#18 of 100: Hunting Down Memories

Pompeia has been commanded by the Empress to bring a disgraced senator to justice and she has no qualms about putting her unique talents to good use.

Photo by Yusuf Dündar on Unsplash

Since yesterday’s story was high effort, I didn’t put too much thought into this one.

I’ve started to realise how much I hate both titling stories and writing a blurb, despite how important they both are. Anyone have thoughts on a better title?

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After Vitellius had fled, Pompeia was tasked with tracking him down and dragging him back to the capital to face trial. The disgraced senator was rumoured to have provided the Emperor’s slaves the poison used to kill him, and the new Empress was keen to have someone put to the fire to appease the masses.

Pompeia didn’t hold much faith in rumours, especially ones as convenient as this. Vitellius had opposed many of the measures the old Emperor had brought in, but he had also been a vocal opponent of Empress Pisa, and was already wanted on charges of fraud and corruption. Still, it was easy coin, and Pisa was likely to show greater favour to those who proved their loyalty to her so early in her reign.

Her first stop was Vitellius’s vineyard in Calpium. The sprawling villa lacked the elegance of his confiscated house in the capital, and the haphazard mix of red and white stone gave her the impression it was not a place to entertain guests. She tied her horse to a nearby fence and sat for a few minutes under the shade of a tree. She had been clothed in sweat for the better part of the hour, having had no choice but to ride during the midday heat.

When she knocked at the door, a freedwoman opened the door just enough to poke her face in the gap. Before Pompeia could open her mouth, the woman spoke:

“He is not here. You can go search house, if you must, but he is not here.”

People had already visited looking for him then, Pompeia thought. But they no doubt lacked the skills she had.

“A tour would be most welcome,” Pompeia said with a smile. She waved the scroll Pisa had given her in front of the freedwoman. Although the details hadn’t been hammered out, the house was now owned by the state, and it was her right to search the property. The freedwoman bowed her head and opened the door wide, gesturing for Pompeia to enter.

The cool air of the reception room was a blessed relief. A slave hurried in and offered her watered-down wine, which she gracefully accepted. She reclined on a bench and the freedwoman stared at her, wringing her hands. Her tanned skin told Pompeia she had spent years working in the vineyards and fields, and she looked uncomfortable at not being busy.

“You want to see house, or not?”

“I don’t need to,” Pompeia replied. The longer she stretched it out, the longer she could enjoy being out of the sun. Vitellius would not manage to escape just because she took a few moments to rest and collect herself. “Come, sit with me.”

The freedwoman shook her head, then muttered something to the slave in another language. It felt innocuous, but Pompeia liked to be sure.

She closed her eyes and fluttered her fingertips. She could feel the crackling of the freedwoman’s mind across the room, the thoughts and memories just waiting to be tapped into. She heard the woman gasp as she reached out, mind to mind.

Go finish the bread, I can deal with this.

A meaningless exchange then, not relevant to Pompeia. But she sensed there was more locked away in her that might not be so innocuous.

“Don’t, lady. Please, don’t.” The woman pleaded. 

Pompeia opened her eyes and saw the woman bent over, hands on her knees, struggling with the mental invasion. The woman wasn’t the type to fight or flee, she surmised, thus her pleading wasn’t important. Pompeia closed her eyes again and started swivelling her wrists, gathering energy.

A familiar man. Torrential rain. Fear. Duty. Stoking the fire to warm him. Haggard, wrinkled face.

“I know I’m just delaying the inevitable, but I can’t just lie down and take it.”

Shooing away the others. Humming as I carry through the wine. Upset when he asks me to taste it first. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, gods know I’m sorry. I’ll just be here for a night and then I’ll be gone. Junius should help me, he knows most of it is lies and he’s brave enough to stand up against her.”

Pompeia wasn’t familiar enough with politics to know who Junius was. He certainly wasn’t family - she had already been provided with their details and questioned those in the capital. She only hoped the freedwoman had other memories that clarified who the man was.

She could hear the woman sobbing and gasping for air. Pompeia had never experienced someone rummaging through her own memories, but she understood it wasn’t pleasant, mentally or physically. She paused for a moment to allow the woman to regain some composure. When she opened her eyes, she saw the woman had collapsed to the floor, her skirts pooled around her. A slave’s head peeked around the doorway, but when their eyes met he scampered off. 

“I can tell you more,” the woman wheezed. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s the most reliable way. People lie. People’s memories may shift and get discoloured, but they are still more dependable. I’ll be done soon.”

Pompeia closed her eyes again and reached out to the mind that now sizzled nearby. The connection between them had only grown stronger.

A cloudy morning, months ago. Laying the breakfast table. Vitellius stepping out of his study, handing a scroll to a messenger.

“Get this to Junius Aurelius, and don’t make your usual stops to all the smoking dens on the way. You can do all that when you get to Imgalum.” His voice is confident, mocking.

Pompeia slipped back into her own body. Imgalum was only two days ride away, although she was unsure what resistance she might meet at Junius Aurelius’s manor. Even two days of riding felt arduous at that moment, though. Her body was sluggish from using her power, and if she could have laid down on the bench and retained some dignity, she would have. As it was, none of the slaves ushered her away. The freedwoman seemed to be in charge of the manor and once she had recovered enough to stand, she walked away and pretended nothing had happened, leaving Pompeia to stare at the hunting mosaic on the floor until some energy dripped back into her body.

She had made a calculated risk in intruding on the woman’s mind. Using her power left her physically vulnerable, both during and after, but the household slaves seemed too timid to do anything to her. On past jobs she had encountered slaves and freedpeople who were fiercely loyal to their master, and she had more than a few scars to show for it. 

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Two days later she arrived at Imgalum, a town bordering on the Trelance province. It was a market day, and a baker at one of the colourful stalls in the main square was eager to give her directions to Junius’ place after she bought two honey cakes.

Before approaching the villa, she stopped off at the nearby garrison. Pisa had served in the fifth legion herself and was well-regarded by the military. It didn’t take long to find some veterans from the fifth legion whose eyes widened when they read the scroll Empress Pisa had signed, explaining that its carrier was hunting down an enemy of the empire. Four of the guards immediately pledged to assist Pompeia with her mission.

Junius’ villa stood on the wealthier side of the river that cut through Imgalum. Its front was decorated with animal statues, an odd choice for someone she assumed had at some point been in politics. She knocked on the door, and a minute later a slave opened it.

The slave eyed Pompeia and the four guards behind her, then gave an obsequious smile.

“Please, rest your weary legs in the atrium while I fetch my master.”

He bowed low, and they marched through. Pompeia listened out for any indication that Vitellius or his attendants might be gathering their belongings to flee, but the villa was silent apart from the water fountain in the courtyard, where water spurted out of the stone mouths of half-fish people.

The guards began looking around the nearest rooms for any signs of the fugitive senator, but Pompeia herself reclined on a purple couch and let the nearby house slave fan her. After a few minutes, a man dressed in finery strolled through the courtyard towards her.

“One of Pisa’s little lackeys? How lovely. Would you be a sweetheart and call off your brutes? You’re late. Or rather, just in time.” 

The man reclined on the sofa opposite Pompeia and clicked his fingers for some wine. A slave who had stuck to the shadows now stepped forward silently and offered a jug of wine to both of them.

Pisa gestured for the man she presumed was Junius to continue. She wasn’t interested in games, she just wanted to nab her target and get back to the capital for her reward. While she was within her rights to leaf through Junius’ memories, she erred on the side of caution when her job involved the upper classes.

“His body is down the hallway, in one of my guestrooms. My slaves have cleaned his wounds and dressed him, as befitting a man of his rank.”

“Are you saying you killed him?” Pompeia asked. While his death wasn’t a terrible outcome, she knew the Empress had hoped for a public execution.

Junius chuckled.

“You’re the type whose mind jumps to violence first, are you? Of course I did not kill him. Instead, I explained to him that people like you would inevitably catch up with him, and that there was no dignity or honour in being paraded around as a grand conspirator. He took his life in the bathhouse to avoid all this unpleasantness.”

“Show me,” Pompeia commanded.

Junius sighed and gestured for her to follow him. 

Vitellius lay on top of his bed, dressed in a purple tunic with gold thread, his hands crossed over his chest. He looked peaceful. Pompeia found him cool to the touch, but the lack of flies meant he couldn't have been dead for long.

“You do realise he had nothing to do with the late Emperor’s death, don’t you?” Junius muttered as he stood in the doorway.

“He was already wanted for corruption and fraud. Adding conspiracy to the list is in the best interests of the Empire. The truth doesn’t matter.”

“The truth doesn’t matter? An interesting conclusion from someone of your kind.”

Pompeia rolled her eyes. She didn’t know how he had guessed what she was, but she knew other people were all too keen to make sweeping assumptions about her “kind”. Having dipped into so many minds over the years, she had found that truth was far more nebulous and unwieldy than others thought. Seeking out truths had torn apart her friendships, destroyed her past job prospects, and shattered her reputation. Everywhere she went, she was met with suspicion as soon as people found out what she was. She no longer sought truth, she sought only information and the coin that followed. 

“Arrange transportation for the body,” she called out to the nearest guard. “Tomorrow we ride to the capital.”

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