by Cass Morris
“Alhena won’t go,” Aula said, making an irritated gesture.
Latona peeked inside the room. Alhena was still in her sleeping tunic, collapsed on her bed with her arms thrown up over her face. Mus knelt by the edge of the bed, stroking her hair and singing in her native dialect. “Well . . .” Latona said, quiet and careful, “that’s not particularly a surprise, is it? She hasn’t been fond of crowds lately.”
“It’s not just that she won’t go, it’s that she doesn’t want us to go, either,” Aula said. “She saw me getting ready and started pitching a rather extraordinary fit. Howling and tearing her hair and I don’t know what else, but she’s terrified half the servants. Even Lucia hasn’t wailed like this in years. And I’m about out of patience for it!” She raised her voice on the last sentence, leaning pointedly into Alhena’s room.
Latona laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder, guiding her in the other direction. “You go finish getting ready. I’ll see what I can find out.” Aula grumbled but conceded, allowing Helva to chivvy her back to her own chamber and the ministrations of her ornatrix. Latona stepped inside Alhena’s room and cleared her throat. Mus shuffled back slightly, not looking up at Latona, but not fully moving away from her mistress, either.
Still sniffling, Alhena dropped one arm from her face, blinking owlishly at her sister. “Latona?”
“Yes, darling, I’m here.”
Alhena sat up in a swift, sudden motion, diving forward to clasp Latona’s hands. “Aula said you’re going out to the Field, to watch the vote. Are you? Is she right?”
“Well, of course we are, dove!” Latona said, freeing one hand to wipe the tears from Alhena’s cheek. “We must be there for Father. I understand, of course, if you don’t want to join the press, I imagine the streets will be quite—”
“Please don’t.”
It was the “please,” as much as the scared, girlish tone of her voice, that caught Latona’s attention. When Alhena was just being prudish and supercilious, she would say something arch like, ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ This was different. “What’s troubling you? Did you see something?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know, precisely.” Alhena twisted the corner of her mantle between her fingers. “It wasn’t . . . It’s been so long since a vision was like this. It was such a strange dream, and Aula woke me up before I could . . .” An impatient huff. “I don’t think . . . I didn’t get all of it. Whatever the message was . . . But it seemed you were in a cage of splinters . . .” Her voice was dwindling, as embarrassed as uncertain. “The walls were closing in on you, piercing your heart and lungs and mind, all the golden light flowing out of you . . .” Tears flowed freely again, dewing her pale eyelashes and streaking her skin. “Please don’t go, Latona, if you do, I just know something horrible is going to happen.”
Latona sank down onto the bed beside her. “I can’t imagine what such a vision might mean, darling.”
“Neither can I,” Alhena said, “but there was such pain . . .” She broke into sobs again, crumpling forward until her head was buried between her knees. Latona rocked her gently, she wasn’t sure for how long, but eventually the sobs faded to sniffles, then to wheezing breaths. Just like a child in a fit, Alhena seemed to have wept herself to sleep, too exhausted to stay conscious.
Rising gently from the bed, Latona laid a hand on Mus’s shoulder. “When she wakes, make sure she takes some water,” she said.
“Yes, Domina.”
She found Aula in the final stages of preparation, adjusting the folds of her emerald-green mantle. “Well?”
“She’s had a vision, it seems,” Latona said. “Something about me in a box of splinters—a cage. She thinks . . . well, she thinks it was interrupted when you woke her up, but she’s quite distressed over it. Worried, for me.”
Aula’s face softened slightly. Alhena had seen disaster before, and they all knew how deeply it affected her, particularly since Tarpeius’s death.
“She’s asleep now.”
“Good.” Aula gestured for Gera to bring Lucia forward. “Then I think we should still go.”
“Do you?” Latona glanced back at Alhena’s chamber. “She was quite insistent . . .”
Aula rubbed at her temples. “Latona, you know how much I love and care for her, but she’s had me at my wits’ end this morning, and this election is too important for us to miss. It would be noted if we weren’t there to support Father. That could weaken his influence as well as our own.” Latona nodded; Aula’s political instincts were, as ever, acute. “Alhena’s young enough that her absence won’t be remarked upon. If she’s asleep, that’s probably the best thing for her. With any luck, Mus will have the sense to dose her with vervain should she wake back up. You don’t really mean to miss the vote, do you?”
“Well . . .” Latona said. “No.” She was particularly disinclined to miss it since Herennius had forbidden her to go out. “But if there is something to Alhena’s vision—”
“We can tell Mus to send someone with a message if she wakes up and has anything more specific. But you said yourself, she didn’t see a complete vision. No doubt getting woken out of it startled her, and I’ll apologize for that later, but for all we know, whatever she’s seen might be half-formed or years in the future. Anyway—” Aula took her by the elbow. “What on earth could happen to you between here and the Campus Martius?”
Since Aula had a valid point, Latona re-wrapped her own mantle and let Aula hustle her towards the door. Aula kissed Lucia farewell, snapped her fingers to their cordon of attendants, and strode out into the street. Aula seemed to relax as soon as she took a deep breath beneath the brumous sky. “I’m starving. Let’s find food along the way.”
* * *
The morning did not start resoundingly well for the Popularists, though Sempronius had expected no differently. The officers’ class, largely composed of senators, supported Galerius Orator’s bid for the consulship, due to his moderate sensibilities, but were mixed on who they wanted for his colleague. The more military in nature, as well as those with mercantile aspirations for Iberian goods, went for General Strato; the Optimates pulled considerable sway for Decimus Gratianus.
The praetorial slots were even more jumbled, with Sempronius Tarren sharing the primus votes with Lucretius Rabirus and Ulpius Turro. When the first few Centuries returned their choice, it looked like Turro might pull ahead—a middling choice between Sempronius’s ambitious Popularism and Rabirus’s heel-dragging conservatism. Even those who supported war were not fully certain who they wanted in charge of it, some doubting Sempronius’s youth and experience, some questioning the authenticity of his motives. Sempronius had expected that suspicion and was grateful that many had at least chosen pliable Ulpius over intractable Rabirus as an option.
It was only when the First Class of enlisted men began to vote that Sempronius risked a small smile. These were the men—plebeian but with some wealth to their names, the citizens of the Aventine, the Viminal, and the Quirinal—who Sempronius had spent so much time, energy, and sestertii wooing. The old men had caught the scent of wealth from Iberia; the young men had Bellona’s fever, yearning to defend Aven’s rights and reputation on the battlefield. The First Class put Sempronius even with Rabirus and Ulpius for the primus slot. Then the Second Class started to vote—men neither wealthy nor impoverished, most of them families on the rise, hungry and ambitious. The representatives of their Centuries tallied results and stepped forward.
And Sempronius’s name surged towards a majority.
* * *
On the edge of the Field, Latona was growing agitated. “I don’t know what you’re so fussed about,” Aula said. “It always takes forever. I mean, obviously it was well and good to reform the voting process so the officers couldn’t just run all over the other classes, but I must say, it must’ve been a speedier process back in the day, and—Latona, why are you so fidgety?”
> “It’s a tense day.” Unable to maintain the still and dignified posture that befit a matron of her status, Latona felt an itching in her palms and a tightness in her chest.
“Well, try to nail your feet down, would you? You’re worse than Tilla today, I swear.” Aula rolled her eyes.
Latona tried to do as she bid, but within another moment, her magical sensibilities pricked up, setting a hot flush on her skin, even where it was kissed by the frosty air. She had guarded herself against the high emotions around the Field, but this was different. She sensed an element, stronger than it should be, in the heart of the city, a pulsing source of energy calling out to her talents. “Something’s wrong.” she said. Her breath hung in the air, and before it had faded—
“Fire!” someone yelled, and in that moment, Latona realized, with awful certainty, what Alhena had been so worried about.
XXXIX
Black plumes rose from somewhere behind the Capitoline Hill—Transtiberium, perhaps, or the Aventine. The cry of “Fire” echoed throughout the Campus Martius, putting a halt to the voting halfway through the Third Class.
Despite his concern, Sempronius wanted to spit, or curse, or kick someone. By the Second Class’s votes, Sempronius was leading in the praetorship lists, and Galerius Orator nearly had a majority for consul. He was certain that the Third Class would secure the necessary proportion, with no need to proceed further. Now, the vote would have to be started again on the next religiously appropriate day. The frustration put a coiling knot in his stomach. He wanted the matter settled so he could begin enacting his plans—but an event like this might be viewed as judgment from the gods, and could cause the Centuries to change their minds.
He shook off his grievance. Fire in Aven was the gravest danger, could wipe out entire neighborhoods in minutes, tearing through the jumbled insulae, overlapping rooftops, and haphazardly constructed stalls. On a day like today, with the breeze kicking up from the west, Sempronius shuddered to think what the consequences could be. He cast about for men he knew would be of use, who could keep their heads in a crisis—Galerius, Aufidius, Rufilius, anyone who could help organize the necessary bucket brigades.
Then someone, shoving through the crowd, passed word that the Aventine emporium was the center of the blaze. And Sempronius no longer considered this the most unfortunate of coincidences.
* * *
Latona stared at the darkening sky beyond the Capitoline Hill. The smoke was coming from the Aventine, near the river. “I have to go,” she heard herself say.
“Well, of course we must,” Aula said. “Pacco, Haelix, clear a path, all hell’s going to break loose here in a minute. Get us home the fastest—”
“No,” Latona said. A racing tingle on her skin urged action, her magical gifts bubbling to the surface not from lack of control but in response to a need. ‘I can help. I must help. My duty . . . Juno’s work . . . my city . . .’
“No?” Aula’s voice was shrill with fear and confusion. “What do you mean, no?”
Latona pulled her eyes away from the columns of curling pitch crawling sun-wards. “I have to go help.”
A brief silence followed her proclamation, then Merula, Haelix, Helva, and Aula all started talking at once. “Domina, you cannot be thinking to—”
“My lady, the streets are not—”
“The danger is too great, if your father or husband—”
“Latona!” Aula’s screech put the others to shame. “Sweetheart, you can’t be meaning to go.” Her head bobbled uncertainly between her sister and the smoke in the south. “You can’t!”
Latona had already unwound her mantle and flung it over Aula’s shoulder, then, upon consideration, she began unpinning her over-gown as well. “Domina!” Merula objected.
“I’ll move faster without it, and it’s one less thing to worry about. If anyone sees me, they’ll just take me for a pleb, I’m sure. I won’t be recognized.”
“Domina, that is not what I am meaning—”
“Merula, stay here. That is a direct order,” Latona said, flinging the gown over Aula’s shoulder as well, leaving her clad in a simple cinnamon-brown tunic. When she saw the frown creasing Merula’s brow, she added, more softly, “My dear, the danger I’ll be facing is nothing you could protect me from. Stay with Aula. See her home safely.” She gripped her handmaid’s shoulder tightly. “It’s going to get rough out. Get them back to my father’s home, quickly, before it gets worse.”
Merula’s jaw had a tightness to it, and her eyes were burning with an insolence another mistress might have had her whipped for. But she nodded sharply. “I will see it done, Domina.” Latona cupped her cheek fondly.
Helva was glancing towards the crowd, and Latona guessed she was thinking of darting off to find Aulus or Herennius. ‘Well, let her. Much good may it do either of them.’ Latona looked instead to Aula. “I can do this. I can help. It’s a fire, and I—”
“You’re not trained for this.” Aula objected. “Latona, this isn’t putting an influence on someone at a party or keeping the hypocaust properly balanced!”
“I know that!” Latona said, her voice rising. Around them, the crowd was starting to panic. The Centuries had broken up, and though some of the senators appeared to be bellowing orders, more of the men were paying attention to their centurions. “Bona Dea, Aula, don’t you think I know that? But I know, I know I can do this. I’ve been working, I’ve been studying—I don’t have time to explain now.” She could not find the words fast enough to explain to her sister what had been happening to her over the past few months. Rubellia’s training, Sempronius’s encouragement, the growing certainty that she had more capability in her, the call she felt she had to answer—all as though she had been preparing for this very moment, when she could use her magic for genuine good, to protect the city. “I may not be High Priestess of Juno, but I am not a child, I am not a novice, I have this power in me, and I know I can help.” Aula’s eyes were sparkling with tears. “I promise, I will come home safe and explain everything later.”
“Latona—!” Aula stretched out a hand, but Latona was already gone, darting with surprising speed through the pressing crowd. Aula let herself be steered in the other direction, heard Merula shouting at people to make way, threatening to punch someone who shoved her.
Aula tried to ignore the nauseated whorl seeping into her stomach. She had insisted on this. She had told Latona not to worry, not to pay Alhena any mind. And now she wished, with every scrap of her being, that she had not done so.
* * *
Latona followed the river past the Fabrician Bridge, curving around to the warehouses that lined the Tiber River beneath the Aventine Hill. To a mage with the talent to see the elemental forces at work, as Latona’s Spirit allowed her, the scene was a crazed tangle of colored light and swirling scents. There was so much happening at once that the air buzzed with it, a low-level crackle like heat lightning in a summer sky. A patchwork of mages moved in concert, combining their powers to control the blaze. The city had a number of talented Water mages, not only the priests of Neptune and Lympha, but also among the men who worked on the aqueducts, and they were out in force. If there were any advantage to the fire’s location, it was its proximity to both the river and the Aqua Appia. Methods both mundane and magical were in use to draw down the water—but there was only so much the Water mages could do without accidentally triggering a flash flood, trading one sort of trouble for another.
That was where the Earth, Air, and Fire mages came in: Earth could smother, Air could starve, and Fire could bank its own. Plebeian and patrician, priest and layman worked side-by-side. There were even a few other women in the mix, though not many, and all plebs. Latona thought she saw Marcus joining a line of Earth mages, but she moved in the other direction, where a net of red-glowing energy attempted to shape and subdue the raging flames. Without a word, Latona fell in line beside them, holding both h
ands before her and splaying her fingers, adding her strength to their attempt.
Before she could align her mind to the appropriate energies, though, a sudden shout distracted her. “Lady!” Latona turned to see a man in a striped tunic scurrying towards her: a patrician Fire mage, the High Priest of Helios. Latona had never liked him; the man had fallen in line with Ocella a little too eagerly, and he had very firm ideas about the mos maiorum—and where women fit into it.
“Honored priest,” she said, her voice falsely bright. “Well-met.”
“Lady, this is no place for a woman of your pedigree and—”
“I am here,” Latona cut in, “and I can help. I promise not to jeopardize myself, nor to do anything that might hinder the efforts of the bucket brigades. But I have been blessed with a gift, by Vulcan as much as by Venus, and I intend to use it.”
But the priest’s brow was still furrowed. “It is not proper, Lady, and it is dangerous. If a woman of your pedigree were to fall victim to—”
“Jupiter’s thunder, man!” someone else yelled—a plebeian Fire-forger, from the looks of him. “If the chit can help, let her help! Don’t waste your time and energy arguing with her!”
The priest’s lower lip jutted out, but he looked at the flames, gave a curt nod, and shuffled away towards another knot of mages, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “So long as no one blames me.”
And there, Latona thought, was Aventan practicality at its finest.
She refocused her attention on the flames.
XL
Sempronius found Obir in the crowd, along with a pair of familiar centurions. Together, they worked to organize a response to the crisis. Centurions, Sempronius knew, were invaluable in a tight crunch. Legionaries might mock them, hate them, envy them—but by the gods, they would follow their orders almost instinctively, even if they were not under arms.