The Sign of the Eagle

by Jess Steven Hughes

  As she tossed and turned on her goose-down bed, Macha’s restless mind flashed back to Antonia and her revelations. The consequence of the tryst between her Vestal friend and Bassus was nothing short of deadly. Was there anything she could do to keep the woman, who knew of the relationship, from telling the Emperor? Who was she? I must learn who it is, she thought. It could be anyone. And I need Antonia and Bassus’ help to obtain Titus’s release. And there is little Titus. What else can I do to find him? I must get a grip on myself. Sleep was impossible.

  Macha got up and splashed water on her face. Attempting to soothe her nerves, she strolled to the atrium and picked up her harp.

  She had been sitting on a cushioned bench playing for about an hour and was starting to relax when the steward, Vasili, approached. “Lady Carataca, Tribune Rubellius Falco is here to see you. Shall I admit him?”

  Macha remained motionless, silently debating whether to see Falco. She hadn’t expected his arrival in Rome. She shivered. Why did he come to the city, she silently questioned, and what is his reason for seeing me? Thank the gods I’m not carrying a dagger. The temptation to use it might overcome me.

  “Shall I tell him you are indisposed?” Vasili asked.

  “No, let him in. I’ll see what he wants.” She laid down her harp, smoothed the wrinkles of the yellow stola clinging to her legs and swept back a crimson lock falling over her lightly freckled forehead.

  Shafer sat on a stool a few paces away, patching a woolen tunic. She pulled a thin whalebone needle through the tattered end of the cloth, stopped and turned to Macha. “Isn’t he the Roman who thinks all women are in love with him, Lady Carataca?”

  “The same.”

  “Do you think he’ll try again?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. He’d be a fool if he did.”

  The Moorish woman sniffed and tied off a thread on the seam. “Some men are too in love with themselves to give up. He needs a swift kick between the legs.”

  Falco, his muscular frame draped in the uniform of a tribune, swaggered into the atrium and confidently approached Macha. His silver cuirass covering a white jerkin, a purple edge tunic and knee length breeches, didn’t impress Macha. Nor did the cavalry long sword, the Spatha, sheathed in a baldric, hanging from his shoulder. Titus appears much handsomer in the same clothing, she thought. Not budging from her seat, Macha glared coldly at the tribune.

  Halting before her, he removed his scarlet-plumed helmet. “Good morning, Lady Carataca. I hope you are well today?” For an instant Falco eyed Shafer, then the hallway entrance.

  “She stays, Tribune Falco,” Macha said. “To what do I owe this visit?”

  “Last night,” Falco answered, “I arrived in Rome and wanted to pay my respects to the wife of my good friend, Titus.” He grinned. His dark penetrating eyes made her feel almost as violated as if he were a rapist taking his pleasure. She suppressed a shudder.

  He took a seat next to Macha. She refused to move, picked up her ornately-scrolled harp and plucked a few chords on the seven-stringed instrument. A mournful but melodic sound echoed through the atrium. She stopped and turned to Falco and smiled, but inwardly her stomach churned.

  “You’re so kind,” Macha said. “What is your real reason for visiting me?”

  “To render you my services. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Get Titus released.” She set down the harp once again. Not offering any to Falco, Macha took a sip of white wine from a glass cup on the small table in front of the bench. She glanced to Shafer who remained seated on the stool patching the tunic’s sleeve.

  He gestured with a sweep of a hand, spreading his manicured fingers. “I regret that’s out of the question—only the Emperor can free him. In fact, I came to Rome to testify at his court-martial.”

  “Why you, Tribune Falco?” Macha took another swallow of wine.

  “To verify your husband’s interrogation was conducted in a lawful manner.”

  Shocked, Macha spewed a cascade of wine onto the floor from her mouth, barely missing Falco’s sandaled boots.

  He jumped to his feet, scanned the atrium, and ordered a passing slave to fetch a towel.

  Shafer rushed to Macha’s side and dropped to her knees. “Are you all right, Lady Carataca?”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” Macha choked a reply. “I was just a little startled and choked.”

  Falco edged away and stood at the far end of the seat. “I’m sorry if I said anything to upset you, Lady Carataca.”

  The slave returned and handed Macha a soft towel. As he cleaned the splattered wine, Macha dabbed her mouth and face, returned the cloth to the slave, and dismissed him. Shafer returned to her seat and continued sewing.

  Macha said, “It’s difficult for me to believe you traveled all the way to Rome just for that one purpose.”

  “Reason enough, isn’t it?” Falco stepped closer and lowered his head to meet her eyes. He stared through hers as if she weren’t there. Macha's stomach contracted like a fist.

  “Unlike the Emperors Nero and Tiberius, Vespasian wants no cloud of injustice hovering over this or any future treason trials.”

  She recalled the two emperors had arrested and condemned hundreds of suspected traitors, most of whom belonged to the nobility, on the flimsiest of evidence and without trial.

  “I’m grateful at least for the Emperor’s consideration.”

  Falco shook his head. “Unfortunately, Titus’ chances of acquittal are bleak. The implications for you should be apparent.”

  “If you remember, we discussed the subject at Helena’s dinner party.”

  “Being the widow of a condemned traitor is a consequence no woman deserves to suffer,” Falco said. “Where would you go, and who would take care of you?”

  “I’m not a widow.” Macha inhaled deeply and stared into his eyes. “In any event it wouldn’t be you, Tribune Falco, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “I’ve never suggested anything of the sort, Lady.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve made sacrifices to the gods for Titus’ acquittal.”

  She smoothed her stola with sweaty hands and turned a cold eye on Falco. “How noble. I pray the gods will answer your prayers. Then I’ll not have to worry about widowhood.”

  Falco placed his hand on the bejeweled hilt of his sword and narrowed his black eyes. “The reality remains—Titus will be found guilty and condemned, Macha. A desirable woman like you need not be left alone without so much as a quadran to her name.”

  Macha nodded in the direction of the entryway on the other side of the atrium. “Will you leave, please? I’ll not hear another word about my husband’s pending execution or my future widowhood. You’re no longer welcomed in this home.”

  “You’re making a grave mistake, dear lady.”

  As Falco stormed through the front entrance, Shafer jabbed her middle index finger in the time-honored Greek manner in his direction. “Forgive me, lady, but he’s an evil man.”

  A sudden chill raced through Macha’s body. She wrapped her arms close around her small breasts.

  “You’re shivering,” Shafer said as she stepped to Macha’s side and laid the tunic across her shoulders.

  “It’s Falco’s words that turned me cold,” Macha answered. “Titus’ chances of freedom are so remote—it frightens me.” Macha hadn’t told Shafer about his part, yet.

  “You’ll prove his innocence, I’m sure.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me. What I don’t understand is why, with all the eligible women in the Roman Empire to choose from, Falco is pursuing me?”

  “Because you are unreachable. He wants to conquer you—not to mention the glamour of being married to the daughter of a king.”

  “So when he becomes bored, he can use and then toss me aside like a stone,” Macha said ruefully, her emerald eyes narrowed. “Falco will never touch me.”

  Is Falco involved with the murders of Nicanor, his son, and Metrobius? Macha puzzled. Or is it just my overwr
ought imagination running wild? I must get a hold of myself. Is he truly here only to testify at my husband's court-martial? I don't know what to think anymore.

  Macha still possessed five black splinters found on Nicanor’s body in the stable. But they held no value unless the club was recovered. Even if the weapon found its way to the capital, and she confiscated it, the slivers needed to match perfectly to be used as evidence.

  * * * * *

  About an hour after dusk, as she left the library, Macha heard a commotion at the front door. Close as she was, rather than sending a slave, she crossed the atrium to the entry to investigate the problem.

  “I demand to see Senator Bassus.”

  She recognized the fractured voice of Crixus and spied him at the gate wrapped in a black woolen cloak. A huge red-bearded Dacian bodyguard accompanied the Gaul.

  “The Senator is not here,” Vasili answered.

  “You’re lying, you sniveling dog,” Crixus snarled. “He’ll see me, it’s important.”

  “Let them in, Vasili,” Macha ordered. “I’ll speak to Crixus.” Still recovering from his interrogation, the Gaul limped into the vestibule. The Dacian, who came from north of the River Danubus, wore the traditional black and smelly woolen tunic and the breeches of his people, followed. The shadows from the torches lighting the entryway flickered eerily on Crixus’ cleaved face. Macha swallowed gall to keep eye contact with this loathsome creature, his appearance, his devious manner.

  She led them to the garden. Spring night air grazed Macha’s face and arms like a thin veil of delicate silk. They stopped beside a whitewashed lattice fence bordering the gravel path at the far end, near the peristyle. Beyond the fence a long bed of daisies and pink oleanders grew next to the house’s wall. In the corner a green-striated marble fountain gurgled, spewing water from the mouth of a blue dolphin. The noise of produce wagons rumbling down dark narrow streets echoed from the city below. Crickets ceased their chirping as they approached. Macha scanned the area—no slaves lurked about.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Crixus,” Macha admonished. “By calling at the Senator’s house, you place yourself in danger. It jeopardizes our efforts to bring the real conspirators to justice.”

  “But I have urgent news for Senator Bassus,” Crixus insisted. He twisted his crooked face in the direction of the entryway to the house.

  “He left for Misenum yesterday.”

  Crixus snapped his head back to Macha. “Gone? This is the first time I’ve heard of it.”

  “Why don’t you give me the information?” Macha gestured toward her chest. “I’ll convey it to Senator Bassus when he returns.”

  “I’ll wait ‘til he’s back,” Crixus said as he shook his head. “No one sees it but him. It’s a copy of the list of conspirators.”

  Macha choked. “The list! That will save my husband’s life. I’m entitled to see it. My son’s life and mine are at stake, too. I won’t reveal your secret, I promise.”

  “Can’t take the chance, it’s my neck, too.”

  “All the more reason why I must see it, now,” Macha said in an urgent voice. “We’re all in this together whether we like it or not. We have to depend on one another if we’re to survive.”

  Crixus snorted. “I depend on no one for my survival. I’ll be back when the Senator returns to Rome.”

  He turned on his heels, followed by his bodyguard, and left the garden. What now? a stunned Macha thought. How can Crixus be so selfish? Macha breathed deeply. Slowly, she turned and proceeded through the garden, back to the library. She bowed her head over the citrus wood desk and prayed.

  Mother Goddess Anu please change the Gaul’s mind. Titus, my son—and I—depend upon it.

  The goddess did not answer.

  Chapter 26

  Of Thumbs and Murder

  As Macha arose to eat breakfast, the sun topped the rim of the distant Sabine Hills. She had slept poorly, too shaken knowing Crixus possessed a copy of the list and refused to share it with her.

  While she dined on honeyed cakes, spring melon, and olives, Vasili entered the triclinium and informed her that a courier with a sealed message waited in the atrium. Macha shot him a puzzled look. No document was delivered at this time of morning unless it contained ominous news. So much had occurred during the last two weeks, she dreaded the implication. Her stomach clenched.

  “I’ll meet him in the library,” she said.

  Vasili nodded and departed.

  The trooper from the Watch entered the tablinum and said, “I have a dispatch from Tribune Pomponius Appius, Lady Carataca.” He halted in front of her desk. Macha reached for the sealed parchment.

  “Thank you. You may leave.”

  “Tribune Appius has instructed me to wait for your reply.”

  Macha summoned a slave who lead the bucketman to the kitchen for food and drink while she read the letter.

  She slashed open the document’s brittle waxed seal with a needle-thin silver dagger and began to read. She gasped and dropped the scroll on the desk. “No, not Crixus! Killed!” Catching her breath, she went to the door and ordered a passing slave to find Shafer and send her to the tablinum.

  Waiting for the Moorish woman, Macha returned to the table, picked up, and continued reading the missive. According to the dispatch, Horse Arse and his Dacian bodyguard had just left The Spade and Pickaxe Tavern, and as they stepped into the lane outside, six assassins sprang from the shadows with drawn daggers. Wearing black clothing, their faces covered, the killers repeatedly slashed the two victims. Upon finishing their grisly work, the murderers had vanished into the night as suddenly as they had appeared. Crixus died, but his personal guard, although left unconscious and bleeding badly, survived

  The echo of sandals preceded Shafer down the hallway. She entered to the room and stopped when she saw Macha’s agonized face. “What is it, Lady? What’s wrong?”

  “Crixus has been murdered!” She motioned to the message.

  Her slave shot a hand to her mouth. “No! When?”

  “Last night outside the Spade and Pickaxe, a wine shop in the Subura. It’s a place frequented by laborers and thieves.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a most horrible place,” Shafer said, her hand falling to her side.

  “Unfortunately, not for the likes of Crixus,” Macha answered. She returned to the message and continued reading. “It was Pomponius Appius who learned about Crixus’ death,” she added.

  Shafer moved closer to Macha. “Who told him?”

  “One of Bassus’ informants,” she answered in a lowered voice, motioning Shafer to sit on a stool at the side of the desk. “Appius confirmed it with the commander of the Third Cohort of the Watch, which patrols the Subura.”

  Macha further explained the details she had read prior to her servant’s arrival. She went on to read the bodyguard had survived to tell arriving watchmen the assassins had stolen a list from Crixus. He didn’t know what it contained. Crixus had screamed before he died, “Tell Lady Macha they’ve got the list!”

  The Watch centurion in charge of the investigation had relayed the information to his cohort commander.

  Macha fell silent. She knew it was a list of conspirators, the same Crixus had in his possession when he saw her last night. She read on and discovered Pomponius Appius had reached the same conclusion. The list had been within her grasp, only to be lost. The copy was now in the hands of Titus’s enemies.

  “This was the extra list naming all the conspirators,” Macha said aloud. “It would have cleared Titus of treason.”

  “But Crixus is dead, and the proof is gone,” Shafer said.

  “I wonder who discovered Crixus’ treachery? Isn’t it strange he was murdered right after Tribune Falco arrived in Rome?" Macha tossed the scroll onto the table.

  “Do you think the tribune had a part in the murder?”

  “It would be only a guess on my part, and I have no proof.” With Crixus’ death, another opportunity for Titus’ vindication had evaporated
like steam from a cooking pot.

  Summoning the messenger, Macha informed him that she requested Tribune Pomponius Appius’ presence as soon as possible.

  “Can you trust Tribune Appius?” Shafer asked after the messenger left.

  Macha dropped her hands to her lap. She thought about her decision. “Senator Bassus says I can. The Tribune seems to have second thoughts about my husband’s guilt, and I have to trust somebody, especially, with the Senator away. I have already asked him to search for my son.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else in Rome you could ask?”

  “Not anyone I trust,” Macha answered. She nodded toward the library door.

  Shafer stood and scooted to the entry, took half a step outside and scanned the atrium. A slave swept the mosaic floor by the impluvium, sounds of a scraping reed broom echoed off the surrounding walls.

  “Appius is the only official I can enlist in my search for the truth,” Macha whispered, when Shafer returned. “He knows there’s a list. I’m sure he wants to find it as much as I. He hasn’t found my son, or he would have sent word. Nothing was mentioned in this dispatch.” Macha motioned for Shafer to take the stool.

  “But you said you still questioned his true involvement in the affair.” Shafer glided from the door and sat.

  “I do,” Macha replied. “Rather, I did.” She shook her head. “Now, I’m not sure. Senator Bassus said he had a reason for bringing the tribune to Rome but never said why. Since he’s gone to Misenum, Pomponius Appius is the only ally I can employ, and gods forbid, protector.” And gods forbid if the Senator is part of the conspiracy as well, Macha added silently. Mother Goddess, I pray he is not.

  “We’ve traveled around the city before without one, why not now?” Shafer asked, interrupting Macha's thoughts.

  “We’ll need a male to escort us to places where we can’t go alone, such as the Subura. Going about the city disguised as prostitutes nearly got us killed. And we were equally as fortunate in seeing Antonia at the quarry without being attacked. We can’t risk that again.” Still suspicious of Appius and his intentions, she prayed Bassus’ reason for bringing him to the capital was to help clear Titus.