Free Roman Dusk by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

not seventeen.”
    “I did not want to appear overly familiar, not in front of a new household, as this is for me; they might misunderstand. Doma Ignatia,” he amended, thinking that the arbitrary severance from youth at twenty-one was often misleading, and never more than in cases like Ignatia’s.
    She nodded toward the broad corridor to the outer courtyard. “This must have been a splendid place before it was walled. You could see most of the grand villas on the hills, and the Tibrus.”
    “I suppose it was,” said Sanct-Franciscus, his memories of Olivia’s house welling in his mind; for more than a century it had been one of the most beautiful houses in the city: Olivia had transformed it over a century ago, during the reign of Traianus, when magnificent buildings were all the rage, when she had made her first return to Roma after her death and reawakening in her tomb near the Via Appia.
    Catching sight of Ignatia and Sanct-Franciscus approaching, Philius turned his pair around and brought the biga up to them. “They are ready to go,” he declared as he got into the biga, holding the reins lightly but firmly.
    Sanct-Franciscus helped Ignatia to climb into the open chariot, then got in behind her, setting his chest on the floor of the vehicle between his feet. “When you like,” he said, and signaled Holmdi to open the gate for them.
    The night was cool with a sharp wind out of the southwest stroking the seven hills; the full strength of summer was not yet upon them, and would not be for another two or three weeks, providing a pleasant prelude to the fury of July. The streets were fairly empty except near the gaming taverns and in the lupanar, where men continued to carouse through the dark hours. Due to riots at the Flavian Circus earlier in the day, uniformed Praetorians moved along the streets in small companies of four, ready to deal with any infractions of law or peace they came upon. For the most part the biga passed unnoticed and unchallenged, but near the Temple of Diana-the-Huntress, a trio of Praetorians signaled them to halt.
    “It’s late,” said their apparent leader. “Why are you abroad?”
    “This young woman summoned me to treat her mother, who is ailing,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “I have done so several times before, and I have brought medicaments with which to minister to her complaints.” He patted his case.
    “Is that a fact?” the Praetorian asked boldly. “Are you sure you aren’t making off with an heiress?”
    “If I were, why would her slave be driving, and why would I be going away from the house where I live?” Sanct-Franciscus asked pleasantly. “If you are truly concerned for her welfare, you may follow us to the Laelius house on the Via Decius Claudii.”
    “I know that place,” said another of the Praetorians. “Has a long porticus, octostyle, I recall.”
    “That it does,” said Sanct-Franciscus.
    “A fine old house, from the time of Traianus,” the first said.
    “My mother is in pain, good Praetorians,” said Ignatia suddenly.
    One of the men laughed in disbelief. “It is a late hour for such a visit.” He winked.
    “All the more reason to allow us to hurry,” said Sanct-Franciscus, ignoring the last implication. “The case is urgent, as the Doma says.”
    The leader of the trio motioned the other two aside. “Come. Let’s go see if Marutius is able to stand up yet.” He chuckled and reached out to slap the rump of the nearer horse. “I hope your treatment is successful, foreigner,” he called after the biga as it began to move.
    When they reached the end of the street and turned toward the Laelius’house, Ignatia spoke up abruptly. “Why did you let them say such things? How dared they? They suggested—I cannot think of it! I was mortified. As if I would pander for my mother!”
    “You have no reason to be troubled,” Sanct-Franciscus assured her. “Soldiers make a habit of such remarks; they are meaningless. By morning, they will be