Elements 03 - Monsters of the Earth (11 page)

“Well, I…,” Alphena said.
She seems embarrassed
.
Surely it’s not a dil—

“Here!” the girl said abruptly, thrusting the box toward Hedia. “Mother, I got it for you. I just … well, I just did.”

Hedia was embarrassed in turn for the direction her thoughts had taken. She did not, she was sure, show any sign of that as she took the box.

Pausing, she let the kneeling Florina hold the bottom with one hand and remove the lid with the other. Hedia unfolded the silk wrapper inside. She kept her eyes on the gift rather than the giver, because staring would embarrass Alphena even more.

Hedia hadn’t known what to expect. The diadem was beyond anything she could have imagined.

“This is beautiful,” Hedia said. “And—”

She met Alphena’s eyes.

“—it’s a terrible thing as well, as beautiful and terrible as standing in the middle of a lightning storm. How did you find it?”

“I went into a jeweler’s shop and asked for something unusual for my mother,” Alphena said, her voice carefully controlled. “The jeweler said it was Tarantine work, but it came from Egypt.”

She held Hedia’s eyes, but that was obviously a trick to make it appear she was being more candid than she really was.
Don’t think you can lie to me, missie!
Hedia thought, but that was unworthy. The girl was learning how to handle difficult discussions, a skill that every woman needed to perfect.

“Gold is gold,” Hedia said, her voice chilled to the edge of harshness. “What is the stone and where did it come from?”

“He didn’t know,” Alphena said. Her hands were clenched tightly together. “Syenius didn’t know. He said he’d never seen anything like it. And I think it frightened him. He wasn’t a man easy to frighten, I think.”

She reached for the box again, saying, “I’m sorry; I’ll—”

“You will
not,
” said Hedia, lifting the diadem. “I don’t so easily give up things that so impress me, my dear. Although—”

Her smile was suddenly mischievous.

“—I’m generally willing to share them. But that in good time.”

She fitted the gold band onto her head. The bedchamber servants had appeared in response to quickly relayed hand signals from Syra, but Hedia chose not to let them place the diadem for her.

When Hedia tipped an index finger toward her, a maid—a specialist—held the mirror in place. It was a circle of bronze, polished as smooth as sunlight and then silvered. The face blazed momentarily with the presence—it was more than light—of the jewel; then the image settled back and Hedia viewed herself wearing the diadem.

“Your jeweler was right to be frightened,” she said, smiling again. It was the sort of smile she might wear while watching an execution.

I look like the Queen of Heaven
.
Or perhaps of the Underworld, a queen worthy of Hades … as the mewling Proserpina of myth is not.

“I like it very much,” she went on, removing the diadem and placing it back on the silk wrapping. “I will wear it tomorrow. Syra, remind me to choose a dinner gown that goes with it. Gray, I think, but I’ll want to try it against pure white before I decide.”

The closed box and the bedchamber staff vanished with exemplary lack of incident. Hedia wasn’t a petty tyrant, but she expected her servants to do their jobs quickly and unobtrusively. There was nothing petty about Hedia’s anger toward those who failed to meet her standards.

Alphena rose to her feet with a grace that equaled that of the most sophisticated ladies of Carce, her stepmother among them. Relief evident on her face, she said, “Then it’s really all right?”

“Yes,” said Hedia, rising also. “It makes me look like a queen.”

There was a bustle among the servants again. It was like watching birds in the shrubbery when a cat is prowling, though of course the servants were much quieter in their excited twittering.

“I’m going to choose a dress now, dear,” she said to Alphena. “Would you care to join me? And perhaps you could show me what you’re planning to wear, so that we don’t clash too badly. Though—”

She gestured toward the doorway through which a maid had carried the diadem.

“—your gift has its own logic to which we both must bow.”

“I think…,” Alphena said. She paused to consider, then went on, “I think the jewel will go with any color. If it wants to. And you did look like a queen. Like a goddess.”

“I’ll try to be worthy of your gift,” Hedia said, giving no hint of how surprised she was at her daughter’s perception. This wasn’t the resentful brat of a few months ago.

Though Hedia knew better than to take all credit for the change. Various things, most particularly the threat of imminent death, had brought Alphena to a more useful approach to life.

The girl flashed an unaffected smile. “Thank you, Mother,” she said. “I’m feeling a little dizzy now, though. I believe I’ll take a nap.”

She went off with her entourage of servants. The cudgel men didn’t escort Lady Alphena within the house, of course, but she had collected a considerable coterie of maids and attendants in the past few weeks. Ambitious servants used the status of service to the daughter of the house to lift them from the general mob of their fellows.

That said a great deal about the change in the girl’s behavior. She had become Lady Alphena, who reflected glory on those who served her, and who, however terrible she might be to her enemies, was just and generous to those who served her well.

“Syra,” Hedia said, following the girl with her eyes. “Has someone just arrived?”

“Master Corylus came to see Lord Varus, Your Ladyship,” Syra said. “They’re speaking in Lord Varus’ suite.”

Hedia gestured minusculely to indicate she had received the information. She did not otherwise move.

Corylus had left them at the animal compound to return to his father’s house; there had been no suggestion at the time that he would be back today. This visit must have something to do with Varus’ vision at the compound and perhaps with the lizardmen … but perhaps not.

“I will look at dresses now, Syra,” Hedia said, starting back into the house.

She was a successful woman, which in this world meant a woman who could turn the plans of men to her own benefit and the benefit of her family. The plans here might be those of demons or worse, but the principle was the same.

And if things didn’t work out in her favor this time …

Hedia smiled.
It’s time that the Underworld had a real queen.

*   *   *

C
ORYLUS WAS A FREQUENT
visitor to Saxa’s town house in Carce. The household staff knew him well.

Normally Corylus came in company with his friend Varus, though occasionally he used the excellent gymnasium and had no dealings with the family unless Varus—or less often and less comfortably Alphena—chose to join him. Senator Saxa had probably approved the arrangement, just as he would have approved any request his son made, but it wasn’t a matter of great concern to him.

Corylus hadn’t visited this beach house before, however, and Varus wasn’t expecting him. The doorman was a tall Thracian who spoke Latin better than the Germans whom Agrippinus, the majordomo in Carce, purchased for that duty.

The Thracian looked at Corylus in his plain—dusty and somewhat sweat-stained by now—tunic. “Lord Varus is not at home to your like, sirrah,” he said. The tone would have gotten him kicked where he’d feel it if Pulto had been present: a slave didn’t speak that way to the son of Prefect Cispius.

Fortunately, Manetho, an understeward from the Carce establishment, was in the entrance hall and had started toward the doorway as soon as he heard Corylus’ voice. Manetho burst into the guard kiosk and shrieked, “You barbarian! Was your mother a sow! This is His Young Lordship’s closest friend and you would send him out into the street?”

The doorman’s expression went from supercilious toward the underdressed stranger to fury at a fellow servant—and then to uncertainty. His face finally settled into cringing fear as he took in the plump Egyptian understeward’s words.

“Who hired such an untrained buffoon?” Manetho said, capping his rant.

Corylus smiled faintly.
Now
he understood what that was all about.

Publius Cispius Corylus was a friend of the family and particularly of Varus, so he had expected that any member of the Carce establishment would vouch for him at least to the degree of sending a message to Varus saying that a man of that name, claiming to be a friend, was at the door. He hadn’t expected this sort of violent endorsement, though.

But if Manetho thought he should have been appointed chief steward here on the Bay or if the Carce establishment and the local establishment were mutually hostile already, the outburst made sense. It wasn’t about Corylus, except to the degree that Lord Varus’ friend made a useful club with which to pound a rival.

“Please forgive these clowns, Master Corylus,” Manetho said, bowing—which he never would have done to a mere knight had they been back in Carce. “I’ve sent a messenger to alert Lord Varus, who is in his apartments. I’ll take you to him now.”

“You have no duties in this house save for those I choose to give you,” said a tall man whose austere face contrasted with his tunics of green layered over red, both trimmed with gold embroidery.

“Look here, Balbinus—,” said Manetho.

Three additional servants formed in front of the Egyptian and forced him back without actually pushing him. Corylus felt a degree of sympathy for the fellow, but he’d clearly overplayed his hand. He thought about the human need to create rivals out of fellows. It was no different in the army, except perhaps that there deadly weapons were readily to hand.

Balbinus bowed, though not as deeply as Manetho had, and said, “If you’ll please come with me, Master Corylus, I’ll take you to Lord Varus. I’ve informed him of your arrival.”

“Publius,” said Varus, walking toward him around the pool in the center of the reception hall. “I’m very glad to see you. My suite is on the second floor here. It’s supposed to catch the evening breezes better.”

He wore a very fine silk tunic and sandals with gilded straps. Corylus had caught Varus dressing for dinner, but at least he hadn’t wrapped himself in his toga yet.

“I came across a literary puzzle,” Corylus said, lifting the scrap of paper to call attention to it. “I realize the timing isn’t good, but I’d like to discuss it with you now.”

“Yes, of course,” Varus said, turning to the staircase concealed by a wall frescoed with a scene of Bellerophon on the back of Pegasus. “There’s no library here, but my room should be literary enough to suit our purposes.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the top of the stairs and added, “I have my own loggia, so we’ll sit there since you prefer the outdoors. The light will be better anyway.”

“You don’t care where you are,” Corylus said, voicing a sudden realization about his friend. “So long as you have a book.”

Varus laughed as he led the way into his own suite. The walls were rich yellow with cartouches painted to look like alcoves holding statues. “True enough,” he said. “Though I’m trying to become a better-balanced man and therefore a
true
philosopher.”

Servants stood at attention within the suite; they bowed as the young master and his friend passed through. Corylus counted eight. Enough to fill a squad tent, though they wouldn’t be much use if the Germans came across the border.

They probably weren’t much use here, either, even when the family was in residence. Varus didn’t care about food and luxuries—save for books. He could have lived on army rations as easily as a soldier who grew up on a farm in the hills, though he drank a great deal less wine than that soldier.

The loggia had masonry benches to either side, protected by a sturdy roof that supported part of the open-air dining area. The location wasn’t private, but it was as close to private as a house full of servants could be; and the light was good.

Varus sat, gesturing Corylus to the place beside him. Servants started to crowd onto the loggia. Varus looked up, frowned, and said, “I will not need you. Scillio, see to it that I’m left alone.”

A servant whom Corylus recognized from the town house, one of the copyists, immediately said, “Out! Out! The master is in the process of creation!”

Corylus looked at his friend, trying to control his surprise. Varus smiled wanly and said, “Even when I
was
writing poetry, I didn’t deserve that kind of effusion.”

He held out his hand. “Let me see this literary puzzle, if you will.”

Corylus gave him the palimpsest. He said, “A man brought it to me in a bar near the harbor. He said it was scratch paper used by his uncle, Vergil. I recognized the line from the
Aeneid.
”

Varus read it, then looked at Corylus and said, “It’s not quite the
Aeneid.
This says ‘my brethren.’ The poem—the completed poem—reads ‘my lads.’”

He turned the document at ninety degrees and tilted it to catch the sun at a raking angle. He was reading the original message, which had been rubbed off with pumice to allow the sheet to be reused.

“I noticed that it was very good quality papyrus,” Corylus said. “The edges were smoothed and painted red with henna.”

Varus chuckled and lowered the document. “Yes,” he said. “If we’re to believe that this sheet—”

He wiggled it; Corylus took it from his fingers and examined the original himself.

“—really came from Vergil’s study, then I would guess that a senator with literary pretensions sent Vergil his epic, hoping that the great man would approve of his efforts. The great man made the same decision I would have, unless I decided to wrap fish in the sheets instead.”

“‘Then Hannibal, raving like a demon, leaped the wall into the midst of the defenders,’” Corylus read, then set the palimpsest on the bench between them. “Yes, it’s pretty bad, all right.”

“If anything,” Varus said, his tone losing some of its cheerfulness, “it’s worse than my own verse was. Which is not a thing I say lightly.”

“The man said his name was Lucinus,” Corylus said. He was changing the subject, but he was changing it back to the real purpose of his visit. “He gave me the page because he wouldn’t be permitted to see you. He said you are a magician who can help him defeat the danger which threatens the whole world.”