AMULET I
BY
FRED NATH
For
Alex, Stuart & Andrew
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Fred Nath 2011
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Prologue
"When the swords flash let no idea of love, piety, or even the face of your fathers move you” - Gaius Julius Caesar
I am Aulus Veridius Scapula. I am a Roman citizen and a talented and efficient killer of men.
The fates have spun me a strange tapestry, for I was not born to be a killer. I was born to a respectable tradesman's family. I might even have become a jeweller like my father, had it not been for the Censor's visit. All I had left of my father was the amulet in the end. He made it himself, its green light adorning my neck and bringing me luck or perhaps just memories, I cannot tell. That my life turned out so differently is a matter for the Gods, for it never followed any conscious purpose of mine.
As Mars can bear witness, I owe my skills to my teacher, Meridius, as well as to the legions in which I served. They both taught me to fight and use a sword effectively, which served me well through these long years. Meridius taught me to kill in close combat; the legion taught me to kill in unison with my fellow soldiers, but either leads to the deaths of others.
Taking life is not easy to live with, not at first; but those such as I, who have layer upon layer of blood on their hands, become used to their trade, inured to the violence.
Despite this, we all remained human inside. We still laughed and loved like those who lived in less brutal worlds. The savagery was external and mechanical. We did not fear our enemies; we feared more those soft feelings inside, when they penetrated through the hard shell of a violent life.
Love and slaughter. These could not coexist. There is no place for gentle emotions on a battlefield any more than violence belongs in the bedchamber. So we buried our feelings, deep inside us. How else could we become warriors?
My travels with the legions took me far, but deep inside, it was always Rome that I longed for. Mother of cities, the greatest and most marvellous place in the known world. It was for the glory of Rome that we all strived and fought and died, but what we created in doing so, history must judge in the end. Whether generations to come will see us as barbarians or fathers of wisdom, is in the hands of Jupiter alone.
I will tell of all that happened to me, before the ferryman asks for my fare. I do not fear that journey, for I will see the many familiar faces of those who have gone before. My father, my mother, Meridius, even my enemies - it will be a strange reunion in Elysium.
When you find me, put a coin in my mouth for the fare, lest I be stranded on the shore and wander among you forever.
BOOK I: THE INHERITANCE
Chapter I
"While we deliberate about beginning, it is already too late to begin" - Quintillianus
'Julius! Look, over there!' I said, pointing, wooden gladius in hand.
'What?'
'That sedan chair! What's it doing here?'
'It's certainly somebody rich. I've never seen one with carvings like that,' Julius, my friend and neighbour said.
'No, nor have I, look at the curtains! They've got pictures on. I did see one with six Nubians once but that was at the Forum Romanum. Look! He's getting out!'
'I wonder who it could be?'
It was not the Censor’s wealth that was remarkable; it was that he was so out of place. The luxury he displayed was almost unknown in that part of the city where we lived, near the Forum Boarium, amidst tall tenements, tiny squares and milling crowds.
I realised even at my age that his clothing revealed his status, for his toga had the crimson border used only by the top rank of the equites class. The gold ring on his right hand glinted in the warm summer sunshine, as he grasped the door in his descent. His toga was of fine quality, bleached and brushed with chalk to whiten it. A red motif decorated his sandals as if he had to appear wealthy from top to toe.
He had a wrinkled, weatherworn face and the skin beneath his dark eyes sagged a little, as if too much wine and too little sleep were beginning to take their toll. I watched as he brushed dust from his toga. How could I know then, a mere child, that his arrival on that hot afternoon, would in the end, shatter my life and shape my destiny?
I was fascinated, as only a child could be, by the opulence of this mysterious man's arrival. I had not seen such a well-appointed man before at our home and I guessed, excited, that someone important had arrived.
'He's going to our tenement. I'm going to see who he is.'
'Aulus, they won't let you in. Stay here and play. Please!'
'Sorry Julius, I just have to know what's going on. I just have to.'
I ran sandals slapping, across the cobbles and went inside behind the visitor's servant, my curiosity thrusting me ahead.
The servant had crossed the little courtyard and entered our tenement apartment, which was on the ground floor. He announced his master's arrival.
'I announce the Censor, Mettius Costa. He seeks to discuss an item of business with the owner, Gaius Veridius Scapula,’ the servant said, in a more haughty and formal tone than was necessary. The Censor was after all, a relative. A rich relative, but family all the same. I had never seen him before, but I knew his name, for my parents often talked about the wealthy half of the family.
Had my father, Gaius, known that his brother-in-law the Censor was going to visit, I think he would have worn the cleaner of his two tunics, for I know he would have baulked at the idea of showing his relative poverty to such a man. Not that he was poor, he had barely enough to be well off by tradesmen's standards, but he always said that the richer half of the family made him feel the poor relative.
The workshop was well lit but untidy. Tools lay on the workbench in front of my father and he had set up a vice to hold the gemstones and precious metals that he worked with. The lighting was vital for the fine work that he carried out. He sat at the workbench for most of the day creating jewellery that even the richest people in Rome were proud to wear, as he often told me with pride.
I remember once, as a small child, running my hand over the flat, scored, oaken surface of that workbench. I can recall the smooth feel of the wood, worn by years of use, charred and pitted in places from the molten gold dripped here and there despite my father's steady hand. It had seemed reassuring at the time, as if it showed some sense of permanence in a changing world.
Although father had become a plump man, in his youth he had participated in all kinds of athletic sports and had won several races in the Saturnalia entertainments. He was a proud man too and he was fond of extolling our family's achievements as well as his own. I can recall few times when he raised his voice to me and he never beat me as Julius' father beat him.
Father was adding the final touches to a carved gemstone held in the wooden clamp, when he heard the servant's announcement.
He looked up from his work and frowned at me, 'Aulus, out please, you know you are not allowed in my study.'
My father had a round reassuring face and a short beard that framed his usual easy smile. I looked back at him and almost bumped into the visitor as I sidled through the doorway. The man paid me no more attention that he would to a passing dog. I stopped outside the doorway, my curiosity overcoming any embers of my caution. I stood listening with my shoulder against the doorframe, small and unnoticed, like the little lizards that crept with such stealth on our walls.
Marcus Mettius Costa, the Censor, strode into the study and looked around with an expression of distaste on his face. I could see from around the doorjamb that he sniffed as he looked at my father. He appeared to be a tall man, thin, humourless and mean. He wore a frown as he peered over his large hooked nose at father. He was sweating.
I often wondered at the difference between my father's voice and manner when he was dealing with people about his work. It was almost as if there were two people called Gaius. There was my father, a kind and gentle man and another more formal serious man whom I did not know.
'Welcome Marcus Mettius, how kind of you to visit my humble establishment. Have you come to order jewellery for my illustrious sister or something for yourself?' my father said.
'Cut out the sales talk, Gaius. I have not come all the way from the Quirinal to order trinkets on a hot day like to-day. I need to talk to you about the ownership of your grandfather's estate.'
The Censor had a lisp, which according to my father, did not embarrass him in the least. He had risen through the ranks of Roman society and now, having been Consul twice, he was in one of the most senior senatorial posts in Rome. There were only two censors, whose roles were to regulate the Senate and judge mainly complex legal matters.
'I see you're wearing a toga even in this heat. Aren't you hot?'
'I am a Censor. My public office demands wearing formal dress at all times in public. To not do so, makes a nonsense of the traditions inherent in such a prestigious office.'
'There is no need of formality here Marcus, we are family you know.'
'Did you not hear me? I need to talk to you about your grandfather's estate.'
'My grandfather's estate? After my father died, you took it. Wasn't that why we fell out in the first place?'
'Look, I need the deeds to the property so I can sell it. I know you have them. I have a buyer and without the deeds there is no legal sale.'
'Sell it?'
'Yes, I have a buyer.'
'You can't sell it without the deeds.'
Father smiled, goading.
'I need those deeds! By Jupiter! Sulla himself requires the land to settle some of his veterans. He has offered a fair price. I want to sell it,' my uncle said.
'I still maintain that the property does not belong to you whether Sulla the Dictator let you have it or not. He won't always be around, you know.'
'I need those deeds.'
'No. As long as I have the deeds, I can prove my ownership. Come on Marcus, it's nothing to you, with all your wealth; you could buy ten of those estates and not even notice it.'
'Can't you be reasonable? Perhaps I can buy the deeds from you. How about fifty thousand sesterces?'
'Not for a million!'
'It is a fair offer and it could improve your status in life and raise your son Aulus, to the higher levels of society in time.'
'You know, I promised my father I would never sell the land. When I am old, I may retire to that estate and there is nothing you, or any clever lawyer, can do to stop me.'
'Even if you did, you could not afford to run it!'
'The income from it may not be great but with a little work and investment, it could be productive. I need it for Aulus.'
'I have had the upkeep of it for almost six years and the fact that some payment is made to you at the moment, is merely an acknowledgement of your lowly status in life, and the generosity of my wife because she is your sister.'
'I can't and won't sell the deeds,' my father said. 'There is nothing you can do to persuade me, so I'm afraid that there is an end to it.'
He spread his hands out at his sides and shrugged his shoulders.
'You could be made to sell. Have a care Gaius, I am an influential man and can make things happen if I so desire. You would be unwise to cross me.'
'Don't threaten me, Marcus. I won't sell the land and Aulus will inherit it after me.'
The two men looked at each other for a moment, Marcus glaring, my father smiling. The Censor turned abruptly and strode to the door, straight towards me. He turned back then, wanting the last word, for he was that kind of man. There was venom in his voice.
'You fool; you don't know what you are doing. You're only a little man and little men get swallowed up.'
As the Censor left, father made a rude sign with his fingers at the disappearing back and then smiled an introspective little smile.
'I may not be rich,' he said under his breath, so I could hardly make out the words, 'but I at least, have ancestors. My gens reaches back as far as Romulus, which is more than you can say, you stuffy old goat.'
He turned back to his bench, humming a little tune to himself and began carving the stone. It was a Medusa's head, commissioned by the Senior Vestal herself, and he had told me how proud he was that she had selected him, for it was indeed an honour.
I stood outside the study, wondering what the conversation had meant. I knew that my rich uncle was a powerful man and that his wife, my aunt Livia, had arranged for me to have lessons at their house.
Although my parents had told me how Mania, my mother, had arranged it all, I now had an uncomfortable feeling that I might not be welcome if my father and my uncle did not get on. I longed to ask my father why he and Uncle Marcus were not on good terms but dared not, for even at the age of eight, I knew I should not have eavesdropped.
I left the building intent upon a game of gladiators, for Julius and I fought with our wooden swords so often it was almost like being there, in the arena, the crowds screaming and the hot sun baking the contestants.
Marcus Mettius Senior was standing outside, tall and forbidding. For the second time, I almost bumped into his toga-clad figure.
'I suppose you must be Aulus then?'
'Yes sir,' I replied.
'I suppose we will be seeing more of you shall we not?'
'Yes sir.'
'Well next time, don't run around corners, you might bump into something unpleasant and we cannot have that can we boy?'
'No sir,' I said.
* * *
The sun was beginning to peep over the horizon, splintering the faint pre-dawn light that had spread across the great city, but the air still felt cold. We weaved our way through an army of pupils and slaves who walked to school through the streets, interspersed between tradesmen and the last of the carts, which were leaving the city. There was a moratorium on carts in the streets of Rome between dawn and sunset, as that was the only way to avoid daytime gridlocks on the main thoroughfares.
Even at this time of day, there were street vendors selling food and tradesmen were opening their shops. Groups of tradesmen gathered on corners discussing, gesticulating and laughing. There was almost an atmosphere of anticipation in the mornings, which did not exist by the afternoon, when the sunshine heated the stone cobbles and Rome slept.
Our route took us past the Forum Romanum, the main and most central forum. By midday, it would be crowded with people. Politicians used it to give speeches from the rostra, recruiting voters to their causes while street vendors sold anything from food to clothes. Young people gathered to talk and meet friends. Senate decrees and public meetings took place there and anyone who was anyone wanted to be seen participating in the general bustle. The grave of Romulus was there too, marked by two large black marble stones. It was a strange place of history, politics and fun. The forum was Rome and Rome was the forum.
The road forked just after the Forum Romanum. The right hand fork led to the Esquiline, which was a residential area resplendent with many oak trees from which the hill obtained its name. The southern slopes ended in a hill called the Oppius where some of the bigger houses and richer people resided. We headed towards the Oppius and we needed to fork left there, to head towards the Quirinal, where my Uncle Marcus had his home.
This was my first day at school. It would have been an interesting day, had it not been for my anxiety. It produced a feeling of tightness in my stomach and a faint, constant wish to urinate. I was not used to such feelings and my mind harped back to home, where I felt so much more secure, warm, and happy.
'It's a steep walk, Perseus; can we stop for a few seconds?' I said to our slave who accompanied me. He had been with our family for as long as I could remember. He was of medium height, with greying, sandy coloured hair and staring bulbous eyes that showed a sense of humour despite his lowly position in life. I always felt that slaves had little to laugh at, but I also knew that my father was a kinder master than most.
'Yes, young master, even I am feeling it. We have to get most of the way up the Viminal before we turn off left to the house of your uncle.'
'I wish I was at home.'
'Your parents have arranged this and I for my part must also do my duty, young master. I am sure that a young man of the gens Veridius, to which you belong, will not give in to fear! Your great grand-father and grandfather were true Romans and they will watch out for you, or at least their shades will follow you and make sure you come to no harm.'
'Perseus, if I insisted we go home what would you do?'
'The master instructed me that if I had to, I should pick you up and carry you. I am sure that he was joking, and that sort of thing will not be necessary.'
'Of course not. I was just asking.'
We walked along a long straight road called the Vicus Longus. With faint breathlessness, we turned left to reach the Quirinal.
I was eight years old and a late starter, because the only good inexpensive school was a long way from my parent's home and they had waited to enrol me until they had discussed it with Aunt Livia.
'Perseus,' I said presently, 'I don't know my letters very well. What if they expect me to know all about writing?'
'But I thought the master had taught you your letters?'
'Well, he did a bit, but I find it hard to tell them apart. My reading isn't very good at all.'
'Don't worry, young master,' Perseus said, 'I am sure that your teacher will know what to do, he is a Greek after all.'
'I heard they beat their pupils,'
'I am equally sure he will not beat you. Your father would never send you somewhere to be beaten. He is not that sort of man. Why, he is even kind to slaves like me!'
'But…'
'No more buts young master, we are nearly there. You must show them that you are of a proud and ancient family.'
We walked up the wide path to the gate and Perseus knocked and stood aside for me to announce our presence. My bottom lip trembled a little and I wanted to run away. A janitor, chained to the doorpost as was customary, opened the door.
'Well, you must be young Aulus then, we were expecting you. I am Cerberus. You must excuse the name, but the master thought it would be amusing to name me after the three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the Greek underworld! You are most welcome young sir,' he turned to Perseus, ' I will take care of him now. Make sure you are here to collect him this afternoon.' The man smiled and rang a bell.
Cerberus was a scrawny man with greying hair and a squint. His grey linen tunic had a large stain at the front and a small tear in the neckline.
'Where should I go?' I asked.
The house was huge by my standards and I stared open mouthed at the long, paved, path that led up to the entrance.
'Don't you worry young sir; a slave will respond to the bell and lead you to the peristylium where the lessons are to be held. Marcus the younger is already there. I'm sure you will both get along fine even though he is a little older than you.'
'I hope so,' I mumbled. I stood then, waiting in silence. There was a tension in my little body; I did not know what was going to happen next. I still felt like running as far away from this huge house as possible.
Within a few minutes, another slave walked down from the house and bade me follow him. We entered the house, which only served to fuel my apprehension for I found the inside even more daunting than the outside.
The Atrium was huge. It made me feel small and alone. Tapestries depicting land and sea battles, adorned the walls and there were niches in the walls with statues and ornaments. The mosaics that decorated the floor were made of tiny squares of stone of a variety of colours and shapes that I had never seen before. I almost hesitated to step upon the floor in case I might damage them with my small sandaled feet.
I followed the slave through a corridor to the peristylium. It was a large colonnaded garden with a central fountain and in one corner an altar for offerings to the house god. In the cloisters were groups of tables and couches where the occupants of the house would lounge or take food if the weather was suitable. Standing next to the fountain was a boy.
He was a head taller than I was. He had a shock of black hair that seemed to have a life of its own hanging over his ears and dancing in the summer breeze. His face was attractive even at this age and he had an air of confidence or arrogance that impressed me, for I was very young then. I guessed that Marcus was two or three years older than I was, but I was bold enough to greet the bigger boy first.
'Hello, I'm Aulus. We're cousins.'
'Yes I know. You're from the poor side of the family.'
I had nothing to say in return. I wanted to leave. He was not being the friendly cousin I had imagined. There was silence then, apart from the normal household noises of slaves padding around and furniture scraped on floors. I heard a bird screech above us.
The problem was what to do with my hands. I folded my arms but it seemed inappropriate, so I clasped my hands behind my back. In the end, I let them hang by my sides and shifted my weight from one foot to another.
Marcus stood there looking at me. It was a cruel stare and minutes passed as I looked around me. He spoke again, looking down at me.
'My father clearly doesn't mind wasting his money on the likes of you! You should be grateful I put up with you being here. The tutor was only employed to teach me and if it wasn't for Mother you wouldn't be allowed anywhere near him.'
'Oh,' I said, 'I'm sorry. I don't understand about such things. I just came because I was told.'
'Because you were told! What are you? Stupid? A slave?' Marcus was enjoying my discomfiture. I felt he made it plain that I had muscled my way into his private tuition and was not wanted.
'You'd better behave or you'll be sorry. Greeks aren't tolerant people and this one will tan your hide if you give him any lip.'
'I won't give him any lip. It's my first day at school. Can't we be friends?' I felt like crying again but was determined not to show it to this big boy.
'Friends? What a joke. I have friends. Friends my own age and they are the same social class. Why would I want to mix with someone like you? You aren't even a patrician.'
'Yes I am! I'm a Veridius Scapula. My father said so!'
'Your father's a fool, that isn't even a patrician name anyway.'
My anxiety escalated. This was not what I had expected. Why was he so nasty? I thought maybe it was because his father and mine were angry with each other. I longed for the day to end, yet it had only started.
I was about to argue, but Marcus, deciding that the conversation was at an end, walked around to the other side of the fountain and sat down on the edge. I did the same on my side of the fountain. I stared at the mosaic beneath my feet, trying to come to terms with this discouraging start. I remember a tightening in my throat and that my eyes felt a little moist. I missed my mother.
It was in this pose that Livia, Marcus' mother found me.
'Aulus! My little one!' she said in a high pitched but cultured voice, 'where is my hug?'
She held her arms open, bending at the knees. I for my part, although pleased with the display of friendliness, walked with uncertain steps towards her feeling somewhat daunted at first. The passage of time had clouded my recollection of her, for I had not seen her since I was a very small child. She leaned forward and her embrace enveloped me, eclipsing the world for a moment beneath the folds of her beautiful gown. I remember the smell of her hair, which had a pleasant scent of flowers. Her breath smelt of cloves. I think it was the first time I had smiled that morning.
'It's simply lovely to see you again! Why, it's been such a long time, I bet you hardly remember me!'
'I am most pleased to greet you aunt Livia,' I said, for I was a well-mannered child despite my age. Aunt Livia smiled back at me, a smile that swept formality aside in an instant. She was a cultured and attractive woman, her appearance enhanced by her elegant hairstyle and expensive red linen gown. As first impressions go, to an eight year old, it was overwhelming.
'Aulus, you don't need to be so formal. Even though I haven't seen you since you were small, I want you to feel at home here. We will talk later, but now I need to introduce you to your teacher, Gennadius. Where is Marcus? Oh there you are! Come over here. Have you met Aulus? You must be nice to Aulus he is your cousin after all.'
'Yes mother,' the sullen boy said, his face betraying him.
'Oh Marcus, you mustn't be in one of those moods of yours. Come with me you two and we'll meet your teacher. His name is Gennadius.'
I recall that she held my hand as we walked inside and her fingers were long, hard and cool. The feeling of tension had not resolved, my heart was beating fast, but I felt somehow that I might have found someone kind at last.
Chapter II
"A learned man has always riches in himself.” - Phaedrus
A dog barked outside in the faint moonlight, urgent and urging. Father awoke with a start. He scratched his nose and looked at mother in the anaemic light that emanated from the small window. For some reason, she and I had awakened at the same time.
'I heard a noise,' Mother said.
'Shh!' my father replied, 'I can't hear.'
Awakened from sleep, I could hear a definite soft sound of someone moving around near the atrium, which led to the study. The room in which we slept also opened onto the atrium. The sounds were clearly audible through the thin wood of the door. Father sat up in bed. He reached for the stout wooden cudgel that he kept near the bed for such contingencies. He slipped out of bed. He appeared to have a clear intention of confronting the intruders
'Don't go in there!' Mother said, 'there could be a whole gang of them! Block the door and we'll wait until they have gone.'
Father was neither large nor was he any longer athletic as he had been in his youth. It took little encouragement from my mother to make him think better of disturbing whoever it was that was breaking into our home. He took a chair, wedged it against the door and tested its firmness. I slept on a small straw palette in the corner and I got up and huddled next to Mother for I was as frightened as she appeared to be. She, like my father was a little overweight, womanly as she said. She was gentle and never scolded. She had a way of calming me and she stroked my forehead with her hand with a softness and gentleness that only a mother could give to such a caress. If there is one thing about her, I remember it is that she always smelled good. She used Egyptian perfume made from the finest lotus flowers and the smell of lotus still brings back memories of her, her softness and warmth.
For what seemed a millennium, our terrified family sat embracing each other for comfort while the noise of someone moving furniture and things breaking; thrust itself grasping, through the door at us. With each crash or sound of breaking pottery, we jumped. My mother was shivering. At one point, someone tried to open the door and all three of us heard a sound, as of low menacing voices. Then silence.
Time passed and the dawn saw us still sitting in bed, immobilised by the events of the last hours.
'Do you think they've gone?' Mother said.
'This time I will have to go and see,' Father said.
He moved towards the door, with caution, as if he thought the burglars might still be lurking on the other side. He gripped his cudgel with both hands. He held it before him. He listened for what seemed like an age to me, before he moved the chair to one side and opened the door a crack.
'They've gone,' he said.
'Are you sure?' Mother said, fear betrayed in her soft, gentle voice. It made no difference to my anxiety.
'Yes it seems safe. You stay there.'
'Be careful.'
* * *
The amphitheatre was crowded with Romans. The sun shone high above us. I was sweating in my armour and the bronze shield weighed heavily on my left arm. The two of us faced each other in a mortal combat. There was blood on the sand, for some criminals had been set against lions in the preceding bout. The lions of course were easier to remove once their bellies were full. The Senator in the box signalled the beginning of the fight and I eyed my opponent. He was a huge Gaul but as we fought, he had dropped his guard. We circled each other. Our eyes met. His fierce bearded and scarred face was terrible to behold. His eyes were steel blue and cold.
I knew with a certainty that comes seldom in battle that I would win. The massive crowd cheered, the sound deafening, as it rose to a fever pitch. They had only come to watch the skill of the master of swordsmanship that I had become. They would not be disappointed.
I struck a massive blow, which hit the barbarian's shield. He took the full force of the blow and swung his long sword at my head. I parried with my gladius and pushed forward with my shield. It took him unawares and he stumbled back but I tripped him as he fell back. He lay defenceless looking up at me. I raised my sword for the final stroke.
'No, no! Spare me, I am just an ignorant barbarian' the vanquished Gaul said.
'Very well, I am after all a true Roman,' I said.
I turned to leave the amphitheatre as the crowd cheered me. The sound was deafening, but my opponent attacked again from behind. I had been a fool to leave him alive.
The raised sword never landed. I was quick as lightening. I parried. The ring of metal upon metal. The cheering crowd. A thrust here and a parry and stab. Through the heart!
I had struck down this treacherous enemy, who lay bleeding before me. I stood above him breathless and proud. The crowd roared as the barbarian champion fell, drowning his dying screams. Flowers were strewn and coins too. I would be a rich man at last and the world was mine!
'Aulus!' called mother, 'Aulus, your father wants you.'
'Yes Mother, I'm coming.'
I had to stop the game of gladiators with the neighbour's son and hanging the wooden gladius from my belt, crossed the courtyard to my mother, chasing my short shadow in the sunshine. Over my shoulder I said, 'Sorry Julius, we can play again later. You can be the Roman next time, promise.'
'He is in the study; he has something important to tell you' Mother said.
I went inside, resenting the abrupt ending of the game by the adult seriousness that seemed to pervade everything these days. My father sat at the table with a wooden box open in front of him.
'Aulus, come here lad. You see this box, with the scrolls in? Well, it contains the deeds to a large estate in Ariminium.'
'Does that mean we are rich really?'
'No, my son. We cannot claim it now, even though Sulla has retired. His people run the Senate and your uncle has much influence there. We cannot claim ownership and Marcus Mettius the elder has possession of the estate.'
'Is it stolen?' I said with widening eyes.
'No Aulus, it rightfully belongs to me. My father left it to me and when I go to Hades, it will belong to you. '
'Oh,' was all I could think to say.
'Those men that came in the night and did all that damage were after this document.'
'I see,' I said, but I did not realise that this conversation was to shape the pattern of the rest of my life. It is often so, for the Gods obscure meanings from us and we are left to busy ourselves in their unpredictable and unfathomable patterns.
'I am going to hide it. It will be hidden in the courtyard of this house and exactly where, is inscribed on this amulet, between the two stones.'
I looked at the trinket twinkling in my father's hand. It was a small, bright, oval, green stone, the size of a man's little finger nail. Father had dovetailed the two halves into each other and he had bound them with silver wire to hold them together.
'You must remember this. The message is very small and it is in Etruscan. You do know what Etruscan is, don't you?'
'Yes father.'
'Good. You must never take this off ever. Never give or sell it to anyone. It is the last piece of your family inheritance and you may need it when you are properly grown up.'
Father placed the amulet around my neck, where it hung on its double leather thong like a lucky charm. It was a tight enough fit, but invisible under the neck of my tunic.
'Father, may I ask you something?'
'Yes, my son, of course you can.'
'Why is everything so serious now? Even Gennadius seldom smiles.'
'You poor little chap,' he said, 'it is only because we adults get worried about things. It will get better.'
He ruffled my hair in an affectionate way.
'The burglars won't come back will they?'
'No, of course not. They didn't find the deeds and now when I have hidden them, there won't be any way for them to find them without the amulet. That is why you must keep it very safe. It is less than a year before you take up your manly robe and we will have to consider what you are going to do then.'
'I want to be a soldier.'
'The only successful way for you to do that, would be as a military Tribune and I have no money or influence to achieve that for you. Now that Marcus Mettius the senior is against us, it would be doubly impossible. He is rich and has influence and since you took it upon yourself to punch his son into oblivion I can't see that changing.'
'I'm sorry father, but he was trying to hit me; I got cross. Anyway that was almost three years ago and maybe they have forgotten.'
'They won't have forgotten. Just remember; never lose your temper like that again. It makes you hasty and you will do silly things.'
'Yes father.'
'Look at this. It's a ring for the chief vestal herself, just finished.'
'That's nice,'
'Is that all you can say? See how fine the features are on the medusa's head. It’s a work of art! I suppose you're too young to appreciate how much work goes into these things. You will, one day I hope.'
'Yes father,' I said, shifting from one foot to the other. I was itching to be out and playing.
'Good, now run along and play. Gennadius will be here soon and I expect you to do well with your lessons.'
As I immersed myself in the game, I did begin to get a vague feeling that all the things my father had said would one day affect me, but for the moment, I was a Gaul, a big Gaul and one who this puny Roman would never get the better of in the arena.
Chapter III
"Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant.” - Horace
I ran across Mars' Field that day feeling happy. I came to a breathless halt in front of my tutor. The Campus Martius was crowded that day. Young men ran to keep fit, others practised swordplay and groups of soldiers were being drilled by their Optios. I was smiling.
'I'm sorry I'm late, the training group has only just finished,'
'What have you been up to?'
'We've been running races and practicing with swords and shields. I won the contest.'
'Physical pursuits are always beneficial but the mind must be exercised as well.'
My mental picture of Gennadius is as a short, bald, kind man with a small wart on his left cheek. He told me once that he felt it made him look distinguished. He had never worried whether it would put women off. He had never married. He explained this to me one day, by saying that it was because the learned and sheltered life that he had led had kept him away from the opposite sex.
I think he enjoyed his bookish nature and took pride in his academic life perhaps as it turned out, because he had other distractions. Despite this, I knew by instinct that Gennadius understood children well, which the Greek would have been delighted to hear, for he had been teaching for almost thirty years.
'Yes Gennadius, I know. Can we go and look at the soldiers training over there first?' I indicated a squad of legionaries practicing their drill further away.
'Yes, but not too long. I must get back in good time to your uncle's home and your father has also asked me to meet him to discuss your further education.'
We walked a little closer and watched the recruits drilling on the hard, dry, cracked earth. I remember that I felt happy then and comfortable with my tutor who I had now known for more than four years.
The recruits had shiny new equipment and clean uniforms so I guessed that they were fresh untested soldiers. I was surprised at how well they performed. Open order, close order, columns of four. The drill went on and the men performed each manoeuvre as if they were one man.
Half an hour later, as Gennadius and I walked back towards the Capitoline to return home, I noticed a group of men, young and old, standing at a desk in front of a tent.
'Who are they?' I asked.
'They are legionary recruiting officers. Stay well away from them! They will tell you anything to get you to enlist and they are not fussy about how old you are! They are quite happy to take boys who are much too young for military service. Once you sign your name you are committed to twenty years of service and they strangle deserters.'
'Next month I can take up my manly robe and choose a career,' I said, I’m sure I could pass for fifteen.’
'In the next month, you should consider where to take your education further. I have friends in Alexandria and for a nominal cost they would take you for further education in philosophy and mathematics provided I recommend you.'
My mind was as far from philosophy and mathematics as it was from jumping into the Tiber with my clothes on, but I said nothing, for fear of offending my tutor. I wanted to join the Roman army and become a soldier like my grandfather and my great grandfather.
I had been brought up on tales of their military careers and was sure that one day I could lead armies too. I dreamt how the Senate might award even me a triumph. My mind pictured the scene already. Garlands of flowers being strewn around in front of my chariot, Aulus the Great standing, throwing silver coins to the adulation of the masses who lined the triumphal route. The cheers, the jollity…
'Aulus look there,' Gennadius was pointing to the city southwards. Wrenched from my reverie, I saw there was a plume of smoke rising in a dense cloud from somewhere to beyond the Forum Boarium, where my parent's home was.
It was the greatest fear of any Roman. Huge parts of the city were built of wood and a fire could spread rapidly. The whole of Rome could burn if only one small house fire became uncontrolled. There was no fire fighting service and if there were a fire, the whole neighbourhood would gather with buckets to help put out a blaze. It was not fellowship and support but self-preservation and the authorities knew this, which was why they had never felt they needed a fire-fighting service. It was expected that the citizens would react quickly and mostly they did, with help from the Town Guard.
Gennadius and I hurried south along the Via Triumphalis towards the Capitoline hill and ran part of the way, despite Gennadius holding us up with his breathlessness and his limp. We ran past the Ara Maxima and turned left at the Circus Maximus to the Clivus Scauri where the tenement I lived in was situated.
I drew to a halt, breathless and with my heart thumping. I had realised that the fire was in our neighbourhood as soon as I had crossed the Capitoline and stood stock still as I surveyed the scene before me. Gennadius joined me and stood by my side. Neither of us spoke, for words were unnecessary. The entire tenement had burned down. There were people milling all around the street outside and the Town Guard had turned out both to help and to keep people away from the blaze, which was under control by now.
We both rushed forward. I screamed at the guard who was keeping the crowd back.
'I live here.'
'In there? Not any more you don't,' he said.
'My parents, where are they?'
'If they got out, they may be over there,' the soldier said over the noise of the crowd and the crackles of the dying embers of the tenement building. The Town Guard had already collapsed the burning building to prevent spread of the fire. He pointed towards the far corner of the block of buildings.
Ignoring Gennadius, I began frantically calling my parent's names as I ran to the area the soldier had indicated. As I pushed through the crowd with urgency, I looked in desperation a familiar face and saw none. Gennadius joined me then. The throng of people had slowed him down. I saw an old man who lived nearby and who knew my parents. I pushed through the crowd towards him, followed by the small Greek.
'My parents. Have you seen them?' I pleaded.
The man turned to me.
'Aulus, where have you been?'
'I was on the Campus Martius. Where are my parents?' I had to shout above the noise of the crowd, but my voice had a desperate and high-pitched tone this time. I was on the verge of tears. My mind was racing.
'I haven't seen them, all I know is that there were shouts from the street to leave the buildings and by the time I came out the soldiers were collapsing the building to prevent the fire spreading. Were they both at home when you left?'
'Yes, but maybe they got out.'
'If they were caught in there, then they maybe couldn't get out. No one could live through that blaze. Someone said something about it smelling as if oil had caught fire. All the lamps must have caught. Sorry, Aulus I haven't seen them.'
'Where would they go if they got out?'
'They would still be in the street, I imagine, I will help you look for them,' the old man said, looking round at the crowd.
I began to walk up and down the street, frantic to find my parents. Soldiers, bringing buckets of water, were damping down the residual smouldering timbers. I approached one of them. I recognised him from the Campus Martius. My terror made me bold.
'Have you seen anyone come out of the building?' I asked, this time with tears streaming down my face, desperation in my voice.
'Sorry sonny, no one made it out of there. It smelt as if someone had burned a whole load of oil in the place. If there was anyone in there, they won't be coming out now. Lucky the whole street wasn't burned down. Did you know any of the occupants?'
'Yes,' I said, my sobs getting the better of me. I could not speak any more. Words would not come. I squatted in the street crying. Gennadius knelt at my side. He put his arm around my shoulders and I turned into the fat little Greek's embrace and sobbed inconsolably.
* * *
It was dusk, the sun sinking beyond the temples and tenements of our great city, threw long, almost solid shadows across the street. Gennadius and I knocked on the gate of the big house on the Quirinal. There was a smell of baking from a house across the road although it was a long way away and there was fearsome barking from the hounds in the house's compound. The gate hatch opened first as if the occupants needed to apply caution, but perhaps it was only my imagination, for evenings in Rome are never a safe time and roaming gangs of thugs and thieves abound even on the Quirinal.
'I'm sorry sir; the master has left strict instructions that the boy is not to be allowed in. I can't disobey him. I would be whipped if I did,' Cerberus said. He looked at me strangely.
'Don't you realise what has happened? This boy's home has burned down and maybe with his parents inside too. Have you no heart man?'
'I'm sorry sir. Maybe if you go up to the house and explain, the master will change his mind?'
'All right I'll try. Aulus wait here and I will go and see your aunt, if she will receive me at this hour, that is. I can't imagine that she would leave you out in the street.'
Gennadius walked up the path to the entrance. As he disappeared from sight, Cerberus let me sit in the janitor's hut for I must have looked ready to collapse.
Within a few minutes, Gennadius reappeared, walking as fast as his short legs and limp would allow. When he was half-way to the hut, Marcus the younger walked out of the doorway and picked up a stone. He threw it at the Greek and it hit him on the shoulder.
'Now get out, you filthy little Greek! And take that little dung heap with you.'
Gennadius did not as much as look behind him.
'Come on Aulus, we need a place to stay and tomorrow we will find out what happened to your parents.'
'What happened?'
'I am no longer employed by your uncle and your aunt was forbidden to see me even when she was told about the fire. I have never encountered people like this in all my travels.'
I felt as if my whole world had come apart. I could see no future. We made our way to the Subura. There was a Greek tavern there, which Gennadius was familiar with and he hired a room. I felt benumbed by the day's events. I knew it was unlikely, but I kept an ember of hope in my mind, that my parents might have escaped the fire and would be looking for me.
I sat on the straw mattress staring at the floor. What would become of me? Where would I go? I noticed my hands were trembling and felt tears welling up again in my eyes. When I looked up, Gennadius was opening the door and he entered carrying a small bundle of food. There was bread, figs and fruit.
'Here is something to eat,' the Greek said, 'You must keep your strength up. Tomorrow we will search the place thoroughly for any signs of your parents and then start questioning the neighbours to find out whether they escaped the fire.'
'No, I'm not hungry. Thank you. I don't know what to do now. Everything has gone away, I don't even know if they died or not.'
'That is just what we are going to find out tomorrow,'
I still stared at the floor, then exhaustion took me, I lay down and my eyes closed by degrees, as Somnus took me away, far from that terrible day, a day that was to remain in my memory forever.
Morning came. I had awoken before dawn and when Gennadius awoke, I was looking out of the window into the street. I had been staring at the cobbles below and watching an old woman emptying her chamber pot into the central channel of the street below. It emptied into the city's drains that led by circuitous routes into the Tiber. I had been wondering how it would feel to float all the way to the sea, away from Rome, from pain and grief. I turned to face the Greek when I heard him stir behind me.
'I think someone started the fire deliberately,' I said.
'What makes you think this? I don't think anyone would risk setting fire to a tenement in Rome for any reason. It could have spread to the whole city.'
'The soldier said it smelt of burning oil. My parents had only a little oil in the house for two lamps. It must have come from somewhere. I think someone set a fire but I know of no one who would do such a thing. Everyone loved my mother and father. They were kind people who hurt no one.'
I felt a lump in my throat and moisture in my eyes, thinking of my parents.
'Come, there is no need to think like that. We will go back to the street and start some enquiries.'
Gennadius and I packed up and left. We walked south through the busying streets as dawn rose on another day in the greatest city in the Empire. Street vendors were already out in the hope of getting custom from the students and trades people, who had begun to populate the streets on the start of another working day. The smell of the central channel of the street hung in the air, but no one noticed. The odour was so commonplace that no one noticed let alone remarked upon it. It occurred to me that it was quite an ordinary day for almost everyone except me and it confused me. No one else could be feeling as I did and no one apart from Gennadius understood.
The blackened ruins of our home gave few answers at first, but as we pushed our way through the charred remains, we came across two terribly charred bodies. It was clear they were human bodies but the twisted, blackened remains looked more like statues of charcoal than human forms to me. Perseus must have died too. We found a third body in the slave's room on what remained of the cot.
I knew in my heart that the bodies had been my parents and in an unexpected way, I felt relieved, as if the answer to a question had presented itself to me. There was a numbness in my thoughts, as if the truth of my grief evaded me. I could at least now arrange the funeral rites and could mourn them.
I had no idea how to organise such things for I was only a child, but Gennadius at least, was there to help and when we found the bodies, the tutor put a gentle hand on my shoulder for comfort.
When we went to the temple of Venus Libitina to arrange the funeral I realised how much trouble Gennadius was prepared to go to on my behalf. We did not even get to speak to the undertakers, the Libitinarii, but stood in line the whole morning, merely for a slave to deal with us.
'Were the deceased wealthy?' the Pollinctor said seated behind a desk on the steps of the temple. He had noted the names of my parents on a scroll before him and looked up at us with unblinking brown eyes. We had stood in line most of the morning and neither of us felt like going into details.
'No, not wealthy. They were in a burial society though. We have little money with which to pay.'
'Right, well, what we have on offer in that case is a simple ceremony. Where are the bodies?'
'They are still in the burned-out house,' Gennadius said.
'There is an extra charge for fetching the bodies I'm afraid. We can provide the flautist to follow them. Who is giving the extremum vale, the funeral oration?'
'I will speak on the boy's behalf.'
'Right, we will have to do the anointment here at the temple and we can take the short route out of the city after the extremum is spoken. Any special requests?'
'Do the Libitinarii perform the rites here or outside the walls?'
'Usually outside. They have many rites to perform now because of the fever in the Subura so it's quite busy. It will be a short ceremony I'm afraid. Death stalks the Subura just now.'
'How soon can you perform the funerary rites?'
'This afternoon, after the midday meal. We take about an hour's break at that time. Got to keep up our strength, death is all around us you know.'
I witnessed the whole conversation with a vague feeling of detachment. It was almost as if I was standing next to myself looking on and taking it in without being more than a spectator, like seeing a play unfold before me.
I remember the funeral well. It rained. There had been no need for the Pollinctores, the Libitinarii's slaves to wash the bodies because of their charred state. They anointed them with spices and perfumes.
I still felt benumbed, as they bore the bodies out of the city. A dreary tune played on a flute accompanied us to the city walls and they laid my mother, my father, and Perseus on three piles of wood. The oil burned with a strange smell of cooked meat mixed with incense. My father had belonged to a funerary club and they made a place in the Columbarium where they interred the ashes with all the others.
The whole business seemed to mean so little. It was a kind of anticlimax to their lives and I had no idea how to react. I had never experienced anything like this. Even when the Libitinarius sprinkled me with the purifying water, I did not react. A reaction to grief is involuntary. It grips you and leads you, passive in its clutches, to the despair that flows through all your thoughts.
* * *
'Aulus, you must try to eat something,' Gennadius said.
'I don't feel like it,' I replied. We were sitting in another bedroom in another tavern in the Subura. This was Rome's roughest area. It was a den of thieves characterised by gangs of thugs, who extorted money from shopkeepers and tavern-owners. They robbed and stole almost without any control. Few honest citizens were abroad after dusk.
A small oil lamp burned on the table in the impoverished lodgings in which I found myself. The smoke from the lamp irritated my nostrils. The flaking plaster and the rough, worn floorboards added a depressing atmosphere, as I sat on the straw palette on the cot under the window. The straw smelled damp. Someone laughed, drunk, outside.
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