In Numina: Urban Fantasy in Ancient Rome (Stories of Togas, Daggers, and Magic Book 2)

by Assaph Mehr

  I worked my way up the ranks. From old chinwaggers in the Forum to clerks and scribes, from longshoremen at the docks to the leaders of their respective colleges. I made the acquaintance of people closer and closer to Numicius himself, without association to Valerius Flaccus or a mention of the Subvales insulae. Just seemingly idle chatter about politics and business opportunities.

  It was a tedious, time-consuming business involving walking from one end of town to the next and back again in the sweltering Sextilis heat, made only slightly less laborious by the wine, food, and prostitutes.

  What I found out about Numicius after three such days was that he was your regular land-owning senator. That is to say, he had as many businesses on the grey side of the restrictions as he could safely get away with. Superficially, those esteemed members of our society who dedicate their lives to public service by becoming senators are too noble be dragged to earthly affairs, and earn money solely through the acquisition and rent of land and properties. Realistically, they engage in the grey area of silent partnerships in businesses, providing investment funds and back-room advice, but not public involvement. Cynically, they do everything shy of hawking wares loudly on the streets, using their power and influence to pass favourable laws and garner more money and power.

  Very few and far between are the exceptions, those truly upright citizens — like my current employer — who adhere to the traditions of the mos maiorum without deviation. Their low numbers are lucky for the rest of the senate, as they are invariably insufferable uptight prigs who use moral superiority to annoy everyone to tears.

  As for Numicius, he was perhaps on the darker end of the grey spectrum, but nothing outright illegal that I could find. Well, nothing besides using curses within the sacred city limits against fellow citizens.

  Still, I gathered enough information to get the measure of Numicius, and to plot how to gain access to the man himself.

  ***

  It was the first time I had to wear a toga to a brothel. Most such establishments are quick in-and-out affairs — no affront meant for my male readers — where a tunic is preferred for ease of access.

  Venus’ Swan, however, was a different thing. A sprawling mansion behind high walls not far from the Forum, its doors were located in a secluded alley and entry was by invitation only. I had to cash a favour long owed me by a former client and see Flaccus’ banker about an advance to get access. I also had Borax with me, for appearances as well as security.

  Mentioning a certain name I was given to the guard at the gate got me shown in. I waved my hand dismissively at the sycophantic attendant before he even opened his mouth and strolled leisurely past him. From behind me came the jingle of coins as Borax dumped a pouch of silver denarii in the attendant’s hand then walked briskly after me.

  The atrium was exquisite. A pool of clear blue water with mosaics of frolicking nymphs; green marble columns, with potted vines climbing up them; and frescoes of meadows and natural life in the making. Gilded decorations were everywhere. As I circled the shallow pool, a bare-breasted slave walked in and deferentially handed me a cup of wine. It was an amazing vintage the likes of which I have rarely tasted — so flavourful that it hadn’t needed aromatic herbs or sugar-of-lead.

  As I glanced after the retreating slave, I noticed cleverly hidden openings that allowed the staff to move behind the walls. As I walked toward a wide archway at the other side of the pool, a man stepped in front of me. He smiled openly, showing brilliant teeth. He was polite and warm — yet blocked the way nonetheless, and his posture made it clear he would not be waved aside easily.

  “Ave, Spurious Vulpius. I’m Titus Pompilius, the manager here. How may we please you tonight?” The gate attendant must have relayed my name via the invisible network of slaves behind the walls.

  “Just the man I want to see. I’m planning a private party and I would like to hire a few of your girls and boys.”

  “Certainly, my good man. Let’s go to my office, where we can organise everything for you.” He led me past the archway and to the left, down a colonnade. From the gardens and rooms beyond I could hear music, laughter, and the occasional squeal or a moan. We stepped into a side room set as a tablinum, with a desk, chairs, and many scrolls in pigeonholes.

  “Tell me your needs and I shall arrange all,” he said as he poured wine and water into silver cups.

  “It will be a private affair, a convivium for a few select guests. I will need a handful of skilled girls and perhaps a couple of boys to cover everything.”

  “Will you be hosting this party with us? I’m afraid that we never let our girls leave the premises with first-time customers.”

  “That will be fine. We could have it here, so long as you can guarantee me a private suite.”

  “We certainly can.” There was a sparkle of gold in his eyes. “We can also cater food and wine. Just leave me your wishes and I shall see them fulfilled.”

  “That will be much appreciated.” We discussed the specifics, haggled over the price a bit, and I left him with an advance in coin. For the price of a house or the freedom of few slaves — a mere pittance for Valerius Flaccus’ bank account — I arranged an evening of exquisite pleasure.

  “Lastly, I shall need to speak with your girls before the event. Just to, uh, prepare them with specific instructions pertaining to some of the guests.”

  “Certainly. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” Pompilius raised a brow.

  Well, what was the harm? I was already there, and Flaccus was paying.

  That was when Fortuna smiled upon me.

  Livia, one of the girls I sampled at the Venus’ Swan, struck me as brighter than the average breasts-and-giggles type one expects to find at such establishments. I was lying sweaty and satisfied on her bed, and after I got my breath back, I asked whether she’d be interested in earning a bit of money towards her freedom fund by assisting me in my planned activities.

  “Is there someone to whom you’d like Venus to grant a special blessing?” she asked in perfectly correct Quirite.

  “A prospective employer. I will need him fulfilled and in a good mood, and there is nothing better than Venus’ blessing for that.”

  “Any idea what he likes?”

  “No. Experiment.”

  “I hope you will be generous with your donation to Venus, then.” She stroked my chest with her fingers. “The goddess prefers gold, given directly to her humble priestess.”

  I laughed, she laughed, and it was some time again before I could explain to her what I needed. The twinkle in Livia’s eyes at the thought of mischief convinced me she was the right girl for this.

  ***

  The orgy was planned for two nights hence. Now for the second part of my plan, getting Numicius there. I knew his routine sufficiently well from the past few days and I learnt enough to take an educated guess at what would catch his ear.

  The Senate met an hour after dawn. The great wooden doors with the bronze nails stood open and a crowd of some three hundred men were standing on the steps in front of the Curia, resplendent in their brilliant white togas with purple hems and buckled crimson shoes. Being the month of Sextilis, the junior console had the fasces, and was therefore responsible for the Senate’s sessions. The consul, a man by the name of Aulus Gabinius, approached the marble altar at the top of the steps and to the right of the door, pulled the fold of his toga over his head, and chanted the traditional prayer to Iovis Pater.

  Two young boys marched from the side of the building towards him, one leading a dazed goat and the other carrying the instruments of sacrifice. In the appropriate time, and without breaking his prayer, the junior consul reached out, took an obsidian knife handed to him by the boy and with a deft motion slit the goat’s neck. The beast shuddered, its knees buckled, and it fell on its side, dead.

  The consul used a different knife to cut open the goat’s
belly, poked about for a bit in the spilt innards, and declared the liver auspicious and showing the gods’ favour for the day’s meeting.

  The gathered men ascended the steps and entered the Senate hall while the junior console washed his hands in a bowl of water and made his way last to the big auditorium. The Senate’s doors are normally kept open during meetings, and from my vantage point amidst the columns on the Basilica Antonia’s portico, I could see the gloomy interior. The men were finding their places on the three marble tiers: current office holders in the first row, minor notables in the middle row, and senators who never rose on the cursus honorum past quaestor as backbenchers on the top row. Servants, slaves, scribes, and clerks were hurrying around, setting folding chairs, delivering scrolls, and whispering updates and gossip.

  One such man, paid handsomely, delivered a folded papyrus to the hands of a clerk. The clerk carried it to his master, who glanced at it abstractedly, then paused to examine it more closely.

  He lifted his eyes, spoke briefly with his clerk, and they both looked around. They couldn’t locate the man who had delivered the papyrus — the messenger having long disappeared in the throng of people getting ready for the Senate’s session.

  The senator broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and read the message. A slow smile arose on his face. He carefully folded the missive back and put it in the sinus of his toga.

  Having little interest in the proceedings of the Senate that day, I calmly strolled out of the shadows of the colonnade and walked away from the Forum. Getting Numicius to the party turned out to be far easier than I first thought it would be. A quick forgery, a message drafted as though from one of his senatorial opponents to another, a quick exchange of coins, and the appearance of a confused scribe delivering the message into the wrong hands. The contents of the fake message referred to a certain exclusive party where back-room deals would be struck and properties would change hands.

  My leads and estimates led me to believe the temptation to crash the party would be too much for Numicius to resist. I fervently hoped I was right, or I would have a very large and unnecessary expenditure to explain to Valerius. I stopped in front of the Collegium Mercatorum, at the fountain of Juno Moneta. This being a fiscal matter, she was the appropriate deity to beseech. I prayed briefly and tossed a silver denarius into the waters for her assistance.

  Chapter XVIII

  The eve of the orgy was quite busy for me. High-society parties were never my thing — or, to be more precise, I was never invited — so I had left most of arrangements to Pompilius. My task was to gather a few respectable collaborators — or at least able to appear so — who wouldn’t mind providing a background cast to the orgy. Considering the people with whom I usually associated, that wasn’t as easy as it might sound. High on interest, low on respectability. I needed a crowd who would fit in well with the Venus’ Swan decor, not the kind that would land me a bill for damages. But I bartered a few favours — managing to give out more than I had to cash in — from some of my more respectable acquaintances and got the right mix of people to be present and advance my master plan.

  I arrived early, made sure Pompilius had everything arranged, and briefed the girls about what favours should be paid to whom and what to pay attention to. Livia would see to the guest of honour, and the others knew to follow her lead if needed.

  Nothing left to do but wait.

  It was well after sunset and the sky was a dark, rich purple. The musicians were going at full blast, plates of delicacies were scattered around the rooms half-eaten, and enough wine had gone down thirsty throats and started to stain togas and tunics. My own guests were already on the tipsy side and I heard the unmistakable sounds of enjoyment from side rooms. If Numicius didn’t show up soon, I’d have a hard time explaining this expense to Flaccus.

  I was starting to get worried about my scheme when Numicius finally made his appearance. He must have timed his arrival to that stage of the party, since he was not formally invited. Numicius was a short, rotund man, with a vast waist and thick jowls. His short, curly, black hair framed a face with sharp teeth and dark, beady little eyes. He was almost a caricature of the quintessential unlikable person. Yet, he exuded undeniable energy and he knew it — smiling warmly around the room as he walked in, as if in benign ownership.

  I gave Livia a discreet nudge and assumed my best bored and disappointed expression. I watched as she greeted Numicius, her scantily-clad curves swaying like a kitten riding a pendulum behind a silken curtain. She guided him to one of the couches near me, caressed his legs as she removed his sandals, then clambered into his lap and fed him peeled grapes.

  “Fetch me some of those nuts instead, meum mel,” he told her. Livia obediently stood up, stepped to a nearby low table, bent down from the waist in way that must have afforded Numicius unparalleled views of her exquisite behind, and scooped up a handful of glazed nuts. She curled back in his lap and hand-fed him the delicacies. In between servings, she nibbled on his earlobes.

  I turned a wearied look in his direction, and on the second attempt caught his eye. I gave him a jaded half-smile and turned away.

  “Quite the girls they have here,” Numicius said. “Or are you waiting for the boys?”

  “They better be pretty,” I answered, “for what I’m paying. Though it seems all for naught.”

  Livia pretended to accidentally drop a candied almond down Numicius’ toga and started to search for it. With her lips.

  “Oh, they are, they are. I’ve been here before and I can assure you, your party will be a success.”

  “It won’t be a success unless the guest of honour arrives,” I retorted.

  “Guest of honour? I cannot imagine anyone of worth would miss an orgy at the Venus’ Swan.”

  His eyes glazed briefly, as a muffled ‘found it!’ came from deep in the folds of his toga.

  “Who, ah, who… is this guest of yours?” He feigned ignorance, though I knew better.

  “Valerius Flaccus. I meant to impress him with the party and to discuss some property deals in the Subvales.”

  “Flaccus? That dried twig will never appreciate the delicacies offered here,” he fondled Livia’s buttocks in emphasis. “I’ll tell you what. I have a few property interests in the Subvales myself. Why don’t I see to this, ah… enthusiastic young lady here and if Valerius doesn’t come by the time I’m done, we could discuss it between ourselves.”

  I turned to face him fully for the first time and put on what I hoped was an expression of only mild interest. “How kind of you, though I fear I really will need Valerius Flaccus for this. But do enjoy the girls. Someone should. Shall I send any more girls for you…,” I waved my hand in the air as if hoping to grasp his name from it, “Uh, I’m not sure we’ve been introduced.”

  “Gaius Numicius,” he said as he stood and hoisted the giggling Livia on his shoulder. “And don’t worry, I think this one will be enough,” he said, giving her buttocks gentle smack.

  ***

  I waited patiently while Livia entertained Numicius. The various moans and cries from the other guests provided a backdrop while I plotted the rest of the night. I hoped to speak with Numicius while Livia was busy distracting him, so I just had to adjust my tack slightly to account for him already being satisfied.

  He took his sweet time about it. Livia was instructed to ply him with wine and delicacies as well as any other pleasure he might crave to ensure a good mood and dimmed sensibilities. I gave the signal and the supporting cast cleared the central room. The stage was set for private discussions.

  Two hours later, he returned. His toga was draped impeccably around him, and, but for a slight rosiness of cheeks, he appeared as though he had just spent the time in philosophical discourse about the origins of the Lupercalia.

  He seated himself next to me with a satisfied sigh. Livia joined us and curled in his lap, but not before pushing a cup of wine int
o his waiting hand. She winked at me as she bent forward to choose some grapes for Numicius.

  “I see that Valerius has not come,” he commented nonchalantly.

  “Sadly,” I lamented. “All this expense for naught. I will need another way to lure him.”

  “What’s that deal you mentioned?” He put on a nonchalant face as Livia fed him peeled grapes.

  “Oh, I had a property transaction to propose to him, something that will at once reduce his headaches and improve his cash flow. It’s a good deal, completely legit on his side, if only I could get him to listen.”

  Numicius hummed while I munched on some nuts. Then, “I could certainly use a property trade with improved cash flow and reduced headaches. I happen to own a few properties around town, so I could well appreciate such a transaction. Tell me more, and perhaps you could interest me instead.”

  “I know of certain… difficulties Valerius has been experiencing, with finding tenants for his Subvales insulae,” I opened. “I was hoping to broker a deal with him. Clear out his troubles just long enough that he could either find new tenants or sell the properties, should he wish to get rid of them altogether. I’m willing to work on commission — reduce his risk and increase my gains.”

  “Are you a real estate specialist?” Numicius asked me, with the most genuine look of disinterested ignorance I have ever seen on the face of someone who was sure to have made enquiries about me and my trade.

  “Uh… not exactly, Gaius Numicius. My name is Spurius Vulpius Felix, commonly known as Felix the Fox. I specialise in solving uncommon problems for common people. Or, at least, common people with enough money to afford my services. A while ago I noticed certain insulae standing abandoned in the Subvales, not far from where I live. Only rarely will our landlords stop leasing a property and our aediles are unlikely to declare a building unfit for living even as it collapses. While the situation was unusual by itself, I then discovered those apartment buildings were completely abandoned — even squatters or neighbours would not go close to them. Word on the street is that they are haunted by lemures of the dead. It sounded just like the kind of unusual problem I could solve for Valerius.”