The Fire Waker

by Ben Pastor

  In fact, the officer at Lupus's bedside was as coolheaded and brusque an army surgeon as any Aelius had met. He confirmed the death, and testily shook his head to the suggestion that it had been a case of apparent death the first time around. "Yes, I know 'there are those who suffer from it,' and that it is 'like a deep, long faint.' With all respect, Commander, do not teach me my job. I am well aware of the weakness to which you refer, but in this case I can assure you, I have it from trusted colleagues that Marcus Lupus had died without a doubt back in September. You were not present, so you cannot pass judgment. Besides, you will agree with me that even reviving from a 'deep, long faint,' one scarcely has the strength necessary for removing the cover of the sarcophagus, forcing the mausoleum's door from within, and walking out. In the case of the gentleman you see lying here, statements were sworn that he reappeared in full health one week to the day after his demise. Yet the grave site was untouched. Even the flower garlands were still hanging in front of the doors as the relatives had placed them during the funeral."

  Aelius looked at the dead man, whose stilled expression was of great surprise, as if something amazing hid above him in the rough ceiling. His appearance was remarkably alive otherwise, rosy and florid, unlike any other corpse the soldier had seen. "Well, then, maybe Lupus had a twin or a look-alike, who for whatever reason—I can think of a couple, both connected to money and property—found it in his interest to play the role of the reborn. Let's be serious, Head Physician. Was the mausoleum searched for proof of the body's absence?"

  "They swear it was. Commander, I not only understand your skepticism: I fully share it." Big-mouthed, with the shadow of a blond mustache, the physician had a way of opening his eyes wide while he talked, to emphasize his point. "Yet, as a man who makes it his duty to study Nature and her phenomena, I must surrender to the evidence. In the face of the testimonials of my colleagues who witnessed the mausoleum's opening in the presence of officials, I have to say that Lupus did come back from the dead. Looks damn well for a corpse now, don't you think?"

  Aelius ignored the comment. "Come back from the dead. Seriously! And why then has he gone back to them? Must we suppose he no longer liked it up here?" He had no wish to sound as acidic as he did, actually, but he felt between annoyance and disquiet. "Tell me, did you open the window coming in?"

  "No. The Jew, the supervisor who found him, told me it was like that when he entered at daybreak. It was Lupus's habit not to lock it, apparently."

  Marcus Lupus must have been well used to the weather. Coals in the brazier were long consumed, and through the partly open window on the side of the shack, the chill of morning flowed in as it did from the door. Glancing out of the window, Aelius saw that it looked on a steep cliff of shiny, friable clay, impossible to climb.

  "The only sure sign that he ceased to breathe a number of hours ago," the surgeon observed from the bedside, "is that the stiffness of his limbs is beginning to ease. And I doubt it's because he is about to come back to life."

  Aelius nodded, walking back to the foot of the bed. Distractedly, he stared at the coverlet thrown across that pink-faced dead; he felt the tight weave with middle finger and thumb, as if the cloth could give answers men could not. Why, even the surgeon's paleness was in excess of Lupus's; likely his own face looked whiter than the brick-maker's. "Does he have family, do you know?"

  "As far as I can tell, only one brother and a sister-in-law. The Jew believes that as soon as they are informed of this, they'll hasten to send for the miracle worker, as they did the first time. You should have seen them weep with joy at the resurrection: You'd have never believed the brother stands to inherit everything, given that Lupus was childless."

  "Maybe it was disappointment rather than joy that made them weep."

  "You're cynical. At any rate, if I were in the brother's shoes, I'd let things stay as they are." But the surgeon was smirking, in the way physicians often make light of death, refusing to accept their power-lessness in the face of it. "I would suggest that he be cremated, in good Roman tradition," he added then, "but you know how these superstitious people are. You have to wonder why their god could not raise them from the dead if they lay in ashes."

  "You seem to know more about it than I do. But, inheritance or not, Lupus had better lie in the state he is in now, or else we'll have hysteria in the streets from here to Judaea."

  The surgeon nodded, screwing his face into a grimace. "I could make sure he is dead, at any rate. Drive a thin needle into his heart through the rib cage, for example. We would see then if that Pyrikaios, or whatever his name is, can really restart life's fire. But my oath as a physician forbids me to cause damage of any kind to a patient. Would you consider doing it yourself, if I handed you the needle?"

  "Why, no. Absolutely not."

  "Gentlemen." Isaac peered in from the door and, having caught the last exchange, knocked on the jamb to announce his presence. "Our workers returned from town to say they haven't been able to find Agnus thus far, but the family heard the news and wants to keep trying. We had lady visitors until late last night, and there's a number of them waiting to see Lupus, not to speak of people come from out of town. What should we do in the meantime?"

  "Not keep the body here." The surgeon spoke meaningfully, looking at Aelius, who nodded. "If Lupus is to rise again, he can do so anywhere, even in an infirmary. Do let the family know, Supervisor, that the spoils can be collected at the legionary camp, care of Titus Gal-lianus, head physician."

  Accompanying Aelius a few steps out of the shack, the surgeon said he would stay until a detail of troopers arrived to remove Lupus. "I want to be there this time, should Agnus show up to repeat the wonder. If you're still in town tonight, seek me at the military baths after sunset: I may have more to tell." From where they stood, past the intricacy of young oaks, the clearings in the fog revealed precipitous views of the country below, rich and wet; only the great river still flowed in a thick cocoon of vapors that followed its course northward. Familiar with the sight, Gallianus turned his back to it, while Aelius idled in admiration and sought to recognize this or that building in the city walls. "You said 'wonder,' Head Physician. Why not 'trick'?"

  "Well, magic is expressly forbidden to Christians." Gallianus shrugged. "Their dictate is that if your infant son is dying of disease and physicians have written him off, even in that case you are not allowed to seek incantations and faith healers. That you should rather let your son die. Crazy, isn't it? As a physician, you see, I am of two minds regarding that position. If the medical art can do no more, it is unlikely that anything else will. On the other hand, healing dreams are dreamed daily in the temples of Aesculapius, to whose divine care we are all entrusted as professionals. If any of my sons were ill unto death, I believe I would rush to the closest enchanter, or at least let my wife do it for me."

  Aelius started down the steep track leading to the foot of the cliff. "The question remains. Philosophy and science teach us that a dead body suffers corruption and as such may not rise again. If it isn't a miracle, it is magic. I think it could be worthwhile discovering what the official position of the Christian clergy is regarding Agnus's doings." "Good luck: They lie low these days. See you at the baths tonight." Not before the afternoon would Constantius's reply to His Divinity come into Aelius's hands. This meant that he had time to set up an appointment with the fire waker, if he was available, and with that intention in mind he rode back from the brickworks. He tasted snow in the air, although the sky remained cloudless. As he crossed the bridge to town, the fog over the cold froth of the Moselle flowed above the water like a second, suspended river: It snowed in the mountains to the east and to the south, and the breeze tasted like frost.

  The workers' yards on the bank, to the left once inside the south gate, were, according to ben Matthias, where the Solis et Lunae alley ran, short and blind, behind the shrine to the Sun and the Moon. Aelius found it without difficulty, and likewise the third house on the left, distinguishable from the ot
hers by the faded garland painted across the archway. The archway led to a flight of stairs. As for the garland, it might have portrayed flowers in the painter's intentions, but at present it resembled a link of pale brown sausages.

  As a matter of fact, this was an island in the shipwrights' district, a limited strip of clothing stores, food stands, and glass shops owned by veterans, fastidiously clean. The narrow sidewalks were neat; everything bespoke the orderliness that army men carry into their civilian retirement. Even the brothels he'd eyed at the previous crossroad had freshly painted doors, with gilded phalluses sculpted in full relief above.

  From across the street, the house revealed nothing; it had one high row of little windows, shuttered, and unless there was an inner court, darkness must reign inside them. When Aelius stepped over, a man sweeping in front of the shop next door looked his way. "Are you looking for someone, Commander?"

  Christian or no (there were many Christians reported in town), the man stood with broom in hand on the doorstep, and everything in his posture indicated that he was ready, according to the answer, to make a sign to someone inside, who would in turn alert the dwellers. Aelius said, "No," but went in, and up the stairs. A small doorway, closed. The light from the street did not suffice to light the stairwell, and there was no judging if anyone was waiting on the other side of the panel, listening. Aelius knocked and said, "Official business, open up." Which he'd promised himself was the last thing he'd say, because it was so obtuse.

  But the door did open. A girl often or so, serf or housemaid, stood before him with the silly face of children who have been instructed to act a certain way but forget when the time comes. "The ladies are not in" was all she put together. Behind her, Aelius made out an opening, like a passageway to an inner court. The odor of fresh whitewash came to his nostrils. When he stepped in, the little girl only moved aside, frowning as if trying to recall what she ought to be doing in this case.

  A long room right and left, overlooking that inner court, went around the corners to continue to the sides. Aelius walked left, followed by the little servant, and saw that small rooms opened on the side walls. Some had drapes across their entrances; others did not, and revealed rooms ten feet square, with simple beds neatly made and nothing else. He'd seen jails in army camps look not appreciably different.

  "Whom should I say?" The little girl remembered her orders, but there was no relying on her wakefulness. Aelius tossed a glance into the court below, paved and with potted plants laid in a cross pattern at the center. Instead of answering, he asked, "When do the ladies usually come back?"

  "Before sunset, but now I don't know."

  Naturally, if the shopkeeper below was a guardian of sorts, he'd have sent word already that a stranger had come looking—an officer, no less, with all that the army ever meant to sects at the edge of legality—and the inmates would stay away until the danger was past. Aelius left, but only to stop next door, where the sweeping man had cleaned all particles of dust from the same spot meanwhile.

  "I am Aelius Spartianus, Caesar's envoy. This address was given to me so that I may inquire of a lady named Casta, supposed to live here with others. I have heard of the events surrounding Marcus Lupus of the brickworks and wish to have details."

  The shop owner slowed down his sweeping. "Then it isn't Casta or the ladies you seek, but the miracle worker."

  Aelius was beginning to lose his patience. "Yes, and I was told that one has to go through the woman called Casta."

  "I'll tell her you came, Commander."

  "No. You will tell her to call at my quarters in the Palace district, the house At the Silver Foot, before sunset, and to set up a time when I may meet this fire waker, as I hear he's called."

  "Anything else?"

  "Only this: Tell her that I have never seen a dead man come back to life, but then, I haven't seen a man being born, either, and do not discount the reality of birth because of it."

  The shopkeeper did not seem impressed by the philosophical concession. He set the broom in the recess between the wall and the door-jamb, bristles up. "Their religion forbids men from entering the houses where consecrated women live."

  "Well! I just entered, didn't I?" But, walking away, it came to Aelius that perhaps he had been able to enter because the women had moved elsewhere. It would explain the fresh whitewash, one little servant left behind, the spare, nearly empty cells.

  "Baruch, you have to tell me more about these people, the fire waker and his assistant."

  "I don't have to."

  "Very well, I'll pay you."

  "No. Say please. I love it when I'm asked nicely by a Roman officer." At noon, in a cozy room behind his latest franchise, ben Matthias measured his words as though sprinkling spice—an operation he was carrying out, in fact, over roast mutton. "First, a premise and a description of the man, Agnus. He is not at all what you would expect a holy character to look like. He's physically mediocre, which from an artist's point of view makes for the most impossible of sitters. Ugly folks, you know, are every bit as interesting to portray as handsome ones. Why, more so, even. Pretty people seldom have salient features to work on. Sage on yours, or not?"

  "Sage, please."

  "Pepper?"

  "Yes."

  "Older is better than younger (children are nearly impossible, they all resemble one another, like the greatly aged, and for the same reason: few or no teeth), dark is better than fair, skinny is better than fat. But I digress. Agnus is what I call a 'neither sitter.' Neither this nor that. He's forty, maybe, and as far as color, weight, height, length of nose, and so on, draw a line where the middle is, and there you have it. Does not sport a beard—well, not quite, an inch's worth of hair on his face, if you call that a beard. Put a wig on him or dye his hair, he's the kind of character that changes completely if you change one detail. I haven't spoken to him, so I can't tell you about his voice, but I am ready to wager he has no appreciable accent, either. Hey, you asked." Ben Matthias pointed at the plate in front of his guest. "How is it?"

  "Very good. You should be a cook, if funerary art ever fails. What about her, this Casta woman?"

  "Have never seen her."

  "But what do you know about her? Please."

  Ben Matthias scratched his beard, chewing on his meat. Just as in Egypt, in his painter's workshop, he'd been all speckled with color and the hair on his chin bore flecks of green and red, here his new enterprise caused him to wear a thin veil of marble dust that in the light from the hearth turned at each movement into a storm of minute particles. "Gossip has it that she did not begin her life under that name."

  "And what does that mean?" Aelius watched the whirlwind of marble dust rise from the Jew's clothes, twirl and fall. "Casta: 'pure, chaste.' Do you mean she adopted a new name—I know Christians do it—or that her lifestyle was once different from the present?"

  "Some people say both. But then they also say that a good Pharisee changed both his name and his ways on the road to Damascus."

  "Whatever, Baruch. Just tell me all you know, because I am aware you are enjoying this, and you ought to be paying me for letting you gossip about the Christians. Young, old—what else?"

  "She's young and your type."

  "Ah."

  "But not what you think. Physically, she is—well, I remember Ther-muthis, when she was your favorite redhead down in Egypt—nothing like Thermuthis. But she's elusive, like Thermuthis."

  Aelius savored the well-cooked meat, giving himself time before answering. "Thermuthis is a brothel-keeper, Baruch. 'Elusive' may be a misnomer for her. And let us leave aside what my type ought to be in your judgment, as you haven't kept up with my changing tastes. Is this Casta simply a stage assistant to the magician, or may I expect to find out something worthwhile from her?"

  "Some say she is the holy one of the two."

  Sunset came and went, and no news of Casta. Two of Aelius's bodyguards reported no movement around the ladies' house: lights off, door closed. "It's not unusual," his
host confirmed. "In order to feel safe, Christians keep moving." Satisfied that he would be informed if the woman presented herself at his quarters, Aelius went to the military baths, where Titus Gallianus was paying for a round of drinks after losing a ball game. He said readily that despite fierce resistance from the family—Agnus and his cohort apparently being still away— he had succeeded in obtaining Lupus's body, against promise not to dismember or incinerate it. "Which does not mean I would not perform an autopsy." When he walked with Aelius to the warm pool, he was still excited with his findings. "Serving on the eastern frontier, I have become used to seeing wounds of all kinds—that is my specialty. I can tell from where the scar is that the arrow you took in the chest could have killed you, and had you bleeding from the mouth two days at least."

  "Three, damn ben Matthias and his rebels."

  "Well, Lupus's case is entirely different. After closely examining the corpse from the outside and recognizing no signs of violence, I was ready to surrender to the idea that maybe the man had had a relapse of the violent fever that did him in to begin with. Only that floridness, Commander, those bright pink lips, gave me pause. So I waited until spots began to form at the extremities of his limbs—an unmistakable proof of decomposition beginning—to cut him up. Well! It was alter I took a good look at his internal organs that I began to understand: stomach and muscles bright red, blood fluid and cherry-colored ... My old anatomy teacher gave us an excellent lesson on the matter years ago."

  Aelius slipped gratefully into the steaming water. "What was your conclusion?"

  "That Lupus went back to the Elysian Fields not of his own accord but with a good dose of charcoal vapors as a helper."