Out of the Waters (34 page)

“Yes, very good,” Alphena said. “And take the pot back with you.”

“Ah—ma'am?” the workman said, frowning in concern. “That's a valuable piece, you know?”

Alphena opened her mouth to snarl, then paused.
He was trying to do me a favor. He cannot
imagine
how wealthy father is
.

“Even so,” she said with a negligent wave of her hand.
Publius Corylus would be pleased with me.
Looking toward the alley, she said, “Callistus? A silver piece for each of the men whom Master Corylus sent.”

One of the clerks stared at her in surprise: a silver piece was a day's wage. If he had been about to say something, he was prevented by his partner who tugged him around to face the other way. Callistus merely bowed and said, “Of course, your ladyship.”

The men who had brought the basin were leaving also. The foreman had caught the exchange with the nurserymen and watched her hopefully as he passed, but Alphena merely gave him a disdainful glance.

Anna turned to face her. The two of them were alone in the garden once more.

“I guess that's done it,” Anna said with satisfaction. “There's nothing more to do but wait for moonrise.”

“All right,” Alphena said. She swallowed. “What should I do now, mistress?”

Anna stretched, raising her right arm and then her left separately so that she could keep one cane firmly planted on the ground at all times. “Get some rest, your ladyship,” she said. “I'm going to try to do that myself, and I don't have near so far to go tonight as you do.”

She pursed her lips. “And get something to eat,” she added. “There's no telling when you'll be able to eat next. Ah—you might make it a good meal.”

Because it may be your last,
Alphena thought, completing the sentence.

“Yes,” she said. “We'll both do that.”

*   *   *

V
ARUS WALKED BESIDE
P
ULTO
at the rear of the squad of “Praetorian Guards.” He had listened to the servant muttering curses all the way from Saxa's house where they started before dawn.

It wasn't until they clashed to a halt in front of the home of Sempronius Tardus that Varus realized the old soldier wasn't worried about what would happen if they were caught pretending to be soldiers on a mission for the emperor. Rather, he was furious that the troupe of servants was hopeless at marching in step.

Because of the circumstances Pulto couldn't even scream and slap them into better order with the vinewood swagger stick he carried in the guise of a centurion. Lenatus, at the head of the column with Corylus, was probably having the same mental problem.

Varus grinned. The situation was pretty funny when he thought about it. The risk of being tortured to death was an accepted hazard for any veteran of skirmishing on the frontier. The embarrassment of marching bumbling incompetents through the middle of Carce was a new experience and apparently a more harrowing one.

“Open in the name of the emperor!” Corylus said. The door was closed, but Varus could see movement behind the eye slot. “I have a petition with a rescript from the emperor, requiring the release of Master Pandareus of Athens!”

The acting guardsmen looked quite impressive when they halted, which was all that really mattered. Pulto seemed to have begun to relax. In truth, the reaction of most residents of Carce—citizens as well as slaves—to a squad of soldiers was to get out of their way, not to quibble about the quality of their close-order drill.

No one spoke from the other side of the door. Varus moved so that he—or anyway, his broad-striped toga—was visible behind Corylus.

Corylus nodded. Lenatus stepped forward and rapped a sharp tattoo on the door panel with his stick.

“I'll count to five!” Corylus said, standing arms-akimbo. His molded body armor, silvered and then parcel-gilt, was dazzling in the rising sun. “Then we're coming in whether you open the door or not!”

Bolts rattled inside. Pulto muttered what sounded like a curse.
He must have been looking forward to a chance to break the door down,
Varus realized. For an instant he was appalled; then he grinned. He thought,
I hope that looks like a sinister smile.

The door creaked outward, pushed by the doorman. Lenatus and a “soldier” slammed it the rest of the way into the outside wall as soon as a crack wide enough for their fingers had opened. The doorman jumped inside and flattened himself against the back of his alcove.

Inside stood the majordomo Varus had seen the previous day. He looked, if anything, more frightened than he had been when Saxa arrived.

“Here, read this!” Corylus ordered, holding out the petition—supposedly from the urban praetor, countersigned in vermillion by the emperor and sealed with the imperial signet.

“Master, that won't be necessary,” the majordomo said, bowing low. He was an Oriental of some sort, Mesopotamian or from even farther east than that. For a moment Varus thought he was going to genuflect. “Please, master, allow me to take you and your friends to Lord Tardus. Lord Tardus will explain.”

Varus tried not to react, but he supposed the way his face suddenly became blank was a reaction in itself. He had expected protests or blank denials, but what was there to explain? All the servants looked terrified, which was understandable in the face of armed men entering with the threat of the emperor's displeasure; but there was something more going on here.

A pity that the majordomo hadn't bothered to read the petition, though. The calligraphy was the work of two of the finest scribes in Saxa's household—one acting as the praetor, the other for the emperor's secretary. The librarian, Alexandros, had not only provided a document with the imperial seal but had also made a mold of it in mastic, then duplicated the markings in wax on the false petition. Artistry like that forgery deserved an audience.

Corylus motioned Varus forward. Varus stepped through the doorway directly behind his friend and Lenatus, realizing that he hadn't gotten this far the other day.
I was talking with the Sibyl while my body apparently walked through Tardus' house and found the Serapeum below his garden.

And as Varus thought that, he felt the mist close in on him again.

*   *   *

C
ORYLUS JUMPED AS
V
ARUS SQUEALED,
“Oh, grant thou to me a path!”
in the voice of an old woman. He'd heard his friend do that often enough now that he supposed he should be used to it. Having someone shout it from behind when he was already as tense as if Germans might burst out of the thickets, though.… He decided to allow himself to have been startled.

“What, your lordship?” the majordomo said, his eyes opening wider. “Ah, Lord Tardus is in the office, where he'll, ah, he'll be glad to explain the situation to you.”

Corylus glanced back at Varus, whose face was as stern as that of a father sitting in judgment. That could have been acting—Corylus himself was trying to look like a military officer on a grim errand when in fact he felt like a schoolboy in the midst of a dangerous practical joke—but his friend's eyes were focused on something in the far distance. It gave him an uncanny expression, more disturbing than fury would have been.

When Varus didn't speak or press ahead, Corylus nodded curtly. “Take us to Lord Tardus,” he said, shaking the forged judicial order toward the majordomo's chest.

The man stepped back, bowed again, and turned, pattering into the office where Tardus sat on his senatorial chair. He bowed again and while still bent over said, “Your lordship, the, ah … this officer wishes to speak with you about Pandareus of Athens.”

The servant sidled from the room as quickly as a startled crab. Tardus raised his eyes. There was a direct line from his ivory seat and through the anteroom to the front door. The master of the house should have been as aware of the soldiers as Corylus was of him, but instead he looked as puzzled as if he found himself addressing the Senate in the nude.

“I am Marcus Sempronius Tardus, Senator and Commissioner for the Sacred Rites,” he said. His voice was reedy but seemed calm. “Why are you here, Tribune?”

Have we made a mistake?
Corylus thought. He held out the document and said, “We're here to release one Pandareus of Athens. This is our authority.”

“The teacher?” Tardus said. “Why ever do you think he's here? I've heard him lecture in the Forum, but we have never spoken.”

You were at dinner with Pandareus two nights ago!
Corylus thought. At least Varus had said that Tardus forced his way into the dinner.

He glanced at his friend. Varus, in the same ancient voice as before, said,
“Oh grant thou to me a path!”
and started toward the alcove at the back of the room where stairs led upward.

“I don't understand,” Tardus said. He sounded confused and irritated, but Corylus didn't hear any hint that he was afraid. “Why did he say that?”

Lenatus strode forward and went up the stairs ahead of his master. He didn't draw his sword, but he cocked back the swagger stick in his right hand to use for a cudgel if the need arose.

Corylus followed Varus, wishing that he had something to fill his hand also. Only the “common soldiers” had shields. That had been the correct decision, but it increased Corylus' sense of disquiet. It
really
felt as though he was going into action.

They reached the second floor landing. Lenatus paused. Varus started to push by without speaking. The trainer hopped sideways up the next two steps to take the lead again, then turned and stepped quickly to the top of the staircase. He moved on his toes, skipping up the last six steps two at a time.

If he takes a spear through the belly when he turns into the third-floor corridor,
Corylus thought,
I'll have time to get Varus out of the way, even if it means tripping him and jerking him backward.

Which was probably what Lenatus was thinking also. That was a soldier's job, after all: putting himself between possible violence and the civilians who were paying him. This just happened to be a direct example of something that was performed by hundreds of thousands of men on the frontiers.

Only the central section of Tardus' house had a third floor; the wings, reaching back on either side, had two. Corylus expected this top level would be servant's quarters, but the decoration all the way along the stairwell was of the same high quality: a continuous rural landscape in which winged cupids plowed, sowed, and reaped on the left side and on the right tended vines and olive trees. At the top was a harvest feast which extended around the wall behind the head of the stairs.

Corylus heard Tardus protesting from some distance back. He had apparently started up the stairs but the armed servants directly on “the tribune's” heels prevented him from joining the leaders by. Doing that to the householder—and a senator besides—would have been insanely foolhardy under most circumstances, but every soul of them would be crucified if this went wrong anyway.

No one was in the upper corridor. Given the number of servants in Tardus' household, that was in itself remarkable enough to arouse suspicion. As with the stairwell, the decoration was expensively complete. The corridor floor had a simple white pebble background broken into squares by lines of black pebbles, but there were mosaic cartouches in front of the stairs—in which pigmies rode cranes and battled with winged serpents—and at the far end under a skylight.

“Sir, what do we do now?” Lenatus said, speaking to Corylus. He gave his master a sidelong glance that showed a degree of concern.

“Grant thou me a path!”
Varus said and started down the corridor.

“I'll lead,” Corylus said. He drew his sword without being conscious of what he was doing; it seemed the natural thing, like taking a deep breath after surfacing from a plunge into the sea. Varus walked at a measured pace, so it was easy to get ahead of him.

The door on the left side at the end of the corridor was open. That room held a profusion of books: baskets of scrolls, each tagged, and codices lying flat with their cut pages turned outward so that the titles written on the fore-edges could be read.

The doorway to the room across the hall was closed with a light panel that didn't quite reach either the lintel or the floor. Herbal smoke drifted over and under it, tickling Corylus' nose. Several people were speaking—droning a chant—on the other side, but he couldn't make out the words.

He poised, starting to try the latch but deciding instead to kick the panel. Varus tried to walk past, seemingly oblivious of the naked sword. Lenatus caught his shoulder and dragged him back by main force.

Corylus smiled, though mostly in his mind.
If Lenatus hadn't had to grab his master, he'd have tried to nudge me out of the way and go through first himself—just like he'd do across the Rhine if a young tribune decided to be a hero.

When Corylus looked down at the gap at the bottom of the door, he noticed for the first time the mosaic cartouche he was standing on. It showed the priest Laocoon and his two sons wrapped in the coils of sea monsters, punishing him for trying to prevent his fellow Trojans from dragging the wooden horse within the walls of their city.

Memory of the vision of Typhon almost made him jump to the side, but there was a better way to get off the image. He lifted his hobnailed boot and kicked the latch and the panel around it into splinters. What was left of the door slapped the wall as Corylus strode into the room.

It was the mirror image of the library across the hall but fitted out with a couch and a writing desk instead of shelves and book baskets. Originally it must have been intended as a reading room to which Tardus would bring the chosen volume.

The lower two-thirds of the walls were dark red divided into panels by slender golden pillars. In the center of each panel was one of the Olympian gods, also painted in gold.