by T. A. Uner
Norbanus licked his fingers and smiled before placing the oyster shell back on the trencher. “All goes well, we are busy protecting our new Emperor, and he is busy trying to win over the people’s favor.”
“It appears he is doing quite an impressive job at that,” Eliana added, “it seems everyday there’s a new spectacle designed for the people’s enjoyment.”
Norbanus nodded. “During these early months it is important that he builds a strong public following. Besides, our previous Emperor left our state coffers full, so Caligula can afford spending it on public entertainment.”
“But what about afterwards? We need new roads for the city and more wells for the people. I hope our new Emperor will remember these things during his reign.”
Norbanus smiled and looked at Senator Remus. “You didn’t tell me your daughter was a skilled orator. Otherwise I would’ve come prepared for a debate.”
Senator Remus let out a nervous laugh that sounded like a raven’s caw. “My daughter has been schooled by the finest tutors, but sometimes she thinks she is on the senate floor.”
Eliana hated it when her father acted condescendingly toward her in front of guests. She was not a child anymore, yet her father thought she should limit her conversation to non-political subjects. She would not let him get away with it. “Father, I was simply trying to tell the Tribune that–”
“My dear, may I have a word with you in private?” Senator Remus interjected. His face was scarlet and Eliana knew she had put him in an awkward position.
“If you would please excuse us Tribune,” Remus said; Norbanus nodded. Remus led Eliana under the colonnaded corridor of the villa which overlooked the garden. It was sunny outside, but Eliana didn’t mind—the sun rays caressed her skin like Tullus’ fingertips.
“I thought we already discussed this before?” Remus told her.
“Father, if you wish to control the words I speak I suggest you lock me up in my room.”
“My dear, I only ask that you refrain from making political conversation when we are visited by esteemed guests.”
“You never get angry with Sylvia when she talks politics,” Eliana retorted.
“Sylvia is a married woman and a member of her husband’s household.”
Now she understood what the problem was. She felt this whole argument was turning toward the topic of marriage. She gave her father credit: he was a master of rhetoric. Her father gently took her by the shoulders. “Norbanus is from a good family. When you adopt an aggressive tone it gives others the wrong impression of you.”
“Now I know what this is about,” she said angrily.
“Do you?”
“You want me to spend time with him don’t you?”
A wry smile appeared on Remus’ lips. “Would that be so bad?”
“I don’t like him.”
“You will learn to like him.”
“He’s arrogant.”
“He comes from a wealthy family.”
Eliana laughed. “Father, we aren’t exactly paupers.”
Remus kissed his daughter on the forehead and smiled. “I only want your happiness, my dear,” he said softly.
“But I am happy father, marriage will not change that.”
Remus laughed. “This is my doing. I should’ve let you spend more time with your mother when you were growing up instead of in my study. You are definitely a Senator’s daughter in every way. But you must eventually learn to become a good wife as well.”
“Yes,” Eliana said sadly. Wondering if she would ever become the wife of the man she truly loved.
{III}
“It amazes me how you can bear to live in that house,” Sylvia said as their horse-drawn carriage slowly made its way toward a grassy knoll. The carriage came to a stop under a tree and they disembarked. The forest air was dry as Eliana rubbed her skin and looked upon her surroundings. The grass blades tickled her ankles as the shade of the tree blanketed them from prying sunbeams.
“It’s not that bad,” Eliana said as the four slaves laid out lavish carpets on the grass, “he only gets angry whenever I engage guests in political discussions.” Sylvia laughed as one of the slaves set up folding chairs for her and Eliana to sit on.
“More the reason to marry this Norbanus and be free of father.”
Eliana scowled at her sister. “But I don’t love him.”
“My dear I am beginning to think you are a bit naïve. Once you’re married you can find a man on the side and fall in love with him if you wish.”
Eliana laughed. “Dear sister, sometimes you are truly immoral.”
“Nonsense,” Sylvia replied. She plucked a succulent-looking grape from a platter offered to her by Bacchus, her most trusted slave. “Valeria Messalina, the wife of Caligula’s uncle Claudius does it all the time.”
“I don’t believe it,” Eliana said, wondering why she was indulging herself in this topic. She watched Bacchus and the three other slaves disappear into the forest to hunt fresh game for their lunch.
“It’s true. I’ve been to one of her sex parties where the men and women wear masks while they fuck in groups.”
Eliana nearly gagged on her wine. Her sister’s language was crass and unbecoming of a Roman lady. “Where was Pontius?”
“He was away on business, outside of Rome,” Sylvia replied. Eliana looked at her sister with disbelief. “You make it sound like you did nothing wrong.”
“It’s only wrong if you get caught,” Sylvia said. “That is the difference between us dear sister–you simply do not believe in taking risks.”
Eliana digested Sylvia’s words and could find no retort. Perhaps Sylvia was right, she had played it safe and where did it get her? She lost the only man that she’d ever loved: Tullus had left Rome because of her indecision.
The two sisters continued their chat as time passed slowly.
“Whatever happened to that Praetorian Guardsmen you were so enamored with?” Sylvia asked. Eliana fought to erase the painful image of her past lover, while waves of regret pounded her brain like a raging storm, ushering in beautiful memories that only made her life difficult.
“He’s left Rome…for good.”
“Pity,” Sylvia replied as she fondled her wine glass. “Bacchus? Bacchus where are you?” She called out but no reply came. The first course of their meal was late and Eliana also wondered what was keeping the dutiful slave and his companions. When no answer came Sylvia stood up and disappeared into the forest to look for Bacchus. A long period of silence passed before Eliana grew worried.
“So did you find Bacchus?” she called out. Eliana stood up from her folding chair and walked toward the carriage where the two horses were hobbled. She found nothing except footprints leading off the trail of the knoll into the woods surrounding their picnic spot. She walked fifty paces and slipped on a wet patch of earth, landing face-first into the underbrush. After collecting herself Eliana noticed the front of her gown was stained with a sticky red substance. Could this be blood?
When she rose to her feet and turned around her face brushed against a dangling arm, droplets of warm blood sprinkling her face. She stifled a scream. Four corpses were strung up by their feet from a thick tree branch. After closer inspection she noticed they were her servants–one of which was Bacchus. Eliana felt like screaming but her voice was trapped in her throat.
In the distance she heard someone scream. “Sylvia?” she called out. “Where are you?” Eliana stumbled through the foliage as the screams grew louder, before she stopped behind large bracken and looked through it. In a clearing, Sylvia was struggling with a large man, who was half naked, and on top of her, while her screams tore through the silence of the forest like the cry of a wounded creature. Eliana needed to do something, but what? I cannot panic, I cannot panic, she reminded herself. She drew her dagger and grasped its hilt with both hands. I’m coming Sylvia. After immerging from the bracken two large hands grabbed her from behind and pinned her against a tree. She dropped her dagger.
When Eliana collected her bearings she was looking into the face of a large, disheveled man with chipped yellow teeth.
“And where might you be going my pretty?” he said. Eliana nearly vomited as the man’s foul breath and body odor thrust themselves upon her nostrils. She felt like punching the man but both her wrists were pinned against the bark of the tree.
“We are both the daughters of a powerful Roman Senator,” she said. The man laughed at her, his rancid breath mauling her face again.
“I don’t see any fucking Romans here,” the man said. “Do you Morktus?” he called out to his friend, who was still struggling with Sylvia. “Can’t even stick ye’ cock in a cunt without help, can ye’?”
“We have gold,” Eliana told her assailant. The man looked at her and licked his rotten yellow teeth. “I’m sure you do,” he said, eying her hungrily, “Now, how about spreading your legs for Darot so he can have a taste of that ripe cunt of yours?”
“That is no way to speak to a woman,” a voice called out.
Eliana looked to the owner of the voice. Across from the spot where Morktus was attempting to rape Sylvia, a tall man with broad shoulders stood on a jagged rock. He wore a Leopard pelt over his head while a Leopard-print scarf concealed the lower part of his face. Upon his chest he wore light chain mail under a harness decorated with phaleras, while a Leopard-print cape hung from his shoulders.
“And what type of fucking animal might you be?” Morktus said as he stood up while grasping Sylvia by the hair.
The stranger emitted a thunderous laugh. “A crude way of describing me, but I’m not the one trying to rape a highborn woman in the middle of a forest.”
Eliana held her breath while Darot loosened his grip on her. She prayed Sylvia was holding up well during this ordeal.
“Defend yourself,” Morktus said as he released Sylvia’s hair and picked up a large club that lay at his feet. The stranger leapt off the rock and drew his sword while Morktus advanced on him. The first swing of Morktus’s club missed the stranger, who ducked to avoid the blow. Morktus screamed and attacked more fiercely, while the caped stranger simply laughed and expertly dodged his attacks. “Fight like a man you fool,” Morktus said in between gasps of breath. Morktus charged the stranger again, this time the stranger stuck his foot out. Morktus, so enamored with rage, tripped over the foot. He landed with a loud crash that sounded like a tree falling. The caped stranger hovered over Morktus and positioned his foot over the would-be rapist’s throat, and, with one swift motion of his sword, embedded the blade into Morktus’s belly. Morktus wailed as blood bubbled on his lips, while the stranger sliced Morktus’s belly like a cook carving up a supper hen. When he finally withdrew his sword the blade ripped out Morktus’s intestines which lay strewn around his corpse like dead snakes.
Darot howled and moved toward the stranger. “You bloody bastard,” he yelled. “You killed my brother.”
“You’re next,” the stranger replied as he wiped his bloody sword on Morktus’s tunic.
“You’ll pay for what you did,” Darot said. He drew two long knives from inside his boots.
The stranger sheathed his sword and laughed. “I believe she might have something to say about that.” Eliana saw a large, spotted, cat-like creature appear from the underbrush and pounce on Darot, before mauling him as Darot’s screams resonated throughout the forest. Eliana watched in horror as the large cat ravaged Morktus. After a futile attempt at struggling, Darot lie still. Dead. The spotted cat looked up at Eliana, blood dripping from its sharp teeth before it licked its muzzle. It padded over toward the caped stranger who helped Sylvia up. “Are you hurt dear girl?” the stranger asked Sylvia as Eliana headed toward them. Passing Darots’s corpse she noticed his throat had been torn out. Only a mess of blood, gristle and mangled skin remained where his neck once was, while his lifeless eyes stared at her with a look of horror etched within them.
Eliana hugged Sylvia as the stranger and the large cat looked on. “Who are you?” she asked.
The man bowed politely. “I am a humble performer, in the great Troupe headed by Paullus Gabinius. But most people call me the Leopard King. And this,” he said before motioning his hand toward the creature, “is the Leopardess Celestra.”
Celestra eyed the women and growled.
“How can we compensate you for your bravery?” Eliana said. “If it wasn’t for you those two outlaws would’ve raped and killed us.”
The Leopard King laughed. “No payment is necessary. Now, we must get you two out of this forest, this is no place for fine Roman ladies.”
They followed The Leopard King and the Celestra through the forest until they came to the Via Flaminia, which led back to Rome. The Leopard King escorted them until they could see the Palantine hill in the distance, welcoming them to the city limits of Rome.
“Now I must bid you two farewell,” the Leopard King said, and, with a wave, he sprinted off down the road, Celestra padding after him. Both Eliana and Sylvia called out for him to return but he and the Leopardess were gone.
{IV}
“He called himself The Leopard King: a performer in a Troupe,” Eliana said. She took a sip of wine while Sacrus listened to their story in the kitchen.
“Interesting,” he said.
“Have you heard of him, Sacrus?” Sylvia asked.
“Not much, but what he said is true. He is a performer. Although I didn’t know he was also a protector of women.”
“He had a Leopardess with him,” Eliana added, “a magnificent creature.”
Sacrus rubbed his chin and nodded. “It is said there is a Troupe touring the shores of Italy, and that this Leopard King is their showpiece performer. His act is quite good. If rumors hold true.”
“Then why haven’t I heard of him until now?” Sylvia asked, looking agitated. No wonder Sylvia is fomented, Eliana thought, Sacrus knew more about the stranger than she did.
Sacrus smiled. “Sylvia dear, when was the last time you ever expressed an interest in the arts? As I recall, you hated it,” Sacrus said.
Sylvia shot Sacrus an icy glare before storming out of the kitchen. Eliana grinned at Sacrus. “Sometimes you’re horrible.”
Sacrus looked nonplussed. “I was only pointing out the obvious, my dear. But I suggest you rest after your ordeal, are you sure you do not wish me to summon the Medicus?”
“I’m fine, Sacrus, luckily those two outlaws didn’t have the opportunity to harm us. We owe our lives to this Leopard King. I wish we could thank him for his bravery. Could you find out where his Troupe is performing? I would like to watch one of his performances and thank him again.”
The old slave raised a bushy white eyebrow and nodded. “It will take time for me to ask around the city but I’m sure we can find out when and where their next performance is scheduled.”
Eliana smiled. “Thank you Sacrus. I will rest now. Please have one of the servants wake me when dinner is served.”
The old slave nodded. She made her way out of the kitchen and up the staircase that led to her room. Throwing herself on her bed her thoughts turned toward her mysterious savior.
In a strange way, he reminded her of Tullus.
The next day Eliana headed to the marketplace flanked by a dozen of her household servants. She felt it superfluous to have so many servants to escort her sedan but Sacrus could be persuasive when her safety was paramount.
Under a cloudless sky, the sedan made its way toward the southern edge of the Forum where various market stalls were set up. Eliana exited her sedan and made her way past various stalls until she came upon an olive-skinned, bearded man wearing a brown skullcap and dressed in a white linen tunic underneath a modest woolen robe. He smiled at her and she nodded politely while inspecting his selection of fabrics.
“I have never seen your stall before, are you new here?” Eliana asked the man.
“Actually I was once a successful wool trader, dear lady,” the bearded man replied politely, “but I fell on hard times and now, c
an only sell a limited number of items.”
“That is terrible; I have noticed lately that the selection of merchandise isn’t as rich as it once was.”
The bearded man’s eyes looked remorseful and he shook his head ruefully. “We have all fallen on hard times here, dear lady: it is all because of Camus Scorpio.”
Eliana didn’t understand. “Camus Scorpio? Who is that?”
“Scorpio is the criminal overlord of Rome who controls all merchant activities. Although he considers himself a legitimate businessman, he makes a percentage of his profits by collecting payments from all of the merchants and traders. Whenever one of us cannot afford to pay him he either forecloses on our wares or assaults us–whichever comes easier. Last month he nearly crippled a blacksmith who refused to pay him his blood money. We don’t dare oppose Scorpio.”
Eliana noticed the fear in the merchant’s eyes and decided she wanted to hear more. “This is terrible,” she said, “why don’t you file a complaint with the magistrate?”
The man laughed. “Dear lady, the magistrate is bought by Scorpio; I told you, he controls everything. We stand no chance against him; we have no champion.”
“I refuse to believe that this Scorpio can get away with subjugating the entire merchant class. Doesn’t he know that his illegal practices are harmful to all?”
“He only cares about his collection money, what happens to us after that is of no concern to him.”
“I see. Well I am the daughter of a prominent Senator, and I plan on bringing this subject to his attention the next time I see him. I am appalled at the condition the market is in. Tell me, what is your name?”
The merchant shot Eliana a cautious look and for a moment she felt he would not reveal his name. “Speak up man, you need not fear me,” she said compassionately.
“My name is Yeshiva, but I beg you not to mention my name, if Scorpio learns that I complained, he might hurt me, or worse, my family. I have a wife and two children.”
