Lost Republic

by Paul B. Thompson

  Skirting the brighter streets, they came to a long white wall, with no gate or markings. It was only twice head high, not like the great city wall. With France leading, they followed it. On and on it went. It never seemed to end, and they couldn’t find any way through it.

  “What is this, Celebrity Row?” Julie said. She kicked the wall.

  The sky was dark on the other side of the wall, but the temple glow blotted out the stars. Last in line, Leigh glanced back to see if they were being followed.

  “Hey,” he said. “There’s a door!”

  Five yards behind them was an opening, barred by an iron gate. They had all passed this point. There was no gate there before.

  “Weird,” said Hans. He doubled back and tried the gate. It swung in with a slight squeal.

  “I don’t like this,” Julie declared.

  “Neither do I,” said Leigh.

  “What choice do we have?” asked Hans, standing in the open gate.

  “Lots of choices! There, there, or there!” Julie pointed to areas away from the strange wall.

  France passed her, passed Leigh, and slipped by Hans into the dark opening. Julie protested, but when Leigh followed him, she grumbled and did likewise.

  Passing through the gate made Julie’s head swim. It was pitch-black, and though she felt her feet come down on solid ground, for a moment it felt as if she was falling through a void. Something—a tree branch—brushed against her face and she realized they had entered an ortus, a “garden” or “park,” on the estate of a wealthy Latin. She couldn’t see the boys. Carefully, she called them. No one answered. A hand snaked out of the darkness behind her and clamped over her mouth. She screamed against the hand and tried to bite it.

  “Be still!” Leigh whispered fiercely in her ear. “You make enough noise to be heard in Cherbourg!”

  She lashed him with choice words she’d learned at Luxuria’s, but she did it quietly.

  Hans drifted into view. “This way . . .”

  They walked between manicured hedges. The path changed from sand to paving stones. Ahead, light blazed. Torches on ornamental stands ringed a circular patio. Beyond the firelight, a great house rose up, lined with severe Doric columns. Though vast, it didn’t look like a temple. There were no robed priests around. No one was around.

  “What is this place?” Leigh muttered.

  “Looks like a villa—a very fine, expensive villa.” Hans looked back. They were atop a prominent hill. A large swath of Eternus was spread out beneath them. It was a fine view, the sort of place a king might live, or an emperor.

  The idea chilled him to the bone. He said urgently, “I think we ought to get out of here right away!”

  Leigh and Julie were all for that, but France had gone ahead. He walked right into the circle of firelight, unafraid.

  “Come back!” Julie called. “You’ll get caught—we’ll all get caught!”

  Unheeding, France walked through the circle of fire with slow deliberation. Leigh darted after him until he came to the torches. He froze outside the ring, unwilling to expose himself.

  Hans took Julie’s hand and led her around the patio. They watched, amazed, as France climbed the short set of marble steps leading up to the great columned portico. At any moment, they expected swarms of soldiers to erupt from the building and seize their friend.

  France reached the porch unharmed. He looked this way and that. He beckoned his friends to join him.

  “This is crazy,” Leigh said, stepping into the light like someone dipping a toe into a scalding bath. Julie and Hans went up the steps beyond the firelight. All was still.

  Breathing hard, Leigh eventually joined them. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I know where we are,” France said. He craned his neck to study the roof high above them.

  “Where?” asked Hans.

  “The palace of the First Citizen.”

  Julie used a rough word she learned at Luxuria’s. Leigh asked France why he thought so.

  “Who else would live on the highest hill in Eternus, in such a grand but anonymous palace?”

  Leigh suddenly wished he was back at the brothel fighting off lictors and rowdy guests. France was undeterred. He set off down the covered porch without waiting for the others. Hans and Julie followed him, with Leigh guarding their backs.

  The first doorway they came to was open. It was a single bronze panel, polished to look like gold. France could see light within. Hans grabbed him before he could go in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We were led here,” France replied. “Don’t you see? That endless blank wall? We are supposed to be here. We’re expected.”

  He walked in. Hans whispered loudly, “Who’s expecting us?”

  The air inside was warm and smelled of oil lamps and flowers. France went ahead with care, noting the beautiful mosaic floor, the tapestries on the walls, and the warm, gentle light filtering through the forest of columns. His sandaled feet scuffed the hand-cut tiles.

  Leigh chewed his lip. If this was the home of the First Citizen, where were the servants? More important, where were the guards?

  The corridor ended on a T-shaped intersection. A fountain burbled and splashed at the junction of three passages. Instead of the usual god or goddess statue, the fountain featured a very abstract figure carved from black stone, upswept from the fountain’s basin and ending in a stylized curl, like an ocean wave in an old Japanese woodblock print.

  Hans noticed this right away and said, “That’s a Nango!”

  “Nango?” asked Julie.

  “The Japanese artist, Daisuke Nango! I’ve seen his work in museums in Munich and Frankfurt!”

  “Did he live in Roman times?” said Leigh.

  Hans frowned. “He died in 2034.”

  Julie caught water in her hands and tried to wash off the heavy makeup Luxuria made her wear. Using the hem of her gown, she scrubbed her cheeks and forehead until they felt raw.

  “This way,” murmured France.

  He went left again. They passed through a darkly shadowed section of corridor before entering the end of a large rectangular room. The ceiling was very high. Water splashed in an unseen pool. Large flowers and small trees grew lavishly in dirt-filled trenches in the mosaic floor.

  In the midst of this indoor garden was a couch, a low table, and a bright, flickering oil lamp. Reclining against the end of the couch was a man. The four teens froze.

  The man looked up from the scroll he was reading. He appeared to be about sixty, with silver hair in a bowl cut. Thin, he was not so old his body had begun to sag. The man regarded them with clear, dark eyes.

  “Ah,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  France stepped forward. “Weren’t you?”

  The old man let the scroll curl up on the table. “I have few visitors these days, but welcome, welcome. You seem to be in some distress.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Julie.

  “You’re dirty feet speak of running. And that blade has plainly seen use.” He pointed to Leigh, who had taken the bloody gladius back and still carried it.

  “Are you the First Citizen?” Hans said.

  “Hardly! My name is Antoninus.”

  “This is the First Citizen’s house.” France did not say it like a question.

  Antoninus stood. “It is. How did you know?”

  “This hilltop commands the city. Who else would live here but the Princeps?”

  The man smiled. “Smart fellow.”

  Leigh burst out, “We’ve got to get out of here! Half the city will be after us by daylight!” Antoninus asked what they had done. Hans and Julie took turns explaining her escape from Luxuria’s. Julie’s language was rather blunt. Leigh blushed furiously.

  “You are brave to help your sister a
nd friend,” Antoninus said. “Lucky, too. I hope your luck continues.”

  He nodded farewell and walked away into the greenery. France hurried after him.

  “What do you do here?” he demanded. Antoninus ignored him until France grabbed him by the arm. The old man stared at France’s hand until the latter removed it.

  “I observe and report what I see to the First Citizen,” Antoninus said.

  “You’re his secretary?”

  “‘Quaestor’ is the proper title.”

  “We want to see him,” France said.

  “Impossible. No one sees the First Citizen.”

  “Is that because he doesn’t exist?”

  Antoninus frowned. “Oh, he exists. He has always existed.”

  He walked on. France and the others trailed behind. Antoninus quickened his pace.

  “Levius, maybe we need a hostage,” France said.

  “Yeah, maybe so!”

  “The First Citizen’s right-hand man would make a good one,” Julie offered. Hans agreed.

  “How desperate you’ve become in such a short time!” Antoninus said. “Would you really kidnap me?”

  “Why not?” France said.

  “Would you harm me if I resisted? Would you kill me?”

  “If it’s you or us,” said Leigh.

  They were walking briskly now. France noticed they weren’t getting anywhere. The couch, the lamp, and the scroll were still plainly visible behind them.

  “What do you know about illusions?” he said, catching Hans’s eye.

  “Strange time for a question! Well, Plato said—”

  “Never mind Plato. What do you say?”

  Antoninus stopped and looked away, thinking of some forgotten vista. He said, “‘Youths green and happy in first love, so thankful for illusion; And men caught out in what the world calls Guilt, in first confusion . . .’”

  Julie said something about nuts in charge, but Hans recognized the quotation. It was from a nineteenth-century English poem by Arthur Clough, hardly a Roman.

  “Who are you? What is this place?” France demanded.

  “The Republic of Latium, of course.”

  “You know this isn't ancient Rome!” said Hans. “This is the year 2055!”

  “What do such numbers mean? Here, time and place are what we make it.” Antoninus leaned forward to cup a snow-white iris in his hand. The flower and vase had not been there a moment ago.

  “But who makes it?” asked Julie. “You? Those plaster gods stuck all over town?”

  At that, the old man looked annoyed. “The gods—have you been talking to them?”

  “We’re not crazy!”

  “No, you’re not, but here the gods do speak to mortal ears despite my best efforts to block them out,” said Antoninus.

  He let go of the flower and clasped his hands behind his back. The iris, vase, and short marble column on which they stood silently vanished. Leigh groaned and closed his eyes.

  “We were close once, our little band. When we began, everything was equal, and we shared this place without jealousy or fear. Over time—over a very long time—we grew apart and became rivals. Then we became enemies.”

  “Which are you, John, Paul, George, or Ringo?” said Julie, folding her arms.

  Antoninus ignored her. “Those ‘gods’ were once my colleagues. Now they spy on me through statues and witless worshippers . . .”

  France understood at once. Antoninus was the First Citizen! He yelled as much and declared, “Let’s get him!”

  Leigh and France tried. They rushed Antoninus from either side, meaning to trap him between them. Instead, they ran right into each other so hard, France sprawled on the mosaic tiles.

  “Where’d he go?” Julie cried.

  “There!”

  Hans pointed dramatically. Antoninus was back on his couch, scroll in hand.

  Julie uttered a single coarse word. The boys slowly converged on the elder man, quietly reading his document.

  “Ah,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  “You already said that,” Julie said.

  “Have I? I do tend to repeat myself. The burden of age, you understand.”

  “None of this is right,” France said. “People don’t just vanish and reappear!”

  “Some of us do,” said Antoninus with a smile. “As you shall see.”

  The scroll rolled up into two soft cylinders and hit the floor.

  “He’s gone!”

  They converged on the spot where Antoninus had been.

  “I don’t get this at all,” Hans said, running his hands through the spot where the old man had been. “Is it drugs? Are we dreaming?”

  “Maybe we can still find the First Citizen,” Leigh said. “If we have him, they’ll have to let us go.”

  France was grim. “The only way we deal with all this is to accept it. This whole place is like some crazy reenactor’s paradise—if we dig into it far enough, we’ll find out who’s really in charge.”

  “You stay and play D&D if you want to,” said Julie. “I’m leaving.” Leigh and Hans agreed with her.

  A shaft of light fell from the atrium overhead, brightening the room. At first, France thought it was more “magic” from the Latins, but Julie saw what it was.

  “It’s daylight,” she said. “The sun’s come up.”

  Impossible. They couldn’t have been here all night! It wasn’t even midnight when they freed Julie from Luxuria’s. Their fight and flight may have taken an hour or two, but not all night.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Leigh said. They hurried back the way they came. On the way, Hans picked up the scroll Antoninus had left behind. He spread the rolls apart.

  “It’s blank,” he said, puzzled.

  The lightening halls filled Leigh with dread. He had overstayed his night out. Rufus Panthera would be furious. When the fracas at the brothel and the death of Ramesses came out, the centurion would have his head on a pike, for sure.

  Racing behind Leigh, France started worrying about Linh. Had she, Jenny, and Eleanor gotten away? They were supposed to meet at the city’s north gate and escape together. The army, Luxuria’s protectors, even the consul’s lictors were probably after France and friends. Had anyone intercepted the girls? Their chances of getting there now seemed to be vanishing faster than night in Eternus Urbs.

  Leigh reached the outside door first. Julie and France piled into him when he stopped abruptly, filling the door.

  “What the hell?” Julie said. Then she saw what halted her brother.

  The courtyard outside was filled with legionnaires—rank upon rank of infantry in helmets and shields, bowmen with electric arrows nocked, and half a dozen mounted officers. In command was no one less than Consul Marius himself.

  Hans, bringing up the rear, suggested they flee in the other direction. Staring over Leigh’s shoulder, France said no.

  “Why not?” Hans said. He looked past Julie and saw why his friends were paralyzed.

  Kneeling in a line were Jenny, Linh, Eleanor, and a fourth figure none of them recognized at first. Julie said under her breath, “It’s the weird guy from the boat!”

  It was Emile, no longer in black. He wore the simple homespun shift and headband of a Latin slave.

  “Throw down your arms!” Consul Marius exclaimed. “Either you give them up or your fellow criminals will be executed on the spot!”

  Chapter 22

  There wasn’t anything to do. Leigh flung his sword to the ground. It rang on the pavement and skittered away, to be picked up by one of the consul’s guards.

  A dozen soldiers trotted forward and took the defeated teens in hand, two men to each of them. They were separated and driven forward to the waiting Marius.

  “Infamous criminals!” he declared. “Did you th
ink you could get away with your crime?”

  “I only wanted to save my sister,” Leigh replied. A centurion cuffed him hard on the back of the head.

  The consul frowned. “Sister? I speak of your attempt to assassinate the First Citizen of the Republic!”

  Now France was alarmed. “My lord, we meant no such thing! We came here seeking the protection of the Princeps for taking the girl Julia from a life of forced prostitution!”

  “And failing to secure his help, you resolved to kill him,” Marius said. “Take them away!”

  With swift and brutal efficiency they were chained hand and foot and dragged away to prison. They weren’t taken to the army camp this time, but to a squat stone building on the southern side of the city, near a great stadium where public games were staged. Hans saw the arena and mumbled aloud that he always knew they would end up dying in some place like that.

  Everyone was confined to a cell alone, but they were all on the same hall in the lower level of the prison. It was dark down there, no windows, and the stone walls and floor were always filmed with frigid dew. The prisoners were fed once a day (morning or night, no one could tell). France asked the jailer questions every time he brought food, but the gaunt, scarred man never answered.

  Six times they were fed, so possibly six days went by. Leigh had horrible dreams even while he was awake. He saw himself marching to a chopping block to have his head cut off. His executioner was the giant Ramesses. The big man still had a huge bloodstain on his belly where Leigh impaled him. Leigh was forced to kneel with his head on the chipped slab of wood. Up went the axe—

  Linh saw things, too. In the dark, dimly glowing figures walked past her door. She pressed her face to the barred slot and tried to make out who or what they were. Gradually she realized they were her friends being led one by one to the place of execution. On the fifth night, she saw herself drift by, shuffling unseen feet. Linh called out to herself, and the phantom looked straight at her with empty sockets where her eyes should have been.