Air and Darkness (26 page)

He bowed in deeper reverence than Alphena had seen the majordomo offer her father in the past.

Turning to Alphena, Agrippinus said, “I await your orders, Your Ladyship.”

“We'll go to the gymnasium,” Alphena said. It wasn't private—no place in a house so full of servants was really private—but it came closer than anywhere else did. “We'll want Pulto.”

Charias, back in position, got out of the way as Lenatus pushed open the rear door of the office. “Clear the way!” Agrippinus said, asserting his authority from behind the fencing master.

“Not you, Master Pandareus!” Alphena called. “You're coming with us to the gymnasium.”

The teacher had obeyed Agrippinus with the humility that was as natural to him as learning was. Alphena knew that Pandareus was deservedly proud of his knowledge, but he really didn't care about the trappings of honor.

“You know, Agrippinus…?” Lenatus said from beside the majordomo as they walked through the central garden toward the rear of the town house. The servants scurrying away probably weren't listening, but the fencing master didn't appear to be concerned about that. “You saved your life back there when you said you were in with us.”

Agrippinus opened the gymnasium door. “Lord Saxa wouldn't have had me executed for that,” he said. “Besides, I was merely concerned that His Lordship understood the situation.”

Pulto was alone inside the enclosure. He had taken off his armor, but Alphena noted that the sword and dagger on his equipment belt were real, not weighted wooden practice weapons.

“No, His Lordship isn't that kind of fellow, not at all,” Lenatus agreed. “The thing is, buddy, it wouldn't have gotten to His Lordship.”

Pandareus entered, the last of their group. Alphena started to close the door, then looked back the way they had come. Charias was in the mass of servants. “Charias, mind the door,” she ordered crisply, then shut it.

“It seems to me and Pulto that this isn't just family business,” Lenatus said. “From what we've seen, the safety of the Republic depends on Lady Hedia and maybe Varus too. So if I thought you were going to run out and probably try to get ahead of the informers by talking to folks in the prefect's office about what might be treason, well, you'd be a danger to the Republic.”

“Me and Lenatus, we got a lot of experience dealing with dangers to the Republic,” Pulto said. He grinned.

Instead of crumpling, Agrippinus drew himself up to his full height and said, “Then as a citizen of Carce, gentlemen, I thank you. Now, if you're done posturing, shall we get on to Lady Alphena's plan?”

Lenatus laughed and clapped the majordomo on the shoulder. “You're all right, buddy,” he said. “Let's do that, and I've got a jar of wine in the equipment locker to keep our throats lubricated while we do.”

This may actually work,
Alphena thought. Her eyes were stinging again, this time because of joy.

 

CHAPTER
VIII

Alphena shivered in the pre-dawn air. She was wearing the clothing of a young female slave of no particular skills, suitable for a scullery maid or the like: a single light tunic with no overwrap, and sandals coiled from straw rope.

She carried a bindle with a second tunic wrapped around the few possessions that a girl of her type might own: a yellow linen sash; an almost-empty jar of eye shadow; a pair of earrings twisted from gold-washed iron wire; and an ivory comb from which half the teeth had been broken. Agrippinus himself had gone to the Tiber Market and bought a girl named Popiliana, just imported from Syria. She spoke no Latin and her Greek was doubtful; even her Aramaic was so bad that the majordomo doubted it was the girl's first language.

Alphena wore Popiliana's clothes and carried her possessions. The real servant was dizzyingly happy with a pair of embroidered linen tunics, leather slippers, gold ear studs, and a comb that, though horn, was new and had all its teeth.

The linkman at the head of the procession stopped at a door opening on to the alley. The servant beside him banged on the panel with his baton and called, “Hey, is this Sentius' place?”

A voice from inside said something—probably, “Right,” but the speaker's accent blurred the word beyond certainty.

Charias walked forward and called, “New intake of servants for Lucius Sentius. Four males and one female, all classed as unskilled and sold without recourse!”

Alphena had wanted to go to Sentius' house straight from the discussion in the gymnasium. Agrippinus had insisted that they put off the operation for at least a day so that he could make preparations, and the two veterans had supported him.

Alphena had raised her voice. Pulto, Lenatus, and the majordomo had looked at her silently, and after a moment Pandareus had said, “They are correct, Lady Alphena.”

Sentius' door swung outward. A portly man stepped into the alley. He wore layered tunics and the gold embroidery on his sash winked in the torchlight. “I'll take care of this,” he said to the doorman behind him.

“You're Sebethius?” Charias said. He thrust forward a waxed notebook. “Sign and seal this.”

Agrippinus
had
been right—of course. Alphena had known that even when she protested. She had just wanted to
do something now
. The others had insisted on doing something that would work. The realization that Hedia would have coldly agreed with them had silenced Alphena with her mouth still open.

Sebethius signed with Charias' stylus, then pressed the wax with the signet ring he wore on a neck thong. It was probably his master's signet, normally carried by the servant in present charge of the household.

Sebethius handed back the receipt. “Come on through,” he said to the “newly purchased servants.” To Charias he added, “Do they speak Greek?”

Charias shrugged. “The men do, more or less,” he said. “I don't know about the woman, but I suppose you can slap her and point; she'll get the idea quick enough. Remember, it's a no recourse sale.”

Agrippinus was too senior to act as the foreman delivering a coffle of slaves, but Charias was behaving even better than Alphena had hoped. She had picked the understeward for the task, but Agrippinus had approved the choice without hesitation.

“Well, come on through, then,” Sebethius repeated peevishly.

Drago, in front with his cousin, looked back at Charias. “Get in!” Charias snapped. “You belong to Lord Sentius now. Sebethius here will enroll you and tell you your duties.”

The four men wearing ragged tunics and carrying bindles like Alphena's shambled in. She followed, and the door closed behind her.

Alphena didn't know what hold Agrippinus had over Sebethius. It might have been as simple as money, but she had a suspicion that the majordomo had used a threat rather than a bribe. Agrippinus had become head of the household of one of Carce's richest senators because he got things done; he was demonstrating his ability here.

They had entered through the kitchen. Pots were bubbling and a morning staff of ten or a dozen were at work. Additional servants idled, flirted, and cadged food.

“Come along!” Sebethius said. “You'll be fed after you're enrolled.”

Alphena walked between the four men, all members of her personal escort. They had volunteered for the duty even though they knew by personal observation just how unpleasant death by crucifixion was.

A cook's assistant reached for Alphena's buttocks. She barely saw the movement in the crowded kitchen before Drago—Rago was ahead of her—grabbed the hand and bent the fingers backward. The victim gave a high-pitched scream as joints popped.

“Hey!” called an older man, probably the cook in charge.

“Keep your staff to their business, Olanus!” Sebethius said. “Come
on,
you new lot.”

The central garden was much like Saxa's, but a pond ran down the middle. There were lanterns at the front and back of the garden, but their light didn't tell Alphena whether there were fish in the water.

“What are you doing, Sebethius?” said the man who stepped from the portico to the right. He was well dressed also, but he was older than Sebethius and his sash was dark red instead of yellow.

“Enrolling an intake of servants, Taunus,” Sebethius said. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“I didn't know anything about a new purchase,” Taunus said. His Latin was excellent, but Alphena thought she recognized a hint of German intonation in his voice.

“Well, Taunus…,” Sebethius said. “Perhaps when Lord Sentius returns from the country you can reproach him with his failure to keep you informed, eh?”

Taunus glowered. He was standing in the direct path, so his rival understeward and the “servants” following were at a halt.

Looking at Drago, Taunus said, “By Mars, what
is
this lot? They look like they ought to be on crosses along the Appian Way! Whyever did you buy them?”

“I
didn't
buy them, Taunus,” Sebethius said. “I'm obeying my lord's direction to sign them in when they arrive. I don't know who made the purchase on Lord Sentius' behalf, or if he did it himself.”

This was clearly dangerous for Sebethius, but he was handling it as well as possible. He sounded angry, not frightened; anger was what anyone would expect from an understeward responding to a rival's badgering. He must hope that Taunus wouldn't dare mention the business to their master, which was probably correct, but how in Venus' name had Agrippinus gotten him to take the risk?

Taunus snorted but stepped aside. The column resumed walking toward the front portion of the house.

Alphena saw Taunus looking at her. She deliberately missed a half step as though she had tripped, then hopped forward. That put her past Taunus without incident.

She didn't doubt that Drago could have dealt with the understeward as easily he had with the scullion, but that would have led to serious problems at once. Drago didn't think—none of the escorts thought—in those terms, and Alphena couldn't have prevented the former pirate from acting without destroying the pretence that she was an illiterate Syrian.

Sebethius led them down a short corridor into an office much like Saxa's. Wax death masks looked down from high shelves, and an iron-strapped chest was bolted to the floor in one corner.

A man was sleeping under the writing desk. Sebethius kicked the sole of his nearer foot and snapped, “Get out, Timon. I have business!”

The wall nearest Alphena was frescoed with a landscape including rural buildings and grazing cows. To the left a herdsman led a goat across an arched bridge.

Timon picked up his sandals but scuttled barefoot into the entrance hall. Sebethius watched the door close after him, then looked at Alphena. “How do we proceed, then?” he said in a low voice.

“Enroll us as you normally would,” she whispered back. “Then all of you stand outside the office door. I'll be with you shortly.”

I hope I'll be with you shortly,
but those words didn't reach her lips.

Sebethius took a ledger from a shelf above the chest and opened it on the writing desk. The escort—the male intake—watched uncertainly. They had been told what would happen, but they weren't men who were comfortable in strange situations—and this was certainly strange.

Alphena reached under her tunic and gripped the iron locket. As she did so, the painted herdsman turned and looked at her.

*   *   *

“
I
WISH…,”
SAID
V
ARUS.
He was hot and sticky, which on dirt roads meant that he was also muddy from sweat mixed with dust. “That I had realized how hot it is in India and how much walking I'd be doing before I announced that I was too pure to ride a horse.”

The fifty cavalrymen had mostly ridden ahead. The dust they stirred up hung over the road as Varus and Bhiku tramped along. A squad remained at the rear in case the pedestrians got the idea of going somewhere other than where Ramsa Lal had directed.

Varus had certainly toyed with that idea, and he suspected that his companion had also.

“You could announce that you had been granted an appearance of the godhead,” Bhiku said, “and that the ineffable power had given you the dispensation to ride horses without demeaning yourself.”

“Umm,” said Varus. “That wouldn't help much unless the godhead also gave me the ability to
ride
a horse. Which my own past efforts haven't done. I certainly wish that your nobles appreciated the advantages of mail coaches.”

“Women and nobles less athletic than Lord Ramsa Lal often ride on elephants,” Bhiku said. Nothing in his voice or that of Varus suggested that they were joking. “The carriers are much like the saddle bags of a horse, though of course larger.”

“I will keep that in mind for the next time this happens,” Varus said. “Though of course by then I may have my own demon to carry me. That appears to have worked for Lady Teji.”

“I wonder if the demon has the ability to carry two people at a time?” Bhiku said. “If one of them is quite old and shriveled up, at least. Draft animals have loading standards, baggage masters have told me.”

Varus smiled. Chatting with—exchanging dry humor with—a friend was a way to ignore what they were about to face. Given that there was no way of knowing what that future would be, it was the best way available.

“I believe we're getting near the garden,” Bhiku said, glancing at the fields.

“You've been here before?” said Varus, following the sage's eyes. The fields were laid out in strips. Bushes and the occasional spiky tree grew on the dikes separating them. There was jungle beyond, probably following a watercourse hidden somewhere in its green heart.

“No,” said Bhiku, “but”—he gestured—“the fields are empty. I would guess that the workers are afraid of the demon. I hadn't heard that he—do demons have gender?—that the demon ever leaves the garden it built, however.”