“I didn’t hear everything, Senator Gallus,” Tigellinus said, “but I heard enough.”
“He’s mistaken, I swear,” Gallus replied, giving me a black look.
The Praetorian prefect viewed Gallus with contempt. “It’s not Tribune Marcellus Reburrus who has made the mistake. If anyone regrets this day, it will be you, Anicius Gallus, for trying to bribe this one.”
“I made no such offer. Besides, he is nothing.” Gallus gestured with a hand in Tigellinus’s direction.
I stepped back a few paces, as Tigellinus admonished Gallus. “It was obvious to me. This man has the backing of Sabinus’s money and power and the emperor’s approval. More importantly, he has principles, something you lack. He can’t be bought. I suggest if you can’t buy him, you should discreetly kill him.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Gallus said. A sneer crossed his mouth.
“Then I suspect you shall suffer the worst end of it.” Across the room, Nero laughed heartily at some unrelated amusement. The conversation stopped as Gallus glanced at the emperor and then Tigellinus.
“You’re not the source of Nero’s diversions,” Tigellinus said. “Another poor soul has the privilege.”
Gallus crinkled his mascaraed eyelashes. He raised his wrinkled hands to the candlelight above, spreading his fingers. He tilted his head back and examined his smooth, polished fingernails. “Why, my dear friend, I don’t have the slightest idea what you are talking about.”
He and Tigellinus walked away, and a small knot of people gathered to ask me what had happened. I shrugged it off as a misunderstanding and returned to my couch.
Unfortunately, Gallus found another more insidious way to take his revenge.
Chapter 19
Chapter 19
We lost our baby three weeks after returning to Rome. The daughter we both wanted was lost forever. It happened on a muggy morning, the first week in August. The baby was not due for another two months, and Eleyne hated being confined to the house as custom dictated. Four days following our arrival in the city she went to the home of a Christian elder and offered to visit the homes of the sick and dying. “I know little about the healing arts,” she told me after she had returned from the call on the leader, “but I can pray for them. That seems to help, even if only a little bit.”
During the years we had lived in Hispania, Eleyne went among our household slaves and local villagers near the latifundia to nurse and pray for them. She told the people about her Christian God and Christus. Whether she converted any of them to her faith, I couldn’t say. But I know they appreciated her good work. As I traveled about our lands, people inquired about her, and asked me to convey their regards.
That fateful morning before I left for my office at the Praetorian Barracks, Eleyne received an urgent message concerning one of her friends in the Subura. Agnes, the fuller’s wife, had gone into labor, and her life was in danger. The baby was breeched, and if the midwife could not turn its head towards the birth canal, both mother and child would die.
“She needs me,” Eleyne said. “I’m more valuable there than I am with boring household routines.”
“But what about your condition?” I protested. “Every time you go out, I’m concerned that something will happen to you.”
She crinkled her black eyebrows together. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. This isn’t my first child.”
“How could I forget?” I said, grinning. “You didn’t get pregnant by yourself.”
She playfully slapped my face. “Then you know I must go to Agnes. It’s strange, but when I help others, I feel better, too. At least I can be near and pray for her.”
As household patriarch, I could have commanded her to stay home, but Eleyne was headstrong enough to disobey me. Despite the trappings of Roman clothing, jewelry, and education, she was a Celt at heart. Like other Celtic women, no man ruled her unless she gave consent, and the situation was to her advantage. An intelligent and sensible woman, Eleyne would not be refused, and the household would be happier if I gave permission.
“All right,” I said, “maybe the midwife will have turned the baby by the time you arrive.”
“I hope so.”
“Be careful,” I added.
“You needn’t worry,” she answered. Smiling, she touched my forearm. “I’m taking along my own midwife just in case, and Chulainn, with an escort of slaves. After all, I have our baby to consider.”
“Why is the woman necessary?”
“It’s just a precaution. I don’t know anything about Agnes’s midwife, but some of them are so inept they couldn’t deliver a litter of kittens. If she’s knowledgeable, they can exchange secrets.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Eleyne sighed. “I want her with me in case I get sick, she’ll know what to do. But nothing will happen, I’m riding in the sedan. The sun’s too bright, and the streets are too crowded and dirty to walk.”
I wished her well and good health and luck to her friend, Agnes, and left for the Praetorian Camp.
Later that morning I traveled to the barracks of my old unit, the Seventh Cohort, in the Trans-Tiberina section. Unfortunately, I was all too familiar with this section of Rome.
Crowded with dilapidated, wooden tenements, a week rarely passed without a couple of apartments in the area burning to the ground. Only the gods knew why a major fire hadn’t destroyed the district and other parts of the city. During the day, heavy foot traffic congested the area as the people shopped and conducted business in the hundreds of tiny shops and open stalls lining the narrow, twisting lanes. Ideally suited for criminal activities, the crowded conditions allowed robbers and thieves to strike and flee with near impunity.
Representing Flavius Sabinus, I met with Annaeus Serenus, the Prefect of the Watch. We reached an agreement where the City Guard cohort would use the Seventh’s station dungeon instead of transporting prisoners through the teeming streets and across the river to Latumiae Prison. Although little more than a mile and half away, transport of prisoners by arresting guards required more than two hours. As a result, too many guardsmen were removed from patrol for an extended period of time. Rather than waste two hours on minor arrests, the guards tended to administer gutter-side justice—a throttling and a form of escape.
Detaining felons at the local stationes holding area increased in importance. Recently, Nero gave Sabinus jurisdiction over all criminal cases within a one-hundred-mile perimeter of Rome. Overwhelmed by the increased volume in minor cases, he delegated the responsibility for their trials to district junior magistrates where the offenses occurred. A Trestiviri Capitales was assigned to each Watch station where minor offenders were prosecuted. Sabinus presided over the court proceedings of only major offenses.
Five years earlier, Scrofa the beggar king, had died, and the current leader refused to cooperate with the Guard or the Watch. I missed old Scrofa’s help; he cared for his people, while this slime bag did not. I had to develop my own network of informants and spies. A scummy lot by nature, they had their own foul reasons for helping the Guard. At best their information was questionable.
I left the precinct office and entered the courtyard. As a groom handed me the reins to my horse, a commotion echoed in the courtyard entrance. Under the gray stone arch, gesticulating excitedly with his hands, Chulainn argued with two sentries blocking his path with crossed javelins.
What’s he doing here? Something’s wrong.
“Let him pass!” I barked. “He’s my slave!”
Chulainn raced down the brick-lined passage, darted between the horses of my escort. He tripped a few steps away in front of my path. Panting, he leapt to his feet. “Sir!” he exclaimed, “Lady Eleyne has been hurt in an accident!”
My first impulse was to vault my horse and rush to her aid. Somehow, I kept myself under control.
“Calm down, man,” I said in an even voice, “what happened?”
“She fell from her litter,” he gasped. “She screamed s
he was losing her baby.”
For a split second I was stunned. “Did she lose it?”
He shrugged and rasped, “I don’t know. We placed her back into the litter and took her home right away. I told Porus to fetch the family physician, and then I ran here to tell you about it. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“Considering how far you had to run, it’s a miracle you made it here in less than an hour.” I realized he must have literally ran from the west side of the Tiber to reach the Praetorian Barracks here at the east end of the city.
There was no time to waste. “Let’s go!” I grabbed the saddle pommels and flung myself onto the gray gelding’s back, feet straddling the side of its girth. I gave Chulainn a hand up behind me. Wheeling the mount around, I jabbed my spurs into his sides. Bolting past the sentries, I plunged into the crowded lane, scattering pedestrians, leaving my escort far behind.
As we darted down the way, I turned and shouted at Chulainn, who was holding his arms about my waist. “Briefly, tell me when and where my wife fell—the rest of the details can wait.”
“The accident happened as we walked up Vatican Hill about ten blocks from the house,” he shouted back. “She was knocked off the litter by a gang of thugs fleeing from the City Guard. She fell onto her face and stomach right over a big stepping stone.”
“Stepping stone?”
“Aye, the ones that cross Mercury Street just past where we turned off from the Triumphant Way. Her stomach slammed right onto the center stone of the three in the crossing.”
“Good gods, if those are the ones I think they are, they’re like jagged teeth! She could die!” My voice started to choke at about the same time. I veered my mount around a cluster of people by a cook shop who shouted obscenities at us. I had to find the bastards who did this to Eleyne, but my duties could wait—I had to get home. I feared she and our child might be gone before I arrived.
*
Porus’s glum face, as he stood by the front door, wringing his hands, said it all. “The baby is dead, sir. I am sorry.”
Much as I prayed against it, his dismal words were not surprising. “What about my wife?”
“She has lost a lot of blood.”
I charged into the house, forgetting to dismiss my arriving escort. My hobnailed boots echoed down the hall as I rushed to our bedroom cubicle and barged into the dark, oppressively hot room. The only light, a bronze, three-headed horse lamp rested on a small table by Eleyne’s bedside. As Eleyne slept on the goose-feather mattress, the sputtering, yellow light illuminated her gray, perspiring face, one side covered by abrasions. Miraculously, her delicate nose appeared untouched. A bloodstained linen blanket covered her from hips down. The midwife slowly messaged her abdomen below the gown, which was pulled above the waist. She and Imogen, who was assisting her, wiped Eleyne’s face with a wet sponge. The women looked in my direction and wearily bowed.
The family physician, Soranus, a short Alexandrian Greek dressed in a bright-green, silk mantle, left her side and blocked me.
“I want to see my wife,” I demanded. “Get out of my way!”
“Commander Reburrus,” he said, “she is barely alive . . . you mustn’t disturb her.”
“Get out my way!”
Unflinching, he stood his ground. “With all due respect, my Lord, do you want her to die?”
I could have swatted his needle-thin body away like a fly, but his last question stopped me like a fortress wall. I refused to endanger Eleyne’s life. “But I must see my wife,” I pleaded weakly.
“In due time,” he offered in a friendlier voice. “She is very weak and requires complete rest. You must wait until she awakes.”
“But she may never awaken,” I said, afraid and shaken.
“That is possible, I regret to say,” he answered. “However, we must not take any chances—the fall greatly injured her.”
I told the physician that Chulainn had described the fall including Eleyne’s fear of losing the baby. “Did she lose the child because of the fall?”
Soranus pursed his thin lips and nodded. “Yes, Commander, she fell face first. Her abdomen smashed onto a large stepping stone.” He gestured toward Eleyne’s slumbering form. “The fall’s impact induced birth, and the baby was too small and badly injured to survive. Its skull was fractured. Also, your wife’s right arm was broken above the elbow.” Tightly wrapped with a dressing, Eleyne’s arm was splinted to long boards from elbow to wrist. “If there is any consolation,” Soranus added, “the break was clean and should heal nicely—with rest.”
I clinched my sweaty fists and shook my head. “Will she recover?”
“I don’t know—it’s too soon.” He glanced from me to Eleyne. “Her uterus was injured, and she lost much blood. Fortunately, the hemorrhaging stopped before you arrived—thank the gods. However, she must be confined to bed for many weeks if it is to heal.”
“I pray to the gods that she will recover.”
He placed his thumb and forefinger to his receding chin for a moment, silently pondering his reply. “If she stays free from infection and further bleeding, she has a good chance. My greatest concern is her rising fever.”
“Fever?” A thousand questions and worries raced through my mind.
The little physician crinkled his nose. “Had one of your Roman quacks attended, your wife’s chances for recovery would be slight, but with me the odds are far greater. Maybe one in three.”
I despised his smugness and wanted to strike him. “Why are her chances better with you?”
“It is something as a soldier you can appreciate—cleanliness.”
“Army hospitals are clean,” I said, puzzled.
“If you have noticed,” Soranus answered slowly, “my hair is short, and I do not wear a beard.” He pointed to his pale face. “I keep my fingernails short and clean, and I wash my hands with soap—something you Romans should copy from the Celts.” He made a gesture rubbing his hands together. “When I wash my hands in hot water and boil my instruments, infection seems reduced. Boiling water seems to purify whatever evil spirits inhabit the hands and tools.”
“Unusual methods. Is that what they teach now in Egypt?”
“I was not taught hygiene in Alexandria,” he answered in a voice dripping with contempt. “I learned from an Indian physician, whom I encountered when I was surgeon to a wealthy merchant in Parthia. They have practiced the technique for generations, as taught by their master, Susrata. It works.”
I poked his scrawny chest none too gently. “Then pray you succeed with my wife, because you’ll be substantially rewarded.”
Startled and wide-eyed, Soranus quickly regained his composure and stepped back. “Thank you, my Lord,” he replied with a bow, showing a true interest for the first time.
“If you fail . . . ,” I gave him an evil look, “the reward won’t be in gold.”
“I shall do everything in my power to ensure your wife’s recovery—reward or not. I am at your beck and call.”
“Of course, you will stay until she awakens?” I glared.
He met my eyes, seemed to measure me, and, perhaps pondering his fee, nodded. “Naturally, I am as concerned about her as you, Lord Reburrus.”
I glanced to Eleyne’s bloodstained sheets and back to the physician. “Didn’t you say you could reduce infection?”
“Of course.”
“In the army, soldiers aren’t kept in bloody blankets. Remove these at once.” Soranus nodded to the silent Imogen.
After the bed linen had been changed, Soranus stepped aside with a slight bow and motioned the women away. I moved to her bedside. Kneeling, I took her hand and studied her ashen face, viewing the abrasions on her face and hands. I touched her forehead, which burned with fever, and listened to her shallow but steady breathing. She moaned at my touch but did not open her eyes. Feeling helpless to do little more than watch, I prayed to all the gods, including her Christian God, that she would live. It was ironic that Eleyne had gone to pray fo
r the safe delivery of another woman’s child, but could not prevent the death of her own. Now she was fighting for her life.
As I got to my feet, I thought of something and turned to Soranus. “Couldn’t my wife’s fever be reduced by packing her in snow? I’ve heard stories that it can.”
He cocked his head to one side as if pondering the question and nodded. “Yes, Lord, combined with sponging, it does lower in some instances. However, the expense and distance to the mountains—”
“Damn the expense! If there’s a chance it’ll break her fever, then I’ll get it!”
Soranus gestured in the direction of the room’s entrance and back. “The Apennines are far away. The nearest snow is at least eighty miles, if it hasn’t melted. And the heat—”
“I can get there and back in one day, Commander.”
Startled, I turned and discovered a perspiring Casperius Niger standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here, Casperius?”
“I heard about your wife, sir. Came to see if there were any duties I could assume while you stayed with her.”
“You already have, Casperius,” I said. “Take my horses and chariot and ride to Mount Corno. Use army courier post horses as relief. Chulainn will follow in a wagon.”
“Tell your slave to meet me outside of Amiternum, on the Caelian Road,” Casperius said. “By then I’ll have the first sacks of snow.” He saluted and left for the stables without further comment.
Casperius would use the teakwood chariot, a gift from Sabinus presented to me upon returning to Rome. Paintings, depicting the army battling devil-like Germans, embossed the car’s body. The oakwood axle and wheel spokes sparkled with shining, silver plate. Bronze and gold-trimmed dolphins with twinkling amethyst eyes, decorated the yoke and pole. A gift worthy of a general returning in triumph. I now dispatched it on a journey far more important than any fleeting victory.
Both of us were aware of the conditions entailing this long and hazardous journey. After traveling part way on paved roads, the remaining trip consisted of a jolting kidney-breaking ride over a haphazard series of narrow, rutted wagon paths and goat trails.
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