Saint-Germain 20: Roman Dusk: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Your decision to put a small ballista aboard this ship—and others of your ships, as I understand—proved to be a most provident one. Five days out of Miletus in Asiana we were chased by a pair of pirate craft, either from Creta or one of the lesser islands; they closed on us, coming around the islands west of Achaea. They were fast ships and we were heavily laden, so our capture seemed likely, but for the ballista you provided, and which I ordered manned at once. Using the barrels of stones you had ordered carried aboard, we succeeded in driving the pirates off and doing damage to their ships, so that we had no fear of pursuit. When we arrived at Brundisium, we made a report there and I will make one here at Ostia as well.

  I believe the pirates are becoming bolder, for they take chances that I have not observed taken in many years. Some say it is because Roma is growing weak, but that does not account for what is happening on the Mare Nostrum, nor does it explain the general air of degeneracy that one sees among so many Roman colonies these days. It was not so long ago that the governing posts in the provinces were held by men of distinction, of old families and high honor, but now the provinces are given as prizes to the intimates of the Emperor, or men who have done favors for the Curia, for their enrichment and pleasure, not for the Empire and its benefit.

  You may be relieved, under such circumstances, that our cargo has arrived virtually intact, with all the goods we have traded still in the hold of the Evening Star. The whole will be inventoried and assessed for taxes; then you may send word that we are to give the cargo into the hands of your teamsters who will carry it to Roma for storage in your emporia there.

  If you are going to have this ship repaired and refitted soon, I would request that all the lines be provided with new rope and brasses, for the harsh weather has worn and frayed them so that they are unreliable, and some of the brasses are pitted and roughened, so that they increase the wear on the hemp, which is not desirable for any ship. If we should have to maneuver against pirates again, I would not like to have to depend on the lines we have now, most especially given the poor state of our brasses.

  And speaking of replacements, five of the sixteen oarsmen on the Evening Star should be replaced, preferably by hardier, younger men than the slaves currently at the oars, one of whom is twentyeight and should have been assigned to less wearing tasks two years since. If you continue your practice of finding a place for the oarsmen that is less demanding, instead of selling them, then I would say that two of these men are suffering from knots in the joints and will not be very useful as heavy laborers. The others should be able to do less constant work, although one is losing his sight, and may become completely blind in time. There are duties in your emporia to which these oarsmen may be suited. I will begin my inquiries there, and I will inform you of what I am advised by the foremen of your stackers, packers, and inventory-keepers.

  If you will authorize the purchase of slaves for the oars, I will begin my search for the best to be had; since you insist on using only freedmen as sailors, I will do my best to find two substitutes for Echirus and Dromirz, both of whom have had offers to work at the ship-building docks here in Ostia, and are glad to put the hard life of sailing behind them. As you have ordered, I will present them with two aurei each when they leave your service, and I will see that the oarsmen have three denarii for every year they served aboard the Evening Star. I am told that there are sufficient funds at the Eclipse Trading Company here in Ostia to cover these expenses, so I will not appeal to you to supply them.

  I have in hand your bonus for a speedy voyage, for which I most heartily thank you. If all ships’ owners were so generous, I doubt any captain would be inclined to make bargains with pirates. My commoda, based on the value of this cargo, set by you at five percent instead of the standard four, has already garnered me a greater fortune than I had expected when I first took command of the Evening Star, and with this voyage should make it possible for me to purchase a villa for my wife and children, outside of Ostia, but near enough to be convenient to me while I am in port. This would not be possible had you not upheld your principles so faithfully, and for which you may be assured of my continuing allegiance, no matter where my voyages take me.

  If the lines are replaced and the hull scraped, the ship and her crew should be ready to set out again by the end of June. If you have other plans, I ask you to inform me as quickly as you are inclined to do, so that I may schedule my life to suit your purposes, and not be laggard in performing my duties while I settle my family. I am, as always, at your service, and will be so long as Neptune and Fortuna are united in my favor and the favor of your endeavors.

  Pallius Savianus

  Captain of the Evening Star

  At Ostia, the 2nd day of May, in the 972nd Year of the City

  1

  Domina Adicia moved weakly, her right hand attempting to hold the small cup Sanct-Franciscus presented to her. “I don’t need any more of that,” she said, her speech slightly slurred, the right side of her face sagging; since she had come out of her stupor, she had been much weakened on the right side of her body, and she tired very quickly now, and was increasingly sensitive to fluctuations is temperature; the morning was already warm, and by midday would be hot, so that Adicia fretted under the single light blanket that covered her.

  “It will do you good,” Sanct-Franciscus said, aware that the benefit of his infusion was anodyne rather than healing; in his more than two millennia, he had seen this condition in many forms, and had rarely been able to provide more than palliation for those whom the malady struck.

  She looked up at him, blinked slowly, then attempted a smile. “If you insist. You command me?”

  “For your own sake, I do,” he answered, keeping the cup near her lips. “No one can want you to suffer more than you have. The drink will ease you.” He was genuinely apologetic, knowing that what was wrong with her had been bred in the bone and would not be undone.

  “Someone might want me to endure more agony,” she muttered, looking uneasily about the room, fixing her stare on Ignatia.

  “No one that I am aware of, Domina Adicia,” said Sanct-Franciscus.

  “You don’t know them as I do,” she said darkly. “Deceivers, all of them. The household, the family, none of them care for my torment.”

  Knowing this discussion would lead only to more rancor, Sanct-Franciscus did his best to ignore it. “You must take care of yourself, Domina Adicia. Leave your other concerns until the time you are stronger.”

  She sighed. “And this will help me to do that—to be stronger?”

  “It is my hope,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “The tincture has been beneficial to others in the past.”

  “Others? You did not blend it for me?” There was suspicion in her question, and petulance.

  He realized his error, and said, “This tincture has treated honorata of great rank, and helped them. I trust to the medicaments that have proven their virtue over time.”

  “Undoubtedly, this is a foreign concoction, no matter to whom you have administered it; I daren’t ask what you give me,” she said, a ghost of her old flirtatiousness asserting itself.

  “If you wish to know, I will tell you,” said Sanct-Franciscus, glancing briefly at Ignatia, who sat near the window, half-listening to the sea-like roar of the huge crowd milling through Roma, bound for the Flavian Circus and the Great Games scheduled to begin in three hours.

  “They’re unfurling the awnings,” said Ignatia, recognizing the shout of approval that went up from the direction of the Flavian Circus.

  “Very likely,” said Adicia, sputtering on the liquid she was attempting to swallow. “This tastes like rancid grass.”

  Using a linen square to wipe Adicia’s chin, Sanct-Franciscus said patiently, “You must not permit the noise to alarm you, Domina. Alarm can be as bad as a blow to the body when one is recuperating. You know what the Great Games are: you need not be dismayed by them.”

  “Dismayed?” she responded, looking affronted. “Why should I
be? I have attended the Great Games since I was hardly more than a child. I loved to see the races and the battles, like any good Roman. The only thing that dismays me about the Games is that I can no longer attend them.” Her expression turned resentful, the corners of her mouth curved down sharply.

  “Just my point; the Games upset you—the reason for that upset is immaterial,” said Sanct-Franciscus, holding the cup to her lips again, banishing her scowl for the moment. “Drink a little more—it will provide you succor.”

  Frowning, Adicia took another sip, then a third. “It tastes … not too unpleasant, now I am accustomed to it.”

  “It is not intended to be unpleasant,” said Sanct-Franciscus as he coaxed her to drink a little more.

  She batted at his hand. “Enough now; your mixture will make me euphoric if I drink any more. I must not have too much, for then it would serve to the opposite of its purposes, and I would lie in pain until well into the night. Leave off,” she ordered, trying again to smile. “You have done more for me than anyone else in this household.”

  “I have done what I can to lessen your distress.” He stepped back from her, still watching her carefully.

  “Exactly,” she said in something like triumph. “My slaves and my family can only wring their hands, but you—you actually seek to alleviate my misery.” She looked toward Ignatia as if expecting an argument; when none was offered, she sighed. “They are all indifferent to me.”

  “Your daughter is not indifferent to you: quite the contrary—she has devoted herself to your care,” said Sanct-Franciscus, very deliberately.

  “Little do you know her, as I do, for what she is,” Adicia said, her eyes flicking toward Ignatia, and then away from her.

  Sanct-Franciscus set the cup down and put a protective lid over it. “You will have the rest later, when you have recovered your strength a bit.”

  Adicia sighed. “If you require it of me, I suppose I must.”

  “I must hope you would require it for yourself,” said Sanct-Franciscus, taking another step back. “You should start to feel your discomfort lessen shortly, and then you may doze through the heat of the day.”

  “Not with those wolves howling for blood at the Flavian Circus,” said Adicia, glancing toward the window again. “There must be forty thousand in the stands.”

  “If the noise disturbs you, I will lower the shutters,” Ignatia offered.

  “Perhaps, later,” said Adicia with a stern gesture of her hand. “Just now the sunshine pleases me.”

  Sanct-Franciscus got nearer to the window. “You have a cotton blind, do you not, that you could fix across the window?”

  “Yes,” said Ignatia, and rose from her chair. “I’ll fetch one and hook it in place.”

  “Very good,” said Sanct-Franciscus before Adicia could object. “That will make the room less bright but not make it much hotter.” He watched Ignatia leave the room, and added to his patient, “The wind may be acrid today; the blind will keep it from burning the air you breathe.”

  “The heat is a burden for me,” Adicia said, as if it were an accomplishment.

  “True enough,” Sanct-Franciscus agreed. “And for that reason, we must be careful to provide for your comfort.”

  Adicia almost simpered at his remark. “You are good to me, Sanct-Franciscus. You are a most conscientious physician.” Her smile implied that there was more to his care than the practice of medicine.

  “It is gracious of you to say so,” Sanct-Franciscus responded politely, and went to the far side of the room. “I am going to leave a vial of this tincture for your slave to add to the water you must drink through the afternoon.”

  “Why should I drink so much? I don’t like sweating, or having to piss.” She pressed her lips together in disapproval of her body. “If I drink less, those are not such problems.”

  “But the humors are out of balance when one is thirsty,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “You must maintain the balance of your humors, or you will risk making yourself more ill than you have been of late. Sufficient moisture in the body is essential to that balance.”

  “You’re trying to frighten me,” she complained.

  “If by doing so I can show you the importance of caring for yourself, then I hope I will succeed,” he told her, doing his best to speak gently.

  She made a fist of her right hand and brought it down on the blanket with all the force she could summon up. “You are being disagreeable!”

  “I do not intend to be,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “I am trying to care for you.”

  “Care for me,” she repeated, musing on the words. “It is to your credit that you are willing to extend yourself on my behalf.” She yawned suddenly. “You have to pardon me: your concoction seems to be working.”

  “Then once the blind is in place, I will leave you to rest. Which of your slaves would you like to watch you?” He saw Ignatia in the doorway, the folded blind in her hands, and motioned to her to be still.

  “Oh, Rea, I suppose.” She achieved a little stretch. “The knots in my joints are loosening.”

  “Just as they’re supposed to do,” said Sanct-Franciscus, motioning to Ignatia to send for the slave.

  “Yes,” Adicia said. “I think I will doze a little.”

  “Excellent,” Sanct-Franciscus approved, watching Adicia carefully.

  “You will remain here a while, to be sure nothing is done to me that you do not approve,” said Adicia, trying to take his hand.

  He allowed her to seize his fingers, then carefully moved her hand back to the edge of the blanket. “Rest, Domina. You have no need to vex yourself.”

  “But you will stay here, won’t you?”

  “If it will help you to rest, then I will, for a time,” he said, still attempting to lull her to sleep.

  With a contented sigh, she snuggled back into her pillows. “You really are most attentive to me.” She blinked slowly, then opened her eyes wide as another shout went up from the Flavian Circus, followed by the metallic bray of the hydraulic organ and the beginning of the new Imperial anthem “Glorious is Heliogabalus, Sun-god and Emperor.”

  “That’s a dreadful piece of music,” Adicia murmured. “Ugly and trite.”

  “Do not say so where Imperial spies may hear you,” Sanct-Franciscus recommended, although he agreed about the pompous melody.

  “What spy would bother?” Adicia asked, and opened her eyes as Rea came into the chamber, a large cup of honey-lemon water in her hands. “This is the house of an invalid widow. What could they suspect me of doing?”

  “Your household protects you, whatever the trouble you may face,” said Sanct-Franciscus, wanting to soothe her, and motioned to Ignatia to bring the blind in and fix it in place.

  Ignatia did this as quickly as she could, saying little while she fitted the eyes in the blind over the small hooks in the window-frame. When she was finished, the light in the bed-chamber was diminished by half, and the canvas blind glowed in the brilliant May light. “I’ll be in the reception room,” she said softly to Sanct-Franciscus, hoping her mother would not hear her.

  “Making attempts on my physician, are you?” Adicia challenged as she watched Ignatia leave the room. “Do you think he wants a paltry creature like you? I gave your father six children and three of you lived, because my blood was strong then. Myrtale at least has two living sons to carry on our line. You have nothing. Leave me alone, you wretched girl.”

  Inured to such abuse, Ignatia went out of the room and almost walked into Starus. “She will be asleep soon,” she told the steward.

  “It is her illness talking, Doma, not her dislike,” Starus said, his weathered features revealing his concern for Ignatia.

  “Perhaps,” Ignatia allowed. “But her rebuke is justified. It is unlikely that I will have the opportunity to have children: I am too old to find a husband, and who knows what wife Octavian will bring to the house?”

  “A Christian one,” said Starus, disapproval in every aspect of his demeanor. “I
am told Christian masters require their slaves to pray to the Christian gods, not the gods of Roma.”

  “Surely not,” Ignatia said, starting toward the reception room on the other side of the atrium.

  “Octavian has told us—the household—that we must include his god in our prayers.” He paused, knowing he had overstepped his bounds. “Some of the other slaves have been offended by this. They don’t want to give up their gods, who know them, for one who doesn’t.”

  Ignatia listened with growing shock: that Octavian should have such a lapse in conduct, and at such a trying time! “You may tell them for me that they may pray to Octavian’s god only if they want to. Otherwise they are to keep to their own ways, as the law provides.” She stopped in the shadow of the tiled roof. “If Octavian insists, send him to me. I will remind him of the limits of our authority.” There was a determined set to her mouth. “Don’t let him spend too much time with our mother—she’s always upset when he starts to exhort her.”

  “We’re all on guard against that.” Starus pushed open the reception room door for her. “What would you like to have for your prandium? The cooks are broiling chickens and geese, and the baker has made pillow-bread for us today. We’ll have asparagus and frilled cabbage, and a wheel of cheese, in honor of the Games today, and Vesta.”

  “I’ll have a little of the Vesuvian wine, and a platter of the meal. Oh, and ask Waloi to roast a slab of pork ribs for me, with his pepper-garlic sauce.”

  “Waloi will attend to it at once. Your meal should be ready in an hour or so,” said Starus, watching Ignatia toss a pillow into the seat of a glossy, rosewood chair before taking her seat.

  “He’s a capable butcher, Waloi is,” said Ignatia, picturing the rugged man from Pannonia Inferior. “You may tell him I said so.”

  “It will please him to hear it,” said Starus, and turned to leave Ignatia alone.

  “You may delay my meal if you like. The rest of the household may dine when the food is ready. I would like a little time alone with the honestiorus Sanct-Franciscus, to discuss my mother’s condition. I’ll summon you when he has departed.” She closed her eyes briefly.