The Death of Marcellus

by Dan Armstrong

  After what seemed too short a time, Fulvia came back to the garden with Portia. We agreed on a time for a second lesson. I reminded Sempronia to review the terms and concepts. She thanked me, and Dora led Portia and me to the front door. Edeco stood nobly outside, waiting. The three of us proceeded west across Rome. At intervals, Portia would rub her piece of amber and lift it to her nose.

  Portia asked how the lesson had gone. I told her that Sempronia was very smart and that the lessons had been easy for her. For several blocks no one said anything more. Portia descended into her own thoughts. Edeco followed three paces behind, and I found myself looking for words to describe Sempronia to Marcus when I saw him.

  I would tell him how lucky he was. And that I wished I were him. I even felt a twinge of envy, but that was silly. Because of class differences, I could only know Sempronia as a student.

  We passed along the south edge of the forum where the buildings that had been damaged by the fire were being rebuilt. Merchants stood out front of the blackened wreckage, hawking anything from vegetables to woven wall hangings from Corinth. Across the way, citizens shouted at a speaker whose opinions had gathered a small crowd.

  The recent lesson in geometry reminded me of the missing lenses. Whether dropped or stolen, what chance did I have of finding them? Then I had a thought, perhaps a silly thought, but one I couldn’t resist at the time.

  “Portia, you helped me locate my mother,” I said suddenly, looking over my shoulder to Edeco, wondering if he could hear me. “What if I had lost something and I wanted help finding it? Could Paculla do something like that?”

  Portia wore a peach colored palla over her head and draped around her shoulders in a way that partially covered her face. When she turned to me, all I could see was the sparkle in her eyes and the hint of a smile on her cheeks.

  “If it were really important?” I emphasized.

  “It’s possible,” she said, pushing the palla away from her face. “What have you lost?”

  “It’s to be kept secret,” I said.

  “I can keep a secret. I have already trusted you to do the same for me.”

  “It’s a leather pouch.” I looked around as though someone in the street would care or even understand what I was about to say. “Inside the pouch are two pieces of clear glass. One a small teardrop, the other a disk.”

  “And what makes them so important?”

  I only gave her half the answer. “They were a gift from Archimedes, given to me on the day he died.”

  “And that must be kept secret?” she asked, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “The name of Archimedes will make them very valuable one day. I don’t want people to know that I have them.”

  Portia thought about this as we continued to walk. After a short distance, she gave me her answer. “I’ll see Paculla later today. I’ll ask her about a reading.”

  “It must be before Marcellus leaves for Venusia,” I said anxiously.

  Portia rubbed her piece of amber and lifted it to her nose. “I’ll tell her that, Timon,” she said, smiling. “The group is getting together in a few days. Maybe it can happen then.”

  CHAPTER 53

  Portia remained in Rome. I returned to the villa where Marcellus busied himself with farm work. At his request, I worked on a series of maps that we would take back to Venusia as soon as the farm was ready for planting in the spring. He told me to be prepared to leave in two weeks.

  Edeco returned to the farm to do some repair on the carriage and tell Marcellus that a party Portia had been planning would take place in five days at the residence in Rome. Edeco also gave me a sealed note from Portia. She had made arrangements for a second reading. The group of women was meeting the next night in a house in the same neighborhood as Sempronia’s.

  Despite my overwhelming desire to find the lost lenses, I rode into Rome the following day with many misgivings about attending the women’s gathering. I stabled Balius at the house shortly after noon. Ithius and Laelia were there but Portia was not. Biding my time until nightfall, I found a set of scrolls of Herodotus’ Histories in the study. I took them into the atrium and began to read. The first story in the collection seemed so relevant to my life that I will recount it as a way to reveal the tortured nature of my thinking regarding the upcoming reading.

  Herodotus opens his Histories with the story of Candaules, the king of Lydia some four hundred years before my birth. He was wealthy beyond imagination and had everything a man could want, including a lovely wife, a woman Candaules felt was the most beautiful in the world. He was so infatuated with her appearance, particularly at bedtime when she removed her clothing, that he felt the only way he could appreciate her beauty more was if someone he trusted could also verify her beauty to him.

  Candaules shared these thoughts with his bodyguard, Gyges. Gyges, somewhat embarrassed by the king’s openness, said he had never seen a woman as beautiful as the queen. But Candaules wasn’t satisfied with this. He wanted Gyges to see his wife naked, because only then could he truly appreciate her beauty. Gyges said that this would be a horrible invasion of the queen’s privacy. Still Candaules would not give up the idea. Against all Gyges’ protests, Candaules arranged for his bodyguard to peek through a hole in the king’s bedroom curtains at the time his wife disrobed.

  Gyges did as Candaules asked, but as it happened, the queen chanced to see Gyges peeking through the curtain. She said nothing at the time, but several days later confronted Gyges, saying now that he had seen her naked, he must either be killed or he must kill the king and marry her. The next day Gyges killed the king and married the queen.

  Unfortunately, according to Herodotus, this single act of impropriety would come back to haunt Lydian kings five generations later, during the reign of Croesus. I didn’t read the full history that afternoon to find out what happened, but I was struck by the story of Gyges, particularly the Persians’ extreme sense of privacy. Greeks celebrated the human body, rather than shying from it.

  The Romans, like the Persians, were also very modest, not only about their bodies, but also their bodily functions and acts of sex. Only the lowest classes of Roman society and soldiers together with soldiers talked about such things, and then as crude humor.

  And here lay my problem. I would see Portia that night at the reading, and quite likely in a gown that revealed only slightly less than no clothing at all. It had embarrassed me before, but now, through the lens of Herodotus’ story, I felt that seeing Portia this way was inappropriate and no different than Gyges spying on Candaules’ wife. However, the situation was reversed. Portia had made the arrangements that would allow me to see her barely clothed, and it was my loyalty to Marcellus that I would be violating. The honorable thing to do was go back to the farm and forget about trying to use magic to find the lost lenses.

  There I was, spinning in a maelstrom of thoughts no self-respecting Greek should ever trouble himself with, when Ithius teetered into the atrium and saw the scroll lying open beside me.

  “Timon, are you reading Herodotus?”

  He caught me so off guard, and with such peculiar thoughts in my head, that I simply stared at him, hoping he couldn’t see into my mind.

  Ithius chuckled, probably at my blank face. “It’s a great book. I’ve read the entire history twice.”

  “Really?”

  “Like you, Timon, I’m an educated man. I didn’t pursue my interest in Greek science, but I’ve done my share of reading. There are many educated Greeks in Rome, and most of us are slaves.”

  “That I believe.”

  “What brings you here today?”

  I was ashamed to admit it. “I’m to meet Portia this evening at another of her gatherings.”

  “You are braver than I, Timon.”

  I hung my head, revealing my confusion. “You know something of these meetings, Ithius. Have you seen the way the women dress?”

  Ithius lifted his eyes, lit a knowing smile, and nodded.

  “Am I breaking
faith with Marcellus by seeing Portia dressed like that? Should I not go?”

  Ithius looked at me and smiled. “You read too much into Herodotus. Why are you going to the gathering?”

  I could barely look the man in the eye. “I have a question to ask the priestess. I want a reading.”

  “I have strong doubts about that priestess’ magic, Timon. I wouldn’t take her too seriously. Sometimes the fact that you are tempted by magic reveals more than the answers you get.”

  “It worked last time, Ithius, but the ceremony was unusual.” I took a deep breath. “Something about it seemed wrong.”

  “Sex was involved?”

  The expression on my face was all he needed for an answer.

  “Those women’s husbands are away at war half of every year. They have enough wealth and time to do whatever they please. Mostly I stay clear of them when they’re here, but I don’t think what they do is wrong. I see them as women trying to educate themselves. I have witnessed a few of their gatherings. They declaim plays, talk politics, and read books—like Herodotus’ Histories.” He nodded at the set of scrolls.

  “Paculla Annia is teaching them the women’s side of the ancient cult of Bacchus. I learned of this cult years ago, during my youth in Tarentum. Paculla speaks of Isis. The Greek women call her Semele, the mother of Dionysius. The Romans refer to her as Stimula, the mother of Bacchus. Bacchanalian hedonism is potent stuff, especially for women whose lives are as closeted as they are in this society.”

  My eyes widened as he spoke.

  “The cult caused a scandal in Tarentum and will cause one here when word gets out.” He smiled. “If I know anything from my own life.” The glimmer left his eyes and he became entirely serious. “The forces of the body are as powerful as any—for both men and women—especially when freed with wine. Soon Paculla will suggest adding men to their cult. They will do things many will call immoral. Try not to judge Portia for it. I have known her since she married Marcellus. Life with Marcellus can be difficult. Allow her to do what she feels she must.” He leveled his eyes at mine. “And remember, you are a Greek in Rome. Observe with a proper distance.”

  “I will try.”

  “Why do you seek a reading tonight?”

  “I lost something. Something very important to me that I don’t believe I can find in any other way.”

  Ithius tilted his head. “Paculla may answer your question, but it won’t be through magic. I would guess that Paculla is allowing you to come to the meetings so that the women can explore the addition of males to the cult, not because of any desire to help you.”

  “They embarrassed me badly the first time. If what I seek now weren’t so important, I would never go a second time.”

  Ithius laughed. “At least they have chosen a cult of pleasure, not one of abuse. Don’t go if you’re afraid. If you do go, make sure you understand this is not something personal for them—or for you. It’s in the same spirit as the Saturnalia. It a period free of morals and loyalties.”

  “I guess I need to think about it some more, Ithius. Thank you for the advice.”

  “You’re young, Timon. Life contains stranger truths than that of Isis or the Bacchanalia.”

  I fretted about going until it was time to leave. The loss of the lenses hurt every time I thought about it. Three weeks had passed and I saw no other way to find them. Ithius was most likely right about Paculla’s magic. But even if she had learned of my mother’s burial location through some other source, what difference did it make? If she could do the same with the lenses, all that mattered was that I got them back. I drank a cup of mulsum and threw caution to wind. I wanted those lenses.

  Although I didn’t have far to go, it was dark, and the street life of Rome changed for the worse when the sun went down. Drunks, prostitutes, and crooks of all descriptions came out in number. Twice men stepped out in front of me as I walked. Instead of robbing me or threatening to take my life, one simply fell to his knees and vomited. The other stared into my face and asked me if I was Aurelius. I said no and hurried past.

  Rome was becoming more and more familiar to me. Even in the dark, I found the house with no difficulty. I knocked on the door thinking I still had time to change my mind. An older woman, most likely the housemaid, answered the door. She shut the door immediately upon seeing me. I knocked again. The woman cracked the door and peered out nose first.

  “Portia requested I come here.”

  “Portia.” the woman repeated.

  “Yes, she should be here expecting me. Tell her Timon Leonidas is at the door.”

  The woman studied me a little longer, then slammed the door. I stood there a moment, then knocked again.

  Nothing.

  As I considered walking around to the back of the house, the door opened. It was the same woman. She looked up and down the street, as though I might have brought others with me, then hurried me in, closed the door and locked it.

  “This way,” she said, suspicious and testy.

  I followed her through the entrance hall to the atrium. She pointed to the triclinium. I approached the doorway. Two candles lit the shadowy room. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that there were eight women around the table. They all wore transparent gowns with their hair loose and falling about their shoulders. Six of them wore veils over their faces. Instead of being seated, the women lounged on the couches in the way that men did, lying in all manner of relaxation. Two amphorae stood in the center of the table and a cup of wine sat before each woman.

  Portia, who had no veil, stood up to introduce me. Her breasts wavered as she moved, large and evident through her gown, even in the dim candlelight. “This is Timon,” she said, “my son’s tutor. He’s come to have a reading.”

  A year had passed since the last time I had attended one of these gatherings. The boyish features of my face had refined into those of a young man. I heard a woman whisper, “He looks quite handsome.” Someone else said, “He may have a little Etruscan in his blood.”

  The women leaned forward, staring at me, as though I were on display. Their gowns, in some cases, were high up around their waists. Their white legs were so entangled, it was hard to tell which belonged to whom. One of the women was a blonde. Despite the veil and the shadows, I recognized her as Fulvia.

  Paculla Annia sat cross-legged at the head of the table. Her gown was the only one that was black. She wore no veil or mask, and although not particularly attractive, with her lips painted black and the same paint lining her eyes, she projected a sinister kind of beauty. Her left hand stroked the bare bottom of the woman beside her as though it were a silky cat. “Have a glass of wine, Timon,” she said. “Tell me your story. I will provide an ending.”

  “Y-y-yes, I-I believe I will,” I said, dearly needing something to steady my nerves. With a shaking hand, I filled a cup and took two long swallows of the wine. I looked at the floor, took another gulp, then addressed Paculla.

  “I lost the two most valuable possessions I own,” I said. “They were a gift from my master, Archimedes, the great Greek scientist, given to me on the day he died.” I took another sip from my cup. “I’m looking for two clear pieces of glass—one a disc the size of my palm and one no more than a teardrop. I kept them both in a leather pouch that I wore around my neck. I woke up one morning while staying in a military camp in Venusia and the pouch was gone. Circumstances demanded that I leave that day. I had almost no chance to look for the pouch or ask questions. It’s been nearly a month now. I fear the pouch was stolen during the night—amid a camp of twenty thousand. Or it fell from my neck the evening before and I didn’t notice. I have no idea where it might be. Can you help me find it?”

  “Archimedes,” said Paculla. “I once met the man in Alexandria.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  “Give me a piece of your clothing, Timon. Then go across the atrium to the room in the opposite corner. Sit there on the bed. One of us will come to you with the answer. Refill your cup before you go.”<
br />
  A piece of my clothing? Thank the gods I had taken on the Roman custom of wearing a loincloth since traveling with the army. I withdrew the loincloth from beneath my tunic and gave it to Paculla.

  I added more wine to my cup and followed the housemaid to the room across the atrium. It was small and completely dark. A curtain hung across the doorway. I sat on the bed and sipped the wine.

  I finished the wine before anyone came to me. I began to wonder if Paculla was struggling to find an answer to my question. Maybe no one would come. I lay back against the wall and closed my eyes.

  I woke to soft whispering in my ear. “We have drawn lots, Timon. I was chosen to bring you the answer to your question.” My tunic had been pushed up to my stomach. Her hand was on my thigh. It slid up between my legs. In the dark I could see nothing, but both of us knew that I had been aroused.

  I didn’t fight it when she straddled me. I breathed in her perfume of myrrh. What happened next was an older woman anonymously pleasing herself on a younger man. I never saw her face. I didn’t even want to know who she was. After she climbed off me, she whispered, “Go to the Community of Miracles—tonight,” then she slipped out of the room.

  I pulled back the curtain to call after her. “Where is the Community of Miracles?” She strode across the atrium, a silhouette in the pale moonlight, without giving me an answer.

  I didn’t go back to the triclinium. As quietly as I could I crept from the atrium to the front of the house. The housemaid was already at the door. She quickly unlocked the door to let me out. Before I left, I dared to ask, “Have you heard of the Community of Miracles?”

  “I know it’s anything but a miracle,” she snapped.

  “But where is it?”

  “I have no idea.” She pushed me out the door, then slammed it so hard I nearly jumped off the doorstep.

  It had to have been close to midnight—no time for a skinny Greek to be out on the streets of Rome alone. And yet, if I had braved the women of Paculla Annia’s cult hoping to recover my lost lenses, then I could also find the Community of Miracles, wherever it might be. I decided to go back to the Claudian residence on the slim chance Ithius would be awake. He might know.