Talk:Monstrorum Misericordia

Monstrorum Misericordia

The Equestrian

As night fell over the city of Rome on this, the second day of September the citizenry of Rome mourned the death of its greatest leader Augustus. The imperator had died only a fortnight before and his body had been carried from the southern municipality of Nuvlana all the way to Rome. Along the way the body of Augustus was displayed to a grieving mass of citizens some hundred thousand of which had escorted the departed Augustus back to the capital for a state viewing and a public cremation. While the public mourned their hero's death with wine in the streets, the Senate squared off against the heir apparent Tiberius, and the equestrian families began selling their allegiances to whichever side would advance their position the most. The death of the man who had restored stability to Rome after its last civil war might well be the cause of another savage struggle for power among Rome's elite at a time when Rome was especially vulnerable to enemies both foreign and domestic.

With these issues in mind Junius Secundus Cato made his way down the dark and filthy alley that lay in the nameless warren of streets between the old Temple of Luna and the Temple of Diana in the lower Aventine. Regularly he glanced over his shoulder in concern over the possibility of being followed. A concern that had only grown since he had slipped out of his villa in the Piscina Publica, the low-lying district east of the Aventine Hill, and begun the long walk west along the Via Nova. That street was the lesser of two roads in Piscina Publica and was less often used after the fall of night.

Secundus had chosen the Via Nova for that very reason hoping to avoid prying eyes as he made his way towards the Porta Ardeatina, a secondary postern or lesser gate, that primarily served cart traffic during the day and which was often closed by night. The other larger gate, the Porta Appia, was highly fortified and heavily staffed by the fourth cohort of Vigiles and Secundus had no desire to be stopped at the greater gate that serviced the heavy traffic of the Via Appia, which paralleled the Via Nova, but whose width and wealth of business made it the most popular road for both wagons and pedestrians headed into the heart of Rome. Secundus being of the rank of equestrian, a knight, would be recognized by any of the seasoned watchman and recognition was what the aging knight most wanted to avoid this particular evening.

To aid in avoiding notice Secundus had dressed in the clothes of one of his man-servants and had left behind both his armor and bodyguards. At just over fifty years old Secundus was still fit for combat if not quite so spry. The gullies along either side of the sloping road that led up to the Porta Ardeatina were heavy with brush and a well known place for highwaymen to waylay the unwary or unprepared. Strangely, the old knight had seen no sign of bandits and had passed through the postern at the cost of only a modest bribe. Still he had felt an uneasy sense of being followed since passing through the Servian Walls and had taken special effort to throw off any pursuit rather than lead a tail to this evening's meeting.

Secundus' backward glance revealed the narrow entrance to the secluded alley that separated the backside of a butchers shop and cheese sellers on one side and a wine shop and brothel along the opposing wall. The alleyway was no wider than a man's outstretched arms, fifty paces deep and it formed a narrow canyon on both sides two stories high which only revealed a narrow strip of night sky if one cared to look up.

The old knight had only glanced upwards once to verify the absence of watchers, there had been none, rather he chose to concentrate on his footing instead as the floor of the passageway was slick with refuse. A narrow channel had been dug in the hard-packed earth of the lane which served to bleed away a steady rush of unidentifiable fluids to the sewer entrance in the crowded street beyond. A powerful melange wafted from the little ditch rank from a recently emptied chamber-pot, and strong with the stench of sour wine and curdled milk. Such squalid alleys were commonplace in Rome and occasioned no surprise for Secundus, rather what triggered his mild curiosity was the absence of both rats who were Rome's most abundant pest and the mangy cats who primarily fed upon them. But being of single-minded purpose the old knight dismissed such minutia as irrelevant to his mission this evening and made his way to the end of the lane where he knew the rear door to a brothel lay.

There a bloody glow from a ruby-tinted lampshade above revealed the outline of a iron-bound door in a shallow recess of the brick wall of the brothel appropriately named the Fortified Fornix. Opposite the ironclad door was another doorway that led into the butcher-shop and between the two doors lay a large pile of offal. Before the mound of fleshy remains sat a large black dog. So utterly still was the beast and so dark was it's coat that Secundus' eyes passed over it once without registering it before he did a double-take. Immediately the old knight realized the dog was not a run-of-the-mill mongrel so common to the streets of Rome, rather it was a noble looking beast, if sinister in coloration and demeanor.

Secundus was not sure what it was about the creature that left him uneasy. It was of course large, as large as a man if it were to stand on it's hind legs, but here it sat at ease upon its haunches with front legs splayed and it's tail curled about itself. Perhaps thought the old warrior, it was the ruby glow reflected so brightly from the dog's eyes that had chilled his blood and left him hypnotized with an uncharacteristic fascination. Being a rational man and something of a stoic philosopher, Secundus like his namesake Cato knew that the stories of hell-hounds and chthonian deities were the superstitions of the ignorant and had no place in the mind of a rational Roman. As the ebony beast had offered no hostility towards him the old knight turned his back on the creature and rapped upon the brothel door five times twice and then four more times. The numbers and combination signified the number fourteen, the number of Secundus' old legion and one that still harbored Tiberian loyalists from the time of the Pannonian War.

As the reverberations of Secundus' staccato strikes upon the armored door faded, the portal opened revealing a massive masculine form caparisoned in dirty leather armor and punctuated by a pair of cold dark eyes, a crown of filthy unkempt hair and a set of teeth like a broken comb. Secundus had barely offered the hand-sign of the goat and the password Capricorn when he was engulfed in a burly hug that stank of old sweat and stale wine. Secundus pushed the door guard away laughing and clasped forearms with the man.

Tullius was a Lombard who had also served in the Fourteenth Legion Gemina during the Pannonian War five years ago. Both men had nearly died during that fateful campaign and bonds forged in the heat of battle often superseded social station and in Tullius case, hygiene. Secundus was rudely pulled into a darkened hall and the door firmly shut and bolted behind him. The older man looked Tullius over as they conversed in hushed whispers. The Lombard had lost none of his prodigious strength, but had most certainly lost more teeth, still his old friend was better off than many of the companions they had each lost during the war, but he had obviously failed to rise further in the world and ranked as only a brothel-house door guard. This saddened Secundus, but had nothing to do with tonight's meeting.

From deeper in the brothel came the sounds of music, laughter and general merrymaking. The party at the Fortified Fornix was in full swing and the patrons were clearly unwilling to show Augustus his due by drinking and fornicating with some degree of respect for the honor of a fallen patriarch of Rome. This of kind lascivious behavior left Secundus disgusted with disapproval for it lacked self-discipline and seriousness for the dignity of the occasion. Tullius must have recognized Secundus' sour expression for he jabbed the old knight in the ribs and showed what was left of his teeth as he pointed deeper into the den of iniquity.

With humor turned all hard professionalism Tullius spoke in the harsh and guttural Latin of the Lombards:

"The Mother of the house waits for us Old man. There is no more time for chit chat."

And with that pronouncement Tullius led Secundus down the darkened hall towards a flight of wooden stairs guarded by a muscular young Sirian whom the old man had met, but whose name escaped him. A quizzical look towards Tullius triggered a response.

"Gabr. Also of the Fourteenth Gemina, good man, but after your time."

Secundus merely nodded. At their approach the young man saluted with fist-to-heart as Tullius gave him instructions to guard the backdoor and called one of the two men guarding the atrium where the girls and the customers socialized.

Secundus noted aloud: "Your discipline is not as lax as such a setting would imply Legionaire."

Tullius simply showed more missing teeth and led the way upstairs. The second floor consisted of a balconied walkway which surrounded the atrium and all along its rectangular length stood doorways whose interiors were screened from outside view by simple cloth hangings or beaded curtains. True doors would be a security risk in case a guest became rough with one of the whores and would impead the guards in ending any funny business.

As the two former soldiers walked towards the far end of the balcony, Secundus noted that before each occupied room stood a water-boy, the term wasn't very flattering, but it did describe the services rendered even as it diminished their importance. Such men, and all the water-boys were men, stood guard while patrons satisfied their baser urges with the whores and then provided a bucket of both warm and cold water with which to wash after their carnal exertions and a towel for drying. Absently the old man noted that nearly every door had a water-boy which merely meant business was booming and that they were a rough looking lot, but as the neighborhood was poor it followed those employed here would also be likewise.

Just then Secundus returned his full attention to what Tullius had been saying that Iovita, the house-madame or mother as such women were often called in Rome, had asked for the aid of the old knight personally, saying only that it was of the utmost importance to the security of Rome.

Tullius had led them to the last doorway on the second floor and Secundus noticed that it actually did have a wooden door and that it was guarded by a large blond warrior who held a Germanic long-sword blade unsheathed and pointed earthward. Tullius introduced the old man to the guard who only spoke broken Latin, but who looked fully capable of killing anyone who approached uninvited or unannounced. At a word from the Lombard, the Germanic guard stepped back and opened the door for them. As Secundus stepped through the open door he had no idea precisely what he had been summoned here to do, but that the summons came from such an important woman suggested a matter worthy of his attention.

The Beast

The black dog remained sitting in the filthy alley next to the pile of offal as if it were his master's throne. The beast unconsciously cocked his head and pricked up his ears as he strained to hear what was happening within the nearby whorehouse. The merrymaking had taken on a sentimental tone as the drunken songs being sung within bore more than a touch of nostalgia for comrades lost upon distant battlefields, and the din of men's voices raised for past triumphs and the hope of better days stirred the animal to rise from its resting place and pad with utmost silence to the fortified door.

The alleyway was empty of all but the beast, absent even were the pests of the night, and if there had been anyone else present they would have seen the canine adumbration cast upon the wall of the butcher's shop grow momentarily indistinct as it grew taller and more slender coming to resemble the shadow of a man. A young man, dark of hair and eye, too tall to be Roman and too fair by far. He was dressed all in shades of black, a sumptuous velvet tunic covered his pale flesh girded at the waist by a finely molded leather belt with matching sandals and a hooded cloak of good quality soft wool. The ensemble was completed by a dagger and scabbard beaded with jet.

The pale youth rapped upon the iron-shod door five times, then five more, and a final set of four distinct raps which fell away into silence. This time when the door opened it revealed the athletic form of a richly tanned man apparently only a few years older than the pale youth but clearly of foreign birth.

The Guardian

Gabr had made his way downstairs listening all the while to the drunken elegies of the soldiers and whores who filled the inner court. The guests this evening were obviously all men formerly of the legions, they struck Gabr as a dour lot, but their coin was just as welcome at the Fortified Fornix. Upon reaching the ground floor Gabr turned away from the sorrowful descant and the lights of the courtyard for the relative dimness of the outer hall that connected the kitchens with the whore's quarters. Directly between the two areas of the house lay the postern or back door in the rear wall of the house of assignation.

There he relieved another of the guards to seek the latrines and took up the night's vigil with only a barrel to sit upon, a bowl of tallow for illumination and a cup of Posca (a dilution of wine vinegar and water generally drunk by the poor of Rome) for his thirst.

Gabr was tired. He had been awakened at midday to prepare for tonight's meeting and as he sat his mind drifted. Gabr, a nickname, or Gever ben Ari was a Hellenized Jew from Siria whose family specialized in the spice trade. At an early age Gabr had come to the realization that he would likely spend the rest of his life as a spice trader in the third largest city in the empire - Antioch or he would have to break with family tradition.

Gabr chose the latter when he signed up with a legionary recruiter at the age of fifteen. Six years and two wars later, Gabr considered himself a Roman and a soldier before he thought of himself as a Jew or Syrian. And tonight he found himself caught up in some sort of conspiracy or so he reasoned, but for whom and for what? These were things he felt certain concerned his prospects for the future.

But his musings were interrupted by a rhythmic knocking at the postern door.

Immediately Gabr stood, as he did so, he also loosened the Roman short-sword at his waist and moved to open the door. The ruby-tinted lantern light barely cut the darkness of the fetid alley that ran behind the brothel. He barely registered the humid stinks wafting in for what was revealed in the lamp's bloody glow. A young man of seeming of Circassian origins dark of hair and pale of skin, athletic and well dressed if in the somberest color.

Gabr stood as if stricken, his mouth gone dry, unable to move or speak for the beauty of the Circassian youth whose deep dark eyes seemed pull at him. He wasn't aware of the passage of time or that he should be doing something as his eyes wandered from the perfect face to flesh pale and elegant like moonlight on marble. It was a cold beauty and eerie for the stillness of the figure, but it triggered a fire in Gabr's loins which was only quickened by the longing he saw in the stranger's eyes.

The Circassian spoke shattering the moment and left Gabr aware that the pale youth was just a a hands-breath from him, far too close were violence to erupt, and yet he wanted the young man close..."May I come in?"

Gabr jolted to awareness and felt heat rising to his cheeks at his slow response and obvious stare. "Of course...please do enter...and a thousand welcomes to the Fortified Fornix."

As the Circassian stepped across the threshold Gabr felt a sudden sense of apprehension.

"You have my sincerest thanks...Gabr. Of all those who reside now in this establishment your reward will be the greatest." the Circassian purred. His voice had an edge, mocking the young Syrian.

Suddenly Gabr didn't like the way the youth spoke and he clenched the hilt of his short sword hard enough to hear his knuckles crack. Something was wrong. Gabr now noticed that the postern door was closed. He couldn't recall if he had closed it or if it had been the stranger who had done so or even when that might have happened. As fear started to steal over Gabr, pressing him towards fight or flight the young Circassian smiled and looked him directly in the eyes and suddenly Gabr wanted to hear what the beautiful Circassian had to say.

"Gabr I am here looking for someone, but I am not entirely sure why he would come to this place." the Circassian murmured.

Gabr could barely contain himsel f waiting for the looming question that he now longed to answer. The man asked "Is there something special happening tonight in the Fortified Fornix?"

Gabr felt the sweat break out all over his body as he struggled to answer quickly enough. "There is a secret meeting taking place up on the second floor in the Mother's rooms between the old leadership of the Fourteenth Legion Gemina and several Tiberian loyalists!"

With the words finally uttered Gabr felt a kind of release not unlike that of ejaculation. The Circassian merely leered in a knowing way as if they two had just participated in some perverse and unspeakable pleasure that bound them together in dark camaraderie. "And do tell what is the occasion of this covert meeting?" he whispered knowingly.

Immediately Gabr felt that buildup of need to tell the pale youth everything he knew about the meeting. So much so that muscles throughout his body trembled from the exertion of his need to confess which was frustrated by his inability to come up with anything like an answer. In turn the Circassian suddenly looked exasperated.

As if speaking more to himself than to Gabr the beautiful boy asked a further question. "You don't know why they are having the secret meeting tonight do you?"

Gabr felt an explosive release of tension that would have left him on the floor if the Circassian hadn't been holding him up bodily. "No!"

His answer or something else elicited a chortle of amusement from the dark clad Circassian.

Death

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Porta_San_Sebastiano

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regio_XII_Piscina_Publica

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vigiles

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prostitution_in_ancient_Rome

https://www.historynet.com/espionage-in-ancient-rome.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Roman_legions#Early_Empire_legions

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