Roman Dusk (Saint-Germain #19)

Roman Dusk (Saint-Germain #19) Page 15

Domina Adicia moved weakly, her right hand attempting to hold the small cup Sanct-Franciscus presented to her. "I don't need any more of that," she said, her speech slightly slurred, the right side of her face sagging; since she had come out of her stupor, she had been much weakened on the right side of her body, and she tired very quickly now, and was increasingly sensitive to fluctuations is temperature; the morning was already warm, and by midday would be hot, so that Adicia fretted under the single light blanket that covered her.

"It will do you good," Sanct-Franciscus said, aware that the benefit of his infusion was anodyne rather than healing; in his more than two millennia, he had seen this condition in many forms, and had rarely been able to provide more than palliation for those whom the malady struck.

She looked up at him, blinked slowly, then attempted a smile. "If you insist. You command me?"

"For your own sake, I do," he answered, keeping the cup near her lips. "No one can want you to suffer more than you have. The drink will ease you." He was genuinely apologetic, knowing that what was wrong with her had been bred in the bone and would not be undone.

"Someone might want me to endure more agony," she muttered, looking uneasily about the room, fixing her stare on Ignatia.

"No one that I am aware of, Domina Adicia," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"You don't know them as I do," she said darkly. "Deceivers, all of them. The household, the family, none of them care for my torment."

Knowing this discussion would lead only to more rancor, Sanct-Franciscus did his best to ignore it. "You must take care of yourself, Domina Adicia. Leave your other concerns until the time you are stronger."

She sighed. "And this will help me to do that-to be stronger?"

"It is my hope," said Sanct-Franciscus. "The tincture has been beneficial to others in the past."

"Others? You did not blend it for me?" There was suspicion in her question, and petulance.

He realized his error, and said, "This tincture has treated honorata of great rank, and helped them. I trust to the medicaments that have proven their virtue over time."

"Undoubtedly, this is a foreign concoction, no matter to whom you have administered it; I daren't ask what you give me," she said, a ghost of her old flirtatiousness asserting itself.

"If you wish to know, I will tell you," said Sanct-Franciscus, glancing briefly at Ignatia, who sat near the window, half-listening to the sea-like roar of the huge crowd milling through Roma, bound for the Flavian Circus and the Great Games scheduled to begin in three hours.

"They're unfurling the awnings," said Ignatia, recognizing the shout of approval that went up from the direction of the Flavian Circus.

"Very likely," said Adicia, sputtering on the liquid she was attempting to swallow. "This tastes like rancid grass."

Using a linen square to wipe Adicia's chin, Sanct-Franciscus said patiently, "You must not permit the noise to alarm you, Domina. Alarm can be as bad as a blow to the body when one is recuperating. You know what the Great Games are: you need not be dismayed by them."

"Dismayed?" she responded, looking affronted. "Why should I be? I have attended the Great Games since I was hardly more than a child. I loved to see the races and the battles, like any good Roman. The only thing that dismays me about the Games is that I can no longer attend them." Her expression turned resentful, the corners of her mouth curved down sharply.

"Just my point; the Games upset you-the reason for that upset is immaterial," said Sanct-Franciscus, holding the cup to her lips again, banishing her scowl for the moment. "Drink a little more-it will provide you succor."

Frowning, Adicia took another sip, then a third. "It tastes ... not too unpleasant, now I am accustomed to it."

"It is not intended to be unpleasant," said Sanct-Franciscus as he coaxed her to drink a little more.

She batted at his hand. "Enough now; your mixture will make me euphoric if I drink any more. I must not have too much, for then it would serve to the opposite of its purposes, and I would lie in pain until well into the night. Leave off," she ordered, trying again to smile. "You have done more for me than anyone else in this household."

"I have done what I can to lessen your distress." He stepped back from her, still watching her carefully.

"Exactly," she said in something like triumph. "My slaves and my family can only wring their hands, but you-you actually seek to alleviate my misery." She looked toward Ignatia as if expecting an argument; when none was offered, she sighed. "They are all indifferent to me."

"Your daughter is not indifferent to you: quite the contrary-she has devoted herself to your care," said Sanct-Franciscus, very deliberately.

"Little do you know her, as I do, for what she is," Adicia said, her eyes flicking toward Ignatia, and then away from her.

Sanct-Franciscus set the cup down and put a protective lid over it. "You will have the rest later, when you have recovered your strength a bit."

Adicia sighed. "If you require it of me, I suppose I must."

"I must hope you would require it for yourself," said Sanct-Franciscus, taking another step back. "You should start to feel your discomfort lessen shortly, and then you may doze through the heat of the day."

"Not with those wolves howling for blood at the Flavian Circus," said Adicia, glancing toward the window again. "There must be forty thousand in the stands."

"If the noise disturbs you, I will lower the shutters," Ignatia offered.

"Perhaps, later," said Adicia with a stern gesture of her hand. "Just now the sunshine pleases me."

Sanct-Franciscus got nearer to the window. "You have a cotton blind, do you not, that you could fix across the window?"

"Yes," said Ignatia, and rose from her chair. "I'll fetch one and hook it in place."

"Very good," said Sanct-Franciscus before Adicia could object. "That will make the room less bright but not make it much hotter." He watched Ignatia leave the room, and added to his patient, "The wind may be acrid today; the blind will keep it from burning the air you breathe."

"The heat is a burden for me," Adicia said, as if it were an accomplishment.

"True enough," Sanct-Franciscus agreed. "And for that reason, we must be careful to provide for your comfort."

Adicia almost simpered at his remark. "You are good to me, Sanct-Franciscus. You are a most conscientious physician." Her smile implied that there was more to his care than the practice of medicine.

"It is gracious of you to say so," Sanct-Franciscus responded politely, and went to the far side of the room. "I am going to leave a vial of this tincture for your slave to add to the water you must drink through the afternoon."

"Why should I drink so much? I don't like sweating, or having to piss." She pressed her lips together in disapproval of her body. "If I drink less, those are not such problems."

"But the humors are out of balance when one is thirsty," said Sanct-Franciscus. "You must maintain the balance of your humors, or you will risk making yourself more ill than you have been of late. Sufficient moisture in the body is essential to that balance."

"You're trying to frighten me," she complained.

"If by doing so I can show you the importance of caring for yourself, then I hope I will succeed," he told her, doing his best to speak gently.

She made a fist of her right hand and brought it down on the blanket with all the force she could summon up. "You are being disagreeable!"

"I do not intend to be," said Sanct-Franciscus. "I am trying to care for you."

"Care for me," she repeated, musing on the words. "It is to your credit that you are willing to extend yourself on my behalf." She yawned suddenly. "You have to pardon me: your concoction seems to be working."

"Then once the blind is in place, I will leave you to rest. Which of your slaves would you like to watch you?" He saw Ignatia in the doorway, the folded blind in her hands, and motioned to her to be still.

"Oh, Rea, I suppose." She achieved a little stretch. "The knots in my joints are loosening."

"Just as they're supposed to do," said Sanct-Franciscus, motioning to Ignatia to send for the slave.

"Yes," Adicia said. "I think I will doze a little."

"Excellent," Sanct-Franciscus approved, watching Adicia carefully.

"You will remain here a while, to be sure nothing is done to me that you do not approve," said Adicia, trying to take his hand.

He allowed her to seize his fingers, then carefully moved her hand back to the edge of the blanket. "Rest, Domina. You have no need to vex yourself."

"But you will stay here, won't you?"

"If it will help you to rest, then I will, for a time," he said, still attempting to lull her to sleep.

With a contented sigh, she snuggled back into her pillows. "You really are most attentive to me." She blinked slowly, then opened her eyes wide as another shout went up from the Flavian Circus, followed by the metallic bray of the hydraulic organ and the beginning of the new Imperial anthem "Glorious is Heliogabalus, Sun-god and Emperor."

"That's a dreadful piece of music," Adicia murmured. "Ugly and trite."

"Do not say so where Imperial spies may hear you," Sanct-Franciscus recommended, although he agreed about the pompous melody.

"What spy would bother?" Adicia asked, and opened her eyes as Rea came into the chamber, a large cup of honey-lemon water in her hands. "This is the house of an invalid widow. What could they suspect me of doing?"

"Your household protects you, whatever the trouble you may face," said Sanct-Franciscus, wanting to soothe her, and motioned to Ignatia to bring the blind in and fix it in place.

Ignatia did this as quickly as she could, saying little while she fitted the eyes in the blind over the small hooks in the window-frame. When she was finished, the light in the bed-chamber was diminished by half, and the canvas blind glowed in the brilliant May light. "I'll be in the reception room," she said softly to Sanct-Franciscus, hoping her mother would not hear her.

"Making attempts on my physician, are you?" Adicia challenged as she watched Ignatia leave the room. "Do you think he wants a paltry creature like you? I gave your father six children and three of you lived, because my blood was strong then. Myrtale at least has two living sons to carry on our line. You have nothing. Leave me alone, you wretched girl."

Inured to such abuse, Ignatia went out of the room and almost walked into Starus. "She will be asleep soon," she told the steward.

"It is her illness talking, Doma, not her dislike," Starus said, his weathered features revealing his concern for Ignatia.

"Perhaps," Ignatia allowed. "But her rebuke is justified. It is unlikely that I will have the opportunity to have children: I am too old to find a husband, and who knows what wife Octavian will bring to the house?"

"A Christian one," said Starus, disapproval in every aspect of his demeanor. "I am told Christian masters require their slaves to pray to the Christian gods, not the gods of Roma."

"Surely not," Ignatia said, starting toward the reception room on the other side of the atrium.

"Octavian has told us-the household-that we must include his god in our prayers." He paused, knowing he had overstepped his bounds. "Some of the other slaves have been offended by this. They don't want to give up their gods, who know them, for one who doesn't."

Ignatia listened with growing shock: that Octavian should have such a lapse in conduct, and at such a trying time! "You may tell them for me that they may pray to Octavian's god only if they want to. Otherwise they are to keep to their own ways, as the law provides." She stopped in the shadow of the tiled roof. "If Octavian insists, send him to me. I will remind him of the limits of our authority." There was a determined set to her mouth. "Don't let him spend too much time with our mother-she's always upset when he starts to exhort her."

"We're all on guard against that." Starus pushed open the reception room door for her. "What would you like to have for your prandium? The cooks are broiling chickens and geese, and the baker has made pillow-bread for us today. We'll have asparagus and frilled cabbage, and a wheel of cheese, in honor of the Games today, and Vesta."

"I'll have a little of the Vesuvian wine, and a platter of the meal. Oh, and ask Waloi to roast a slab of pork ribs for me, with his pepper-garlic sauce."

"Waloi will attend to it at once. Your meal should be ready in an hour or so," said Starus, watching Ignatia toss a pillow into the seat of a glossy, rosewood chair before taking her seat.

"He's a capable butcher, Waloi is," said Ignatia, picturing the rugged man from Pannonia Inferior. "You may tell him I said so."

"It will please him to hear it," said Starus, and turned to leave Ignatia alone.

"You may delay my meal if you like. The rest of the household may dine when the food is ready. I would like a little time alone with the honestiorus Sanct-Franciscus, to discuss my mother's condition. I'll summon you when he has departed." She closed her eyes briefly.

"Yes, Doma Ignatia," said Starus, and left her to supervise the prandium.

A short time later there was a tap on the door, and Sanct-Franciscus let himself into the reception room. "I think she is soundly asleep. She should continue to sleep for most of the afternoon, no matter how loud the Flavian Circus may become."

"She truly does miss the Games," said Ignatia, opening her eyes and staring at him, feeling as if she were lightly touched with fever. "You do her so much good." Her fascination increased as he approached her.

"That is what I am supposed to do, as her physician," said Sanct-Franciscus, drawing up the short bench so he could sit directly across from her. "But it seems I am failing you, Doma Ignatia."

She made herself look away from him, afraid that her interest in him was becoming too obvious. "You could not fail me." She felt his nearness like a flame in the warm room. When she laughed there was a catch in her throat, and she hurried to conceal her rush of emotion. "You've done more than anyone in this household has to make her better."

"That may be, although there is little I can do for her. You are still tired and worn, and I hope you will permit me to leave a medicament to help you to rest. You have not been sleeping, and you are pale," Sanct-Franciscus said gently. "I wish I had some means of alleviating your circumstances."

She could feel her pulse quicken; she reminded herself sternly that his remark had no hidden meaning, and that only her desires read more than courtesy into his words. "That ... that's very kind of you."

"I know you have much to contend with," he went on, his dark eyes fixed on her averted ones. "You must not let her carping cause you despair; those who suffer from her disease often see those nearest to them as enemies, and attribute villainous motive to them for their care. That may not make her barbs more tolerable, but you need not fear there is truth in them." He did not add that those with this incurable condition usually became worse in all ways over time, and that before she died, Adicia would likely be addled and spiteful.

"I have done nothing to deserve her praises," said Ignatia, hoping she would not start to weep.

"You have done everything deserving of praise. No one could expect more of you than you have done. Your sister and your brother are in your debt for what you have achieved for Domina Adicia's benefit, little as they may know it." He waited until she met his gaze with her own. "You have nothing to be ashamed of-nothing."

"I don't do it for their good opinion," said Ignatia, staring at him with such yearning that he took her hand.

"You deserve it, nonetheless," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"It is what one of us must do, and I am the-" She stopped, and self-consciously pulled her hand away. "If more of us had lived ... but honestiora do not always have children who thrive. Had there been more of us, I would not have to tend to my mother without help from any but the slaves." Her expression grew more somber. "She might like me more if others of her children shared in her care."

"That was what I meant," said Sanct-Franciscus, his compassion for this young woman making him keenly aware of every nuance of her behavior, of the despair that leached strength from her, of her hunger for him. "Your brother could help, or your uncle could send his daughters to assist you."

"They are about to be married. Both his daughters have pledged to marry." She was appalled to hear herself sniff.

Sanct-Franciscus studied her for a long moment. "As responsible as he is, your uncle is lax in not making a marriage for you."

"My uncle doesn't want his sister under his roof, and he is presently staying away from Roma, being out of favor with the Emperor's mother and grandmother," said Ignatia with a bitterness that surprised her; she put her hand to her lips. "I don't mean that he should welcome an invalid to his house. He may have three daughters, but he has only one son, and the boy is deaf."

"No doubt that provides him a reason to keep his distance-that and the state of Roman politics," said Sanct-Franciscus. "Have you any other relatives who could provide you some respite from your mother's care?"

She thought briefly. "My father's aunt lives near Neapolis. She is quite old-fifty-six, I think-and keeps to herself."

Sanct-Franciscus shook his head. "You need not trade one burden for another. Is there no one else who would welcome you for a month or so?"

"I don't know," Ignatia admitted. "My mother has driven many of our relatives off with her accusations and recriminations."

"All the more reason for you to spend a little time away from her." He rubbed his jaw, noticing that Rugeri had trimmed his beard with special care. "Tell me you will consider securing an invitation for-shall we say-September? You will have ample opportunity to arrange things for your mother during your absence. I will help you with her, so she will not hold your going against you."

"I ... I'll try," she said, her mouth feeling unusually parched.

"Very good," Sanct-Franciscus said, and briefly laid his hand on hers, intensely aware of her pulse and her ardor. "You need time to yourself, Ignatia. You are losing flesh and there are bruises under your eyes from exhaustion."

She was barely aware of the slow tears that slipped down her face. "I am ... rather tired."

"Then you must recuperate." He offered her a quick smile. "During your absence, your mother may come to appreciate all you do for her."

"I don't think so," said Ignatia as she used the edge of her palla to wipe her eyes. "It is generous of you to imagine she might."

He reached out and touched her chin, turning her face to his. "Then do not blame yourself for her state of mind. You have no part in it: believe this."

Before she could stop herself-had she wanted to stop herself-she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his mouth, her senses reeling at her unaccountable temerity. She felt his hand on the back of her neck, supporting her without restricting her movement, which was just as well, for after a short, delirious moment, she pulled back from him, and felt her face grow rosy with distress. "Oh ... Oh; Bona Dea!" She rose and started across the room, away from the temptation of his nearness. "What must you think of me?"

Five centuries ago, he might have pursued her, pressed his advantage with her, but now he remained where he was, saying only, "I think you are lonely, Ignatia, and that your loneliness has worn you down."

She stepped into the deep window embrasure and stared out at the cluster of apple trees. "You're being kind to me again."

Another whoop from the hydraulic organ heralded the next booming song: "Pride of the Tibrus," a paean to Roma; the crowd in the Circus Maximus bellowed it out enthusiastically.

Sanct-Franciscus waited briefly, then told her, "It is you who are kind to me, Doma."

"I?" She studied him, searching for any hint of deceit. "Kind? To you?"

He returned her gaze steadily. "I, too, am lonely."

She dared not let herself wonder what he meant. "That must be hard."

"As you know," he answered, his voice so low it was barely audible above the crowing anthem.

She could hardly breathe; as if sleepwalking or moving in water, slowly she made her way back across the room to him, sat down once more, and held out her hands, laying them in his.

Text of a letter from Djuran in Alexandria to Rugeri in Roma, carried from Ostia by Natalis.

Greetings to the deputy of the owner of Eclipse Trading Company, the bondsman Rugeri, presently in Roma, from Djuran in Alexandria,

Most respectable Rugeri, I have done all that I may to review the accounts of the last year, and it is my unfortunate duty to tell you that a number of records are missing, some perhaps due to negligence, but most, I fear, have been removed as a means of concealing the theft the records revealed. I have also noticed that many of the accounts that should contain the seal of the Prefect of Trade have not been so marked, which leads me to two probable explanations: one-that the records were not presented to the Prefect or a decuria of the Prefect, which will double the commodae that must be paid when the lack of such seal is amended, as amended it must be; or two-that such a seal was obtained and what is in the records are either copies with misinformation, or forgeries.

That admitted, I wish to inform you that I will appear before the Prefect in a week's time to present the case to him, and to ask for consideration, given that there is ample proof of embezzlement and pilferage, all of which is traceable back to Perseus, as I will demonstrate, I trust to the satisfaction of the Prefecture. It is difficult to know what the outcome may be, for the Prefect is known to be willing to be bribed, and therefore, I am going to proceed carefully.

As you suggested, I am setting aside two hundred aurei to have in reserve to pay for any assessments that the Prefect may levy against Eclipse Trading Company. Little as the owner will like it, I have also purchased two young, beautiful slaves, accomplished and willing to devote themselves to the art of pleasing their owner, to present to the Prefect as a token of the owner's regard; I have decided to offer them to the Prefect at the next convivium sponsored by Hebseret and his priests, for they, too, would benefit from the goodwill of the Prefect. I do not know if this will result in any true advantage, but it will indicate that the owner knows how the game is played, and that can save time in settling things: the Prefect can then inform me what bribe will resolve the problem quickly so an order may be issued for Perseus' arrest. I have also informed the Prefect that the Company will compensate Iolus Ioloi for the loss of Perseus, to whom the Prefect sold Perseus upon the initial discovery of his crimes. It is my belief that now that the full extent of his malfeasance is known and his culpability is fully determined, the sentence passed on Perseus will result in him being chained to the oar of a military trireme for the rest of his life. I believe Iolus Ioloi will be relieved to have such a slave removed from his household, but he will still want recompense for giving him up, no matter how justly.

I am preparing a full set of rectified accounts, to the extent they can be reconstructed from the information on hand. I will notify you of the completion, and, at your instruction, either prepare an authentic copy for you, or await your return here to present them to you, whichever best serves you or the owner of Eclipse Trading Company. It is my earnest intention to finish this project by Roman November, which will mean the stormy season will have begun. If the weather permits, I will dispatch you word before spring, but if it is unsafe to take to the sea, I will wait until clement conditions prevail.

On behalf of the Priests of Imhotep and this office of the Company, I tender my sincerest respect to you and the owner,

Djuran

clerk and compiler of records

At Alexandria on the 29th day of May, AUC for Roma 972