It was Marcellus that responded. “It means that Bibliotheca X is a lie. Oh certainly the Tiburtine prophecies and those of the Brothers Marcius have some value, but it is Blaesus that provides us with most of our foreknowledge. It is through our interrogation of him that we have been able to guide Rome for this last century. It was because of him that we put Vespasian on the throne.”
Vulpinius shook his head. “Vespasian rose to power because the armies lost faith in Vitellius, their commanders came to believe in a Judean prophecy that an Oracle had divined that Vespasian would be “Governor of the habitable world.”
Alienus chuckled. “A prophecy seeded and promoted by our agents. Men, not unlike you Vulpinius, but simply with a very different task.”
The agent collapsed to the ground. “Why, for what purpose?”
“Power Vulpinius, we control Blaesus, and through him we control the Emperor, Rome, and the Empire.”
“Then why was I sent for Beazlae and for the Summa Ysgl?”
The old man blew more smoke. “Enough of this chatter, give me the scroll.” His shaking hand reached out for the roll of paper and the dangling chain of rods and crystals. He unwrapped the thing and fumbled with the chain, losing grip of the roll and handing it back to Marcellus. “Hold this where I can see it Na. As for your questions Na Vulpinius, it seems you are slightly more perceptible than your handlers. The Summa Ysgl was intended for the only being who knew what to do with it.”
Marcellus suddenly ripped the scroll away. “We aren’t fools Blaesus and you cannot manipulate us. After all this time we may not know what you are, where you come from, or how you took over Blaesus’ body, but we know that you aren’t a man, or a god, and you will do what we tell you to.”
The old man was fiddling with the chain and two pieces snapped together. “I will never understand how your kind made it so far without help Na.” Another piece clicked into place. “You are easily manipulated, unobservant and shortsighted. You have no penchant for planning, patience or the complexity of histories and cultures. In words you won’t understand, you simply don’t see the big-picture. Ward am na tak.” Several pieces clicked together and a geometric form seemed to be taking shape in his hands.
Alienus took a step forward and put his hand on his gladius. Vulpinius put a hand on his better’s shoulder, “He’s just an old man.”
The thing in the bed took his pipe and blew out instead of in spraying the three men with the smoke and ash of hemp and lotus. The effect hit Vulpinius and the others almost instantaneously, and they all fell to the floor at the foot of the bed.
“There you see, a perfect example. A hundred years I’ve been smoking this stuff, slowly increasing the strength as I’ve grown accustomed to it. It seemed innocent enough, a habit that kept me calm and compliant. It never occurred to you that I might use it as a weapon. Na Vulpinius, I am much more than an old man.”
He rose out of the bed, stronger, more stable, and more sure-footed than Vulpinius thought he had a right to be. Ringlets of ash and vapor swirled around his ancient and feeble form and seemed to shroud him in wisps of incense and fog. “A smoking man?” Vulpinius managed to whisper as the drug began to overwhelm his senses.
The ancient monster clicked another piece of the chain and crystal into place and the strange geometric formation began to hum, filling the air with weird harmonics and vibrations. “The long game my Na, is played not over days, or weeks, or even years. The game is played with moves that last centuries, and consequences that won’t be felt yet for eons. Even now you probably don’t know what has happened here, what was most important. Was it the placing of Vespasian on the throne? Was it the slow and secret dismantling of the Decemviri? Was it the strengthening of the Empire, or its undermining? What have I done here that was so important?” He spun his ancient and skeletal form around. “I will tell you this much you fools, the burning of the Sibylline Books was only a catalyst, one that I myself set in motion when I wrote and then sold them to you fools in the first place.”
With supreme effort Vulpinius spoke once more, “Beazlae!”
The thing stopped and stared at the prone form of the drugged agent. “Well, well, color me surprised. One of the Na has pierced the veil, and seen one facet of the truth. Is that enough I wonder? What shall you do about it? Do you think that killing him might change things, or is that exactly what I want you to do?” He smiled evilly down at the struggling agent. “Goodbye Na Vulpinius, your name suits you. You are as crafty as a fox. I wish you luck, and good health. I shall be watching you, and hoping you find a way to impress me, but I leave you all with these words, they may help you understand someday. Ward am na tak.” Then he began to laugh, and Vulpinius passed into madness and heard no more.
It took a week for Vulpinius, Alienus and Marcellus to recover from their exposure to the black lotus. The body of Titus Sempronius Blaesus was found lifeless in a nearly forgotten antechamber, the odd device of crystals and rods was nowhere to be found. There was an inquiry, and in this matter the entirety of the Decemviri, all fifteen members, was convened. The three were questioned, interrogated, even lightly tortured over the loss of something of such great value, but in the end they were released. Alienus and Marcellus were demoted, they were still members of the collegium, but now were tasked with reviewing the existing prophecies and performing minor interpretations. Once a part of the Demeviri you could not be removed, or resign, but that did not guarantee your rank.
Vulpinius was relieved of his duties, but after a while found work amongst the guards of the Senate. On occasion he made inquiries concerning Beazlae, but never could bring himself to interfere with the man, his wife or their children. He spent most of his time studying, not in Bibliotheca X, but in several of the other libraries around the city. It took four years, longer than he cared to admit, but eventually he learned enough Akkadian to understand the words that Blaesus had said before the drug took his mind. Four words, “Ward Am Na Tak”, four years, but he finally knew what those words meant.
The scroll that Beazlae had carried with him, the excerpt from the Summa Ysgl, was never translated, and in the opinion of the great linguists and cryptographers of the Empire never could be. The symbols on the page looked like language, but weren’t. It was all nonsense, a clever hoax, and nothing more.
Not long after, a messenger came from Reate, Emperor Vespasian was dead. The new Emperor Titus acted quickly. General Aulus Caecina Alienus and Proconsul Titus Clodius Eprius Marcellus were arrested and the Senate quickly found them guilty of conspiracy.
Marcellus slit his own throat.
Aulus Caecina Alienus waited for the executioner. As Vulpinius Pistorius formerly of the Decemviri Sacris Faciundus, stood over his former employer a mad smile came across his face. He knelt down and whispered the same words that the thing that had pretended to be Blaesus had said years earlier, “Ward am na tak.” But this time the words were followed by a translation, “A slave should know his place.”
Vulpinius’ gladius took General Alienus’ head off in a single stroke.
The Unrepeatables
by Edward M. Erdelac
“You know Vibius Salonius Calidas?” Marcius Turbo asked.
Modius Macula nodded, “I worked for him for a time.”
“You parted amicably?”
Macula nodded.
“He’s the best charioteer the Blues can field,” said Turbo. “He is swiftly approaching the greatness of Scorpus, and will soon eclipse even Diocles. I have a great deal of money invested in the Greens to take the crown at the Consuales Ludi next month. It would be in my interest if Calidas did not compete.”
Macula chewed his lip and narrowed his eyes at the Praetorian prefect, picking grapes from the dish between them. Marcius Turbo’s penchant for gambling was as legendary as his debt.
“I’m a bodyguard, not an assassin,” Macula said cautiously.
Turbo chuckled a little overindulgently.
“My good Macula, I wouldn’t suggest
such a thing. I know you’re a bodyguard. Moreover, I know your employer is Damis of Nineveh, who owns the talisman shop on Vicus Caesaris.”
Macula waited.
“I also know you have been concealing a dalliance with Tita, the niece of Petronius Mamertinus.”
Macula balled his fist beneath the table. Tita was married to a minor politician who preferred crawling over bare boys to lying with her. But her uncle was the Prefect of Egypt, necessitating discretion.
“Damis is initiated into the Greater Eleusinian Mysteries, is he not?”
“How would I know?”
“Never mind,” said Turbo. “He is. I should like to procure both your services, if you think Damis would be cooperative.”
Of course the old man would be cooperative. But Macula hated asking. He hated being in debt. It was why he had resigned his own Praetorian commission years ago, to avoid all the politics. He was just a soldier. And yet, here he was.
“Calidas, too, is an initiate,” Turbo went on, “As is the Emperor. And he takes the laws against divulging the unrepeatable rites very seriously,” Turbo said. “I have heard disconcerting rumors that Calidas and a certain Jew in his employ have been imitating the Mysteries during his drunken parties at Domus Venti, his villa in Baiae. If even the slightest evidence that he were profaning the Mysteries were to be presented to Hadrian by so respected a personage as your Damis, well, at the very least it would hinder his participation in the race.”
And at the worst, it could mean a death sentence. That much Macula knew.
“Damis won’t give false testimony,” said Macula. “He’s an honorable man.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking him. Why would he lie for a total stranger?” Turbo said slyly. “Even the Praefectus Praetorio.”
The threat was implicit.
“Secure an invitation for yourself and Damis to call upon Calidas. He’s having a party the first Martis of Augustus, I believe. Tell him Damis wants to meet the great charioteer. Does Damis like racing?”
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter. Have Damis keep a weather eye for blasphemy. Help him find it, Macula. I’m sure it is there. When you have proof of Calidas’ malfeasance, I will set things into motion.”
Macula sighed heavily.
***
The first Martis of the month of Augustus in the Year of the Consulship of Commodus and Civica proved sultry down in the valleys, but the hills of Baiae overlooking the bay were cool at night, and the slaves in Domus Venti lit the hypocaust, so the marble floor of the open-air triclinium would be warm and comfortable.
“My feet are sweating,” Macula grumbled to Damis.
The old Assyrian fixed him with a frown over the agate rim of his wine goblet. Despite his age, Damis’ dark eyes retained their sharpness.
“You would lie with Venus and gripe about a lumpy pillow,” Damis said into his cup. “How did Rome conquer the known world with such complainers as you in their ranks?”
“By ignoring the complaints,” said Macula, surveying the room of chattering, richly dressed partygoers with naked distaste.
Calidas’ house was filled with the usual gaggle of young artists and philosophers, giggling, too-pretty girls, and assorted sycophants. He spied the notorious lecher and gambler, Cominius Bibaculus, fawning over a girl as his drink sloshed over. They had already suffered through two impromptu orations and a very amateur bout of song. Slaves kept all constantly supplied with platters of fruit and wine.
“Well old man, have you seen anything yet to incriminate our host?” Macula asked.
“You cannot possibly know how distasteful I find this whole affair,” Damis said. “Entering a man’s house under false pretenses in order to bear witness against him for the purpose of fixing a chariot race.”
“You take these Mysteries seriously, though, don’t you?” Macula said.
“They are a worthy ritual, as such things go. I underwent them years ago with my master, Apollonius. What do you know of the Eleusinian Mysteries, Macula?”
“I know they have something to do with the games held in Athens every four years. The pilgrims dip themselves in the sea, and there’s a lot of branch swinging and cursing along the road to Eleusis. That’s about it.”
Damis smirked.
“You’re referring to the veneration of Lambe, the Goddess of Humor and Poetry. The central inspiration for the Mysteries is the story of Demeter and her daughter Persephone, who was abducted by Hades and taken to the Underworld. Demeter wandered the road to Eleusis searching for her daughter, and it is said Lambe alleviated her grief with bawdy tales along the way.”
“Fascinating,” Macula lied.
“Look beneath your feet,” said Damis, tamping on the floor.
A section of the floor was covered in a complex mosaic Macula hadn’t noticed before. It depicted the goddess of the hearth searching for her daughter and swinging a bacchoi branch, while a mournful waif reached out to her from the swirling black flames of the Underworld, restrained by a grim looking Hades.
“The story is a metaphor for the human soul. The Mysteries are nothing less than an affirmation of the return to the higher state from which all men descend,” said Damis. “A training of the soul for the experience of the incorporeal world which lies beyond physical death. And yet, at its culmination, there is an opportunity for great danger.”
“Danger?”
“A mind awakened to the outer dark,” said Damis, genuflecting now and running his fingers along the mosaic, “without guidance, it can be blasted by what it sees, like a lidless eye exposed to the sun.”
The old man’s hand stopped on a scuffed, dark image at the bottom of the tile.
Macula joined him on the floor, squinting. There appeared to be some small, obfuscated shape among the fanciful black fires, something cradled in the arms of the Persephone figure.
“What is that?” Macula whispered.
“Iacchus,” murmured Damis.
“Modius Macula, my old friend!” came a voice very near to them.
Macula and Damis both looked up and saw the strapping, golden haired Calidas standing before them in a fine, blue silken tunic with gold trim. He was flanked by a man and a woman. The man was Semitic: dark, curly beard, large, staring eyes. The woman, a tall, dark-skinned Ethiopian with close-shaven hair, as striking as Calidas in her physical perfection. She hung on his arm and they were like two statues, one in marble, the other onyx.
“Well,” said Calidas, “I heard your friend was an admirer, but I never expected such overt obeisance.”
The crowd, which had drifted closer to them at Calidas’ arrival, rippled with appreciative, vacuous laughter.
Macula and Damis straightened.
“Excuse us,” Damis said, “we were just admiring the craftsmanship.”
“It came with the house. It’s been here forever, you know.”
“Really? It looked almost new.”
“Vibius Salonius Calidas,” said Macula, “this is Damis of Nineveh.”
Calidas smiled, and at his side, the dark bearded man blurted,
“Damis, the student of Apollonius of Tyana?”
“The same,” Damis said, bowing slightly.
“Well!” chuckled Calidas, looking to the bearded man. “Tell me who I am speaking to Atomus, that I do not embarrass myself in ignorance.”
“Apollonius was a great philosopher and wonder worker,” Atomus said. “He was called The Lord of Talismans.”
“Ah? Perhaps I should be prostrating myself before you, then,” Calidas grinned. “Can you work us a wonder now, Damis? For the amusement of my guests?”
“I’m afraid my teacher’s title is all I inherited from him.”
Calidas looked worse than disappointed. He looked suddenly bored.
“A pity,” he said, eyes drifting over Damis’ balding head now, looking to the slaves setting the banquet table.
“Your taste in ladies has certainly improved,” Macula said, smiling appreciativel
y at the black woman at his side.
Calidas’s eyes flashed for a moment and his handsome face was grinning again.
“Forgive me, my dear. This is Brehane,” he said, intimately stroking her flawless arm with the end of his middle finger. “Isn’t she lovely? Her father is an Aksumite ivory merchant and a great supporter of the Blues.”
“So I see,” said Macula.
“Well, enough idle chatter anyway,” said Calidas. “You must come to the Circus and see me win the Consuales Ludi in a few days.”
A patter of light applause made its rounds and Calidas bowed his head to his guests.
“Shall we eat?”
***
The dinner was an extravagant affair, worthy of Trimalchio. There were three tables with three blue couches each, and Macula was surprised to find himself and Damis invited to dine with Calidas, Brehane, Atomus, fat Bibacula, and three other guests. After an appetizer of milk-fed snails and lettuce (Damis, a strict vegetarian, consumed only the latter), a course representing the signs of the Zodiac was offered up to the household gods in their niche on the far wall and served. The slaves set lobster, bull testicles, and the tongue of a lion at their table, and other representative dishes at the others. Dessert was dormice dipped in honey and poppy seeds, reared in Calidas’ own glirarium.
The guests talked and laughed of stupid things, until halfway through the dinner, when Bibaculus burped loudly and then asked;
“Calidas, won’t you regale us with one of your death-defying tales of the Circus Maximus?”
There was much applause, many shouts of encouragement, but Calidas, who had been neglecting his food in favor of cup after cup of wine, wore a low expression when he raised his hand for quiet.
“Death- defying? I am twenty-six, Bibaculus. How many charioteers live to thirty? My hands shake to grip the reins, and I ride with my falx between my teeth out of fear I will not be able to cut myself free should I crash. Once I reveled in the Circus. Now, I think the horses of my quadriga pull me speedily to doom. One bad turn, one naufragia, and I die beneath the hooves, or my legs are crushed and I live out my days a broken beggar whining in the street. We do not defy death, we who race. We tempt it. We are dragged by it, like chariots ourselves.”
Tales of Cthulhu Invictus Page 6
