Amulet I Read online

AMULET I

  BY

  FRED NATH

  For

  Alex, Stuart & Andrew

  Copyright Fred Nath 2011

  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 vo
ice 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.