Roman Dusk
Egidia Adicia Cortelle, Domina Laelius, was having one of her bad days: she was weak and listless, had poor control of her limbs, and she choked when she tried to swallow, all of which contributed to her resentful mood. She kept to her bed, refusing to have slaves around her, wanting only the attentions of her daughter, Pax Ignatia Laelius, whom she upbraided for every perceived fault.
"It's this horrible rain," Adicia carped. "If it weren't raining, I would improve."
Ignatia brought another pillow and put it behind her mother's shoulder. "That should make you more comfortable."
"It's lumpy," Adicia accused. "Isn't there anything softer?"
"You have four pillows to support you, Mother. Would you like me to fetch mine?"
Adicia flapped one hand, attempting to adjust the offending pillow. "No. You needn't do that."
"Mirza says the signs are for a clearing in a day or so," said Ignatia as she smoothed the covers.
"Slaves always think they know such things," Adicia muttered.. "Rain in April. Who would expect such a storm in spring?"
"There is usually a late storm every spring. This one is just a little more intense than most," said Ignatia in as calm a voice as she could summon. "When the skies clear, you will be stronger."
"You would like that, wouldn't you? Then you could go about on your own, and not have to spend all day with me."
"I would like to see sunshine, and I would like you to feel better, but not for my own delight." She spoke flatly, hoping to avoid another argument.
"Why do you deny that you long for amusement?" Adicia persisted.
"I do not deny it," said Ignatia, holding on to her temper.
"If it weren't for me, you would be married by now, and tending to your own household and family. And I would be married, too, to a man who would treat me well."
"No doubt, dear Mother," said Ignatia, keeping her voice as neutral as she could, and putting a warm, damp cloth on Adicia's forehead.
"Don't bother me with such useless things," Adicia said as she took the cloth and flung it across the room. "Send for Sanct-Franciscus. He knows what to do. He cares for me, you know."
"If you are sure you want him," said Ignatia. "The last time you sent for him, you savaged him mercilessly."
"Last time I was in greater pain than I am now," said Adicia firmly. "I want him to bring me his medicaments."
Ignatia at twenty-four would have been attractive if she were not so harried; she had pretty blue-green eyes and a heart-shaped face framed by dark-blonde hair which she wore in a simple knot at her nape. In an unornamented palla of cherry and a stola of soft plum over it she could have been appealing, but only looked washed-out; she caught her lower lip in her teeth and thought before speaking. "Do you want me to go, or shall I send Octavian or Chemba?"
"You had better go, not a slave, and certainly not your brother," said Adicia at her most peevish. "Chemba may know every street in Roma, but he knows nothing about medicaments, and I have no notion of what Octavian would say to Sanct-Franciscus, if he would do as I require at all. Since he started meeting with the Christians, he has been unreliable. I'm surprised he's in the house today, rain or no rain."
"He's fourteen," Ignatia said in her brother's defense. "You can't expect him to understand your situation."
"Why not? You did. As soon as I fell ill, you cared for me, and there was no nonsense about it," said Adicia, this instance of rare praise taking her daughter by surprise.
"There was no one else to do it but your slaves," she said.
"Which is as good as saying there was no one to help me, not who could be trusted." Adicia fixed Ignatia with a hard stare. "At least you did not consent to be married to the first man who showed interest in you, as your sister did. Myrtale leaped at Quillius-it was embarrassing."
"She has been very happy with him. You've read her letters. She has so much to tell us about Naissus and Moesia: what interesting places she has seen!" Ignatia enthused, hoping to turn the conversation.
"She flaunts her happiness, and never comes to Roma." Adicia sighed. "If only your father had not been killed, or that I had died in his stead." This was an habitual lament with her, and she began to weep. "It may have been considered an accident, but I know his enemies were in the crowd and used the riot to cover his murder. But no one listens to me-no one!"
"Mother," Ignatia warned, bending over to wipe her face. "You must not do this. You'll make yourself worse."
"If it would end my suffering, why shouldn't I?" Adicia exclaimed. "There is no justice in this world. None at all."
"Then resign yourself to it," said Ignatia, renunciation in every aspect of her demeanor. "It is all that is left to do."
"You say that easily enough." Adicia's petulance made her face sag.
"Easily enough," Ignatia repeated. "Because I know whereof I speak." She reached for the jug of water and filled a cup with it. "You need to drink this."
"No," said Adicia with stubborn determination. "If I drink now, I will have to use the latrine before you return, and that would mean summoning Benona or another of the slaves to assist me. No. I will wait for you to come back."
It took all Ignatia's patience not to offer a sharp rejoinder, but she managed to say only, "You must do as you think best," before she left the room and went to get her long, oiled-wool paenula to protect her against the weather. As she started across the atrium, the rain struck her face and she dabbed at it with the sleeve of her stola. "Starus! Starus!" she called out as she reached the entrance to the house. "Ready the biga. I must go out of the city."
Starus, the steward of the house, had been a slave of the Laelius family all his life, and so he enjoyed a greater freedom than many of his fellows. "Going to get that foreign physician again, are you?"
Starus mumbled something about foreign concoctions as he went off toward the small stable immediately behind the house, leaving Ignatia to pace and listen to the rain.
"Going somewhere, dear sister?" The voice came out of the shadows, startling Ignatia. He pointedly ignored the display of lares; since he had become a Christian, he had little patience for household and ancestral gods.
"Octavian!" She made his name a reprimand. "I thought you were out."
Octavian was a decade younger than Ignatia; he had just reached the gangly stage of growth, all arms and legs with knobby joints, hands and feet disproportionately large. As if in accord with the rest of him, his light-brown hair was an unruly thatch, and he had the first tentative wisps of a moustache on his upper lip. He wore a heavy dark-blue woolen dalmatica over striped femoralia which were supposed to show his legs to advantage but did not, and topped it all with a dull-red tunica; a small gold fish hung from a leather thong around his neck. "I'm leaving shortly," he announced.
"Do you know when you'll be back?" Ignatia asked, certain it was useless.
"Late. Before midnight, probably." He cocked his head in the direction of Adicia's room. "Is she any better?"
"No. That's why I'm going to ask Sanct-Franciscus to treat her."
"Do you trust him-a foreigner, and one who had only our uncle to recommend him?"
"Our mother trusts him; that's all that matters," said Ignatia brusquely.
Octavian let out a bark of laughter. "She likes that foreigner; it's her flesh that she wants treated. She lies in bed, mourning our father, and wishes for someone to end her grief but cannot bring herself to find another husband, and summons the foreign physician instead."
Ignatia felt her cheeks burn. "You may think what you like, Octavian, but you will not show such disrespect inside this house." She pointed to the plaque of low-relief carvings of the family's illustrious ancestors and household gods.
"Respect? For what?" said Octavian. "There is God, the God of Christ, and no other. Nothing else deserves respect."
"Do not say so. Not here, and not-"
"Oh, stop." Octavian stepped back. "It isn't worth arguing about."
"Octavian ... ," Ignatia began, but heard the sound of his sandals as he left her alone again. She resumed pacing, glancing at the lares occasionally, as if seeking reassurance from them. By the time Starus returned, she was calmer, and was able to say to the slave, "Have one of the women sit with my mother while I'm gone. Just see she is properly covered and fetch anything she wants except food-she is unable to swallow without great effort."
"I will send Tallia to her," Starus said. "She likes Tallia."
"Tallia will have to be gentle with her; remind her of that." Tallia baked bread every day and scrubbed the entry, chores that made her stronger than many men.
"I will," said Starus, and added, "The biga will be here shortly. Philius had Niger and Neva ready to yoke to the biga as I left the stable."
"Good. Philius can be lazy when the weather is dreary." Ignatia went to look out through the peephole in the shutters. "It hasn't let up."
"No, Doma, it hasn't." He looked directly at Ignatia. "You look tired."
"I am," she said. "Never mind. I'll retire early with a jug of hot wine. Come dawn, I'll be myself again."
"If Domina Laelius hasn't improved, you won't be able to do that," Starus warned.
"Sanct-Franciscus should do her good. He has in the past. She believes he will help her now." Ignatia swung around as the rattle of approaching hooves and wheels reached her. "Philius is here."
"Keep as warm and dry as you can," Starus recommended as he went to open the front door for her. "Do not slip in the mud. Right foot."
Ignatia crossed the threshold on her right foot and stood in the octostyle porticus waiting for Philius to come up from the stable gate, along the alley between the Laelius house and the one beyond. The location was a good one, on the north-facing slope of the Esquilinus Hill, but in the rain it seemed dreary and unsatisfactory. She huddled into her paenula, tugging the hood as far over her head as she could, shading her eyes and concealing most of her features. She bit back a yawn just as the biga with its black and white pair turned toward her.
Philius drew rein right in front of her. He, too, was cloaked against the wet, but his Gaulish saie was of thicker, less tightly woven goat-hair cloth, and the hood was narrower than the one on her paenula. "Ready, Doma. You want to go out to Villa Ragoczy again, I'm told."
"Yes," said Ignatia as she stepped up into the biga and took hold of the handrail at the top of the high side panel.
"I'll go along the Via Thermae and out through the Porta Nova, then north on the Via Cingula, if you don't mind. The Porta Viminalis is always very crowded and the streets aren't as muddy approaching the Porta Nova."
"You know what is the best route to go, and so long as we don't lose much time that way ... ." She shrugged and did her best not to shiver as Philius put the biga in motion. In spite of the rain the streets were busy, and Philius held the pair of horses to a strict walk as they threaded their way toward the Porta Nova on the east-northeastern side of the city. They passed three small fora, one devoted to selling flowers; it was filled with new blossoms and a variety of bulbs that were brilliant with color and greenery. "Perhaps, on our return, we should stop to get hyacinths for my mother."
"Tell me on the return, Doma, and if you still wish to." He checked Niger as a donkey being led across the road balked and brayed; Neva had already stopped.
"You do this so well," Ignatia said.
"I know the horses. Neva is careful and cautious-Niger is more impulsive. For the others, Pimpona is affable, especially now that she is in foal, Raechus is eager-too eager, Farfalia is abrupt, Merius is grumpy because he is getting old, Boranda is no-nonsense, Crispus is always seeking treats, especially when none are deserved, and Statlio is determined to please, a typical gelding, as obliging as a hound." He paused, having mentioned all the household horses. "Iola, the jenny-mule? is devious and clever, as mules often are."
"Do you think we should acquire other horses? If Merius is not up to the work, should he be retired and another horse bought in his place? He could be sent to the estate at Nepete-what do you think?" Ignatia asked, tugging on the edge of her hood to keep it from flying back off her head in the freshening wind.
Philius cleared his throat, keeping his attention on the road ahead. "I would retire Merius, if he were my horse, and replace him with a younger gelding. I would purchase a second mule. I'd also buy a riding horse for Octavian of less mettle than Raechus. No matter what he thinks, your brother does not handle high-couraged horses well. A less spirited animal would suit far better than Raechus, who would thrive at Nepete, standing at stud there; his blood-line is excellent, and his confirmation is superior." Now that he had said this, Philius ducked his head. "Your pardon, Doma, but you asked."
"And I am glad to hear what you have to say," said Ignatia, wondering how she would persuade her uncle, Nymphidius Tiberius Laelius, to hand over enough money to accomplish these things. "I will not punish you for saying what you believe to be best for the horses."
"Thank you." He pulled the pair in as they reached the line at the Porta Nova.
A Praetorian centurion in full brass lorica and helmet with a broad, dyed horsehair fan atop it, was stopping every person departing the city, asking names and destinations, and occasionally ordering his scribe to make notes.
"I am Pax Ignatia Laelius, I live in the Via Decius Claudii on the Esquilinus Hill," she said when it came her turn to speak. "This is my slave Philius. We are bound for Villa Ragoczy, beyond your camp."
"The foreigner's estate; the one with the fine gate and fences. I know it," said the centurion. "Why do you seek him?"
"To summon him to treat my mother, who is an invalid," said Ignatia. "There is some urgency."
"Be sure you return through this gate, and if you delay very long, I must have the scribe make note of it," said the centurion.
"Of course," said Ignatia, and nodded to Philius. "Drive on."
The road beyond the walls was also busy, but not as much as the city streets had been; bigae and chairs carried merchants to and from the broad field where their large carpenti were left for the day, and sellers of fruits, meats, and flesh held the sides of the road, crying their wares. Philius avoided the greatest crush, and turned on the Via Cingula, then whistled his pair up to a trot and held the gait for the next thousand paces. They soon reached the Via Prenestina, and headed northeast past the Praetorian Camp. The wind picked up and the rain fell harder.
"The road to Villa Ragoczy is not far ahead. There is a stout wooden gate at the entrance," said Ignatia.
"I remember," said Philius. "I will find the place."
"Excellent," Ignatia approved shakily. She was so cold that her teeth had started to chatter and she was shivering, both of which mortified her: to show such weakness in front of a slave! She would not know what to say to her mother if Philius should speak of it among the rest of the household. Gathering her paenula more tightly around her, she pulled the hood even farther forward and did her best to keep her teeth clamped.
"This is the turn, I am certain," said Philius, slowing the pair to a walk and preparing to leave the well-paved road for a graveled one. "Best hang on with both hands, Doma."
"That I will," she said, doing her best to keep from being thrown off-balance as the biga jounced onto the loose river stones that paved the road leading to the entrance to Villa Ragoczy. She noticed that the stones had been tended recently, and this calmed her a bit, for it made the chance of an accident less than it would have been on an ill-kept road.
"The stables here once housed over a hundred horses, or so I was told when we came here in November," said Philius. "Now there are only forty or so."
"Many breeders have reduced the size of their stables," said Ignatia as if she had to convince herself of this accepted fact.
"Do you suppose the taxes are the reason?" Philius asked. "Your uncle reduced his herd because of taxes."
"I have no idea. I am not in Sanct-Franciscus' confidence," said Ignatia stiffly; her paenula was flapping open, so she took hold of it with one hand and resigned herself to having to struggle to stand.
At the gate Philius drew up, securing the reins around the brake-handle before he stepped down to approach the gate. "I will summon the warder," he said.
"Very good," Ignatia said automatically.
"You there!" came the shout from beyond the gate. "State your name and purpose here."
"I am Philius, the slave of the Laelius household. I bring my mistress, Doma Ignatia, daughter of Domina Laelius, to speak with the foreigner Sanct-Franciscus." His voice carried well against the wind.
"You are welcome," the warder announced, and drew back the heavy wooden bolt that secured the gate. "Enter, and take your biga around to the west side of the main house. One of the household will meet you there to guide you in the villa."
"Thank you," said Ignatia; a moment later Philius climbed back into the biga and took the reins again, kissing to the horses as the gate swung open.
The grounds of the villa were well-tended and prosperous-looking; the orchards just beyond the garden were coming into bloom, and the scent of apple blossoms was strong in spite of the rain. The approach to the main house was cobbled with bricks, and had recently been raked free of debris. Only the roofs of the stables could be seen beyond the house, and they were in good repair. A groom in a hooded leather cloak was jogging toward the biga, calling out, "Draw in. I'll take them."
Philius did as he was told. "Very prompt," he said approvingly as he stopped the horses and released the reins to the groom. "If you would have their hooves picked clean as well as giving them water?"
The groom nodded as he went to the pair's heads. "Certainly."
Ignatia got out of the biga, and without waiting for one of the household slaves to offer her the protection of a rain-shield, went up the steps to the larger section of the villa, which, unlike most Roman homes, boasted two atria and two distinct sections of the building. A footman met her as she crossed the threshold. "I am here to see Sanct-Franciscus. Where may I find him?"
The footman-a young man from eastern provinces by the look of him-ducked his head, saying, "If you will follow me?"
"Of course," said Ignatia, knowing Philius would go to the stables with the biga and horses and would not accompany her.
They went down the side of the larger atrium, then through a corridor and along a peristyle on the exterior of the rear of the rambling house. At last they reached a double door located roughly at the meeting of the two sections of the house; the footman tapped on it, and waited.
Sanct-Franciscus was wearing a simple, black woolen dalmatica, deep-red femoralia, and heeled Scythian boots. He gestured welcome to Ignatia, saying, "I am surprised and happy to receive you, Ignatia Laelius. Please come into my study. Girav, if you would bring a jug of hot wine with honey? And some butter-cakes? Tell Aedius it is for my guest." He stood aside so that Ignatia could enter the room; the chamber was sizeable with windows in three walls. Most of the room was behind a segmented screen that was decorated with intricate carvings of the loves of Jupiter, with Semele dominating the center panel. There were also shelves with bound parchment sheets stored on them and a stand of pigeonholes filled with rolled scrolls. Three painted panels from Egypt hung high on the walls, with illustrations and hieroglyphics covering them; Ignatia had seen Egyptian art before, but nothing like these panels, in which a jackal-headed figure stood with an ibis-headed one, and a wrapped mummy was rising from the ground between them, a small bird flying away from the mummy's head toward a disk with many long, golden arms. She looked around at Sanct-Franciscus. "That is most unusual. Do you know what it says?" she asked, caught by the striking images.
"Yes," he replied. "And I will tell you one day, but not now, when you have such urgent business with me." He glanced at the footman. "My guest is hungry and thirsty."
The footman hurried away after he closed the door.
"You have no reason to apologize," said Sanct-Franciscus.
"No? I would have thought you were busy, but-Your villa is wonderfully warm," said Ignatia as she let her paenula fall open.
"The holocaust has been cleaned of all ash, and the floor tiles have been taken up so that the channels could be scrubbed," said Sanct-Franciscus, who was punctilious in such matters, although cold and heat had little effect upon him. "If you want to put your paenula aside, I have a lacerna you can wear until you are warmer."
She looked at him as she threw back her hood, a touch of suspicion in her blue-green eyes. Guardedly she said, "I would like that."
"The sleeves are a little long for you: turn them back if you like," he said as he went behind the sectioned screen, to return at once with a splendid lacerna in dark-red silk. "Here, Ignatia Laelius. Let me take your paenula. I will hang it over the back of that chair"-he pointed to the one in front of the stand of pigeonholes-"until you are ready to depart."
Feeling strangely daring, she turned so that he could remove the paenula and replace it with the soft, warm, enveloping lacerna. "This is very nice, Sanct-Franciscus."
"You say that like a well-schooled child," Sanct-Franciscus said, a trace of friendly amusement in his face.
"I was taught carefully," said Ignatia, her cheeks turning rosy for no reason she could account for.
"And you are a credit to your teacher, and to your gens." As she fumbled for something to say in return, he changed his tone. "Now that you have observed the niceties, perhaps you will tell me why you have come on such a wretched day as this?"
She was somewhat taken aback by the abruptness of his question. "It is a wretched day, to be sure, and I realize I am intruding, but I assure you it is important, or I would not have come."
"So I assumed," said Sanct-Franciscus. "This is not a capricious call."
"No," she said. "Alas, it is not." She pulled at the sleeve of the lacerna. "I fear my mother is doing poorly, and has sent me to ask you to-"
"To provide her with such relief as I am able to," he finished for her. "I will, of course." He drew up a deeply upholstered hassock for her. "Sit. This is the most comfortable of any furniture in the room."
She regarded him dubiously, but sank obediently down onto it, and discovered it was both soft and supporting. "It is quite ... pleasant."
"Good." He offered her a one-sided smile. "Now, if you will tell me what it is your mother requires, other than a return to health, which I fear no physician can give her?" The kindness in his eyes took the sting from his words.
Dutifully, Ignatia began her report. "Her head aches. She is suffering from weakness, lassitude; she cannot stand alone, or so she says, and so has remained in her bed. Her appetite is failing, because she claims it is hurtful to eat. She has had difficulty swallowing."
"Does she have a fever?" Sanct-Franciscus asked.
"Not that I can detect-she complained of being cold this morning, and her face appeared ... slack." Ignatia joined her hands together. "I worry that she will not be able to eat, and will finally starve." She lowered her eyes and tried not to sneeze.
"You have reason for such concerns," said Sanct-Franciscus. "Can you tell me if she is in pain?"
"She says so." She looked up, daring to meet his eyes with hers. "The tincture of willow-and-pansy you provided is nearly gone, but it seems to alleviate the worst of her hurt."
"Then I shall bring more with me. Pain, at least, I can alleviate." He went behind the beautiful segmented screen and came back with a small case in his hands. His dark eyes were compassionate, and he spoke soothingly. "You need not fear that your mother is dying : that will not happen for some time unless she succumbs to a putrescence that is not presently troubling her. But she has a malady that has no cure, and it is deep in her bones."
Ignatia sighed. "I can't help but worry. She grows worse, you know, and nothing has arrested the degeneration." As she said this, she felt she had betrayed her mother, and she turned away from Sanct-Franciscus. "If you say you can do nothing."
"Unfortunately, no one can heal her." He was spared the necessity of saying anything more to Ignatia as Girav rapped on the door. Opening it, Sanct-Franciscus took the tray from him, saying, "If you would, go to the stable and have Mora and Axion yoked to my new biga. And tell Raens to have my oiled-wool paenula ready-the black one with the dark-red border. Thank you." He stepped back to allow the slave to close the door, then took the tray with its jug of hot, honied wine and plate piled with butter-cakes to Ignatia.
She looked up. "How good of you," she said softly.
"Only courteous," said Sanct-Franciscus. "Now, while you recruit yourself, I will go prepare you another few vials of willow-and-pansy." With that, he went around the screen again, leaving her to pour the wine into the cup provided, and to eat a few of the butter-cakes while he completed his preparations for treating her mother.
Text of a letter from Senator Marcus Laurentius Gaius Fulvius Cneo to Telemachus Batsho; delivered by personal courier.
To the decuria Telemachus Batsho, Marcus Laurentius Gaius Fulvius Cneo, Senator of Roma, sends his greetings and his recommendation that the petition of Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus to occupy the house of the widow Atta Olivia Clemens near the Temple of Hercules be granted acceptance without delay. Since the law now requires such foreigners as Sanct-Franciscus to live within the city walls, it is presumptive folly to prevent anyone from complying with the law. I expect this to be carried out at once, with your customary efficiency.
You have the Writ of Permission for Occupancy from the Widow Clemens, and you have the residence-transfer tax paid by Sanct-Franciscus himself, and so there is no pressing reason that his move should be delayed, and every reason for it to be expedited. Let me remind you that Sanct-Franciscus has no blood ties to any of the various barbarians raiding our borders, and no position in any other government that might compromise his dealings here. Even his dealings in Egypt are those of trade, not politics, and his alliances are strictly commercial. No one has accused him of acting against Roman interests, and since he is an exile, he has no reason to seek Roman support for his own aims.
There have been no complaints filed to Sanct-Franciscus' detriment, and for that reason alone it would seem that a speedy response in his favor is in order. If you have any doubts about his standing in the merchant community, I recommend you contact those with whom he has done business, for I suspect they will echo the good opinion he has gained among the honestiora.
It will please me and many of my fellow Senators to see this impasse at an end; I look forward to learning that all barriers to this move have been eradicated, and toward that resolution, I send you six aurei for your trouble; another six will follow when I have confirmation that this matter has been resolved to my satisfaction.
Marcus Laurentius Gaius Cneo
Senator of Roma
by the hand of the scribe Onfonius Portalio on this, the 13th day of May in the 971st Year of the City