Lost Republic (11 page)

France looked on in amazement as the little prowler ran past the barn. It wasn't a person at all, by the look of it. The slim figure, the white limbs were quite clear—and quite impossible.

The goddess statue the farmer kept in a shrine in his yard was walking around, inspecting the captives. France had seen the statue earlier, after the farmer's daughter left an offering to it. Now it hurried away on slender marble feet. It glanced back once and met the gaze of his open eye. Though its movements were as fluid as any woman's, its face was an unliving mask of marble.

It took a long time after that for France to fall asleep.

Dawn stirred the farm anew. The stout farmer and his family got to work at first light, as farmers have always done. They did not pretend to be quiet, and soon the
Carleton
captives stirred from their dewy places, blinking at the sunrise.

The first thing France did was check his back. The cut in his shirt was still there, but his skin was unpierced. The night's adventure seemed so unreal, but there was a hole in the shirt where the soldier had stabbed him. Just as strange were the miniature footprints in the dirt around him, perfect impressions of tiny female feet.

His amazement was cut short when Leigh called out to him. France followed the American's pointing hand and saw three men, stripped of their arms and armor, tied to posts in the farmer's yard. They hung by their bindings, limp and lifeless.

The centurion strode past, barking orders.

“Ration breakfast this morning! No fires! The march will begin as soon as the prisoners are roused and in order!”

France understood every word he said.

A soldier with a lion's skin wrapped around his shoulders doubled up and replied, “Can we refill our canteens at the farmer's well?”

“Detail three men to fill them all,” said the centurion.

He understood the exchange completely. Were the soldiers now speaking French? To the centurion France said mildly, “Sir, what will happen to the men who attacked the girls last night?”

Without batting an eye, the centurion snapped, “They have paid the price of indiscipline!” He moved on, bawling at his men to get them moving.

Hans sidled up. “Either my Latin has vastly improved overnight or they're speaking German this morning!”

“French, you mean.”

They gave each other a startled look. Hans closed his eyes and sang softly, “‘O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, thy leaves are so unchanging . . .'” He opened his eyes. “That was German, was it not?”

France shook his head. Concentrating, he tried to recite “La Marseillaise” in his native language. Hans assured him he followed every word.

All over the farm the
Carleton
party were freely using their newfound fluency. People who hadn't spoken to each other during the entire voyage due to language barriers now addressed each other with ease and clarity.

Leigh was so disturbed by this development, he squatted in the corral writing in the dirt with a twig. France and Hans spotted him staring hard at what he had written.

“What is it?” France said.

Leigh's brow furrowed deeply. “I tried to write, ‘I am eighteen years old,' in English.” What was traced in the dirt read
“
Ego sum duodeviginti annus vetus.
”

“That's not English, is it?” he asked helplessly.

“It's Latin!” said France at the same time Hans did.

Something very strange was going on. Stranger still was the fact that most of the people from the
Carleton
accepted this profound change with little more than a shrug and a smile. The situation, though perilous, suddenly felt a lot less dangerous now that everyone understood what everyone else was saying. What mechanism brought this about, no one knew—and few seemed to care.

The women and children filed out of the barn, prodded by soldiers. There was much yawning and stretching, but the feel of things had radically changed. Legionnaires moved among the prisoners, dispensing bread, water, and small, hard apples to every open hand. Their swords were sheathed, and no one appeared distressed by their captivity. Children laughed and darted among the stationary adults. One of the farmer's children followed behind the soldiers passing out fruit, collecting apple cores to feed to their hogs.

Not all the women were relaxed. Julie was glad her nose wasn't broken, but she remembered every indignity of the previous night. When she asked about the man who abducted her, his fate was pointed out to her. Seeing a man beaten lifeless, tied to a post, made her sick inside. The
Carleton
women around her took it all in stride.

Linh, sluggish from lack of sleep, was so amazed she could understand her captors, her throat locked up, leaving her speechless. It was Jenny who made the connection no one else noticed.

“The flash of light last night, that's what did it,” she said, munching an apple between swigs of well water. Julie asked how. “I dunno. All I know is everything is different since the bright light.” That could not be denied.

The prisoners lined up in the road without complaint. Soldiers noisily counted them twice, coming up two short both times. Annoyed, the centurion pushed his way through the crowd, eyeing their faces. He soon discovered who was missing.

“A boy, black hair, this high.” He held a hand edge against his shoulder. “The swarthy girl with the bandage on her arm. Find them!”

Eleanor was in the barn, asleep. She had covered herself in straw and not heard the call to rise. Looking dazed and young, Ms. Martinez led her out to join the others.

Emile proved harder to find. The centurion was about to declare him escaped and start a hunt when the farmer's wife descended the hill from her house calling, “He's with us! O great sir, the boy is with us!”

The centurion said, “In your house?”

The farmer's wife nodded. “When Aurora opened my eyes, he was at the table reading my husband's almanac.”

Sometime before dawn, Emile had entered the house and helped himself to some cider. He sat by an open glassless window and read the only book the farmer possessed, a short scroll containing a list of omens, good and bad, and the best dates for planting crops.

“Who does he think he is, Tribune Titus? Get him out here!”

Appearing relaxed, Emile came down the rocky path to join the rest of the
Carleton
people.

Hans whispered to him, “Are you well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“What happened to you?”

Emile gazed skyward. “There was a flash . . . I was looking right at it. I couldn't see for a while and stumbled until I found myself in the farmer's house.”

“We all know Latin!” said Leigh.

Emile smiled. “Yes. High time, too.”

On the way to Eternus Urbs, Leigh decided to escape. He had always wanted to, but on the beach or in the pine barrens, there was nowhere to go. The Latin soldiers (that's what Hans said people from a country called Latium would be called) were well armed and knew their business. After the three soldiers were executed for attempted rape, all muttered talk of escape ceased. Leigh nourished freedom in his mind. As their journey lengthened, he began searching for new possibilities for escape. It would not be a mass exodus. The curious passivity of most of the
Carleton
survivors continued. Only the eight of them involved in the brawl at the farm seemed unchanged

Half a day from the farm, they reached a great, wide road, arched in the center and well paved, a real Roman road. Signposts pointed the way to places called Voluptario, Fumidus Villa, and Eternus Urbs. Traffic increased, too. Wagons drawn by oxen were common, laden with goods for trade in town. Farmers pushed barrows of produce, and single travelers went on foot or horseback. Everyone wore the simplest clothes—shifts, kilts, and poncholike garments against the morning chill.

Julie asked where all the togas were. Didn't those old Romans wear bedsheets all the time?

“Not bedsheets,” said Emile. He had taken to lingering behind the others, watching and listening. “Togas are real garments, and only true-born male citizens are allowed to wear them.”

“I bet you'd look lovely in one,” Julie replied.

Once a chariot rattled past. It was pulled by a matched pair of snow-white horses, the most beautiful animals Linh had ever seen. Too bad the man driving them was short, bald, and had an enormous nose, made even more prominent by the wart on the end. Homely he was, but the centurion cleared the road to let him by. Six sturdy men plodded along behind him on an odd mix of elderly horses, donkeys, and a mule.

“All hail Lucius Calvus!” the centurion said after the chariot clattered over the hill and out of sight. He laughed.

“Who's he?” asked Hans.

“One of the richest men in the city out inspecting his holdings. See his escort?” said the centurion. His name, they had discovered, was Durus Silex. “Rich as he is, he won't mount his guard properly and let's them founder along like a troupe of comedians.”

On either side of the road were many prosperous farms. The land was covered with them, growing everything from olives to grapes to hectares of grain, still green and rippling like ocean waves with every puff of breeze. It was this bounty, and the fact that many people were about, that gave Leigh hope of escape. Now there were places to hide and people to blend in with. The fact that he could read and write Latin now only made escape seem more possible.

When he wasn't tied up helping carry Mrs. Ellis's litter, Leigh stayed by France Martin and Hans Bachmann. They were ready to run away, too. France was convinced they faced a life of slavery if they didn't.

Hans's concerns were more abstract. He still couldn't wrap his mind around their predicament. How did they—men, women, and children of the twenty-first century—find themselves shipwrecked in an unknown place resembling ancient Italy? How had they started speaking Latin overnight? Why did their captors not seem to notice the change? How had France and Julie Morrison recover so swiftly and completely from their injuries? Hans had no answers. Such ignorance was hard to handle.

Emile loped ahead a few paces. France tapped Leigh on the arm and gestured. Leigh nodded. The three of them walked faster until they caught up with Emile.

“Listen,” said Leigh quietly. “We want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Down went his voice. “Escape.”

“Really? Where to?”

“Somewhere away from Silex and his men,” France replied. “I don't know what they intend for us when we reach the city, but I'm sure it isn't good. I don't want to be a slave!”

“Or die in the Arena,” added Leigh.

Emile laughed. The others flinched at the bold sound.

“You've seen too many sword-and-sandal epics,” Emile said, chuckling.

“What do you think they'll do with us?” demanded Leigh.

“I have no idea.”

“Don't you care?” asked France.

Emile took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We are in a mystery,” he said at last. “I want to see how it comes out.”

They abandoned him, falling back near the end of the line of captives. Bringing up the rear of the column were the archers. They walked with their bows strung, but their arrows were in their quivers.

Early in the afternoon they passed through a small town, Fumidus Villa. This was the biggest place they'd seen yet, with sturdy two- and three-story buildings of timber and stone. The road widened out into a square (“forum” Silex called it) that was lined on two sides with ramshackle stalls and booths made of weathered lumber and canvas. It was market day, but by this hour, sales were nearly over. Most of the stalls were empty, and the rest were selling off what they could to finish. A carpet of trampled hay, horse dung, and squashed vegetables covered the square.

“Hail, soldier! What ya got there?” called a scruffy stall-keeper. The table in front of her had a few knobby carrots and runty onions left on it.

“Newcomers for the capital,” the centurion replied.

Hans noticed his choice of words: not prisoners, captives, or slaves, but newcomers.

Silex let his men break ranks and buy food from the vendors. Lacking money, the
Carleton
people stood back until the centurion told the merchants to feed them, too. What about payment, some of them loudly demanded.

“Submit your costs to the First Citizen!” Judging by the faces of the vendors, no one cared to bother the First Citizen of the Republic over a few leftover vegetables.

Leigh sized up his chances. The guards were busy eating, drinking, or flirting with girls in the square. Centurion Silex stood in the midst of the crowd, fists on hips, keeping an eye on everything, but he couldn't see what was going on at the fringes of the square. Leigh could work his way through the people, get Julie, and run for it as soon as they reached the far edge of the crowd. If the
Carleton
people made trouble, tying up the soldiers, more of them might get away.

He gave Hans and France the high sign and started through the crowd to Julie. She was with the runner, Jenny, and the quiet Linh. Leigh moved from Julie's blind side and slipped his hand in hers.

Julie flinched and swung hard, meaning to smack the impudent male taking her hand right across the face. Leigh caught her before she connected.

“Let's get out of here,” he said, forming the words with his lips but barely speaking aloud. She replied by almost jerking his arm out his socket, so fast did she make for freedom.

“Slow down,” he said anxiously. “Don't draw attention—”

Julie stopped short. “You're right.” Hand in hand, smiling sweetly at everyone they passed, the Morrisons made their way out of the forum.

Jenny saw them go. What were they up to? Julie had guts, she knew, but she wasn't convinced her brother had much in the way of brains. Still, things happened when the Morrisons were around. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she followed them.

Linh turned around and noticed her companions leaving. Alone in the square full of soldiers, townsfolk, and the
Carleton
people, they seemed to be doing something with purpose. Arms folded, Linh started after Jenny. She hadn't gone four steps before catching the eye of Eleanor Quarrel. Eleanor had been quiet since the Big Flash, as Linh thought of it. She cocked her head when she saw Linh. Without a word, Eleanor fell in step beside her.

Hans and France let themselves drift backward to the outer edge of the crowd. Leigh and Julie joined them. Leigh was ready to slip away right then, but France held him back. He could see Jenny coming, and behind her Linh and Eleanor. When the seven teens were together, Leigh led them toward the nearest cover, a muddy, narrow lane between two houses on the south side of the forum. They had to cover twenty yards without being noticed.

“Where are we going?” Julie asked too loudly.

From the side of his mouth, Leigh hissed, “Away. Out of here!”

“But where to?” She mocked his tone and expression.

Leigh had no idea. He hadn't thought past the getting away part.

“Back to the sea,” Hans murmured. “Maybe a passing ship will—”

“We can't get off the island.”

They stopped, and one by one stared at Eleanor, who had made this flat announcement.

“How do you know this is an island?” asked Jenny.

“Must be.”

Julie got in her face. “So why can't we get off it?”

Eleanor smiled in a peaceful, vacant way. She was so unchallenging, Julie stepped back, nonplussed.

“Come on, “ Leigh urged. They still had a dozen yards to go.

They only made it about two. A loud voice behind them proclaimed, “Hello! What are you doing?”

Leigh tried to ignore the voice. He knew it was Emile. Gripping Julie's hand tightly, he quickened his step.

“Wait! Don't go!”

Silex heard the call, too, and spotted the teens stealing away. He shouted to his men, and a couple dozen legionnaires pushed through the crowd and surrounded the teens. For a moment Leigh resisted, shoving a hard-faced soldier away. The Latins closed in, roughly pushing Hans and France into Jenny, Linh, and Eleanor. One soldier made to collar Julie. She faced him, smiling her nastiest smile, and held up a fist. The tough legionnaire stopped dead in his tracks.

Emile sauntered behind them, smiling like an idiot. Did he know what he had done? Cursing under his breath, Leigh stopped pushing and stared at the worn pavement.

“What's this?” the centurion demanded. He saw one of his soldiers still had an apple in his hand and slapped it away. “Leaving, are you?”

“You've no right to keep us prisoner!” Julie shouted. “We're free people!”

“Every citizen of the Republic is free,” Silex said. “You are citizens now, or soon will be, once we reach the city.”

France was puzzled. Citizens?

Hans said, “We did not ask to be citizens of your Republic.”

“It is your choice. Either you are citizens or you are invaders. You have seen the fate of those who enter our country uninvited.” Behind him, Emile was still smiling broadly. France noticed Eleanor was likewise sporting an unnecessary grin.

Hans started back to the docile crowd of
Carleton
survivors. Jenny and Linh followed him. France pulled at Leigh's sleeve.

“Come,” he said. “This is not the way.”

Julie stamped her foot. “Damn it, why does this always happen? It's like we're under a microscope or something, watched every second!”

“Never mind,” Leigh said. “He is right.”

He trailed after the others, leaving Julie alone. She blinked through angry tears. She wasn't mad at the Latins, or at Emile for blowing the whistle.

“Why do you start things you can't finish?” she yelled at her brother. “You always do! You were gonna manage our band, and where did that go? And the Sunwei convertible—it was mine if you could fix it. You never did! Why do you wuss out all the time?”

Leigh didn't answer. He glared at Emile, protected by a line of armed guards. It was his fault. If he hadn't spoken up, they could have made it.

Back with the
Carleton
group, France said to Leigh, “Don't worry about it. There will be another time.”

“Everyone's so passive,” Hans remarked. He scanned the crowd. The American navy men, the Irish football team, Mr. Chen and his brothers, Trevedi, what was left of the
Carleton
's crew—all stood in the forum, munching an apple or carrot. They were supremely unconcerned by their predicament. To Hans they seemed almost—

“Brainwashed,” he said aloud. He had a hard time saying it, finding it difficult to dredge up the word to go with his clear idea. He wondered what the equivalent in Latin for “brainwash” was, but every attempt he made to think in an alternate language failed.

Silex had the seven teens who tried to escape put in leg irons. Julie loudly protested. Linh wept. Jenny and Leigh glowered, while the rest were quieted by the sight of bared steel blades. Last to be shackled was France. Emile was not chained until Leigh made a bitter comment about his freedom. The centurion promptly ordered the Belgian teen added to the chain gang. France found himself joined to Emile by a meter of iron links. Even the Latins didn't trust a squealer.

The march resumed. Some of the legionnaires wanted to remain in Fumidus overnight, but Silex vetoed that. Time was pressing. They had to be in Eternus Urbs by tomorrow night. Orders.

Chains jingling as they shuffled forward, France wondered what the hurry was.

On they went, through the afternoon, along a wide highway busy with foot and animal-drawn traffic. Walking chained together proved as dangerous as it was humiliating. Everyone had to shuffle along in synch or risk being tripped. At one point, Hans got out of step and fell, dragging Leigh and Jenny down with him and badly bruising his knee. They all developed blisters where the shackles rubbed their ankles. With every mile, Leigh's hatred for Emile grew. Emile kept pace, apparently unconcerned.

They passed more military units marching away from the capital. Centurion Silex reported to a passing tribune their short fight with “Ys barbarians” on the beach where the
Carleton
people were found. The tribune related other border skirmishes with Ys. If this kept up, he said, the First Citizen would ask the Senate to declare war on the neighboring realm.

France found this overheard news fascinating. The Latins did not seem to find it strange to be facing foes from a completely different period in history. There were so many things about their situation that didn't add up. France tried to sort things out for a while, but soon gave up trying to make it make sense. There was too much he didn't know.