by David Drake
“You believe that you and Varus together can use the Book against…,” Corylus said. He turned his right palm up, as if looking for a word in his palm. “Can defeat the Worms with it?”
“I need the help of a second magician to reach Zabulon’s Isle,” Lucinus said. “I need the help of Lord Varus. Then perhaps I can use the Book—but more important, I can keep the Book away from Melino, who was my uncle’s assistant before me. My uncle sent Melino to the Otherworld, but Melino betrayed him and stayed for a hundred years.”
“Why?” said Varus. “Why did Melino stay?”
Varus had entered the Otherworld himself. It was not a place for those born in the Waking World; it was not a place for humans.
“He sought power,” Lucinus said. “He sought a ring which holds a demon, and found it, but he became a demon himself. Now Melino has returned to release the Worms. If he gains Zabulon’s Book, he will release them, and the Worms will destroy everything.”
“You say Vergil was a great magician,” Varus said, voicing the question he had turned in the silence of his mind until he was comfortable with the words. “He chose to return the Book to the place he had found it. Why should you reverse the decision of a greater magician? And why should I help you?”
“Because the world will end!” Lucinus snapped. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Even so,” Varus said calmly. “Your uncle was greater than you, and I believe he was wiser than you. Why should I act against the decision of Vergil, whose pen case I am not worthy even to carry?”
Corylus smiled. Lucinus must have seen the expression—and understood it—because he immediately calmed.
“My uncle was great beyond your knowledge, and wise beyond you or perhaps any man,” Lucinus said. “When he felt his fate near, he planned to rejuvenate himself. So that no one could steal the Book while he was weakened, he returned it to Zabulon’s Isle. He planned to retrieve it when he was young and strong again. But—”
Lucinus shrugged.
“—something went wrong with his spell. He vanished, and his works vanished. And now it is up to lesser students like myself and you to save the world, because my uncle cannot.”
Corylus looked at Varus. Varus nodded. This had to be his decision.
“My friend and I will discuss the matter,” Varus said, “and perhaps discuss it with others whose wisdom may be greater than ours.”
“There is very little time,” Lucinus said. He whispered the words. “I don’t know how much, but not long.”
Varus gave the older man a smile not dissimilar to the expression on Corylus’ face when Lucinus had raised his voice a moment before. He said, “We will arrive at a decision. If it involves you, we will inform you. Good day, Master Lucinus.”
Corylus gestured Varus ahead, toward the door and the cart waiting beyond. That probably wasn’t necessary, but it was simple courtesy to accept physical protection from a man as skilled as Corylus.
It was very good to have friends.
* * *
ALPHENA WAS MAKING a real effort to be ladylike, but she refused to have the curtains drawn on the way to Bersinus’ party. There wasn’t a great deal to be seen in a litter sliding through the streets of Puteoli at night, but she felt less confined with the sides open.
She smiled in a mixture of amusement and self-mockery. Since she was wearing a long dinner dress of silk even thinner than the gauze side curtains, she couldn’t do anything but walk away in a dignified manner if some disaster beset the vehicle anyway. The fabric was so strong that she couldn’t tear the skirt off with her bare hands. Though … she supposed she could whip the dress over her head and flee in bandeau and panties.
The thought made Alphena giggle. She wished Hedia was with her so that she could watch the older woman’s face go as stiff as a smiling marble statue when her daughter explained why she was laughing.
Attendants shouted in the near distance, alerting Bersinus’ servants that the wife and daughter of Senator Gaius Alphenus Saxa had arrived—and probably boasting a little as well, like gladiators greeting one another in the arena before a match. The litter rocked awkwardly as one of the four bearers lost the pace when they slowed to avoid running up the back of Hedia’s vehicle.
Mother would have him flogged, Alphena thought, but on consideration she realized that Hedia wouldn’t resort to physical punishment. Instead she would have the bearer transferred, probably to farm labor, and demote the lead man on the team, who had failed in his duty to properly train his subordinates.
Alphena had flown into rages when something went wrong, and often enough when nothing went wrong. Hedia was quieter, colder, and altogether more effective. Alphena was learning a great deal from her mother now that she had started watching events instead of simply blazing into a fury at them.
Alphena wouldn’t discipline anyone this time. She would note the incident quietly to the bearer and the foreman. If it happened again … well, she would do something.
Maybe I’ll go back to walking in sturdy sandals, but as an eccentric noblewoman rather than as a tomboy. Alphena suppressed her giggle, because the litter had stopped and settled onto the ground on its four feet.
Alphena swung her legs out and stood before the servants, her own or the host’s, tried to help. She was glad to have done it gracefully this time. Through practice she was getting much better at entering and leaving a vehicle. It’s one of those tasks which a lady has to learn, as Hedia would say.
The first litter had stopped just ahead of Alphena’s. Mother had gotten out of it and was embracing a man in his late twenties who wore a scarlet tunic trimmed with cloth of gold. Though he took a great deal of trouble with his appearance, he looked soft. Alphena was accustomed to judging gladiators.
“Bersinus darling, it’s so good to see you again,” Hedia said, disengaging herself. “Why don’t you introduce my daughter Alphena to the company?”
Hedia gestured, the motion as graceful as a wave rippling up the sand. Alphena stepped forward, suddenly unsure of herself. I’d rather be facing a demon. Again.
Five well-dressed men and a woman of at least thirty—the only other woman present—stood in an arc close behind Bersinus. He said, “Delighted to do anything you ask, my dearest Hedia. Lady Alphena—”
For the first time, their host actually looked at Alphena instead of being aware of her only as another figure in the entourage of the ravishing Hedia. Which Mother is, which she certainly is.…
Though when maids under Hedia’s careful direction had held mirrors so that Alphena could view herself, she’d been rather pleased. Very pleased, though she could scarcely admit that even to herself.
Her silk dinner gown was a chestnut so dark that it looked black under most lights but was, Hedia told her firmly, exactly the color of Alphena’s hair. It was tailored more closely than was usual for a dinner dress, a synthesis, in order to emphasize her figure in a good way. Hedia said that a looser garment would make Alphena look fat rather than trimly muscular, and that some men liked muscular.
Gold threads in the fabric gave it a luster that wasn’t really a color but—again according to Hedia—perfectly complemented Alphena’s gilded sandals, her earrings of gold filigree, and her half cape of cloth of gold. Finally her hair, which had required an hour for three specialists to coil, was pinned with tortoiseshell combs whose engravings were gold filled.
In any other company, Alphena honestly believed she would stand out. And even standing beside her mother, Alphena seemed to be worth their host’s attention once she actually came to his notice.
“This is my wife Olivia,” Bersinus said, gesturing to the woman. Olivia would probably have been a frump in most gatherings, but she was doubly unfortunate in this one. Her sour look suggested that she was aware of the fact.
“—and my brother-in-law Olivius Macer. The family has large holdings around Capua, as you may know.”
Alphena eyed Macer. While his older sister looked frumpy, he had the coarse athleticism of a
feral hog.
If the Olivius family were landowners, it explained the marriage. Florina had gathered information on Bersinus as her mistress had ordered. According to Florina, he was the son of a freedman who had made his considerable wealth as a building contractor. Olivia was socially a step upward even if her younger husband didn’t need the dowry.
“Next is Sextus Scribonius Lantinus, who’s staying in his family’s house on the Bay this summer—,” Bersinus said, gesturing to a languid youth closer to Alphena’s age than to Hedia’s twenty-three years.
“My father is Scribonius Murena, of course,” the youth said with a carelessly affected gesture. “Senator Murena, that is.”
“—and his friend Kurnos.”
From the look Kurnos gave her, Alphena was pretty sure that the young Greek was at least as interested in women as he was in his employer. The only use she could imagine for the fellow was as a fencing target.
Alphena smiled: he’s eminently suited for that. Kurnos misunderstood and smirked back at her.
“Marcus Vipsanius Castor”—a portly man nodded; at fifty he was by far the oldest guest present—“has the house beside ours here,” Bersinus said. “I invited him tonight to, ah … I invited him tonight.”
Castor smiled with amusement. “I’m in grain, my dear,” he said. “I believe my friend Bersinus thought it would be as well to have the older generation represented tonight. At any rate, I was pleased to accept his invitation to meet the noble Hedia and her daughter … who is even more charming than I expected.”
Though Castor was Egyptian by appearance and a freedman from his name, he seemed cultured and obviously had a very sharp mind. He had understood that this was to be a decorous party and that he was being invited because he was a safe guest even as the evening and the flow of wine proceeded. The fact amused rather than offending him.
“And Master Melino,” Bersinus said, indicating the final guest. “He’s a clever young Briton whose acquaintance I’ve made recently. I thought he would be an interesting companion.”
Melino had been staring at Hedia—scarcely a surprise there, Alphena thought bitterly—but he immediately turned his attention to her and smiled engagingly. “I’m very glad to meet you both,” he said in perfect Latin, bowing. “And yes, I’m British by birth, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen my soggy birthplace. At present I’ve rented a house in Puteoli to continue my researches.”
Melino wore a white tunic under a blue dinner wrap. The garments weren’t flashy, but Alphena could see that they were of the highest quality. He wasn’t Castor’s companion as she had first assumed; it was merely coincidence that they were two unattached men who were standing together.
What Melino was remained a question. Alphena felt a prickling in his presence. That wasn’t a warning, precisely, but based on her recent experience it implied magic was at work or had been at work not long before.
Melino returned his attention to Hedia, or—
Yes, he’s looking at Mother’s diadem. The diadem I gave her.
“Nine, like the Muses,” Lantinus said. He half-closed his eyelids, but Alphena could see that he was checking to be sure that everyone was watching him. “I’m something of a poet myself you know, though I fear that my work is too rarified for the common crowd.”
“I’m so in awe of you poets, Lord Lantinus,” Hedia said, sounding both soulful and sincere. If I didn’t know Mother any better than Lantinus does, I’d believe she was both those things. “Poetry goes right over my head. Would you believe, it puts me to sleep? My poor dim mind is such an embarrassment in learned company.”
Because Alphena did know her mother, she knew that what Hedia was saying was neither soulful nor sincere. But Alphena also knew that now they wouldn’t be bored at dinner by the volume of verse that the young aesthete happened to have along with him.
“I believe we’re ready to go in now,” Bersinus said. “On such a lovely night, I’ve instructed my steward to serve us in the outdoor dining nook.”
He turned to Hedia and placed his hands on his hips as he looked her up and down. She was certainly worth the stares that everyone, including the envious Olivia, directed at her.
Hedia had asked Alphena to join her as she chose the outfit to go with the scintillant diadem. “So that you’ll have an idea about how I go about it, dear,” Hedia had said. She didn’t add, “Since at present you have no more fashion sense than a blind mole does,” but she didn’t have to. Alphena could supply those words herself.
What Hedia settled on was three layers of silk, each of which was almost transparently white, worn with a white shoulder cape that was marginally thicker, and a white sash. The only color in the ensemble was that provided by the irregular stone in the diadem flickering through numberless blue-tinged hues.
Hedia had decided to go without underwear tonight. Alphena blushed to remember that.
“My dear,” Bersinus said, “you’re a vision of virginal loveliness.”
Olivius Macer guffawed. “Well…,” he said, looking at Bersinus but speaking loudly enough for the whole gathering to hear him clearly. “Maybe her left ear’s still virginal, eh, what?”
There was a moment of stillness, freezing all the guests where they stood. Hedia alone moved, turning her pleasant smile toward their host. “Bersinus,” she said, “I’m afraid that Macer has already had too much to drink. You’ll have to limit him to water for the remainder of the evening, I expect.”
Bersinus hadn’t moved till Hedia spoke, but his face was already deep red with fury. “I’m very sorry, gentlefolk,” he said in a wheezingly controlled voice. “My brother-in-law has decided not to join us after all, so we’ll be eight for dinner.”
“Say, wait a minute!” Macer said, coloring also. “All right, I was a little out of—”
“Macer, you idiot!” Bersinus shouted. “Get out of here or I’ll have my footmen beat you out! And you’ll find that every one of your mortgages has been called. Do you understand me?”
“Julius, you’re talking to my brother!” Olivia said sharply. “And he didn’t say anything that we both haven’t heard—”
Bersinus turned on her in a white rage. “Listen, you dozy cow!” he said, leaning forward to shout in his wife’s face. “Since you’re clearly ignorant of proper dining etiquette, perhaps you’d better eat in your room. Or with the slaves in the kitchen! Is that what you want? Is it?”
Castor and three sturdy-looking servants—they were apparently his own attendants—were easing Macer, who wore a stunned expression, toward his sedan chair a distance down the street. The Egyptian was whispering urgently into Macer’s ear. Alphena heard the word, “Saxa,” and realized he was warning his former fellow guest of the consequences of making an enemy of the richest man in the Senate.
Alphena nodded with approval. The good opinion she had already formed of Castor was being reinforced.
Olivia, suddenly aware of what she had done, retreated from her husband openmouthed. To Alphena’s amazement, Hedia stepped between Bersinus and his wife and took Olivia’s hands in her own.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Hedia said in a clear, cool voice. “This is really all my fault, and I know how embarrassing it must be to you. Will you accept my apologies?”
Olivia nodded, gulped, and began bawling. She threw herself into Hedia’s arms; Hedia began patting her gently on the back.
Bersinus cleared his throat. “Ah…,” he said. “As I was saying, I think we can start dinner now. Ah, Lady Hedia and my wife will join us shortly, I’m sure.”
He started up the path to the house. Castor bowed and gestured Alphena to follow their host; she obeyed.
Kurnos had the expression of a spectator watching the slave dressed as Charon finish off mortally wounded gladiators in the arena, but his master gaped at the women.
I wonder if you’ll write an epic about this? Alphena thought. It was probably too real for Lantinus, though.
Melino was staring at Hedia again. Alphena cou
ldn’t begin to read the emotion below the surface of the youth’s face, but something was there.
* * *
HEDIA TOOK ANOTHER SIP of wine as servants carried away the remains of the platter of lampreys. The fish had been filleted before each strip was rolled around a caper and fricasseed.
“Our host told me that jellied eels are a British dish, as a special treat for me,” murmured Melino from the bottom of the cross couch, kitty-corner to Hedia at the top of the right-hand couch. “Personally, I remember mostly boiled pork, but that was a long time ago. How did it strike you?”
It hadn’t been a wholly successful experiment, in Hedia’s opinion. She would try anything once; but in addition to her being careful of her figure, there was nothing in the texture or in the sauce of sage and parsley to urge her to have another medallion.
“I’ll want to think about it for some time before I make a decision,” Hedia said. She made a point of never insulting another household’s cooking; not that it seemed likely that Bersinus, on the other side of the table from her and enmeshed by Lantinus in a literary lecture, would hear or care if he did. “You say ‘a long time ago,’ my dear, but surely not that long, given your youth?”
“Well, it certainly seems long ago,” said Melino. He laughed, but there was a note of more than light humor to the sound, an unintended undertone, Hedia thought. “Sometimes it seems more than a hundred years since I left my home to study with masters in the greater world. And here—”
He chuckled again, this time without additional significance.
“—I have met the most charming woman in the world. Clearly I made the correct decision, and every man at this table would agree with me.”
It was Hedia’s turn to smile. Her lips gave a cynical twist to the expression, but she wasn’t really displeased. She never minded flattery, and being flattered by a very handsome, cultured young man was piquant in itself.
“I’m afraid that the fog and drizzles you were born in have rusted your critical faculties, young man,” she said, but the way she looked at him as she spoke deliberately undercut the words.