Papilio Homo
short story about Roman cryptids
It was a regular old Dies Saturni for Vulpes Molitor, a disgruntled optiones for the Third Cohort of the Vigiles Urbani. His cohort patrolled the hills, streets, and alleyways of the holy city of Rome under the command of strict centuriones. Vulpes was not well-liked by the other Vigiles because he spent most of his time investigating conspiratorial rumors and chasing down accounts of mythological beasts. For this reason, Vulpes Molitor had been demoted and sent into the archives to study ancient accounts of foreign religions, and he rarely got the chance to really investigate the crimes he knew were occurring. Sometimes he got the opportunity to chase down some conspiracy; sadly, those opportunities were rare and precious, and he more often found himself forced to wander streets looking for pickpockets than chasing down conspiracies.
After a late night of studying minotaurs until the sun came up, Vulpes Molitor found himself walking through the cloistered streets of Rome’s peripheries, smelling roasted goat and freshly baked bread. Then, Vulpes Molitor came upon a familiar sight: two pagani wearing tattered robes who etched graffiti onto the wall of a building with charcoal. One of them was particularly animated this morning, a fat bald man with a thick goatee named Alexander Ionius. The other, Davidus Acies, was more subdued as he listened to his friend rant and rave about some event he supposedly witnessed. Vulpes Molitor sighed and approached them, well-aware that he was about to hear some wild stories from provincial pagans who seemed to believe everything and anything.
“I swear to ya man, I seen it!” Alexander Ionius was shouting.
Davidus Acies laughed heartily, his fat stomach shaking with joy. “I ain’t gonna believe ya, last week you claimed nymphs fucked you under the Pons Fabricus. Just focus on writing our message.”
“No!” Alexander Ionius exclaimed, dropping his charcoal to turn from the wall to focus on his compatriot. “I tell ya, I seen two satyrs fightin’ over a hock of ham like it was Saturnalia and they were two nobles fightin’ over a slave boy!”
Sighing even deeper at their ludicrous stories, Vulpes Molitor broke into their conversation and stopped their argument. “Morning, boys. What are you guys writing on the wall here?”
Alexander Ionius dropped his charcoal and looked innocently at the watchman. “Nothin’, we were just leavin’, actually, Hail the Emperor and the Unconquerable Sun, and all that.”
Vulpes Molitor stopped him and pointed at the charcoal graffiti on the wall. “Huh, looks like you are writing something about the new Judean cult.”
Davidus Acies shook his head. “Nah, sir. We would never mock the Judeans. They have tunnels under the city and suck blood from children. Some say they follow the Serpent Cult of Glycon. We don’t want to bring that sort of evil on us.”
Alexander Ionius gasped and looked at his friend with bright boyish eyes shining. “Just last week I seen Aurelian himself down beneath the city in some strange temple, dressed like a Persian, sacrificin’ a bull to some foreign deity!”
Vulpes Molitor chuckled, shook his head, and mumbled: “I think that was a Mithraeum…”
Alexander Ionius was appalled. “Aha! So yer tellin’ me I’m right! The Emperor and his men are followin’ a foreign god! The people deserve the truth!”
“Calm down,” Vulpes Molitor commanded, then he pointed at the graffiti. “And, remove that graffiti. You know that’s illegal. I don’t want to write a report on this, I like you two.”
The two pagani begrudgingly began to wipe at the charcoal with their torn togas, muttering curses under their breath. Finally, when the task was done, Alexander Ionius turned back to the watchman and smiled as though nothing illegal had transpired. “Vulpes, yer a good friend, ya know that? I’d like to know somethin’ and I think you’d tell us the truth.”
Davidus Acies smiled and put an arm around Vulpes. “Yes, yer a good man. Tell us — are the stories true? Is there really a killer Papilio Homo roamin’ the countryside?”
Vulpes Molitor was perplexed by their question. He could hardly ask “What?” before the two of them were stumbling over each other to explain that they had gathered rumors of a mothman terrorizing the countryside. The trio walked away down through the alleys and streets of Rome, conversing about cryptids and monsters, and theorizing about the existence of the mothman together. Meanwhile, Jews tunneled beneath the city, Christians hid in their basement churches, and nobles praised Mithras in secret temples. The Gods smiled upon the Earth, knowing that legends sprang from the minds of rural crazy men just as often as the sun rises and set.
