The Legions of Fire (25 page)

Servants were gathered outside the closed door. There must be fifty of them, squeezing together so that each could claim to have been present. They couldn't possibly have been overhearing what was said inside: their breathing alone would smother words that penetrated the thick panel.

Alphena felt her anger blaze. She'd been threatened by a spectral voice and bullied by her stepmother; now she had a legitimate target for her temper.

“Get out of here!” she shouted. “I'll have you flogged! By Hercules, I'll flog you myself! Where's a whip? I want a whip!”

The crowd burst like a melon dropped onto a stone pavement. Servants ran in all directions except straight at the young mistress—and, blinking, Alphena realized that with the way they were shoving each other, it was
perfectly possible that one of them
would
lose his balance and knock her down.

A scullery maid slipped and was trampled by several of her fellows. She squealed in terror every time someone stepped on her. Tear-blinded, she was still squirming on the hallway floor after the rest of the servants had vanished either into the back garden or toward the front of the house.

Alphena felt queasy.
She's no older than me!
She bent and took the girl's hand. The maid rose to her knees; she wasn't really hurt. When she wiped her eyes and saw who had helped her, however, she gave a muffled shriek and ran into the garden.

Alphena pulled open the bath house door. In the light of a pair of three-wick lamps, Corylus reclined on the table while Lenatus applied ointment to his knee. Varus was refilling a basin from the large boiler in the corner. This facility was too small to have a proper heated bath, but servants could sponge you with hot water before a massage.

Now that the torn skin had been cleaned, the scrapes didn't look too serious. His right knee had swollen to half again the size of the left, however. Unless it went down under the trainer's ministrations, it would be as stiff as if it had been splinted.

The three men stared at Alphena. She had assumed that she'd announced her presence when she shouted at the servants, but the trio had obviously been too involved with their own business to pay any attention.

Lenatus had a napkin draped over his knees to wipe his hands as he applied the ointment. He tossed it over Corylus's manhood and rose to face her, standing between Alphena and his patient. The pot of ointment smelled like sheep.

“Your ladyship, you shouldn't be here,” Lenatus said. His expression was one of cold misery, like that of a brave man who has just been sentenced to death. “Please leave now.”

“Who are you to tell me where I can go in my father's house, you
servant
?” Alphena said. She heard her voice rising to a scream and hated it, but she could no more control the tone than she could stop breathing. “Don't you
dare
give me orders!”

Lenatus flinched, but he didn't move. In a quiet voice without inflection he said, “Your ladyship.” It wasn't a plea or a complaint, just the simplest acknowledgment he could make of the fact that the young mistress was shouting at him.

Alphena gasped, appalled at herself. She thought of the look on the scullery maid's face when she recognized her mistress.

The trainer knew that no matter what he did in the present situation, there was a good chance that he would be dismissed and possibly crucified. All the servants knew what it meant to anger their ladyships, Alphena as surely as Hedia.

If Lenatus let her stay while he worked on Corylus's injuries, however, her father's social position meant he would
have
to take action if he learned about it. The trainer was bound to have at least one enemy among the hundreds of servants in the town house, so Saxa would surely learn.

Varus stepped forward. He'd put down the basin, but his hands were still wet from wringing out the bloody sponge.

“Sister,” he said with a dignity that Alphena didn't recall him displaying in the past. “Please show courtesy to our guest, Master Corylus. He isn't an exotic animal on display at the Games.”

Alphena stepped back into the corridor, but she kept hold of the door. “Yes,” she said. “Master Corylus, I apologize. I'm, I … tonight was upsetting. And to you too, Lenatus.”

“Thank you, Sister,” said Varus, reaching out to take the door from her.

“A moment, please,” Alphena said sharply. Speaking as though the trainer were a curtain, she said, “Master Corylus, you won't be going to the auguries for my father's consulship tomorrow morning, will you?”

Lenatus had given a sigh of relief when Alphena backed from the bath house. He stiffened again, though this time he looked wary instead of doomed.

“Ah, no, your ladyship,” Corylus said. If she could have seen his expression, it probably would have been as careful as the trainer's was. “It's a nonbusiness day so we don't have class, but I thought I'd go home and … well, to be honest, I'd reassure Anna. She fusses over me, you know.”

“I'll leave you with Lenatus now,” Alphena said. “But promise you'll train with me tomorrow before you leave.”

There was frozen silence from the bath house. Alphena added, “At the fourth hour. And I understand, we won't be sparring.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” Corylus said.

Alphena grimaced. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to hit Corylus.

Unexpectedly, Corylus—still hidden behind the trainer—went on, “Sure, Alphena. And it would probably be good for my knee. I'd like that.”

Mother Juno, thank you,
Alphena thought reflexively. She kept the words from reaching her tongue. Aloud she said, “But Brother, you have to come with me now. They don't need you here, and I do.”

“Surely there's no impropriety in my remaining with my good friend!” Varus said in surprise. The dignity was there again, but this time it was offended.

“It's not that,” Alphena said peevishly. “I need to talk to you. You know history, don't you?”

“Well, yes …,” he said doubtfully. He looked over his shoulder.

Lenatus bowed slightly. “We'll be all right, your lordship,” he said. His relief at getting Alphena out of the way was obvious.

Alphena's renewed irritation turned to a grin when another thought occurred to her. It could be that Lenatus was just as glad not to be present while the two youths discussed things that might be dangerous for a servant to know.

“What do you want to know?” Varus said as he came outside and firmly closed the bath house door behind him. He paused, then said, “Corylus is well-read too, of course; but I'm, well, probably the right person to ask.”

“Let's go out into the garden,” Alphena said, thinking of the crowd of servants who were probably clustering close to where she and Varus stood in the short hallway. The garden wasn't large, but it would give them more privacy.

With her brother following obediently, Alphena walked past the gymnasium and through the open door into the garden. As she'd expected, half a dozen of the servants she'd rousted from the bath house entrance were there, talking in muted voices with the night doorman. They stared in concern as she and Varus entered.

“Leave now,” Alphena said. To the doorman she added, “You too, Maximus. Stand outside the gate until I call you.”

She spoke calmly, but after her recent rage the servants fled through the back gate as though she were chasing them with branding irons. They'd reenter the house by the front entrance, as many of their fellows must have done already.

As the doorman pulled the iron-strapped gate closed behind him, Varus
slid the heavy bar through its staples. He walked back to face Alphena as she stood between the two fruit trees.

“Now, Sister,” he said. “What is it you want to know in such secrecy? Not history, surely.”

Maximus had taken his lantern outside with him, but the moon's cool light was full on Varus's face. He looked like the marble statue of a philosopher.

Whatever happened tonight changed him,
Alphena thought.
Into a man, I think
.

“It is history,” she said. She swallowed. “At least I think it is. Have you ever heard of a man named Spurius Cassius? I think he must be dead.”

Varus didn't speak for a moment. Then he said, “I can check the lists of magistrates which some of the temples keep, and perhaps the Cassius family has records which they would let me see.” He smiled with quiet pride. “I dare say they would show me whatever they have,” he added. “For Father's name, but they will have heard of my interest as well, I believe.”

“But you don't know of anybody yourself?” Alphena said in frustration. She had so hoped for an answer!

Her brother raised his hand in curt negation. “I didn't say that,” he said. “In fact the only man of that name whom I do recall has been dead for over five hundred years. He was one of the earliest consuls of the Republic, a great general who led our armies to several victories. But when he tried to become king, he was captured and executed in his own home. The house was pulled down over him and a temple was built on the site.”

“Brother,” Alphena said. She wrapped her arms around herself as though she were cold. “Which temple was it? Do you know?”

Varus frowned. “I'd have to check,” he said. “Does it matter to you? I think Cicero may mention it in the oration he gave when the Senate voted to rebuild his house. I'm sure I can find it somewhere.”

“Was it the Temple of Tellus?” Alphena said, looking at the ground. “Tell me,
was
it?”

“Why yes, I believe you're right,” said Varus. “That's the one Father is renovating, isn't it? The dedicated gifts were brought right here to the garden, in fact. See the tusks? It happened while I was, ah, reading here.”

“Tonight the statue told me I was going to marry Spurius Cassius,” Alphena said. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She went on, knowing that she was blubbering. “And he's dead! He's
dead
!”

“Ah …,” said Varus. “I …”

He put his arms around Alphena as she cried. He was very awkward, but she appreciated what her brother was trying to do.

But in her heart, Alphena wished he were Corylus instead.

A C
ELTIC FOOTMAN
, one of the three waiting at the door to Varus's bedroom suite, said, “Your lordship, Master Corylus is already inside. We told him you were in the library, but he said he preferred to go to bed.”

“Very good, Asterix,” Varus said, more polite in his acknowledgment than most people would have thought necessary. Politeness, even to a slave, cost nothing. He'd heard philosophers say, “A man has as many enemies as he has slaves,” and during riots and other unrest, a servant's hostility could be fatal to his master.

The Republic was at peace now, though of course that might change when the Emperor—not a young man—died. Even so, Varus was polite simply because he preferred to be. As a general rule he didn't care much about other people, but he found life more pleasant when those nearby weren't angry with him.

Another footman inside the suite whisked the door open and bowed as deeply as if he were welcoming an imperial delegation. “Your lordship!” he said.

Varus forced a smile. The fellow was new and apparently hadn't been told—or didn't believe—that pomp made the young master uncomfortable.
I'll speak to Agrippinus in the morning,
he thought.

“You may leave the suite now,” he said aloud. “Are there any more of you here?”

There were, of course: three male servants and the maid who was responsible for straightening the bedclothes stepped forward to call attention to themselves. Corylus, beside what would ordinarily be the night servant's alcove, smiled a greeting standing.

Varus gestured. “You may all leave, please,” he said. “If we need anything during the night, we'll call for it.”

The servants bustled from the room, though the new footman seemed so confused that he was on the edge of arguing. The maid slapped him on the back of the head and hissed a warning. Two servants fought to slam the door behind them.

“Perhaps we could go out in the courtyard?” Corylus said, raising an eyebrow.

“And have spectators on the balcony as well as at ground level?” Varus said, smiling at his friend. “Here, sit on your bed and I'll draw up this”—he picked up a square wicker stool; its legs were only four inches tall, but it would keep his buttocks off the floor—“seat.”

Corylus liked to be outdoors; so did Varus, for that matter. But Corylus thought of “outdoors” as the great forests flanking the Rhine and the Danube. Here in Carce it meant an open space surrounded by people listening.

“Did you find anything useful in the library?” Corylus asked politely, seating himself when Varus did. He was being extremely cautious. That was natural after what had been happening, but it saddened Varus to see his friend—his only friend—feeling that he too might be a danger.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Varus, smiling at the thought. “I read Vergil to calm down; as you probably guessed, since you courteously chose not to disturb me.”

Corylus laughed. “Well,” he said, “I
hoped
that was what you were doing. Though I might have suggested somebody lighter than Vergil.”

“The
Aeneid
not only has structure, it
is
a structured universe all by itself,” Varus said, letting his mind slip back for a moment into the great epic's measured cadences. “The structure of our world seems to be melting away like ice in the sunshine.”

He shrugged and realized that the gesture had been more violent than he'd intended. “I didn't try to find anything dealing with our problem. I wouldn't know where to start. Even Pandareus didn't know where to start!”

“We'll deal with things as they come up, my friend,” Corylus said gently. “I've had the advantage of being with soldiers in the field. You learn fast there that you can't plan for the worst things, but that doesn't mean you can't survive them. At least you and I can trust our leaders.”