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

by Assaph Mehr

  It didn’t take much more convincing to sell them on the idea. Valerius and Aquilius were accomplished orators and grasped the value in this approach. Cornelia and Aemilia, lacking a formal voice, understood there were slim chances to escape official enquiry, but at least this way offered a diversion away from them, and potentially — with some luck — they might even turn it to social capital amongst their peers.

  “So, what now?” Aemilia asked. “Can we move back into our house?”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to,” Cornelia shuddered.

  “The contract to sell it back to you can be executed whenever you wish,” I said. “The house has been purified and is fit — at least in that respect — for habitation; but it still lies in chaos. I would like to perform certain ceremonies, both before and after you buy it back. Then there is also the mundane aspect of cleaning up the mess left behind. I can take some of the slaves with me — as many as you can spare — and have them remove the dead bodies and scrub the place down. Although…”

  “What is it?” Cornelia asked, with a tremor of anxiety.

  “Icilia was a citizen and, I believe, a widow. Are you certain she has no male relatives left? Her remains are in no condition to be viewed publicly. And what about the other dead? Do you know who were freed and who were slaves? I’d like to give them all a proper cremation and last rites, as due.”

  In the end both Cornelia and Aemilia elected to come back with me for the gruesome task of identifying the dead of their household.

  ***

  It was a harrowing experience, but one we managed to deal with swiftly. By late afternoon, the contingent of slaves we brought collected their dead comrades under the colonnades of the peristyle garden and covered them with sheets. Slaves to one side, freed men and women to the other.

  That just left the body of Icilia. The poor woman finally passed away overnight. I wished to protect Cornelia from the gruesome sight, but she made her way through the house and to the dining room before I could stop her. She screamed and collapsed to her knees, vomiting. Aemilia started to her mother’s side, but I grabbed her by the hand, staying her. I gently helped Cornelia up, and brought her to Aemilia, who embraced her and lead her away.

  With the women gone, I flagged a passing slave to assist me with Icilia. I did my best to cover her body myself. Her skin was raw, eaten away by oozing boils and open lacerations. And, though her cheekbones were poking out, her face was recognisable. The look of abject misery in her dead eyes would stay with me till the day I die.

  I laid the sheet on top of her body, but when I tucked it under her the skin broke, rancid bloody goo soaking through the linen. Her insides flopped and wobbled, turned into a wine-coloured gelatinous mess. I called for slaves to bring more sheets and a stretcher. We managed with some effort to roll her — scoop her, more like it — onto the stretcher and cover her with fabric. It was hard to recognise that a human body lay there. She, unfortunately, had to receive a quick and hasty cremation, without the usual observances that befitted her social status.

  I offered Cornelia to send the slaves with Icilia’s body to the funeral plateau on the path up Vergu that night, but she insisted on being present for her friend’s final rites.

  “We’ll do it first thing tomorrow then,” I said. “Valerius’ men will take the slaves and freedmen to the temple of Libitina for cremation and we shall arrange a private ceremony for Icilia. You should go now to Valerius.”

  “Are you not coming with us?” Cornelia asked.

  “I should stay. There is work here yet to be done and every night I spend sleeping under this roof and sacrificing for the new lar which now inhabits the domus will further strengthen the incantation Araxus put in place.”

  “I am not leaving without you,” she refused flatly. “It was my home and will be again.”

  “Mother, you should listen to Felix,” Aemilia implored her. “There is nothing but death and decay here. Let him finish his work.”

  “I don’t care.” Cornelia was adamant. “I would feel safer with him here, than without him anywhere else.”

  “You would have to sleep in a guest room,” I tried a different tack. “The house is formally mine and I must sleep in the master’s bedroom. Take Aemilia and let Valerius and Claudia’s girls pamper you this night so you get some rest.”

  But she wouldn’t hear of it. And, of course, Aemilia would not leave her mother behind. And so, the three of us ended jammed together on the master’s bed. I slept between the two women, engulfed by the warmth of each.

  Or attempted sleep. I lay in bed for long hours, awake and listening to the women’ soft breaths, thinking circles about my situation. There were only two days to the trial, and with the mess at the house we had no time to prepare further. The addition of Marcus Cicero was bad news for Valerius and Aquilius. Although past experience taught me happy customers tend to be generous with bonuses, my fees were not contingent on the trial’s outcome. Likewise, Numicius’ avowed revenge did not worry me. One does not survive in my business without making the occasional enemy, and he played his strongest moves already.

  What did worry me were the two lovely ladies sleeping next to me. Cornelia had, in the past, regarded me as entertainment, though her concern tonight seemed genuine. Could she have developed deeper feelings towards me? Even so, if she found out I kissed her daughter, then Numicius would not be the only one trying to kill me before the trial. Add this to the face that I still had to deal with Aemilia, resist her charms — and the pull of my heart — and direct her towards Aquilius. That was an unbearable thought as she nestled against me, the perfume in her hair tantalisingly warm and close.

  I am no Cupid, nor do I wish my life to resemble a tawdry comedy. I might one day fathom the mysteries of the numina, but I doubt I will ever understand women. Best to just sacrifice to every female goddess out there and pray for protection for the women and me, then leave them both to their own lives.

  Chapter XXXVI

  After breakfast — consisting of whatever the slaves managed to buy from nearby vendors — I went to the family’s lararium with a chunk of bread, some salt, and a cup of wine to perform the rites as befitting the paterfamilias, the master of the house, praying to the lares for appeasement.

  For those less familiar with our home culture, our attitudes towards gods and magia can appear confusing. On the one hand, our collegia are all about teaching and disseminating knowledge in a practical manner. From military engineering to medicine, from mathematics to rhetoric, we put abstract ideas to worldly use. Both philosophy and folklore present enchantments that are weaved throughout our life, but while Collegium graduates perform precise and scientific incantations, the common people attempt to influence the world via the ubiquitous gods.

  Every street has temples and shrines to deities large and small. We claim our providence and the worldly success of our great city to be the de facto blessing of Iovis Pater, especially in his Optimus Maximus guise, the protector and patron of Egretia. We hold annual events and sacrifices. We consult the gods about everything, see them at every corner. We bring out their statues to the games, even as the incantatores use enchantments to create fantastical shows in the arena.

  Inside the home, daily life is governed by an equal number of deities. Outsiders know that the great god Ianus is the god of beginnings and endings, and by extension the god of doorways. Yet to an Egretian householder, the doorway is under the rule of Forculus, but Limentinus is in charge of the threshold while Cardea is the goddess of the hinges. Ianus also has a role in the beginning of life — but so do thirty-odd others. From Dea Mena who ensures the menstrual cycle to Prema the goddess of the sex act — though Innus is the god of sexual impulse, leading Mutunus Tutunus the phallic god (not to be confused with the over-sized one, Priapus) to enter the female by the grace of Pertunda. Ianus allows the seed of man to go in and for the baby to go out, but the seed — provided
by Saturn — is ejaculated on the command of Liber Pater. And that’s even before conception, and pregnancy, and birth, and infancy.

  Yet are these gods separated from the numina, their divine spirits? Are the gods real, human-like in their attributes as the Hellicans depict them, or is that merely a human failing of reason, a misunderstanding of the powers and energies which swirl about our world? To whom are we sacrificing — spirits that care for us and grant us favours, or forces of existence, which, like eddies and currents in the ocean, are no more conscious than a sea storm?

  A question for philosophers.

  I concentrated on my observations and applied knowledge. That the magia emanating from the numina could be felt and used to manipulate our world was obvious. That the gods could be bartered with, pleaded to, and entered into contract with, was also evident. Whether they were one and the same, two roads up the same mountain, or even something else entirely, concerned me not. I used each when it presented the best opportunity.

  And right then, the opportunity I had was to safeguard the women whose house I was purifying, to preserve them from harm. To achieve this security, I supplicated the ancestral household gods to accept the new one as a genius loci, a spirit of the place. Araxus started the binding process, but it was up to me to complete it for posterity.

  That my feelings for both women were mixed and that their — and my — well-being required each remaining unaware of the other’s affection towards me was a mere detail.

  So, in breaking the bread, sprinkling the salt, and pouring a libation of wine, I added just a little extra intention, a gathering and shaping of magia to power the protection beyond a mere uninformed prayer.

  Whether my focusing of magia for the lar helped or not, my requests were answered. While both Cornelia and Aemilia spent time with me that day — attending to the funerals and the tasks of cleaning the house, assuring my comfort with my broken leg, helping prepare for the trial, and anything else they could think of — there were no embarrassing incidents. Both were affectionate, but not overly so while in the presence of the other. I wondered how long it would last until someone slipped.

  ***

  Icilia’s funeral was carried out without a hitch. Only our close circle attended to save her the embarrassment of being cremated in shrouds. I myself placed the coin between her teeth, though I blocked the view with my back when I reached inside the linen bands. No priest was present, so it fell to me to say the appropriate prayers. Stupid and naive as the woman was, and despite the misfortune she brought down on Cornelia and Aemilia, I still performed her last rites to the best of my abilities. No one deserved her fate; she paid dearly enough already, and her shade should rest in the underworld.

  On the way back, we stopped at Valerius’ house to execute the counter-sale contract — signed, witnessed, sealed, and paid for with the same gold coin I gave her — restoring Cornelia as the owner of her family’s ancestral domus. Later, at her home, we checked that all bodies had been carted away to the necropolis, the bloody stains scrubbed from the walls, and wreckage cleaned from all rooms. It’s amazing what slaves can achieve when promised freedom.

  “One more thing I would do,” I said. “Though the house had been purified and the new lar bound to protect it, I wish to carry out a last ceremony to help turn this house into a home.”

  “Should I send slaves for more sacrificial offerings?” Cornelia asked.

  “No need. This is for the dii penates and the hearth, so we’ll use whatever can be found in your pantry.” I hobbled in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Last time you were there, you bent my cook’s favourite pan,” she answered, “and with no results.”

  “I am not trying to do anything as complex as last time. That was an incantation which ran afoul of more powerful forces. No, this time it’s merely to propitiate the gods, bring a blessing on the home, and help ensure our success in the trial.” I refrained from adding ‘and my own safety once you discover I kissed your daughter.’

  “Isn’t the time better spent honing your testimony to face Cicero?”

  “I have gone over it backwards and forwards several times and I know it by heart. I’ll remind you Valerius hired me, indeed on your recommendation, since this case has elements of the metaphysics. Let me do what I do best and attend to everyone’s interests.”

  We reached the kitchens and cleared them of confused slaves. The cooks were busy in preparations for dinner and I hoped my actions would not spoil the pre-trial meal.

  I gathered what I needed — flowers, figs, grapes; the carcass of a young lamb the cook had skinned but hadn’t yet roasted; wine, salt, bread; knives. I already wore a toga from this morning’s funeral.

  “So, what exactly are you doing?” asked Aemilia.

  “An incantation to appease the gods. Or goddess, in this case. It’s dedicated to Maia, the most ancient of female divinities.”

  “Why her?”

  Because sleeping next to both you and your mother raised impure thoughts in all concerned and I’d like her protection, I did not say out loud. Instead, “She is the protector of life and home for our people. This case started with tenants being haunted in their own homes. Their lares familiares failed them, the lares loci turned on them. I shall ask for her assistance in avenging the crimes against her children.”

  “But aren’t such rites best performed by women? She is a goddess, after all.”

  “In some cases, yes. Vesta’s priestesses are her Vestal Virgins, yet they are under the official jurisdiction of the pontifex maximus, a man. Your mother is a follower of the cult of Magna Mater, the Great Mother, who is served by both women and eunuchs.”

  “You are certainly neither,” said Cornelia.

  I ignored the comment. “Though your mother might disagree — as the mysteries of the Magna Mater are strictly closed to men — in certain ways the Mater is similar to Maia. I would hazard she is a different interpretation of the same manifestation of numina. No matter what name you give to the goddess, the divine female spirit behind it is the same.”

  Cornelia harrumphed, but left it at that.

  Said Aemilia, “So is this like the patina you cooked, to enable us to see the flow of magia?”

  “Not quite. More like a religious ceremony, but with added focus of proper incantation.”

  “But combining them has been disallowed since the days of Numa Pompilius! The mos maiorum expressly forbids priests and incantatores to mix.”

  “Luckily, I am neither,” I smiled, in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. Aemilia’s eyes glittered, and Cornelia, despite attempting a disapproving look, was clearly intrigued as well.

  “So, you will attempt a sacrificial offering to Maia, but pour the magia into it, to make it work?”

  “The principle is simple. With prayers and sacrifices, priests rely on consecrated altars and prescribed formulae to carry their intentions to the realm of the numina, for the gods to reflect it back on earth. With incantations, the incantator has to focus the ambient magia, the power. Prayers are neither precise nor assured of result, while incantations are localised and less encompassing. That’s why the priests can serve the gods who assure the safety and prosperity of the city, while incantatores do flashy, yet ultimately short-lived, effects.”

  “And mixing the magia in a prayer?”

  “This gives the intent behind the prayer more power. Maybe it is a way to shout louder and draw the gods’ attention to one’s prayers. Though our ancestors forbade the two from mixing, perhaps religion is just another form of incantation, not much different at all. Imagine climbing up Vergu, versus being carried up in a litter — you’ll end up at the top, but someone else does the work.”

  “And the reliance on symbols and sacrifices, on rituals and supplications? Is it like using a staff, a crutch to aid you in climbing?”

  “In a way. Priests rely on the trappings
of ceremony, in contacting and contracting the gods. In a similar way, the veneficitores concoct exceedingly potent poultices and potions, but it takes them significantly longer than for a pharmacist to blend your medicine. Within the realm of incantations, you can go about it quickly or carefully. If you do it all at once you will achieve great things on the spot, but it will drain you, might even burn you. If you do it slowly, your exertion is small, so you are not exhausted, but it takes weeks of preparations. To continue the analogy, it’s the difference between climbing the path up Vergu at a leisurely pace and taking stops to refresh yourself,s versus taking it at a dead run. On that extreme are the elementori. Everyone appreciates their flashy magics and incantations, bringing about fire from the sky or water to fill the circus. What folk don’t realise is the price those who use it pay, the early death they come to.”

  “Mayhap this is why our ancestors forbade it,” Aemilia extrapolated, “if religion is the magnified effect of a small manipulation, imagine the divine cataclysm that would follow an elementor calling forth fire.”

  “Quite. Now, let’s begin. If your mother will allow, I will extend the ceremony to Vesta as well. As the protector of the hearth, her interest and aid in the matter would help. And you, dear Aemilia, are the only one present qualified to serve her.”

  That last comment made them both blush, though I imagine for different reasons. I hurried with the ceremony, before my mouth got away from me.

  I pulled a fold of my toga over my head as the priests do, and began my supplication to Maia, chanting traditional hymns yet interweaving them with words of power and making both sacred and purposeful passes with my hands. Squeezing blood from the lamb chops, I mixed it with wine and poured it as a libation on the edge of the fire, to sizzle on the hot stones. The morsel of lamb went into the fire, and I imbued the smoke it gave off with magia as it dissipated and was absorbed into the house. As household spirits are symbolised carrying cornucopias, I took a fig from a platter, broke it open, offering the halves to both women. I instructed them to bite the fruit, but flick a few of the seeds onto the fire. Finally, I passed the petals of the flowers through the smoke, heating them lightly so their colours brightened but their edges did not singe. Those I would tuck into nooks and crannies around the domus.