by Ben Kane
On the fourth day, Atia woke again, appearing a little stronger. It was stupid to feel encouraged, yet Aurelia couldn’t help herself. They had a short conversation – about, of all things, Atia’s own childhood in Capua – before her mother asked to see Publius. ‘I want to talk to him one last time,’ she said. Aurelia trembled with emotion while her son was in the room, but the gravity of the situation was lost on him. Like any very small child, Publius had no real concept of death. After he’d kissed Atia farewell, he was happy enough to be led from the room by Elira with the promise of a honey cake. ‘Bye, G-anny,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Bless him,’ whispered Atia, closing her eyes. ‘He’s a good boy. I will miss him. And you.’
‘You will be sorely missed.’ Aurelia kissed her mother on the forehead.
Atia didn’t really speak again. It was as if her mother had saved up the last of her energy to say goodbye, thought Aurelia as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Not long after sunset, Atia stirred a little under her blankets. Aurelia, who had been dozing on a stool alongside the bed, woke at once. She caressed away the straggles of wispy hair that had moved over her mother’s face, and murmured what she hoped were reassuring words.
Atia muttered ‘Fabricius’ twice. She took a deep breath.
Aurelia’s heart caught in her chest. Even after the last few days, she wasn’t ready for the end.
Her mother let out a long, slow exhalation.
Aurelia had no idea if it was the last breath, but she bent and touched her lips to her mother’s anyway. If at all possible, the soul had to be caught as it left the body. She sat, her back rigid, watching Atia’s chest to see if it moved again. It didn’t. She’s gone. Aurelia placed a hand on her mother’s ribs, under her left breast. The heartbeat she felt was irregular, and slowing fast. When she wet a finger and placed it beneath Atia’s nostrils, she felt no movement of air.
Aurelia placed her hands in her lap and regarded the body that had been her mother. It was done. Just like that, Atia was gone. It didn’t seem real. The sound of Publius’ voice, carrying in from the courtyard, and Elira’s tones, replying: they were real. But this wasn’t. It was a horrible dream, from which she would wake at any moment.
Except she didn’t. The harsh reality sank home some time later when Elira came in to let her know that Publius had gone for his nap. Aurelia looked again. Her mother still lay unmoving on the bed before her. The waxen sheen of death had begun to appear on her skin. There was no denying it now.
Elira came a little further into the room and saw Atia. She gasped. ‘Is she – is she gone?’
‘Yes,’ murmured Aurelia, leaning forward to close her mother’s eyelids.
Elira let out a little sob. ‘She was a good mistress. Always fair. May the gods look after her.’
‘I’ll need help to lay her on the floor, and to anoint her. She must be cremated in her finest dress,’ Aurelia heard herself saying in a monotone. Elira threw her a concerned look, but she didn’t acknowledge it. The only way that she was going to get through this was to remain completely matter of fact. She could grieve later, when it was all done. ‘Then we must lay her on a table in the atrium, and place a coin in her mouth. Word must be sent to the family’s friends in Rome, and arrangements made for the funeral.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ replied Elira, respect filling her eyes.
‘Fetch Agesandros to me. Bring oils, and clean cloths, and the dress my mother used to wear to banquets.’
Elira scuttled from the room.
When she had gone, leaving Aurelia with her mother’s corpse, her mask slipped a little. The tears began to flow again. Her marriage to Lucius had separated her from Atia, but the space between them had never been more than the distance between their two houses. In its place there loomed a chasm that could never be bridged. Why did it have to be now, with the war keeping Quintus away? Aurelia railed silently. Her mother had been fit and well for her entire life. She could have expected to live for another five to ten years.
The quiet knock helped Aurelia to regain control. She wiped the tears from her face. ‘Come.’
Agesandros slipped inside. His dark eyes drank in Atia’s body, and his lips thinned. ‘She is dead then. Although it was a release for her, I am sorry for your loss.’
Aurelia inclined her head in recognition. ‘I want you to go to the Forum and the markets. Find the stonemason whom she spoke with first. A tomb needs to be built.’
‘And the plot that it will be built on?’
‘I will see to that. There are lawyers who act for the vendors of such land. You must also find musicians and actors for the funeral. Some of the household slaves can be pallbearers.’
‘They will be honoured. I will act as one too, should you permit it.’
How could she deny him that? ‘Very well.’
‘My thanks.’
‘Mother spoke highly of you before the end.’
Agesandros looked pleased. ‘I have always done my best, first for your father, and afterwards, your mother.’
It felt bizarre to be having this conversation over Atia’s body, but Aurelia felt he should know. ‘You are to be rewarded for that service with manumission, and not only that, but discharge from any duties to this family. It was one of my mother’s last commands.’
Wonder, and then joy, flared in his eyes. He approached the bed, lifted Atia’s hand and kissed it with great respect before replacing it on the covers. When he straightened, he was very close to Aurelia. It took all of her self-control not to retreat. ‘You will be glad to see me gone,’ he said.
Despite her fear, she met his gaze. ‘I will. We both know why. Suni was no threat to our family.’
‘I disagreed, and so did your mother,’ he said emotionlessly. Then, ‘If the paperwork can be drawn up in time, I will depart after the funeral.’
You’re not free yet, she thought angrily, but she didn’t possess the energy for an argument. ‘That can be arranged. You’ll travel to Sicily?’
‘If I can find a ship to take me, yes.’
‘It will be dangerous there, with the war.’
‘Good. I intend to take service with the legions, in whatever role they will have me.’
Her temper flared up. ‘The Carthaginians whom you encounter will be innocent of the murder of your family.’
His anger rose to meet hers. ‘I don’t care! They’re all gugga dogs, who need killing.’
Aurelia recoiled from his fury. She thought of Hanno, whom Agesandros had hated, and tried not to feel scared for him. He was serving on the mainland. Even if he ever came to Sicily, there was no chance of him and Agesandros meeting. That didn’t stop her from toying with the idea – for a guilty moment – of refusing to grant the Sicilian his freedom. Yet her mother’s wish, made on her deathbed, could not be denied. Aurelia had no desire to court more divine misfortune. Rallying her courage, she said, ‘That is your opinion, and that of a slave. To me, they are just our enemies. They need to be defeated, but not annihilated.’
The walk from the city behind the slaves carrying her mother had taken an age. Aurelia had hated every dragging moment of it. The slow pace. The actors wailing at the front; the musicians playing solemn dirges. Atia’s body, rocked gently from side to side by the motion of the litter. The disinterested, even annoyed looks from pedestrians on the packed streets. Once out on the Via Appia, it had been only a little easier. They had had to negotiate their way past hordes of travellers and files of carts and wagons bound for the capital. Their arrival at the newly constructed brick tomb, some two miles from the city walls, had been a welcome relief, but the screams of the pig, as it was sacrificed in honour of the goddess Ceres, had not. Nor had the falsely eulogistic words of the priest she’d hired for the occasion. In a daze, Aurelia had watched the placing of her mother’s body on the pyre that sat alongside the vault. Her grief had come bubbling up then and she’d been grateful for Tempsanus’ fleshy hand on her arm, and for his support when she�
��d had to step forward with the burning torch and set the timbers alight. It had been the right decision to leave Publius behind. The protest had been there in Elira’s eyes when Aurelia had ordered her to look after him, but she hadn’t argued. Regardless of what others might say about children attending funerals, thought Aurelia, seeing a human body burn was not something that a two-and-a-half-year-old should witness.
Thank all the gods that the wind was blowing away from them. Despite that, the stench of burning human flesh hung in the air, trapped perhaps by the towering cypresses that stood around. Even when the pig had been butchered and set to cook on another fire, the normally welcoming smell of roasting pork had not helped. Nonetheless, she had eaten some of the meat. It was part of the ritual. Somehow, she had prevented herself from bringing it back up again, had accepted the condolences of the dozen or so mourners, who had mostly been aged relations. A number of hours had passed since then. Few people remained. Tempsanus, bless him, had stayed by her the entire time. She was grateful for that. He hadn’t tried to talk to her; his mere presence had helped. At last the smell from the pyre was waning. There would be little left now of her mother but bones and ash. Aurelia stirred; offered up a last prayer. The slaves would tend the fire until her mother’s remains could be removed and placed in a funerary urn. She could return the following day to oversee their interment in the plain tomb alongside. That would be difficult, she knew, but for the moment her ordeal was almost over.
Or so she thought.
Initially, she paid no attention to the clatter of hooves from the nearby road. The Via Appia was the busiest thoroughfare in the land; scores of horsemen had ridden past them that day. It was when a horse and rider cantered off the road, towards the pyre, that she felt the first stirrings of alarm in her belly. All eyes focused on the newcomer, a young man in a dusty tunic. He looked exhausted, but there was nothing wrong with his voice. ‘I seek Aurelia, wife of Lucius Vibius Melito,’ he called out. ‘I was told to seek her here, among the tombs.’
The attention reverted to Aurelia. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘I am she.’
The rider dismounted and threw the reins to a slave. He approached Aurelia, delving into the leather satchel that hung from a cord over one shoulder. ‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this time, my lady.’
She waved a hand in dismissal. The fashion of his arrival had driven all thoughts of her mother from her mind. ‘What is it?’ she asked, fighting real anxiety.
‘I bring news, from Rhegium.’
Instead of the normal elation she would have felt at this news, Aurelia felt dread. What was going on?
‘Have you ought for me?’ Tempsanus interrupted. ‘I am Melito’s business partner.’
Relief blossomed on the rider’s face. ‘Yes, sir. I have a note for you as well.’
Aurelia advanced a couple of steps. ‘Could you not find our house – Melito’s house?’
‘I found it, mistress, but I was charged with delivering the note into your hands and no one else’s.’
So the messenger had ridden past them, into the city, and back out again to where they stood now. From the corner of her eye, she could see Tempsanus frowning. Despite the pyre’s heat, cold sweat began running down Aurelia’s back. ‘Is everything all right? Is my husband well?’
The messenger would not meet her gaze. Silently, he proffered the letter.
Aurelia closed her eyes. Let me be imagining this, she prayed. But when she looked up again, the parchment was still there in front of her. With a trembling hand, she took it.
‘Shall I read it for you?’ The concern was clear in Tempsanus’ voice.
‘No.’ Cracking the seal, she unrolled it. Dimly, she heard Tempsanus demanding his note. After that, her attention was locked on the neat script that covered the page.
‘From the hand of Caius Licinius Stolo, agent of Lucius Vibius Melito and Julius Tempsanus in Rhegium—’
It wasn’t from Lucius. Aurelia’s fear reached new heights.
‘I send greetings to Aurelia, wife of Melito.’
Her eyes sped on, skimming the pleasantries. The words ‘watching the loading of a ship’, ‘iron ingots’ and ‘a rope snapped’ leaped out at her. Full of fear now, she read on. Stolo wrote that her husband had been gravely injured. The surgeon had diagnosed a shattered pelvis, multiple cracked ribs, two broken legs and a fractured arm, but it was Melito’s head injury that was giving rise to the most concern. ‘In the hours since the accident, he has rarely been conscious. When he does awake, it seems that he has no idea who he is, or where he is.’ Aurelia felt sick; she struggled to finish reading the letter. It closed with an attempt at reassurance, telling her that no efforts were being spared with regard to Melito’s care. She was to remain calm; to pray, especially to Aesculapius, and to wait for more news.
Aurelia took a moment to rally her strength before pinning the messenger with her eyes. ‘Did my husband yet live when you left?’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘How many days ago was that?’
‘Four. The message would have been sent by ship, but the weather was too severe.’
It was then that Aurelia took in the lines of exhaustion on his face, the dirt that was ingrained in every patch of exposed skin. The man must have ridden like a demon, and changed horses many times. She would have to reward him well, she thought absently. Four days. For someone with such severe injuries, it was a lifetime ago. Aurelia’s eyes moved to Tempsanus. She saw the same awareness there. ‘He could already be dead,’ she said, her tone flat.
‘Let us not think like that, my lady,’ he urged. ‘Lucius is a young man; he’s at the peak of his physical strength. It will take time, and the help of the gods, but he may yet recover.’
Aurelia nodded, trying to believe him. Inside, however, she was terrified that Lucius was as dead as her mother. She felt an overwhelming need to hold Publius, to feel his breath warm her cheek, to know that he at least was still with her. It was also obvious what else she had to do.
‘I shall set out for Ostia in the morning, and there take ship for Rhegium,’ she heard Tempsanus’ voice saying. ‘The Bark of Isis was launched last week, so the winds should be with us.’
‘I want to travel with you,’ said Aurelia.
Tempsanus gaped. Regaining his composure, a fatherly, knowing expression crept across his face. ‘I cannot countenance that, my lady. You must celebrate the sacred feast for your mother in nine days. Besides, your husband would not approve of you leaving Rome.’
‘I need to be by his side.’
‘Your devotion is to be admired, my lady, but the sea journey is too perilous. Bad weather sinks many vessels. Syracusan and even Carthaginian vessels can be found in the waters off Rhegium. It’s no voyage for a woman of your station to undertake.’
Aurelia began to object once more, but Tempsanus was having none of it. ‘Your grief is clouding your judgement, my lady. It is time for you to return home, to your son. You need rest and sleep. I will call on you in the morning, before I leave.’
Aurelia didn’t have the strength to argue. ‘Very well,’ she whispered.
‘Mama, Mama!’ cried Publius the instant that Aurelia emerged from the lararium and into the courtyard. He was playing by the central fountain, with Elira in watchful attendance nearby.
Aurelia had seen him briefly upon her return from the funeral, but had left him since in the care of Elira. She needed time to try and absorb her mother’s death and the news about Lucius. On this occasion, however, there was to be no escape. Publius scampered over, his arms outstretched. She stooped to pick him up, grateful that his innocence would not see through her false smile. ‘Hello, my darling.’
‘Come and play,’ he ordered.
She gave in. ‘What are we to do?’
‘Splashing in the water.’ It was one of his favourite games.
The simple pleasure that Publius took in playing by the edge of the fountain, and the endless repetition of wha
t he demanded she do – flicking water over his hands and arms, and occasionally a few drops on his face – took up all of Aurelia’s attention. It was a relief not to think about her mother, about Lucius, about anything other than amusing her son.
The approach of the doorman a short while later was an unwelcome distraction. A strapping Thracian bought by Lucius upon their arrival in Rome, he lingered unhappily on the edge of her vision, not quite prepared to intervene on the domestic scene. Eventually, Aurelia could ignore him no longer. ‘Publius, quiet for a moment. Who is at the door?’ she demanded. ‘Another itinerant soothsayer who wants to peddle his lies? Someone purporting to sell the finest perfumes in Rome?’
‘No, mistress,’ he mumbled.
‘Who then?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
‘In that case, send him away!’ she snapped.
‘He’s i-insistent.’ He stumbled over the word. ‘He asks to speak with you, mistress. Aurelia, daughter of Gaius Fabricius.’
Aurelia’s head spun to regard him. In Rome, few people indeed knew her father’s name. ‘What else?’
A helpless shrug. ‘Nothing, mistress.’
There was no point interrogating the Thracian further. ‘Let the man in. Search him for weapons, and bring him to me.’
‘Mistress.’ The Thracian was already backing away.
‘Time to play with Elira again, my sweet. Go and find her. I will be back soon.’ She planted a kiss on Publius’ head and walked into the tablinum. There she would find some privacy.
