by Assaph Mehr
It stared at us with the inscrutable blank expression of insects, the light from our torches reflected in its eight eyes, its mouth opening and closing, sharp mandibles vibrating.
The bodyguard made a choking noise and froze, but Borax and I picked up ready spears and went at the giant arachnid with well-practised stabs. We confused it by attacking from different directions with wild yells. I’ve seen small spiders jump to a man’s height and didn’t care to find if this monstrosity could do so as well. The bodyguard was not much use, terrified as he was and barely managing to hold his spear levelled. He stabbed hesitantly at the spider, but the monster reared on its four hind legs, mouth open and hissing, then pounced forward. Borax and I took the opening and stabbed up while bracing the spear butts on the ground. As the spider came down it impaled itself on the sharp points, and, though the wood shafts broke, its momentum was halted.
The arachnid from the pits of Hades thrashed for a while on the ground, hissing and shrieking, while the three of us stood panting a safe distance away, watching green ichor ooze out together with its life.
We found the tabulae defixiones lying undisturbed in the ashes of the fire-pit above which the monster nested. Unsurprisingly, this one was in a common space — whoever laid them was consistent in the way they used the tablets. It was probably done by the same man, following the same set of instructions — sneak in at night, find a hidden patch in the courtyard, bury the folded lead tablet, activate it, and run away.
I dropped the tablet carefully into another leather purse lined with tar and dog’s ashes and buried it in a shallow pit in the central garden.
This measure would not hold the curse for long, but it would buy me the time I needed to collect all the tablets in the morning and dispose of them all — somewhere far away from the city, preferably.
How had the rhones of the Collegium Incantatorum not noticed these curses? Or, if they had, why had they not done anything about it?
Our magistrates usually keep an eye on such activities and try to curtail the less savoury kind. Being public officials elected only for a single year, they would look for any opportunity to make a splash, increase their public auctoritas to further their careers. They are not always the most diligent in the execution of their duties — there have been many cases where elected officials preferred to fatten their own purses or spend budgets on lavish festivities to ensure future elections as they rise up the ranks in their public careers — but they will not pass an opportunity to stand on the rostra and declaim their achievements.
However, being politicians, they don’t often care about the inhabitants of remote corners of our city. The Subvales are populated by nonentities — people whose economic circumstances ensure their votes will never be called upon in any election. Even I’ve gotten away with more than I should have by carrying out illicit activities in places the rhones would be hesitant to check — like the sewers. Unless the problems affected someone with money, they would have picked easier issues to contend with.
Still, this year’s crop must be remarkably inept if they failed to notice the festering curses that drew enough magia to power animated statues and living murals — or else they had a stake in this matter.
Just one more piece in this puzzle to file for later inspection.
As always, Fortuna likes to remind me why my name is Felix. She likes to point out that I should trust in her instead of the best laid plans. Those never seem to work. In fact, it was when I shook myself from my reverie about our ruling officials and was about to congratulate myself on a well-executed plan that Lady Luck chose to demonstrate I am forever in her thrall.
The noise from above began as a faint buzz. It grew in volume till it set my teeth rattling and my ears felt as though they would explode. In the square patch of night sky between the enclosing walls of the insula, the stars were visible — twinkling, blinking, appearing to move in their firmament. As they descended upon us we saw them for what they really were — a swarm of angry bees, each the size of my fist, the light from our torches and fire-pit reflecting in their translucent wings.
The bodyguard lost all pretence of self-control and ran away screaming and blabbering. From the sounds that followed, he did not make it out of the building. Borax and I took up fighting stances, but quickly discovered the futility of traditional weapons against a cloud of fast-moving insects.
I waved a torch furiously, but it was Borax who had the right idea. He grabbed the empty sack of supplies from the ground and began waving it in wide arcs. It created a space around him, where the monstrous bees could not approach without being swatted. I crouched near him and on the third attempt managed to light the edges of the sack with my torch. The fire and smoke angered the beasts, but also kept them at bay.
One day I’d buy Borax from Crassitius outright. As Cornelia’s bodyguard demonstrated so eloquently, good help is hard to find. Someone who could remain calm in the face of the unexpected, and not due to lack of reasoning faculties, was a lifesaver.
We sidled closer to the fire-pit. An incantator once told me of an enchantment that could send bees to sleep without smoke, but, alas, I never learnt it. So instead, I heaped everything I could find on the fire — leaves, bits of cloth, dead bees. Fortuna must have wished me to survive, as I found a juniper bush. The smoke of juniper leaves is known to calm bees, so I added them to the fire. While Borax waved the burning sack, I used a reversal of an incantation I knew and caused the courtyard to fill with thick smoke.
We started to cough and retreated inside, but the smoke drove the giant bees away.
I heard distant alarm bells as the smoke drifted up and out of the courtyard. Borax and I dropped to the floor, crawling under the billowing clouds out to the street. We made a hasty escape just as the vigiles bore down the road toward what they must have thought was a tenement building on fire.
I was sure that once the smoke cleared, the vigiles would have more questions than answers. They might then try to rouse a rhone from the Collegium Incantatorum to investigate the insula, or at least report this through their ranks to the aediles or even the praetor urbanus. The higher up the report went, the more pressure would be placed on the Collegium to do something.
I needed to warn Valerius Flaccus about this development and, since there was smoke but no fire, ensure it would be recorded as a mere prank.
Chapter XIII
We were sitting in Cornelia’s triclinium again, the sumptuous couch we broke now replaced, with Valerius Flaccus due to arrive any moment. I had planned to make my way the previous morning to Valerius’ domus and report to him like any other client reporting to their patron, but on the way, I stopped at Cornelia’s house to apologise about the dead bodyguard. When she heard my brief report, she was adamant she would invite Valerius over. Though she didn’t say it, I knew she wished to hear my report in full and voice her opinion on the questions it raised and the next steps. Being a rich widow has its advantages, but plenty of limitations, too. If she wanted to be a part of anything important, it had to be behind closed doors. Hosting Valerius was her way of catching up on all the juicy gossip and feeling involved in our city’s affairs. Since Valerius could only come the following night, I got another day to tie up loose ends and prepare better.
The dinner was a formal affair, with three couches arranged in the traditional U shape, facing the door. Cornelia reclined on the left of the middle couch, the place normally reserved for a male host. To her right in the locus consularis was the guest of honour, Lucius Valerius Flaccus, who somehow managed to recline rigidly — a man that never relaxed. I assumed he was used to Cornelia by then, his uptight moral sensibilities suffering a woman reclining next to him.
I occupied the left-hand couch, the place of the second guest in terms of social rank — quite above my normal station.
Aemilia, looking properly chastised, sat with her back to me in a traditional women’s chair. I have never se
en Cornelia’s dinners fall on this outdated formality. Aemilia tugged at the long tunic she wore under her stola despite the summer warmth, no doubt to cover her still-raw legs.
Opposite me was Flaccus’ wife — a certain Claudia Pulchra, no less. A union of the Valerii and Claudi Pulchi gave that family nobility and ancestry to times before the foundation of our city.
At her side was Quintus Aquilius, a budding and promising lawyer, the son of another of Cornelia’s friends. He was in that stage between army campaigns and the start of the cursus honorum, when so many young men take to the law courts to gain notoriety for the coming elections.
I knew Cornelia had designs of marrying Aemilia off to the young man. I imagined Cornelia hoped that when the conversation turned to the matter of Valerius Flaccus’ insulae, Claudia would keep Aemilia and Quintus Aquilius focused on each other. That may be another reason why Aemelia was relegated to a woman’s chair, rather than reclining on the couches.
As soon as the slaves cleared the plates of leafy salads, figs stuffed with cheese, and salty farina cakes, Cornelia exchanged nods with Claudia. The latter engaged Aemilia and Quintus in a discussion on his last court appearance, while Cornelia got Valerius to recline closer, and asked me in a low voice to give my report.
I gave a full account, keeping my promise to the agent Aburius and not discrediting him. Certain aspects were superfluous — lines of investigation that did not prove fruitful such as some of the still resident tenants and Aemilia’s surprise appearance and her injuries due to the snake. My goal was to make sure Valerius appreciated the efforts I carried out on his behalf.
“If I might suggest, you should bribe the vigiles or the urban cohorts to file the fire at the insula as a prank. I am almost certain someone bribed the rhones of the Collegium to ignore the curses. I’m not sure what they would do if the vigiles reported the fire in your insula, and word of it reached their ears. They will most likely ascribe it to the curse. But there is a chance they are aware of what goes on there and might warn whomever set the curses.”
“I understand completely,” Valerius responded. “I will deal with this quietly tomorrow.”
“You will be comforted to know that the tablets have been safely discharged. I collected the tabulae defixiones in their special pouches yesterday and hired a cart to take myself and an old acquaintance with experience in such matters to the hills beyond the Purgamenta. There, we carried out the necessary rituals to unbind the magia of the curses, channelling it safely away. Now the tablets are merely harmless sheets of folded lead.” I produced the three of them from a carry bag I had stashed under my dining couch, much to the desired effect.
Throughout my conversation, I noticed Aemilia and Quintus Aquilius were far more interested in my account than in anything Claudia Pulchra had to offer. While everyone was staring at the inert lead tablets with a mixture of curiosity and fear, Aemilia piped up, “So is it really all over?”
I had to chuckle. “Oh, no! My dear, the real case has just begun.”
Scroll II - Inquisitio
Chapter XIV
There were three questions left to resolve. While Valerius Flaccus paid me handsomely for removing the curses, his commission didn’t end there. I now had the more mundane aspects of investigation to consider. Or, what might, on the surface at least, appear mundane.
First, I needed to find out who had crafted the tabulae defixiones and ensure they went out of business, quietly and permanently. My civic duty, as it were.
Second, I had to discover who commissioned them and why, providing sufficient evidence for Valerius to take the responsible party to a court of law.
Lastly, I had to find the reason the Collegium Incantatorum was surprisingly quiet on a matter that was a festering boil — one our elected rhones were supposed to handle.
The path of progression for the investigation was clear. Start with the how, work out the who, and end up with the why. There were no takers at dinner when I suggested a bet that the last question was connected to the first two. The answer to it was almost a given — a bribery by the culprit behind question number two. And number two would be unmasked by resolving number one.
Quintus Aquilius became animated as soon as we explained the prospects of a lawsuit to Aemilia. A very keen young man, he must have smelled the makings of a case that could boost his career for the next decade.
Valerius was supportive of a lawsuit. A public disgrace, especially one with such lurid details of using nefas incantations within city bounds, would send his political enemies into exile and enhance his own auctoritas — his standing as an upright citizen and senator. This was as much a game of public appearances as it was about property or ghosts.
Throughout the discussions Aemilia sat there, her internal struggle plain to all. She was still smarting from the encounter with the curse, her legs bandaged over the scrapes left by the snake. But her curiosity and spirit would not lie down quietly. Her plight reminded me of my own when my apprenticeship at the Collegium was terminated. True, my circumstances were financial, while hers were due to her sex and position in society. Yet, she was a kindred spirit with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, a wish to participate in public life on an equal footing — all while facing the blank stone wall of a closed society.
And I’ve met a similar spirit before — my Helena was indomitable, a trait which cost her her life. As Aemilia’s mixed emotions crossed her lovely features, I wondered which path I could take that would protect her, so she did not end the same. Would distancing her from it help, or would she just stumble on, unaware? Would trying to educate her allow her to avoid trouble, or would it draw her closer?
In the end, my heart and mind settled on the same path. After clearing the insulae from curses, my position in Valerius’ eyes was sound, enough that I no longer required a chaperone to keep me honest. I suggested I could use an assistant, someone literate, intimate with the case details, and trustworthy. Someone who could carry out both academic and social research without raising questions where my own nosing about might.
The look of sheer, incredulous hopefulness in Aemilia’s eyes when I suggested it and the excited joy and gratitude when Valerius agreed, were quite enough compensation for the freezing cold shoulder I got from Cornelia for the rest of that night.
***
I paid Crassitius for the gladiator’s time, plus an additional charge to keep Boarx in reserve for me. To Borax, I left a purse of coins as a bonus. Finding an ex-gladiator who could keep his wits facing arcane manifestations was hard. I wanted to stay his favourite contract employer.
From there I went to collect reference material which occupied all the morning. I had some at home, got more from Sosius, and arranged for him to contact Fonteius Capito for a specific scroll to be sent after me.
I carried it all back up the hill to the house where I seemed to have been spending more time than in my own home. After settling Aemilia in the library with all the scrolls and codices, I requested a light meal and drinks to be delivered and we delved into our studies.
“Are you sure they are safe?” she asked as I took out the three tabulae defixiones.
“Certain. I told you, I saw to the discharge of the magia from them.”
“How does that work?” Her eyes sparkled as she picked one up.
“It varies. Essentially, the curse tablets are made from thin lead sheets, upon which a petition to the gods, the numina, or even to the spirit of a deceased one, is made. The target can be named, or generic. A specific effect can be requested or just general retribution. Once inscribed, the tablets are rolled, folded, nailed, buried, or otherwise disposed. At least, this is how the common variety, done by people without knowledge of the flow of magia, are created. If they work, it’s only because the gods take favour on the petitioner.”
The role of pedagogue didn’t come naturally. I kept shifting in my chair, unsure of knowledge I built f
rom practical observations and experimentation, rather than proper philosophical education. “A skilled incantator can channel magical energy into the tablet and bind it in such a way that the effect is guaranteed. Well, as guaranteed as anything to do with magia is. It still flows from the numina to our world, by my reckoning.”
“These must have been made by a powerful incantator to achieve such nasty effects,” said Aemilia.
“Well, yes and no. They certainly had raw power in them. However, these tabulae are not the preferred choice of our own Collegium-educated incantatores. While they might offer a few benefits, such as the delayed effect, the mechanics are far too crude. A knowledgeable incantator would have better tools at their disposal and would consider their usage demeaning.”
“So, a foreigner, then?”
“Perhaps. Someone with understanding and ability, certainly, but our collegia are not the only path to attain such. There are plenty of curse tablets done around Egretia, on an almost daily basis. The orator seeking to hamstring his opponent, the victim seeking divine retribution for petty theft — as long as no real power is involved, no one cares. It’s certainly cheaper and easier for the rhones to turn a blind eye than waste their time chasing charlatans, while giving the populace an illusion of control over their fates. Anyway, we’ll find more about how this one was activated when we open it up.”
“But you haven’t answered my question!”
“Which one?” I was regretting being made the lecturer.
“How did you nullify the curse?”
“I didn’t. I took them to someone who could.”
