Blood Games (Saint-Germain #3)

Blood Games (Saint-Germain #3) Page 42

SAINT-GERMAIN had left Villa Ragoczy flanked by soldiers and now he returned there with an escort of forty Praetorians. All along the road to his villa, slaves were waiting for their master's return.

The laurel wreath was still on his hair, but the short, loose curls were now clean and shining. The caracalla that had been draped around his shoulders in the Circus Maximus was there now, but under it he wore a knee-length tunica of rare brocaded black silk. His red Scythian boots were on his feet. Pale, haggard, with a weary and ironic smile creasing his face, Saint-Germain turned to the men accompanying him. "Thank you, tribune. I'm quite...honored."

The tribune was properly stiff, standing at rigid attention as he reached the colonnade of Villa Ragoczy. "Very kind, sir," he barked, and ordered his troops to salute as Saint-Germain walked toward his garden.

A door in the northern wing opened and Rogerian stepped out. "I'm glad you're back," he said in an unperturbed way.

Saint-Germain nodded his approval. "I'm not alone, as you see. Is there anything ready that they can eat?"

Rogerian blinked in confusion. "I don't know. We were so worried, I don't think the cooks have fixed meals today or yesterday. But I'm certain," he said, making a smooth recovery, "that given the greater part of an hour, there can be quite a satisfactory meal."

"The greater part of an hour?" Saint-Germain inquired, one brow elevating. He knew well the consternation such orders caused in the kitchen. "If you can persuade the cooks to do that, you will have my everlasting gratitude." He had come up the three shallow steps, back onto his property, in the building that was constructed over a foundation laid with his native earth. Some of the fatigue that had possessed him began to vanish.

"The arena..." Rogerian began uneasily. "Yesterday when you fought, we were deeply concerned."

"So was I," Saint-Germain said as lightly as he could; then he swung around to the forty Praetorians. "You're welcome, Praetorians. There will be a meal for you spread shortly. In the meantime, you might like the chance of examining my stables and the various pens and cages here. I am certain Raides will be pleased to escort you." He beckoned to Rogerian and said to him quietly, "Go to the stables and tell Raides that I'm sending these soldiers out to him. He's to answer any questions they have, of course, and if they want to try out any of the horses, unless they're one of my personal mounts, let them."

Rogerian nodded and hurried away through the garden as Saint-Germain bowed the Praetorians toward the south wing of Villa Ragoczy. He took them not to the silver-and-blue reception room but to the largest dining room in the wing. "Good tribune," he said to their leader, "I'm going to the kitchen to issue orders for wine to be brought. In the time I've been gone, it seems that there has been a shocking lapse on the part of my staff."

"Slaves are like that," the tribune agreed sagely, not hearing the sarcasm in Saint-Germain's voice.

In the kitchen Saint-Germain issued a number of orders to the cooks. "And if there is any suckling pig, fill it with onions and raisins. That's nine dishes. What else can you do in an hour?"

The chief cook patted his girth at its widest part. "May I suggest geese on a spit? That will make ten dishes, and with fruits and breads, that should be enough, even for soldiers. If it's good enough for charioteers, it's good enough for soldiers," the chief cook maintained, then saw the unhappiness in his master's face. He rushed on, "These are Praetorians, though, and it probably wouldn't hurt to make them something fancy as well. While they are eating the main part of the meal, I will think of a special sweet for the end of the feast."

"I thank you," Saint-Germain said to the cook, knowing that the man had misunderstood his expression. But there was no way he could tell the large, good-natured man that his words had reminded him of Kosrozd, and Tishtry, his charioteers for whom he still mourned, and Aumtehoutep, who had been with him for the greater part of a millennium. He forced cheer into his face. "It's unforgivable of me to give you such a task with so little notice, and it would be no more than I deserve if you refused to do more than bake a currant pudding for them. I'm most grateful."

The cook beamed over all of his wide face. "My master, excellency, it is my pleasure to do this for you." He was much too proud of himself to remind Saint-Germain that he had never tasted his food.

Assured that the Praetorians would eat well, Saint-Germain crossed the garden and entered his private wing. The peace and strength of the place took hold of him at once and he let his exhaustion claim him. He reached his bed, his narrow, hard bed that lay over an open chest filled with his native earth. Without bothering to undress, he pulled the red soldier's cape more tightly around him, lay back, and slept.

Night was far advanced when he woke again. His side ached with a dull persistence under the bandages the arena physician had wrapped around him after he had been carried to him. He moved, testing his weakness, bending gingerly, rising slowly. It was reassuring that his weariness was not greater than it had been. His native earth had restored him somewhat, and his face, had there been a mirror that would reflect him, had lost the deeply cut lines of utter fatigue that had marked him earlier.

In his study there were three lamps burning, and Saint-Germain went toward their gentle light.

Rogerian was seated in one of the padded chairs, a stack of vellum sheets on a little table beside him. At the sharp sound of Saint-Germain's heeled boots, he looked up. "Good evening, my master."

"Surely it's later than evening," Saint-Germain said as he came across the floor. "What are you reading?"

He patted the closely written pages of vellum. "I am reading about Roman law."

"As pertains to bond-holders?" Saint-Germain inquired politely.

"As pertains to divorce and adulterous wives." His cool eyes met Saint-Germain's. "The complaint was filed against Atta Olivia Clemens yesterday. Her husband delivered all his 'evidence' to the Senate. It's alleged that she tried to poison him."

"That's ridiculous," Saint-Germain said, very annoyed. "Does Silius honestly think that the Senate will listen to him?"

"He has a physician's report as part of his evidence. It says that he had been eating poison." Rogerian said this gravely.

"He did not get it from Olivia." He folded his arms over his chest and the gouges in his side radiated pain through him for this. Saint-Germain's face paled but he did not flinch.

"No. That is not what the Senate believes, however." Rogerian put one of the sheets aside. "It will be most difficult for her to convince them that Justus is lying."

"For her to convince them, they must first find her." He knew she had been missing the day before, from the gossip he had overheard from the Master of the Games.

"They did find her. Yesterday." He watched Saint-Germain closely.

"But they couldn't have found her," Saint-Germain protested. "Her hiding place was completely secure."

"She let herself be found."

Saint-Germain's eyes went flinty and he fixed them on Rogerian. "What do you mean? Why didn't you stop her?"

"Stop Atta Olivia Clemens, when she is determined on a course of action?" Rogerian asked incredulously. "I pointed out that you had survived and that it would be very little time before you could leave Rome in peace. She said she refused to go with such charges hanging over her that might catch up with her at any time. She said she wanted it over with. They will hear her case in three days and pass sentence in two more. The Emperor favors a quick decision."

"Where did they take her, do you know?" Saint-Germain demanded. "There must be a way we can get her out before she appears at the Senate?"

"She wouldn't go. She told me you would want to spirit her away, and that she would refuse to go with you until this is settled." Rogerian sighed. "I told her that her husband would want to see her condemned for attempted murder, but she was convinced that if she appeared before the Senate and told them all that her husband had done to her-how he betrayed her father and brothers, how he had abused her over the years-then she could have some vengeance for all she has endured." His voice had dropped and he looked at one of his long hands. "She said very little about what was done to her, but it was enough to let me understand why she might want to be revenged."

"It won't work," Saint-Germain said with certainty. "It can't work. Justus is not a stupid man. He won't allow Olivia to best him in this. He wants to marry into the Flavian House, so Titus told me, and that means he knows without doubt that Olivia will be condemned." He stared at the wall where a rare picture of a golden Buddha hung, though he did not see the picture at all. "Vespasianus wants a quick decision? That means he's encouraging Justus' pretensions. The Senate will do as the Emperor wishes."

"How can you be sure?" Rogerian asked, not just to calm his master. "The Senate is not the toy of the Emperor."

"Or so they say," Saint-Germain agreed. "It is mere coincidence that their decisions are always those that Vespasianus requires." His lips set into a grim line and he paced the length of the room. "I won't let them execute her. I won't lose her, Rogerian."

"But what can you do?" Rogerian asked after a moment. "If she is determined, and if, as you say, her husband will work to have her condemned..." He turned over the vellum sheet he held. "There can be an execution."

Saint-Germain rubbed his face with his hands, wishing that he were more rested. "What nature of execution?"

Rogerian consulted the sheets, and after paging through them, found what he sought. "Here. The wife can sue for the right to die by her own hand, in which case witnesses are required. She may be beheaded for infanticide, at the discretion of the Senate. She may be entombed alive. She may be flogged to death if she succeeds in killing her husband. There are other options, but those are the main ones."

"Beheading is out of the question," Saint-Germain said darkly, fearing again that Olivia might die the true death and not change to his life. "Flogging is possible, but there are risks, if one of those heavy whips damages the spine. If she dies by her own hand, witnesses or not, we might find a way to help her. Entombing is frightening. She would not die-she would live, growing weaker, alone in that terrible dark." He stopped. It would be like Justus, he thought, to give her more torment, though he could not know how much. Saint-Germain shuddered. His Olivia, entombed in a wall or a foundation or the arch of a bridge. He had heard of criminals being immured in all those places, and others less appealing. What would happen to Olivia when she woke to his life in a place she could not leave? The images flickered through his mind, each more dire than the one before: Olivia in the dark, her hands torn and bloodied as she exhausted herself attempting to find a loose stone to pry away; Olivia shuddering in the corner of the tomb, plucking at her hair, singing wisps of song; Olivia licking her lacerated fingers; Olivia, shrunken, mad, husbanding her strength to be able to dash her head against the stones of the tomb and crack open her skull, ending her misery.

"My master..." Rogerian said tentatively, and Saint-Germain saw his own appalled expression reflected in Rogerian's eyes.

"Forgive me," he said as he dragged a chair across the marbleinlaid floor. "I'm not quite myself yet. I think we must see if there is a way we can speak to Olivia. If there is not..."

Rogerian put the sheets neatly back on the pile at his elbow. "I understand that her husband has forbidden her to have any visitors until she appears before the Senate. He's afraid that someone will come to harm her." Rogerian added the last in a contemptuous tone. "He intends to be certain that she is dealt with as he wishes. Domitianus has arranged for her guards." He hesitated, looking for a tactful way to say the next.

"You can't offend me. What were you going to say?" Saint-Germain broke into his thoughts.

"As you wish," Rogerian said, unperturbed. "You are named in the complaint as her lover. Any attempt you make to see her will only make her appear as her husband describes her. If you inquire too closely, you will confirm the suspicions about her."

Saint-Germain's teeth were tightly set. "I see," he mused, twisting in his chair. "He's always been crafty, but I didn't think..." Inwardly he chided himself. No, he did not think. He had acted too impetuously, and now Olivia would have to pay for it. Resolutely he turned his mind away from his fears. "Rogerian, how much can you learn from the slaves of Senators?"

"It would depend, of course, on the slaves," he said after a moment of deliberation. "There are some slaves who are very reliable, and who like to pass on bits of information. But they know I am your bondsman, and might not speak of this case. There are other slaves, however, who do not know me and might tell me a bit if I bought them a cup of wine. I would have to be careful."

"I respect your judgment enough. Do as you think wisest," Saint-Germain said.

"I've made myself a disguise. I wore it to see Olivia. I might be able to get near her in it." He sounded tentative. "I made myself a hump for my back and little bits of leather for my face, like warts, and then I took fruit to sell and cried my wares outside her door. Eventually she came and spoke to me. I might be able to do that again. Her guards saw me, the slaves that her husband put at the house. They would recognize me and I could say that I wanted to do the unfortunate lady a kindness, because she gave me so much money for my fruit." He had been building on the ideas as they occurred to him, but at the end of this, he was prepared to believe it might be possible. He looked at his master and saw admiration in Saint-Germain's eyes.

"My compliments," Saint-Germain said with quiet sincerity. "It's enough. We have time to refine the plan, but if we can find out what they intend to do with her and where and when they will do it, we might be able to reach her, so it will be no worse for her than it must." His face hardened. "Vespasianus wants me to leave Rome. If I had more time, I would make Justus howl for each minute of unhappiness and cruelty he gave her."

"In time, perhaps-" Rogerian began.

"Oh, come, Rogerian," Saint-Germain cut him off. "When you have lived as long as I, you will have seen that wish fail too often. Men like Justus survive and profit, leaving the wreckage of others' lives behind them. They are called wise by the envious and worthy by the ambitious. Justus is ruthless, and determined to be part of the Flavian House. He longs for the purple, and if he does not achieve it, it won't be because he neglected opportunity. There were men like him in Egypt, and they brought the country to ruin. There were men like that in Athens, and Damascus, and Eridu." He rose slowly and stared down at Rogerian. "It's likely to be hazardous."

"It was hazardous to take me away from the Flavian Circus, but you did." He gave Saint-Germain a steady look.

Saint-Germain capitulated. "We'll try it, then." He started across the room. "We must be prepared to leave as soon as we have her safe. We'll need chariots, chests with the proper earth in them, clothing, money..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "There will have to be arrangements made for changes of horses between here and whatever port we decide upon. Check my records and find out where we can leave quickly on one of my boats." For the first time since he had wakened, he smiled. "I'm afraid that sailing is a wretched way for those of my blood to travel, but if it can be arranged, Olivia and I will spend most of our time sleeping."

"I'll see to it," Rogerian said with a great deal of reserve.

"You'll also need to find someone to take over your duties here. I don't know whom to ask." His side was beginning to hurt again and he touched the bandages through his tunica.

"You want me to come with you?" Rogerian asked as if afraid of the answer.

"Well, of course," Saint-Germain answered, surprised. "You will find that I am a man of rather set habits, and I don't like having to find a new body servant every few years. You said that you would consider staying with me. I thought-or rather, I hoped-that it was settled." He did not let his apprehension sound in his voice.

Rogerian had got to his feet. "I will see that arrangements are made for three," he said with dignity as he began to put the protective cover around the vellum sheets.

TEXT OF A LETTER FROM THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE JADDEUS TO A FELLOW CHRISTIAN, THE FREEDMAN CLERK LYSANDER.

To my brother in Christ, Lysander, Jaddeus sends greetings:

I pray that this reaches you safely, for the matter which I am to disclose to you is of very grave importance, and I rely upon you to act in such a way that earthly justice is done, for though my hopes are all for heaven, there are still remedies of this world, and what I have learned, since it does not affect those who are called to Jesus, cries out for the stern tribunals of Rome.

There is a new slave here, not a Jew or Christian, who arrived in chains very late one night. The man was not well, and had been treated most brutally by those who had held him. He had had his right hand smashed, his testicles docked and his tongue cut out. I am ashamed to say that I, along with most of the others here, at first shunned this unfortunate man. But he heard me reading from our texts one night, in Greek, and he approached me, this pitiful creature, and gave me to understand, by signs, that there was something he wanted to import to me. I thought he might be Greek (and so he has turned out to be, though I understand now that he came to me because I am literate), and I spoke to him in that language, at which he made gobbling sounds and dragged his finger in the dirt. May Our Lord forgive me, but I wanted to send the wretch away. But he pulled my arm so that I was near the floor, and to my amazement, there were crudely drawn Greek letters there.

The slave is named Monostades and he was owned by the Senator Cornelius Justus Silius. The reason that this slave was mutilated and sent to labor among us after his mutilation, he says, is because he helped his master create a fraudulent case against his wife, wherein it was made to seem his master was dying of poison that the wife gave him, which, in fact, he took himself after he had been with her, so it would appear that he was taking harm from her rather than inflicting it upon himself. He has also said that this poor woman was abused by her husband, who insisted she take the most degraded men to her bed so that he could watch her being ravished. He also believes that it was his master who betrayed his wife's father and brothers to the government when Nero was Caesar.

All this is very distressing to learn, and this Monostades has begged me to write down what he scribbles in the earth and see if there is a way for the information to reach the authorities.

I realize that we have had little contact, but surely our love of the Lord is such that our interests must march together in this matter. I have copied out all he has said on the back of the teachings of our faith. You, being a clerk, have access to the Senate. It would be possible for you to lay this letter and the transcription before someone in power, would it not? Please, in the name of the Mercy of Christ, do this thing, for the peace of this man Monostades' soul. He is ill now, and may soon die. Before he leaves this dreadful world, he desires above all things to show how his master used his wife. He has said also, in moments of despair, that he wants to bring his master down to lower than he has been brought, but this is the petulance of an instant, and he has begun to listen to what I tell him. He is pleased to know that at Judgment Day we will all stand equal in the Sight of God and all that we have done and all that we have not done will be revealed and each of us will stand answerable for our lives.

Monostades has sworn by the Living God and the gods of Rome that what he has said is true and accurate, that at no time has he said one thing which is exaggerated or untrue. He further says he will declare the same truth in any place required.

Do reflect on the plight of this unfortunate man, Lysander, and help him to make restitution for the great wrong he has done this blameless lady, and aid him in his attempt to reveal to the world the great evil her husband has inflicted on her and other helpless souls. For as long as men like this woman's husband have power and honor on the earth, the Kingdom of Christ is far off for all of us. This is surely the work that Our Lord bade us do, or nothing is.

Labor goes on here, as anyone can see if they choose to look, but in spite of the rumors that are circulating in Rome, I tell you the Flavian Circus will not be ready this year, or the next, or the year after that. The structure is enormous now, and will be much larger before it is done. The building of it would wear out all beasts of burden but man in the course of a summer.

We must pray for the Christian who followed the misled teachings of Paul, for he has gone from the earth. A pillar of marble was upset and it fell on him. He suffered greatly, but with fortitude. I knelt and prayed with him, keeping with him until his soul returned to God and Christ. His austerity was sad to behold, but he was strong in his faith and never wavered. He worshiped with the brotherhood that meets at the Fisherman's Cove Inn on the north side of the city. It would be charitable to let them know of the man's death so that they can pray for the joy of his soul.

I rely on you to put the enclosed testimony before the Senate, and I thank you and Christ that it was given to me to help bring a terrible wrong to an end. I pray for you all, and long for the day that Christ calls me, and my earthly travail will end. There is no sweeter promise than that of resurrection and eternal life. Think of the love that Christ had, that bestows everlasting life on those who accept Him, think of His Holy Blood that saves us, think how he bade us love one another as He loves us.

In the Name of the Risen Christ, my blessing for all that you will do for Monostades, who will praise you on that Day which will come upon us before any of us are aware of it.

By the Fish, the Cross and the Dove,

Jaddeus