Lost Republic (20 page)

“An important man,” Linh said, shrinking into the shadows. “Those men with him are lictors, special honor guards.”

“Honor guards at a brothel?” said Jenny.

“It is Consul Marius,” Eleanor said. “A very good friend of Luxuria.” Linh and Jenny didn't ask how Eleanor knew this.

Consul Marius leaped lightly down from his horse, tossed the reins to one of the lictors, and went through the garden gate, laughing. From her spot, Jenny saw the giant doorman did not search one of the chief officers of the Republic for weapons.

She shifted against the sunken door. Where were Leigh and the others? Could he get Julie out with Marius on the scene? Maybe it would help. Maybe everyone inside would be so busy bowing and scraping and kissing the consul's hand, they wouldn't notice the Morrisons slipping out . . .

Leigh presented himself at the gate after Consul Marius passed inside. The lictors took up posts in the street, guarding the entrance. Leigh eyed them, but put on a lecherous leer and strode boldly into the garden.

“Wait,” said Ramesses in his deep voice. He patted Leigh down with hands the size of tennis rackets. His purse, stuffed with coins, got only a brief squeeze.

“Pass, my lord,” said Ramesses, standing back and sweeping ahead of Leigh with his enormous arm. Trying to look haughty, Leigh swaggered into the house.

Quite a party was going on. Clio was singing at the top of her lungs, with pipers backing her up, and a boy playing a tambor, a sort of flat, round drum. Luxuria's ladies were in their finest gowns—and some were already out of them—while Luxuria's patrons drank and cheered. Leigh stood unnoticed in the entry hall for a while until the woman herself appeared.

“Young hero! You return, and on an auspicious night!” she declared. From her rosy complexion and louder than normal tone, Leigh decided Luxuria had been sampling her own wine.

He hefted his purse. “Do you remember our bargain? I brought the money.”

She smiled unpleasantly. “Noble warrior of the legion! How was I to know you would bring me such a sum for the treasure you desire? Alas! The flower is being picked even now.”

Leigh started forward, hands clenched. Luxuria drew back, surprised.

“Oh, the ardor of youth! I envy you!”

“Where is Julia?” he said, struggling to keep his voice under control.

“Giving herself to Venus, as we speak.”

He bolted past her into the main room, where the revelers had drawn back to make room for Consul Marius. Leigh blundered through several standing couples, getting colorful, nasty comments for his clumsiness. Not seeing Julie in the room, he made for the corridor to the private rooms.

Luxuria caught his arm from behind.

“Behave yourself, hero of the Republic. What is, shall be,” she said calmly.

He broke her grip with an ugly word. Luxuria paled. Her mouth set in a short, hard line. Without another word, she turned and walked briskly through the crowded room, not touching anyone.

Leigh had no doubt she was summoning her servants, starting with Ramesses, to have him thrown out. He hurried down the corridor. Luxuria's private rooms did not have doors, merely curtains. He stopped at each one, saying, “Julia! Julia, are you there? It's Levius!”

When he was ignored, he swept back the curtain to see if she was inside. He interrupted four rooms. At the fifth, he was about to call his sister again when he heard loud, unfriendly voices from the party in the main room. Consul Marius would not be happy if his recreation was spoiled.

“Julia!”

He was answered by a groan. Not a guttural groan of effort, but a muffled sound of pain. Steeling himself, Leigh flung back the curtain.

Julie was backed into a corner, a three-legged stool in her hands. Her customer, a rather portly fellow with a shiny bald head, lay face down at her feet. He groaned again. No wonder—there was an egg-sized lump on his head. Julie was scowling at him, stool held high, ready to strike again.

She saw him in the doorway. The light wasn't good, so she snapped, “Keep back if you don't want a cracked skull!”

“Julia!”

She squinted at him. “Levius?”

She leaped over the sprawled man, dropping the stout wooden stool on him as she went. It hit the back of his neck. He twitched and moaned.

Julie flung her arms around Leigh's neck. Her heavy makeup smeared against his cheek.

“Get me out of here, will you? That guy wanted to—I can't even say it!”

Indistinct forms appeared at the other end of the hall. Leigh pushed Julie away and said, “Not now! We have to get out of here!”

He led her, not toward the crowd in the banquet room, but to the stairs at the far end of the hall. Julie protested that wasn't the way out. Leigh glanced back and saw Luxuria's servants armed with clubs. Filling the doorway behind them was the giant Ramesses.

He jerked her hard by the wrist. Stumbling, they reached the steps and started up. He heard someone call out, “They're trapped. Can we have them both when we catch them, Luxuria?” She must have said yes, for Leigh and Julie's pursuers gave a cheer and surged down the hall.

The upstairs rooms had doors. Leigh silently counted until he found the bathroom door. A quick pound with his fist and his name, and the door opened inward. Julie saw France and Hans.

“Ave, guys! Thanks for coming to get me!”

Leigh pushed her in. Once inside, he directed France and Hans to bar the door. They rolled a marble urn against it, and then set about tearing apart the sink and commode. The slabs of stone were not cemented in place. They piled the smooth, hard blocks against the door. Just then, someone slammed against the outside panel. Everyone flinched and drew back.

“Sword,” said Leigh. Hans gave him the gladius.

“Out the window!” France urged. He, Julie, and Hans took turns climbing out on the ledge. Luxuria's sporting patrons were loudly hammering on the door with fists and feet, but laughing all the time. They were drunk. In that state, it would take them a week to break through. Leigh tossed a few parade-ground insults at them, which made them mad. They pounded harder.

“Come on!” said Hans, poking his head in the window.

Leigh sheathed his sword and went to the window. France was already in the alley with Julie. Hans tottered along the stone ledge a few steps, then lowered himself to the street.

Wood splintered behind Leigh. The idiots had stopped using their hands and found something harder to break the door down. Maybe their heads, he thought.

He jumped. It was foolish to leap an entire story, but he was wired on anger and fear. The shock of landing sent a jolt of pain flashing through his legs. Leigh wobbled and sat down with all the stars of heaven in his eyes.

He smelled perfume. Julie and France tried to drag him to his feet.

“Why did you jump, you moron? You could've broken both legs!” It was nice to know Julie was okay.

Shouts from the street echoed in front of Luxuria's. If the lictors joined the hunt, they were finished. Leigh struggled to his feet.

“Get going,” he gasped. They had planned to flee the city by the north gate and Via Ortus Road.

France, Julie, and Hans hurried on. Leigh trailed behind, sword in hand, to discourage pursuit. They were just about to the next main thoroughfare when they heard loud screams coming from the house of Luxuria—or a least, from the street. Female screams. France stopped short.

“Linnea!”

“That's not her,” Hans replied. “Too loud, too low.”

“Keep going!” Leigh said. They vanished into the shadowed lanes off the Via Gauisus.

Leigh didn't quite make it before he heard a challenge close behind. He spun and saw Ramesses coming up fast behind him. His long legs covered ground at a frightening rate, even though he wasn't running.

“Stop! Lady Luxuria demands it!” he rumbled.

Leigh squared off, sword ready. Seeing the blade, Ramesses slowed.

“No need for that,” he said slowly. “I won't hurt you if you bring the girl back.”

“She's not coming back,” Leigh said. “And I will hurt you if you try to stop us!”

Ramesses wasn't armed. He never needed to be. His posture was wary, but confident. He swung an open hand sideways at Leigh. He jumped back out of the way, swatting at the giant's hand with his gladius. Ramesses snatched his hand out of harm's way.

“Put that down,” he said sharply. “If you cut me, I'll kill you.”

“Then stay back!” Every second he held off the giant, the farther away Julie and the others could get.

They sidled around each other, first left, then right. Ramesses didn't try to punch Leigh with his great fists, but swept his huge hands sideways, like he was trying to swat an annoying fly. After one missed swing, Leigh scored the back of Ramesses's hand with the point of his blade. Blood welled out of a deep cut on the big man's hand.

Ramesses stood back examining his wound. Leigh watched him warily, panting hard. The giant didn't seem angry, but in the next instant he lashed out, snagging Leigh by the collar of his cloak. His first reaction was to try to pry Ramesses's hand loose, but it was like trying to open a steel clamp.

“You cut me,” Ramesses said coldly. He pulled Leigh toward him. Leigh resisted, but his army sandals skidded on the pavement. Desperate, he thrust his sword straight out in front of him. Using his own massive arms, Ramesses' pulled Leigh in. The gladius caught him right below the breastbone.

Ramesses grunted. From pulling, he tried to shove Leigh away, but the teen leaned on his sword hilt, driving it in further.

“Hurts,” said the giant, surprised.

His knees folded. He backhanded Leigh, who spun away. Wincing, Ramesses drew the blade from his chest. It fell with a clatter on the pavement. Amazingly, he staggered to his feet, his oversized robe darkening with a spreading stain of blood. He turned and, with great dignity, walked toward the house of Luxuria. He made it eight steps before collapsing in the street.

Trembling all over, Leigh picked up his sword and backed away. The blade was covered in blood. He didn't sheath it, but held it out at arm's length as he started after his sister and friends.

Lurking in the street on the other side of the brothel, Jenny, Linh, and Eleanor stood watch. The boys disappeared around the corner, and for a long time, there was nothing to look at but the lictors standing firmly outside Luxuria's garden gate.

Linh, whose ears were keen, heard a muffled uproar coming from inside the house. She touched Jenny to alert her and glanced back at Eleanor, standing motionless in the doorway. Jenny stepped out of the deeper shadows and stared at Luxuria's, staring and staring until a crowd of men and women burst out the door into the garden. She could hear them, but not see them, because of the garden wall. At first, it sounded more like a wild party spilling outside than an angry mob. The lictors faced the gate as Luxuria's clients and ladies came in the street, half-dressed, half-undressed, and loud with wine. Consul Marius did not appear, but the lofty doorman loped through the noisy revelers, then traipsed off in the opposite direction from Jenny and her friends.

Luxuria emerged from the gate. In a loud voice, she commanded the crowd to chase down the intruders, who had stolen one of her girls. Garden stakes and tools were passed out to the men, who waved them in the air like outraged peasants in an old horror movie.

“Genera!” Linh said, fearing for her friends.

Jenny advanced into clear view in the street. Fists clenched at her sides, she did something she hadn't done since she was eight years old—she screamed as loud as she could.

That got the attention of the mob. Spying a young priestess in the street, they streamed toward her. Satisfied she'd caused a diversion, Jenny sprinted away. Passing Linh and Eleanor, she said, “Better run!”

Run they did, but they couldn't keep up with an Olympic hopeful. They would have been caught in two blocks if their pursuers hadn't been hampered by loose belts and excess wine.

It was Jenny's scream Leigh and company had heard. Many blocks from Luxuria's, France, Hans, and Julie paused to catch their breath. While they were panting in an alley between a cobbler and a tinsmith's shop, Leigh arrived. He leaned one arm against the corner wall and was sick on the pavement.

Julie said, “Not used to running, are you?”

He looked at her with aching eyes. Holding up his bloody sword, Leigh replied, “I just killed a man.”

France and Hans joined them. Hans asked who Leigh fought.

“The giant. What was his name? Ramesses . . .”

Julie paled under her makeup. “You killed him?” she said in a small voice. Leigh wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded.

Hans took the gladius from him.

“Come,” he said gently. “We've got to get out of the city.”

They tried to navigate the darkened streets, but they couldn't see much of the sky for the buildings. Nearer the heart of Eternus, they ran into nightlife: workmen carousing between wine shops, a beggar or two, a doctor on an emergency call. Fortunately, they didn't encounter the night watch.

In the Forum Facilis, they saw enough sky for Hans to get his bearings. They wanted to get out on the north side of the city, and then head south to confuse pursuit. Hans spied the North Star. They hurried on.

“I hope Linh and the others can find their way,” France muttered.

“Do you?” said Julie slyly.

“We all do,” her brother said. He jerked Julie forward to cut off further teasing.

This part of the city was hilly. The houses were bigger and farther apart, and they had to avoid patrols of private guards hired by the rich to protect their homes. As they neared the great temples of Mars, Mercury, and Jupiter, the skyline gave off an eerie blue glow. Each building was distinct, designed to reflect the character and glory of the god it was dedicated to. The Temple of Mars resembled a rocket, with a single pointed spire supported by stone buttresses like fins. (It was really meant to be a great spear thrust heavenward, Hans said.) The effect was strangely un-Roman. Mercury's temple had soaring wings of stone attached to the eaves, making the building look like it was about to take flight. The mighty house of Jupiter, king of the gods, reminded Leigh of nothing so much as a colossal bank building in New York City—massive columns, heavy roof, all squatting on a high set of marble steps. In turn, each of them glanced at the shining structures, blinked, and hurried on.

Skirting the brighter streets, they came to a long white wall, with no gate or markings. It was only twice head high, not like the great city wall. With France leading, they followed it. On and on it went. It never seemed to end, and they couldn't find any way through it.

“What is this, Celebrity Row?” Julie said. She kicked the wall.

The sky was dark on the other side of the wall, but the temple glow blotted out the stars. Last in line, Leigh glanced back to see if they were being followed.

“Hey,” he said. “There's a door!”

Five yards behind them was an opening, barred by an iron gate. They had all passed this point. There was no gate there before.

“Weird,” said Hans. He doubled back and tried the gate. It swung in with a slight squeal.

“I don't like this,” Julie declared.

“Neither do I,” said Leigh.

“What choice do we have?” asked Hans, standing in the open gate.

“Lots of choices! There, there, or there!” Julie pointed to areas away from the strange wall.

France passed her, passed Leigh, and slipped by Hans into the dark opening. Julie protested, but when Leigh followed him, she grumbled and did likewise.

Passing through the gate made Julie's head swim. It was pitch-black, and though she felt her feet come down on solid ground, for a moment it felt as if she was falling through a void. Something—a tree branch—brushed against her face and she realized they had entered an
ortus
, a “garden” or “park,” on the estate of a wealthy Latin. She couldn't see the boys. Carefully, she called them. No one answered. A hand snaked out of the darkness behind her and clamped over her mouth. She screamed against the hand and tried to bite it.

“Be still!” Leigh whispered fiercely in her ear. “You make enough noise to be heard in Cherbourg!”

She lashed him with choice words she'd learned at Luxuria's, but she did it quietly.

Hans drifted into view. “This way . . .”

They walked between manicured hedges. The path changed from sand to paving stones. Ahead, light blazed. Torches on ornamental stands ringed a circular patio. Beyond the firelight, a great house rose up, lined with severe Doric columns. Though vast, it didn't look like a temple. There were no robed priests around. No one was around.

“What is this place?” Leigh muttered.

“Looks like a villa—a very fine, expensive villa.” Hans looked back. They were atop a prominent hill. A large swath of Eternus was spread out beneath them. It was a fine view, the sort of place a king might live, or an emperor.

The idea chilled him to the bone. He said urgently, “I think we ought to get out of here right away!”

Leigh and Julie were all for that, but France had gone ahead. He walked right into the circle of firelight, unafraid.

“Come back!” Julie called. “You'll get caught—we'll all get caught!”

Unheeding, France walked through the circle of fire with slow deliberation. Leigh darted after him until he came to the torches. He froze outside the ring, unwilling to expose himself.

Hans took Julie's hand and led her around the patio. They watched, amazed, as France climbed the short set of marble steps leading up to the great columned portico. At any moment, they expected swarms of soldiers to erupt from the building and seize their friend.

France reached the porch unharmed. He looked this way and that. He beckoned his friends to join him.

“This is crazy,” Leigh said, stepping into the light like someone dipping a toe into a scalding bath. Julie and Hans went up the steps beyond the firelight. All was still.

Breathing hard, Leigh eventually joined them. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“I know where we are,” France said. He craned his neck to study the roof high above them.

“Where?” asked Hans.

“The palace of the First Citizen.”

Julie used a rough word she learned at Luxuria's. Leigh asked France why he thought so.

“Who else would live on the highest hill in Eternus, in such a grand but anonymous palace?”

Leigh suddenly wished he was back at the brothel fighting off lictors and rowdy guests. France was undeterred. He set off down the covered porch without waiting for the others. Hans and Julie followed him, with Leigh guarding their backs.

The first doorway they came to was open. It was a single bronze panel, polished to look like gold. France could see light within. Hans grabbed him before he could go in.

“What are you doing?”

“We were led here,” France replied. “Don't you see? That endless blank wall? We are supposed to be here. We're expected.”

He walked in. Hans whispered loudly, “Who's expecting us?”

The air inside was warm and smelled of oil lamps and flowers. France went ahead with care, noting the beautiful mosaic floor, the tapestries on the walls, and the warm, gentle light filtering through the forest of columns. His sandaled feet scuffed the hand-cut tiles.

Leigh chewed his lip. If this was the home of the First Citizen, where were the servants? More important, where were the guards?

The corridor ended on a T-shaped intersection. A fountain burbled and splashed at the junction of three passages. Instead of the usual god or goddess statue, the fountain featured a very abstract figure carved from black stone, upswept from the fountain's basin and ending in a stylized curl, like an ocean wave in an old Japanese woodblock print.

Hans noticed this right away and said, “That's a Nango!”

“Nango?” asked Julie.

“The Japanese artist, Daisuke Nango! I've seen his work in museums in Munich and Frankfurt!”

“Did he live in Roman times?” said Leigh.

Hans frowned. “He died in 2034.”

Julie caught water in her hands and tried to wash off the heavy makeup Luxuria made her wear. Using the hem of her gown, she scrubbed her cheeks and forehead until they felt raw.

“This way,” murmured France.

He went left again. They passed through a darkly shadowed section of corridor before entering the end of a large rectangular room. The ceiling was very high. Water splashed in an unseen pool. Large flowers and small trees grew lavishly in dirt-filled trenches in the mosaic floor.

In the midst of this indoor garden was a couch, a low table, and a bright, flickering oil lamp. Reclining against the end of the couch was a man. The four teens froze.

The man looked up from the scroll he was reading. He appeared to be about sixty, with silver hair in a bowl cut. Thin, he was not so old his body had begun to sag. The man regarded them with clear, dark eyes.

“Ah,” he said. “I wasn't expecting visitors.”

France stepped forward. “Weren't you?”

The old man let the scroll curl up on the table. “I have few visitors these days, but welcome, welcome. You seem to be in some distress.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Julie.

“You're dirty feet speak of running. And that blade has plainly seen use.” He pointed to Leigh, who had taken the bloody gladius back and still carried it.

“Are you the First Citizen?” Hans said.

“Hardly! My name is Antoninus.”

“This is the First Citizen's house.” France did not say it like a question.

Antoninus stood. “It is. How did you know?”

“This hilltop commands the city. Who else would live here but the Princeps?”

The man smiled. “Smart fellow.”

Leigh burst out, “We've got to get out of here! Half the city will be after us by daylight!” Antoninus asked what they had done. Hans and Julie took turns explaining her escape from Luxuria's. Julie's language was rather blunt. Leigh blushed furiously.

“You are brave to help your sister and friend,” Antoninus said. “Lucky, too. I hope your luck continues.”

He nodded farewell and walked away into the greenery. France hurried after him.

“What do you do here?” he demanded. Antoninus ignored him until France grabbed him by the arm. The old man stared at France's hand until the latter removed it.

“I observe and report what I see to the First Citizen,” Antoninus said.

“You're his secretary?”

“‘Quaestor' is the proper title.”

“We want to see him,” France said.

“Impossible. No one sees the First Citizen.”

“Is that because he doesn't exist?”

Antoninus frowned. “Oh, he exists. He has always existed.”

He walked on. France and the others trailed behind. Antoninus quickened his pace.

“Levius, maybe we need a hostage,” France said.

“Yeah, maybe so!”

“The First Citizen's right-hand man would make a good one,” Julie offered. Hans agreed.

“How desperate you've become in such a short time!” Antoninus said. “Would you really kidnap me?”

“Why not?” France said.

“Would you harm me if I resisted? Would you kill me?”

“If it's you or us,” said Leigh.

They were walking briskly now. France noticed they weren't getting anywhere. The couch, the lamp, and the scroll were still plainly visible behind them.

“What do you know about illusions?” he said, catching Hans's eye.

“Strange time for a question! Well, Plato said—”

“Never mind Plato. What do you say?”

Antoninus stopped and looked away, thinking of some forgotten vista. He said, “‘Youths green and happy in first love, so thankful for illusion; And men caught out in what the world calls Guilt, in first confusion . . .'”

Julie said something about nuts in charge, but Hans recognized the quotation. It was from a nineteenth-century English poem by Arthur Clough, hardly a Roman.