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

by Assaph Mehr

  “Is Gaius Petreius at home, Tilla?” I asked.

  “You are in need of patching up again, Fox?” She replied.

  “Indeed. I’ve also got an interesting case for him.” I pointed at Borax.

  Tilla appraised him, then spoke rapidly in her own language. Borax answered in the same. She said something to him that made him blush.

  While we waited in the atrium, I asked Borax what she told him. He blushed an even deeper shade of red and shook his head, refusing to answer.

  “Salve, Felix. Still up to no good?” Petreius, a classically handsome man despite approaching sixty, had mellowed with age — I was expecting sterner words.

  “All in the service of our city, Gaius Petreius. I hope your new private practice for the rich and their digestion has not dimmed your field-medic skills. Got a couple of patch-up-and-get-back-in-there jobs for you.”

  Petreius led us to a large room off the atrium. In the middle was an examination table, and the walls were lined with cabinets holding the various instruments of medics everywhere — from bandages and salves, to scalpels and bone-saws. In the corner was his desk and favourite folding chair.

  “Let’s start with the easy case,” I said as I hobbled to the examination table and lifted myself to sit on it.

  Petreius walked over to peer and my leg, and quickly took a step back. “Where have you been, man? You smell like you just cleaned the Augean stables.”

  “Close enough. We had to take a detour through the sewers.”

  “Don’t tell me — I don’t want to know.” He called for slaves to bring him a basin and warm water, and to help wash my feet.

  Once cleaned, he peered closer, hmm’ed and tsk’ed, said, “I thought I taught you first aid,” and went about setting my ankle. “Bite on this,” he handed me a piece of wood. I obediently placed it in my mouth and closed my eyes. Petreius removed my sandal and prodded the swollen ankle, bringing tears to my eyes. “You’re soaking wet. Did you go swimming? Got drunk at the races and fell in the sewers, did you now?”

  “I missed the races, as a matter of fact,” I mumbled around the wood in my mouth.

  “Ah, double shame then. I heard the Reds’ victory was legendary. Or at least, that was the drunken singing outside my window recently. Can you imagine the quadriga in full gallop?”

  My answer was a scream, which didn’t quite mask the squelching, grating noises as he used the distraction to pull my bones into place. While I regained my breath, he proceeded to bandage the ankle with strips of linen soaked in plaster. Despite my pain, or perhaps because of it and the heightened sensations it brought, I felt a slight tingling on my skin. The mixture of plaster contained other elements, with traces of magia that would speed my healing.

  “You’ll have to wait until this dries before you can go anywhere. Now, you mentioned two cases?”

  I motioned Borax to the table. “Show him your hand.”

  Borax cautiously extended his right arm. Flakes of ash wafted from the charred stump of his wrist. Petreius sucked in his breath, then leaned closer, peering. He took Borax’s arm gently in his, carefully turning it around as he examined it and scraped it delicately with a thin, metal instrument. “This was not done by any ordinary fire,” he stated. “There are no red burn scars around it. Just living flesh one point, charcoal the next. Does it hurt?”

  “Not now,” Borax shook his head. “Only when he’d done it.”

  “It was a new kind of incantation. An unguent of some sort and a rather tricky chant to activate it,” I told Petreius. “I saw a variation of it used — and then reversed — on his other hand.”

  He perked up, moving to examine Borax’s left hand. He compared the dead wrist to the pink hand. “I don’t suppose you’ve kept any samples of any of it…?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I answered. I knew Petreius well enough to know that his interest was in the healing aspect, and that I could trust him with any samples. He was certainly good enough to attempt to deconstruct what Ambustus had performed. “Whatever there was went up in flames, before sinking down into the depths of the bay — together with the man who made them.”

  “Right. Never a simple case with you. I’ll no doubt hear all about it tomorrow, when my patients gossip. Do me a favour and don’t tell anyone you stopped here,” said Petreius, while scraping charcoal skin samples from Borax’s wrist into round dishes, no doubt for future research.

  In the end there was nothing much he could do. He cleaned the stump, working gently as if it were a scab or a real burn wound. Since it was effectively cauterised and did not show any signs of bleeding or oozing pus, he simply applied some general healing salves and bandaged it with clean linen.

  We waited for my cast to dry so I could walk, as it was far too late to find a litter to carry us. We continued chatting, reminiscing about army life and gossiping about past acquaintances. Petreius was sitting behind his desk, rocking the front two legs of his chair off the floor.

  I could see him torn between professional curiosity and the desire not to get involved in dark dealings, but he didn’t broach the subject. He had the samples from Borax’s skin, and would no doubt investigate them for himself, safely and discreetly.

  The wait also meant a dinner invitation. I am sure Petreius could afford a cook, but apparently Tilla had insisted on cooking something herself. No doubt for the benefit of Borax, her erstwhile countryman. She instructed a maid to set the dishes for all of us at the examination table, serving Borax — a slave — together with the free men. I’ve heard her speak her mind before and knew better than to point this out.

  “This gives men strength,” she said. It was a thick, roundish, greyish, sausage-y kind of blob, filled with what smelled like minced offal. Then boiled. Possibly fried again. Tilla herself cut thick slices and served them on plates, together with vegetables that had been needlessly sacrificed by being boiled to death till they turned to mush. Petreius’ face became completely impassive when he saw the dish, and he averted his gaze. He was extremely cautious not to indicate even the slightest opinion about it.

  Borax’s face lit up at the sight and smells of the dish. He attempted to eat it by breaking it with a fork. Using just his left hand was awkward, though, as the sausage casing was a tad rubbery. Tilla clucked, took his fork and knife, and started to cut pieces and feed him. He made feeble attempts to complain, but was silenced by a short staccato of foreign language.

  “Men of my tribe walk many miles driving cattle, eating just this for days,” Tilla told us. I don’t know if this dish was the origin of the legendary strength and stamina of the Arbari men, but I certainly could see them walking for days eating just that. After a single bite, I was willing to walk any distance needed to get away from it. There was not enough fish sauce in the world to make it palatable.

  Scroll III - Judicium

  Chapter XXVII

  There was nothing left for me to do. The curses had been removed from the insulae and I had extracted as much evidence as I could out of Numicius, though it still didn’t amount to much beyond my word. Valerius would call me as a witness at the trial, but until that time my involvement with this case was done.

  I attended to neglected facets of my life. I sacrificed to Fortuna, donated current profits and pledged future profits to her temple. I returned Borax to Crassitius, weathered his abuse at damaged goods, and forfeited my deposit. Borax, never talkative, was practically taciturn. His future was in doubt, as the only thing he was trained to do was taken from him. I knew Crassitius would not throw him out on the street, but there was nothing more I could do for him.

  I hadn’t been to Cornelia’s house nor exchanged any notes since I kissed Aemilia. All I had to do was stay home and nurse my broken ankle back to health.

  Or so I thought.

  Valerius was not satisfied with the written report I sent him. He wanted to meet in person, together with
Quintus Aquilius, to discuss details and plan the speeches for the trial. All items of evidence must be reviewed, their strengths and weaknesses debated. Arguments need to be presented in the best sequence during the speech and oratory tricks must be assigned to distract the jury and crowd from weak points and enhance the strong ones. I have worked with lawyers before, and knew of their obsession with drafting, redrafting, and practising their delivery in terms of pitch of voice and gestures of hand for hours at a time. The final performance in court would be like a well-rehearsed play, adhering to the strict rules of rhetoric and aimed at achieving maximum effect.

  My objection on the grounds of my leg was summarily dismissed. Valerius would send a litter to carry me. I just needed to make myself available the next day. Since he was still paying — very handsomely — for my time, I had no choice but to agree.

  ***

  I made myself comfortable in Valerius’ tablinum. A couch was brought into his study for my benefit, so I could put my leg up. Valerius was seated at his desk, on which piles of scrolls and wax tablets lay open. Quintus Aquilius had a backless seat next to the desk, but kept jumping out of it to deliver impromptu snippets of oratory. He was practising his delivery, discarding phrases that didn’t work and jotting down the sparkling ones lest he forget.

  They were working on the opening segment when I arrived, so I waited patiently for their questions. “We must pre-empt any attempt by Numicius to bribe the jury,” said Valerius, drawling his nemesis’ name in disgust. “It’s almost a given he would buy votes.”

  “How about this, then.” Aquilius strode to the middle of the room, closed his eyes for a moment. He then raised his hand dramatically, gestured towards me as though I was a senator sitting with the jury, and spoke in the clear, slightly high-pitched, orator’s voice.

  "That which was above all things to be desired, O noble conscript fathers, and which above all things was calculated to have the greatest influence towards putting an end to the discredit into which your judicial decisions have fallen, appears to have been thrown in your way, and given to you not by any human contrivance, but almost by the interposition of the gods. For an opinion has now become established, pernicious to us, and pernicious to the republic, which has been the common talk of everyone, not only at Egretia, but among foreign nations also, that in the courts of law as they exist at present, no wealthy man, however guilty he may be, can possibly be convicted.

  "Now, at this time when men are ready to attempt by harangues to increase the existing unpopularity of the senate, Gaius Numicius is brought to trial as a criminal, a man condemned in the opinion of everyone by his life and actions, but acquitted by the enormousness of his wealth according to his own hope and boast. I, O judges, have undertaken this cause as prosecutor with the greatest good wishes and expectation on the part of the Egretian people, not in order to increase the unpopularity of the senate, but to relieve it from the discredit lest I one day share with it. For I have brought before you a man, by acting justly in whose case you have an opportunity of retrieving the lost credit of your judicial proceedings, of regaining your credit with the Egretian people, and of giving satisfaction to the gods. This man is the betrayer of public trust, the petty tyrant of the docks and people of our city, the violator of ancient laws, the disgrace and ruin of all that we hold sacred.

  "And, if you come to a decision about this man with severity and a due regard to your oaths, that authority which ought to remain in you will cling to you still; but if that man’s vast riches shall break down the sanctity and honesty of the courts of justice, at least I shall achieve this -- that it shall be plain that it was rather honest judgement that was wanting to the republic, than a criminal to the judges, or an accuser to the criminal."

  “Oh, I like that!” Valerius exclaimed and scribbled furiously, capturing Aquilius’ words. “You have just equated a verdict of innocence with tacit admission of bribery.” When he was done, he handed the wax tablet to Aquilius, who in turn scanned the written lines and made some adjustments. He then placed the tablet on a side table, presumably with others he wanted to keep.

  “Let us put this aside for now and concentrate on Felix’s testimony,” instructed Valerius. “I want to be sure the meat and bones of the evidence are as solid as they can be. The jury and crowd must have no doubt left in their minds both of the atrocities done in Numicius’ name, but also of his ultimate involvement. It’s such a pity we could not string his toady Ambustus together with him at the same trial.”

  I personally thought Ambustus got off easy and was not sorry to see him gone. Trials are unpredictable at best, but I thought better than to voice that opinion.

  “You are an experienced witness as I understand it,” said Aquilius. “Why don’t you act as though you’re giving testimony at the trial? We’ll build up from there.”

  “Very well,” I replied. I took a moment to place myself in the right frame of mind and began. “I was hired by the noble Lucius Valerius Flaccus, whose illustrious family’s patronage any citizen would be consider an honour. Not finding tenants to fill up his excellently maintained insulae —”

  “Maybe we can just skip to the facts, for now,” interjected Valerius. “We’ll worry about the flourishes later.”

  “As you wish,” I said. “I started with canvassing the three properties, the neighbours, and the remaining residents in one of them. I wanted to hear for myself what transpired there to scare off tenants. I wanted to form a hypothesis regarding whether this was the work of hooligans and gangs scaring your tenants, or whether there was indeed more to it. While some of the stories, such as random voices and screams in the night, could be explained by work of human agents, others could not. A skilled burglar might be able to sneak a snake into a toddler’s crib, but when I examined the blood-stained walls at one insula and the claw marks at another — it was plain no mortal hand could have traced those. I could feel the traces of magia left behind by unholy incantations.”

  “Could you expand on this?” asked Aquilius.

  “Explain the tracing of magia?”

  “No, elaborate on the atrocities you found there.”

  I did. He paled at my description of blood-spattered walls and unnatural hoof-prints in the blood. He turned green at my description of rotting human remains, lying broken and mangled in dark corners. It was Valerius who asked me to stop, when I reached the baby being eaten alive by animated snakes.

  “I think we heard enough,” Valerius said. “Felix can spin a yarn well enough. I am sure the jury will be just as horrified by his testimony as we are. Let’s move on, and tie this to Numicius.”

  I moved on to describe how I uncovered to cause of the unnatural events. I never once mentioned Aemilia in my account. “The trick I used with the psilocybe will be understood by any who have attended the Collegium Incantatorum and by dabblers in the mystical arts. It will be looked down upon, though. It is not nearly as precise as the visus verum. Yet without it, and having never graduated from the Collegium, I could not explain how I located the tabulae defixiones. What would you have me say?”

  “Your credentials will come under scrutiny no matter what. You might as well mention it and give the weight of known techniques to your testimony,” replied Aquilius. “Make it ‘at great personal risk’, to show your dedication to the cause. Here, when you introduce the subject of the mushrooms and where they led you, do it like this.” He strode to the middle again, placed his left hand on his heart as though holding the toga, and gestured with his right.

  "I seem to myself to have done an action acceptable to Valerius Flaccus and his tenants in seeking to avenge their injuries with my own labour, at my own peril, and at the risk of incurring enmity in some quarters; and I am sure that this which I am doing is not less acceptable to all Egretian citizens, who think that the safety of their rights, of their liberty, of their properties and fortunes, consists in the condemnation of that man."


  “Oh, jolly good!” exclaimed Valerius. “Elevating this to a case of public safety and justice, not merely property squabbles.”

  “And not far from the truth, either,” I added. “Shall I brandish the lead tablets? I can pull them out at the right moment as the cause of the bloody events. Once that stirs a commotion, I shall, of course, assuage any doubts that they have been properly neutralised, again at great personal risk. When everyone has their attention on the tablet in my hands, I could gesture with them at Numicius to help strengthen the connection.”

  “You should have been a lawyer, Felix,” Aquilius commented after a short silence.

  “Moving on then,” Valerius continued. “After removing the tablets and rendering them inert, you had the task of finding who placed the curses — and, in turn, who ultimately commissioned him.”

  “Before that, there is a matter I think was neglected. It could affect the case. It is rather delicate, so I am not sure if you would wish to bring it up.”

  “Well, what is it?” asked Valerius.

  “In the last insula I treated, I had to start a fire to combat some manifestation of the nefas magia of the curses. While the fire was fuelled mainly with leaves, so would not have damaged the property —”

  “Think nothing of it,” Valerius gestured grandly, which I took to mean he already knew that no serious damage was done.

  “— but mixed in the fuel were some incantations to increase the smoke. Now, it’s quite possible that the vigiles never entered the insula, for fear of the curses or of collapse. Or, that their report got filed under pranks. Or, that no one with sensitivity was around to sense the fire and smoke had more to them than belongs in our world. It’s possible, for that matter, that no one of sensibilities and rank had been near the insulae in the weeks they stood empty under the influences of the curses. Even, perhaps, that this year the rhones of the Collegium Incantatorum are even more inept than usual. But my guts scream there are too many implausibilities in this chain of events to explain without resorting to the simpler explanation — namely that Numicius owns one or several of this year’s rhones.”