pendulous. In the dimness the white of her fleshwas almost luminous against the black fabric. She drew my hand toward her, and held both hands and dagger against the warm softness of her breast.
For a moment I thought, half-crazily,
This beats gutting a sacrificial pig any day!
Then she began to speak, in a rapid monotone, running her words together so that they were difficult to follow as her brilliant green eyes lost focus.
“You are a man who draws death like a lodestone draws iron. You are Pluto’s favorite, his hunting dog to chase down the guilty, a male harpy to rend the flesh of the damned and blight their days, as yours will be blighted.” She released my hand, almost throwing it back at me. As I fumbled the dagger back into its sheath, she contemplated the spiderweb of our mingled blood that nearly covered her breast, as if she read some significance in the pattern. A heavy drop gathered on the bulbous nub of her nipple, mine or hers, who could tell?
“All your life will be the death of what you love,” she said.
Unnerved as I seldom had been in my life, I scrambled to my feet. This was no mere fortune-telling
saga.
This was a genuine
striga.
“Woman, have you cast a spell on me?” I demanded, unashamed at my shaking voice.
“I have what I need. Good day to you, Senator.”
I fumbled beneath my toga, trying to extract some coins from my purse. Finally, I cast the whole thing before her. She did not pick it up, but looked at me with her mocking smile.
“Come back any time, Senator.”
I stumbled toward the curtain, but even as I grasped it she spoke.
“One more thing, Senator Metellus.”
I turned. “What is it, witch?”
“You will live for a long, long time. And you will wish that you had died young.”
I staggered out of the booth into a day that was no longer wholesome. All the long way home, passersby avoided me as one who carried some deadly contagion.
5
B Y MIDAFTERNOON I WAS OVER the worst of my fright and wondering what had happened. If, indeed, anything had happened at all. I was a little ashamed of myself, panicking like some bumpkin at the words of a peasant fortune-teller. And what had she said anyway? Just the sort of gibberish such frauds always used to dupe the credulous. Live a long, long time, would I? That was a safe enough prediction, since I certainly wouldn’t be able to confront her with it should it prove false.
Then I remembered the dense, choking fumes in the first tent. Surely the woman Bella had been burning hemp and thorn apple and poppy gum to soften up her victims. I had been under the influence of these vision-inducing drugs when I sought out Furia. Thus did I comfort myself and salve my wounded pride.
Hermes came in as I was bandaging my hand.
“What happened?”
“I cut myself shaving. What took you so long? Lucius Caesar’s house isn’t that far away.”
“I got lost.” A patent lie, but I chose to ignore it. “Anyway, Julia’s at home and she sends you this.” He held out a folded papyrus, which I took.
“Fetch me something to eat, then get my bath things together.” He went off to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later with a tray of bread and cheese. I munched on this dry fare, washed down with heavily watered wine, while I read Julia’s hastily scrawled letter.
Decius,
it began, without any of the usual greetings and preliminaries,
I rejoice to learn that you are in Rome, although this is not a good time for you to be in the city. I can only guess that your being here means trouble.
Ah, my Julia, always the romantic.
My father is with Octavius in Macedonia, but my grandmother is here, keeping close watch on me. I will find some pretext to meet with you soon. Stay out of trouble.
Thus ended Julia’s letter. Well, it had been written rather hurriedly. I remembered that there was a marriage tie between the Caesars and Caius Octavius. As I finished my frugal luncheon, I tried to unravel the connection. His wife was Atia, and now
For a moment I thought, half-crazily,
This beats gutting a sacrificial pig any day!
Then she began to speak, in a rapid monotone, running her words together so that they were difficult to follow as her brilliant green eyes lost focus.
“You are a man who draws death like a lodestone draws iron. You are Pluto’s favorite, his hunting dog to chase down the guilty, a male harpy to rend the flesh of the damned and blight their days, as yours will be blighted.” She released my hand, almost throwing it back at me. As I fumbled the dagger back into its sheath, she contemplated the spiderweb of our mingled blood that nearly covered her breast, as if she read some significance in the pattern. A heavy drop gathered on the bulbous nub of her nipple, mine or hers, who could tell?
“All your life will be the death of what you love,” she said.
Unnerved as I seldom had been in my life, I scrambled to my feet. This was no mere fortune-telling
saga.
This was a genuine
striga.
“Woman, have you cast a spell on me?” I demanded, unashamed at my shaking voice.
“I have what I need. Good day to you, Senator.”
I fumbled beneath my toga, trying to extract some coins from my purse. Finally, I cast the whole thing before her. She did not pick it up, but looked at me with her mocking smile.
“Come back any time, Senator.”
I stumbled toward the curtain, but even as I grasped it she spoke.
“One more thing, Senator Metellus.”
I turned. “What is it, witch?”
“You will live for a long, long time. And you will wish that you had died young.”
I staggered out of the booth into a day that was no longer wholesome. All the long way home, passersby avoided me as one who carried some deadly contagion.
5
B Y MIDAFTERNOON I WAS OVER the worst of my fright and wondering what had happened. If, indeed, anything had happened at all. I was a little ashamed of myself, panicking like some bumpkin at the words of a peasant fortune-teller. And what had she said anyway? Just the sort of gibberish such frauds always used to dupe the credulous. Live a long, long time, would I? That was a safe enough prediction, since I certainly wouldn’t be able to confront her with it should it prove false.
Then I remembered the dense, choking fumes in the first tent. Surely the woman Bella had been burning hemp and thorn apple and poppy gum to soften up her victims. I had been under the influence of these vision-inducing drugs when I sought out Furia. Thus did I comfort myself and salve my wounded pride.
Hermes came in as I was bandaging my hand.
“What happened?”
“I cut myself shaving. What took you so long? Lucius Caesar’s house isn’t that far away.”
“I got lost.” A patent lie, but I chose to ignore it. “Anyway, Julia’s at home and she sends you this.” He held out a folded papyrus, which I took.
“Fetch me something to eat, then get my bath things together.” He went off to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later with a tray of bread and cheese. I munched on this dry fare, washed down with heavily watered wine, while I read Julia’s hastily scrawled letter.
Decius,
it began, without any of the usual greetings and preliminaries,
I rejoice to learn that you are in Rome, although this is not a good time for you to be in the city. I can only guess that your being here means trouble.
Ah, my Julia, always the romantic.
My father is with Octavius in Macedonia, but my grandmother is here, keeping close watch on me. I will find some pretext to meet with you soon. Stay out of trouble.
Thus ended Julia’s letter. Well, it had been written rather hurriedly. I remembered that there was a marriage tie between the Caesars and Caius Octavius. As I finished my frugal luncheon, I tried to unravel the connection. His wife was Atia, and now
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