The Fourth Nail: An Historical Novel

by Paul Argentini

  Senatore Justus spoke quietly from the distance. “You wear well your humiliation under your odiferous arrogance! Careful! You may soon be chained to an oar in a galley ship.”

  “I should have been brought home, not treated as a common criminal!” Marius said.

  “Your father has too much put up with you,” Milo said. “Time you’ve become civilized!”

  Marius turned to Milo. If anyone were to ask Marius the reason his stomach went sour the moment he saw Milo, he could not answer. He had come into his life when he was a young boy. It was barely within the time deemed appropriate for his father to remarry that his “step-uncle” appeared with his new stepmother. Marius wondered how he knew enough as young as he was to give the dandy a wide berth. Then, he learned Milo was the one who instigated the idea that Marius take outside cold baths summer and winter. He rebelled against them. Then when he realized their inevitability, he embraced them. Soon the shock of freezing water no longer affected him. In his mind, he made it feel warm. He no longer shivered or had chicken skin. Only his sex continued to shrivel up, his balls ascended hiding in his groin in their pockets. All of this allowed his boyish thoughts to run rampant with visions of revenge against Milo.

  Glaring at Milo, he said, “You are a ficonaso. Don’t stick your nose in our business. I wasn’t talking to you.” Marius turned back to his father. “Why is he still here? We both know he can’t be trusted. And, you, father, I follow in the footsteps of your own profligate reputation. Can we end this matter here and now? Order these chains removed and have Milo sent to the fumigatorium.” Marius could not understand how his father could allow strangers to sow hypocrisy in his home.

  “I will not lecture you today or evermore, Marius,” Senatore Justus said. “I may have been wild in my youth, but I never brought harm to anyone. You have caused a calamitous injury to a young woman, disfiguring face and body with fire so badly she is screaming yet.”

  “Yes! I was told,” Marius said. In his mind a distant echo of a high, thin scream. It broke through as he drowned in a miasma of thick wine-soaked wool sounding like steel striking stone. It shriveled his skin. He had already taken an oath to devote his life to assure her well being. “Do you think I have the feelings of a stick? I regret what happened. I swear I will make it right for her if it takes all my life and everything I may own.”

  “Horse manure!” Milo shouted.

  The Senatore raised a hand. “The insolence! You can’t do things right for yourself! I will have to see she is taken care of for you. You are a disgrace. You undermine my position in the Senate. You have had Greek tutors, the best training and education any Roman can get. Worse, you have had access to too much of my money. You are like a pissing drunk missing the pot. For shame! You believe you have the right to do that. No more. For you, t’is over that life. Finito.”

  “Finito!” Milo mimicked.

  “Bid your harlots farewell, whoremaster!” Virgil lisped.

  If Marius disliked Milo, his son, Virgil, revolted him. The “sensitive” boy, as he was called, was excused from the rigorous morning rituals. Virgil attached himself to his father ever since the morning Marius woke him at sunset and bodily threw him into the frigid waters. His screams were heard in the mountains. “Shall I learn from you how to push aside the tail of the sheep?” Marius asked Virgil.

  “Marius, dear,” his stepmother Norma said, “you know your father is right. Why don’t you appreciate what he does for you?”

  “Why is everyone making so much of this?” Cora exclaimed. “Marius has been put upon very hard to excel at everything. He needs his freedom. He’s a healthy, young man excited about life. Give him room to breathe. Father, do what you must to take care of the injured woman, and use the moment to re-direct Marius’s energies in a positive direction, like serving you as a Senate page. Accept his oath to reform.”

  “Too long he’s been untamed,” Milo said.

  Marius rattled his chains. When he came to understand such things, he knew his father’s marriage was for convenience. A Roman senator needed stability, a solid home, a complete family. Norma appeared at exactly the right moment. She brought in Milo to manage “the lands” so the Senatore could devote his attention to the Senate. The Senatore found her winsome, and even as she and her brother diminished his Estate, he could not see that she also was wily.

  “Father!” Marius said, “Why do you suppose Milo pushes so hard for my banishment?”

  “Your ploy is to point to smoke because you are on fire,” Senatore Justus said. “You are correct, however. If you wish to change yourself, I will help you. You are to be remanded to the custody of the Roman Legion at our territory of Jerusalem. It seems since your birth you have been destined to go in this direction. It will take you out of my sight so I may concentrate on my work.”

  “Father,” Cora said, “Better you send him away as a minor emissary to some foreign land! Even you long proclaimed that Marius was born under prophetic airs! You bragged loud and wide that the Oracle declared his destiny was to serve all mankind. If that is so, he must be given latitude!”

  “He used up all his latitude as a profligate! As a louche!” Senatore Justus said.

  “Father?” Cora said. “If you believed the Oracle when he was born, why do you not believe it now?”

  Marius shook his head. “Cora, thank you, but better you and I implore the density of marble columns rather than my estimable father who, with help...” he turned to glare at Milo, “...has already made up his mind! Do what you will, father! It will only make me stronger.”

  Senatore pointed his finger at Marius, “Up to now I have used my influence to keep you from being conscripted into the Roman army for the usual 16 to 21 years!” his father said. “You will be away for at least five years, possibly no more than ten! How long depends upon you.”

  Milo sneered, “I suggested twice as long. Whatever! Ta-tah! M’boy!”

  Marius’s hands shot forward as if he could grab Milo’s throat.

  Senatore Justus held up his hand. “When you have earned your release, you will be given this gold bracelet to wear as a free citizen of Rome, and it will do you honor!” He held up a gold wrist bracelet. “As a once privileged citizen, come back without it, and you will be hunted down and treated as a common criminal.”

  “Father, learn to sleep with one eye open to watch the scheming Milo and his sister,” Marius shouted. “For now find another scapegoat, father!” He swung around and started to bolt for the exit.

  The guard behind him yanked on the chain attached to his leg irons. The tug pulled his feet out from under him. Marius landed heavily, the air blowing out of him. His head cracked hard against the marble floor, his nose ran blood. The guard stood over him, “Will you walk or be dragged aboard the galley?”

  Marius heard nothing as he plummeted into the swirling vortex of comforting blackness with just a speck of the glistening sunlight on the vineyard.

  4

  The Vatican, 2000 A.D.

  “Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam, et portae inferi non praevalebunt adversum eam. Et tibi dabot claves regni coelorum,” Dr. Roberto Donadio declaimed.

  “Translate for me,” Diura Dicuorra said.

  “Look up,” he said. “Here in the Basilica, it’s the carved inscription 400-feet up in gold leaf. See it up there in the round? It reads: ‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and I will give you the keys of heaven.’ It is one of Jesus’ wittier attempts. ‘Petrus’ means ‘a stone,’ and ‘petram’ means ‘a rock. Here ‘Petra’ looks like a feminine form of ‘Petrus.’”

  “Thank you, Marius.”

  “Did you call me Marius?”

  “No. I know “M” is your middle initial, but I always call you Roberto. I’m impressed but not as much with the Latin as the fact that up to now your illness has not affected your memory!”

  Roberto smiled as he stared to take in Diura’s black eyes, olive skin, thick black hair. “All
my illness does is keep me from making love to you.”

  Diura turned her head and closed her eyes. Color tinted her cheeks. She turned back to stare at Roberto. “So it wasn’t all hellfire and brimstone with those old time fellows?” Diura asked. “And yet you sacrifice everything, including me, on blind faith that you were chosen to do this? Were you dreaming?”

  “Yes. Of Ancient Rome as I have been doing of late. I apologize. I have obsessed over the mystery of the Fourth Nail. Yes, it is not by specific choice I do this, yet by doing so, I keep order in the universe. I am not so quick to give you up. By the way, it is not blind faith. In my dreams I am given the power of knowledge. I do not walk alone.”

  “You keep saying that. You haven’t convinced me. I hope I scheduled enough time for our appointment at the Vatican library.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Roberto said. He searched out her essence inhaling heady, subtle perfume. “Thanks.”

  “If I expect to marry you, I’ve got to keep you alive.” She turned and nodded slightly signing it was a fact. The trip incited a barrage of disagreement between them. There were personal matters. Then came his illness. Now the search for a ghost of a religious relic further intervened. “You look rested.”

  “Yes, I slept on the jet when it would have been nicer for us to be doing something else.”

  “Yes, like having sex in the plane’s john so we can be members of the Mile High Club.”

  “Sei bella, sai?” Whenever he asked her if she knew she was beautiful, she would yank his chain and answer, “Yes, I know it.” It made him smile. He whispered hoarsely, “I wish I were able to make love to you again, mia cara Diura.” He cursed the illness that took intimacy away from them. He yearned for her closeness. In his mind, he searched for the delicious smell of her perfume mixed with the heat of her skin. Holding her in his arms constantly intruded his thoughts, day and night.

  “You read my every thought. And, my! my! In St. Peter’s Basilica, no less! Have you no shame? And that’s not all you think about. Between your dreams, your father, and this trip, it seems all you want to hold is the fourth nail!”

  Life was a lot simpler before his father died. His mind was on his academic pursuits, of being the teacher his students would always remember because of what he taught them. He reviewed his courses every semester. He added and removed, honing the information he would impart. His greatest pleasure was hearing his students report back with their successes. “It didn’t start out that way.”

  “Roberto, no miracle will give each of us another life. Let’s not squander this one. Carpe diem. La vita comince domani! Laisez le bons temps roulez. Live now! Let’s get married, take time for a honeymoon, and find a way to make you well. Hop aboard! Your mission can wait!”

  He had to turn away from her. The conflict tore at him because in his heart he knew she was right. He wanted to chase his own dreams, his own fantasies. It was easier to accept a sacrifice when the chore was completed. The gnawing feeling in his gut took him back to the moment his father shackled him to the chore of tracking down a nail supposedly used at the Crucifixion. Fiction? Fact? Roberto didn’t know. Truth be told, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he would rather be on his boat using his Sabbatical from Yale to sail around the world. Right in the middle of final exam week, he got the call from his father. He put him off as long as he could until his father sent the limousine for him. That was when his father told him he had only a short time to live and wanted Roberto to know as much about his research as possible. The fact that Roberto told him he wasn’t at all interested made little difference to the old man. On his deathbed, he extracted the promise from his son that changed his life.

  V

  That he was on a ship was the first thought that edged into Marius’s mind. He could feel the rise and fall of the waves. He caught the pulsing, steady rhythm of the drop, pull, and lift of the oars. His nose was only partly clogged so he could smell the salt air. The urge was to go back to sleep. He wanted to return to the vineyard, the garden of his sweetest thoughts. Barely into his teens, he had stolen away on one of his father’s horses to ride the countryside. The horse was gigantic, and Marius could mount it only by climbing a tree and dropping onto its back. He rode bareback clutching the mane. While riding the wind, he tumbled off. He awoke to find an old man grasping his hand with one foot on his chest and the other at his neck. The old man grunted and yanked and reset his dislocated shoulder. Then, Serafina tickled his nose to wake him up. Thereon at all hours of night and day, awake or sleeping, Marius searched out the elfin Serafina--her vision, her laughter, her touch. He found her in Paradise standing on the dappled ground of a grape arbor. She held a bunch of grapes and pushed one into his mouth. He searched for the sweet, juicy taste finding instead the bitterness of lost pleasures.

  Curiosity made Marius open his eyes. He was beneath a blanket. When he pulled it away and stared out, he found himself looking into the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. The smiling boyish face of the young man had a dark olive complexion and perfect white teeth. He had the long blond hair of the northerners.

  “The blanket? I cover you! I’m Angelus!” he said. “The chariot run over you how many times? Must say, you are bloody nightmare! Eh?”

  Marius put his hand to his face. His nose was swollen, the eye that remained closed felt like an eggplant. His temple and cheek were tender. He could feel crusted blood on his lip, chin, and tasted the metallic rust in his throat. Worse, he felt self-loathing when he remembered the screaming girl. More than anything else, he felt his father had deprived him of his dignity by not allowing him to visit the girl. For whatever it was worth, an abject apology was due. No matter how it was received, she should have heard it from his mouth, how penitent he was, how much he regretted the harm he caused her. Even though, he could recall only the early part of the evening, his dreams brought him flashes of the incident. Her screams were in blackness, then flames would light up her face. “I have no servant. You didn’t have to cover me.”

  “Yes, I did! I could not stand to look at you. Both eyes framed in a mask of jet black, dark blue, jade green, sea foam yellow. You new race of man. Eh? You are quite fancy character. Then, I find out you have nothing to steal,” Angelus said. He found he was simpatico with the giant of a youth. His brothers were much too old to put up with him, so he spent many hours inventing his own games and amusing himself. Girls were something else, but here was a companion with which he could share an adventure.

  Marius touched his neck. “Too late. I’m missing my gold neck chain.”

  “Would it surprise you to learn you offend? You stink like a vomitorium.”

  “Where are we?” Marius asked.

  “At sea for two days. The ship takes troops to Jerusalem, wherever that is,” Angelus said. “I was to slip over the side in port, but they watch too close and these cazzo chains make too much noise. Eh?”

  “And you?” Marius asked. “You’re training to be a sailor?”

  “First, I tell you about me. Eh?” Angelus said. “Then you.” He was from much further north. His father’s wealth made him a magistrate filled with self-importance. As his youngest son, Angelus, was too difficult to control. Added to the gambling debts was getting caught in bed with his neighbor’s daughter. Perhaps if she had not screamed out her ecstasy, her father would not have been alerted. Then, Angelus would not have been brought before his father with demands of honor and marriage. Angelus said what he had to say to that was to escape to the forest. He returned home only to attend his father’s and his older brother’s funeral, both murdered by his eldest brother. His brother was offered a chance to flee, but greed made him demand his share of the Estate and drew his sword, and was struck down. Despite the warm invitation, Angelus did not stick around after the funerals for the memorial dinner.

  Angelus tapped the plank, and said, “Here I am, to dream of how to avenge my father and middle brother. You know? Some day I confront that stinking whore’s pataka of an oldest brother
and cut his heart out while pissing in his mouth. Eh? And you? Bad luck, of course. With a body like that you had to be caught with the Emperor’s mistress screaming for more, impaled as she was with ecstasy? Eh?”

  “Much worse.” His face grew dark. “I disfigured an innocent.”

  “Your stink is disfiguring my sensitive nose!”

  Angelus used a bucket tied to a rope to bring up water for Marius. Angelus doused him time after time. Marius called for the freezing water again and again. Then, he brought up water in which Marius could wash his tunic.

  “I can do for myself. No one made you my slave, Angelus.”

  “Perche? Why? Because no master is god to his servant?”

  “No, because despite your sorry character, better I can use a good friend.”

  Marius awoke in the middle of the afternoon. He stepped to the foc’s’le. He watched the flying fish sail from wave to wave leading him further and further from home. How ironic, he thought. As a young Roman, he had learned his father’s lessons too well. He was ordered to go with his father’s servant. He followed the man through the city. He could barely see into the dim room. He had no idea what to expect but he knew something unusual was in store for him. He found himself shivering just as he did at his very first morning baths. He sensed her presence before she padded up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. He felt her heat when she took his hand and led him to furs on the floor. She let his tunic fall away. She put her hand on his neck, and circled him. Each time her hand dropped lower and lower, and stopped at his hip. Standing in front of him, she took his hand, brought it to her shoulder, and then guided it to cup her breast. It was smooth, yielding. His fingertips followed her nipple.