I could hear their feet slapping the soft earth behind me, but they weren’t slapping it as hard as I was. Terror lent me the winged heels of Mercury and I had trained as a runner, as much as I disliked exercise. The men behind me were plodding peasants, unused to a fast sprint. Besides, I was wearing a good pair of boots where they were barefoot or sandaled. Still, I was sweating ice at the thought that I could easily take a fall on this uneven earth in the dim light of the low-hanging moon.
Then I was on the sunken lane and able to reach full speed. I could hear the men behind me still, but they were slowing. By the time I reached the paved road, I could not hear them at all. I went the rest of the way to the Via Aurelia at a steady lope and then I slowed to a walk. If the men were still behind me they would be awfully tired when they caught up. I wanted to get my breath back before I had to fight.
In the event, I made it into the city without further violence. This was a good thing, because I wasn’t feeling up to anything really epic. My cut palm throbbed where the gripping bar of my caestus had transmitted the impact of the weapon’s blows. I was covered with scratches and bruises and minor cuts and was horrendously fatigued.
As I walked I thought of the nightmarish scene I had just experienced. We regarded human sacrifice as uncivilized, and it was practiced by the state only in the most extraordinary circumstances. The casual use of humans, even worthless humans, as sacrificial animals we regarded as barbarous, a practice fit for Gauls and Carthaginians, but not for civilized people, but how long ago, I thought, had our Saturnalia offerings been genuine heads instead of “lights”? I thought of the thirty straw puppets we threw into the Tiber from the Sublician Bridge on the Ides of May. When had those been thirty war captives?
As I crossed the Forum I thought of the man and woman who had been buried alive there to consecrate its founding. Their bones were still down there somewhere.
These were the last coherent thoughts to pass through my mind that night. I have no memory of getting to my home, undressing, and falling into bed. The moon was still up as I crossed the Forum, and the eastern sky was fully dark. It had been one of the longest days of my life.
9
“HEY, DECIUS, WAKE UP!” IT was Hermes. I felt around for my dagger. It was time to murder the boy. Then I remembered what day it was. He barged into my bedroom, all joy and cheer.
“Io Saturnalia! How about some breakfast, Decius? Come on, get up!”
Creakily, aching in every joint, I lurched up and sat on the edge of my bed. The light hurt my eyes, and I buried my face on my cupped palms.
“Why didn’t I kill you yesterday when it was legal?” I groaned.
“Too late,” he said cheerily. “You can’t even execute a traitor on Saturnalia. Go fetch me something to eat.” Then he saw what I looked like. “What were you doing all night? You must have been in the roughest lupanar in town.” He inspected some of my more egregious wounds. “I’ll bet it was one of those places where the madam chains you to a post and the girls work you over with whips. You should try being a slave; then you could live like that all the time.”
I found my dagger and started for him, but he pointed at it with an odd expression and I held it up. There was brownish blood all over the blade.
“I hope you didn’t kill anyone inside the City,” he said.
I pondered the weapon. “I’ll have to wash this blood off or it’s going to rust the blade.”
“You can do that in the kitchen,” Hermes suggested. “While you’re there, find me something to eat.”
Wearily, I shuffled back toward the kitchen. From Cato and Cassandra’s room I heard the sound of snoring. At least I wouldn’t be fetching breakfast for them. I poured water from a jug into a basin and dipped my blade into it, scrubbing away the dry, flaky blood with a rough cloth and a sponge. When all the blood was gone, I inspected it. It was too late. The fine sheen of the Spanish steel was marred with tiny pits. Blood is the worst thing in the world for weapon steel. That is an oddity, when you think about it. I made a mental note to stop at a cutler’s and have it polished, when people were back at work again.
I poked around until I found some bread and cheese and a few dried figs. I was sure my slaves had stocked up for the holiday, but I had no idea where they stored the provender and was in no mood to institute a detailed search of the kitchen. I found Hermes in the courtyard seated at his ease in the chair I usually employed. I began to sit in the chair opposite him, but he waggled an admonitory finger at me.
“Ah-ah-ah. Not today, you don’t.”
I sat down anyway. “Don’t overdo it. We’re not supposed to remember how you behave on Saturnalia, but we do anyway.” I grabbed some of the food and started to eat. “My clients will be here soon. Did Cato and Cassandra make up their gifts?”