***
The afternoon sun cast a soporific lassitude over the garden. The first bees buzzed in the flowers. Adeodatus droned on in excellent Greek as Herodotus explained the customs of the Taurians.
Argolicus watched the old man read. The bruises were turning green and yellow, the cut on his head was just a red seam. Adeodatus looked up from the book and smiled first at Argolicus and then at Ebrimuth who was there to take the old man home after supper.
Down the hillside, a messenger rode up the hill. Argolicus was ready for the message but was anxious about the consequences. He had, as he’d promised Venantius, written to Cassiodorus. Cassiodorus would then present the situation to King Theodoric. The answer was from the King.
“A messenger,” Argolicus announced to the group. Adeodatus stopped reading and tensed. They all watched the messenger’s progress.
They waited in anticipatory silence until the doorman brought the messenger out. Argolicus accepted the message tube. When the messenger was gone he lifted off the top, reached in, pulled out the rolled vellum sheets, broke the seal, and unrolled two sheets.
The first sheet was a note to him from Cassiodorus, the King’s Secretary and Argolicus’ lifelong friend.
“Most Dearest Mus,” Argolicus began reading aloud. “Although the circumstances are peculiar and our most treasured King was not in the best of health…” Argolicus stopped reading aloud. “Ah, this is a note to me.” Everyone leaned forward as Argolicus quickly scanned the note.
One phrase stood out. Your friend Adeodatus will not be pleased.
He looked up and glanced at all of them: Nikolaos, Ebrimuth, Adeodatus. “We will read this together,” he said.
“The crimes of subjects are an occasion for manifesting the virtues of princes. You have addressed to us your petition, alleging that you were compelled by the Spectabilis Venantius, Governor of Lucania and Brutii, to confess yourself guilty of the rape of the maiden Valeriana.”
Everyone looked at him and nodded in agreement.
“Overcome, you say, by the severity of your imprisonment and the tortures inflicted upon you, and longing for death as a release from agony; being moreover refused the assistance of Advocates, while the utmost resources of rhetoric were at the disposal of your opponents, you confessed a crime which you had never committed.”
”Yes, yes,” murmured Adeodatus. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.
“Such is your statement. The Governor of Bruttii sends his relatio in opposition, saying that we must not give credence to a petitioner who is deceitfully seeking to upset a sentence which was given in the interests of public morality.”
“Public morality!” scoffed Argolicus. “I’m sorry, I shall continue.”
“Our decision is that we will by our clemency mitigate the severity of your punishment. From the date of this decree you shall be banished…”
“What, banished?” Adeodatus cried. “I’m too old for long journeys.”
“Let me finish, please, Adeodatus,” Argolicus grumbled.
“…And on your return no note of infamy of any kind shall be attached to you; since it is competent for the Prince to wipe off all the blots on a damaged reputation. Anyone who offends against this decree, by casting your old offence in your teeth, shall be fined three pounds of gold.”
“There is more, but it is just Cassiodorus closing.”
No one spoke. Adeodatus began to weep.
Ebrimuth got up, walked over to Adeodatus, and put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. Adeodatus immediately burst into loud sobs.
“Here, here, Adeodatus,” Ebrimuth consoled. “Come with me to Lombardi. I have some business with grape vines.”
Adeodatus stopped sobbing and looked up at Ebrimuth. “I don’t know what to say. I am confused. I must go lie down for a while.”
Nikolaos rose, took Adeadatus by the elbow and guided him inside.
“Ebrimuth, do you really have business in the north?” Argolicus asked.
“I do.” He stood up to leave then frowned. “It’s shameful, just shameful, to treat an honored man that way. I’ll go home now and get ready. I will pick him up tomorrow in the early morning. Don’t worry, I will take care of him.”
“Thank you, Ebrimuth. If it weren’t for you, he might still be languishing in that winery…or worse. Even so, Venantius has friends at court.”
Ebrimuth took his leave.
Argolicus was left alone in the afternoon sun. He looked out over the ocean sparkling blue in the distance. He saw the messenger start down the road after a meal in the kitchen. The fields on either side of the road were covered in Spring wildflowers. A slight breeze whispered in the trees.
“Politics.” Argolicus sighed.
Behind in near the barns a rooster crowed for no reason. Now Argolicus recognized the sound.
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The Peach Widow
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The Peach Widow
(Extract)
“Welcome, Your Illustrious Sublimity. Secundus Valerius. My mother will join us shortly. I’m so glad you are here.” His voice was moderate, but in no way obsequious. Argolicus decided he was a plain-spoken farmer who seemed to know basic protocol.
A slave hurried across the atrium from the back of the villa and whispered, just loud enough for Argolicus to hear, “Your mother waits in the atrium.”
Secundus waved his arm to a passageway, inviting Argolicus to follow. “This way. She waits in the garden.”
Nikolaos trailed behind as they made their way into the garden. And, amazingly the garden was cool. An old plane tree, filled with the broad leaves for which it was named, created a leafy covering which cooled the garden. A fountain splashed quietly, surrounded by sweet scented herbs. Several chairs were grouped by the tree’s vast trunk near a small table. The widow sat in one of the chairs gazing at the fountain.
“Mother,” Secundus said. “Your guest is here.”
She turned and smiled. It was a smile from long ago, a bit of a flirt, her chest out, her eyes widened, her teeth white and even. The smile of a coquette on a body much older.
“Livilla Valerius, your Sublimity,” she said, not dropping the smile. Her hair was dark with slight touches of grey at the temples, combed up and pinned in a fashion current in Rome when he left. She stretched out a plump arm and gestured to a chair. “I took my husband’s name when we married. Thank you for coming. I admire your mother greatly. She is wise.”
“She is,” Argolicus replied, taking her warm hand and then dropping it. “She tells me…”
“Yes, I talked to her. Secundus,” she said, turning to the son, “find Tatius. We will eat together in a while with our guest. ”
Nikolaos leaned against the trunk of the plane tree, his eyes focused on a middle distance, his tablet and stylus ready for notes. The widow Livilla did not look at him.
Secundus left and a slave brought a bowl of fruit and some light wine.
Livilla turned to Argolicus, posing with her head tilted above a shoulder, turned in his direction. “Amalina, your mother, she said you could help. I am grateful.”
“My mother gives me more credit than is due. I can’t promise that I can help. As you know, I have no official capacity. I can use my experience to make suggestions. Your husband, what happe
ned?”
“He was a good man. And so strong and vigorous. I just…the way he died. Like an old man. We were out here in the garden after dinner.”
“What do you mean ‘like an old man’?”
“We were sitting. Well, we weren’t exactly sitting.” She gave another coquettish smile. “All of a sudden, his heart. He felt sick. Then he clutched his chest. He kept saying, ‘I can’t stop it.’ He gasped for air. He doubled over.” She choked and gasped. She was wringing her hands. “Then he fell on the ground. I called for Tatius and Secundus, but he was already gone. I miss him every day. But that’s not the problem,” Livilla shook her head. “Now Tatius wants everything. He wants nothing to go to Secundus.” Her voice cracked. A tear glistened at the corner of her left eye. “I don’t understand. He was always a headstrong boy, but now…”
Argolicus was losing patience with her ramblings. No wonder his mother had such a difficult time explaining.
“Livilla Valerius, help me understand the situation. You have your dowry and your marriage deposit, yes?”
“Yes, yes. That’s not it. And I want to stay here. Secundus says…”
“And neither of the sons are yours? They were born to your husband’s first wife?”
“Yes, that’s true. But Secundus is like my own. He was only a small child, not even two years old, when I married. He thinks of me as his mother.”
“What about Tatius?”
“Tatius has changed.” She gave him another smile but it was only half as flirtatious as the first. He saw how once she had been beautiful, as his own Julia had been beautiful, petite with clear skin and flowing dark hair. But now,