Muses of Roma (Codex Antonius Book 1) (12 page)

“Does Libertus put on games?” the boy asked.

“Games?” Ocella said absently. She continued studying the tabulari, where she searched for transportation routes out of Roma that the Praetorian Guard had not yet secured. So far, Fortuna had not been with her. Even the ground car merchants required gene scans before they would rent vehicles. While the sudden security restrictions—without official explanation—puzzled average Romans, it was something they had grown used to over the years, especially since the Kaldethian Rebellion.

“Yes, games,” Cordus said. He pointed to the visum where two gladiator golem teams sliced at each other with swords, spears, and spiked clubs. The coliseum spectators cheered and whistled insults and praise at the combatants. An unseen moderator described every swing and strike with as much passion as the mob in the stands.

“Not exactly,” Ocella said, frowning at the spectacle and turning back to the tabulari. “Liberti prefer 'games' with no killing.”

The boy looked at her, curious. “There is no killing in Roman games either.”

“Not even golems.”

“Really? Why not? They’re not human. They're controlled by drivers on the sidelines. See?”

He pointed to the “driver” teams wearing goggles, black gloves, and black boots. The drivers made the same hacks and swings as the golems they controlled on the battlefield. The camera zoomed in on a large, muscled golem as he was decapitated by an equally massive golem. A gout of blood erupted from the dead golem’s neck. On the sidelines, the dead golem’s driver threw up his hands, then ripped off his goggles and slammed them to the ground.

“We still don’t like it,” Ocella said, turning back to the tabulari.

“Strange. What sort of games do Liberti watch?”

Ocella sighed. When Cordus was in a curious mood, it was better for her to answer his questions than work and have him constantly interrupt her. She’d learned much about the boy's personality in the two weeks they’d been trapped in Scaurus's basement. She tried to put herself in the boy's place. He’d led as isolated a life as anyone save a prisoner. He was educated in Roman culture, and maybe a sprinkling of other Terran cultures that still retained a non-Roman identity, but any planet beyond Roman space would be a mystery to him. Though Liberti culture, entertainment, and goods found their way to Roma despite the embargoes, the Consular Family chose not to be “tainted” by such barbarian garbage. So naturally the boy wanted to learn everything he could about Libertus.

“We like almost any kind of racing you can imagine,” she said. “Humans, horses, ground-cars, aero-flyers, space sails. We even have leagues for dog racing.”

“Dog racing? But they're so filthy.”

Ocella smiled, knowing the Roman nobles’ aversion to dogs. If a Roman noble had a pet, it would be a cat. Long ago they adopted the ancient Egyptian veneration of felines as vessels through which to communicate with the gods.

“Dogs are quite intelligent actually,” she said. “Many Liberti keep them as pets.”

Talking about dogs suddenly made Ocella homesick. She had a dog when she was a child, a Laconian hound named Horace that loved nothing more than to chase her through her parents’ vast maize fields on Libertus. She had loved him more than her siblings at times. She thought of purchasing a dog when she got home, but quickly dismissed the idea. Her life as an Umbra Ancile kept her from forming any attachments. Dogs, cats, fish, husbands, children...

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Yes, I heard people in the Lost Worlds keep dogs as pets. How do you keep them from getting
cac
all over themselves?”

“They usually don’t, but they do require more maintenance than cats.”

The boy shook his head. “I do not think I would like a dog when I get to Libertus. I prefer cats. Although I suppose I
would
like to see a dog race.” He drifted into his own thoughts, watching the last gladiator golems stab at each other with tridents.

Ocella turned back to the tabulari, wondering not for the first time what the boy's life would be like after he left Roma. He had no idea how to care for himself. Would he adjust to a new life in the real world, or would he want to return to the comfort and security of his old life? Ocella prayed his “talents” would enable him to adjust. So much depended on those talents…

Ocella flinched when the grinding of stone on stone came from the top of the stairway. She jumped up and drew the pulse pistol from her hip holster. She stood to the side of the stairs, hearing boots on the steps. When Scaurus came down, he eyed her drawn pistol.

“Your wariness is commendable,” he said, “but I thought you'd recognize my footsteps by now.”

Ocella holstered her pistol. “Steps can be faked.”

“Indeed.”

Ocella glanced at the boy. He had not even noticed her get up, or Scaurus come down the stairs. He watched the gladiator games with that faraway expression.

Scaurus chuckled. “He hasn't moved since I left this morning.”

“He's bored.”

“He’s done exploring my texts?”

Ocella nodded. “Finished them last week.”

“Well you two may not be here much longer if my source is correct.”

Cordus sat up and looked at Scaurus as if seeing him for the first time. “Salve, Scaurus. You found us passage off world?”

“It’s not guaranteed. My source still has a bureaucratic hurdle to overcome.” Scaurus smiled. “But I'm rather confident he will come through.”

“Where?” Ocella asked.

“Linthius.”

“Linthius,” Cordus said. “A good choice. On the edge of Roman space, one way line in and out. A dead end.”

“Which means minimal security,” Ocella said. “It doesn't border any other power. Nothing beyond Linthius but empty space.” She looked at Cordus. “Sooner or later you’ll have to tell me about the planet you seek. The one with the proof.”

Cordus shook his head. “Not until we reach Linthius. If you are captured…”

“Right,” Ocella said. The Praetorians broke everyone eventually.

Scaurus broke the uncomfortable silence. “We still need to get you two to the spaceport without—”

A low chime sounded from the stairwell. Scaurus’s eyes narrowed. “I'm not expecting anyone at this hour.”

He hurried up the stairs, and Ocella went to the tabulari. She accessed the security cameras from the front door. A tall, thin man with gray-blond hair cut short to his scalp stood at the door. He had a hard, angular face, but his lips had a friendly turn. He was dressed well in a dark blue coat with gold embroidery along the sleeves.

Ocella drew her pistol again and hurried over to Cordus.

Lepidus tapped the chime again. He grew impatient from the wait, but he did not let it show in front of the small camera embedded in the frieze above the door. It was well concealed, though not to Lepidus’s professional eye. Let them see a courier or a Zoroaster evangelist. Just not a Praetorian.

The door opened, and a dark-haired slave squinted at him. “Yes?”

“I'm here to see Numerius Aurelius Scaurus,” Lepidus said. “Is your master home?”

“I'm sorry, my master is away. May I take a message?”

Lepidus nodded. “Tell your master my employer has secured the travel papers he requested. I have strict orders to deliver them only to him. I will come back tomorrow.” Lepidus turned and walked back down the street.

He had barely walked past the home when he heard the door open further.

“Wait,” a voice said from behind.

Lepidus allowed himself a brief smile, then he affected the surprise of a courier who did not expect to see the house master chasing him.

“
Dominus
,” Lepidus said, bowing his head, “your slave said you were out.”

“I was occupied. Who sent you?”

“Your man at the travel
officiorum
. He wanted me to tell you the travel papers you requested are ready.”

“I requested no travel papers.”

“I...I'm confused,
dominus
. My magister said—”

“Who are you?” Scaurus asked, his eyes narrow.

Lepidus smiled, then stood straight and walked to Scaurus. “I'm glad we can dispense with this fiction, Scaurus. I don't think I could have kept it up much longer.”

“Who are you?” Scaurus repeated.

“Someone trying to save your hands and feet from crucifixion.”

“What?”

“May I come in?”

“Not until you tell me who you are.”

Lepidus pulled a small scroll from his cloak and handed it to Scaurus. He took the scroll, unfurled it and read it. “Office of the Pontifex Maximus?”

“We have questions concerning your associations. May I come in, or do I need to call the lictors and bring you before the magistrate tonight?”

Scaurus smirked and then handed the scroll back to Lepidus. “I fail to see what the Pontifex Maximus needs with an old Praetorian like me, but you are welcome to come in.”

Scaurus turned on his heel and strode back into his home, leaving the door open for Lepidus. He smiled at the old man's back and then followed him inside.

Upon entering the home, Lepidus noticed two curious wax busts displayed in a prominent position reserved for the family’s ancestors.

“Gaius Julius Caesar and Marcus Tullius Cicero,” Lepidus said, studying the busts. “Interesting. Were you related to either?”

Scaurus glanced at the busts. “Not to Gaius Julius, but a distant relation to Cicero. Though I doubt you’re here to discuss my lineage.”

“If not for Gaius Julius, I’d almost think you were a democrat.”

When Scaurus shrugged, Lepidus laughed. “How does an old Praetorian who served the Consular Family his whole life end up an advocate for mob rule?”

Scaurus raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry, sir, you know my name but I do not know yours.”

Lepidus bowed. “Quintus Atius Lepidus.”

“Well, Quintus Atius, I have always been a ‘democrat,’ even while I served the Consular Family. I never saw a contradiction then, nor do I now.”

Lepidus folded his arms. “How can you believe mob rule is preferable to decrees that come directly from the gods? Do you believe the Senate can give the Consul and the Collegia better advice than the gods?”

Scaurus's slave brought a pot of
kaffa
from the kitchen and set it on a table next to two couches. Scaurus walked over to the pot and poured two cups, handed Lepidus a cup, and then motioned him to a couch. Lepidus sat down, but set the cup of
kaffa
on the table next to the pot.

“The gods are all knowing, obviously,” Scaurus said, sipping his
kaffa
. “But surely they have better things to do than set tax policy or direct sewer repairs or even provide for public safety. That’s something a freely elected Senate can do.”

“The Consul’s bureaucrats do that quite well. If they didn’t, the Roman race would never have conquered Terra much less the stars.”

“Ah, but
have
we conquered Terra? Rebellions flare up around the world every few years. Have we conquered the stars? Humanity is more fractured now in space than it ever was on Terra. I believe that if our people have a voice in public affairs, then other races would be more willing to accept Roman rule.”

“The people only need to obey the will of the gods expressed through the Consul and the Collegia. That will bring them happiness and prosperity. It has made Roma strong for a thousand years. Why change?”

“Because the gods gave human beings free will and an intellect. Why would they order us
not
to use either gift? To obey them without thought? Why they might as well have made us all ants. All I say is let human beings use their free will and intellect to handle the minutia of the Republic.”

Lepidus nodded, considering. “So you think the Consul and Collegia are lying to the people regarding the gods’ demands for complete obedience?”

“Not lying,” Scaurus said carefully. “Just misinterpreting.”

“Interesting ideas, Scaurus. I've heard them before like any student of discredited theories, and I’d love to debate governing philosophy with you all night. I mean that, but I’m afraid I have other business with you. Do you know a Praetorian named Marcia Licinius Ocella?”

“Of course. How can you be a Praetorian and not know who she is. It was I who sponsored her. Why?”

Lepidus was impressed with Scaurus's poise and the way he put pride into his response, as if he didn’t know the woman had kidnapped the Consular Heir of Roma.

“Well, it appears she spread some rather dangerous ideas around the Consular household.”

“I only sponsor the most honorable and loyal Romans to the Praetorian Guard,” Scaurus said, acting insulted. “Ocella is a patriot from a proud family. If you are in the know as much as you seem, then her recent actions should prove that. So what if she reveres tradition, including Roma’s democratic past?”

Lepidus smiled.
The man is a good actor indeed.

“Her recent actions were a boon to the Republic’s security. Liberti agents will no longer infiltrate Roma as they used to. But I was not referring to democracy.”

Scaurus looked at him. “Then what, Quintus Atius? Stop wasting my time and get to your point.”

Lepidus leaned forward. “Your woman convinced the Consular Heir to defect to Libertus.”

Scaurus stared at Lepidus. And then he laughed. Lepidus joined in the laughter. They were like old friends sharing stories of their younger, wilder days.

Scaurus wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Ah, Quintus Atius, for a moment I thought you were serious.”

“My dear Scaurus, I am serious.”

Lepidus drew his pulse pistol from his cloak, turned, and shot Scaurus's slave in the heart. The slave stumbled backward, dead before he fell to the ground, a pulse pistol tumbling from his right hand. Lepidus then aimed the pistol at Scaurus, whose own pistol was halfway out his sleeve. Scaurus froze.

“You disappoint me,” Lepidus said, snatching the pistol out of Scaurus's hand. “How can an old professional like you lose his skills so quickly? You've only been out of the service, what, five years?”

Scaurus stared at him, his jaw clenched. Lepidus produced wire bindings from his cloak and tossed them in Scaurus's lap. He examined the couch.

“This seems sturdy enough,” Lepidus said.

Scaurus didn't move. “What do you want?”

“Bind yourself to the couch and I will tell you.”

“I'm not shackling myself to—”

Lepidus fired into Scaurus's left foot, obliterating the big toe and the two next to it. Scaurus screamed.

“Shh, Scaurus, calm down. Surgeons do wonderful things with prosthetics these days. More gifts from the gods you want our Consul to ignore. Now bind yourself to the couch or I’ll shoot your other foot.”

With shaking hands Scaurus weaved the bindings around his hands and then through the couch's metal armrest. Lepidus tapped the com on his collar and said, “Appius, you may come in now.”

“I have rights,” Scaurus growled as he finished wrapping the wire around the armrest. “I am a Citizen of Roma. I’m a patrician from a noble family. The Consul has named me Friend. You will suffer for this.”

Lepidus leaned over and engaged the lock on the wire, then sat down on the couch facing Scaurus. He holstered his pistol and stared at Scaurus. The old man stared back defiantly several moments, then looked away.

“I thought so,” Lepidus said. “Where is Marcia Licinius Ocella?”

“I have no idea,” Scaurus said through a clenched jaw. His eyes were red from the pain in his foot. “I'm not her
paterfamilias
. Go talk to him. I need a medicus now.”

The front door opened behind Lepidus, and he turned to see his apprentice, Gnaeus Hortensius Appius, enter the house. The young man was dressed in a black cloak and had the blond hair and angular face of his Nordic ancestry.

“Sit down, Appius,” Lepidus said, “and watch a master liar spin his tales. He was Praefectus of the Praetorian Guard for twenty years, and the Consuls never suspected he was a traitor.”

Appius sat down without a word, staring at Scaurus like he was a rat under the dissection knife.

Scaurus trembled. With pain, fury, or fear, Lepidus couldn't tell.

“You have no right to do this to me,” Scaurus said. “If you have charges, bring them.”

Lepidus took a small knife from his cloak and placed it on the table next to Scaurus. “There will be no charges, no tribunals, no pleas for mercy to the Consul. No one will save you.”

Lepidus leaned forward, inches from Scaurus. “You will tell me what I want to know, and then I will kill you. It is up to you whether your death is quiet, or your agonized screams echo throughout the Aventine.”

Scaurus stared at Lepidus, anger and pain contorting his face...and then his features sagged. He looked like a man resigned to his fate. Lepidus was a little disappointed.

“You would break me,” Scaurus said.

“I'm glad you see reason. I don't have time to play with you. Where is Marcia Licinius Ocella? Where did she take the Consular Heir? The gods will receive you quickly if you confess your crimes now.”

“The gods. Yes, they will take me. But what of you, Quintus Atius Lepidus? Do you serve them or the Consul?”

“There is no difference. They are both divine.”

Scaurus shook his head sadly. “If you only knew your true masters.”

Then he bit down hard. White foam gushed from his mouth and he began convulsing. Appius leaped off the couch, grabbed Scaurus's head, and stuck his fingers town the man's throat to get him to gag up the poison. Scaurus choked, heaved once, and then was still, his eyes staring vacantly at Lepidus. Appius continued digging his fingers around in Scaurus's mouth.

“Enough,” Lepidus said. He grabbed the knife from the table and sheathed it in his cloak. “He's gone.”

Appius shoved Scaurus down onto the couch. “Gods damn him,” Appius growled. “He knew the boy’s location.” Then he turned to Lepidus. “How did
you
know it was him, sir? There was no evidence to suspect him.”

Lepidus regarded Scaurus’s body. “I followed a guess inspired by the gods, no matter how improbable that guess may have seemed. Licinius earned the Consul’s trust by rooting out the Liberti agents in Roma. But she is also the only Praetorian not to report after the boy’s disappearance. Scaurus was the one who recommended Licinius to the Guard. Therefore I concluded he might know her best.”

Appius shook his head. “I never would have had the courage to interrogate a man as powerful man as Scaurus based on a guess.”

Lepidus smiled. “Sometimes you need to listen to the gods when they whisper guidance to you.”

“He was a legend, a hero of the State. To think he was a traitor.”

“Only the Consul and the Collegia are infallible,” Lepidus said. He glanced around the house. “Call in your team. All evidence of tonight’s events must be removed. The public will be saddened to hear Numerius Aurelius Scaurus died of a heart attack. He will be remembered as a legend, a hero of the State.”

Appius scowled, then nodded. As he stood to leave, Lepidus said, “Ensure your men search this house from the weather vane to the foundations.”

Ocella and Cordus huddled on the couch in pitch-blackness. When Ocella heard Scaurus's screams, she immediately powered down everything in the underground sanctuary—the tabulari, the visum, the lights, the ventilation unit. Anything that might give off a power signature the agents upstairs might detect once they began their search. Scaurus had said the sanctuary was shielded from power leakage, but it was best not to test its effectiveness with their lives at stake.

“Will they find us?” Cordus whispered, huddled next to her. She could not see him, couldn't see her own nose, but she heard the tremor in his voice.

“I don't know,” she whispered back.

“What will we do if they come down?”

She could barely hear him speak over her heart pounding in her ears. “We'll fight them.”

“I cannot go back,” Cordus said. “They will tear my mind apart looking for—” Ocella felt him shudder. “Will you make sure they do not take me?”

Ocella clenched the pulse pistol in her right hand. “They will not take either of us.”

The boy tucked his head into her shoulder and was silent. They both sat in the dark, waiting for the sound of stone grinding on stone.