by Assaph Mehr
The slow conversation gave me a chance to reflect on our situation. I could pretend this was the work of Cupid, but I suspected Priapus was a likelier culprit. Unprofessional was the least of the epithets for my actions. Moronic would be more appropriate. By continuing along this line of action, I would be making my life complicated, on both professional and personal planes. Worse, I would be ruining Aemilia’s life.
And yet…
She was different from my Helena and yet so similar. Dark auburn hair rather than blond. Grey eyes to green. Similar age, but ten years had passed for me. Aemilia, the product of two old and noble Egretian families. Helena, a recent immigrant — a foreigner. One with prospects of a constrained life amongst the elite, the other with control of her own life, but few prospects. Yet both full of enthusiasm, indomitable spirits. The same dancing smile, the same mischief in their eyes.
Aemilia was smiling at me, blushing lightly, and not even the painful memory of Helena’s dead and mutilated body could stop my heart from melting.
***
All things come to an end, whether enjoyable or deplorable. At the eighth hour of the day, Aemilia’s chaperone started to fuss, reminding her mistress that Cornelia was expecting them for dinner well before dark.
I escorted Aemilia to my front door, limping along with my crutch. When the guards stepped outside to the alley first and were followed by Aemilia’s girl and chaperone, the latter eager to get going, I took the opportunity to steal one last kiss. She froze, her eyes widening in surprise before fluttering shut. She melted into my lips, my arms.
It was a gut-wrenching thing to tear her away and push her gently to the street before anyone was the wiser.
I leaned against the wall, deflated, confused. Well, perhaps not confused. Many conflicting emotions ran through me, to the point I was shaking as I stood, but I knew well enough what I was doing, why, and what was wrong with it. Aemilia was both an inescapable lodestone and a living, breathing reminder of my loss. I was furious with myself for letting this happen, for making it happen — yet at the same time unable to stop myself.
And, if I did not want her to end up like Helena, I had better back away. My life, with its danger and subterfuge, was not fit for young girls, a lesson painfully learnt.
I straightened up, forcefully exhaled a deep breath, and made my way inside, relishing in the pain of stepping on my ankle while resolving to find myself something to occupy my time away from women.
***
As if to reinforce my resolve to protect Aemilia, in a grim reminder of my past, the next morning I found Araxus knocking on my door. He was bedraggled, stooped, unwashed, unshaven, but his green right eye was looking at me openly and the mad black one seemingly under his control.
“Do you have a pig?” he asked before I could say anything.
“Ah…”
“Never mind, you will. It’s about the tabulae defixiones that we disposed of the other day. Do you still have them?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Why?”
“I wanted to check something.”
My hackles rose. “Do you think they are not inert? I thought we disposed of their magia safely.”
“We did, we did. They are nothing but plumber’s supplies now. Could I see them, please?”
“Did you think of some new aspect?” I asked, motioning for him to follow me to my study. I dug out the curse tablets and handed them over.
He unfolded one carefully and examined the engraved signs. As he read, his green right eye clouded, darkened, became as black as his mad left eye. Clouds drifted past my window and the room acquired a chill.
“Well?” I asked. “What is it?”
He turned both black eyes on me, his gaze boring into my soul. Shivers ran up my spine and my broken ankle began to ache and throb.
“It’s as I feared,” he said, voice rasping. “There is more baaa to this than a baaa curse. It’s not a mere supplication to the major baaa gods, it’s almost a love sonnet baaa to invite them to procreate. Do you realise what this baaa means?”
“It means you are insane.”
“No! It means that the black sheep has three bags of wool! Baaa!” And with this he broke into a mad little jig, reciting a silly children’s ditty about lambs. After a while I gave up trying to restore his reason, and — somewhat fearful that in his mad state he might reactivate the curse tablets — escorted him out of my house.
After Araxus left, I needed some time away from everyone and decided I would not be getting it at home.
Given my impaired mobility, I could not take on another case. I was in no condition to walk far, but I limped down to the docks between the grain and fish markets, found a good corner, and left a honey-cake in the shrine of the nearest crossroad lar. I chalked ‘FORTUNES TOLD, CURSES IDENTIFIED’ on the wall, sat down on a folding stool under it, put on airs, and busied myself with a scroll by Thrasyllus on star-gazing which looked impressive with all its strange and foreign symbols.
People being what they are, especially sailors and dock-workers, I scraped enough quadrans and semis that day to cover a night of drinking. Calculating people’s horoscopes is tedious, but at least cleaner than haruspicy. One sailor wanted me to write a curse against his fellow, whom he swore stole his lucky fascinum when they were asleep. I scribbled a supplication to Hygieia — about as magical as a bucket of piss — to withdraw her protection from the thief’s health. I also sold him a mild laxative in the guise of ‘special medicine’ and told him to slip it in the evening meal whilst at sea to reveal the guilty party to all. On the off-chance he was wrong about the culprit, the laxative was to go into the main pot and the supplication into the fire. I taught him meaningless doggerel to repeat, so I could claim it was his fault for botching it. Thoughts of future winds generated below decks by an overly flatulent crew cheered me up.
It also kept my mind away from Aemilia and what I needed to do with her.
On the way home, I could feel my ankle getting stronger. Whatever charms Petreius had weaved into the cast were working their magic. Still, limping on a plastered leg, a crutch in one hand and my folding stool and scrolls in the other, was hard enough without impairing my balance further. So despite a strong desire to forget Aemilia, my better judgement prevailed and I only had one drink on the way home. I sat in a tavern, ordered some fried and stuffed bread, and sipped a half-decent vintage that required just a pinch of cloves and sugar of lead to make it palatable.
I was about to leave for home when Araxus walked in and, with a heavy sigh, sat at my table. Without looking at me or any acknowledgement, he took my cup and poured the dregs of wine from the jug into it. There was barely a quarter-cup left. He dipped his finger in the little saucer of sugar, then swirled the wine with it. As he did, the wine rose, filling the cup. I was still in shocked silence when he lifted it up to his lips and drank deeply. While that spoke volumes about his table manners, it gave me little clue about his mental state.
“And hello to you, too,” I finally said. “What brings you into the town?”
“I need to find my friend Felix,” he said. “He needs my help.”
“Oh? Do tell. What trouble has ‘Felix’ gotten himself into this time?”
“He needs a priest.”
“You are no priest,” I said.
“And neither is he. You see,” he leaned close to me, his reek overwhelming, “we could never worship the Magna Mater — we love our testicles too much!” At this he erupted into inane giggles which turned into hiccoughs.
Still, he could be prophetic at times. Not for nothing is the power of prophecy linked to curses and madness. “Why does he need a priest?”
“How should I know?” he said.
“So how do you know he needs one?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Who?”
“Felix! You said he needs a priest!”
“Felix, what are you talking about? Who needs a priest?”
I took a deep breath. “You just walked in here, said you were looking for me because I need a priest.”
“Did I? No one in your family left to die, so perhaps you’re getting married soon?”
I had enough of him, and stood up to leave, dropping a few coins on the table. Araxus’ hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His green eye was still looking at the wine cup, but his black one looked straight at me, through me.
“I will be there when you need me,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I still have much of my debt to repay you.”
Chapter XXX
The alley leading to my front door was packed. A closed litter was resting on wooden blocks, its eight burly, dark-skinned slaves standing idly next to the poles, staring into space. More worrying was the detachment of armed guards giving pointed looks to passers-by.
I might have kept going, pretending I was someone else, but the hour was late and there was no other way to get to my house. So, I made my way to my front door — or tried to. A short man wearing a well-tailored tunic stepped in front of me. “Spurius Vulpius Felix, I presume?”
“Who wants to know?” I asked.
“Marcus Romilius, sent by Lucius Valerius Flaccus. I have a letter for you.” He handed me a wax tablet, Valerius’ signet of the auroch imprinted in the wax seal that matched a circular emblem on his tunic.
I broke the seal.
To Spurius Vulpius Felix, from Lucius Valerius Flaccus, greetings.
My sincere hopes that this letter finds you in good health. I would not disrupt your recuperation so close to the trial, but new evidence has come to light — evidence on which I would greatly appreciate your opinion. Please make yourself available immediately. I have sent a litter to provide you with all the comfort of travel, so you should not need to exert yourself overly much.
I was glad I sacrificed yesterday to Fortuna Redux, her aspect that promises a safe return to home. I had a feeling I would need it.
I climbed into the litter with some assistance, made myself comfortable on the cushions, and closed the curtains. This was a different litter than Valerius had sent for me before and, judging by the number of pillows, presumably this one was used by his wife. There was a bit of a rocking motion as the slaves bent down and hoisted the litter up and soon we settled into a rhythmic jostling as the little convoy made its way up the sides of Vergu. Valerius’ domus was on the highest reaches of the Clivi Ulterior, so I prepared myself for a long hour of leisurely travel. From the selection of scrolls I had with me, and in consideration of the upcoming trial, I picked De Legibus Magiarum, that classical treatise about the laws of incantations and man.
With the curtains closed and with my concentration devoted to reading in the rapidly fading light, I missed how the litter took the wrong turn once we were halfway up the mountain. When the slaves stopped and lowered it gently to the blocks of wood and I opened the curtains, I was facing Cornelia’s front door. Valerius had neglected to mention the location of this urgent meeting.
I was completely unprepared. For a moment, I wished I sacrificed yesterday to Fortuna Atrox as well as Fortuna Redux. The savage goddess of blind fate surely had a say in what was about to happen.
There was nothing for me to do, except let the valet assist me in climbing down and make my way inside the lion’s den.
***
I was escorted by Cornelia’s majordomo to the triclinium for what I hoped was nothing more than a session of panicky gossip. I could not imagine what might come up so close to the trial. Valerius’ sounded concerned, but our presence at Cornelia’s indicated some juicy gossip in preparations for court.
True to my assessment, I found Cornelia reclining with Valerius and his wife Claudia at the central couch; Aemilia and Quintus Aquilius at the right-hand couch; and the left-hand couch occupied by Icilia, meaning the last spot for me to recline was next to her. Cornelia fussed as soon as I hobbled into the room. As I allowed myself to be seated and pampered with soft cushions, Icilia joined the clucking and fussing, hindering more than helping me settle my broken leg. Aemilia and I exchanged a surreptitious glance, but I forced myself to look away. I didn’t want to encourage a bout of inappropriate blushing from Aemilia. Nor encourage her in general.
“It’s quite alright, I assure you. I am very comfortable.”
“It’s a shame it’s too late to list you as an additional accusator,” said Aquilius, “or you would have been entitled to compensation from his estate.”
“It must have been so harrowing! I am sure Cousin Lucius will look after you,” Cornelia shot a quick glance at Valerius. “When he told us what happened on that ship, we were all quite distraught! You could have lost your life.”
“True,” I said, thinking more of my bonus than her peace of mind. “Ambustus turned out to be completely deranged. Though trained as a veneficitor, his skill of combining veneficium with the magia vita was phenomenal — even if borderline nefas, forbidden.”
Said Cornelia, “Well, I’m glad he’s dead. Which brings me to the reason I invited you all here. Quite by chance, we have come across the most shocking news. We spotted Faucia — Numicius’ wife — in the Forum yesterday. On the off chance Numicius had ordered her to avoid me, I sent Icilia after her. Why don’t you tell us what she told you, my dear?”
Icilia preened at being the centre of attention. “I made it seem as though I had run into her by accident. She was quite flustered and in a hurry, but I knew the way to her heart. A strange woman, overly keen, and definitely doesn’t have the breeding to join the right circles. I enticed her with talks about social events, even hinted at possible inclusions in the Magna Mater planning committee. The poor woman lapped it up and we ended up having a drink of mint tea and sharing a cake in the nearest shop.”
Cornelia coughed lightly. Icilia hurried to the point, lest she lose the focus of the group. “It turned out she was on her way out of the city to visit her family in Ausculum. Apparently, upon hearing of Ambustus’ death and the loss of his ship, Numicius flew into a rage like she had never seen before.”
“Oh, good,” said Aquilius, “that will no doubt impair his judgement at the trial.”
Icilia shot him a dark look for interrupting her and continued. “She said that although she is used to his flamboyant and overly dramatic moods, she had never seen such anger in him. She said he was throwing things around in his study, overturning his table, wrecking furniture and shelves. But that was not what made her decide to run away. It was when he stopped his invective and swearing of revenge. He suddenly got quiet, his face contorted into an ugly smile and his eyes took on a mad focus. According to her, he muttered he knows just the thing to avenge Ambustus and ensure no one will ever dare oppose him like that, ever again. He said the wrath of the gods will be as child’s play compared to what will happen to you.” With that, Icilia looked at Valerius, but I caught Cornelia glancing sidelong at me. Icilia resumed, “She said he sacrificed a grown bull to Mars Ultor, the avenger.”
“He already tried his best to kill me,” I said, indicating my cast, “but that didn’t turn out well for him or his men. The trial is three days from now. I’ve dealt with his ‘enforcer.’ Anything he could throw at us now could be avoided by staying at home and increasing one’s bodyguards.”
“You nearly got killed!” Aemilia said a little too loudly, then blushed.
“Your concern is touching,” I responded gently, “but, really, this is what I am paid to do.”
“Even more concerning,” Icilia wouldn’t let the focus shift away from her, “is that Numicius has managed to hire for his defence none other than Marcus Tullius Cicero!”
That got sharp breaths and hisses from everyone but Aemilia.
“Wasn’t he a consul?” asked Aemilia.
“And even before that he was the best authority on Quirite law,” sai
d Aquilius.
“I was just reading his De Legibus on the way here,” I added. “Between his knowledge of history, philosophical proclivities, and courtroom experience, if anyone can find a loophole or otherwise sway the judge and jury, he is it. He is our generation’s — or any generation’s — finest orator.”
“Rather than sink into doom and gloom,” said Valerius, “I am looking for ways to counteract this news.”
That was met with a gloomy silence.
I cleared my throat. “Would you consider bribing the jury?”
“What, and have our own opening statement turned against us?” said Aquilius. “We built the theme of acquittal meaning bribery into all our speeches. It is too late to change strategy and redo them all.”
“Then I am not sure what you can do, Lucius Valerius,” I said. “Quintus Aquilius will have to write and orate the best damn speech of his career. If he wins, his future his assured. If he loses, there is no shame — and probably will still be quite a step up in his reputation. You have my testimony, with the additional charge of kidnapping and detaining an Egretian citizen. We have all the speeches and everything ready and just enough time to put a final polish on them. Beyond that, it is in the hands of Fortuna.”
And that was that. Or it should have been. I was expecting some vigorous discussion to follow but, barring any further revelations, my assessment stood correct. What I was not expecting was Cornelia’s following suggestion.
“Even with Ambustus gone and Cicero in his employ, Numicius might still strive to sabotage the case. He’s got gangs of ruffians at his disposal. Since much of the outcome relies on Felix’s testimony — he’s our star witness after all — it would be best if he stayed here with us till the trial. The best way to protect him is if he were ensconced here; the bodyguards will have just one house to watch.”
“Surely that won’t be necessary —” I started to protest, but was overridden by Valerius.
“What a great idea! We must guard you, after all. Not only am I protecting my investment, I also have an obligation to you as your employer.”