Muses of Roma (Codex Antonius Book 1)

by Rob Steiner

  Attend to your duties.

  Lucia raised her pistol and shot the Navigator.

  25

  Ocella stood across the street from the house of the Julii matron. Once again she hid in an alley, for the grimy clothes on both her and Cordus would stand out among the finer dressed residents of the Caelius Hill. She watched slaves, better dressed and fatter than most Roman citizens, walk in and out of the house’s back entrance. Some carried grocery bags while others carried rakes and auto-shears for the vast garden within the home’s walls. It was quite a luxury to have such a large property on the wealthy Caelius, but then the Julii had been wealthy since Roma’s founding. They had fallen far in social status among the other patricians after Marcus Antonius deposed Octavian Caesar, but they had at least retained their wealth.

  Ocella told Cordus to hide behind a large trash bin, and then she trotted across the alley to the Julii back entrance. A large private lictor guarded the entrance, his massive forearms folded over his equally massive belly. He wore a red tunic over white pants, with a pistol holstered in a shoulder strap under one of his arms. He stared at Ocella from beneath a wide-brimmed white hat as she ran toward him, and did not move when she stopped in front of him.

  “I'd like to inquire about work,” Ocella said. “I'm good with gardening.”

  “The domina does not hire citizens for the garden,” the bored lictor said. “She has slaves for that.”

  “I'm also a good cook,” Ocella continued. “In fact, my recipes for jellied sardines are the talk of the Capitoline. Please tell the domina that a gardener cook with recipes for jellied sardines is at the door.”

  The lictor frowned. “I told you, the domina does not hire citizens. Now leave, beggar, before I get annoyed.”

  Ocella was getting annoyed herself. Her former Umbra contacts had assured her that the coded phrases would get her through the doors of the Julii household. Obviously this idiot had never learned the codes, or he had forgotten.

  “Please tell the domina, or at least her head slave, that a woman talented in both gardening and cooking is at the door seeking work. My jellied sardines—”

  The lictor sighed, unfolded his arms and tried to give Ocella a backhand slap with one beefy hand. Ocella ducked beneath the slap and put all her weight behind a punch to the lictor's chest. His eyes bulged and he gasped for air. He doubled over and reached for his pistol. Before he could grab it, Ocella pulled it from his holster (where the fool had not fastened it) and aimed it at his head.

  “Call your domina,” Ocella said, “and tell her what I told you.”

  The lictor nodded, holding his hand up, gasping. She gave him a moment to collect his breath and then cocked the pistol when she thought he took too long. He thumbed his collar com and said, “Memnio, it's Desitus.”

  “What?” a man with a Germanic accent said over the com.

  “There's a woman here wanting work as a cook or gardener,” Desitus said in a strained voice.

  Ocella cursed under her breath at the lictor for mixing up the code’s order, and she wanted to hit him in the face with his pistol.

  “The domina does not hire citizens, Desitus, you know this.”

  “She’s insistent.”

  “I prefer gardener,” Ocella said loudly so Memnio could hear, “but I am also a cook. My jellied sardines are a delicacy on the Capitoline.”

  Seconds passed, and she began to think this Memnio didn't know the codes either. She was about to call out again when Memnio's voice returned.

  “I said the domina does not hire citizens.” Memnio paused. “But you might find work at the Aeneas Cafe. They have their own garden and always need good cooks.”

  “Where is the Aeneas Cafe?” Ocella asked.

  “Via Rumina, two blocks east.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Ocella backed away from the lictor, still aiming his gun at him. The lictor glared at her with murderous eyes.

  “Can I have my gun back?”

  “Pick it up at the Aeneas Cafe,” she said.

  She turned and trotted across the alley back to Cordus. He saw the gun and gave her a questioning look. Ocella threw it in the trash bin behind him. She scanned the alley behind her to ensure they weren’t followed and then motioned him toward the Via Rumina at the other end of the alley.

  It was midday but the dark clouds forming above threatened rain and storms. Most of the well-dressed patricians strolled down the sidewalks with umbrellas. Ocella still felt conspicuous in her dirty clothes, but there was no avoiding it. It was only a two-block walk, but two blocks was enough for a stray patrician to recognize Cordus. She couldn’t eliminate a nosey patrician as easily as a drunken Legionnaire.

  She clutched Cordus's hand as they walked onto the street. In Ocella's previous cover as a Praetorian, she had patrolled streets like these during her investigations of potential traitors among the patrician ranks. But she never noticed until now—with a grumbling stomach—how many gourmet food shops were interspersed among the high fashion clothing boutiques, jewelers, and fine porcelain stores. The scents of roasted pistachios, honeyed cakes, and even imported teas made her mouth water. Cordus wasn’t faring well either, for he craned his neck at each little food store and cafe they passed.

  Most patricians on the street tried their best to ignore the beggar mother with her son. Some wrinkled their noses and gave them a wide berth. So far, no one seemed to recognize Cordus.

  Ocella found the Aeneas Cafe two blocks from the alley just as Memnio said. The cafe had polished oak doors, colorful potted flowers arranged in front of the windows, and an austere glowing sign above the door without dancing images like the other businesses along the street. It was small, classy, and crowded with people sipping their drinks from porcelain cups as they read scroll pads.

  She passed the front entrance and went around the block to the alley behind the cafe. Its supply entrance was blocked by a truck from which men were unloading crates of bottled drinks. They gave her passing glances as she and Cordus approached the door, but continued pulling crates off the truck without saying a word to her.

  She drew Cordus aside and bent down to whisper in his ear. “This should only take a few minutes. Hide behind the trash bins.”

  “I know the procedure,” Cordus said in the same whisper. “Keep out of sight, run to our rendezvous if someone attacks me.”

  Ocella smiled, then nodded. “I suppose you're the evasion expert by now.”

  “I am having the time of my life.”

  She couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. His eyes gleamed, and a slight grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was glad to see his old excitement for this “adventure” return after the business at the Temple of Empanda. Excitement, but now tempered by brutal reality, she thought. He might just survive this.

  Ocella walked through the supply door and into the kitchen. A woman stood at a counter chopping carrots, her back to Ocella. The woman wore a gray smock and apron, and Ocella almost dismissed her as a slave, but noticed she wore expensive leather shoes and figured her for the cafe’s owner.

  “Excuse me,” Ocella said, “I was told I might find work here. I'm an exceptional gardener, and I also cook. My jellied sardines are considered a delicacy on the Capitoline.”

  Without turning, the woman asked, “Do you have references?”

  Ocella hesitated. “I don't have a list with me, but I can get you one later.”

  The woman turned around and looked at her shrewdly. She was in her early fifties, with elegant cheek bones, dark hair, and a Roman patrician’s olive skin. She wasn’t wearing makeup that Ocella could see, but the woman's skin and lips had the glow that only came from an expensive salon.

  “What makes you think I'm the owner of this cafe?”

  “I'm sorry, domina, I assumed—”

  “I'm joking,” the smiling woman said. “I'm Gaia Julius Rutila, the owner. You are?”

  Ocella bowed, surprised to meet the Julii matron in a kitchen chopping carrots. �
��I am Vibia Minius.”

  The matron put down her knife and wiped her hands in a towel. “So, Vibia Minius, can you tell me why I shouldn't have you killed?”

  There was movement behind Ocella. She turned to see one of the men who had been unloading the truck pointing a pistol at her. The other man held Cordus just outside the door, his hand over the boy's mouth. Cordus's eyes bulged and he grunted as he fought against the man’s arms. Another man came from the cellar door behind Ocella, patted her down, and took the pistol from her coat pocket.

  Ocella turned back to Gaia Julius, and licked her lips. She had known this would be a dangerous tactic. Gaia Julius had been an Umbra contact for almost twenty years, since she became head of the Julii after her father’s death. She obviously knew that every Umbra Ancile on Terra had been killed, and she must’ve had a good idea it was Ocella’s fault. Would Gaia seek revenge?

  But Gaia’s Umbra connections were not the reason Ocella sought her help. Ocella heard rumors about the Julii when she was under cover in the Praetorians. Rumors that they were Saturnists, the same as Scaurus. Nothing was ever confirmed, and Scaurus himself never revealed to Ocella whether the rumors were true. He was protective of Saturnist members, even with Ocella.

  Gaia Julius was the only choice Ocella had left. Without her, Ocella and Cordus were dead anyway.

  “You know who I am,” Ocella said slowly. “I assume that makes me valuable.”

  The lady snorted. She made even that outburst seem dignified. “Yes, you are quite the wanted woman. You and…the boy. The question is: to whom do I give you?”

  She raised her right palm. “On one hand, the Romans would be quite appreciative if I handed over the Consular Heir and his kidnapper. Imagine that. It would return my family to its rightful place among the Roman elite. A thousand years is a long time to be treated like cac on the bottom of a slave's shoe.”

  Ocella stared at the Julii matron, her body and mind a tightened coil.

  Gaia Julius raised her left palm. “Or I could give you to our Liberti friends. They would be most grateful, considering you had every one of their associates slaughtered. They took that rather poorly, I might add. I'm sure they would give me a suitable reward”—her eyes gleamed—“and you a suitable punishment. Especially with the current hostilities.”

  “What hostilities?”

  Gaia arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

  “We’ve been on the run for three weeks. We’ve stayed away from any—”

  “War, my dear. Roma attacked Libertus yesterday.”

  Ocella blinked. “Attacked? That's impossible.”

  But with a sickening realization, Ocella knew it was possible. She had made it possible. Umbra’s only defense against a Roman assault was to kill it within the Roman government before the idea could be implemented. The attack was her fault.

  Ocella swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Is Libertus fighting back? The Romans haven't...”

  “No, the Romans have not bombed the planet,” Gaia said, “but they’ve set up a blockade, and according to the newscriers, it’s going rather splendidly for the Naves Astrum.”

  Ocella shook her head. That didn’t matter right now. She forced herself not to worry about something she couldn’t control.

  Even though it’s your fault.

  Through clenched teeth, Ocella said, “The boy is important.”

  “Of course he is. He’s the Consular Heir.”

  “You have a third option.” If she is a Saturnist, she’ll know what I mean.

  Gaia stared at Ocella, her face revealing nothing. Her eyes flitted from Cordus to Ocella.

  “You know what he can do,” Ocella continued. “Neither the Romans nor the Liberti should have him. Get him off-world.” She swallowed. “Give me to whomever you want.”

  Gaia Julius stared at her a moment longer, then sighed and returned to her carrots. “Put them in the cellar.”

  The man behind Ocella jabbed her with the pistol and pointed her to the cellar door behind her. She glanced at the man, then at Cordus. The boy no longer struggled, but the man behind him still held Cordus’s arms in an iron grip. He stared daggers at Gaia Julius's back.

  “Julii coward,” Cordus growled.

  Gaia Julius stopped cutting and turned to Cordus, the knife still in her hand. “Sire,” she said sweetly, “it's been a long time since we last saw each other. You were five or six, but it was at the wedding of my niece Sephilia to one of your cousins. Titus, I believe. Or should I say, “almost” wedding. Young Titus backed out just before the ceremony after last-minute pressure from your father. After all, it wouldn't do to have an Antonii marry a Julii. The shame and embarrassment my beloved niece felt as she stood at the podium waiting for her groom was…well, it was like she'd been flayed alive. Socially speaking, of course.”

  Gaia Julius held up the knife and inspected its edge. “Because, obviously, an actual flaying would hurt much, much worse.”

  Cordus's jaw clenched, but he maintained his defiant stare. Ocella tensed, ready to leap if Gaia Julius made any move toward Cordus. The man behind Ocella seemed to feel her tension, and he pushed the pistol further into her back.

  Gaia Julius looked from the knife to Cordus. She bent down so her eyes were even with the boy’s. “Sephilia drowned herself in the Tiber two days later. I've been quite upset with the Antonii ever since. So do not provoke me, sire.”

  Gaia Julius turned around and resumed her chopping. The man holding Cordus pulled him toward Ocella, while the man with the pistol pushed Ocella again toward the cellar stairs.

  The stairs were ancient and worn, as if they were hewn from the rock when Romulus was king. She descended into the dark, dank cellar with the gunman and Cordus behind her. The gunman touched a pad on the wall, and ceiling globes illuminated the rough stone corridor. The gunman told her to go left and then had her stop at a wooden door with iron bands. He opened the door and motioned her in. Ocella entered a room filled with plastic wine barrels. The man holding Cordus shoved the boy into the room, then slammed and locked the door. The only light in the room came from the crack beneath the door, which disappeared once the gunmen went back upstairs. Ocella and Cordus stood in the center of the room holding hands in pitch-blackness.

  “What is she going to do to us?” Cordus asked in a quiet voice.

  “She won't turn us over to the Praetorians,” Ocella said, putting more confidence in her voice than she felt. “She hates your family. She won't let Roma keep you.”

  “I think she hates me. Did you see what she was doing with the knife?”

  “She was just trying to scare you. She won't hurt you.”

  At least a sane person who knew Cordus’s secret wouldn't hurt him, Ocella thought. But the anger in Gaia Julius's eyes when she told the story of her niece made Ocella wonder.

  “So she'll give us to Umbra?” Cordus asked. “I cannot go with them either.”

  “If my guess is right, she won’t do that either.”

  Cordus was silent and then asked, “Are you sure she is a Saturnist?”

  Ocella sat down on the cold stone in the middle of the cellar, and Cordus sat next to her. He was shivering, so she put her arms around him.

  “I don't know yet.”

  “What will she do to you?”

  Give me to Umbra so they can flay me alive for what I did to their Ancilia here, not to mention starting a war with Roma that Libertus could not hope to win.

  “I don't know,” she said.

  They were both silent for a while, and then Cordus asked, “Do you want to play a game?”

  “What game?”

  “I tell you the name of a city, country, or planet, and you have to name another city, country, or planet whose first letter begins with the last letter of the one I gave you.”

  She smiled in the darkness. “Sounds fun.”

  “I'll go first.”

  Ocella held him closer as he began.

  26

  Kaeso didn’t kn
ow how long he’d been out, but he knew it was a long time. Every muscle in his body was sore, his empty stomach rumbled, and he had a terrible urgency to urinate. He eased himself on his elbows and then brought his feet off the bunk and to the floor. He didn't pass out, so he stood. Lightheadedness assaulted him, and his vision tunneled, but he held on to the bunk until the feeling passed. He got up, shuffled into the corridor, and entered the latrine a dozen paces away. After urinating for almost a minute, he left the latrine and ran into Nestor standing outside the door.

  “Feeling better, Centuriae?”

  “Sure.”

  His vertigo and pounding head was light years “better” than his implant’s agonizing reactivation. Kaeso had wanted to die, anything to end that searing pain. After his discharge from Umbra, he’d been unconscious when they deactivated his implant. Now he knew why.

  But it had been worth it. His brain was still adapting to the reactivation, so there were many things he couldn’t yet do with the implant. One thing he could do was see the contract Galeo had made with him regarding his crew’s safety. Most importantly, he could see the endorsement given to it by the Vessels who were not trapped on Libertus. The Muses would keep secrets, to be sure, but contracts were religiously upheld. The pain was a fair trade for knowing his crew wouldn’t be killed to protect Umbra’s secrets.

  Kaeso was tempted to push his implant to see what else he could do. It had been a long time since it was active, and he missed its clarity, wisdom, and power. No. I can’t get addicted to this thing again. Not when it’s going to be taken away from me so soon.

  “You should lay down for a few more hours at least,” Nestor said.

  Kaeso ignored him. “How long was I out?”

  “Nine hours.”

  “Lucia hasn't killed the Navigator yet, has she?”

  Kaeso’s last lucid memory was waking up after Galeo had reactivated the implant to see Lucia pointing a pistol at Galeo's head. Kaeso said something to her—he couldn't remember what—and then his memories faded. Interesting that Kaeso could now remember in crystal clarity every mission he ever took for Umbra, yet he couldn’t remember what happened nine hours ago.