Roman Dusk (Saint-Germain #19)

Roman Dusk (Saint-Germain #19) Page 6

Telemachus Batsho stormed into the room Sanct-Franciscus was using for his study; his face was red from more than the heat and he moved as if he were killing vermin on the floor. "What do you mean by summoning me? And before prandium? I am to dine with my sister's husband at midday."

Behind Batsho, Vitellius stood, his head bowed in mixed exasperation and submission. "He insisted that I not announce him, Dominus."

Sanct-Franciscus paused in his putting scrolls into pigeon-hole shelves. "There is no trouble, Vitellius. I asked the decuria to call upon me; he is expected. And do not fear; this should take less than an hour-you will not miss your meal. If you will bring honied wine for my guest?" He nodded the old steward away. "You have a complaint against me, decuria?"

"That I do," huffed Batsho, in no mood to be genial. "I am not accustomed to being sent for-like a dog."

"I am sorry it seemed that way to you; it was not my intent." Sanct-Franciscus indicated an upholstered bench from Fars. "Be at your ease."

"How did you think I should react to your high-handed summons?" Batsho folded his arms and remained standing.

"I hoped you would appreciate the opportunity to review all the various records you say you need in order to make my residence here official," said Sanct-Franciscus at his most cordial, but with an air of reserve to keep Batsho from assuming he was overly impressed with the decuria's importance. "Given all the information you appear to need to accomplish this, I assumed you would want to attend to this where all is to hand. I feared I would disaccommodate you if I had to spend the day going back and forth between this house and your office, asking you to postpone your business with others; with you present, we may attend to everything with a minimal loss of time for us both." His smile was bland and urbane, quelling any hint of disrespect. "Do, please, sit down."

Batsho glared at him, his wrath giving way to puzzlement. "You may be correct," he admitted at last. "But you should keep in mind that this is not the way things are done in Roma."

"That is unfortunate, for everyone," said Sanct-Franciscus with every appearance of sympathy, knowing that if this were truly the case, it was the result of recent changes, for things were different during his last stay in Roma, when Olivia had been still alive.

"You are a foreigner; you do not understand our Roman traditions," said Batsho, his posture squaring to a more martial one.

"I fear not," Sanct-Franciscus agreed. He indicated a sheaf of fan-folded scrolls. "I believe these are where it would be most fruitful to begin."

"What documents are those?" Batsho asked heavily, as if mistrusting them. Little as he wanted to admit it, the heat had given him a headache that would undoubtedly worsen as the day dragged on.

"Various deeds, transfers, tax records, and other sorts of information regarding this property and its owner." Sanct-Franciscus held up an official letter. "This is my permit of occupancy. Next is the receipt of fees."

"All very useful," Batsho allowed. He held out his hands for the sheaf. "You may be right-this is more swiftly accomplished here." He paused. "You know my percentage is granted for each document I examine."

"So I have been told." The wryness in Sanct-Franciscus' smile was lost on Batsho. "All the more reason to attend to this here. I believe this room is cooler than the Basilica Julia is now on its upper floors."

"It will be stifling by afternoon there, yes. I understand your purpose," said Batsho as he began to read through the first document, taking great care to inspect the seals at the bottom of the text. "This appears to be in order."

"So I should hope," said Sanct-Franciscus, and looked up as Vitellius returned with a large cup of wine on a neat, round tray of hammered copper. "Put it on the ivory table," he recommended.

"Yes, Dominus," said Vitellius, taking great care not to spill any of the wine.

"It smells very good," Batsho said, lifted the cup, and hesitated. "Where is yours?"

Sanct-Franciscus lowered his head. "Alas, good decuria, I do not drink wine."

Batsho put his cup down at once. "Then I will not drink, either," he declared, the tenuous air of good will he had displayed vanishing as if by sorcery.

"Ah." Sanct-Franciscus gave a single nod of understanding. "No, good decuria; you have nothing to fear within these walls, from me or any of the household. I will force no drink or food upon you, but I assure you that you need have no fear to partake of either." He almost held his breath. "I would like to think that you would grant me the privilege of showing you hospitality."

"Hospitality has masked many acts of treachery," said Batsho grumpily. "I shall need to see the records of ownership for this domicile."

"I have them just here," said Sanct-Franciscus, taking three rolled scrolls out of the pigeon-hole shelves. "There is a fourth, which I keep in my Deeds Chest; if you want it-? I can also produce Wills, showing the line of bequests-"

"That will not be necessary," said Batsho, cutting him off. "If you have these, the Wills are redundant."

"Is there anything else you want?"

"Not that I am aware of. Yet." This last was portentous, and Batsho took delight in seeing Sanct-Franciscus duck his head as if he were little more than a slave.

"No one." he announced, "is more eager than I to see justice done for you, honestiorus. That is the reason I must see so many of your records here."

That, thought Sanct-Franciscus, and the additional commodae you are entitled to collect for the inspections you make; concealing his emotions, he said, "Of course."

For a short while Batsho read in silence, his full concentration on the scrolls before him. As he finished each page, he marked it with his sign at the bottom as proof that he had seen it. Every sign would earn him an additional two percent of his final charges, bringing the commodae he would receive to a handsome total, but it would prevent a second or third inspection being required, and the commodae being paid again; during Batsho's long scrutiny, Sanct-Franciscus returned to putting scrolls in their pigeon-holes and adding to his catalogue of what records had been put where.

"Dominus, I am needed elsewhere," Vitellius dared to say at last.

"Oh yes. You needn't linger on my account," sad Sanct-Franciscus, mildly preoccupied; he, too, was aware of how much Batsho might earn for himself during this inspection, and thought back a century to a time when men of Batsho's position were paid by the Roman Senate, not by those to whose records they attended. "I will summon you when I need you, Vitellius."

Vitellius nodded and left.

"Do you allow all your household such liberty-to speak to you without your giving permission?" Batsho marveled, not entirely in admiration.

"Of course," said Sanct-Franciscus. "I would be a fool not to."

"And why is that?" Batsho asked in a tone that suggested any response must be absurd.

"Because if there is trouble in the house, I want to know of it immediately. Perhaps there is a fire in the kitchen: I would put myself and everyone under this roof in danger if the household had to wait to inform me of it until I thought to ask why I smelled smoke. If a thief should be apprehended in the act of stealing, the household should not have to detain the man for an indefinite time while I was uninformed of his presence." His manner was as open as the summer sky above them.

"Reasonable, if you are expecting trouble," Batsho conceded, and returned to reading the documents, his wine still untouched.

"What sensible man does not expect some manner of trouble?" Sanct-Franciscus asked in the same bland tone.

Batsho shrugged and went back to his reading; a short while later he asked, "What more do you have on the size and capacity of the stable here?"

"I have three records," said Sanct-Franciscus. "One for the original construction of the house, one for repairs done about a century ago, and one for the expansion of the exercise yard, thirty-five years ago." He pulled each scroll from its pigeon-hole as he spoke. "Which would you like to see?" He waited for Batsho's answer, anticipating his response.

With a sigh suggesting overwork, Batsho said, "I suppose I should see them all. You can then tell me how many horses you intend to keep here in the city."

"Seven for now, and four ponies. Also three mules." He paused. "All the rest of my livestock is at my villa outside the city walls, except for the cook's flocks of fowl."

"Birds are not livestock; there is no tax on them, for their numbers vary from day to day," said Batsho rather stiffly. "I would not like for you to have to pay more than you are required."

"I appreciate that," said Sanct-Franciscus, a wicked glint in his dark eyes. "I am prepared to pay what I owe, of course."

"No doubt you are," said Batsho, and sighed. "Do you have your record of your horses and ponies and mules?"

"On this parchment," said Sanct-Franciscus, handing the sheet to him.

Batsho barely glanced at it before putting his sign at the bottom of the page. "You have provided an inventory of household goods already. I suppose you have spices in the kitchen?"

"The cook has told me what he requires and I have provided most of it, to the limit of the markets I may use. My purchases are listed here." He handed over another sheet of parchment, and wondered what more Batsho would think of to put his mark on in order to make a bit more money from doing his duty.

"You have excellent taste, it would appear, or your cook does, and you encourage him," said Batsho as he scanned the record Sanct-Franciscus offered to him. "You are nothing if not generous with him."

"So I would hope," said Sanct-Franciscus. "My cook has a reputation to maintain."

"This is a considerable amount of spices. So much pepper! And cinnamon." He cocked his head. "How did you acquire so much, and so quickly?" The greedy twist to his features was back.

"I am a ... a partner in a shipping company, as I must assume you know. Our ships trade in Egypt and Syria, among other Mare Internum ports. We bring Roman merchandise to and get cargo from Bithynia, Cappadocia, and Armenia as well as Chios, Byzantium, and Odessus; we have emporia in western ports as well-Narbo, Tarraco, and the Baleares Isolae, among other places, so I am able to purchase many things in quantity that others are unable to procure at all." He leaned back against the writing-table, resting on his braced hands. "I have a colleague in Alexandria just now, attending to our trading there."

"Yes. The Eclipse Trading Company," said Batsho as if to take Sanct-Franciscus by surprise.

"Yes," said Sanct-Franciscus, wholly unflustered.

"It has been a successful endeavor for you, according to the records at the Basilica Julia."

"Most years it is. Last year we lost three ships-one to pirates, two to storms-and our earnings suffered as well as our seamen." He continued to support himself on his hands.

"You ransomed three of your seamen, including your captain, from Cnossus on Creta." He frowned, then clearing his throat he added, "You know that you must bear the cost of the ransom yourself; the state cannot recompense you for what you spent?"

"I am aware of that," said Sanct-Franciscus.

Batsho tapped his fingers on the nearest sheet of parchment. "You know, there were those who said your captain was in league with the pirates, and only claimed to be a captive."

"Such things are said of all island-dwellers," Sanct-Franciscus remarked, refusing to be drawn into an acrimonious debate, as he guessed Batsho wanted him to be.

"Well, you got the fellow back, and three others." He gave a sound between a snort and a chuckle. "It was your money to spend, I suppose."

"That it was," said Sanct-Franciscus in superb neutrality.

"I see you have two new ships under construction at Ostia," Batsho went on. "You must intend to continue trading, even if it proves dangerous and costly."

"I think it is a good venture for foreigners to undertake-we have useful connections that are often to our advantage."

Batsho considered this while he read the next parchment. "I take your point," he said, deliberately unclear whether he meant the information on the sheet or Sanct-Franciscus' remarks. Signing again, he said, "This is now nineteen documents I have seen and officially noted. You will have to pay me thirty-four aurei, based on the value of your holdings described in your documents; I am entitled to receive that amount."

"You shall have the money before you leave," said Sanct-Franciscus, as if he were unaware of the inflated price. "And five aurei for your time and trouble." This last was said as if he had offered mere denarii rather than aurei.

"Most generous," said Batsho, making a note to look more closely at Sanct-Franciscus' financial dealings, for he had been expecting a protest, not an additional commoda.

"Is there anything more you will need to see, good decuria?" Sanct-Franciscus asked politely.

"Not now; I may have some other inquiries to make, at another time, and if I do, I will inform you of it. I must go to my sister's husband, as I mentioned when I arrived." He put the scrolls back in their sheaf and extended this to Sanct-Franciscus, who moved away from the table to accept them. "You have been most reasonable, honestiorus. I thank you for that."

"It is gracious of you to say so, decuria," Sanct-Franciscus answered, his demeanor revealing little of his thoughts.

"If you will permit me to take my leave?" He did his best to display official dignity, knowing it was expected of Romans.

"I would not have thought you needed my permission, but if it pleases you, you have it. I will summon my old steward to escort you as soon as I count out your aurei." He set the sheaf on the writing table and went to pull open a drawer underneath the pigeon-hole shelves, revealing a small wooden chest banded in iron. Using a key that hung on a thong around his neck, Sanct-Franciscus opened the lock, revealing a mass of gold coins. "Thirty-nine aurei is the sum, I recall?"

"That it is," said Batsho, belatedly wondering how he would carry such an amount back to his office.

As if anticipating his problem, Sanct-Franciscus held up a leather pouch. "Shall I put the coins in this?"

"I would ... that would be ..." Batsho floundered, torn between wanting the convenience and the fear that Sanct-Franciscus would not give him the full amount they had agreed upon.

"You shall count them and sign for them, of course, so there is no question as to the amount paid for your service," said Sanct-Franciscus, for the first time sounding a bit annoyed. "Is that satisfactory to you?"

"I am more than willing to have a record of our dealings," Batsho said promptly, taking the pouch and turning away to count the aurei. Thirty-nine aurei: whole buildings could be bought for less! "Thirty-nine, as agreed," he said, although he had counted forty. He slipped the closing straps of the pouch twice around his left wrist, hefting it. "This will do." Then he slipped the thongs off his wrist and secured them to his belt; patting the pouch, he said, "Safer this way."

Sanct-Franciscus offered a quilled stylus and an ink-cake, moist enough to use. "If you would, then?"

Batsho read the statement: The decuria Telemachus Batsho has today received from the foreign merchant Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus the sum of thirty-nine aurei in full and complete payment for his official inspection of documents of residence, title, occupation, and taxation status. This document stands as witness to these transactions. "My signature and sign?"

"And the date, if you would," said Sanct-Franciscus, almost apologetically. "So there can be no confusion."

"Naturally," said Batsho, a bit huffily, for had he been able to leave off the date, he might have been able to claim a second commoda to rectify that lapse. He dipped the end of the quill into the edge of the softened ink, wrote his name and sign, and reluctantly added 19th day of July, 971st Year of the City. "There. That should satisfy anyone, up to the Emperor himself."

"I thank you," said Sanct-Franciscus, and nodded toward the door. "Would you like one of my slaves to escort you back to your office?"

Again, Batsho was torn: he saw the advantage of added protection, but that slave could possibly overcome him, steal the pouch, and return it to Sanct-Franciscus. With the receipt he had signed, Batsho would have no recourse to regain his money, so he said, "I believe I will attract less attention on my own, honestiorus."

"As you wish," said Sanct-Franciscus, and clapped his hands. This time it was Aedius who answered the summons. "My guest is leaving. If you would see him to the gate for me?"

"Of course, Dominus," said Aedius, standing respectfully while Batsho gestured his farewell and started for the atrium. "There is someone in the rear vestibule who would like a little of your time," he added as he prepared to escort Telemachus Batsho from the house.

Something in Aedius' tone put Sanct-Franciscus on the alert. "Thank you. I will attend to it now." He called after Batsho, "You see, decuria, there are advantages in giving the household leave to speak."

Batsho, now out of the study, was able to ignore this last remark as he continued out into the atrium, his hand placed protectively over the jingling pouch he carried on a double-thong on his belt.

As soon as he was sure that Batsho was through the gate, Sanct-Franciscus left his place in the study and hastened to the rear vestibule, where he found Daniama the laundress standing guard at the door, her muscular arms folded. "I understand I have a guest," he said to the sturdy slave.

"Yes, Dominus." She ducked her head. "Aedius said I was to guard her."

"No doubt a very sensible plan," said Sanct-Franciscus. "But do you think, perhaps, I might be allowed to enter?" He waited for her to move aside, wondering as he did what-and whom-he would find inside.

"Your pardon, Master," said the slave, and stepped away quickly.

Sanct-Franciscus put his hand on the latch, calling out, "I am coming in," as he swung the door back. He found the room in shadow, the wooden blinds turned to keep out the summer sun. "Who is here?" he asked of the gloom, for although the darkness made little difference to the clarity of his sight, he knew most of the living were not so fortunate and were often troubled by his ability to see so well; he was aware his unknown guest was in the far corner, turned away from the door.

"Patronus," exclaimed Melidulci, not moving from her place.

"My delight," he exclaimed, starting toward her. "What is the matter?" For something had to be the matter: Melidulci was not behaving as Sanct-Franciscus had ever seen her act before. "What has happened?" As he reached her side, he saw her flinch. "What is wrong?"

Suddenly she burst into tears and pressed her head against his shoulder, keeping her face averted; she was trembling . "I ... I could think of ... of no one else to come to," she whispered, her words muffled.

"But surely within the lupanar-" he began, and felt her cringe.

"I will leave," she said suddenly, shoving him so she could step away from him. "I don't want to impose."

"No, no," he told her gently, putting his arm around the small of her back with care, for he could tell by her posture that she was in pain. "That was clumsy of me. If you have trouble, the Guard of the Lupanar should protect you-that is what they are paid for."

She broke away from his embrace, then reached out suddenly and turned the slats of the blinds, throwing the uncompromising noon light on her face: bruises and broken skin distorted her features so that she was almost unrecognizable. One eye was puffy, purple, and all but swollen shut, her lip was cracked and swollen, there were lumps on her jaw and a dribble of blood below her distended ear. Her upper arms were marred with the purple ghosts of finger dug into her flesh. "Who do you think did this?" she demanded, and her sobbing became loud and ragged. "Lupanar Guards!"

He stared at her, wanting to disbelieve, but unable to doubt her. "Why would Lupanar Guards do such a thing-and to you, of all women?"

"I don't know!" she wailed. "I pay them their commoda, and extra." A note of panic had entered her voice.

"Melidulci," Sanct-Franciscus said, folding her close to him again.

"I'm not either," she howled, twisting in his arms. "Not now!" Abruptly she collapsed, sagging into his encompassing hold. "Don't look at me!"

"Why not?" he asked her, no distress in his voice; his dark, penetrating gaze did not waver.

"Because I'm hideous!"

"No, no, Melidulci, you are injured, you are not hideous. You cannot be hideous, not to me." He supported her easily, as if she weighed no more than a child did.

"Why?" she challenged, adding angrily. "Because you love me?"

"No," he said calmly. "I like you very much and I am deeply fond of you; I know you."

This held her attention. "But you do not love me."

"No," he said, a world of kindness in his answer.

Now she was puzzled; she did her best to ignore her fear and hurts. "Why not? Almost all the men who come to me claim to love me."

"And do you believe them?" Sanct-Franciscus asked. "You do not want me to be one who claims to love you, do you."

Her ragged laughter was not as cynical as she wanted it to be. "Of course not."

"Do you believe my friendship is sincere?"

She stared at him, her eyes growing moist. "Yes," she said after a brief silence. "I do."

"Then accept it, and let me help you now." He felt her tremble, and went on compassionately, "This was done to leave marks, and to frighten you."

"Then they succeeded," she muttered, forcing her legs to support her. "One of them struck me across the back with a length of wood. I was bludgeoned more than once with it, and they struck my feet; walking here was-" She broke off.

"The Guard of the Lupanar did this, you say." Sanct-Franciscus kept her close to him, providing her the safety of his nearness.

"Or men dressed like them," Melidulci allowed, bringing her crying under control. "I didn't know their faces, and I thought I knew them all."

"Did you not?" He considered this, using the edge of the wide, square sleeve of his dalmatica to start to wipe away the dried blood from her face. "This is insufficient," he said as he examined the results. "I will order a bath, and while it is readied, I will soak your injuries with pads infused with anodyne tinctures. Once I see the whole of you, I will have a better notion of what you will need."

She stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"You know I have some skill with medicaments; you have seen the efficacy of the preparations I provide," he said without haste, his small hands moving over as much of her face and neck as he could see without adding to her distress. "I will endeavor to do my best to help your recovery; I am no Galen, but my methods have their uses." He had acquired them over centuries, beginning in the Temple of Imhotep; he looked directly into her disfigured visage. "I cannot undo all the damage, but I can keep it to a minimum."

"How!" She did not speak loudly; her anguish was all the more poignant because of it.

"There are unguents and poultices to ease the bruising and to help close the breaks in your skin with the least scarring possible," he said. "I have bandages that will also help prevent scars, and some that will keep the medicaments where they need to be to treat the hurts you have. I have syrup of poppies to diminish your pain so you may sleep. Sleep heals much more than any physician can."

She sighed. "I shouldn't. You may be in danger if you shelter me. If those men followed me-"

"So I might be," Sanct-Franciscus admitted, "but the woman who owns this house-a widow called Olivia-would never forgive me if I failed to care for you, nor would I excuse myself. You are dear to me, little as you may want to be, Melidulci, and those of my blood do not turn away from those we care for when they are in need." He thought of Periasis, less than a century ago, and winced; he clapped his hands, calling out, "Daniama, have the caldarium heated-not too hot, but enough to promote sweat. Then ask Vitellius to bring me my leather case of medicaments." Just then he missed Rugeri intensely, wishing he were here to tend to such things with only minor instruction.

From the corridor came "Yes, Master," and the sound of sandaled feet going toward the rear of the house.

"Your slaves will talk," Melidulci murmured, now sounding overwhelmed with fatigue.

"I will take care of that once I have tended to you," he assured her, and stroked her hair, his hand light as a gauze veil. "Do not fret, Melidulci."

She wiped her eyes with her palla. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to stop crying. I think I've finally finished, and then-"

"There is no error in tears. Melidulci," he told her; his next words carried their own echo, "I only wish I had my own to shed."

Text of a letter from Septimus Desiderius Vulpius, presently in Brundisium, to Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus in Roma, carried by private messenger.

To the most excellent foreigner, the highly acclaimed Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus at the house of the Widow Clemens near the Temple of Hercules, the affectionate greeting of Septimus Desiderius Vulpius, now on the last leg of his journey back from Pergamum:

As you suggested, I took the time to bathe in the White Fountains of Pergamum, and must tell you that they are all you claimed they would be. The stones are like snow on a river, but all is warm and pleasant. The keepers of those fountains have achieved a fine facility, with their terraces framing the baths in the springs, and their many excellent attendants. The general setting for the baths in regard to the town is also quite handsome; I spent several afternoons there, recovering from the heat of the day, and meeting men from many parts of the eastern Empire who, like me, repaired there to pass the heat of the day taking their ease.

On my travels, I was able to spend part of a day with the Syrian spice dealer you mentioned to me, and through him, I have made arrangements to import spices from Hind, to be exchanged at the Stone Tower for nut oils and bison hides from Gaul. Little as my father would approve my increased participation in trade, he would be proud to see our fortunes thus bolstered, which would not have been possible without your help.

Which brings me to the purpose of this letter: I would like to show my appreciation to you for all you have done for me and my family-and my gens. This is to be more than a convivium: I propose to have a true banquet in your honor, with jugglers and erotic dancers to entertain. If you have a choice for a partner of your own, I will gladly do what I can to fulfill it-woman, man, girl, boy, or even goat, one, two, or three of them, I suppose, if such is to your liking. I know you will not dine with us, but you can still take your pleasure in our company. Consider what you would like and let me know upon my return. Reticent you may be, but surely you will not attempt austerity at Saturnalia?

In regard to such matters, I have bought three slaves during my travels, all three most expert in amorous skills; if you would be interested in one of them, I would be pleased to make a gift to you, either one of the women, or the youth, as a show of my regard for all you have done for me and my family. They are all three comely, well-mannered, and talented in their ways. Without a wife to tend to you, you must long for the talents of slaves like these, and the women of the lupanar can be costly. Tell me you will consider my offer, and I will think myself most fortunate to be able to express my gratitude to you.

As you must know, the fighting in Syria is worse, and there are rumors that we must look to another leader there. Severus Macrinus may have gone too far when he cut the pay of the Legions; what soldier will want to defend the Empire with insufficient weaponry and an empty belly? The Legions must be paid. Few Caesars have failed to do that with impunity, and Severus Macrinus is not popular enough to assume good opinion will carry him: he needs silver for his troops, and the support of the Senate, which I am told is wavering, if he is to continue to wear the purple. I mention this in case you should have business in Syria you may want to shift before matters get more out of hand. After all you have done for me and mine, it is time I did something worthy for you and yours.

Look for me in four or five days, in the company of Pius Verus Lucillius, who has been in Salonae for three years and is eager to see the Tibrus and the Seven Hills again. His household will follow in two or three weeks, and so he will be staying with me until they arrive. We would be delighted to have you call upon us, should that fall in with your plans. Verus is a solid man, of good character, and not given to recklessness, except in the matter of chariot races.

Until such time as I hail you myself, I extend my most sincere dedication to you and your friendship,

Septimus Desiderius Vulpius

at Brundisium on the 14th day of August in the 971st Year of the City