The Ides of April fam-1 Read online

  As we walked there, he asked, "What would your wonderful family think about this?"

  "They would very strongly advise against it!"

  Clearly the right answer. He laughed gently.

  I in turn asked how he came to be allowed out. He said Faustus was chairing a big meeting about arrangements for the Cerialia Games, a duty he could not neglect, while his uncle had gone to some drunken banquet, a normal night out for Tullius. The household was unregulated. Slaves and freedmen came and went.

  It was a fine evening, though cool. People were on the streets though not in great numbers. We went side by side like strolling lovers. It was too early, and still too light, for most robbers to be active, while the old ladies who maintained moral standards had gone home for mean suppers with their cats. Families who spilled out of shops and workshops took no notice of us, since we were clearly not window-shopping. Nobody would remember us. Nobody could have imagined our illegal errand.

  We reached the temple. One of so many on the Aventine, its isolated position in the northwest corner overlooking the Circus Maximus meant this particular temple was turning towards the city opposite as if offering some upstart rivalry to Rome's grand official gods on the Capitol.

  Ceres was benign to humans. Ceres gave us agriculture, and with it the habit of a regulated life. How could the goddess who taught mankind to plough, who discovered wheat for us, who reigned as a patroness of decent human values, of peace and justice, require the torturing of foxes? One of her companions in this ancient temple was Liber, Father Freedom, a god of wine and male virility, but- perhaps because liquor will loosen the tongue-also a champion of free speech. This temple represented a longstanding centre of rebellion against restrictive social order. What Andronicus and I intended to do at least fell within that spirit.

  Not that the plebeian authorities would approve. If we were seen with the foxes-if we were caught-it would count as "an insult to Ceres." Traditionally, the penalty for that was hanging.

  That night my friend was so fired up it was wonderful. He dragged me up the worn steps and through the wide-set stubby columns beneath their bleached wooden pediments, then headed into the sanctuary. I had never been inside before. In Rome most religious life takes place outside, where the altars for sacrifices stand in the open air. On the eve of the festival there was more public presence than usual. Old women were selling cakes and honeycombs from little tables set among the columns.

  We slipped past them, to enter the interior unchallenged. Another old woman, in white Grecian dress, clearly the chief priestess, was tending the statue of Ceres. Her movements were creaky but she straightened the goddess's wheatsheaves and torch to her satisfaction before turning. She recognised Andronicus and perhaps looked disapproving, but made no attempt to shoo him out. She ignored me. Women were allowed here.

  Andronicus was a fine actor. As if to explain our presence, in a grave voice, he began giving me a lecture about the cult statues playing guide to a curious tourist. Each in their own sanctum were three extremely handsome bronze gods, paid for from fines the aediles extracted: Ceres seated on the snake-wreathed box which contained secret items used in her mysteries, Liber with his Dionysian wineskin, Libera, associated with Proserpina, the daughter Ceres lost to the god of the Underworld, but rescued…

  Unlike so many stories of the official pantheon's gods and goddesses-that randy, amoral group who seemed concerned mainly with love affairs-Mother and Maiden had a special appeal for me. Their story was the core of the festival. In a few nights' time white-robed women would be running all over the Aventine with torches, to represent the desolate goddess's desperate search for her missing daughter, when the earth dies in the dead dark of winter before the mother is reunited with her child in the light, and green shoots are allowed to sprout again. Even in the city-especially in the city where there were so many mouths to feed-the renewal of the life-sustaining grain was celebrated.

  Once, according to legend, a boy found a fox stealing chickens. When he tried to burn the fox alive, it escaped; as it ran away ablaze, its burning tail fired the fields and destroyed the precious cereal crops. Forever after, foxes had been punished in the name of Ceres…

  The incense-scented hall became deserted but for us. A few hanging lamps burned, keeping the gods company. Andronicus winked at me, yet refrained from disrespect for the deities. He led me back outside; we sneaked through the columns and down off the podium, now with our hearts bumping. He was undoubtedly the leader, as we made our way from the main street, keeping in the shadows along one side of the temple, to a discreet doorway. Most temples have these, generally the entrances to underground vaults where treasure can be banked. Here, the Senate archive for which Andronicus was responsible had its location, a store of decrees kept at the heart of plebeian Rome, tended by commoners as if snubbing the aristocracy. He took me inside and showed me the array of columbaria, the endless banks of dovecote-style holders for scrolls, that formed his domain.

  He snatched a kiss. He was highly excited, and I could tell he wanted more and would have taken it, defying propriety there among the banks of scrolls, had I not been single-minded about our mission. "Later!" I hissed, letting him know I wished we did not have to wait.

  Further along the street, still beneath the temple, was a store. Untidy but functional, it was like any hiding place for equipment. Here they kept cleaning materials and lamps, cult items, and a pile of unlit torches ready for the festival. Andronicus showed me a phallic herm, an attribute of Liber, dumped here to gather dust. According to him, the priestesses of the cult were a sanctimonious collection of matrons who had thrown out the huge erect member in one of their many spring-cleans. He fingered it suggestively; we both giggled.

  Unlike the archive, to which Andronicus had a special key, we had found this store unlocked. Andronicus told me two public slaves were supposed to guard it, the same sad lags who used the brooms to sweep the temple steps and the buckets to fetch water from fountains for washing the shrine daily. Every evening they went out to supper, and since they served at a temple housing a wine-god, they were known to take the attitude that Liber would want them to enhance their meal with the joys of fermented grape juice. It would be some time before the pair rolled back, stupefied.

  They had left a lantern to stop themselves stumbling into things on their return-and to give some light to their current charges: four stricken and mange-ridden country foxes.

  We acted fast.

  The animals were all housed in one big cage. They had water, but no food that I could see. They were snarling, unhappy creatures whose stink had filled the storeroom. I could not imagine how it was intended to catch them and control them enough to fix burning torches to their tails. The thought was hideous. Andronicus said men would come from the imperial menagerie.

  "I know what foxes do," I admitted. "My husband was born on a farm. He always hated foxes because they slaughter poultry. Tearing off chickens' heads, regardless of their actual need for food. Every year, while I hid at home, deploring the ritual, he would go out and join in, whooping down to the Circus with the crowd."

  "So you and he had nothing in common?"

  "Love is when you stick with someone despite disagreements."

  "I don't see it," said Andronicus.

  "Then just shut up and help me do this."

  We had to be careful. Loose foxes in this store would cause havoc and be pointless. We needed the creatures to go straight out into the street and run away. To make sure they did, we manoeuvred that big cage to the doorway before we opened it. The foxes cowered, afraid we intended to harm them. At first they just stared at the open door, assessing the new situation. We shooed, trying not to make much noise in case we attracted attention. At last one edged forwards and put his nose out, then made a crouching run for safety; the rest followed. The third waited for the fourth as if they were mates or siblings. Once in the street, they all slunk into shadow and were quickly lost from sight. I heard a harsh bark, then nothing.


  We moved the cage to make space for us to leave. I wanted to get away from there as fast as possible; Andronicus now decided to cause even more disruption to the rites. He carried out the pile of torches and dumped them in the roadway. He poured a bucket of tar over them. While I watched admiringly, scarcely able to believe his rashness, he lit a piece of matchwood at the lantern. Cupping the flame, eyes bright, he brought his taper outside and dropped it onto the pile of brands. They flared alight, bringing a sudden warm glow to our rapt faces. He kicked a loose torch onto this bonfire, causing a stream of sparks. I ran indoors for more torches to add to the pile, until the whole side street filled with light and fire.

  The smell of the smoke must have travelled. As a vigiles whistle sounded close by, Andronicus grasped my hand and, both laughing out loud, we finally turned the other way and made a run for it. So we vanished from the Temple area, shooting away into the night, just like the foxes.

  XXX

  We had scampered north because the shouts told us the vigiles were coming from the street on the temple's entrance side. Heading away from them took us down off the hill near the corn dole station, after which our footsteps naturally led us to the Tiber Embankment. We walked, hand tightly in hand, through the long Porticus of the Trigeminal Gate. Its stalls had been closed up for the night, some of them actually towed away; although we passed the family stall of Lupus, the murdered oyster-shucker, no one was there and we did not mention it.

  We had calmed down, though were still prone to bumping our heads together, my dark crown against his ginger sideburns, and bursting into giggles. We were like naughty children, though what we had done made us far worse than scallywags. The consequences could have been dire, and not only for us. We might have wreaked terrible destruction; the hundred-year-old timbers on the temple's roof would have gone up in an instant if a loose spark had flown to pediment height. Then who knows how far the flames would have spread? It was barely ten years since a huge fire had destroyed half of Rome; rebuilding still continued.

  We looked at the river. We sauntered along the Embankment by the old salt stores and moored boats, listening to the water lapping close, hearing noises from warehouse and tavern on both waterfronts. It was dark now, though only just. Rome was a mass of mysterious shapes and hidden buildings all around, with most of the remaining light suffusing the sky above us, where only a few shreds of cloud scudded slowly and as yet there were no stars. In mid-April, the weather was cool but bearable, an impetuous breeze carrying a faint hint of summer heat to come. Tiny lights had begun appearing, mere pinpoints. Where humans gathered for entertainment, occasional strings hung like beads in a goddess's necklace in the heavens. Isolated spots high in buildings marked a scholar's vigil or the restless sick.

  Andronicus and I were silent now. It grew colder close to the water; we had cloaks; we stopped holding hands and each gathered our outerwear around us, standing separate. At that moment the spot could have been romantic; later tonight it would become a disreputable haunt, favoured by prostitutes of all sexes and their clients, not to mention the purse-snatchers who preyed on them, generally in league with the whores. So far, sidewalks and roadways had been virtually clear. But now the daylight ban on wheeled vehicles lifted, so carts began to rattle up from the port into Rome. Pretty soon the streets would be hectic. With one accord we moved, turning back to home in again on the Aventine.

  We climbed the hill the same way we came down. Alone, I would not have done that, but I was letting Andronicus lead. He seemed to enjoy danger; he even took us past the back wall of the Temple again, to look down that narrow side street, the scene of our crime. The vigiles must have doused the bonfire and cleared the debris. We could hear voices from inside the store, though we could not see inside.

  "They will catch more foxes. They will bring in more torches. But we have caused them wonderful inconvenience-" Andronicus winked at me. "And Faustus will hate this interfering with his festival management."

  "You like that," I commented. Upsetting his master was probably why Andronicus had helped tonight.

  "Oh I do! We made him look useless. He will be livid!"

  He seemed to entertain no thought that what we had done was wrong. This was a big difference between us. A civilised society has to have rules (thank you, Ceres, for bringing mankind out of barbarian ways of living!). I was very aware we had broken those rules. To me, that was justified because a civilised person must always be ready to exercise choice. An individual must have, and use, a conscience. I looked wild, but these days it was an illusion; Andronicus looked respectable, but maybe with him that was deceptive. Tonight he seemingly had no conscience.

  The daft daredevil would have walked down the side street for a closer look, but I refused to go. I was perfectly capable of strolling up like an innocent passer-by, but why invite notice? I insisted Ave walked on a couple of blocks, turning in past the Temples of Flora and Luna, then worked our way to my home ground through a few secluded back streets, then the Street of the Armilustrium.

  We ended up at the Stargazer. It was a classic case of being desperate for wine, to heighten our mood again in the anti-climax after a wild adventure. Anyone who noticed the pair of us arrive, bright-eyed and breathless, must have thought we had come straight from a bed of hot passion. There were no free tables so we leaned on the counter. That was where we were, toying with nibbles and gulping vinum primitivum (the only palatable house wine my aunt stocked, which she swore was misnamed), when Tiberius and Morellus arrived. Neither was happy.

  Enough time had passed for them to have been summoned to the scene by the patrol that found the fire, to have surveyed the damage and to work up a theory. Well done, lads. Tiberius must have remembered me feeding Robigo; he knew I liked foxes. Now he and the vigiles investigator were here, looking for me. Seeing Andronicus with me just gave them more ideas.

  Morellus sombrely spelled out what had happened, with the air of a man who believed he was wasting effort on people who already knew. He was in his evening workwear: his ordinary daywear over his loose gut, plus a fire-axe through the back of his belt and a hefty nightstick in front. He looked as if he had neither for effect, but regularly used them. Tiberius sported the best tunic I had seen him wear, a pristine white effort; he looked short-tempered, as if he had been summoned from an evening of leisure he was sorry to miss. Andronicus might hope we had made Manlius Faustus livid, but the aedile himself would not be out tiptoeing through fetid alleyways at night-time, where drunks might insult him or sluts make indecent grabs under his toga. He had sent his man-in-the-street to suffer for him.

  "Look, Albia, we know you take a kind-hearted interest in wildlife." Morellus addressed me in his officially patronising voice. Tiberius just stood with his arms folded.

  "I see." I spat out an olive stone. "Of course I love animals. I was born in a province full of horses, where the barbarians worship hares-even when I came to Rome, it was me who walked the family dog. So, to a moron, that makes it obvious. Why bother looking for evidence, Morellus, when you can attack such an easy target?"

  "Where have you been this evening?" he demanded patiently. Tiberius said nothing. Those grey eyes moved between us, observing, assessing, reaching bad conclusions. I found him more worrying than Morellus.

  "Here!" Andronicus barged in, though I had been trying to leave him out of the conversation. "We were here, having supper and snuggles, all evening. Anyone can tell you."

  Anyone could really have said he was lying-but nobody would. The usual moves had already taken place among the other customers: as soon as the vigiles arrived, they slid coins on to the counter for what they had consumed (underestimating heavily), and vanished. Morellus had brought a couple of his men with him, but they had conducted their own traditional moves; they stood by, looking gormless, while potential witnesses all made their exit.

  Time was, back in Londinium, I would have been the first to slide away. Now I was respectable and had to stand my ground. To Tiberius and M
orellus running away would prove my guilt.

  The Stargazer had suddenly emptied, except for my cousin.

  Since the bar had been rather busy until now, Junillus had not cleared the counter. It was the night the other server took off to attend his club; Apollonius went to a weekly gathering of geometry puzzlers, a gentle hobby that had to remain unmentioned in front of anyone from the aediles' office or the vigiles, especially in Rome's current paranoid climate. Mathematics is a suspicious activity. All those hypotenuse drawings must be plans for assassination attempts. Algebra is treacherous code. When did you ever meet a student of infinitesimal calculus who didn't harbour rabid ambitions to rule the world? And anyone who tells you Archimedes was killed at the capture of Syracuse by a soldier who didn't know who he was, is ignorant of how military forces work. There will have been a secret order: man making diagrams in the dust equals number one target.

  The runner's expression said his target was me.

  So. Apollonius, who kept a meticulously neat bar counter, was not here. Junillus presided cheerily over honest mess. At my side, Andronicus waved his arm above the used bowls and beakers on the crude marble slabs. That should be enough. Nevertheless, a mime ensued where Andronicus asked Junillus if he had been serving us all evening. Morellus joined in, wagging his finger to notify Junillus that this was a matter of exorbitant importance.

  I watched apprehensively. Junillus leaned on his forearms. Pushing aside a long lock of hair that had drooped in his eyes, he frowned, to show he wanted to be sure he understood. He gestured to the food bowls, like a bad actor in a very tedious tragedy. In fact he had known me long enough to be sure I would never have ordered polenta at all, and if the stewed leeks with lentils had been mine, I would have cleaned up the gravy with my finger before finishing. I never leave my crockery full of crud.