“Why are you still standing there?” Ila snapped at her. “Didn’t you hear Mother? She doesn’t want you here anymore. I never wanted you here.”
Nicole looked at this woman, this stranger who was her own, if distant, kin. She saw nothing there that she could relate to. And from the look and sound of it, this wasn’t new hostility. It was much older than Nicole’s presence here, and than Nicole’s freeing of a slave. Umma hadn’t received any better treatment than Nicole was getting, nor ever had.
“Sweetheart, “ Nicole said for both of them, “the sooner I leave your sour face behind, the happier I’ll be. “
She’d guessed right about Ila: the woman could dish it out wholesale, but she couldn’t take it. The splutters were utterly gratifying. They followed her all the way out of the room and down the stairs.
And there stood the other half of the act, even less witty than his wife. “Good riddance,” he growled to the table leg that he was fitting to its table. Nicole started to flip him off, but she hadn’t ever seen the one-fingered peace sign here. She replaced it with the two-fingered gesture a muleteer had given an oxcart driver in front of the tavern a day or two before.
Flavius Probus staggered back as if she’d struck him a physical blow. “Don’t you put the evil eye on me,” he gasped. “Don’t you dare!”
He was white as a sheet. He really did believe she could do it. It wasn’t nice of her at all, and it might blow up in her face later as family quarrels had a way of doing, but she didn’t care. It felt good to scare the spit out of that pompous ass and his bitch of a wife.
She was smiling as she turned back toward the tavern. Brigomarus hadn’t followed. None of them had. Were they all that superstitious? Or were they just as glad to be shut of her as she was of them?
She walked slowly, with frequent glances about her. Ila and her husband lived in one of the mazes that made Carnuntum a warren between the main streets of its grid. Nicole had paid close attention to the route Brigomarus took once he left the grid, or thought she had. But when she should have been turning back onto one of those main streets for an easy walk home, she found herself in a twisting alley instead.
The alley was deserted except for a skinny young man in a threadbare tunic of no color in particular. He had a lump of charcoal in his hand, and was scribbling on a wall with it. At the sound of her step, he whipped about. His face was as thin as the rest of him, set with a pair of enormous eyes. They fixed on her, and held her rooted.
In Los Angeles, a meeting with a tagger could be dangerous. In Carnuntum…
The young man flung down the charcoal and bolted as if the whole nation of barbarians were on his tail. She’d never seen anybody run so fast.
He was scared right out of his wits. Nicole couldn’t imagine why. If the penalties for writing graffiti were that severe, surely there wouldn’t be any graffiti – and the walls of Carnuntum were covered with scribbles and scrawls and amateur art.
She moved closer to see what he’d written that was so dangerous. Iam the resurrection and the life, she read. He who believes in me, even if he should die, will live. Everyone who lives and believes in me shall not die, not ever. The simple Latin lacked the flavor of the English Bible she knew, but that text was unmistakable. Even if it hadn’t been, the young man had drawn a cross on one side of the passage and on the other a two-stroke fish like those she’d seen in gold plastic mounted on car bumpers.
Nicole frowned. The message seemed perfectly harmless – until she remembered what people in Carnuntum thought of Christians. That young man had taken his life in his hands to scribble the graffito. If she’d recognized him, if she’d raised a hue and cry here, or given his name to the town council…
If she’d done that, maybe fat Faustinianus, at some future beast show, would have announced the just and proper execution of So-and-So, convicted of the heinous crime of Christianity. Lions? It was always lions in the Sunday-school stories. From what she’d seen with Calidius Severus, bears or wolves would do as well.
She left the alleyway a little too quickly, as if someone could guess that she too, in the spirit, was born and raised a Christian. Foolish fear; a Christian in the world she came from was as solid a citizen as a pagan here.
Still, she was glad to leave that wall behind, and gladder yet to find that the alley opened onto a street, which opened onto one of the long, straight main avenues. That one, she recognized. She was deeply relieved to see no sign of the young Christian with the extraordinary turn of speed.
Titus Calidius Severus was in the tavern, eating walnuts, and now and then tossing bits of shell at Lucius, who thought it was great sport. He had a cup of wine in front of him, from which he’d clearly been sipping. “How’s your mother?” he and Julia asked in the same breath.
She’s not my mother! Nicole knew better than to say. She mustered a sigh, and an expression that, if not devastated, was at least grave. “She’s got it, no question. Maybe she’ll get better. Maybe – “ She shrugged.
Calidius Severus nodded in evident sympathy. “Don’t say it. That way you won’t have words of evil omen on your conscience if – “ He didn’t say it, either.
“Get me a cup of the one-as, would you, Julia?” Nicole sat at the table with the fuller and dyer. He set a hand on her shoulder, reassuringly, just for a moment, then let it drop. She was more comforted than she might have expected, and surprised, because she hadn’t expected to need comfort. When Julia brought the wine, she emptied half the cup in a long, dizzying swallow.
Her trouble wasn’t what they had to be thinking. She felt nothing for the loss of a mother she’d never known, who’d never been hers. Atpomara was a horrible old woman, rude and high-handed, with not a jot of compassion in her. Nicole hated her guts.
The wine didn’t dim the thing that bothered her. She couldn’t forget what Atpomara had said. She couldn’t make herself believe the woman had been out of her head from fever, either, however much she wanted to believe just that.
And there wasn’t a single person she could talk to, whom she trusted enough to share even part of her secret. Titus Calidius Severus would reckon her mad. Or, worse – he might believe her. He’d think her possessed by a demon. Who knew what he might do then? He was a reasonable man, as men went here. But in a situation that went beyond reason, he’d turn on her. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t.
In part to break the silence, in part to turn her mind aside from fretting to no useful purpose, she mentioned the Christian she’d surprised. It was stupid, maybe, but it did turn the conversation onto a new track.
“I’ve seen those scrawls,” Julia said. “I didn’t know what the words say, but I’ve seen the fish and the cross. There’ve been more of them lately than there used to be.”
“There have, haven’t there?” Titus Calidius Severus said. “I can read the words. Bunch of cursed nonsense, if you ask me. The Jews go on and on about only having one god, so how can that god have a son, especially a son who’s a crucified rebel? If you ask me, too many people don’t think these things through. Even the Jews can’t buy this one.”
Nicole had never considered herself religious; if anything, she’d been an agnostic. But this was not just the faith but the culture she’d been raised in, and here was this urine-reeking man with his hands dyed blue to the elbows, dissecting it as if it were just another crazy cult. The nerve he’d struck was almost as painful as the one in her sore tooth.
“If it’s all nonsense,” she asked him tightly, “why are there more Christian slogans on the walls these days? Doesn’t that sound as if more and more people are believing what the Christians say?” She knew it; she had eighteen hundred years of hindsight. Not one of which she could safely claim – but that, for the moment, was beside the point.