by Ben Pastor
"He was wrong in giving me to the care of philosophers, then."
"Tell me, how long will you stay?"
"I leave early tomorrow." Aelius realized he had not asked for details about his father's death, nor spent more than a dutiful moment by the body. When he did inquire, and Justina told him how the illness had progressed, he listened passively, with his mind still on the fraud concocted by his brothers-in-law. Then something his mother said made him pay keen attention.
"Toward the end, Aelius, when he realized that no physician was likely to save him, your father began listening to anyone who promised that his health could be restored. Lately he heard through one of the neighbors' serfs—a dull woman who is always mumbling to herself— that there was a man capable of working miracles in Savaria. He threw a terrible fit when he was told that a trip in winter would surely kill him. So we had to bundle him up and take him out of the house in a snowstorm. He only went a couple of miles before he had another attack, and was dead by the time we crossed the threshold again."
What had ben Matthias said? "I smell danger." Aelius heard his mother's words and suddenly knew that the curiosity first kindled at Lupus's bedside had taken him across half of Europe to this doorstep, that his father's death was somehow part of a game that linked him to the elusive saint or charlatan. Could danger follow him even to his mother's house? He asked the question only because he felt he should.
"Who is this miracle worker, and where is he now?"
"I think he goes by the name of'fire waker,' Aelius. His given name, I don't know. The mourners heard he's moved on from Savaria to Contra Florentiam, where the commander's wife is said to suffer from an issue of blood."
Contra Florentiam was a counter-fortress built on the other side of the Danube, over two hundred miles from here. If Agnus sought to cross over, it was improbable that he'd choose such a place; more likely he'd headed for Ala Nova or Gerverata, due north. After his mother's comment, Aelius felt like a hound that picks up the scent again. Glimpsed before, suspected, unrecognized, the likelihood of Agnus's guilt in the deaths at Treveri and Mediolanum flashed before him like the red tail of a fox running to cover, or a tongue of fire. For a moment he did not know what to do with the intuition; it blotted out the reality of this visit to his parents' home, and only Justina's touch on his arm kept him anchored to his duties as only son to a dead father.
He went back inside, and for a time stood alone in his father's bedroom. The burial—inhumation as by family tradition—was set for the early afternoon. Before his kin, neighbors, and military representatives from Spartus's last assignment began to arrive, Aelius would have time to go see the district judge in Savaria and return. Accordingly, he rode out.
For a week, widow, family, and serfs were to avoid crossroads, because the dead man might attach himself to them when instead he had to be able to continue on his way. Already a path had been traced in the snow around the place where two lanes—one of them leading to the property, the other to another retiree's house—traversed each other. Such crossings, however, abounded between here and Savaria. Twice, as long as his mother could see him from the door, Aelius did avoid the intersections, but the third time he went right through. Soon he was passing by the newly prepared family plot along the military road that from the belt of estates went to the settlements, and from those to the great river.
Savaria
The original of the quitclaim document had been lost during a fire at the courthouse two days earlier. This was the first thing Aelius heard from the judge. The second was that all but one of the witnesses who signed it had since died, and as of last report, the survivor had left for remote duty in northern Britannia. Aelius kept his copy at Nicomedia, and as far as his brothers-in-law, they claimed of course to have none.
He was in a disgruntled mood when he left the magistrate's chambers. His incidental inquiries about prosecution against the local Christians confirmed that a number of them had been detained or executed. No miracle workers figured among them, no women. Any claims of miracles or strange deaths in town? The court employees looked at him as though he had two heads. No, or at least they'd heard of none.
There was just enough time left to call at the cavalry barracks, where Duco was stationed with his troops in anticipation of transfer to the front. The Briton did not expect to see Aelius in town; informed of the reason, he gave him his condolences and invited him to a drink. Over a beer, they agreed that weeks of armed reconnaissance, skirmishes, and patrolling in Barbaricum would pass before the units would join in a strike force at the end of winter. Besides, the first seventeen days of February were nefasti, and no campaign—unless unavoidable—would be initiated.
After the beer took the edge off the talk of war, Duco reverted to his chatty self. "I didn't tell the truth in Celeia, Aelius," he said half apologetically. "I did hear something the night Frugi died. The floor squeaked a little, only enough to make me realize that someone was tiptoeing from one bunk to another... to Frugi's. I've been in the army long enough not to pay attention to what men do when they sack out in the same place. I mean, you know."
Aelius blinked, which was the only sign of impatience he gave. "I know what you mean. Were there sounds you identified? Did it sound like a conversation, or what?"
"All I heard was the rustle of sheets, a groan, and a whisper. Because of what I thought it was, I turned over and covered my head. When we all got up after his death, it seemed embarrassing to mention it. And anyhow, since Frugi died of a stroke—" About to take another sip, Duco put down the mug slowly. "He did, didn't he?"
"Who was it, Duco, can you tell? Think of the disposition of the bunks in the room."
The Briton would not answer directly. Finishing his beer came in handy as the excuse for a troubled interval, and alternative doubts of his own. "Why would Decimus get up in the middle of the night to check on a colleague? It's not like Frugi was sick the evening before."
Again that feeling of hunting close to the prey. Aelius glimpsed tracks, sensed a whiff in the air, but it was a different quarry he was after. Or else the quarry, unrecognized, that had always been there. The stupor in Duco's eyes warned him not to go beyond what he'd already said. / knew we should not have dumped Frugi, he thought, without verifying that he died a natural death. To his colleague, he only said, "I have to go back for my father's burial. Take care of yourself. I'll see you across the border, whenever."
At Aelius Spartus's estate, after the interment the family gathered in the large dining hall, the best room in the house. Sighing, Aelia Bela-tusa passed her hands in circles over her belly. She was close to her term, she announced (as if they couldn't tell), and would stay with Mother to give birth. She'd only had daughters thus far, but "If it's a son," she said, "we'll call it Aelius Spartus. I felt it kick when I leaned over to kiss Father: I think it'll be Father reborn."
Her sister and half sister exchanged a spiteful look. "What are we, strangers? Between the two of us we have three sons."
"No." Calmly Justina interposed herself. "The name Aelius Spartus is reserved for your brother's first son."
"The way he's going, Mama, you're not going to live long enough to see Aelius's first son."
"Belatusa, I intend to live long enough to see Aelius's grandson, thank you very much."
Aelius caught the conversation walking in from the garden. He had until now kept an eye on a nervous real estate agent, brought by his brothers-in-law from town to look over the property in the company of Justina's head freedman. At Aelius's entrance, blood and acquired relatives turned to him holding their tongues. His sister Belatusa let out another sigh. She waddled to and fro dragging her feet, red-eyed with weeping, and—as when she stood from giving a last kiss to the body— she kept her hands on her loins, arms at a wide angle. Aelius had seldom seen her in a different state ever since her marriage. The other sister, the "young one," had given birth two months earlier and was still thick around the waist. As for Justina's daughter by her first marriage,
she'd left husband and children behind to pay her respects and, although she had no claims on the property, to "help with the sale."
Belatusa sat down with an air of exhaustion. "We can all turn gray waiting for Aelius's son, Mama."
Her husband, Barga, laughed. "He's gone gray himself, waiting!"
Barrel-chested, gaudy in their overly ornate uniforms, Gargilius and Barga had not exchanged ten words with their brother-in-law thus far.
"Question is, is he dropping his seed around?" Gargilius answered Barga's joke, taking his crotch in hand. "That's what old man Spartus used to say, 'Aelius isn't dropping his seed around. I wonder what's wrong with him.' That's true, brother-in-law, he did. And he was wondering whether the Greek teachers he got you made you a little strange!'
Only because of his mother's presence did Aelius refrain from punching him. The intention must have been readable on his face, however, given the way Gargilius pretended a humorous boxing move when Aelius warned him: "Don't raise your voice, and don't you use such language in front of my mother, you ass."
At once the girls got in the middle of it, noisily, especially Belatusa. It was a good thing that Justina's freedman came to announce that the real estate agent was ready to depart and wanted a word with the men in the family. Barga and Gargilius rushed to precede Aelius outside, where the three of them were given a foreseeably lower-than-market-value assessment of the property, should the agency decide to buy.
"You can try to sell on your own, but money is hard to come by these days."
Barga spat a wad of saliva contemptuously. "You bet we'll sell on our own." He cupped his hand to whisper into Gargilius's ear.
"You're the heir," the agent told Aelius. "If there are debts to be paid out of the estate, you had better clear them to get all you can out of the sale."
Aelius saw red, but kept his peace. He waited until the small covered wagon carrying the real estate agent disappeared behind the old firs flanking the gate. He then shoved Barga aside, turned to Gargilius, and struck him squarely on the chin with his right fist, sending him reeling off the porch and into the snow that piled under the treasure's pear tree.
2 February, Friday
Despite the tensions in the family, the habits and ways of mourning were abided by. The hearth was kept unlit (it would be, for a total of seven days), and copper knives were used at dinner because iron would keep the dead's spirit from partaking. For the night, daughters and in-laws went to friends' houses a mile off; Justina and Aelius stayed with a minimum number of serfs in the little house at the edge of the estate.
In the morning Aelius rose early, but not before his mother. On this clear day of perfect winter weather, she had already walked to the long, army-style stables to oversee the laying out of his equipment and the saddling of his mount, and to place his father's cavalry sword in his luggage.
Aelius joined her there. Without speaking they finished setting things in order, then walked back to the main villa to say their farewells. He kissed her hands when they stood on the front porch, a gesture he reserved for his leavetakings from her.
"Are you really so anxious that I marry?" The need to speak of Anu-bina pressed within him. He never had, and even now held back, because it might not be the time for that conversation. It all depended on what she would answer.
Justina surprised him. "It wasn't I who sent you by letter the names of those prospects. Your father used my name because he judged it should be a mother's doing, presenting prospective wives to her son. I'd be the last one to impose a mate on a child of mine, even though I realize I am shirking one of my duties."
And so—quickly, because the groom would bring his horse at any moment—Aelius told her of himself and Anubina, of their love affair, and of the little girl who might be his daughter. Justina was quiet for a time. Her fairness in the sunlight made her seem big and bright even in her mourning dress.
"You must understand her, Aelius," she said then. "I understand her. She was bought and sold; she belonged to you because you paid money for her. It does not mean you did not love her even then, but no one asked her, did they? Did you ask her? Who asked me, when my first husband died? He left in his will the provision that I should marry his brother, your father, and your father readily married me because he was himself widowed and wanted sons. No one asked me. So I gave birth twice in a year and a half, to daughters, and he was already repenting the bargain when I grew big with you." She touched his chest with the flat of her hand. "But then, he never asked you, either, whether you wanted to become a soldier."
"Well, what else could I do? I am a soldier's son."
"And Anubina is a soldier's orphan, whose mother sold her to a brothel. How many took her before you did, against her will or not?"
"But she did marry her farmer husband: It was her own doing."
"More likely than not, because she was carrying her daughter and wanted a man in the house. As for her husband, I know how farmers think: Buying a pregnant mare is buying two horses for the price of one. Didn't you wonder why she had only one other child, in the years you said she was married? Forget the one she lost, those are things that happen. I think she was already claiming her right to belong to herself." With soft sounds the army mount, led by the stable boy, approached on the snowy ground. Justina stepped back, so that her son would not see tears welling in her eyes. Her voice stayed firm. "It's not that she does not want you, Aelius. Anubina wants to be Anubina's, as I wanted to be my own and never could."
When he rode by it one last time, his father's headstone in the low winter sun drew a long, thin shadow. Acquired long before, it represented the defunct, although in his superstition Spartus had not asked that it portray him. It was the stock image of an army officer with the insignia of his rank, sculpted in high relief as a horseman triumphing over a prostrate enemy. Most everybody on the frontier—soldier or no—had such a rider carved on his grave. "The Thracian," it was commonly called. The inscription read dis manibus aklii sparti sibi et suis. To himself and his family. But Aelius was determined not to be buried under the same headstone, come what may.
Notes by Aelius Spartianus, written at Gervelata on 4 February, Sunday, eve of the Feast of Concordia
Speaking of concord, having failed to hold my temper, I have the little satisfaction of knowing that Gargilius will have to explain to his friends the missing tooth and swollen bruise on his face. It wont stop him and Bargafrom scheming, but hell think twice before behaving like a boor in Aelia Justina's presence.
The River Arrabo froze overnight. I didn't remember it so crowded with canes and reeds. When I crossed it before Bassiana it had sealed over so suddenly that unfortunate waterfowl were caught in the ice and died. The Danube reportedly still flows, even though its banks and deeper bends show signs of freezing over soon.
At Arrabona, I heard that Sido has arrived in Siscia and brought his cronies, dislodging the local speculatores to the boonies, including Arrabona. Also, a letter from that amiable scoundrel ben Matthias awaited, the gist of which I copy below:
"Esteemed Commander, I am in receipt of a letter from my son-in-law Isaac, who was completely cleared of suspicion in the matter of his employer Marcus Lupus's death at the brickyard in Belgica Prima. Aside from the consolation that such news brought me, a tidbit came my way I consider worth forwarding to you by special courier. During the investigation, which widened to include the so-called fire waker's activities in Treveri, paupers and ne'er-do-wells came forward (or were pushed forward by the competent authorities) to confess that money was given to them by said Agnus to pretend various illnesses. The most common among these were lameness, epilepsy, blindness, and scabies. The revelation does not directly solve the mystery of Lupus's death but confirms what the anonymous letter said of the miracle worker: namely, that he is a charlatan who lives off folks' credulity. Now both he and his female assistant are sought for murder 'anywhere in the Empire they may find themselves.' Here in Mediolanum the execution of Christian leaders has officially clos
ed the case of Judge Marcellus's death. Why then do we hear that the speculatores are still asking questions and looking into things? The name or names of the investigated are closely guarded."
Dated the 14th of January, the letter goes on to ask me, "Should you have an opportunity to do so in the appropriate circles, kindly consider recommending the army cloth-dyeing establishment of my cousin Judas Hilaros at Intercisa. Good references about his work can be obtained at the command of the I Cohort ofEmesa Syrians in the same town."
Ben Matthias stays true to his bargaining self. What he writes is welcome, however, and reinforces my desire to confront the fire waker, wherever in the Empire (or outside of it) he may be.
After rejoining the regiment, I took a cohort along, as our orders are to seek the Danube's right bank west of Arrabona, passing by Ad Mures, Quadrata, and Ad Flexum. "Mice," "Square Hall," and "River Bend" are names that illustrate those places much as I remember them, except that the mice are river rats. Once we reach the place where the Marus River flows into the Danube, we are to cross over and begin reconnoitering; we have good maps and good intelligence of hostile territory from the confluence to the first wide bend of the Marus one encounters traveling upstream. Then it'll be up to us and to my mother s prayers.