Roman Dusk
"I do apologize for calling on you so late at night," said Ignatia as she faced Sanct-Franciscus across the atrium of Olivia Clemens' house; the lights from the oil-lamps made unsteady shadows on his face and hid his expression from her. She had on a long, peach-colored stola that took brightness from the lamplight, with a palla of forest-green linen over it. "I had hoped it would not be necessary, but ..." Her words trailed away into a sigh. "Your steward was reluctant to disturb you."
"He is always most punctilious," said Sanct-Franciscus, no sign of aggravation about him, though he wished Rugeri were here; in the last century-and-a-half, Rugeri had learned his ways. Rugeri knew when to disturb him, and for whom.
"You must wonder why I am here," she began, and halted gratefully as Sanct-Franciscus shook his head.
"Your mother is doing poorly again," said Sanct-Franciscus, recognizing the worry in Ignatia's eyes.
"Yes," she said in a mix of relief and chagrin. "She has been miserable for many hours, and asking for you for almost four of them. If you were still at your villa, there would have been no expectation of bringing you to help her, but as you are now living inside the walls, she has been urging me to seek you out since sunset. I know that you believe you have an obligation to us through my uncle, but I am certain we have presumed upon your friendship so much in the last month." She made an abrupt upturn of her hands to emphasize the futility she felt. "I tried to help her without imposing on you at so late an hour, but my mother insisted, in spite of all my efforts. Nothing will ease her but your presence, or so she says." She stared at him. "I gave her the tincture you prepared, but it seems to have made little difference, and she will not be soothed, no matter how much I do for her, or what the slaves do for her."
"Have you tended her all day?" Sanct-Franciscus could see how darkly her eyes were ringed and how tired she was as she moved toward him.
"She needs someone to care for her; her weakness keeps her in her bed unable to lift a cup; her hands shake when she touches her blanket," said Ignatia, answering him indirectly. "And she doesn't trust our slaves to do what she requires."
"So the answer is yes, you have been caring for her all day." Sanct-Franciscus moved a few steps nearer to her. "You would like me to come and treat her, in part so you may have a little rest for yourself." There was only kindness in his observation, but she winced.
"I am not a feckless or ungrateful daughter," she said sharply.
"No, you are not," said Sanct-Franciscus, his hand extended to her. "You are devoted to your mother, as you were taught to be. But that does not mean that you ... that you can continue to wait upon Adicia without aid or respite. You look worn out, and if you are, it will mitigate against the quality of your care."
Ignatia nodded fatalistically. "You have the right of it; twice I measured out the wrong amount of the syrup of poppies, and that could have been dangerous to her," she admitted.
"Who gave you the syrup of poppies?" Sanct-Franciscus asked, thinking that while it might calm Adicia, it would not benefit her for long.
"Xantheus the Athenian; Octavian brought him to the house a week ago, and he recommended syrup of poppies." Ignatia's face grew red with embarrassment. "I told him we should have sent for you, but when Octavian takes a notion, he can be stubborn."
"Octavian?" Sanct-Franciscus repeated, surprised. "I would not have expected him to do anything so conscientious."
"He did; Xantheus is one of the Christians Octavian spends his time with," said Ignatia. "He has embraced the teaching, and believes all Christians are more worthy men than those who worship other gods."
"How has your brother dealt with all this travail your mother endures, given his new religion? Beyond bringing Xantheus to minister to Adicia? I had heard Christians are merciful." He could tell that there was a lack of concern in Octavian, and that troubled him.
"My brother does not handle such misery as our mother experiences very well. It was unusual for him to bother to fetch the apothecary; ordinarily he leaves such things to me. He came to pray for her before he left for the day, but he has refused to take a turn waiting upon her. He says it isn't fitting for a grown son to tend to his mother in such intimate ways." She looked away from him. "If you cannot come, then I suppose I must try to find Artemidorus." Since the death of Galen, this Greek physician was much in demand among Roma's nobles, and known for his autocratic ways and exotic prescriptions. "Not that he is likely to call at so late an hour."
Knowing he was being goaded, Sanct-Franciscus said, "I will get my case and come with you. If you will allow me to summon a slave?" He clapped his hands, and in answer to this, Tigilus came into the atrium. "I am going with this young woman to care for her mother, who is ill. I may be gone until sunrise. If you will bring my leatherstrapped chest from my second room? The one that contains my medicaments and other medicinal supplies."
"Of course, Dominus," said Tigilus, nodding as he turned away.
"Do you have your biga with you, or should I order mine readied?" Sanct-Franciscus asked Ignatia.
"My biga is outside, and Philius is walking the horses." She stared at him. "You will not wait until morning, then?"
"You say your mother is suffering now. What use is it to wait longer to alleviate her discomforts?" Sanct-Franciscus touched the silk of his Egyptian kalasiris. "I will fetch a pallium from my private room, for covering." He glanced over his shoulder. "Vitellius, if you would-bring a cup of warm honied wine for my guest? She will benefit from it, even though the night is not very chilly." He hoped it would calm her a bit, allaying her worst fears and making way for sleep to come, for clearly she needed sleep.
Coming out of the shadows, Vitellius ducked his head to Sanct-Franciscus. "Yes, Dominus."
"I will return directly," he assured Ignatia, and went to the vestibule to get his linen pallium, which he tugged over his head and let it fall over the silken kalasiris. He moved into the light from the cluster of lamps above the door.
"Leaving? And from your house instead of mine?" asked a soft voice from the broad couch in the outer part of his private room. "You have no need to escape me; I must return to my own house in a short while. My night isn't over yet."
Sanct-Franciscus paused and looked back with a rueful smile. "Ah, Melidulci," he said softly, "if I thought you would linger, so would I."
From her place amid the wonderful confusion of sheets, Melidulci laughed, a rich laugh, warm as ripe fruit. Her pale hair-a gift of nature, not of the dyer's skills-shone in the glow of the lamp-light, wheat on gold. "You have a way with words, Sanct-Franciscus, I give you that, and you don't fall on me like a ravening wolf, as so many do." She stretched out one arm to him. "It might be worth spending the night."
"You were the one who said you must be away at midnight, and I have arranged for a chair to return you to your own door," he said, smoothing the front of his pallium, adding with a regretful smile as he reached out to touch her cheek; his fingers lingered, eloquent of his reluctance to leave. "Sadly, you and I both have demands upon us. We would have had to say good-night shortly in any case."
Melidulci shook her blonde curls. "If only all my Patroni were as thoughtful as you are, my life would be far more delightful. As it is-" She glanced at the aureus on his pillow, and without seeming to pay much attention to it, said, "Oh, you are most generous, Dominus."
"It is no more than you deserve," said Sanct-Franciscus, returning to the bed and bending down to kiss her lovely, reddened mouth; it was an expert kiss, artful and subtle, full of promise and sensuality, awakening and tantalizing, but revealing little of either him or her.
"You are a worthy man, Patronus, for all your oddities," said Melidulci as he moved back from her.
"I thank you for your high opinion, and your lack of questions, considering everything," said Sanct-Franciscus as he once again made for the door. "And I thank you for coming to me, Melidulci. I appreciate your kindness."
"Kindness!" She laughed softly. "If you knew what I do about most men, you would do as I do every time I leave here, and thank Venus and the lares for giving me a lover who is more aware of my pleasure than his own, and who is not embarrassed to have me in his house," she said with a tinge of world-weariness in her voice. "You have no concept of how rare a thing that is."
"As I have told you, your pleasure is my pleasure; I have no other," he said, smiling at her. "What you achieve, I achieve, and only what you achieve."
"So you insist. And if it is so, I would every man have such affliction." She waved him out of the room. "I must dress, and that is a very unstimulating thing to watch." Unselfconsciously, she slipped out of the bed. "Odd, isn't it, when watching undressing is often the best part of the act?"
He stopped in the doorway. "Melidulci, you deserve your name. You are honey-sweet in every way."
Her laughter rippled again. "Of course it suits me: it's why I took it, although it fitted me better fifteen years ago, when I was just beginning in the lupanar." The smile she gave him was less alluring and more genuine than previous ones had been; he went to the door so she could be alone to pull on her stola and palla.
Before he left the room, Sanct-Franciscus said, "It will suit you all your life long," feeling a touch of regret that she should be so proficient in the arts of the body and so wholly indifferent to the joys of intimacy. Still, she was able to bring him more nourishment than dreaming women, and for the time being that would have to suffice.
"You present an unusual appearance," Ignatia remarked as she caught sight of him approaching.
"Well, I am a foreigner," he reminded her. "And although the night is mild, it is windy."
"And you will appear less foreign, since few will see your foreign garments with a pallium over them," said Ignatia shrewdly. "Have you had difficulty?"
"A little," he answered.
Vitellius appeared again, bearing a steaming cup. "As you ordered; it took a short time to heat."
"The humiliora are afraid of foreigners," said Ignatia, then taking the cup, held it up. "Do you keep a pot of this in the kitchen at all times? Your cooks must find that demand a hard one to meet."
"On such blustery nights as this, I like to have something to give my guests other than cool wine or broth, especially since, as you have noticed, many Romans view foreigners as uncouth. This provides me the opportunity to show them I have some graces." He was an exemplary host and both of them knew it.
"That may be so among the newest honestiora, but you are like one of the old gens," Ignatia conceded as she drank. "If you keep the old ways, you are a credit to Roma." She held out the cup to him in salute. "Thank you."
"Some Romans have excellent cause to be wary of all outsiders." Sanct-Franciscus did not point out that the lower classes and the newly elevated upper classes were not the only ones who were resentful and suspicious of foreigners; he went to the foot of the gallery stairs, waiting for Tigilus to bring him his case.
"You must tell me what I can do to assist you once you reach our house," said Ignatia, raising her voice enough to be heard.
"I will not know until I see-oh, thank you, Tigilus." He took the case from the stocky slave. "If you must send me word, I will be at the Villa Laelius."
"To Villa Laelius. Of course. I will not disturb you unless there is urgent need," said Tigilus, and ducked his head. "The sedan-chair will be here shortly. I will see your ... package is delivered safely."
"Yes," Sanct-Franciscus agreed. "You know the destination."
Tigilus coughed discreetly. "That I do." He rubbed his hands together. "Do you have any other orders to leave with me?"
"If you will have the holocaust stoked and fired at noon, I will use the caldarium upon my return."
"Do you think you will be back by midday?" Tigilus asked.
"If I will not, I will send you word, and you may change the time you ready the holocaust." Sanct-Franciscus made a sign of dismissal and went back across the atrium to where Ignatia was finishing her wine. "When you are ready, Filia Laelius."
"So formal; that's unlike you," she said, setting the cup aside on the rim of the atrium fountain. "And I am too old to be filia," she added. "I am twenty-four, not seventeen."
"I did not want to appear overly familiar, not in front of a new household, as this is for me; they might misunderstand. Doma Ignatia," he amended, thinking that the arbitrary severance from youth at twenty-one was often misleading, and never more than in cases like Ignatia's.
She nodded toward the broad corridor to the outer courtyard. "This must have been a splendid place before it was walled. You could see most of the grand villas on the hills, and the Tibrus."
"I suppose it was," said Sanct-Franciscus, his memories of Olivia's house welling in his mind; for more than a century it had been one of the most beautiful houses in the city: Olivia had transformed it over a century ago, during the reign of Traianus, when magnificent buildings were all the rage, when she had made her first return to Roma after her death and reawakening in her tomb near the Via Appia.
Catching sight of Ignatia and Sanct-Franciscus approaching, Philius turned his pair around and brought the biga up to them. "They are ready to go," he declared as he got into the biga, holding the reins lightly but firmly.
Sanct-Franciscus helped Ignatia to climb into the open chariot, then got in behind her, setting his chest on the floor of the vehicle between his feet. "When you like," he said, and signaled Holmdi to open the gate for them.
The night was cool with a sharp wind out of the southwest stroking the seven hills; the full strength of summer was not yet upon them, and would not be for another two or three weeks, providing a pleasant prelude to the fury of July. The streets were fairly empty except near the gaming taverns and in the lupanar, where men continued to carouse through the dark hours. Due to riots at the Flavian Circus earlier in the day, uniformed Praetorians moved along the streets in small companies of four, ready to deal with any infractions of law or peace they came upon. For the most part the biga passed unnoticed and unchallenged, but near the Temple of Diana-the-Huntress, a trio of Praetorians signaled them to halt.
"It's late," said their apparent leader. "Why are you abroad?"
"This young woman summoned me to treat her mother, who is ailing," said Sanct-Franciscus. "I have done so several times before, and I have brought medicaments with which to minister to her complaints." He patted his case.
"Is that a fact?" the Praetorian asked boldly. "Are you sure you aren't making off with an heiress?"
"If I were, why would her slave be driving, and why would I be going away from the house where I live?" Sanct-Franciscus asked pleasantly. "If you are truly concerned for her welfare, you may follow us to the Laelius house on the Via Decius Claudii."
"I know that place," said another of the Praetorians. "Has a long porticus, octostyle, I recall."
"A fine old house, from the time of Traianus," the first said.
"My mother is in pain, good Praetorians," said Ignatia suddenly.
One of the men laughed in disbelief. "It is a late hour for such a visit." He winked.
"All the more reason to allow us to hurry," said Sanct-Franciscus, ignoring the last implication. "The case is urgent, as the Doma says."
The leader of the trio motioned the other two aside. "Come. Let's go see if Marutius is able to stand up yet." He chuckled and reached out to slap the rump of the nearer horse. "I hope your treatment is successful, foreigner," he called after the biga as it began to move.
When they reached the end of the street and turned toward the Laelius'house, Ignatia spoke up abruptly. "Why did you let them say such things? How dared they? They suggested-I cannot think of it! I was mortified. As if I would pander for my mother!"
"You have no reason to be troubled," Sanct-Franciscus assured her. "Soldiers make a habit of such remarks; they are meaningless. By morning, they will be forgot." Had Philius not been there, he might have laid a comforting hand on her arm, but with the slave as witness, he did not want to cause Ignatia any more discomfort than she already felt. "Make sure you have hold of the handrail-you know how sharp the turn is for your villa."
They moved around onto the Via Decius Claudii and covered the last two blocks at a brisk walk. As the pair were pulled to a halt, Sanct-Franciscus took his case and stepped down from the rear of the biga, prepared to help Ignatia; a noise behind him attracted his attention: he swung around as the oil-lamps flared.
The door was opened by Starus, who looked tired and worried. "She has been weeping, Doma Ignatia," he said.
"I am sorry to hear it," said Ignatia earnestly as she got out of the biga behind Sanct-Franciscus, stepping down onto the pavement with care. "I take it she is still awake."
"And fretful," said Starus. "Tallia is with her. I sent Mirza to bed-she's so worn out, she's falling asleep where she stands."
"A wise thing to do," said Ignatia, going through the porticus into the house, taking care to cross the threshold on her right foot, for to fail in this custom would be seen as the most dreadful omen. She paused by the lares and left a coin on the narrow shelf, a token of her regard and need.
Following after her, his case of medicaments in hand, Sanct-Franciscus took a bead of amber from his wallet and placed it in a shallow dish next to the household gods. "For your mother's improvement."
Ignatia looked around at him. "The whole household thanks you."
Although he doubted this, Sanct-Franciscus kept his opinion to himself. "That is unnecessary," he said as he picked up his case and prepared to go on to Adicia's room.
"But it is," said Ignatia, walking slightly ahead of him. "I know you can find your way, but my mother would be shocked to have such a breach of manners."
"I have noticed that she prefers to keep the traditions," said Sanct-Franciscus.
"Because of her regard for her family." Ignatia's voice dropped to a whisper. "She is worried about her brother Drusus, who is fighting with the Emperor in the East."
"Word is that things are not going well," said Sanct-Franciscus, his voice also lowered.
"The Senate is abuzz with rumors," said Ignatia, a bit louder. "My mother hears the news from her visitors, and she is upset, and that makes her-"
"-more unwell," Sanct-Franciscus finished for her. "Yes; this is not uncommon."
"We have tried to advise those who call upon her to say nothing about the current scandals," said Ignatia.
"I know you are conscientious," said Sanct-Franciscus, his tone soothing.
It was as if she had not heard him. "-but she frets if she is not told the whole, and then she accuses her family and slaves of working against her-" She stopped, looking around as if hoping to discover they had not been overheard.
"Your mother's illness makes her most trying," said Sanct-Franciscus, moving toward Adicia's room.
"Oh, most trying," she exclaimed. "If only she had remained well!"
"Since that is not presently possible, I would like to suggest that you go to your own chamber, summon your own slave and be massaged so you will be able to sleep," he said. "Starus will escort me, and you will not have to worry yourself into discomposure. You have already done more than most daughters would for their mothers." He touched her shoulder, hardly more than a brush of his fingers; it held her attention. "It is unfortunate that your mother suffers, but there is no reason you must do so."
Ignatia sighed. "She will wonder why I was so lax not to escort you."
"And I will explain it to her," he said gently. "You need rest. Doma Ignatia."
She looked away from him. "You're right, I suppose."
"Go rest, Doma Ignatia," said Sanct-Franciscus softly. "You mother will manage without you-my Word on it."
She considered, then reached over to touch his hand. "You will have me wakened if anything goes ill with her?"
"Certainly," he said.
Reluctantly she nodded. "Very well. I will try to sleep. I am tired." She broke away from him and went quickly along the corridor as if she was afraid she might change her mind.
Sanct-Franciscus went along toward Domina Adicia's room, aware that the household slaves who were up kept wary eyes upon him. By the time he reached Adicia's chamber, he could hear the whispers in the dark. "Good evening, Domina," he said as he stepped through the door. "I am sorry to hear you are unwell."
Adicia smiled as she glanced at him, and although she was pale and thin, she held out her hand to him. "How good of you to come to me at this late hour. You appreciate my need."
"Your daughter was kind enough to fetch me," said Sanct-Franciscus as he came to her side. "She gives you most persevering care."
"So she would have you believe," Adicia said, pulling her hand back.
"You have no reason to doubt it," said Sanct-Franciscus as he motioned to the exhausted slave dozing at the end of the bed. "Will you bring a basin of hot water from the kitchen?"
The slave ducked her head yawning, and hurried off.
"None of my household cares what becomes of me," Adicia muttered.
"You know that is not the case," said Sanct-Franciscus as he felt her pulse, finding it hard and ragged. "You must not blame them for failing to restore your health."
"How can I not, when I continue to ail?" She reached out again and took his hand. "You don't understand how difficult this is for me. I strive to have courage, to keep my dignity, but I am-" She stopped and drew his hand to her cheek. "You know I'm still a woman, and that I truly-"
Carefully he extricated his hand from her grasp. "I know you are ill, Domina Adicia, and that you may improve if you permit me to treat you."
Adicia shook her head. "She's working on you, isn't she? She's always looking to take advantage."
Sanct-Franciscus paused in the opening of his case. "She?"
"My daughter," said Adicia as if the word were venomous. "I know what she is, and how she connives to gain the sympathy of others, so I must suffer for the loss of affection she has caused."
Taking a vial from his case, Sanct-Franciscus began to mix a potion for the wretched woman. "This is the burden of your illness speaking, Domina," he said as he poured a little tincture of pansy into the infusion of crushed nettles he had already decanted, "Your daughter has embraced your well-being and has modeled her-"
"Not she!" Adicia burst out. "She's subtle, I grant you."
"She is not the reprehensible child you think," he said, adding another ingredient to his compound. "Do not trouble yourself, Domina."
"A fine state of affairs," Adicia muttered, drawing herself under her covers. "That my own physician should not see anything so obvious. My brother is just as blind. But then, men are always fools about Ignatia."
Sanct-Franciscus held out the vial. "If you will drink this, I believe you will have enough relief to be able to sleep without pain."
"So she can work her wiles on you?" Adicia asked, but took the vial and drank the contents. "I will not relinquish your fondness to her without making an effort to keep it."
He took the empty vial. "Domina Adicia, I hope you will believe me when I tell you that whatever my feelings may be toward your daughter, they do not alter my emotions in regard to you."
There was a scratch at the door, and then another slave entered, a steaming basin of water in her cloth-wrapped hand. "For my mistress."
Adicia frowned. "Why do you need that?"
"So your slave may bathe you while you feel more comfortable. You are in need of a bath, are you not?" He indicated where the woman should set the basin down. "Keeping your body clean is important, Domina Adicia, especially when you spend so much time abed."
Her sigh this time was eloquent of ill use. "If you insist, I suppose I must." Then she flashed him a sensual smile. "You might bathe me to better purpose."
Sanct-Franciscus said nothing as he stepped away from her and went toward the door, the frown between his fine brows deepening as he went.
Text of a letter from Lucius Virginius Rufius to Marius Octavian Laelius, carried by a Greek private courier and delivered clandestinely.
To my newfound brother in Christ, the Kiss of Peace and the blessings of the glorious Apostle Paul from those of us who follow the Paulist creed, with my fervent wish that you grow in faith and grace with every passing hour.
There is to be a meeting and a Mass at the house of Celestia Delphina Hilaria Pario, who lives off the Via Appia about two thousand paces from the walls of Roma. Tomorrow night at sunset is the time the celebration will begin. Four of us are planning to go together to this wonderful event, and returning together as well. So I have the happy task of asking you if you should care to join us. If you are able to come, bring a new loaf of bread with you, along with either a jug of wine or a basket of fresh-caught fish for the Mass and our fellowship. If you wish to travel with us, inform me if you will have your horse or will wish to ride in my biga, or the biga of my cousin, Gelasius Virginius Apollonius Metsari? If you will inform me by tonight what you intend to do, I would be most grateful.
A few of us are planning to walk about the city after Mass, to see what evils we may strive to undo. We have done this in the past occasionally, and have saved a man from being robbed, as well as prevented lewdness, and offered a mantele to a naked beggar. On one of our ventures, we spent an hour speaking to some Fora Guards bound for a tavern, exhorting them to leave their dissolute ways and join us as Christians.
Of course we will continue to pray for your mother, that God may send her a healing through your devotion. It is what we Christians must do, to demonstrate the power of our faith, and our trust in God. See that your own grace is not lost in pressing for her relief of suffering: all men must suffer, and women the more so, for the sins of Eve. Have patience, hope, and faith, and you will see your mother restored to you again, in radiant health and open heart, for the Glory of God.
Lucius Virginius Rufius
By my own hand on the 26th day of June in the 218th Year of the Christ