The Sign of the Eagle Page 13

  Moments later, as Macha, Bassus and the rest of the retinue began to disembark, Vasili, the Senator’s chief steward and freedman, met them at the dock. Behind the gaunt stoop-shouldered Greek, hovered an entourage of servants and a litter carried by six muscular slaves clad in copper colored tunics. When they had arrived in Ostia, Bassus sent a fast courier on ahead to notify his household and the Emperor of their impending arrival.

  As Macha followed Bassus and Appius down the gangway, Appius muttered, “What? No emissary from the Emperor to greet us?”

  “Emperor Vespasian knows how I hate to be greeted by perfumed senatorial officials,” Bassus replied as they stepped onto the wharf. “In this he and I are of like minds. He is a man of simple tastes and an old soldier at heart. He loathes formality.”

  “Greetings, Lord Bassus,” the Greek freedman said with a slight bow. Turning to Macha he added, “And to you, Lady Carataca.”

  “And you, Vasili, what news from the Emperor?” the Senator inquired.

  “His messenger said you are to report to the Emperor tomorrow morning.”

  “Very good, I look forward to seeing him once again.”

  Bassus motioned to Macha to ride in the adjoining litter as he and Pomponius Appius mounted awaiting horses at the head of the party. While she was being assisted into the awaiting palanquin, one of Bassus’ household slaves approached her.

  “Why Shafer, I didn’t know you were here,” Macha said.

  The elegant Moorish woman bowed as she stepped to Macha’s side. Physically strong, the tall ebony servant had once been an acrobat and despite being nearly thirty, still possessed a quick and nimble body. “I stayed with the other slaves behind Vasili as is my place, Mistress,” Shafer answered. “He said I am to be your personal slave while you are here in Rome.”

  “You are more of a friend than a slave.” Macha had known Shafer since she arrived in Bassus household eight years before.

  Shafer smiled. “Thank you, Mistress.” She had a reputation for being resourceful and trustworthy.

  Macha looked away from Shafer as the group passed through the entrance in the ancient Servian Wall and entered the city. Even after many visits to Rome, Macha still shook her head in awe as she scanned the city’s teeming crowds. Neither the villages of her childhood memories in Britannia, nor later as an adult in cities such as Mediolanum, did she remember people living in such cramped and squalid conditions. The retinue proceeded up a dismal narrow lane, surrounded by dark and ugly multistoried insulae, their thin sagging walls propped up by numerous support beams jutting into the street. Scattered among the wooden apartments were busy shops and drab industrial buildings. There was barely enough room to carry a litter through the crowded lane. Hordes of people jostled and darted around shop wares, blocking the street and sidewalks. Somewhere in the distance a cry of “Stop thief!” drifted unanswered.

  Macha noticed the countless aliens as they mingled with sharp-eyed Latins, who gestured incessantly as they bartered in open shops lining the streets. Everyone shouted to make a point. A hawk-nosed Arab in white robes argued vehemently about the price of Myrrh with a wizened gray-haired woman. Behind him, a glowering, red-bearded Dacian, dressed in a black wool tunic and trousers, pushed his way through the crowd.

  She shook her head. Nothing had changed since her last visit to Rome two years before. The city was noisy and dirty, but very much alive, something she enjoyed.

  Piled nearby on a sidewalk and in the street, rested sacks and crates full of vegetables, fish, poultry, and sausages from a cookshop. A foul smelling stream, reeking of rotting food and other filth, ran down the center of the lane. Macha pulled a handkerchief from within her stola and placed it to her nose and mouth.

  Dusty sweaty workmen stood or lounged, eating a late lunch and drinking wine. As a young slave guarded the smoking braziers, nearby, cooking chicken and peas, the laborers chatted with the proprietor. He continued to clean and chop a dozen fish, tossing the guts into the center of the street to join the rest of the garbage.

  “Mistress, Look out!” Shafer shouted. “To your left!”

  Jolted from her thoughts, Macha turned. For a split second she stared at a gaunt young man, dressed in a ragged tunic, who barreled between the litter bearers, leaped into the sedan, and landed on his knees next to her legs. His left eye was stitched closed with a white scar running from above the eye from right to left down the cheek. Terrified, Macha's body turned rigid. Mother Goddess, he's going to kill me!

  He snatched a small dagger from his tunic waist band. The sight of the weapon instantly brought Macha to her senses. She rolled to right as he slashed his weapon and barely missed her side. Slipping off the edge of the palanquin, Macha nearly fell to the street, but was caught by Shafer just before she struck the cobbled surface.

  The bandit turned and fled before the bearers and Bassus’ retainers could respond. He melted into the teeming crowd and disappeared.

  Bassus rushed to her side, the crowd scattering out of the way of his horse’s stomping hooves. “Are you all right, Macha?”

  “Yes, Senator,” Macha answered. Shaken, she gasped several times before continuing. “He gave me a terrible fright!”

  “Thank Castor and Pollux he missed. I’ll send my men to search the area immediately.”

  She quickly described the assassin and added that the upper right part of his mouth was sunken, a possible indication of missing teeth. Bassus dispatched ten of his twelve Praetorians, lead by Appius, to scour the surrounding area. Two soldiers stayed behind to protect her.

  “You won’t find him in this crowd, Senator,” Macha said. “He’s disappeared by now.”

  “Nonetheless, we will keep searching. I won’t let this pass without a concerted effort.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Shafer’s warning, I would be dead.”

  Shafer bowed.

  It was obvious someone didn’t want her in Rome, Macha thought. This was the second attempt on her life in less than a week. No doubt the news had spread, by the time she had arrived in Luna; the first assassination attempt had failed. A fast rider must have been dispatched to the conspirators in Rome who had planned another attack on her life. Again, she wondered if they were listed among the names or initials on her partial fragment hidden in the small travel bag she brought with her.

  Macha looked about and shuddered at the thought of this latest attempt on her life. “Why did only one assassin try to kill me, Senator?”

  “Easier to mingle with the crowd and quickly sneak through the escort,” he answered.

  “But what if he is captured?”

  “He’ll be interrogated. But as we know from the first attempt on your life, the assassin probably won’t know who hired him. If he is arrested he’ll be useless.”

  “Perhaps when Horse Arse is found we will learn who this was as well.”

  “We must find him first.”

  Chapter 17

  The Praetorian Camp

  After a near sleepless night, at Bassus's house, Macha left her bed cubicle. Still upset by the attempt on her life the day before, she wasn’t afraid to confide her thoughts to Shafer who came to escort her.

  “Don’t be afraid, Mistress,” Shafer said. “The Master has arranged for a heavy escort this morning. You will be well protected on your journey to the Praetorian Barracks.”

  “Thank you, Shafer. Mother Goddess, I do look forward to seeing my husband. It has been too long, and I miss him so much.” She shook her head. It seemed impossible to subdue the ache in her heart at the mention of his name. “Now that he has been accused of treason, I need to see him more than ever.”

  “I’m so sorry about your husband, Mistress,” Shafer said. “The word in the Master’s household is that he is an honorable man.”

  “He is, but I must prove it.” More than ten days had passed since she had seen Titus, but it seemed a lifetime since he had been in her arms. Although she was suffering through her monthly cycle, and could ignore the pains, sh
e couldn’t ignore the strong feelings for her husband.

  Dwelling on yesterday’s events, Macha barely noticed the court’s exquisite beauty as they passed through the atrium. Carved from green Spartan marble, four elegant columns upheld the roof around the wide impluvium. Bronze dolphins and ornamented sea horses shot great jets of water into the moon-colored marble fountain beneath the light well. The soft gurgling echoed throughout the spacious reception room. Elaborate frescoes, broken by heavy olivine and saffron drapes, framing the bedchamber-cubicle entries, covered the walls.

  Macha debated telling Titus about the attempts on her life. She wanted to be honest with him, but for certain he would forbid her to get involved in the investigation. Whatever his reaction might be, she would still search for the truth. But where to start? Shafer would assist her with any inquiries. Perhaps Macha could begin by contacting her good friend, Antonia, one of Rome’s Vestal Virgins who had influence and power. Responsible for the sacred flame and hearth of Rome, the Vestals maintained the Temple of Vesta, keeping a constant vigil on the eternal fire Romans believed that so long as it burned, Rome would survive. The Vestal Virgins were accountable only to the Emperor.

  Macha must make it a point to see her today or tomorrow at the latest. She checked the dagger hidden in her stola once again before being helped into the litter.

  Escorted by a retinue of slaves and a dozen heavily armed bodyguards, Macha left Bassus’ palatial house on Aventine Hill. They departed through black iron gates set in the high white-washed wall at the front of the two-storied mansion and descended Aventine Hill enroute to Castra Praetoria. Built outside the east city wall, the Praetorian camp sat along Vicus Patricus Street, an imposing monolith.

  * * * * *

  Nearly an hour later, Macha’s entourage entered the central gateway of the Praetorian Camp, passing through a massive wall built of brick and concrete and crowned with battlements. The fortress reminded her of her husband’s base outside of Mediolanum, but on a much smaller scale. Fine marble statues adorned the vast fortress entryway. Inside, a mass of office buildings and a small temple dedicated to Mars and the deified Emperors, Augustus and Claudius, rose in the center. The side walls of the enclosure were extended on the inside by enormous vaulting arches and dozens of barracks housing the members of the Guard. In the open area adjacent to the parade ground fountains gurgled and played. The sun sent a flying glory of light from the burnished armor of a cohort standing at attention during an inspection by its commanding tribune and centurions.

  The size of the fortress intimidated Macha. A person could be swallowed up within its towering walls and never be seen again. Would this happen to Titus?

  As she drew closer to the visitor’s courtyard, her body tightened. Upon being assisted out of the litter, Shafer peered at her quizzically. “Are you all right, Mistress? Your face is so white.”

  “I’m all right, Shafer, really,” Macha lied. “I’m just eager to see my husband.” This was true. “Wait here for me.” She went into Praetorian headquarters.

  Minutes later, Macha was escorted to Titus’ room by a burly guardsman who slammed the door behind her and waited outside. Sparsely furnished with one cot, a plain wooden table, and backless chair, Titus’s room was no different from the other junior officers’. At least it was clean. Facing the courtyard, the cubicle’s windows framing the upper part of the brown stone wall allowed ample sunlight.

  Titus bolted up from the straw cot. Macha ran to him and wrapped her arms about his neck. His firm hands grabbed Macha’s shoulders and pulled her to his chest. He slowly kissed her soft lips, smooth cheek, and then they tightly embraced.

  “Macha, by the gods, you’re here! I knew you would come.” He added in a hoarse voice, “But the wait seemed like ages.”

  Faint nausea roiled in Macha’s stomach followed by a weakening in the limbs, but it quickly passed. She drew back and studied Titus’ broad face before a gasp escaped her lips. “What happened to you? You’re so pale and gaunt.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “I’ve been seasick—I’m better now.”

  “The surgeon thinks I had a bout with food poisoning,” Titus said, “but can’t be sure. At least I’m still alive.”

  “Barely, by your looks.” Macha thought about Metrobius’ death by the same means. Could someone have attempted to murder Titus? Was it the same person? She warned Titus to be careful of what he ate and told him of Metrobius’ death.

  As if reading her thoughts, Titus exhaled and touched Macha’s soft cheek with his rough hand. “Thanks for the warning. I've been careful about what I ate.”

  Macha felt the warmth of his body through his tunic as she leaned against him. After being away from him for so long, it seemed a miracle of the gods they were together once again, even if for a little while.

  Quietly, they moved to the cot and sat side by side. Titus placed an arm around Macha’s back, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. A pleasurable shudder raced down her spine.

  Titus looked into her eyes. "Has Senator Bassus found a way to get me out of here?"

  "No, not yet." She sighed.

  "Damn!"

  Macha winced. His grip tightened on her shoulder.

  "I can't stay here caged like a lion. I must be freed so I can search for the real traitors." Titus loosened his grasp. "Sorry," he added.

  "Senator Bassus is doing everything he can to release you. He left his home earlier this morning to see the Emperor."

  Titus exhaled. "Good. Vespasian will listen to him. I'll get out of here, yet."

  They lapsed into silence for a moment before Macha told her husband of the hazardous journey from Genua to Luna. She described the bandit attack at which time Titus grew alarmed. Macha calmed him by explaining her group was rescued by the Praetorians and the confession by the deserter, Sergius Faunus, revealed that Crixus, known as Horse Arse, had planned the ambush. She also relayed the attempt on her life upon arriving in Rome.

  For a split second Titus’ hand tightened about her upper arm. “Thank Castor and Pollax you survived,” he said. “You took a great risk coming to Rome.”

  Macha shivered when she thought of the attacks.

  “You’re shaking, Macha,” Titus said. “This has affected you more than you want to admit.”

  Macha sighed. “You’re right, my love, but I had to. Your life is too important to me and little Titus.”

  “Not at the risk of losing yours.” He drew her closer, but she pushed away. Macha turned and took his hand into hers and softly kissed it.

  “Don’t be foolish, my love. If I hadn’t, we would have never known about Crixus’ involvement. But now he must be found and placed under arrest. Then we can learn who the plotters are.”

  “If he knows and confesses. No doubt those involved are among the nobility and command officers of the army.”

  Macha released Titus’s hand. “Surely the Emperor will listen, especially, if Crixus is arrested and confesses.”

  “Only if documentary evidence accompanies the confession. Anything else Vespasian regards as innuendoes and lies, especially, if the statements are made by a freedman of Crixus' questionable background. ”

  The only documentation Macha knew about were the parchment fragments she received from Edain. That wouldn’t be enough. There must be more information written down somewhere.

  “But what about confessions by slaves?” She asked.

  “He regards them with the same suspicion. People will say anything under torture. Besides, if members of the Senate or influential merchants are involved, then we are dealing with wealth and power and the influence it carries.”

  Something sank in Macha’s stomach. Softly stroking Titus’ hand, she thought the fates are against Titus. There has to be something I can do for him, she thought, but what? I didn’t journey to Rome with all the dangers to give up without a fight.

  “I know money buys power, but that much?” Macha asked. She gestured broadly with both han
ds.

  “The Empire is desperate for revenue and needs their financial support. The treasury is nearly empty. Vespasian is doing all he can to stabilize the economy and fill the treasury legally.”

  “Can’t he raise the taxes? As distasteful as that sounds, this is a time of great need.”

  “He can collect only so much, and unlike his predecessors, he refuses to fleece the people,” Titus said. “He’s depending on many of the wealthier merchants and nobility to contribute generously by making high bids on Imperial contracts and monopolies. He has to tread lightly until the coffers are filled.”

  “But what if the evidence reveals involvement by the aristocracy?” Macha asked. “Surely he’ll do something.”

  “Vespasian will, but the evidence must be ironclad.”

  It appeared to Macha that no one had attempted to find such information. She resolved to search for it on her own. No one else would.

  A loud rapping on the cell door jolted Macha and Titus.

  "Time's up!" bellowed the turnkey.

  They glanced to the door and looked at one another again.

  “I'll return soon, I promise," Macha said.

  Titus took her slim hands into his and softly kissed them. "I know."

  Macha pulled away, stood, squared her shoulders, and fled from his room, determined to do everything in her power to get Titus' release.

  Chapter 18

  Old Friends

  In the Praetorian visitor’s courtyard Macha sat on a hardwood bench waiting for Bassus. If it weren’t for Titus’ perilous situation, it would be a wonderful day to play the harp, like at home. She admired the yellow crown daisies, purple iris, and red spring roses being cultivated by barracks slaves. Swirling on a light breeze, their fragrances drifted through the garden.