by David Drake
"No," said Alphena. "It's orichalc. Mother, I'd swear that's the ball that was on top of the temple we saw in the vision. The temple that w-was being torn apart!"
***
Hedia stared at the sunlit globe in the middle distance, trying to empathize with what Alphena was feeling. With whatever Alphena was feeling, because despite real mental effort Hedia couldn't understand what was so obviously frightening about a big metal ball.
Did it come from a ruined city as the girl said? Well and good, but so did the obelisk it stood on top of; and the huge granite spike must have been much more difficult to move and re-erect here in Carce.
"Is there something we should do, dear?" Hedia said. "Ah, do you want to go closer?"
She didn't understand why Alphena was concerned, but she understood all too well what it was to feel terrified by something that didn't seem frightening to others. She hadn't particularly noticed the temple Alphena talked about, because her mind had been frozen by the sight of glass men like those of her nightmare, walking on the walls of the city.
"No!" Alphena said; then, contritely, clasping Hedia's hands, "I'm sorry, mother. No, there's no reason to… well, I don't know what to do. And-"
She grinned ruefully.
"-I certainly don't want to go closer. Though I'm not afraid to."
"We'll shop, then," Hedia said, linking her arm with her daughter's. "But when we return, we'll discuss the matter with Pandareus. I think he'll be with Saxa and the boys, but otherwise we'll send a messenger to bring him to the house. He's a…"
She paused, wondering how to phrase what she felt.
"Pandareus is of course learned, but he also has an unusually clear vision of reality," she said. "As best I can tell, all his choices are consciously made. I don't agree with many of them-"
She flicked the sleeve of her cloak. It was of silk lace, dyed lavender to contrast with the brilliantly white ankle-length tunic she wore beneath it. It was unlikely that Pandareus could have purchased its equivalent with a year of his teaching fees.
"-obviously. But I respect the way he lives by his principles."
As I live by mine; albeit my principles are very different.
Syra waited with Alphena's maid behind the litter. They had followed on foot from the townhouse. Ordinarily Hedia would have had nearly as many female as male servants in her entourage, but for this trip the two maids were the only women present.
They didn't appear to feel there was anything to be concerned about. Syra was talking with a good-looking Gallic footman, though she faced about sharply when Hedia glanced toward her.
Alphena noticed the interchange, but she probably misinterpreted it. She said, "I've asked Agrippinus to assign Florina to me permanently. I'm not going to get angry with her."
Hedia raised an eyebrow. "My goodness, dear," she said. "I doubt the most committed philosophers could go through more than a few days without getting angry at the servant who forgot to mention the dinner invitation from a patron or who used an important manuscript to light the fire."
"I don't mean that, exactly," the girl said, flushing. "But I'm not going to hit her. And I'm going to try not to scream at her either."
Alphena was upset, but Hedia wasn't sure who she was upset with. Perhaps she was upset-angry-at herself, though she might be directing it toward the stepmother who was forcing her to discuss something that she apparently hadn't fully thought out.
"I really can change, mother!" she said. "I can be, well, nicer. To people."
"Let's go in, dear," Hedia said. As they started toward the shop between a double rank of servants, she added quietly, "In law, slaves are merely furniture with tongues, you know. But slapping your couch with a comb isn't going to lead to it informing the palace that you've been mocking the Emperor. I applaud your new resolution."
Abinnaeus had chosen an outward-facing section of the portico. The majority of his trade arrived in litters which could more easily be maneuvered in the street than in the enclosed courtyard. There was a gated counter across the front of the shop, but clients were inside where bolts of fabric were stacked atop one another. There was a room behind and a loft above.
Within, a pair of no-longer-young women were fingering the silk and speaking Greek with thick Galatian accents. Their maids were outside, watching the new arrivals with interest verging on resentment.
That pair came to Carce with their feet chalked for sale, Hedia sneered mentally. They were the sort to have moved into the master's bedroom and made a good thing out of his will, but she doubted whether they were wealthy enough to do real business with Abinnaeus.
Only a single attendant, a doe-eyed youth, was visible when Hedia approached. A moment later the owner waddled out behind a second attendant-similar enough to the other to have been twins-who had gone to fetch him. Abinnaeus beamed at her, then directed his attention to the previous customers.
"Dear ladies," he said. "I do so regret that a previous engagement requires that I close my poor shop to the general public immediately."
"For them?" said one of the women, her voice rising shrilly. "I don't think so! Not till you've served me!"
She turned to the stack of silk and started to lift the top roll. It was colored something between peach and beige and would clash with every garment the woman was wearing now; but then, her hennaed hair, her orange tunic, and her vermillion leather shoes were a pretty ghastly combination already.
Abinnaeus put a hand on the roll, pinning it down, and reached for the woman's arm. She shrieked, "Don't you touch me, you capon!" but the threatened contact did cause her to jump aside-and toward the counter.
Hedia waited, her fingers on Alphena's wrist to keep the girl with her. The events of the past few days had put Hedia in a bad enough mood that she found the present business amusing. She didn't scorn people because they were former slaves-but she scorned former slaves who gave themselves the airs of noblewomen.
"I'm sure my colleague Cynthius in the courtyard will be delighted to serve you, ladies," Abinnaeus said. He spoke with an oily solicitude; nothing in his tone or manner indicated that he was sneering. "I think you'll find his selection suitable. Indeed, very suitable for ladies as fine as yourselves."
The youthful attendants were urging the women toward the opened gate. One went quickly, but the protesting woman tried to push the boy away.
Something happened that Hedia didn't quite see. Off-balance, the woman lurched toward the street and into it. The youth-who wasn't as young as he had first seemed; he was some sort of Oriental, childishly slight but not at all a child-walked alongside her without seeming to exert any force.
Hedia saw the woman's arm muscles bunch to pull away. She wasn't successful, though the youth's smile didn't slip.
"Well, you'll never see me again!" the woman cried. Her companion had been staring first at Hedia and Alphena, then-wide-eyed-at their escort. She tugged her louder friend toward the entrance into the courtyard; their maids followed, laughing openly.
"Ah," Abinnaeus said in a lightly musing voice that wasn't obviously directed toward anyone. "If only I could be sure of that."
He turned and bowed low to Hedia. "I'm so glad to see your ladyship again," he said, sounding as though he meant it. "And your lovely companion! Please, honor my shop by entering."
"Come dear," Hedia said, but she swept the younger woman through the gate ahead of her. "Abinnaeus, this is my daughter, Lady Alphena. We're looking for dinner dresses for her."
"You could not do better," Abinnaeus agreed. He was a eunuch; his fat made him look softly cylindrical instead of swelling his belly. "Please, be seated while I find something worthy of yourselves."
One of the attendants was closing the shutters: barred openings at the top continued to let in light and air, but street noise and the crowds were blocked by solid oak. The other attendant had carried out a couch with ivory legs and cushions of silk brocade; he was returning to the back room to find its couple.
Hedia gestured Alphena to
the couch; she dipped her chin forcefully to refuse. Hedia sat instead of reclining and patted the cushion beside her. "Come, daughter," she said. "Join me."
Alphena hesitated only an instant, then sat where Hedia had indicated. The youth appeared with the second couch. He eyed them, then vanished back into storage with his burden.
Abinnaeus returned with six bolts of cloth over his left arm. "Sirimavo," he said to the youth who had bolted the shutters, "bring wine and goblets, then go fetch some cakes from Codrius. Quickly now!"
"No cakes for me," Hedia said. "Though if my daughter…?"
Alphena gestured a curt refusal, then consciously forced her lips into a smile. "Not at all, thank you," she said.
The girl really is trying. Soon perhaps I can introduce her to some suitable men without worrying that she's going to tell them she'll cut their balls off if they dare to touch her again.
"It would be remiss of me not to offer your ladyship every courtesy," the eunuch said. "What you choose to accept is your own affair, but I will say that my friend Codrius just down the portico has even better pastries than my beloved father at home in Gaza."
"No one has ever been able to fault your hospitality to a customer, Abinnaeus," Hedia said. The tramps he had just turfed out of his shop might have quarreled with her statement, but they weren't proper customers. "It's been too long since I've been here."
"We have missed you, your ladyship," Abinnaeus said, setting down five bolts. "Your custom is always welcome, of course, but even more I've missed your exquisite taste. So like mine, but more masculine."
He and Hedia laughed. Alphena looked shocked, then went still-faced because she wasn't sure how she should react.
Abinnaeus stretched a swatch from the last bolt and held it close to Alphena's ear. "There, your ladyship. What do you think about this with your daughter's coloring?"
Hedia gave the fabric sharp attention. It was faintly tan-the natural color of the silk, she was sure, not a dye-but it seemed to have golden highlights.
"Is that woven with gold wire?" she said in puzzlement. Surely no wire could be drawn that fine.
Abinnaeus chuckled. "To you and you alone, your ladyship," he said, "I will tell my secret. No, not wire-but the blond hair from women of farthest Thule. They let it grow till they marry, then cut it for the first time. The strands are finer than spider silk, purer than the gold of the Tagus River."
"And you, dear?" Hedia said to her daughter. Abinnaeus stepped back with the cloth spread in a shaft of sunlight through the clerestory windows. "It complements you perfectly, but do you find it attractive?"
Alphena had swollen visibly while Hedia and the proprietor discussed the matter as though she was a dog being fitted with a jeweled collar, but she had managed to control herself. "It's all right, I guess," she muttered. "It's-well, it's all right, if that's what you want."
When we're back in the litter, I'll remind her that we came for information; and that I had to put Abinnaeus at his ease. He wouldn't be able to imagine Lady Hedia caring about anybody else's opinion on matters of taste and fashion.
The attendants returned, each carrying a small table already set with a refreshment tray. There was a passage to the courtyard shops from the back room, but the wine was probably from Abinnaeus' own stock. He kept better vintages on hand for his customers than could be purchased nearby.
He eyed Hedia and gestured minusculely toward the wine. "Three to one," she said, answering the unspoken question. That was only possible choice with her daughter present, and it was what she probably would have said regardless.
Turning to Alphena, she said, "I used to visit Abinnaeus more frequently before I married your father, dear. I lived close by; just across Broad Street, in fact."
To Abinnaeus she went on, "I sold the house to a Gaul from Patavium; Julius Brennus, as I recall. Do you see any of him, Abinnaeus?"
"Well, not Master Brennus himself, your ladyship," he said, kneeling to offer each of the women a silver cup. "But his wife, Lady Claudia, visits me frequently, I'm pleased to say."
So the wealthy-extremely wealthy-trader from the Po Valley married a patrician after moving to Carce, Hedia thought. Good luck to both of them.
She sipped her wine, which was just as good as she expected it to be. Alphena had leaned forward slightly to lift the silk for closer examination. An attendant moved the bolt slightly closer. He didn't speak or otherwise intervene for fear of causing the young customer to rear back. It must be like bridling a skittish horse.
Aloud Hedia said, "I recall Brennus having some very odd-looking servants. Is that still the case?"
"Odd?" said Abinnaeus, pursing his lips. Discretion warred with a desire not to lose the chance of a present sale. "Well, I don't know that I'd put it quite that way, your ladyship. But it is true that many of Master Brennus' servants did come with him from the north… and one could say that they brought their culture with them. One could scarcely claim that boorishness and bad Latin are unusual in Carce, though, I'm afraid."
Hedia laughed. "No, not at all," she agreed, holding out her cup for a refill. "I thought he had a number of fellows in shiny costumes, though. You've never seen anything like that?"
"Nothing like that, no," the proprietor said, clearly puzzled. "Ah-is it possible that Master Brennus added moving automatons to his courtyard, though. Alexandrine work, I mean, worked by water. I've never been inside the house."
"That could be the story I'd heard," Hedia said as if idly. "Well, I think this first pattern will be a fine choice. What else have you for us, Master Abinnaeus?"
The afternoon wore on. The familiar routine was pleasurable during those moments when Hedia forgot the danger which had really brought her here, and such moments were more frequent as she became absorbed in fabric and fashion. Alphena was showing real interest also, which was a success beyond expectation.
The maids waited silently, their backs against the counter. There was nothing for them to do, but they too were entranced by the lovely cloth.
It was time to be getting back. Hedia rose and stretched.
"Have these eight patterns made up," she said, "and send them to the house. I'll tell our major domo to expect them. I dare say we'll be back for more, though."
"You are always welcome, your ladyships," Abinnaeus said. The attendants were rattling the shutters open as he bowed. "Your intelligence and taste brighten an existence which sometimes threatens to be about money alone."
He made a quick, upward gesture with a plump hand. "Taking nothing away from money, of course," he added. "But there can be more."
The sun was well into the western sky when Hedia followed her daughter into the street. "You did very well, dear," she said; truthfully, but mostly to encourage the girl.
Hedia looked idly toward the great sundial. In the wavering sunlight she saw three glass figures glitter like sundogs in the winter sky.
"Ah!" she cried, grasping Alphena's arm.
"Mother?" the girl said. The alerted escorts were pulling weapons from beneath their capes and tunics.
None of them saw anything. Hedia didn't see anything-now.
She forced a clumsy laugh. "I tripped on these foolish shoes," she said, "but I don't seem to have turned my ankle."
She wiggled her shapely leg in the air.
"Let's be getting back to the house, shall we?" Hedia said. The others were staring, though they had started to relax. "There's nothing more for us here."
She hoped that was the truth; but she was sure in her heart that it was not.
***
Varus realized he was holding his breath as he waited for someone inside the house of Sempronius Tardus to open the door. No one did. He breathed out, then snorted fresh lungsful of air.
The chief lictor banged again and growled, "Open it for me or by Jupiter you'll open it for a cohort of the Guard!"
Apparently Varus had been unable to hide his smile. Pandareus looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question.
"I was
wondering how it would affect our mission if I were to faint from holding my breath," Varus said. "I think it better not to make the experiment."
He opened his tablet and resumed his notes. This was, after all, an official activity of the consul and therefore part of his self-imposed duty of recording the ritual business of the Republic. There was at least the possibility that his records would be of service to later historians, whereas there was no chance at all that anyone in the future would have wanted to read the Collected Verse of Gaius Alphenus Varus.
The door jerked open. A tall man with the beard of a Stoic philosopher and a cloth-of-gold sash that suggested he was the major domo stood in the opening, looking flustered.
"Your Excellency," the tall servant said, "my master, Senator Marcus Tardus, will be with you in a moment. If I may ask your indulgence to wait here until the senator is ready to receive you-"
"You may not," said the chief lictor, prodding his axe head toward the servant's stomach. "This is the Consul, you Theban twit!"
He shoved forward with the remainder of his squad following. The major domo hopped backward.
"My goodness, what an unexpected slur from a public functionary!" Pandareus said. "Though he caught the Boeotian accent correctly, so I can hardly describe the fellow as uncultured."
They started into the house. Saxa seemed oblivious of the interchange between servant and lictor. Varus looked sharply at his father, wondering if he could really be as lost in his own world as he generally seemed to be.
Perhaps so. Saxa was insulated by his wealth, which would one day become the wealth of his son Varus. If Varus survived him. If Carce and the world survived.
Sempronius Tardus trotted into the entrance hall from a side passage. He was tightening the wrap of the toga which he must have put on only when the lictor banged for admittance. A dozen servants fluttered around him, all of them frightened.
"Saxa?" Tardus said. "That is, Your Excellency. You're welcome, of course, but I don't see…?"
Tardus looked dazed. Well, this business would be startling to anybody, but it seemed to Varus that more was going on than surprise at a Consul's unannounced formal arrival. Though the Emperor was known to be erratic, and even the most loyal and honest of men probably had something in his life that could be turned into a capital offense.