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

by Assaph Mehr

I would also like to collect Aemilia’s research notes so she can move off this case and concentrate on your council’s celebration planning.

  I reread it and ran my finger over the last line to erase the writing in the wax. No point in promising something I couldn’t keep, nor in getting out of hot water with Cornelia at the price of Aemilia’s displeasure.

  I signed the letter, tied the leather thongs to close the tablet, and muttered a brief prayer to Fortuna to protect me from the fickleness of women.

  Two hours later, when my spirit had been refreshed by the scathing wit of Catullus and my belly revived with Dascha’s brain-and-pine-nuts sausage with fish sauce, there was another knock by the same messenger, quite haggard by now.

  My father’s words stood me in good stead. I was invited to Cornelia’s house for dinner the next day.

  ***

  Dinner was a simple affair, the three of us and Cornelia’s friend Icilia. Aemilia and I were each reclining lengthwise on our separate couches, while Cornelia and Icilia shared the centre couch. I would be flattering myself if I said she needed moral support against my charms; a likelier scenario was that Cornelia wanted an audience for her rebuking of me. I took this to mean that I was still on uneasy footing with Cornelia.

  Cornelia and Aemilia were dressed modestly in tunics and shawls which did nothing to mask their natural beauty. Cornelia had no need to impress Icilia and no doubt instructed her cook not to waste anything expensive on me, but he was still a master of his craft. The delicious and slightly sweet quail and asparagus patina was well-complemented by the garden salad with anchovies and eggs and its tart dressing.

  “The reason I asked to see you first,” I opened once we were all settled with watered wine, “is that I would appreciate your insight and craftiness on what is becoming a delicate matter.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere,” retorted Cornelia, though my experience with women suggested otherwise.

  “I have managed to get close to Numicius with the pretext of brokering a deal with Lucius Valerius for the afflicted insulae. That, in itself, is not a problem, though I will have to be careful not to appear in public to be acquainted with Valerius. My goal is to get Numicius to confirm he is behind Ambustus’ curse tablets, preferably with more witnesses that just I. That will be the linchpin of a court case against him. I know you keep tabs on the Senate and are intimately familiar not only with their official discourse, but also with their public and private personalities. Surely you have some insight on how to approach the man — what I can use to gain his trust and push him to confess.”

  Cornelia pulled a quail apart and sucked on its bones in thought. “Numicius is not a great public figure, as you must know. He was a plebeian aedile a while back and ran a couple of times for the praetorship before finally getting elected. That’s enough to sit in the middle tier of the Senate, and I suspect he’ll be aiming even higher, though I wouldn’t give a dried fig for his chances at becoming consul.”

  “His chances aren’t that low,” said Icilia. “His father was a praetor and his grandfather one of the minor flamines. The priest for Pomona, if I recall. I think they also had a consul once, but that would have been a long time ago.”

  “Yes, yes, I think so,” agreed Cornelia. “You always had a great memory for genealogy.” She paused again, helping herself to some of the eggy patina. “His wife is a Faucia, a woman of no consequence. Her family comes from Ausculum, where their fortunes grew on pig farming.” She snorted. “Well, her manners are not much better than the pigs’. She has been trying to worm her way with gifts and gossip into every little clique of high-society women.”

  “Oh, rather!” Icilia interjected. “She has been hounding me and some close friends, seeking admittance to our circles. Very regrettably she has managed to gain influence on certain ladies whose families are down on luck and low on fortunes.”

  “She is insufferable!” continued Cornelia. “We were recently discussing the winter celebration to the Magna Mater at some unrelated party. I don’t know who invited her, but she wandered over and prattled on and on about the Bona Dea, and how the Great Mother was not a native to Egretia. I gave her a quick history lesson — how it was written in the sacred Sibylline scrolls that the Magna Mater would save our city in the time of war, and how the chaste Claudia Quinta, that great patrician woman, saved her statue from falling to the river and thus saved our city from calamity. We sent her home with her skirts aflutter! I can assure you she will not make it into any circle of women who matter in this city.”

  “What could you tell me of her relationship with Numicius?” I asked in a vague attempt to get back on topic.

  “Oh, no scandals. Neither of them strays, at least not enough to make the gossip. He needed money and her family needed an entry into Egretia.”

  “Both got less than what they bargained for, if you ask me,” Icilia snorted.

  Slaves took away the patina dish and brought in a tray of fresh and dried fruits. Before Cornelia and Icilia could dive back into the intricacies of female politics, I said, “I doubt Faucia would provide me an angle to get Numicius. Even if he confided in her, and she then confided in either of you —” both Cornelia and Icilia shuddered at the thought — “the courts will not accept the testimony of a woman. I’m afraid I will need something more direct.”

  “Perhaps the nature of the curses…” Aemilia began, her first comment since greeting me that evening.

  “Don’t bring that up at dinner, dear,” Cornelia cut her off. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “It’s bad enough you spend your daylight hours with those awful things.”

  I could see Aemilia had recovered from her ordeal with the snake. She was positively bouncing at the prospect of discussing the curses. Only the dark looks from her mother kept her from continuing that discussion.

  “I would leave you to mull it over,” I addressed Cornelia. “What motivation might a man such as Numicius have to use curses, and how we might tempt him to admit to being behind them.”

  “But I thought last time you explained that everyone uses tabulae defixiones. You said some lawyers would not appear in court before first cursing their opposing counsel,” quipped Aemilia.

  “There is a difference between selling ineffectual lucky charms to the gullible and using nefastum scientiam to wreak deadly havoc within city walls. I am hoping your mother — and Icilia — will be able to shed some light on his motivation behind this. Understanding the man’s motives will help us bring suit against him.”

  “So, what do you plan now?” from Cornelia.

  “Three things. First, I need a discreet way to meet with Valerius outside of some public performances for Numicius’ sake. What before was merely your graciousness, has now become critical to this case. There is no way we can meet in his home or any of his offices around the Forum without his clients noticing and tongues wagging. I hope we may still rely on your hospitality and discretion, both for meeting and for passing messages.”

  Cornelia nodded, her mouth twisting into a tight smile.

  “Second,” I continued, “I will keep searching for evidence Valerius can take to court. A confession would be ideal, but we must not neglect other avenues.” My gaze flickered towards Aemilia, who clearly understood. I waved my hand gently at her and turned back to Cornelia, who was pulling her shawl tight again.

  “Lastly, while Faucia might be a country bumpkin and not in your circles, I’m certain that through the women’s gossip network we can learn more about Numicius and his plans. He made quite a point of mentioning the shrine to his late mother. I would love to know anything you could find out about the woman, and any advice you could come up with on how we could press him with it, unbalance him. When a man is provoked, he acts in fear and anger — reactions which will cause him to make mistakes that might cost him the trial. You could be the one providing us the key to his eventual defeat.”

/>   ***

  Soon after, it was time to disperse the dinner party. I had written a message for Valerius which Cornelia sent with a courier, and still had the curse tablets to discuss with Aemilia. I managed to get Cornelia to thaw her attitudes towards me with the flattery and scheming over dinner and didn’t want to ruin that by being too open on a subject she considered taboo. After Aemilia kissed her mother goodnight, I got up and proclaimed I needed to continue with my work.

  Cornelia did not invite me to remain behind, but neither did she have me ejected from her house, for she surely knew where I was heading and what subject Aemilia and I were about to discuss. I took it to mean that, while I was perhaps not back in her good graces just yet, she was willing to overlook things for now. A safer bet, based on my knowledge of women in general, was that between the sulking treatment of the past few days and any resumption of cordial relations, would be a scathing discussion of my faults and failings in this — and, potentially, many other — matters. I never could understand why men married.

  I didn’t need to call after Aemilia. She was waiting for me a few paces from the triclinium. “My mother doesn’t like to even mention the workings of magia. I really wasn’t expecting her to be so old-fashioned about this.”

  “I believe she just doesn’t want to dwell on your involvement with it. She isn’t happy that you are exposed to such shady dealings.”

  “But why is it wrong of me to want to know more? And it’s not like I’m exposed to anything besides the occasional woodlouse, being cooped up with the scrolls!”

  “You’ve met Araxus and seen what careless run-in with magia can bring. I’ve witnessed worse — much worse. I won’t see you come to a horrible end. The only reason I’m involving you in this at all, is that I know you wouldn’t listen otherwise. You should learn the risks and dangers for yourself if you are to avoid trouble in the future.”

  My outburst made her take a step back. It’s a lesson she needed to learn — I wasn’t ready to have her on my conscience. Like Helena.

  Having just barely pacified Cornelia, though, I didn’t wish to antagonise Aemilia. I continued, “Anyway, it’s a good compromise between you and your mother, as both of you seem equally unhappy with it.” Aemilia only harrumphed in return. “Let’s talk about your research, then. Come and tell me what you found.”

  Aemilia led me to the library — her girl and guard never more than two steps away — where we lit an oil lamp and settled at her desk. I didn’t need to prod her. As soon as she started talking about the research, her eyes lit up and the pace of her speech quickened. She was covering all I had asked of her — the language used, the particular words of supplications, the gods both mentioned and alluded to, promises, vows, contracts between humans and numina. She referenced material beyond that which I gave her and brought out academic treatises and obscure poems. She talked animatedly, gesturing, shuffling the scrolls for the latest quote, jumping up to pace about, then sitting back down abruptly to open another wax tablet with scratched notes.

  It wasn’t, strictly speaking, necessary for the case. We knew the how and the who. But her references could still prove useful when I delivered my testimony. Courtroom oratory is an art unto itself and her research would aid me in delivering the necessary flowery allusions to carry more weight. Linking my observances to the curses, to the gods, to history, and to literature creates a powerful speech — one more likely to sway the listeners with my authority on the matter.

  I was, I’ll admit, in awe. Without any formal education, at least in the arts of incantation, she had a breadth of knowledge in a variety of fields of philosophy. From theological to medical and oratorical to metaphysical, she seemed to have read — and remembered — more than some of my old tutors. But even beyond that, I was in awe of her ability to make connections. She cross-referenced a turn of phrase in a curse tablet with a similar phrase in a two-century old translation of an Hellenic play, and linked it to the god discussed in the play. From there she jumped to an aspect of that deity in Ovidius’ Metamorphoses, then back to the curse tablet to show how that aspect might be enticed by a promise of a specific sacrifice mentioned. Her research into the science of effective cursing stretched from the advance preparation of the tablets to the phenomena we observed.

  The real tabulae defixiones are half-way between folk magic and proper incantation. They rely on a supplication to the gods done to specific measures for real effects. They still depend upon precise words and formulae — an essential requirement to any working of magia — but are more forgiving than, say, an elementor’s specialised incantation to freeze water into ice. This technique of supplication — and it does not matter whether you believe the numina to be conscious gods or merely forces of nature — allows the magia to slowly accumulate in the tablets, to be shaped by the particular words and symbols, and cause their intended effect without burning through the veneficitor using them.

  Aemilia was brilliant in picking up on that science. Some of the connections she made I knew to be wrong; others I was unsure of. But many I knew or suspected to be correct. And she had managed to do this based solely on classical tutoring and a short instruction by me — a man who never finished his own education. It made me wonder how our society would turn out if women were allowed to study at the collegia. Only the gods know for sure, though I suspected the result would be a more orderly world.

  As her lecture was drawing to an end, I felt desperate to keep her going. Her slave girl had curled up in a corner and fallen asleep, while the bodyguard was leaning against the wall outside the library. We sat, heads together and open wax tablets all about, as we worked on deconstructing incantation terms from flowery embellishments.

  Every incantator leaves his mark in incantations, like a signet seal in wax. Some might take pride in it while others might try to hide it, but just like a woman wearing makeup, the reality is always the same underneath. One can discern this personal signature by how an incantator builds up his charms.

  And, more importantly, once extracted by a discerning individual, this signature could be used to incriminate Ambustus in a court of law.

  I would like to blame the wine for what happened next, though that would be disingenuous. As we were poring over the tablets, leaning close, talking animatedly, Aemilia absorbing my clumsy teachings and building upon them, both of us excited at the intellectual exercise, some part at the back of my mind kept its attention on other things — the dark blue circles around Aemilia’s gold-flecked, grey irises; the way her cheeks dimpled and blushed when I paid her a compliment; the jangle from her ankle bracelet as she shifted her legs under the table; the caress of her tunic against my shins. Even the dark subject matter could barely dissuade my mind from noticing everything about her.

  But the most piquant — and cruelest — of all was the scent of her hair. Attar of roses, a touch of cinnamon, and something else I could not identify. The Fates had her wear the same oils as Helena, the only woman to have stolen my heart. I thought Helena kept my heart with her when she passed from our world to that of the dead, yet now, for the second time in my life and over a decade later, Aemilia evoked in my chest the same fluttery feeling.

  And so, with the wine, the excitement, the proximity of her eyes, and the overpowering scent of the familiar perfume, I kissed her.

  In the middle of her sentence, engulfed by the heady aroma of her hair, I put my lips to hers, felt her stiffen in surprise, then her lips’ soft, inviting warmth melted into mine. We were both lost in that kiss. Nothing else existed — no light, nor sound, nor any sensation, bar that overwhelming explosion from the gentlest caress where our lips touched.

  I found enough of my senses and leaned back, staring, my mind numb and my heart racing. She had her eyes closed and an ethereal smile dimpled her ruddy cheeks. I pushed myself backwards, the chair dragging on the floor, making an ugly sound. She opened her eyes as I stood.

  “I’m sor
ry,” I mumbled as I scrambled out of that room, out of that house.

  Chapter XXI

  Trusting my message from the previous night had reached Valerius, I went to the Forum the following morning. The day after the Nones of September that year was marked as endotercissus and the Forum was taken over by priests and acolytes of various colleges preparing sacrifices for that night. While business was permitted in the middle of the day, no Senate meeting was called. This curtailed the public speakers and spectacles, but hawkers and vendors compensated to keep the noise level constant.

  I put the time to good use — talking to everyone who would listen, pretending to have great interest in understanding when the next Senate meeting would take place, and ‘accidentally’ letting it slip that I was looking for Valerius Flaccus for a property deal. I worked from one end of the Forum to the other and trusted the gossips to spread the word for me. I was vindicated when news of my quest reached the other end of the Forum before I did.

  That done, I walked up the Clivus Incudis to the Clivi Ulterior and Valerius’ domus. In a quiet moment, I knocked on the gate and verified the door-slave had his instructions. Then I waited across the road in the shade of a fig tree till a passing senator and his retinue rounded the corner. I swarmed into action, knocking and attempting to berate and bribe the door-slave to grant me admission and enduring his rebuff. I repeated this exercise twice more, for the benefit of other important-looking passers-by.

  At the ninth hour, the door-slave opened the gate, jerked his head in my direction, then shut the gate quickly. I got up from the shade and made my way unobserved to the slaves’ entrance.

  My second interview with Valerius at his mansion was conducted in his study. Like the rest of his house, it was neat and orderly, with understated decorations that demonstrated his family’s security in its generations of good fortunes and tastes.

  Once pleasantries were exchanged and I had given him an account of my talks with Numicius, we discussed strategy.