II. Transporter Malfunction of the Month
Kirk materialized nine feet above the ground and came crashing down on a pushcart. The pushcart promptly collapsed. Kirk was too dazed at first to notice more than his aches, pains and ringing head. Then he became aware of three things: the pushcart had been full of fresh fish, he'd landed in the middle of a large and interested crowd, and the pushcart owner was having hysterics.
"Robber! Clumsy oaf! Wretched magician!" screamed the little peddler, his tunic flapping as he dance furiously around his crushed cart—and fish. "Why can't you damned sorcerers look where you're going? I'll have the law on you! I'll have your license revoked! I'll complain to the Imperator himself! Wretch! Robber! Slave!" He picked up a relatively undamaged fish and beat Kirk over the head with it.
Kirk didn't even try to fend off the blows. He just pressed his hands over his face and groaned. What a hell of a way to break the Prime Directive! was all he could think. Kyle's coordinates must have been incredibly off base. All around Kirk a huge crowd of people in long tunics and sandals were pointing, shouting, peering and laughing. …Laughing? He wondered, daring to raise his head and look. The peddler's impromptu weapon fell apart with a last squish and the exhausted little merchant subsided into panting barnyard curses and threats of lawsuits. Kirk barely noticed him. Where the hell am I? The people look different, sound different…different buildings… The transporter! What did it—? Where—?
A man wearing ancient Roman style armor, but carrying a bundle of sticks instead of a sword, stomped up and grabbed Kirk by one arm and hauled him partly to his feet. Kirk got up the rest of the way, shaking scales and fins and bits of fish out of his clothes. The soldier, or whatever he was, took a step back as he realized that Kirk stood a head taller than he did. In fact, Kirk was a good bit taller than everybody present. The crowd whooped and laughed some more. The little soldier hunched up his shoulders, put a mean look on his face and bellowed: "Awright, Magician; let's see your license!"
…'license?' "Uh, I don't have it with me. This was an accident, I swear."
"So it was an accident, was it?" the little soldier sneered. "Ho, I'm sure it was! We don't want to go around smashing pushcarts and disturbing the peace on purpose, now do we?"
"My pushcart!" the peddler sobbed. "And 20 weight of fish, smashed to ruin! He's wrecked my business! Deprived me of my livelihood! I have a wife and three children and—"
"True, true, true," the soldier purred, trying to grab Kirk by the collar and shake him. He wasn't very successful at it. Annoyed, he kicked Kirk in the shins, grabbed his cloak as far up as he could reach and brandished the bundle of sticks. "Smashing private property! Blocking a public thoroughfare! Disturbing the peace! And practicing magic without a license!" he trumpeted. "Off to court you go, Magician! I'll wager you'll have to pay your weight in sliver for that little 'accident.' Make way, people! Make way!"
Kirk groaned again, casting a last hopeless look around for the communicator and knowing he wouldn't find it. Sure enough, he didn't.
"Here, here, it's not as bad as all that," said a new voice. Kirk turned and saw a short, burly, middle-aged man standing in his path, grinning from ear to ear. "Publius there—" he jerked a thick thumb toward the sniveling pushcart owner. "—Lives next door to me, and I can tell you right down to the last sestertius what that pushcart was worth, fish and all. The fine won't be too high. Here, officer; stop hitting that man."
Astonishingly, Kirk's ill-tempered captor obeyed. "Uh, well certainly, Sergeant," he fumbled. "I just want to be sure that he doesn't get away… I mean, a big stout fellow like that and a magician…"
"Not a very good magician, obviously," said the 'Sergeant,' amiably taking Kirk's arm. "Tell you what, I'll come along to and make sure he doesn't escape. In fact, if you'll turn him over to my custody, I'll march him down to court myself. Will that satisfy you?"
"Oh, by all means. Uhm, I hereby deputize you to escort this- this person to court." The 'officer'—apparently some sort of local traffic cop—eagerly handed the 'Sergeant' one of his sticks and promptly disappeared into the crowd. The crowd, seeing that the fun was over, began to break up.
"He still remembers that I got him his job," the Sergeant laughed. "A little clout can be useful. What did you say your name was?"
"Kirk. James Kirk. Look I came here by accident, and I really didn't have any control over where I fell. I don't even know where I am! Do I have to, uh, go to jail? What's the law here? You said the fine wouldn't be too bad…"
"One thing at a time, D-Démas? Kir-Kirke? Like the legendary Greek sorceress who turned men into swine? It sounds Greek, anyway. You from Greece? No? Well, friend Démas, you were lucky enough to land in Rome itself, where the laws are not only fair and honest, but promptly applied. Thanks to the Imperator's reforms, you won't find a corrupt official anywhere in the city. I can't speak for all the towns in Italy, of course, much less of towns in the provinces, where the governors sometimes get lazy and let inspections slide, but here in Rome you can be assured of getting a fair and fast trial. In fact, with any luck, you may even get on the docket today."
"How nice…" Kirk shivered. "Tell me, uh, Sergeant—"
"No. I'm not a sergeant anymore. I'm just plain Gaius Equarius now. I work down at the racetrack."
"Uh, pleased to meet you, Gaius. Look, uh, this was an accident, as I said, and I don't have any money with me, and…uh, what happens if I can't pay the fine."
"Hmmm, that's not good…" Gaius scratched his chin as he steered Kirk through the people and pushcart crowded street. "I'd hate to see you sent to the slave block for such a piddling offense…"
The slave block!"
"There, there, calm yourself! It's very unlikely, sir, very unlikely…unless you get some judge with a really vicious temper… More likely, you'll just be ordered to work it off. Oh, that means they'd send you to work for Publius and I can think of far better masters…. Ha! I have it! I was going to hire another stable boy anyway. Look Démas, I'll offer to pay the fine for you, and then you got to work for me at the racetrack, see?
The pay's good, I won't dock you too much, and you'll be able to work off the debt in no time. How's that sound to you? Is it a deal?"
"Deal!" Kirk gasped in relief. "Whew! I can't thank you enough. Uhm, but I have some friends who'll be looking for me; when I can catch them, they'll be able to repay you right here. In fact, they're probably searching at the, uh, Temple of Rome Defended right now. Can we go by there on the way to court?"
"Certainly. It's only two streets out of our way, and there's no hurry. Is that where you were trying to go when you landed on Publius' pushcart? Hee! Hee! It must've been the will of the gods! Publius cheated on his defense taxes last year. Ho! Ho! How fitting!"
"Um, yes…" 'Will of the gods?' 'Imperator's reforms?' All these healthy, fearless people, dressed differently…no fear of 'magic;' it just has to be licensed… He speaks of the temple as if it were still standing… Was the transporter off in more than just…physical aim? He walked a little faster, as if trying to keep ahead of a growing, horrible suspicion.
"Here we are." Gaius Equarius led Kirk around a corner and into a wide street. "That's it, just ahead. Do you see your friends anywhere about?'
Kirk stopped dead. He clutched his hands together and began to shake. Beyond the passing crowd, the Temple of Rome Defended stood white and clean and perfectly intact. "No…" Kirk groaned softly. "Oh, no…"
"There, there, Démas. Don't take it so hard." Equarius patted his arm. "We'll com back after the trial and see if they've arrived by then." He led Kirk away, back toward their original course. "I'll pay the fine and your friends can repay me when we find them."
"We…might not find them right away…" Kirk trudged up the street, feeling as if his boots weighed a ton apiece. "Is that stable job still open?"
"Certainly. Have you ever handled horses before? You'll have to join the union, of course…"
Kirk nodded blank agreement as Equarius chatted on. …transporter…solar flare… he tried to understand, I've been thrown into an alternate universe! Through the mirror… Will Scotty, or Spock, realize what's happened to me? Will they guess it in time? Knaffbein stress…the ship will have to return to the present—its own time, soon, within a day or less… How long? How long can they afford to keep looking for me? I have to find some way to signal them, and fast!
"We're getting close to court," said Equarius. "Crowd's thick here. Mind you stay near me, Démas."
Kirk nodded and dutifully stayed close. Equarius was right; the crowd-pressure was amazing. People pressed elbow to elbow about the open market stalls—vendors selling everything from fresh vegetables to gold-work, fish mongers yelling their tradition leather-lunged abuse. Sharp-eyed customers considering and choosing and haggling, all of them shouting and waving their and gesturing articulately, like…like Italians. Kirk grinned at them fondly, even as he struggle to get through them. Equarius led the way like an experienced ice-breaker leading a cargo ship, past the shrilling vendors and buyers, through a ring of gossiping businessmen swapping hot tips and elaborate speculations, across the broad stairs where orators by the dozen harangued politely attentive audience, through colonnaded porches where solemn philosophers argued patiently with their followers. Kirk considered that a scholar could spend a lifetime studying just his one public square.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"The city Forum," Equarius replied. "Come on, this way."
Kirk noticed that the tightly packed crowd moved with a subtle orderliness, everybody keeping toward the right-hand lane going up the street, and to the left side coming down it. At the intersection stood another uniformed man—obviously a traffic cop—obviously directing traffic. Kirk smiled as he thought of how old this game was. The crowd noises became distinct fragment of conversation as he grew used to the sound, and the translator relayed them steadily into his ear.
"—so I says to her, 'Aemelia,' I says, 'Far be it from me to tell you how to handle you own husband, but if you want my advice—"
"—dare call that theatre? I've seen better tragedies scribbled on the notebook margins in my penmanship class—"
"—so I put 10 sesterces on the stupid nag, just like my stupid brother-in-law says, and I lost my tunic on the stupid race, and now my wife says: 'You stupid—"
"—but if my brother can get the job on the freighter, in two years we can make enough to move out to Praeneste—"
"—look it's a five-room flat and at those prices you can't beat it, even if the neighborhood isn't exactly the Palatine, and—"
"—all right, so I break my back to get the kid a good education, so who's asking for gratitude? But I expect maybe a little respect after all the sacrifices we make for him. So what does the brat do? Calls me an old fogey, right in front of his mother and aunt, and I'm supposed to put up with—"
"—20 sesterces for this dress, and I swear I'll just die if Lucius doesn't notice—"
"—Senator Cornelius is a horse's ass, and I don't care who—"
"—such a bargain—"
"—get a job—"
Kirk felt his sense of space and time slipping. This wasn't at all like the dying city he'd last seen, and not at all like the ancient Rome that he had studied back in his Starfleet Academy history courses. It was more like one of the modern cities on any of a dozen Federation worlds, save for the lack of vehicles. Too clean, too healthy, too well-made…and too late in time, he decided. Alien time-line, where Rome was a very different kind of place. How to get word to Spock? Even if he realizes what's happened to me, how will he find me among all these people? How can I let them know where I am? How…?
"Here's the courthouse," said Equarius, pointing to an imposing white building with the look of civic responsibility all over it. "Eh, you can't go into court with your clothes stinking of fish! Here, let's go around to the back, and I'll explain to the clerk, and then we'll find the nearest bath and drycleaner's.
"Drycleaner's…?" Kirk surreptitiously checked his translator. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it.
"Sure… Or do you call them 'fullers?" You know, folk who clean woolen cloth by rubbing it with fullers' earth. That sort of thing."
"Oh. Of course." What kind of ancient Rome is this? Technology higher than in my timeline. How?
Equarius led him through an unassuming back door, down one corridor after another, finally into an office crowded with shelves full of scrolls and tablets and desks full of scribbling clerks. Equarius marched boldly up to the main desk, and a somewhat harried looking balding man behind it, and heartily clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Sponsorius," he said, "How's the world treating you today?"
The clerk flinched, looked up, turned purple, and finally sputtered: "I don't have the money! On my mother's honor, I don't! Look, my daughter's getting married, and you know what a decent wedding feast costs these days, not to mention the dowry, and you know my wife's very tight with the household budget, I haven't been able to sneak a sestertius past her, and— and— For the love of the gods, Gaius, I can't let her know I've been losing money on the horse races! She'd skin me alive! And if the under-clerks found out, I'd never hear the last of it… Look Gaius, I get paid next Ides—with a bonus. Can't you wait—"
"Wait?" purred Equarius, clearly enjoying this. "Oh, I can wait, old friend, but this friend of mine can't." He pointed, with a flourish, toward Kirk. Sponsorius, taking his first good look at Kirk, grew very round-eyed and gave a little squeak of dismay. Kirk could imagine how he must look—not to mention smell—towering over the little clerk's desk in his long, hooded cloak with its ominous and reeking stains. "His name is Démas Kirke," Equarius went on smoothly, "and he's the defendant in a small claims case. He's in something of a hurry. Do you think you could squeeze him onto the docket for today?"
"Oh! Oh, certainly, absolutely!" The fat little clerk fairly gibbered with relief, pulling out a scroll and scrawling on it with a wood-reed pen. "Ah, you're in luck! There's room in…Heh! Chamber 4, Judge Softie's court! His docket always moves fast, as one could guess. Yes, he'll have room at about the fourth hour. Er. Would that be convenient, Citizen…Kirke?" The reed pen slipped in his stubby fingers as he filled out the information in the blank part of the scroll. Equarius reeled off the data, giving his address for Kirk's (He's visiting with me at present."), stable hand as Kirk's occupation (with a sidelong wink), and the name of the plaintiff with considerable satisfaction. Sponsorius gave Kirk a perfectly horrified look when he heard the nature of the offenses—disturbing the peace, smashing a pushcart, practicing magic without a license—and Kirk managed to look properly ominous while suppressing a smile. Equarius departed with a last comment of: "Ides of the month, then. I'll see you at the baths after work." Sponsorius was wonderfully relieved to see them go.
Equarius was guffawing openly as he led Kirk back out into the street. "Ho! Ho! Eh, Démas, excuse my use of you to, er, prompt Sponsorius about his six-month overdue debt, but I just couldn't resist, you being such a great tall fellow… Heh! The look on his face! Well, it also improved your chances considerably. 'To kill two birds with one stone,' as they say… Judge Softie, is it! One couldn't ask for better lock. Now let's find the nearest fuller and bath."
"Uhm, Gaius, it isn't that I don't trust you, or anything like that, but, uh, I have some…er, magical gear with me, and I- I'm under oath not to let it fall into the hands of of- of uninitiated people, and… Well, I think, I'd better keep my clothes with me."
"Ah, I see you've heard about the little problem we've been having at the baths lately—young rascals running off with people's clothes while they're bathing. How disrespectful the young are these days! But don't you worry, Démas; I know which bath attendants are honest fellows, and I've a good bit of cash with me, so I'll hire someone to watch our gear and someone else to run you clothes to the cleaner. Ah, here we are…" Equarius led Kirk up the stairs of a huge public building, from which came the sounds of a large crowd and an undercurrent of splashing. "The Baths of Agrippa, largest and most extensive in the city. Also the cheapest." The little Roman waved one hand in a grand oratorical gesture, as pleased as if he owned the building himself. "Surely you've heard of the Agrippa: the Imperator's best friend and one of Rome's greatest generals. Couldn't have won the war without Agrippa, everyone says. He was a great one for public buildings, too, and a great defender of the labor unions. It was a terrible loss for Rome when he died, but he left us many a fitting monument."
'Labor unions?' Kirk gave his translator another quick check. Alien universe, all right. 'Agrippa?' I seem to remember the name…from one of my Military History courses, I think... He dutifully followed Equarius through a huge vestibule of artfully-tiled floors, walls and ceilings painted in remarkably realistic style, and larger-than-life statues that were painted in the same realistic fashion. Two archways led inward, and Kirk noticed that the women in the crowd went through one of them and the men through the other. That didn't fit with what Kirk knew of ancient Rome, either. In my universe, the Roman baths were famous for all sorts of immoral goings-on. Whee: lovers assignation! Naked lusts! Underwater orgies! …Underwater orgies? How do you do it underwater without drowning? This I have to see! …in the interests of science of course… He followed Equarius into the dressing-room, ready for just about anything, including a wall-to-wall orgy on the floor.
Consequently, he was startled to find nothing going on in the dressing room but a lot of Romans dressing and undressing, and several bath attendants playing dice while keeping an eye on the clothes. Equarius waved him toward an unoccupied clothes hook and went off to haggle with a couple of the attendants. Kirk gingerly took off his cloak, a bit nervous about all this casual nudity in public. Then he noticed the other Romans ogling his odd clothes, and undressed in a hurry. He put his tricorder and gear-laden belt on the hook, hid them beneath his socks and underwear, and shoved his boots against the wall below. When Equarius came trotting up with an attendant in tow, Kirk handed over his fishy smelling cloak, trousers and shirt without comment. The attendant looked at Kirk, looked at the clothes, wrinkled his nose and padded off muttering something about 'outlandish barbarian fashions.' Kirk covertly examined his translator, making sure that it wasn't conspicuous.
Equarius stripped off his clothes, hung them on the next hook, paused to shake his head ruefully at his slightly potty belly and gave Kirk an admiring glance. "Heh, you're in pretty good shape for a magician," he commented, giving Kirk a playful thwack on the stomach that made him blush. "Look at me—an old soldier, and already going to fat. Ah, times! Ah, manners! The wife's right; I ought to get more proper exercise. Gods know, if I don't pleasure her rightly, she just might up and divorce me. Come on, let's go wash." He ambled off, nonchalantly naked, toward another tall archway. Kirk walked after him, trying to look calm and cool, reminding himself that if he blushed again it would show all over, and impatient to see the infamous baths in full swing.
In point of fact, the Roman baths were full of an awful lot of citizens doing nothing more exciting that taking baths. There was a hot-water pool (crowded), a warm-water pool (more crowded), a cold-water pool (still more crowded) and a steam room (not too crowded, fortunately), and Equarius led him through all of them. Kirk was especially intrigued by the steam room: the steam was piped up through vents in the floor, and they had to wear wooden beach clogs to protect their feet. Equarius found two seats together on the wooden bench that ran around the walls, between a woefully fat citizen who was grumbling to his neighbor about how hard it was to lose weight, and a towel wrapped nonentity who was grumbling to his neighbor about his mother-in-law's nagging that was driving him so crazy that he spent as much time as possible hiding in the steam room. Kirk wished he could have brought in the tricorder to record some of the comments.
Both men recognized Equarius and hailed him. "Hey, horse trainer," said the fat man, "what's the news at the track? Any tips on tomorrow's races?"
"Now, now, Inflatus, you know I work for the Blue Team," Equarius replied, shifting around on the bench until he found a comfortable position. "It wouldn't do to be disloyal to my team. But if you really want to know, I must admit that the Greens have just gotten a fine set of matched grays from Iberia. If the owners have the sense to let Fulgurus drive those lovelies, they'll be cursed hard to beat."
"Thanks for the good words. Who's your big friend?"
"Démas Kirke, my new stable hand. Démas, meet Inflatus and Subditus, more friends of mine."
Kirk murmured polite greetings. The towel wrapped Subditus gave him an admiring look. "Eh, Démas, you're big enough to toss Gaius' horses around; damn near big enough o intimidate my mother-in-law. Greek name, too… Ah, you're Macedonian. Right?"
"Ah, not exactly. I'm from a little further away."
"Not from Thrace, are you?" Subditus edge away from him on the bench.
"…Thrace? Er, no…" Think! Where did my 'way-back ancestors come from? "Actually, my relatives came from Ireland. Some of them, anyway…"
"Of course! From your size, I should have guessed." Inflatus grinned and slapped his knees. "I was sure I'd seen faces like yours before, years ago, when I was a poor traveling merchant… Ah, wild Hibernia, beyond the furthest border… But where did you get the Greek name?"
"Hah, don't you know that Greek merchants have been dealing up there since before Carthage fell?" said Equarius. "Now my guess is that Démas is from a merchant family? Anyone want to take bets?"
"That's a pretty good guess," Kirk admitted, grateful for the neat cover story they were inadvertently giving him. "Actually, I'm a ship's captain, ranging in the…outer sea."
"Oh, that explains everything." Subditus chortled. "I hear it's pretty wild country along those coasts. Is this your first visit to the big city? I'll bet you don't see baths this good out there."
"True," Kirk grinned. "This is the first decent hot-water bath I've had in a long time." Sonic showers just aren't the same thing.
"Oho! Well, enjoy yourself, Démas. There are worse places to hide from your mother-in-law, I can tell you." Subditus stretched his hands gratefully into a soft jet of steam. "Mmmm. I truly pity folk who don't have good baths. How on Earth can they take decent care of their health?"
"From my experience, they don't." Inflatus shook his head in remembered amazement. "When I was out in the Eastern provinces, I saw some incredible things: whole cities where you couldn't find a single man, woman or child in good health! Just looking at the condition of the people is enough to make you sick. Of course, they've never had public baths, or clean water, or sewers, or toilets, or any kind sort of plumbing. In fact, if you try to bring in such innovations, they shy away from them as if decent sanitation were the work of some evil god."
Subditus guffawed.
"Don't laugh," Equarius put in. "I know what he means. I recently saw a bunch of them—visitors to the city, some trade delegation or other—they sent a message to the Senate, claiming that the public baths were—hear this—'dangerous to the moral health!' I saw it, and I swear it's true."
"Could it have been a joke?" Subditus clearly did have trouble believing it. "What could they possibly have meant by that?"
"Orgies, maybe?" Kirk couldn't help asking. Just one little orgy.
"Orgies?" Equarius scratched his head. "I've never heard of anyone performing the Dionysian Rites in a public bath! The Rites of Bacchus, maybe… I recall that several months ago a handful of drinkers from an overly long party stumble into one of the smaller bathhouses in hopes of sobering up, and one them got a cramp and nearly drowned… But that's all I can think of that remotely resembles a god-frenzied celebration in a bath. Then again, you know how rumors fly. Could that be what those easterners were complaining about?
Kirk gave his translator a suspicious look.
"No, no…" Inflatus frowned. "I've heard complaints like that before. Some of those people really believe that soaking up warm water and taking care of one's health lead to 'a vain preoccupation with the flesh' and a turning away from the 'humility and asceticism which is man's proper direction.' They can go on about it at great length, often ending with a thundering chorus of 'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity!' Truly amazing nonsense."
Kirk felt a chill in his bones hat note even the steam could touch. "I…seem to have heard those words before," he murmured. …A universe away. Here, it hasn't spread to Rome…yet.
"I don't doubt it," grumbled Inflatus. "That's a popular theme with a lot of weird eastern religious cults. Now, I'll be the first to admit that a little humility and asceticism are good for one: decent self-discipline, and all that—"
"Oh, indeed," said Equarius, pointedly eyeing Inflatus's potbelly.
"—But any sensible person would say 'Nothing in excess' about humility and asceticism too. Become too much of an ascetic, and you'll starve to death. Don't laugh; I've seen it happen. As for humility, believe me, that can become a form of vanity in itself. I once saw a case, out in the eastern provinces again, where they don't seem to know the meaning of the word 'moderation,' of a character who called himself a holy man, if you please, and… Uh, no. Really, that's too disgusting a story."
"Oh, go on, Inflatus; you've just gotten us interested."
"Very well, but I hope you have strong stomachs. This man spent 20 years—20 years, mind you!—going about in the same ragged sheepskin, never bathing, sleeping in ditches, eating only what he could beg or pick from garbage heaps, and preaching to anyone who would listen—or who could stand to get near him, for that matter—about how fine and holy it was to live as he did. He gained some small following in Syria, which tells you something about the state of philosophy in that place. He was well on his way to becoming a national health problem when his demanding humility—or inverse vanity, as I call it—led him one step too far for his followers. Ah, Démas, are you familiar with a disease known as leprosy?'
"I've heard of it." Kirk shuddered.
"From your look I see that you have. Well, this so-called holy man made a point of chasing after the poor victims of leprosy, and—would you believe?—kissing the wounds! That was too much, even for the most benighted of his flock. They treated him like a leper thereafter, quite sensibly. Surely enough, he eventually died—of leprosy."
The others made assorted noises of disgust. Kirk bent nearly double, fighting down not only his stomach but a host of ugly memories and uglier speculations. That other Rome…little side-notes in the history texts…the sickly parade….gaggles of vision-crazed sadist and masochists. Holy hysterics! They haven't gotten far yet, here, but they're on the road…they're creeping up on your clean, healthy, prosperous city…Where in the hell do they come from? What drives them to such horrors? …and in such numbers?
"Oh, now look what you done!" Equarius complained, peering worriedly at Kirk. "You've made poor Démas ill with that story. You should have known; coming from Hibernia, he couldn't have expected anything like that."
"I'm sorry, honestly." Inflatus really did sound contrite. "But I warned you, remember…"
"No, no, you don't understand!" Kirk insisted, pulling himself back upright. "I have seen horrors like that! I thought they were rarities, oddities… I didn't know there were so many of them, no before— I didn't know they were here—in this—in Rome. I didn't know what ideas drove them… I thought it was simple insanity or special conditions…"
"Huh, that's just the trouble," Inflatus grumbled. "It isn't simple madness; it seems to be some form of mass lunacy, and catching. A contagious form of mental disease… Hmmm..."
"Contagious!" Subditus hitched his towels closer around him and looked nervous. "What are the symptoms?"
"Ah, as near as I can recall, the first symptom is an obsessive concern with 'the next world'—which is what they call life after death, or the realm of the spirits, or some damn thing like that. Then there's a growing and corresponding neglect of this world—that is, the one people live in. This neglect, of course, makes it much easier for one's home and surroundings to deteriorate; the afflicted let their houses and cities turn into pigsties, don't remove their garbage, don't wash, let their roofs develop holes and their local governments get corrupt, and so on. I recall a case of a whole town in Judea—"
"Hold; what of those fools marching into the Senate House with their complaints about the baths?" Equarius cut in. "They certainly weren't ignoring the government."
"Oh, that happens too. Such folk often make ferocious—even impossible—demands of the local government. They don't want anything practical, mind you: tax-reassessment or equitable land distribution or public works projects for the unemployed—no, nothing like that. They always want, if you please, some sort of moral position backed up by law. 'Close the wine shops!' the say, or 'close the baths!' or 'expel all philosophers!' or 'close all the schools'—save those which teach only their pet philosophies. 'Close the libraries,' they say—or else burn all books whose philosophy conflict with theirs. 'Shut down the games,' 'close the gymnasia,' 'shut down the theaters, and the music halls, and the art galleries.' Ah, it's clear what their wishes are; they want to do away with anything that makes folk happy, healthy, wealthy or wise! Why? Hah! Because only sick, poor, miserable fools would ever flock to their banner or swell their ranks! No, don't laugh; I've seen it happen. Yes, to gain converts and power they'll deign to involve themselves in civic life. Faugh! Better they stayed home."
"Back to the point. What comes next?"
"Well, of course, deterioration of the surroundings, decay of civic life, makes such folk even more contemptuous of this life and more concerned with the next one. They take that for proof that they were right all along and you cannot convince them otherwise. It's a deadly cycle, much like a whirlpool." Inflatus rubbed his hands, as if washing them in the stream. "Now in this part of the world, when someone reaches that stage of preoccupation he usually recognizes that he's ill—or at the very least, his relatives recognize it for him—and off he goes for a rest at one of the temples of Asculapius. They have a good rate of cure, I've heard. In less civilized parts, however, credulous folk believe that madness indicates the presence of a god, so the sick man is encouraged in his sickness—even imitated in it—until he dies of some filth borne disease or other effect of worldly neglect, like the leprous holy man."
"Yes," Equarius considered, "I think I have seen a case or two like that. The poor wretches had gotten to the state of ferocious hatred for the annoying physical world, a passionate contempt for the body and its needs… Hmm, that's what it was with poor old Gurges. His wife had him dragged off to the Asculpians after he tried to whip himself to death for, so he said, 'unclean lusts.' It turned out that his offense was nothing worse than admiring the famous whore, Fundusaltia. That's harmless enough, but he'd cut up most of his skin atoning for it by the time the Lictors got to him. Tragic case. Tragic."
"Disgusting, I call it." Inflatus glowered. "I know, one should be tolerant of poor madmen, but I confess that I can feel nothing but disgust for creatures like these. Perhaps I've seen too many of them; it begins to grate on the sensibilities after awhile. I mean, not only is such madness of a loathsome sort, but their hypocrisy is so terrible! In the name of self-denial, the take delight in torturing themselves—and others—for their 'own good.' In the name of humility, they pride themselves on crawling lower than any beast. Ugh! Vile folk!"
"Hold there," Subditus spoke up. "I recall the famous case of Claudianus Fundus. You remember, he started the same way but went mad in a different direction. He because so obsessed with dirt that he hardly ever left the bath, insisted on having his clothes boiled before he would wear them, and would eat nothing but steamed turnips for fear of 'contamination,' he said. Needless to add, he ceased to embrace his wife as well. She had him taken off to the Asculpians after he nearly drowned from falling asleep in the bath. Is this a variant of the same madness?"
"Oh, indeed!' snorted Inflatus. "I dined with his son-in-law recently, and he told me what the priests learned. Fundus' obsessive scrubbing was rooted in the same sort of mania; disgust and hated for the physical being. The only difference between him and filthy holy man was that Fundus fought 'the filth of this world' while the holy leper rolled in it to prove his ability to rise above it. Perhaps that's why Fundus was eventually cured, and the other simply died. They both despised the physical world, the body, life itself. Ah, call me cruel if you will, but I sometimes feel that the best way to deal with such creatures is to send them speedily into that Next World that they adore so greatly."
"Throw them to the lions?" Kirk gulped. Is that how it started?
"Hah! What self-respecting lion would eat such?" Inflatus laughed. "Lions don't eat man-flesh unless they're starving, and a lion starved enough to eat something that smells that bad—and some of these 'holy madmen' really stink let me tell you—why, the lion would be so weak that a child could escape it, or an old man knock it down with his fist."
"Ho! Ho! You've been hanging around more than my racetrack, I see," Equarius chortled. "Learned a thing or two about lions, eh? How much do they eat per day?"
"Enough to run Ostentus into debt! If he doesn't get a good animal trainer soon, and put on a good show for the autumn crowd, he'll have to sell out. Now if Agrestus was still around there'd be no problem; he could get the big cats to jump through flaming hoops! Unfortunately, a jealous husband put him in the temple of Asculapius for a good long stay…"
The talk fibbled off into sports gossip, and Kirk leaned against the warm wall, letting it all run past him. He wanted to forget about the earlier conversation and just drowse in the steady heat. He knew he should be racking his brains for some way to tell Spock where he was. He wondered how he was going to deal with this upcoming court case. He had no answers for any of a dozen questions and his brain felt tired.
After a while Equarius shook him awake. "Come, Démas; it's almost the fourth hour, and we have yet to dress. There's not even time for a descent massage before we go. My fault: I wasn't watching the time."
Kirk obediently followed him into the drying room, where he discovered that Romans dried off with scrapers, not towels, and then rubbed their skins with olive oil. Then they went back to the dressing room, where they found the attendants marveling over Kirk's recently returned clothes. One of the men apparently had interests in the clothing business, and he pestered Kirk for information about the marvelous material of his shirt. Kirk made assorted excuses and got out of there fast.
Fifteen minutes later, Kirk and Equarius stood in small claims court and were called to the bench. An official read off the charges and the tearful Publius elaborated on them, and the judge looked sympathetic. Worried, Kirk studied the judge, wondering just how good his chances were.
Jude Softie didn't look very formidable; he was a small man, even compared to the little Romans, and slender, gray eyed and apparently somewhat nearsighted. He had blond hair threaded with white at the temples, a gently and intelligent and surprisingly handsome face. His toga was sloppily wrapped around him, as if he'd absent-mindedly thrown it on. He looked exactly like the sort of man who would be called 'Judge Softie.'
"Practicing magic without a license?" he said, peering nearsightedly at Kirk. He had a nice, calm, level voice. "Now that's a serious charge, young man. The fine is quite steep, I'm afraid. It has to be, you know; if magicians ran about unlicensed, the unscrupulous sort could do all sorts of mischief, and we'd have no end of trouble apprehending them. Now this little prank of yours did no more harm than break a pushcart and cause a small public disturbance, for which you should be grateful, but the fine is still a heavy one. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Er, yes sir," Kirk said, thinking fast. "Your honor, I wasn't practicing magic—I had it practiced on me. A friend of mine, who happens to be a magician of sorts…" Scotty would howl over that description! Kyle would probably blush… "Er, he was trying to send me from my ship to the temple of Rome Defended, and he…sort of …miscalculated."
"Right into my pushcart!" wailed Publius. "To squash my fish!"
Everyone in the court guffawed, including the judge.
"It could have been worse," Kirk added. "He could just as easily have materialized me a mile up in the air or underground." …That's true… Goddam, I was lucky!
Everyone in the court appreciatively shivered.
"Indeed." The judge turned to Publius. "Citizen, do you have any evidence that this act of destruction was deliberate?"
"Uh, no…" Publius scratched his head. "I don't see why a perfect stranger should smash my pushcart…"
"I assure you, sir," Kirk added, "I had no intention or desire to land in a pile of fish."
"At least you came down soft," said the judge. He waited for the resultant laughter to die down, and then rapped for silence. "Démas Kirke, I hereby find you guilty of accidental damage to private property and minor involuntary disturbance of the peace, and hereby fine you the amount of one solidus. All other charges are dismissed. Are you able to pay the fine immediately?"
"Uh, no."
"I'll pay it, your honor." Equarius stepped in. "He can pay me out of his wages."
"Do you accept this arrangement?" the judge asked. He raised a doubtful eyebrow at Kirk's vigorous nod of agreement. "Hmm, if I know anything of Equarius the horse trainer, he'll keep you working hard. Then again, you're a big strong fellow, and shouldn't have too bad a time of it. Next case!"
Kirk walked out the courtroom feeling a trifle dazed. People in this universe seemed to accept magic as a matter of course, something to be regulated, like traffic, but not feared—as if it really existed. He wondered, with a shiver, if 'magic' really did exist in this universe.
"Well, since that's done, shall we go home?" asked Equarius. "Oh, that's right; you wanted to go back to the temple of Rome Defended. No problem: the crowds are thinning out. Must be near dinnertime. Eh, I hope the little wife got enough groceries to feed a surprise guest for dinner… This way."
The temple of Rome Defended was empty now, save for a priestess tending the ritual lamps. There was no one on the porch and few people on the street. Kirk studied the neat little white building, pondering where and how to leave a message.
…Not with the priestesses. Too much danger: mistakes, misinterpretations, discovery… Nobody. …Write it on the wall? Where? Not inside…nor on the front porch or walls; they're probably scrubbed clean every day… Side walls? Back?
Kirk walked around the little temple until he came to the blank rear wall. Sure enough, the stones were scribbled with assorted graffiti. He couldn't read the Latin, but many of the meanings were clear enough: a man's name accompanied by a crude drawing of the south end of a north-bound donkey, a woman's name next to an address and a list of comments, an exaggerated anatomical sketch of a female torso, an equally exaggerated drawing of male genitalia, a stick-figure cartoon of a pompous looking man being bitten in the rump by a toothy bear, and several similar items. Kirk smiled fondly at these cheerful proofs of humanity's eternal jolly irreverence, then crouched down and hunted about for a sharp, hard stone.
He scratched the words carefully into the white marble, far up the wall, at a little above the eye-level of a certain tall Vulcan who, he knew, would think to look there: CPT. J.T.K.—SUNDOWN, WHENEVER POSSIBLE.
Equarius was fidgeting impatiently when Kirk came back to the front steps. "What took you so long?" he grumbled. "Carving a message or pissing on the wall?"
"Carving a message. Look Equarius, I'll have to come back here every night, just at sundown, until I find my friends. They'll look for me here."
"No problem. Lots of people stop to pay their respects to the gods at sundown, though usually at home. Speaking of which, let's go there before my little wife sends the lictors out looking for me." He trotted off down the street, and Kirk followed with no further comment.
TBC in Chapter III: Writing On The Wall
