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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “As you say,” Rugeri seconded. “But what of Domina Clemens? This is her house, and if you leave, she may find it confiscated.”

  “So she might, if it is empty. I must make it my business to see that she has an occupant for it, and a good return on their presence.” He folded his hands. “I don’t want this to end badly.”

  “No,” said Rugeri. “But that may be out of your hands, my master. This Batsho is determined to make his reputation on your fall.”

  “It appears so,” Sanct-Franciscus said, and added, “I wish I knew what his next move will be.”

  “No doubt he wishes the same about you,” said Rugeri.

  “Hence the spies in my household,” Sanct-Franciscus agreed, and went back to speaking the Latin of the time. “He has set his gaze on me, and will not relent.”

  “But why should he?” Rugeri asked.

  “I suppose because he can—because he requires proof of the small power he possesses.” Sanct-Franciscus clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I must hope that we can discover some way to prevent the worst from happening.”

  “Have you decided what the worst would be?” Rugeri watched Sanct-Franciscus carefully, knowing this calm remoteness concealed both anger and rapid thought.

  “No. But I feel sure Telemachus Batsho has a vision for what is to come,” he said, sitting down at his trestle table, and reaching for vellum on which to write. “If you will spend time with the household this evening, I would appreciate knowing what they are thinking.”

  “Why should they tell me anything?” Rugeri asked. “I am your manservant; they know I am loyal to you.”

  “They may speak if you complain of my … my stubbornness, perhaps,” said Sanct-Franciscus, “Tell them that I am refusing to deal with trouble, and that puts you at a real disadvantage. Shared rancor can be most informative.”

  “They will know I’m lying,” said Rugeri.

  “Some may think so, but most will take complaint as being in accord with their own difficulties, and that should ease the way for you.” He began to rub the ink-cake with a smooth jasper stone; the water around the cake turned dark as he worked. “I will send this to Olivia tomorrow, by courier, so that she will know of what is about to transpire here.”

  “Will you have Natalis carry it?” Rugeri kept his voice level.

  “No; that would upset Batsho. I will hire a courier, since he will have to go a very long way. If I provide the horses and biga, I can undoubtedly find an experienced charioteer to drive the roads north.” He picked up his stylus and prepared to write. “I am going out later tonight.”

  “To the Villa Laelius?”

  “No; I will find a sleeping woman who will welcome a sweet dream. I have no wish to put Doma Ignatia in any more danger than I have already brought her.”

  Rugeri ducked his head. “Just so,” he said as he withdrew from the study, leaving Sanct-Franciscus to explain to Atta Olivia Clemens how his plans had changed and how they would impinge upon her.

  Text of a sworn statement by Egidia Adicia Cortelle, Domina Laelius, made to Janarius Amerius Garne, Prefect of the Curia.

  Ave, Heliogabalus!

  On this day, the 11th of December in the 972nd Year of the City, I, Egidia Adicia Cortelle, Domina Laelius, before Jupiter, Minerva, Consivius, Astraea, and Nemesis, swear that all I say here is truthful, that I will stand before the Senate and proclaim the same to them, under penalty of beating should I in any way prevaricate or wrongfully accuse an innocent.

  It gives me profound distress to have to come forth with this complaint, because it reflects badly upon our family, the lares, and our gens that these crimes have taken place under our roof. Because I am confined to my bed, it required my son, Marius Octavian, to inform me of what had taken place. My son, being only fifteen, cannot officially testify to what he saw, and therefore charges me with speaking for him, with the assurance that what he says is truthful.

  As I have mentioned, I am confined to my bed. My physician is one Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus, who has been ministering to my suffering for more than three years. Of all physicians I have engaged over the years, he is the one who has most consistently alleviated the worst of my anguish, so I am doubly distressed to have to make these misdeeds known, for his care and devotion as a physician have been beyond criticism. Yet he is the one who has so grievously trespassed against our good name and the rectitude of the gens. Little as I may want to lose so excellent a physician, I realize it is my duty to do so.

  Within the household I have an unmarried daughter, now twenty-five, Doma Pax Ignatia Laelius, who has been tasked with my routine care. She has often come in the way of Sanct-Franciscus, and I have observed that she has become fascinated with him, seeking reasons to visit his house—ostensibly on my behalf—and to require his company when the household is asleep, and I am not in any need of succor. I must lay some responsibility upon her for what has taken place, for had she not thrown herself at him, I believe Sanct-Franciscus would have confined himself to my care and left my daughter alone.

  My son has informed me that he surprised Sanct-Franciscus with Doma Ignatia in the spring house at the back of our garden, where they were engaged in debauched practices, she being completely naked, he about to ravish her, but still clothed, for which I must be grateful. My son did not speak of this for many days, fearing it would have a detrimental impact on my health, but he reached a point when he could no longer contain himself, for he was worried that my daughter was going to meet with Sanct-Franciscus again, and clandestinely.

  I charged Doma Ignatia with her brother’s suspicions as well as his account of their meeting in the spring house. I was taken aback when Doma Ignatia did not deny any part of the account I repeated, and added that she was only sorry that more had not taken place. I ordered her not to speak to him again, and to absent herself from this house on those occasions when he is here to treat me, and she refused. This defiance has led to a most lamentable rancor between us, and has contributed to my most recent crisis, from which I am only now emerging.

  It is painful to say this, but my daughter, being intractable, is now declaring she will leave this house and apply to Sanct-Franciscus for his protection. This would be intolerable. Many illustriata may conduct themselves licentiously, but those of us who uphold the old values of Roma cannot countenance such dishonor: if my daughter attempts to leave this house, she must be confined to my brother’s estates in Asisium until such time as she renounces her attachment for my physician. He must also be enjoined against attempting to see her or having any contact with her whatsoever.

  Little as it pleases me to say it, Doma Ignatia is an ungrateful daughter, and a woman inclined to headstrongness. She cannot be reasoned with in regard to Sanct-Franciscus, and for those reasons, I fear to what excesses she may go if she is not now checked in her wildness. You have it within your power to compel her to submit to wiser minds than hers, and I urge you to do this.

  Dependant as I am upon Sanct-Franciscus for what little health I now enjoy, I cannot ask you to punish him in any way, for I would surely endure agonies without his help. Once my laughter is forcibly removed from this household, he will have no reason not to resume his customary care of me, without the distraction of my heedless child. I know whatever lapses of conduct he may have committed began with her importunities: he is astute, sympathetic, and dedicated to his work. Once Doma Ignatia is beyond reach, his attention will be all that it ever has been. This is a complete and accurate transcription of the charges made by Egidia Adicia Cortelle, Domina Laelius, so I swear

  Balbinus Aranus

  scribe of the Prefect of the Curia

  9

  In another two days, Saturnalia would begin, and Roma, for all the cold winds that frisked along its streets and fora, was vibrant with the coming celebration. With the weather clear and cold, many Romans took to the streets to make the most of the few market-days, anticipating the forthcoming festivities. On order of the Emperor, yellow ribbons flew fr
om upper windows and galleries, invitations for the sun to return. A faint pall of wood-smoke hung over the city from the thousands of holocausts stoked to capacity in order to warm Roman houses. The dark of the year had come, and a few Romans still hung burning oil-lamps in their windows all day and all night long, as had been done in Roma five centuries ago, a custom borrowed from the Etruscans, and an observance that flooded Sanct-Franciscus’ memories with the festivals at the Winter Solstice among his own, long-vanished people; in his breathing days, the end of the year and the anniversary of his own birth were heralded together in the stone fortress at the crest of the Carpathian Mountains, many centuries before the survivors had made their way west.

  “So long ago,” Sanct-Franciscus said aloud in his native tongue as he drove his biga carefully through the tumultuous streets, avoiding places where large numbers of people had congregated, and dark lanes where there could be trouble from some of the wandering gangs of robbers, now operating without fear of consequences, for all the Urban Guard had been ordered to protect the homes of the wealthy, and the Watch had been reduced in numbers due to another round of devaluation of coins. He reached the Villa Laelius in good time, given the route he had taken, handed the biga over to Philius, and approached the door. Using the bell to summon someone to admit him, he once again checked his case of medicaments, then pulled his Persian wool lacerna around himself as the wind picked up again.

  “Enter, enter,” said Starus as he flung the door open. “Enter and welcome. Right foot,” he added automatically.

  Crossing the threshold as ordered, Sanct-Franciscus took a moment to speak with Starus as soon as the steward had bolted the door. “How is Domina Adicia?” He removed his lacerna, revealing his black-wool dalmatica and bracae beneath.

  “She fares poorly, I fear,” said Starus.

  “In what way?” Sanct-Franciscus inquired, trying not to press the old man, but wanting to know what he would be dealing with in a short while.

  “Her breathing is noisy,” he said slowly, “and her color is pasty, more than usual. Her legs have become swollen and her feet are mottled reddish.”

  “How swollen?” Sanct-Franciscus asked.

  “I couldn’t say—I haven’t seen them; this is what Benona tells me,” Starus said, shocked by the suggestion that he would see so noble a woman’s unshod feet. “She is lethargic—which she has been before, but not so listless as she is now—and there is a strange odor about her, meaty and sweet.”

  “I see,” Sanet-Franciscus said, doing his best to conceal the gravity this information caused; he regarded Starus directly. “I left two vials and a powder for her. How much has been used as her restorative?”

  “Not much,” Starus said, eyes downcast. “She will not allow Doma Ignatia near her, nor any unproven slave, so only Benona is welcome in her chamber, and Benona is worn out with caring for her. Benona does the best she can, but she cannot read the instructions you left for Doma Ignatia, and she is left with what she remembers, which she fears may not be correct.” He flung up his hands. “Octavian, who could at least read your orders for Benona, is off with his fellow-Christians; he says he cannot stay in a house contaminated by sin, and that prayers will help his mother more than nostrums. He says only the fire of faith will cleanse the house, and that for the honor of his gens, he must not enter here again until the sin is gone. He claims the house stinks of shame, and wants nothing but his property out of it, as if sin were like smoke-fumes and would cling to everything. He will not listen to anyone about his mother.”

  “Interesting,” said Sanct-Franciscus, “but not particularly useful. The Senate did Domina Adicia no service when they confined Doma Ignatia to this house yet forbade her to approach her mother.”

  “That may be, but Domina Laelius asked for such a ruling, and we must respect it,” said Starus in a dispirited way. “Her brother is going to send a personal slave to Domina Laelius, but for now, only Benona is—” He stopped as he saw a door open at the far end of the corridor.

  Ignatia stepped out of her chambers, her manner both diffident and defiant. “I must have a word with you, Sanct-Franciscus,”she called out.

  “That wouldn’t be wise, Doma,” Starus said before Sanct-Franciscus could speak. “The Senate has ordered that you receive no one—”

  “I will be glad to leave my door open, or talk in the atrium, whichever suits you best,” she said, paying no heed to Starus but putting all her attention on Sanct-Franciscus. “I must speak with you. It is important. I’ll wait in the atrium.” With that, she went toward the atrium, her paenula gathered around her; she left the door to her chambers half-open.

  Starus looked down at the floor, grumbling, “As soon as Saturnalia is over, Doma Ignatia is to go to her uncle’s estate, away from Roma, in Asisium. It is the only thing Domina Laelius is willing to accept for her.” He stopped. “I ought not to let you speak to Doma Ignatia, but—”

  “I will join her in the atrium when I am finished tending to Domina Adicia,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “You may observe our conversation, if you think it prudent.” The household spies would be sure to keep watch in any case, he assumed.

  Relieved, Starus nodded. “The Senate believes it is necessary to protect Domina Laelius, and she agrees. As her steward and her slave, I must acquiesce in her desires. Come with me, honestiorus Sanct-Franciscus,” he said formally, escorting him along the familiar route to Adicia’s rooms. “I am sorry, but I must remain with you while you deal with Domina Laelius.”

  “In order to assure the Senate that nothing surreptitious has occurred : I know,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “I thank you for your concern.”

  Starus looked away. “I wish I could do something … more.”

  They reached the door to Domina Adicia’s room, where they paused. “What would that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Starus admitted. “But it would be more just than what we have now.”

  Sanct-Franciscus regarded Starus for a short while. “I will need hot honied water and a clean cloth. Will you have someone bring it to Domina Adicia’s quarters?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Starus. “If you will wait while I attend to that, I will be able to do as I have been commanded.” He touched his collar as a reminder of his duties. “I have the household to maintain properly.”

  “Of course,” said Sanct-Franciscus, glancing toward the opposite door, just now standing ajar. “That is Octavian’s room, is it not?”

  “It is. Beyond it, facing the other corridor, across from Doma Ignatia’s, is Domina Adicia’s brother’s quarters, for when he visits here, just opposite Doma Ignatia’s …” His voice trailed off as he turned and made his way toward the back of the house. “I apologize for the odor; the holocaust is filled to capacity, and the whole house smells of burning.”

  “As does most of Roma. No doubt Octavian approves.” Sanct-Franciscus lingered at Domina Adicia’s door, thinking over what he had been told, and liking none of the thoughts racing in his head. There was no question that Adicia was failing, that her veins were weakening, that her body was beginning its final surrender to the illness that had plagued her for so long. He wondered how much he should tell her, or her family, and decided to make no decision until he had examined her for himself. He was so sunk in contemplation that he did not hear Starus return, and was surprised when the old slave tapped his arm.

  “The honied water will be brought as soon as it’s warmed,” said Starus, handing him a folded cotton cloth. “This should serve your purpose.”

  “Very good,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “I will do what I may to treat your mistress.” With that he opened the door and entered Domina Adicia’s chamber, where he was at once struck by the scent Starus had mentioned, strong enough to be noticed over the pervasive smell of charring wood, and knew that time was growing short for her; another month or two, and her body would finally fail.

  “Sanct-Franciscus,” said Adicia, reaching up from the bed; her hands were thin and crabbed as talons and
her voice rasped as she attempted to raise it above a whisper. “It is … good of you … to come.”

  “Domina Adicia,” said Sanct-Franciscus, his tone respectful. “I am sorry to see you are not thriving.”

  “As if I could … at this stage … of my life.” She did her best to smile at him, but her countenance had a dazed look about it, and it was apparent that she was having difficulty seeing him clearly.

  He took her hand in his, noting that her pulse was rapid and her breathing, for all her effort, shallow. “I will give you a soporific, so that you may rest more comfortably, and something to lessen the swelling in your feet.”

  From her seat next to the window, Benona stared at Sanct-Franciscus, astonished that he should speak so immodestly. She sat more upright on her stool and glared at him. “Mind what you say,” she muttered.

  “I say what I must as a physician,” Sanct-Franciscus told Benona without turning to face her. “I am going to make a preparation for you, Domina, and I want you to drink as much of it as you can as soon as the honied hot water I have asked for is delivered. Do not make yourself uncomfortable, but be unstinting in consuming it.”

  “More potions,” grumbled Adicia. “At least I don’t have … to endure my … daughter fussing over me.”

  “Your daughter’s fussing, as you call it,” Sanct-Franciscus said evenly, “has done you a great deal of good.”

  “She has you … ensorcelled. All men need … is a young woman … to tell them any lie. You believe … what she … what she …” Coughing stopped her from saying anything more.

  “You are too severe, Domina Adicia,” he said, knowing it was useless.

  “My daughter is … a disgrace to her … gens!” Adicia was panting with effort.