Steven Saylor - A Mist of Prophecies

At that moment the screaming young girl reappeared, dressed in a tunica now, but in the same bad humor. She ran across the garden to her mother, let out an ear-piercing scream, and threw her hands around Antonia's waist. Antonia tensed every muscle. Such a look of mingled fury and despair crossed her face that for a moment I feared she might strike the child. Instead, she took a deep breath and put her arms around the little girl, squeezing so tightly that the child struggled to pull free and finally did so, running back the way she had come, scattering peacocks in her wake and streaking past the overwhelmed nurse in the doorway.

Antonia stared after the child. Her face hardened. "As long as she was making it all up, why tell me things to confirm my own worst fears? Why not make up lies to please me? For a happy vision of the future, I might have given her a few coins and sent her on her way and forgotten all about her. No, she put on that little performance deliberately to torment me, and afterward she went running to her friend Cytheris, and the two of them had a good laugh at my expense. I'm glad she's dead! If someone else hadn't done it, I might have murdered her myself."

The fourth time I saw Cassandra was on the day Marcus Caelius made his boldest-and last-appearance in the Forum.

Obedient to Bethesda's wishes-and leery myself of the violence that had been erupting-I avoided going to the Forum for almost a month following the riot that broke out after the consul Isauricus broke Caelius's chair of state. I whiled away the month of Aprilis in my garden, worrying over the ever-increasing debts I owed to Volumnius the banker, unable to see a way to continue feeding my family without going even further into debt.

All my life I had avoided becoming a debtor. I had even managed to accumulate a modest amount of savings, which I had deposited for security with Volumnius. He was a banker with an excellent reputation, trusted by everyone from Cicero to Caesar. But with the war had come shortages, and with shortages had come outlandish prices, even for the most basic staples of life. I had seen the savings of a lifetime devoured by butchers and bakers in a matter of months. Volumnius-or rather his agents, for I never dealt with the man directly-saw my deposits dwindle to nothing, then offered to extend credit. What could I do but accept? I fell into the trap and learned what every debtor knows: a debt is like a baby, for it begins small but rapidly grows, and the bigger it gets, the louder it cries out to be fed.

Brooding in my garden, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I missed the jabbering of the chin-waggers down in the Forum. Opinionated old fools they might be, but at least their complaints took my mind off my own problems; and every now and then one of them actually said something intelligent. I missed reading the Daily Acts posted in the Forum, with the latest news of Caesar's movements, even if I knew that nothing in such notices was to be entirely trusted since they were dictated by the consul Isauricus. To be sure, Davus and Hieronymus still made forays down to the Forum and always bought back the latest gossip, but there was something stale and unnourishing about such third-hand information. I was a Roman citizen, and the public life of the Forum was part of the very fabric of my existence.

One afternoon I could no longer stand my idleness and isolation. Bethesda, Diana, and Davus had gone to the markets to spend my latest loan from Volumnius. Hieronymus was in my study perusing a very old volume of The Punic War by Naevius that Cicero had given me as a gift many years ago; it was the most valuable scroll I owned, and so far I had resisted selling it, since I couldn't hope to get anything approaching its true value. Bored and restless, on a whim I did something I had not done in a very long time. I left my house unaccompanied, taking not even Mopsus or Androcles with me.

Later I would question my motive for leaving the house alone that day. Did I not know, in some corner of my mind, exactly where my feet were taking me when I set out? I decided to avoid the Forum, so I crossed the Palatine Hill and descended on the east side, wandering past the Senian Baths, wending my way through increasingly narrower streets as I entered the neighborhood of the Subura.

If someone had asked me where I was headed, I couldn't have said. I was simply out for a walk, enjoying the weather, trying for a while to forget my troubles. Yet every step brought me closer. It was the barking of the Molossian mastiff chained beside the front door that startled me to my senses. I stopped and stared dumbly at the beast, then confronted the red-washed facade of the shabby tenement where Cassandra lived.

I stepped toward the doorway. The dog stopped barking. Did the beast recognize me? Did he remember that I had visited the building a month before, when I was carried in, unconscious, by Rupa, and then a little later was escorted out by him? The dog made no objection when I stepped through the doorway. He looked up at me and wagged his tail.

I was at once surrounded by a familiar mix of odors-boiled cabbage, urine, unwashed humanity. My memory was poorer than the mastiff's; I wasn't sure which doorway opened into Cassandra's room. Each doorway was covered by a ragged curtain to afford a degree of privacy. One of the curtains, a faded blue, looked vaguely familiar. I stood before it for a long moment, listening, but heard nothing from within. I might have called her name, but somehow I knew the room was empty. I lifted the curtain and stepped inside.

It was just as I recalled. The floor was packed earth. A high, narrow window afforded a view of the yellow building next door and a bit of sky; from nearby came the sound of clanging metal from the Street of Copper Pots. The only furnishings were a crudely made folding chair and a threadbare pallet strewn with equally threadbare pillows. A few thin coverlets were neatly folded on the pallet. Next to the coverlets was a curious object: a short baton made of leather. I picked it up. Imbedded in the surface I saw the impression of human teeth. If I were to give it a name, I would have called the thing a biting stick. I put it back where I had found it.

The walls were bare. There was no box or pouch for keeping coins or trinkets. There was not even a lamp to light the room at night. Cassandra had no need to fear leaving the room unattended. There was nothing here to steal.

I heard a noise and turned to see her standing in the doorway. She stared at me and let the curtain drop behind her.

Her hair was slightly damp. Her cheeks were red from scrubbing. I realized she must have just returned from a visit to the public baths. In Rome, even beggars can enjoy the luxury of a hot bath for the price of a few coins.

There was no surprise on her face. She looked almost as if she had been expecting me. Perhaps, I thought, she does possess some sort of second sight.

"Snooping?" she said. "There's not much to see. If you'd like, I can tie back the curtain to let in a bit more light."

"No, that won't be necessary." I stepped away from the pallet to the center of the room. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to snoop. Force of habit, I suppose."

"Did someone send you here?" She didn't sound angry, merely curious.

"No."

"Then why did you come?"

I don't know, I was about to say, but that would have been a lie. "I came to see you."

She nodded slowly. "In that case, I'll leave the curtain over the doorway. That will give us a little privacy. Most of the tenants are out of the building at this hour anyway, scavenging for something to eat." She crossed her arms. "Are you sure you weren't spying on me? Isn't that what people pay you to do? Isn't that why they call you the Finder?"

"I don't recall telling you that."