by Assaph Mehr
“You mentioned that before,” said Valerius, “and I made sure the matter will be buried with the vigiles. Do you think the rhones could make matters complicated for us?”
Aquilius cleared his throat and said, “I doubt this would matter much. As a former praetor with his eyes on the consulship, Numicius would no doubt have some rhones as clients. We do not have the time to start investigating them, even if that were advisable. In the unlikely event we were to find conclusive proof of bribery, there is no gain in taking the rhones to court. And anyway, a bribery trial would have to be next year, after they step down from office. They cannot overtly influence the outcome of this trial, no more than Numicius would do himself in any case. What I can do is raise some general questions about the authorities’ lack of response without naming names, thus avoiding making us vulnerable to a calumny suit. Just enough to cast doubts, but without lingering on it.”
“I concur,” from Valerius. “If this becomes an issue, we could prosecute next year. But for now, we need to concentrate on Numicius. Tell us how you traced the curse tablets to him.”
I gave a short summary of how I tracked Ambustus. “He did boast of the tabulae defixiones to me, an admission of guilt. However, should you think the word of a dead man is not enough, if perhaps it could be dismissed as empty bragging, we can use some of the material Aemilia had uncovered in her research here. The signature of each incantator, as they create the enchantment.”
“Do you have sufficient evidence to tie him to the curse tablets?” asked Aquilius.
“I didn’t get written samples of his other works on the boat, but no one needs to know that. Alternatively, I could… acquire… some examples from his estate. His death is recent — I am sure I would be able to bluff my way in,” I said. Then added, “It is a risk, though. Numicius’ men will no doubt be there. In my less ambulatory state, I would have to hire competent assistance.”
Valerius, apparently reading my mind, said, “There will be a bonus for you, if you could find conclusive proof amongst his artefacts. Anything that would positively indicate Numicius had ordered the curses.”
“With all due respect,” Aquilius interjected, “I do not believe that would be a wise course of action. The risk to Felix is great and we cannot afford to lose our star witness. You just narrowly escaped their clutches — we shouldn’t send you back there, in your condition. Conversely, we would have trouble explaining how he came across such evidence. We would be exposing ourselves to ridicule as employing thieves and thugs.”
Valerius agreed. “Perhaps you are right. Though it might make the testimony shakier, it is, as you say, too risky.”
I didn’t mind being called a thief and a thug as much as I minded my evaporated bonus.
“The next step, that of trying to entrap Numicius with the proposed real estate deal, was a failure,” I admitted. “I never once heard him utter anything explicit. He was forewarned by Ambustus and was too careful around me.”
“I think it’s safe to omit this from your testimony,” said Valerius.
“It would be brought up by the opposing counsel,” retorted Aquilius. “I really wish you had consulted with me prior to approving this scheme. We would, again, be portrayed as dishonest citizens. Our best bet now is to spin this as if it was a genuine attempt. Felix trying to settle the dispute between the two of you.”
“Understood,” I said. “I can testify — without bending the truth much — that after I disarmed the curses and figured out Numicius was the one ultimately responsible, I got the idea of scratching out a tad more commission out of this case. Guessing that Numicius was interested in buying and that you would be keen to recover losses, I attempted to broker a deal. I can then use Numicius’ attack on me on the ship to portray him an unbalanced and dangerous man, a murderous villain who would turn on free citizens providing him an honest service.”
“Perfect!” Aquilius exclaimed. “That would leave a confused jury facing two distinct versions. Numicius’ own tale, portraying him as an innocent victim of prosecution, and ours, depicting him as a greedy brute. Reminding the jury of the murder of children with illegal magia should then nudge them to our side and make any who took bribes second-guess whether supporting a man who turns on his associates is a good move.”
And, with that, my testimony was covered.
We chatted a while longer, discussing fine points of law and rhetoric. I was to be the star witness, though a few others were mentioned as potential support. Valerius’ role as the wronged party was mainly to sit stoically and look respectable. Aquilius would be the one delivering the main speeches for the prosecution, in opening and in closing. A couple of other orators were suggested as well, to provide support. A decision about it has not been reached while I was there.
In the afternoon, Valerius’ litter carried me comfortably back to my own domus. I made myself comfortable in my garden, reading poetry, sipping watered wine, and drawing physical and emotional nourishment from Dascha’s simple cooking. I set to enjoy the lull before the storm.
Chapter XXVIII
Two days later I was disabused of this notion, my idyll disrupted.
In the mid-morning came an insistent knock on my front door. Dascha was out at the markets, so I had to shuffle to the vestibule, supporting myself with a walking stick. Through the viewing slit in the door, I saw a messenger holding a large crate and flanked by bodyguards. No doubt a mistaken address.
I opened the door and froze. Hiding on the side where I could not have seen her was Aemilia.
“Uncle Lucius said you are now preparing your testimony on his behalf. I thought I would bring you all the research notes we worked on. He mentioned you had a broken leg — he said it would raise sympathy during the trial, so you have to keep your cast on — but he was rather scant on details about how it happened. I was curious as to what kept you away.”
She brushed past me into the atrium. Her entourage filed in behind her through my narrow vestibule — her maidservant, an older chaperone, the slave carrying the box, and two bodyguards. I closed my own front door, and shuffled after them. Aemilia was undoing the straps of her wide-brimmed hat as she sauntered into my peristyle garden, the domus’ inner sanctum.
At the sight of my faun fountain, almost a sopio with his enlarged manhood, her girl blushed and giggled, while the chaperone clucked, pulled out a fan, and started flapping it furiously. Aemilia stood in the shade of the colonnade, her servants arraying themselves behind her — the picture of a young lady on a socially-acceptable visit — except I could scarcely pass as another young lady of her class on whom she might make a call.
I still had not uttered a word. My mind was occupied with trivialities, such as arranging refreshments without a servant in the house, how to carry a tray while balancing on my broken leg — anything rather than face the inevitable consequences of our last meeting. What was it about the women of that family, both mother and daughter, that left me speechless?
“Come,” she invited me to my own couch, “it must be hard getting around with a broken leg.”
“My ankle, not my leg. Does your mother know you’re here?”
“Don’t be daft,” she replied, without answering my question. “Shall we begin? I’ve brought with me all the research material,” she indicated the crate. “We should start with my most recent discoveries.”
I lowered myself onto the couch, hauled my leg up, and let her carry the conversation. As she talked about the tabulae, what she found and gleaned from them, her cross-references and sparks of inspiration, I let my mind wander. Her research was not really essential to my testimony. I had already defused the curses with Araxus’ aid, and the courts would care little about the technical details. The task I set for her was merely to distract her from interfering and safe in her mother’s house — not an unwise choice, considering what happened on Numicius’ ship. I did not have the heart to tell her that, so I f
eigned interest.
The rest of my mental faculties were occupied with the memory of our last meeting. She hadn’t brought up the kiss. She also hadn’t answered my question about Cornelia, so I had no idea in how much trouble I was with that lady. Was her presence here against Cornelia’s wishes? Did her mother know I kissed her daughter? Why was she here at all?
***
An hour later we heard Dascha return from the markets. Soft murmurs from the atrium were soon followed by her uneven footsteps as she came into the garden.
“Will you stay for dinner?” I asked Aemilia. “It won’t be as refined as you are used to, but Dascha is a decent cook.”
“As long as it not another patina, I look forward to it,” she smiled.
“Dascha, would you please cook something nice for our guests?” I said.
For once my elderly housekeeper refrained for making any lewd comments, and replied simply, “I’ll have to go out for some more supplies, domine.”
“Thera,” Aemilia addressed her chaperone, “why don’t you go with Dascha and help? Take the two bodyguards with you, to help carry baskets. And Na’ama,” she said to her girl, “why don’t you bring a glass of water to Titus? You must be bored by now, and I know Titus would love to chat with you. Felix and I still have a lot of dull issues to discuss.”
And thus, neatly and efficiently, we were alone. I moved to pick up the next wax tablet from the crate, and Aemilia leaned in. She placed her hand on mine and gazed into my eyes, her face a foot away.
I spent an eternity drowning in her storm-grey eyes that must have taken no more than a heartbeat. If ever the gods offer me the gift of knowing what thoughts run through women’s minds, I shall decline. Perplexing, infuriating, unfathomable, unpredictable — yet magical creatures in their own way. I suspect life would be terribly boring without moments such as that.
Aemilia shattered my reverie by speaking in a businesslike tone, “Now, then. We have better things to speak about than my research. You left rather suddenly last time we met and have been avoiding me since.”
“I’ve been busy on behalf of your uncle,” I replied weakly.
“So busy you couldn’t even send a note?”
I indicated my broken and plastered leg.
“That happened only four days ago,” she replied with infallible feminine logic. “You kissed me almost two nundinae ago.”
“Kissing you was a mistake,” I said. “My business with your uncle is almost done. Best forget about it and move on.”
“Mother said you were harsh. Then again, she likes that. But kiss me you did and ignore it you can’t.”
“You might not. I can.”
There was a sharp intake of breath as she stared, searching, into my eyes. I had to disabuse her of any notion, any imagined possibility of a future. Egretian society allows for mobility, but even if the gods delivered me a sudden fortune, a Subvales boy could never marry a daughter of the Cornelii and Aemilii.
I expected tears. I expected a slap. I did not expect another kiss.
Leaving me gasping for air, she leaned back. “Deny this!” she exclaimed.
“This is a mistake —” was all I managed before she lunged and kissed me again — her mother’s daughter.
I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, feeling her tremble. She reminded me so much of my lost Helena. I wanted nothing more than to draw her in and kiss her gently, properly. Instead, I said, “Everything in life, my dear, has consequences. If we continue, your infatuation with me will pass — and an infatuation is all this is — then you will be faced with a tarnished name. You are in a better position than most young women of your class. You are not bound to a father who will marry you off to some ageing political ally. Didn’t your mother say you were to marry Quintus Aquilius? A fine young man…”
“Phaw! Quintus will marry whomever his mother tells him. A lion at court, a kitten at home. My mother has very old-fashioned ideas when it comes to my life.”
“Your mother,” I said, “would have me castrated and feed me my own testicles if she thought I touched you in any way.”
“I can handle my mother,” Aemilia replied. I shuddered at the memory of their last argument.
I tried the Socratic method. “What future do you see for this? For us?”
“What do you mean?” She seemed suspicious of this change in tone.
“You kiss me. I kiss you back. Then what?”
“We don’t need anyone’s approval. We could have a life together. You could teach me the workings of magia and incantation. I could assist you in your investigations.”
“And how do you see your mother taking me jumping straight from her bed into yours?”
“Told you, I can handle my mother.”
“What about the rhones of the Collegium Incantatorum? Teaching women incantation is expressly forbidden by the mos maiorum.”
“There are plenty of wise-women, fortune-tellers, healers, witches, and other women who practice magia all around Egretia. Besides, it’s not like what you are doing is in strict adherence to the mos maiorum or to the expressed rules of the Collegium. If you can get by now under the noses of the rhones, this will hardly be any extra burden.”
“Look around you. You have led a sheltered life filled with learnt idealism but removed from street reality. Would you give up your comforts so easily? Your slaves, your girl, those who handles your every bidding?”
“I am not so pampered that —”
“Would you trade your life amongst the nobilitas, the people who matter in our society, for a life when even your next meal is uncertain, let alone anything further in your future?”
“If we were together, that is all that would matter. Like Baucis and Philemon, Daphnis and Chloë.”
The trouble with Hellican philosophy and logic is that it is completely lost on infatuated nineteen-year-old girls. And on women in general. Fortuna, my name-sake goddess of fickle luck, is commonly depicted as a woman. Explains a lot, I thought to myself, and took a mental note to sacrifice to her more often.
Time to play my harshest move. “When you talked about a future with me, you had me as a teacher — someone to teach you incantations, to excite you with mysteries. You have the chance to marry for love, have a happy life. Happiness, in my experience, is far rarer and more delicate than mere worldly knowledge. Life with me will only lead you to misery and ruin. I don’t need such a responsibility in my life.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Tears welled up in her eyes; one rolled down her perfect cheek. I thought it best to shut my mouth. Let her face the futility of her plans, hate me if she needed to, but grow up and get on with her life. She was a strong woman, an indomitable spirit like her mother. She would survive this, just as most adolescents do.
“I thought you had a heart, Felix,” she said, her voice catching. The tears came faster, and she collapsed sobbing on my chest. I hugged her gently.
She looked up at me, the kohl running from her eyes, her hair in disarray. When Helena cried, I let the tears persuade me, and the vile circumstance that followed were her undoing.
As if reading my mind, Aemilia said, “What happened to make your heart as hard as stone? What did that girl Araxus mentioned — that Helena — what did she do to you?”
She didn’t leave me time to answer about my guilt, about the goodbye I never bade Helena. Aemilia ever-so-gently put her tear-stained lips to mine.
And just like that, the last vestiges of my resolve evaporated.
Chapter XXIX
Not long after, we were interrupted by a commotion from the atrium. Dascha and Aemilia’s chaperone had returned from their shopping, and the latter was busy loudly chastising Aemilia’s slave girl. Apparently, we were not the only ones occupying time with an illicit tryst. While the chaperone was lecturing the girl about the appropriate behaviour for a youn
g woman and what her mistress would think, we quickly recomposed ourselves. Lacking anything better, Aemilia washed the ruined makeup from her face in the fountain and dried it on a cushion cover I handed her. Stifling a giggle, she dabbed my face with the wet fabric to remove the traces of her makeup clinging to me.
By the time the chaperone was satisfied Aemilia’s slaves were properly remorseful and made her way to the garden, we were back in our seats — Aemilia with reading aloud from a wax tablet and myself reclining on my couch and nodding vigorously.
Our hearts weren’t in discussions about inscribed curses and comparative metaphysical reviews of ancient sources. Thankfully, we didn’t have to pretend long. Dascha had bought some ready-made dishes from nearby shops. My neighbourhood being what it is, those consisted of fresh bread, cured cheese, and fried dormice. A bodyguard set up a tripod table in the garden on which Dascha placed the dishes together with bowls of honey and poppy-seeds to drizzle on the meat. I noticed she used my best remaining bowls and plates — the ones not chipped — and she brought us wine and water in silver jugs and cups. I had no doubt that if she could, she would have organised a lyre player to regale us with romantic tunes and recitals of raunchy poems.
Despite Dascha’s best efforts, we were constrained into discussing weather, food, and other trivialities. Aemilia’s slaves lingered at her back and I had no illusions Cornelia had sent the chaperone for more than just social protocol.
