I inclined my head. “Of Pollio?”
She put a finger over her mouth. I nodded. She undressed and pulled me with her to the bunk, and that night while I was inside her, she asked me hushed questions, and I told her all I needed Sejanus to know.
That I had made progress.
That I would know soon enough if I might find Pollio and figure out what was going on with his odd family. I told him about Brutus, and of Romulus too, and what Varro had been up to.
She left later, and the next day I trained, and I waited.
I had my plans, and I was ready. Ianuarius, and then Februarius passed.
And then, finally, Pollio made up his mind.
I was summoned, a week before the games.
***
The odd warmth that had blessed Rome, and cursed us, the men who trained, had evaporated that Martius. There was even some frost on the sand on some mornings, though it quickly melted into slush and mud as the day moved on.
The sand remained, the men trained, and some few died of an odd disease that seemed to pass through Rome over a few days, like a breath of warning from Hades.
The past month, I had grown hopeless and somewhat discontent. I still endured the looks of the others, the wondering eyes, and avoided them, even the Pig, who had joined the men in light duty, a massive scar running across his chest. They all saw my skill with sword, and my improvement with the shield, and even Agamemnon was silent as he watched me. We never sparred with each other, nor did I spar with any of Pollio’s lot, but Ajax would occasionally hold a shield against me, moving, moving with my stabs, a target.
He was a happy, easy to endure man with a pragmatic nature.
Simply said, he let me be in peace.
And then, one gray evening, Brutus walked to the yard, and Varro was with him. Brutus’s eyes were on me.
“Listen to your trainer!” called Varro, staring over us. We turned to look at him and Varro raised his hand.
Red appeared with the Egg Eater, and the latter raised his voice. “Nothing to concern you lot. Only some of you, eh? A private show, a feast is being put together by a famous senator,” he said neutrally. “We shall send them several men. Four. No fights.”
Usually, the men of Pollio simply left.
Now they lied and hoped the men would not think they were being used to illegal battles.
They looked down, almost to the man.
It did not escape Brutus, nor Varro, and Red was facing ahead, pale with fury. Brutus growled at Varro. Varro stammered and waved his hand. “Brennus, prepare yourself. You are going along. Only the best for the best, eh? Guards will be provided, and you leave this evening.”
Then he turned, and we found many slaves running to the yard, carrying trunks.
Others were preparing mules and horses.
There, inside them, was gear. The real thing. The gear used to fight and kill, and in one such trunk, would be my gear. Perhaps the old one, the one I used before, or something the murmillo might use, with the ornate helmet, a new, better sword.
Or there might be nothing, not a thing, except a hole in the ground somewhere, and I would be put to rest.
At the afternoon, we gathered in the yard, and under the looks of the hundred men, guarded by archers and the guards of the ludus, we left.
***
The domus was a fine one, for a change. Situated in the Esquiline Hill, surrounded by the famous oaks, we marched forth. We were denied much of the sights by the darkness, but the wind played in the leaves, and it had a calming effect on me.
Ox was walking nearby.
Lucius, near him, his face unreadable. Neptune, the retiarii, was kicking a stone along, his lean body lathered with oils, mumbling soft curses.
Ox smiled at me, a sort of an oily, slithery smile of a snake. “You think you’ll walk back the other way?”
I shrugged. “I doubt it.”
He lifted his eyebrow. “You doubt it? Truly? Planning on making trouble?”
I gave him an amused eye. “I will be watching my back. There are men in there who only attack a man from behind. Soft men, the sort who need all the advantages to win.”
Ox laughed, drawing looks from the guards. He nudged Lucius. “He thinks we are soft men.”
Lucius touched his lost eye.
“Does it hurt?” I asked him.
Neptune spoke, and I had not heard him speaking before. “You might have to work together for Pollio for years to come, Ox. Is it always going to be like this?”
Ox nodded. “Always. Some men do not like each other. We are such men. It irks us, Lucius and me, that he can take a man’s eye and then just join the family.”
“Pollio will find that interesting,” Neptune snarled. “If he finds out. The man had proved his ability. Today, he proves his heart. And if he fails, and only then, then you may do away with him.” He gave me a long look. “Or I will. Otherwise, learn silence or ask Pollio for a permission to fight it out. I will not have my ears bleeding for your shit.”
Ox went quiet, and we walked the street, passing few people, and only some of the buildings had oil lamps burning in front of them.
Ours did not have one.
We stopped where a large, simple domus stood. Slaves stood outside of it.
There, too, were guards, their spears gleaming in the night, odd looking men, swarthy of skin and handsome.
The medicus, Romulus came to the doorway, and light filtered out, casting a sliver of warmth into the street. He was dressed in a clean tunic. He grinned at us and clapped my back. “Brutus, they are here,” he called inside.
Brutus, in a toga, leaned on the doorway and nodded for us to enter.
“They are busy,” he said. “Make your way inside, and we guide you where you need to go. It’s a new house, so not even the old hands know the place.”
We walked inside in a line, our gear-boxes behind, carried by slaves. A large, heavy bronzed doorway was closed before us, and Brutus greeted the guards. Slaves appeared and opened the great doors.
Music wafted out to us.
Flute and stringed instruments were playing a rather melancholy song, and we were listening to a woman singing, her voice haunting. We walked inside and found a long corridor, having to tighten our ranks as we entered the domus.
It was special one and had a larger atrium than many others. Altars to the ancestors and doors to the rooms lined the first level. The impluvium, a pool to gather rain water, was decorated in gold and looked large enough to swim in.
Across from us, in the back gardens, there were groups of people.
I saw Longinus there. I saw Vinicius. Others.
I balled my fists at the sight of them.
Apparently, they had been forgiven. The bastards had made the mistake of borrowing coin from Pollio and giving it to the servants of Pollio, in return for a stolen goods.
The senators were not above such games.
They could do anything to advance their careers, or even for a petty revenge.
But I felt Pollio was not a man to forget insults.
There were merchants. There were some younger senators, with family.
Toga virilis was worn by many, snow white, and the younger ones wore less white ones, and the women more colorful tunics and stola.
Some of those women had been on the hill, too.
Many people were thronged in the garden and there they were swaying and silent, odd, reserved. The feast was a very calm one.
An old man turned to look our way. He was elegant and had a very odd, strained look on his face, as if he was sick from drink or in pain. Then he turned away, his white hair flying around his head as he was speaking.
Pollio.
“This way,” said Romulus. “Master Pollio wants you to come this way. Down here.”
I looked to the side, where a corridor led right, and Brutus guided us there. In darkness, lights were burning deep underground. We walked after the slave, who gingerly made his descent, holding an oil lamp, and bel
ow, an odd sight greeted us.
I had seen similar sight before.
I had seen the statues before.
Statues of white looked as creepy as Hel’s minions themselves, twice the size of men, and the room had a dozen burning braziers. A corridor led to the darkness, and from there, guards appeared, swarthy and tall, holding spears.
“Dress,” Brutus said. “On the side.”
We move to the indicated place, and Brutus was walking around the hall, the guards now standing all around us.
The slaves brought forth the boxes, opened them, and inside, was our gear.
My gear was what I had used before. I was a murmillo, but used a close-fitting, skull-like secutor helmet, and the same loincloth as before.
Romulus sat near me. He smiled. “The people upstairs are there to see a woman. A very mysterious, magical woman. She hears their wishes and prayers, and offers advice. We charge people for it. Now it is over. They just feast there.”
I grunted. “They come to you…her?”
“My wife’s associate,” he said. “Egyptian priestess of great power.”
“But there is more?”
He nodded. “Many of these people come to us with sorrows, and many, see, want the gods to right wrongs.”
I gazed at him. “And then, you pick the profitable ones, and right wrongs for them?”
He grinned. “We perform the prayers with everyone. Then, some will stay to discuss further. Sometimes, we find the people whom have caused trouble for a client, and then we slaughter people in front of them. We let them see what death looks like, and the issue is solved. Sometimes…” He shrugged. “You will see. We have a good way of making coin, and finding loyal people, friend, but we do have higher goals too. Oh, here she is.”
A woman appeared from the dark corridor.
She had a skin of bronze, eyes of gold, and wore a cotton tunic so thin, I could see her nipples. Her hair was dark as night and long to her hips. Gold bands ran up her arms. “Are they ready?” she whispered. “No?”
“Not yet, Priestess Kemsit,” murmured Romulus. “Very soon.”
Brutus bowed to her. “They are finishing up there.”
They were having some kind of ceremony. They had us, they had gods, and mystery.
Judging by what I had seen in the last house’s cellar, there would be death involved.
I would be asked to kill.
Servants and slaves would die to frighten some bastard into obedience.
Or something worse.
And what had Agrippina asked for? To be allowed to marry? To raise Nero to the throne?
Had they agreed?
Poison, then blade if it didn’t work?
Kemsit and her golden eyes perused the men, and then stayed there as we undressed, and were handed our gear. She looked us over, smiled to herself, and shivered at the sight of the helmets, that were handed to us.
She giggled softly as she watched us.
I was sure Kemsit was not right in the head.
When we were done, four gigantic killers in a semi-dark room filled with foreign gods, we waited.
The wait was long. Kemsit was walking back and forth, her hips swaying and slippers hissing on the stone. Brutus was watching his toes. Romulus was leaning on a pillar.
Up the stairs, more songs were being sung. Apparently, they had an appetite for melancholy music.
Kemsit stopped before one statue, an odd thing with a long beak.
She hesitated and touched the knee, and then, suddenly, turned and looked at me.
She held my eyes, and I could almost see her breath quicken.
“That is Set,” whispered Neptune, risking her wrath. “Egyptian god of tricks and storms.”
Tricks.
I groaned.
Lok.
The statue had a thin, forked tail, and a long snout, and strange, long ears. Roman gods looked like men and women, as did the Greek ones.
Ours, in our minds, for we had no temples, did too. We had no figures or images of gods, only tales. There were no horns or tails involved.
But the Egyptians, one of the oldest people in the world?
Their gods looked nothing like men.
Perhaps they knew best.
The stone eyes were empty, but there was something sinister about each one of them.
“Sekhmet,” he whispered. “Lion female thing.”
I saw it too, and he went on describing the gods.
I stared at Set and did not listen.
He noticed, and as the priestess stopped looking at me, he leaned closer. “Set. One of the main ones, one of the great gods. The god of the desert, intricately connected with Sekhmet in care of deserts, god of disorder, of violence, and trickery. Of foreigners. Do not piss her off. I mean the priestess. All the advice I can give you. She doesn’t rule the house, but she does have a saying in things.”
I closed my eyes.
Lok.
Lok, Set.
God of Trickery.
Woden help me.
And somehow, there, in that darkness, I felt he would not.
Upstairs, the music stopped.
Brutus looked startled and stood tall. Romulus prepared too, and the priestess retreated to the shadows near Set’s statue.
Soon, we heard many people in the atrium. There were people bidding farewell, and there were others answering them.
A long while after, we heard voices coming closer.
Then there were steps coming down the stairs.
Many steps.
I did not turn my head, but soon, some twenty men and women, the wives and husbands and daughters and sons, filed in to the cellar, their eyes full of excitement.
Pollio was there, his wiry, powerful hand gesturing around. “Here we are! The true entertainment for the night, just for you, now that the rest have gone to bed!”
“Wonderful,” said a man, and I saw it was Longinus. “I thank you for the honor. Though, I was surprised by the invite.”
“Think nothing of it,” Pollio said. “We have a common friend. And I know the prayers people make to our gods are confusing upstairs, and the mystery grows thin for impatient men like you, I did promise a much more exciting entertainment. This time, you shall not be disappointed. Patience, Longinus, and you others, is the key to the good things in life. You have apologized for your actions, so this is for you, and Vinicius. Too bad the Ahenobarbus bastard couldn’t come.”
“Too busy seducing someone’s wife,” Longinus said, his elegant hair gleaming in the light of the braziers. “There. That’s him.”
He was watching me.
I kept my eyes front.
He grinned. “Couldn’t quite get away, Brennus. You made a mess of it.”
Pollio shook his head. “Come, now. No mention of that now. How about you and Vinicius sit across from us?”
Indeed, there were two seats.
They hesitated.
“Go on,” said Pollio. “I will stand there with you.”
The others, some fifteen people, rich and affluent, stood there, whispering at the sights.
It was exciting, certainly. An adventure. I was suddenly aware many of them had been invited and were there not to pray or ask for advice. They had not been pleased upstairs, but now? You could read it in their eyes. Their host; almost magical.
Some were senators, other merchants, and all were fabulously rich. Many had family with them.
Pollio, the richest of all, stepped to the middle.
He was smiling like he found the whole affair humorous.
Upstairs, I heard some final people leaving.
The trapdoor was closed with a bang.
We watched Pollio.
All the guests waited, and Pollio bowed to them, and stepped back, and back, to the two high senators now sitting. He put a hand on the shoulder of each. “Welcome to our hall of joys. Tonight, we have entertainment to offer, and it is brought to you by your relatives.”
They looked puzzled.
Pollio laughed. “Four of you asked us to arrange this play. A surprise, from them, to you.”
The senators were turning and their wives laughing, trying to guess who it had been.
“Please, here they are,” Pollio called out. “Tell them, love.”
The medicus pushed aside a merchant, and Pollio’s wife, a woman with so many wrinkles, it was hard to see her eyes. She stepped to the middle as well and freed her hands from her stola and pushed back her palla.
She was old, indeed.
Older than most.
She must have been seventy and looked older. Her hair was white and curled around her head, and she was thin as a rod. Her hands were filled with scars, and a silvery amulet hung over her heart. She opened her hand languidly and pointed at the crowds.
“Here,” she said, her voice silky smooth, “is Appius, son of Appius, a son of a very wealthy merchant. He has prayed with us.”
An extremely nervous young man, clutching his toga, stepped out, and looked back at a man and his family. He turned from their thanks and walked to Pollio.
“And Aenas, a brother to another famous merchant of gold, Aquila!” she said. “He too, has prayed with us.”
Again, a man detached himself from the group. Aquila called out thanks after him.
“Cassia, wife of Gaius, a senator of fine orchards in Naples,” she whispered. A wife crushed her husband in an embrace, and the man laughed. “A prayer from her was delivered to us, weeks ago.”
She walked off, leaving him gaping.
“And finally, Duilius, uncle of Flavia, a family of huge riches in trade with Gaul. Prayer, also, from him.”
Duilius stepped forward, out of the grasp of Flavia and her husband, and their children.
Then, there was a moment’s silence.
“You great guests,” she whispered, and bowed towards the people who were left standing near the stairs.
I noticed the guards had been moving to block them from the stairs, and then I knew what was about to happen.
The woman spoke. “The old senators of age and wisdom, and wise women and men, who have done so well in life. You four lucky families are especially welcome.”
Flavia smiled, nervously, though the others cheered. She was holding a hand over the back of her son, and one hand on her husband’s, and her eyes were on Duilius, who was across from her, looking down.
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