of bread stuffed with overly spiced pork that did more to my indigestion than my hunger, I changed tack and again went after anyone who might have heard of Zymaxis’ cabal. The members of his little group had come from all walks of life. An army officer, a naval officer, two incantatores — one young and one old, a merchant, a freed slave and a Hellican. Two from obvious senatorial-rank families, four of regular citizen status, and one non-citizen foreigner. All of them, however, seemed well off, educated people. All with a grudge against society, if they subscribed to Zymaxis’ rants.
I tried to put myself in Zymaxis’ shoes. If I were starting an illegal cabal to stage a coup, where would I find such men for support? This was certainly not something I had previously ever thought to do. I tried to go by way of elimination. None of his recruits were low criminals, so I discarded those aspects of society. Neither did they seem to me exceedingly rich nor high ranking, as those tend to resist change, with more to lose than to gain from a social upheaval. I flattered myself that my lack of ideas was because I was an upright citizen who always supported the traditions of our republic, but the cynic inside my head laughed at me.
I had on the first day of my investigation sounded out old contacts for possible necromantic connections. This yielded one lead, the library in Ephemezica that Sosius asked me to review, in the belief that it might contain ancient scrolls with knowledge of magia vita terminalis. Would approaching them again, now on the subject of social unrest, produce any different results? Or would it land me in trouble, asking so many dubious questions?
The other matter troubling me was that if I wanted to join the cabal, I had to fulfil their task. In between searching for information about the cabal members, I gave thought to what I could impress them with to gain acceptance. And here, too, a dearth of options. I did not have the time to really de
vote to it, and buying something outright would have been both too cost prohibitive and too obvious.
Thus when I saw no other leads, I visited the forum, and gossiped with the old chinwaggers, trying to suss out any rumours of civil unrest and of the political bickering and manoeuvring within the senate. Were there any factions more dissatisfied than usual? Were any names associated with shady dealings in magia? Were there any rumours of interesting items being discovered, procured or moved around? Did the descriptions of the men I have seen ring a bell, sound familiar?
Nothing, or at least nothing more promising than gossiping so wildly speculative even at my desperate state I could not credit.
I found this oblique way of investigations, this constant misdirection, of trying to ask questions without truly ever reaching the heart of the matter, all very frustrating.
The funeral for Caeso was due the next morning. I decided that if I cannot come up with any promising avenue for investigation by then, I will take Sosius on his offer and visit the library in Ephemezica, and try to find information about the rite that Caeso underwent. Even if I did all I found were ceremonies of a similar vein and not the specific rite, it might still provide me with insights into the requirements and preparations, which may turn into leads as I retrace his preparations. I would have something to give to Akhirabus and Brewyn, who may point me further in the right direction. And if I got lucky, I might even find a scroll of sufficient value and interest to be my entry pass to the cabal!
I also resolved to visit the island of Kebros, as Caeso had seemingly experienced something there that made him come back with renewed vigour. Understanding the steps he took on his way from the start, would help me understand the end of his path as well.
* * *
The next morning I got up early, broke fast with millet porridge sweetened with dates, put on my toga, and went to pay my last respects to Caeso. A crowd was already gathered outside Corpio’s mansion on the Septentrionali. I joined the queue of people waiting to go inside.
Caeso’s body was displayed on the traditional bier in the atrium, feet facing the door, laid at an angle so that his face was visible to onlookers. He was dressed with a toga over a long tunic, hiding the tattoos or what remained of them. His face looked calm, a testament to the skill of Akhirabus, and in his mouth the traditional coin. The small scars my blade had left at the sides of his jaw were hardly visible, concealed with makeup. Around him were arranged many fragrant flowers and boughs, though they could not completely mask the reek. Akhirabus did an excellent job, considering he got to him quite late.
I shuffled back out with the rest of the gathered people, and waited for the funeral to start. Around mid-morning the procession finally embarked on its way. As Caeso came from a rich family of senatorial rank he was given every custom and rite, even though he was still so young to have achieved much by himself.
First came the specially trained musicians hired for the day. They led the procession with deep brass trumpeting alerting all that a dead body was passing. After the musicians came the professional mourners. Women dressed in rags, crying, wailing, in tears, pulling their hair, vocalising the abject misery of a family who could not participate in such unrespectable behaviour.
After the mourners came the mimes. Special actors, they wore the wax masks of the notable ancestors of Caeso, acting and mimicking their behaviour in life. I have never met them of course, but from the discussion of the people around me the actors had an uncanny talent to remind everybody of past members of this great family.
The body came next, borne by friends and relatives, lying in state on the same bier as before. A formal event, the two fasces-bearing lictors of his father preceded the bier, while Corpio walked alone behind it. Other close relatives and friends followed a few steps behind Corpio. I saw Typheus walking amongst them as well, showing his respect to his master. I looked at Corpio, trying to discern his mood; however, being a professional politician it was hard to tell how much was genuine and how much was an act. He walked erect, his face sombre, his pace measured. Never smiling, looking ahead, the picture of the respectable, stoic Egretian.
The procession stopped for a short while in the Forum Egretium, and Corpio himself delivered the eulogy. Caeso being a young lad at the time of his death, there was not much to talk about besides his youth in itself — and his family. A true politician of the eternally scheming senate, Corpio did weave his own ancestry’s greatness into the eulogy, for the benefit of future voters.
After the eulogy came the arduous part of Egretian funerals. From the forum the procession wound its way up the steep Via Verguvia. The road starts at the forum and climbs the steep sides of Vergu. Once out of the Porta Alta, the road keeps climbing up the mountain. In ancient times, it was the custom of our people to climb all the way to the top and hold the funerals on a large ledge overlooking the mouth of the volcano. These days thankfully most funerals are held a short way out of the city gates, or there would be a lot more funerals when men and women keel over from exertion.
The procession reached its destination on a flat area overlooking the lush valley of the Fulvius and Erratus rivers. A pyre was already waiting, prepared in advance by the undertakers. The musicians, mourners and actors ceased their performance, and stood respectfully to the side. The bearers laid the bier upon the ready pyre.
Corpio took up a torch from a waiting slave, and held it aloft. He paused and looked at the body of his son, lying peacefully and awaiting passage to the next world. He mumbled the old traditional saying, the one hardly heard these days for the departed,
Tibi non sunt.
Fortassis ut oblatio carne vestras auxilium reperiat viam lemuri tuum ad Dis.
‘You are no more. May the offering of your flesh help your shade find its way to Dis’. I guess everyone becomes sentimental and superstitious at funerals.
He paused again, drew breath, and cast the torch onto the pyre. The kindling caught and soon the air was full of swirling particles of ash, the flames dancing higher as they consumed the body of Caeso. Corpio stood for a long while, staring silently into the flames.
On the way down the mountain, I jostled my way gently through the crowd to walk next to Typheus. While the people made their way down, the funerary slaves remain behind and would later collect Caeso’s ashes and place them in an urn. The urn would be placed in the family’s collective tomb, probably along the Via Fulvia where most old families’ tombs were. With the exception of close family and friends, the majority of the people on the mountain that day cared little for Caeso. Most were clients or associates of Corpio, there to show their support and to enjoy the feast and gladiatorial games that were to be held in honour of the deceased later in the day.
As we walked I saw Typheus being the dutiful secretary, committing to memory the lists of people who came to pay their respects and those who just rejoined the procession back inside the city gates.
“My condolences,” I offered.
“Thank you. My master is most grateful for your recommendation of Akhirabus and Brewyn. They were remarkably efficient in removing the… signs on the body and embalming it properly. This will be remembered when the time comes. Which naturally gives rise to the question of your progress? And please, do not be explicit while we are in public.”
“I have found a potential group Caeso may have been involved with; however, I have not managed to confirm this yet. To break into their circle I will need more information. I think I mentioned a potential source in Ephemezica. I will also need to retrace the young master’s trip to Kebros last year, as some unknown event during his visit there seemed to have set him on this path.”
“If you have found a group here, why not hire a few gladiators and break some bones? Surely that would be more expedient.”
I looked at him sidelong. He was not looking at me but at the people around us. With so much commotion from the walking crowd, our low voices afforded a modicum of privacy. “The men I saw there,” I replied, “will be miss
ed. This approach, while its time may come, is certain to raise much public outcry and bring about unwanted commotion and attention.”
“I see. I will speak with my master, when this is over. Please come tomorrow.”
SCROLL II - KEBROS
Chapter X
I stood at the bow the ship, breathing fresh air and letting the breeze ruffle my hair. We were well on our way to Ephemezica, and the captain promised me that we will be landing tomorrow. A journey of seven hundred and fifty miles, hugging the coast of Nuremata, done in an incredible five days.
Corpio was indeed exceedingly grateful for my recommendation of Brewyn the tattoo master and Akhirabus the freelance embalmer. I was expecting to hitch a ride in one of his trading boats, making short hops along the coast and hoping for favourable weather. Instead, when I came to pick up the letters of introduction, Corpio had provided me with official courier papers bearing his official seal as Rhone of Fish.
Rather than hop on and off a series of boats travelling short distances, I was able to get on board of an official Egretian dispatch. These ships have their own dedicated incantator elementorum, who with their mastery of the six elements ensure calm seas and good winds. Our square sail was always bulging gently with the wind, the single banks of oars on each side never used except in docking. Three days and two nights of a smooth swift voyage, and we made port at Heraclion. We stayed there just the night, and on the next morning the ship left Heraclion for Ephemezica.
A regular transport boat could take three times this long and consider itself lucky, and going by horse would have taken me a month. At least. With a very sore backside.
As it was, I got to enjoy the glorious feeling of speedy, uninterrupted sailing from Egretia to Ephemezica, under the Egretian official flag which reduced the appetites of pirates, even if their ships could hope to catch us.