Night Two of Lemuria: once again, awakened by giggling kids, Demetrius reluctantly climbed out of bed and prepared to walk through the house, barefoot, spitting beans and uttering meaningless threats in Latin. His able assistants followed with the requisite paraphernalia and off-key marching band. Also about a dozen cats.

Radu had accumulated a fan club, several females with kittens and a couple of stray males. Demetrius suspected he knew why: what cats want most in this world is another cat with opposable thumbs who is willing to share. What Radu had been doing was placing dishes of food from the table onto the floor and then changing shape to enjoy the feast with the others. Not only did he possess the requisite phylogenetic flexibility, but Radu also knew exactly which foods the cats would prefer. Cleo had been complaining about the disappearing groceries, but at least she hadn't caught sight of any unearthly shenanigans. (Yet.)

'Why do you have to do the whole house three times?' Radu had asked while in human form.

'I have no idea. We just do. I think it's like twentieth-century antibiotics, where you have to take the whole series in case there's a resistant strain, or something.'

Now, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Demetrius led the procession from room to room, washing his hands, making the rude ghosts-go-away sign with his thumb and fingers, spitting beans, uttering Latin tags. They planned to end in the kitchen for more snacks. Cleo would set special wheaten cakes outside for the lemures, so they'd leave the premises happy.

This made about as much sense as anything else these days, Demetrius thought.

They got as far as the dining room when the procession hit a snag. More precisely, Demetrius' right big toe hit one.

'Heus!! Ouch!' Demetrius bent down and picked up the object he'd almost stumbled over. It was a lead sheet, rolled up and fastened with a pin of the same material. Demetrius pulled out the pin and started to unroll the sheet, which was covered with some kind of writing.

'Come here with that torch, Babi,' he said to Cleopas' eldest. The boy brought the light. When they saw the tablet, both Cleos let out loud wails – perfectly synchronised and a major third apart. Listening to their rhythmic howls echoing against the villa walls at night, gave Demetrius a fresh appreciation for the effectiveness of Greek theatre.

If only the band could figure out how to achieve this level of harmony, thought Demetrius, as a pair of curious cats wound around his ankles.

' Voithíste mas o theoi!' the women pleaded, 'Gods help us!'

'Stop that!' he said to the cook and housekeeper crossly. 'You'll wake all the lemures.' As he had hoped, this had more effect than an appeal to reason would have. They stopped shrieking and comforted one another with an exchange of handkerchiefs and mutual paidakia mous.

'What is it?' Argyros' eyes were big as saucers.

Demetrius studied the writing. 'It appears to be an attempt at a curse,' he remarked drily. 'By someone who can't write well. In Latin OR in Greek.' He beckoned the kids to his side, pointing out misspelled words.

'See? Half of this is gibberish. No self-respecting demon is going to fulfill such a badly-written curse. I'll bet he got it from a discount witch.'

Demetrius stuck the tablet in his pocket and motioned for the basin and towel. 'Let's get rid of these lemures. One problem at a time.'

'Manes exite paterni!' shouted the kids in happy chorus. They were enjoying this a lot more than the grownups, and looking forward to some baklava.

Radu strolled into the kitchen to join the others for pastry and posca. 'Have we figured out who's cursing us?' he asked, seeing Demetrius holding the lead tablet.

Demetrius laughed. 'I wouldn't worry too much about badly-spelled spells. But let's see if we can find a clue as to whom we've offended.'

He studied the awkward lettering.

Himere, GOD of unrekwited love, hear me: may the [rude Latin word here!] who seeketh to steal the hart of my true love Hypasha by praising her singing be mewt. May his insides dry upp and may he go far, far away. I pledge you my second-best tunic if you will hear my plea.

Radu looked over his shoulder. 'What a mess! And who in Hades is Hypatia?'

'Hm,' said Demetrius. 'I think our floral tributes to the singing maiden have unnerved her admirer.'

'Don't you know better than to court the local girls, domine?' chided Kiki.

'No courtship was intended,' protested Demetrius. 'Besides, he probably thinks it was Radu. He's better-looking.'

'We were just paying tribute to some fine singing,' Radu added.

'We'll have to do something to repair this,' Demetrius said, ignoring the muttering from Cleopas about people who have their own, unappreciated musicians at home and go around throwing flowers at other citizens' daughters.

'How?' asked Argyros curiously.

Demetrius looked at him. 'I think you can help,' he said.

There was some whispering before bed.

The next afternoon, the two Gheorghenis took their stroll through the marketplace, being sure to purchase some seasonal flowers. Then they headed to the street where the spinning singer lived. They listened: soon enough, the pleasant soprano tones floated out through the open window. Looking around to make sure his plan was in place, Demetrius looked at Radu, who tossed the bouquet into the window before the two of them ran around the corner.

And waited.

A moment later they heard the sound of slapping sandals. Argyros appeared around the corner. 'You called it, domine,' he grinned. Demetrius followed the boy to the corner, where they peeked around. There was whispering. Demetrius expressed satisfaction and the three conspirators gave each other the thumbs-up sign, which pleased Argyros no end. They set off homewards, whistling.

Marcus Obsidius put the finishing touches on a fine pair of sandals. Giving them a final polish with a chamois, he set them carefully on the stand outside the door of his shop, checking to make sure the slave boy was doing his job and paying attention that nobody ran off with his stock. He paused for a moment to look up at a certain window across the narrow street – the window from which lovely music was coming.

Marcus sighed and ran calloused fingers through his dirty-blond hair. He was a young man to have his own shop, but his father had died the year before, leaving him in charge of the family business and the care of his mother and siblings. Responsibility had made him over-serious for a 21-year-old.

It hadn't stopped him from falling in love, though. Hypatia was in his imagination, morning, noon, and night. She was in the music running through his head, the rhythm of each and every nail he pounded. He handled leather and fantasised about her supple skin. With every lady's sandal he designed, he thought, How would Hypatia wear these? Would they show off her beautiful arches?

Marcus wasn't a foot fetishist. He just had a bad case of the Moonies.

He was pretty sure Hypatia liked him. When she went out to market with her mother, she tended to look towards his shop with what looked like interest. And what he believed – okay, hoped – was an interest in him more than his wares. Once, she'd even bought a pair of sandals from him. If he'd known she was going to wear them, he'd have given them extra stitching. He could still remember that faint blush on her cheek when he'd asked if they pinched anywhere. And she'd said 'no' in such a soft, musical voice. . .he could listen to that voice for the rest of his life.

The problem was, he didn't know how to approach the object of his affection. Or her father. All he knew how to do was make sandals. And have the Moonies. And pay for a curse tablet to chase away that annoyingly good-looking redhead, and send the boy to sneak into the redhead's cousin's house at night. What if they found it? During Lemuria?

Would that make the curse better, or worse? Marcus shook his head and picked up an awl.

Midnight on the 12th of May. An even-numbered night, so no bean-spitting duties. Two Gheorghenis creeping quietly about town. Easily avoiding the night watch because the night watch was not interested in the nocturnal activities of two (admittedly large) orange cats.

'Are you sure this will work?' asked Radu for the fifth time.

'Don't worry,' said Demetrius. 'It's Lemuria, the time for magic. Besides, Romans are superstitious, even if they don't come up to Greek standard. And they love a good omen.'

The two kitties stalked down to the sandalmaker's street, tails waving in jaunty question marks.

Rhododactylic Dawn rose over the town of Potentia the next morning – to be totally ignored by the excited populace, who were all buzzing around Marcus' sandal shop. The offended goddess almost went back to bed out of pique.

'Look! It's a sign from the gods of love!'

'Or some strange sorcery. Probably perpetrated by foreigners. I blame lax immigration policies.'

'Hey, Felix! Come and draw this before it goes away. Preserve this moment for posterity.'

'Never mind posterity. I want this painted on my taverna wall. I'll double my business!'

'What do you think it means?'

'You can see what it means. Can't you read?'

'Can spiders?'

That, of course, was the question. For stretched across the street, from an upper window above Marcus' shop to the window above the weavers' – was the largest spider web anyone on this side of the planet had ever seen. Its threads were sturdy. They were also pink and blue, due to an argument between the two quondam spiders responsible. Also due to an argument, it was a bit irregular in its proportions. It is possible that a real spider – one who did this sort of thing for a living – might have objected to the lack of symmetry. But it was close enough for a night's quick work, and besides, the plebeians of Potentia were right: spiders couldn't spell.

But Gheorghenis can.

What was making the neighbours ooh and aah wasn't the size of the spider web. It was the writing. Dead-centre, woven into the web, right in the middle of the street over everybody's heads.

It said, 'MARCUS HYPATIA AMAT.'

'My hero!' said Hypatia.

'Wow, that was a good curse!' said Marcus. 'Worth every penny!'

'That was worth losing a night's sleep over,' commented a dove on Marcus' roof. Its companion agreed.

They flew off quickly, before any augurs happened by.

DG

04.03.24 Front Page

Back Issue Page