Roman Dusk
Throughout Roma the statues of Pomona and Ceres were adorned with fresh-picked apples and new-mown stalks of wheat; in their forum, farmers displayed their crops and harvests for the crowds of Romans who came to buy on this early day in September when the air was made golden with angled sunshine on hanging dust, and the clamor of the vendors crying their goods could almost be heard over the babble of shoppers bargaining with farmers. Sedan chairs and bigae carried the most ostentatious of the honestiora through the mass of those who had come to buy, but for the most part, humiliora and honestiora alike went on foot, many carrying sacks and baskets for their purchases.
"There are Games tomorrow," said Vulpius to Sanct-Franciscus, who, in a short riding dalmatica of black linen over femoria of laced deerskin, walked on Vulpius' left: to his right was Pius Verus Lucillius, all splendid in a tan-and-green-striped long dalmatica of Egyptian cotton embroidered with Roman eagles. The three men looked up at the two stories of shops and stalls that enclosed the Forum Agricolarum. "Do you think any of those will be open when there is fighting in the Flavian Circus?"
"There will be some," said Sanct-Franciscus. "Not everyone ventures to the Games."
"I gather you do not," said Lucillius, his animated features revealing his lively curiosity. "A foreigner like you, I should think you would want to indulge in all Roman entertainments." His remark was intended to get a rise out of Sanct-Franciscus, and he was mildly disappointed when it failed to do so.
"No; I am not attracted by the spectacle. I have been in Roma long enough to have sampled most of its delights, and I have found that the Games pall quickly." Sanct-Franciscus shrugged slightly, thinking back to the reign of Vespasianus, when he had been thrown to the crocodiles as part of an aquatic venation. "No doubt a failing of mine."
"It is certainly a sign of your foreignness," said Lucillius. "I don't think any Roman would despise this display-except those unctuous Christians." He flung up his hands for emphasis. "Coming to the amphitheaters and standing with their arms raised toward the sky, singing their verses, and calling upon those who want to be diverted to join them in worship. No wonder they're being banned from so many places. And saying that their gods are the only true gods! No Jupiter, no Mars, no Mercury! No Venus, no Diana, no Minerva! No Pomona or Ceres, for that matter," he said, nodding toward a pair of statues surrounded by the bounty of orchard and field. "Where would Roma be if we all thought like that?"
"Lucillius doesn't approve of Christians," said Vulpius unnecessarily.
"And what sensible man would approve them, I should like to know?" Lucillius inquired energetically as he shoved his way past a pair of slaves loading sacks of apples onto a restive mule. "If you have so few gods as the Christians, what do you do when those few fail you? They said that their gods are powerful enough for that, but what if that isn't so? Foolish and bigoted, that's what they are. Let them stay in their tunnels and caves, and leave decent men and women alone."
"They certainly would not approve of your sheltering a prostitute," said Vulpius to Sanct-Franciscus, hoping to change the subject.
Lucillius' eyes lit up with amusement. "You? How did this come about?" he asked incredulously. "No, they would not approve in any way. Why should you have to shelter her? What prostitute needs shelter, but a dishonest one? She is preying on your good nature, mark my words. There's a Guard for the lupanar as there is for the city, and that should suffice-"
"There is a Guard, but she tells me it was the Guard who set upon her," said Sanct-Franciscus, his demeanor serious.
"They would not," Vulpius declared staunchly. "They are paid to keep the women safe. Everyone knows that. The peace of the lupanar is not to be breached-and by the Guard? Absurd. That they should so forget themse-" He stopped, unable to go on.
"Indeed," said Sanct-Franciscus. "I am concerned that a greater problem than this incident may be behind this attack."
Lucillius thought for a long moment. "This may be an alarming thing, if she is telling the truth. Are you satisfied that she is-truthful?"
"I have no reason to doubt her," said Sanct-Franciscus, keeping his tone light and steady.
"But she is a woman of the lupanar, isn't she? She may have reasons to want to avoid the place: an angry customer perhaps," said Vulpius. "She knows her work is as much for a man's pride as his bodily satisfaction. She has arts of deception that you have not recognized, perhaps. Most women whose work it is to please men learn how to prevaricate most convincingly."
A group of young men carrying wide, shallow baskets filled with all manner of nuts came shoving their way through the shoppers, bound for the corner of the Forum Agricolarum where the growers of nuts and berries had their stalls.
"Had you seen her, and heard her, you would not doubt her," said Sanct-Franciscus.
"So say all men who have been well-pleasured," said Lucillius chuckling.
"There was no pleasure in her when she came to me, only hurt and dread; she had no strength for dissembling," said Sanct-Franciscus, beginning to climb the stairs to the second level of shops on the north side of the forum; the shadow of the huge awning sheltering the flight cast him into welcome shadow, and he felt more alert and energetic than he had done in full daylight, though the soles of his ankle-height peri had been filled with his native earth but three days ago.
"Artifice is what that was," said Vulpius. "There are men who prefer their women weeping."
"But not with swollen eyes and broken lips," said Sanct-Franciscus, driven to a sharp retort. "How is it that a Roman citizen would allow a prostitute to be so misused? It was not so a century ago."
"Perhaps not," Vulpius allowed, seeing the smolder in his foreign friend's dark eyes. "But the world is a very changed place from a century ago. Caesars-good and bad-held their titles for much longer than those we have now. There were no barbarians strong enough to stand against us: our Legions were triumphant from Britannia to Asia, from Africa to Germania. Now those same barbarians chip away at our borders, and drive back our Legions-in Germania, they-" He caught his lip between his teeth, as if worried that he might have compounded his lapse.
"I do not come from Germania; you do not offend me with your remarks," said Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus; he was mounting the stairs ahead of Vulpius and had to look back over his shoulder to continue to be heard in the busy stairwell. "You know my home is in the Carpathian Mountains; I have told you so. Neither Germania Superior nor Inferior can claim my allegiance. Say what you will: you will not offend me or those of my blood." Amid the tangle of people thronging the market, he caught sight of a pair of men wearing the belts of Praetorian servants; he had the uneasy sensation of having seen them before, and was trying to think where it was when a man in a great hurry came pelting down the stairs from the upper floor, shoving those ahead of him out of his way.
"Thief! He's a thief!" came the bellow from above.
The fleeing man-a tall, lanky man in a long-sleeved Gaulish tunica who looked Iberian-had a stiffened arm held out before him, and, because he was of some height and strong, had been able to knock over more than a dozen shoppers; he was understandably alarmed when he battered into the moderately tall, powerful-bodied man in black, for Sanct-Franciscus did not fall, but instead reached out and took the thief by the shoulder, stopping his precipitate escape.
"By the Twins!" exclaimed Vulpius, astonished and disconcerted.
Other oaths erupted around them as the shopkeeper-a man in the clothing of Armenia-came bustling through the fallen men and women, excoriating the thief in three languages at once. He carried a slender cudgel, and he struck the thief on the upper chest hard enough to make a bone crack and the thief cry out. "You are the shrivel-dicked son of a degenerate night-hag and a mad dog!" He raised his weapon to strike again, only to have his wrist seized. "Let go of me!"
"Not if you are going to beat him again," said Sanct-Franciscus firmly, his grip on the thief tightening so that the man would not again attempt to escape. With one disputant in each hand, Sanct-Franciscus found himself in an awkward position trying to keep the two apart, and, after a brief moment of consideration, said conversationally, "Vulpius, would you mind fetching one or two of the Forum Guards? Tell them they're needed to apprehend a thief. This man needs to be taken before the Prefect for the Fora." Both the thief and the merchant protested this request, but Sanct-Franciscus remained unmoved.
"I thank you for securing this miscreant, honestiorus; you have done me a great service, but there is no need to summon the Forum Guard; the Watchmen will suffice, when I have recovered my property. This hardly requires their attention," the Armenian merchant said, making an effort at courteous persuasion. "I will deal with him in my own way."
"Meaning you will smash his hands with your staff until all the bones are broken, and then you will turn him loose to starve; that stick of yours has lead in its cap," said Sanct-Franciscus. "And what would that gain you?"
"One less thief," said the Armenian.
"That may be, but then you will have a resentful beggar, and he will be much more dangerous than this thief ever could be."
"Sanct-Franciscus-" Lucillius attempted to admonish him, then saw the warning sign from Vulpius, and fell silent, moving aside so that Vulpius could go in search of a company of Urban Guard.
The merchant glowered at the thief, rubbing the head of his weighted staff suggestively. "It would settle the matter, breaking his hands. As it is, he will be back again. You are only postponing the inevitable."
Hearing this, the thief gave one good twist in final attempt to get away; he let out a sharp cry as the ends of his damaged clavicle scraped together; Sanct-Franciscus' hold on him was not diminished.
"If you try again, you will only make it worse," Sanct-Franciscus said, no anger or threat in his remark.
The thief did not seem convinced. "They'll send me to pull an oar. Smashed hands are better than a bench on a bireme."
"It is well that you should sweat for your thievery," said the Armenian. "At least you would be doing useful work in a bireme."
Sanct-Franciscus said, "Lucillius, if you will, find out precisely what was taken so that the Guard need not spend time searching that out." He cocked his head toward the Armenian. "If you will speak with this man you have accused in a sensible way, no doubt you will soon have everything settled."
"So you claim," said the Armenian, clearly becoming annoyed.
Lucillius climbed up to the shopkeeper, took him by the elbow and pulled him out of the flow of traffic. "The honestiorus is right. You should have such information ready for the Guard."
"He'll lie," said the thief, trying again to get away; his efforts ended on a single dismayed cry. "No; no. I know how merchants are-they inflate their losses and they demand that their allegations go unchallenged." His voice roughened. "He'll say I took more than I did, that it was more valuable than what it is, so that he can get more money in recompense for his losses, and so I will be given a harsher sentence."
The Armenian looked pugnacious. "Next you will say you took nothing, that I have accused you for no reason."
"You have," the thief began, then felt Sanct-Franciscus' fingers tighten. "You have made what I have done worse than it is. I took three sandalwood boxes-little ones. That is all I took. They're in my carry-sack."
"You have an accomplice," said the Armenian loudly. "You handed the alabaster figures off to him before this man caught you."
"I don't have an accomplice," the thief insisted. "I am a solitary thief." He tried to laugh and failed utterly.
"He isn't," the Armenian insisted. "I saw him with a youth, shortly before he came in to make off with my goods. He gave that young man instructions, and the instructions were that his accomplice should receive the best of the stolen goods as he left my shop."
The thief sighed. "There was no young man helping me. I told a messenger where he could find Grodius, the pottery merchant. That's all."
Lucillius patted the Armenian on the arm. "You will be better-believed if you stay with accounts that are easily confirmed. If he has your goods on him, confine your claims to what the Prefect of the Fora can see and appraise."
"Then I lose the best of my stock," the Armenian wailed.
"Stock you never had," said the thief, and flinched as Sanct-Franciscus' grip held him in place.
There was a small crowd milling around them now, and questions were being shouted as the numbers of shoppers stopped on the stairs increased. Curiosity made the people press in, eager to hear what accusations would next be made.
The thief suddenly shouted, "I smell smoke!"
The people closing in around them stopped and turned, their attention diverted by fear. A few of them broke away from the crush and hurried toward other steps leading out of the covered shops.
"Vesta save us from fire," Lucillius muttered. "We could not get out of here if a spark should light the awning."
The Armenian shuddered, and backed up as far as the crush of onlookers would allow, muttering an invocation to the fire-god of his people. "There was a fire in the grain emporium last week-the one behind this forum; four men were burned, and one of them died," he said, trying to control his sudden burst of panic.
"Have you paid the Guard and the Watchmen your annual fee to keep your shop from damage from fire, water, and earthquake?" Lucillius asked, as much to quiet the man as to gain information. "Have you paid your portion for the Forum Guard?"
"I have," said the Armenian, "but not all the shopkeepers in this gallery have done so, and so who knows if any of them would come? Or how much they would demand in payment before they would do their duty?" He looked around as if noticing the gathering around him for the first time. His eyes widened. "How can they get into this place, given the way it is? Too many people; too many." He shook his staff at the nearest shoppers. "Go! Be about your business. The Forum Guard is coming, and they must have a clear path. Go!"
While Lucillius tried to soothe the Armenian, Sanct-Franciscus gave his attention to the thief. "What did you take from him? Do not lie if you want my help. I know you took something."
"I told you: I took the sandalwood boxes. I still have them. I didn't see any alabaster figures on display. If he had them at all, they were out of reach." He shivered and retched. "Wait. I ..." He was very pale now, and there was a shine of sweat on his face. "I ... Oh, Dis release me." With a moan, his knees gave way, and had not Sanct-Franciscus held him up, he would have collapsed.
Sanct-Franciscus recognized the signs of secondary pain, and knew it could be much more deadly than the broken bone that caused it. He steadied the thief, leaning him back against the wall, and motioned for those near them to move. "This man is having an attack of chills. He needs to lie down, or he may faint."
"And good thing, too," the Armenian shouted, still trying to push his way toward his shop.
Paying no attention to the sudden buzz of questions, Sanct-Franciscus was able to lower the man almost to the paving stones; aware that he himself could impart no warmth to the cold-gripped thief, he began to look about him in the hope that he would find someone wearing a light mantele, and that he could borrow or buy it to provide the thief a little heat, for in spite of the warmth of the day, the thief 's teeth were chattering. He saw no one with the garment he sought, and his efforts at a further search were stopped as three Urban Guards pushed their way up the stairs, Vulpius leading them and explaining the situation as he went.
"Which is the thief?" demanded the leader of the Guards, a good-sized fellow almost as tall as Sanct-Franciscus.
"This man, leaning against the wall," said Sanct-Franciscus. "He needs something to help warm him."
The leader of the Guard snapped his fingers and the youngest of the three tugged off his bronze-colored abolla and handed it to the leader. "Use this. Providing the thief isn't bleeding too copiously."
"Thank you," said Sanct-Franciscus, taking the abolla and wrapping it around the shivering thief. "This will help to warm you."
The thief, who had gone a pasty shade and was breathing quickly and shallowly, muttered something incomprehensible, then blinked twice.
"Hardly seems worth stealing, if you end up in this condition," said the Guards' leader. "But if he has stolen, he must be detained."
"That is my understanding," said Vulpius. He pointed to the Armenian. "That man will make the complaint."
Lucillius prodded the Armenian in the side to push him forward. "Tell the Guard what happened, and show them your staff."
The Armenian glared, but approached the Guards with an obsequious smile. "That man came into my shop. He had an accomplice out here in the gallery-I'm certain of it-and this man took sandalwood boxes and alabaster figures, then ran out to meet his comrade. I followed him, of course, to try to get my goods back, but by the time I caught up with him, he had passed along the most valuable of my merchandise to his-"
"No!" the thief managed to protest. "Only boxes. No ... accomplice."
"He has claimed this from the first," said Lucillius, coming up to the Guard. "That he worked alone and took only boxes. He says he has no one working with him."
The leader looked directly at Sanct-Franciscus. "Is this true?"
"Yes, it is." He paused to consider. "Not that he is necessarily telling the truth."
"He is lying!" shouted the Armenian. "He gave the best to-"
"Not here," said the leader of the Guard. "You will have your chance to tell the Prefect of the Fora tomorrow morning. This man needs a night in which to recover himself to answer questions, which he clearly will not do at the moment." He looked about the gallery. "I will need three witnesses beyond these honestiora," he added, pointing to Lucillius, Sanct-Franciscus, and Vulpius. "You will present yourselves tomorrow morning?"
Lucillius sighed. "I suppose I must."
"I will come," said Vulpius.
"If you will permit me to visit the thief this evening, to see for myself if he has been given proper medicaments and treatment, I will gladly come to the Prefect of the Fora tomorrow," said Sanct-Franciscus.
The Guard leader shrugged. "If that suits your purpose, it will be arranged."
"Thank you," said Sanct-Franciscus. "You will do better to carry him on a litter. His clavicle is broken, and he is hurt profoundly. Have a physician treat him as soon as possible or he may not be able to appear before the Justice tomorrow."
"A litter, is it? Better than having to carry him on our shoulders," said the leader. He signaled his men to improvise a litter with their abollae, then regarded Sanct-Franciscus. "You seem to have kept this well in hand. Very commendable. I am Fulvius Ennius Castrum; use my name at the prison and you will be admitted."
"I am Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus; you may tell the jailer to expect me."
Castrum nodded. "Very good. I will look forward to your appearance before the Justice tomorrow." With that, he went to help his men raise the thief onto their litter.
"Tomorrow. I must wait until tomorrow," the Armenian complained. "It is because I am foreign. You will see-tomorrow I will have to pay twice what the Romans pay to have my case heard."
"Very likely," said Lucillius. "That has become common practice." He laughed cynically. "Everyone decries it, but who is to challenge it?"
"Not a foreigner," said Sanct-Franciscus. "Certainly not that foreigner." He cocked his head toward the Armenian shopkeeper.
The Guards started down the stairs, Castrum going ahead of them, motioning the crowd to make way. As he reached the foot of the flight, he glanced back at Sanct-Franciscus and offered him a casual salute.
"Are you really going to check on that thief tonight?" asked Lucillius, making no apology for his incredulity.
"Yes," said Sanct-Franciscus. "He is badly hurt, and his injuries could fester inwardly."
"But why should you bother?" Lucillius pursued.
"Better to let him rot," said the Armenian.
Vulpius answered before his foreign friend could speak. "Oh, Sanct-Franciscus is meticulous in such matters; he cannot turn away from those who have no one else to help them. I don't pretend to understand it."
"An odd thing for a man in your position to do, if you'll pardon my mention of it," said Lucillius.
Sanct-Franciscus shrugged. "We exiles know the world is perilous."
Lucillius shook his head. "But why-" He stopped.
"I know what it is to be in the hands of those indifferent to suffering," Sanct-Franciscus said with banked emotion before he resumed his walk toward the shop of Ebulius, the purveyor of paints and dyes, Vulpius and Lucillius following after him, chatting about the thief and the Armenian and complaining of the crowd around them.
Text of a letter from Comus Mauritanius, decuria of the Prefect of the Litigianus Prison, carried by messenger the day after it was written.
To the most worthy foreigner, Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus, the greetings of the Prefect of the Litigianus Prison, the honestiorus Herminius Mirandus Guion, in whose name I am bidden to write to you.
First this is to acknowledge the receipt of ten aurei in payment of the fine assessed on the thief, Natalis of Thessalonika; the man has been branded on the arm and will-because of the fine Sanct-Franciscus has paid-be released after six months of labor with no further charges to answer. He will not be sent to pull an oar on a bireme or to dig roads in Gaul, unless he should steal again, and he will not be sold into slavery to cover the cost of his maintenance while in prison. Once his injuries are healed, he will be assigned to janitorial duties here until his term is finished. He has been ordered to find honest employment or to leave Roma at once and to stay away for three years, on pain of imprisonment should he return before that time. On the annual receipt of five silver denarii, I will assure Sanct-Franciscus that he will be notified of any information received here concerning the thief Natalis within the year that the amount is paid.
Second, the Prefect wishes to discuss with you what medicaments you used to treat the thief Natalis, for the recovery the man made from the corruption of the broken bone in his shoulder was remarkable, and perhaps could be used to advantage with other prisoners whose injuries show symptoms of inner rot. He is willing to pay a reasonable fee for a supply of such medicaments, or would also consider purchasing the formula for making the substance. Of course, he knows that if there are unique skills associated with the production of the medicament, he cannot expect Sanct-Franciscus to reveal them to an uninitiated man like himself.
It is an uncommon thing to see a man of property do so much for a thief, and all the more remarkable because Sanct-Franciscus is a foreigner. It creates an example that many Romans would do well to emulate. If Sanct-Franciscus is willing to set a time when he can meet with the Prefect, then the Prefect would be glad of the opportunity to thank Sanct-Franciscus face to face and in person rather than through this missive and the decuria signed below,
Comus Mauritanius
Decuria, Litigianus Prison
on the 29th day of September in the 971st Year of the City