The Sign of the Eagle

by Jess Steven Hughes

  Shafer stayed in the shadows of the tenement building, then edged her way back to the entrance. She peered around the corner. “He’s gone,” she said a few seconds later.

  “Thank Mother Goddess, he didn’t see us.” Macha sighed in relief.

  “Lady Carataca, how did you know the tribune came from Lady Pollia’s home?” Shafer asked.

  “He was riding from that direction. He must have been at Pollia's.”

  "Do you think he is bedding her?"

  "Perhaps. I know Nicanor saw them together the night before he was murdered."

  They arrived at Pollia’s palatial mansion, framed by high walls bordered with cypress and poplars. Situated in Rome’s most prestigious residential area, the imposing two-story house sprawled along the crest of Esquiline Hill.

  Macha informed the gatekeeper she requested a visitation with Pollia. “Tell your mistress that I, Macha Carataca, need her help at once!”

  Chapter 28

  A Snob by Any Other Name

  Waiting in the atrium for Pollia to receive her, Macha sat on an uncomfortable marble bench for nearly an hour. She’s doing this deliberately, Macha thought. She heard the scraping sounds of Shafer’s sandals behind her. No doubt she was getting tired of standing on the marble floor in one spot for so long.

  Pollia glided into the reception area. Coiffed into a multi-set of ringlets above the forehead, the center of Pollia’s hair was pulled back and rolled into a bun at the nape of her neck and tied together by a gilded leather thong. She wore a sleeveless stola of indigo silk and a pair of bejeweled doeskin sandals. Two snake-headed gold bracelets loosely encircled her wrists. Clustered like grapes, pearl earrings hung from thin ear lobes.

  She extended her fingertips to Macha. “What an unexpected pleasure,” she said in a honeyed voice.

  “It’s kind of you to see me, Pollia,” Macha replied.

  Pollia smiled demurely. “My, what a novel hairdo. Is that what the ladies of Mediolanum are wearing, or is it one of your quaint barbarian styles?”

  Macha answered as if the insult were a compliment. “No, Pollia, it’s a little something my slave dreamed up.”

  “Well, now that you’re in Rome, you must try the latest style, like the one I’m wearing. It will do wonders for your appearance and take years off your age. Come along to the garden, where we can chat without interruption,” Pollia said.

  Macha followed Pollia across the mosaic floor. Shafer kept a discreet distance behind the two women. Glancing about the atrium, Macha noticed near the entryway a full-length wall portrait of a dignified Pollia and Pedius. Standing together in their finest clothing, the couple displayed the Roman symbols of importance and prosperity. Pollia held a twin-leafed wax tablet and stylus, and Pedius clenched a papyrus scroll.

  A great pattern of tiny stones, laid out in spirals of black, white, and red, ran from the green striated pillars at the entryway from the atrium across to the vast garden beyond. Pink, red, and yellow roses clustered in dozens of vases and sweetened the stifling late morning heat.

  “You’ve never been here before, have you, Macha?” Pollia asked.

  “No, this is my first visit; your home is very impressive.”

  A patronizing smile radiated from Pollia's full lips. “Of course, it is. I personally supervised its design and decorations.”

  They strolled through the hallway past numerous marble busts and statues of Pedius’ dour ancestors and assorted gods and goddesses lining the colonnaded hall. One caught Macha’s attention near the opening to the garden—a graceful life-like statue of Venus preparing for the bath. She had seen copies of the famous work before. Priapus, the god of fertility, and her son, Cupid, assisted the nude goddess. Upon closer observation, Macha noticed a distinct difference in this model—the face resembled a youthful Pollia.

  The huge terraced garden contained a forest of clipped evergreens and tree-lined walkways with ivy garlands strung from trunk to trunk. Birds rustled among the branches and shrubs chirping and squawking.

  “Sit down,” Pollia gestured Macha to a pink-veined marble bench facing her. Shafer stood behind Macha a few feet distant. Pollia ordered a slave to bring wine and sweetmeats. They sat amidst the blooming roses, crown daisies, and oleanders. Their mild fragrance drifting on a light breeze.

  “Now tell me, what is this about wanting my help?” Pollia inquired.

  “I’m desperate, Pollia. You and Pedius are the only people who can help me.”

  For a split second Pollia’s forehead creased. She examined her long fingernails, painted with the sediment of red wine. Her gaze returned to Macha. “That depends on what you want from us.”

  A slave arrived with refreshments. The women said nothing further until the wine was poured and the server had departed for the kitchen. Another stood behind Pollia.

  Macha barely tasted the cool Albanian wine served in a plain bronze cup. “You have influence with the Emperor. You can persuade him to free Titus,” she finally said.

  “You must be joking. We don’t have any real influence with the Emperor.” Pollia sipped her drink from a bejeweled silver goblet and smirked.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” Macha countered. “The Emperor desperately needs your husband’s loans to finance the rebuilding of the Empire. Pedius can use his resources as leverage. Surely the two of you can do something for me.”

  Pollia sniffed. “Why should we? My husband is an honest businessman. He wouldn’t abuse his privileges to persuade Vespasian to release a traitor.”

  Macha thought, It’s enough that Pollia insults me, but I’m certain she’s lying. Macha pressed the cup to her lips pretending to sip. It was the only way she could hold her tongue. Pollia’s husband has a notorious reputation for bribing Imperial officials to obtain lucrative government contracts.

  Quietly, Shafer approached Macha. “Forgive my intrusion, Lady Carataca.” She whispered into Macha’s ear.

  “Of course, Shafer,” Macha said as she set the drink on the adjacent bench. “I’m sorry to bother you, Pollia, but would you be kind enough to allow one of your slaves to show mine to the privy? She has stomach problems.”

  Pollia crinkled her nose, turned, and nodded sharply to a slave woman standing behind her. Shafer followed.

  “Contrary to what you have heard,” Macha continued, “Titus is innocent. I would do anything to gain his freedom. Now that my son has been kidnapped, I need him more than ever.”

  “Your son? Why, Macha, that’s dreadful—I had no idea.” Briefly, Pollia reached over and touched Macha’s wrist with an icicle-cold hand. “I’m sorry to hear about your son.”

  “I thought you knew. I’m nearly at my wits end.” No doubt Pollia knows, Macha thought, but I need to stall her as long as possible if Shafer is to succeed. She proceeded to tell Pollia the details of the kidnapping. As Macha described the tall broken-nose bandit who had snatched her son, Pollia clenched her goblet for the space of a heartbeat. Otherwise she displayed no emotion.

  “And that’s about all I know right now,” Macha said as she finished her story. “So far there has been no news as to where he might be.”

  “But the authorities are searching, are they not?”

  “Yes, they are. I pray they find little Titus soon, and arrest the kidnappers.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Pollia said. She pursed her lips for a few seconds and studied Macha. “In the meantime, wouldn’t it be better if you returned home?”

  Macha lowered her eyes. “I should, but I can’t leave my husband.” She looked up and returned Pollia’s gaze without blinking. “That’s why I came to you. I know you and your husband can help me. I thought you had heard about my son’s abduction and might know something—you have the ear of Rome.”

  Pollia shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re gravely mistaken, dear. I didn’t have the faintest notion. And as for my husband’s influence, you give him more credit than he deserves.”

  Macha looked about for Shafer who hadn’t retu
rned. She must think of something else to hold Pollia’s attention.

  “By the way, where is your husband, Pollia?” Macha inquired. “Couldn’t I at least ask him?”

  “He’s away on business. Even if he were here, I seriously doubt he would spare any time for you.” Pollia paused as if remembering something. Her cold gray eyes gazed beyond Macha to the garden entrance. “I notice your slave isn’t back.”

  “As I said, she’s has stomach problems.”

  Pollia eyed the slave who had led Shafer to the latrine. “Where is Lady Carataca’s slave?”

  “Still in the water closet, Mistress. She wasn’t feeling well.”

  “You fool,” Pollia snapped. “Why didn’t you stay with her? Return at once, and see if she’s still there.”

  Macha steeled herself not to betray her concern. But her mouth turned dry and the palm of her hands grew clammy.

  “Shafer may be returning even as we speak,” Macha said evenly. “I assume she went to the slave’s privy.”

  “We shall see.”

  Macha struggled to breathe normally. The tension within her body grew with each passing second. Would Pollia’s slave find Shafer still in the water closet? “She could have gotten lost in this mansion.”

  For the space of a couple of breaths, Macha hesitated. Second thoughts about seeing Pollia flooded her mind. Wasn't it obvious that Pollia was not going to aid her in getting Titus' release? If Shafer is caught in the library, Macha thought uneasily, I could be accused of using Shafer to spy on them. As the wife of an accused traitor, I might be arrested for treason. Pollia could say I attempted to plant evidence implicating that she and her husband were taking part in the conspiracy against the Emperor. Shafer would be tortured until she confessed to such a lie. Mother Goddess, I must keep a hold of myself and hope Shafer returns quickly. Macha had half expected her beating heart would burst through her chest. How much longer she could hold Pollia’s attention?

  “As I mentioned before,” Macha continued, “Cutthroats snatched my son and who knows, they may have even murdered him. As a mother, is it not my right to seek justice?” She wanted to add that whoever they were, they had underestimated her, but she kept the thoughts to herself.

  “Of course it is, but why are you telling me all this?” Pollia asked.

  Macha chose her words carefully. “Because I don’t want to see my husband wrongfully tried for a crime he didn’t commit. I want my son found and released before he suffers real harm. That’s why I’m seeking your help and influence with the Emperor to release my husband and seek my son’s kidnappers.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Pollia said in a flat voice. She seemed about to add something further when the slaves returned together.

  Shafer hurried to Macha’s side and knelt before her. She bowed her head, her eyes on the floor. “I’m most sorry to be away so long, my lady, but I feel much better now.”

  “I’m pleased you are, Shafer,” Macha said, genuinely relieved by her safe return. Shafer stood and took a place at a discreet distance behind Macha.

  “I found her still there, Mistress,” the other slave whispered to Pollia.

  “Consider yourself fortunate.” Pollia said. “Otherwise, I would have flogged you until no skin was left on your back.”

  Pollia turned to Macha. “And now you must leave. I assure you I don’t have the faintest knowledge of what you are talking about. I feel no obligation to assist the wife of a traitor.”

  She raised an eyebrow in the direction of a slave, which to Macha’s relief escorted her and Shafer to the front gate.

  Macha hoped Shafer’s search had not been in vain.

  As they approached the palanquin, Shafer stepped close to Macha and whispered, “Mistress, I didn't find what you wanted.”

  Chapter 29

  Ambush

  Beneath a glaring mid-afternoon sun, Macha and Shafer left Pollia's home. She commanded the litter bearers to head for Watch headquarters of the Fourth Cohort on Vicus Piscinae Road. Although slaves were prohibited by law from riding in a palanquin, Macha considered Shafer her friend and invited her to sit with her in the shaded refuge of her sedan. Viriatus and a couple of slave carriers eyed the women.

  Macha nodded to the Spaniard, “Proceed.” To the swaying rhythm of the litter, the two women were borne down a narrow lane from Esquiline Hill.

  “It’s time Pomponius Appius knows about the finger,” Macha said to Shafer, “and what I suspect about Pollia.”

  Macha turned her head and checked to see if they were being followed. She saw nothing suspicious through the sedan’s open curtains. “Now, tell me what you did after going to the privy?”

  “Mother Fortuna smiled upon me,” Shafer whispered. “I did all the things you told me to do. From the latrine, I kept groaning loudly so the slave outside would think I was most sick. A few minutes later I looked through the door and she was gone, so I sneaked out.

  “I darted from room to room, making sure no one saw me, until I reached the library. As you guessed, it was near the atrium. Just like you instructed, I looked for any scroll or wax tablet with the same handwriting found in the accursed box with the little child’s finger.”

  “Go on,” Macha urged.

  “I rummaged through all the pigeon-holed cupboards looking for scrolls and waxed tablets. At the same time I kept an ear open for footsteps coming from the hallway outside the door”

  “Any luck?” Macha asked.

  “I didn’t find any writing resembling your note,” Shafer answered. “I started on a bin marked accounts due and pulled five waxed-tablets from a slot. But they slipped through my fingers and clattered onto the floor.”

  Macha sucked in her breath. “What! Did they break? Did anyone hear you?”

  “Thank gods, no,” Shafer answered. “I picked them up quickly and returned them to the cupboard. Just then I saw another lying open. But I did not get close enough to examine it before I heard footsteps hurrying down the corridor towards the tablinum. I left it where I found it and barely escaped through the back door,” Shafer replied. “I ran into a dark room and hid beneath the bed and squeezed myself under a bug-infested mattress.”

  Macha’s hand shot to her mouth. “Disgusting!”

  “Then I heard voices,” Shafer said. “Someone said everything appeared to be in order, but I stayed where I was a little longer. It’s a good thing I did. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps come into the bedroom. A man’s voice mumbled nothing was there, probably a slave had dropped something in the hallway and then gone.”

  “What happened next?”

  “As soon as I felt he wouldn’t return, I left the cubiculum and dashed for the privy. When I got inside, I heard Lady Pollia’s slave’s footsteps, so I gave a loud sigh of relief. I was sitting on the latrine when she opened the door. She asked if I was feeling better, and I said, ‘Gracious, yes.’ After I tidied myself, she escorted me back to the garden.”

  “Thank Mother Goddess you safely returned to the privy,” Macha said. She squeezed Shafer’s hand. “Did you recognize the voices in the library?”

  “I think it was the house steward and another slave.”

  Macha exhaled. Although disappointed that Shafer failed to find anything resembling the note left with the finger, she was relieved to escape from Pollia’s home, even if she was wrong about the woman. She realized she had made a serious mistake by visiting her. Macha closed her eyes and silently asked herself why she had acted so rashly. If Pollia was involved, Macha had no proof and she should have found another way of getting into her sprawling mansion. She should have bribed one of the household slaves to spy on her. Feeling as if a cold fist was closing over her heart, Macha took several deep breaths to calm her nerves and clear her mind.

  The entourage turned off the Avenue Vicus Sobrius and headed down a quiet lane lined with shuttered stalls. A half-dozen people wandered by Macha’s palanquin, carrying towels and changes of clothing, as they headed in the opposite dir
ection for the nearby Baths of Memnon.

  Macha noticed that the siesta hour approached, street traffic dropped to a trickle. Most shops and offices were closed—except for brothels and taverns. She supposed most people were either in public baths or taking naps.

  “Once I’ve seen Appius, I’ll be happy to go home—I need a bath,” Macha said to Shafer. She dabbed the perspiration from her face with a silk handkerchief. “This heat is unbearable for early April.”

  A half-block ahead, Macha spotted several knots of grimy-looking men wearing hoods, milling in front of a wine shop. Within seconds at least twenty banded together and approached in their direction.

  “Assassins!” Viriatus cried.

  He and his retainers turned about searching for an escape route. Macha scanned the area as well but found none.

  “Turn around and head for the Baths of Memnon,” she commanded the litter bearers and retainers. “Hurry!”

  “It’s the only place where we’ll be safe from these devils,” Shafer said. Macha saw the frightened look in her dark eyes.

  Viriatus raised his arm in front of the retainers and motioned in the opposite direction. “You heard the Mistress. Move it!”

  In one fluid motion, the slaves picked up their stride from a gentle swinging walk into a dead run. The women grabbed the wooden railing of the palanquin as they jolted from side to side. Despite her firm grip, Macha slid toward the edge of the silk-cushioned seat, almost falling out.

  Shafer lunged over and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her to the middle of the sedan.

  Hardly breathing, Macha turned to see the assassins gaining. She prayed she and Shafer would reach the baths in time, where the bandits wouldn’t dare harm them before so many witnesses, because the Watch closely patrolled all baths. But she couldn’t hold back growing terror, her knuckles growing white as she held on for her life.