by David Drake
She stretched voluptuously, savoring the memory.
“—the exercise I got with Gilise. Not at all.”
Boest laughed. Hedia thought she heard sadness underlying the humor, but the humor was nonetheless real.
Aloud Hedia said, “What do I ask, Boest? To find my son by the—”
She had started to say the shortest way. Instead she said, “The best way.”
“Just ask,” said Boest, smiling gently. “I’m sorry that the spring tricked you, but it isn’t malicious.”
Hedia stepped close and rose up on tiptoes so that she could kiss the big man’s lips. “Thank you,” she said. “And I’m glad to have been able to help you.”
That was the proper thing to say, so she would have said it in any case. She was a little surprised to realize that she meant it.
The rock formed into lips through which the fountain flowed. Its laughter gurgled.
“I told you that I knew many things, Hedia,” the water’s deep voice said. “I knew that you were the one for whom I had long waited. Ask your question.”
“Spring,” Hedia said in a clear voice. “How may I best reach my son, Varus?”
“Follow the path you took to reach me the first time,” said the spring. “Go into the woods. At every branching of the path, turn to your right. That will be the best way in which to find your son.”
Hedia frowned and said, “Won’t that take me in a circle?”
The spring didn’t speak, but behind her Boest said, “This is the Spring of True Answers, Hedia. Were you hoping for something other than the truth?”
She laughed. “Thank you, Spring,” she said. “I will follow your advice.”
Turning, she said, “And thank you, Master Boest. Perhaps we’ll meet again, but I believe each of us has our business to take care of now.”
“Yes,” said Boest. “Paddock and I have a great deal of travel before us. And Gilise, of course. I wish you the good fortune which you have brought to me … and to the world, I think. Things are better because you exist.”
Hedia sniffed, but her heart was lighter than it might have been as she started along the path into the woods.
* * *
AN ENTOURAGE OF TWENTY or more servants had gathered behind Alphena before she had come half the distance to the entrance hall of Saxa’s town house. They had been waiting in the bathhouse and gymnasium and in the corridor between them. Pandareus was somewhere in back, but servants pushed past him to get closer to Lady Alphena.
Her chief personal maid bumped her right elbow. Alphena turned and said with false brightness, “My outside escorts always give me enough room, Florina. Perhaps in the future I’ll direct them to escort me inside the house also.”
Florina jumped aside, shoving an underfootman into the wall. Turning, she hissed to the servants behind, “Move back, you cretins! You’re crowding Her Ladyship!”
Alphena gave a tiny smile of satisfaction. Last year I would have slapped Florina or even jabbed her with my comb. This works just as well, and it’s far more ladylike. Mother will be pleased.
Alphena thought of Hedia. Suddenly Alphena wasn’t worried about the interview she was about to have with her father. It might be unpleasant and embarrassing, but anything was worthwhile if it would help get Hedia back.
Alphena could have entered her father’s office from the back where the understeward Charias stood to keep lower-ranking servants away. Instead she pointed to Charias and said, “You! Come around to the side door and clear the entrance hall for me. I need to speak with my father.”
Charias was relatively young for his status—he was in his mid-twenties, Alphena believed—but he had been promoted because he was sharp as well as being literate in several languages. He judged the situation, bowed, and stepped immediately to the curtained opening to the entrance hall.
Charias might have to answer to the majordomo for leaving his post, but he had obviously decided that was better than trying to dodge the young mistress’ clear, forceful directions. That showed good judgment. Alphena was beginning to fray, and a servant who got in her way might see some of the spoiled brat she had been before Hedia began to remold her into a proper lady.
“Give way for the Lady Alphena!” Charias shouted. His voice was a light tenor, but he put his lungs into the words. He achieved volume, if not majesty. “Clear the entrance hall for Lady Alphena!”
Saxa had just returned from the Senate, accompanied by his usual entourage of “clients,” citizens whose number raised the prestige of their patron—Saxa, in this case—in exchange for dinner invitations, gifts at the holidays, and the sort of help that the influence of a powerful senator might provide. A score of them waited in the hall. Lesser citizens and the servants escorting the clients were in the street, while men of the highest rank were in the office with Saxa himself.
Two ushers were in the hall. When Charias shouted, they shifted their batons crossways. That was unnecessary: the clients began shuffling out toward the front door without physical prodding.
I wonder how many of them have heard stories about Lady Alphena also? Alphena thought. Mother will have her hands full trying to find a suitable husband for me.…
But that was a problem for a later time, and it wasn’t a problem that concerned Alphena much anyway.
The office door was of intricate leather openwork on a bronze frame. Agrippinus stood before it. Charias stepped forward, but the majordomo gestured him back and opened the door himself.
“Lady Alphena to see her father, Senator Gaius Alphenus Saxa, former consul and governor of the province of Lusitania,” Agrippinus said. He didn’t shout, but his deep, sonorous voice filled the hall as well as the small office where Saxa stood with two visitors.
Alphena recognized one of the men as Ulpius Vomer, a senatorial acquaintance of Saxa. The other was a stranger, a craggy knight with North African features. Neither was of real importance, and Alphena would have interrupted if they were anyone below the Emperor himself.
Well, I’d apologize if the Praetorian Prefect was there. The little joke—she imagined the words spoken in Corylus’ dry voice—made her grin, probably as much a surprise to her father as it was to her.
Saxa was seated with a reading stand to his side and one of his secretaries behind him to take notes. His visitors stood to either side of the door from the hall. They stepped aside and nodded politely to Alphena.
“Good afternoon, Daughter,” Saxa said. “My friends and I were about to go to the baths…?”
“Father, I’m very sorry, but I must speak with you on a family matter,” Alphena said, impressed that she sounded firm but not shrill the way she had expected to be. Nodding first to Ulpius, then to the knight, she continued, “Gentlemen, I apologize for my intrusion. I will not be long, I assure you.”
She was sure she wouldn’t be long. Saxa might agree or more likely would forbid her plan, but it wasn’t going to take very long either way.
“Lord Ulpius, Master Severianus,” Saxa said, rising to his feet. He had been sitting because of protocol: he was the noble householder. “I too apologize. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
Murmuring understanding, the two men slipped out into the hall that Alphena had emptied to give them room. Severianus eyed her closely on the way.
I wonder what he thinks I’ve been doing, she thought. Probably nothing as odd as the reality.
“You’ve learned something about Hedia?” Saxa said before the office door had closed behind Ulpius. Not that the perforated panel provided much privacy anyway.
“No,” said Alphena. “But I think I can learn something if I can get into Lucius Sentius’ town house without his knowledge. With the help of the servants here I can do that as a slave.”
“Daughter?” Saxa said. “That’s imposs … that is, are you feeling well?”
“No, Father,” she said. “I’m very frightened. But I’ve thought about this. I know, I’m not smart the way Varus is or Mother, but I know how to do things.
This can work and yes, it’s dangerous, but I’m going to do it whether you help or not. I owe it to Mother, and I owe it to you because you’ll be lost without Mother and I love you and I’m going to!”
There were members of Saxa’s household who would help for Hedia’s sake and maybe for Alphena’s own. Pulto would help, and he probably knew people. They might all be as frightened as she was, but they’d help anyway because it had to be done.
Alphena wiped her eyes, because they were stinging. I’ve started to cry!
“I see,” said Saxa. He swallowed and turned toward a sidewall. It was frescoed with a woman riding over the waves on the back of a bull, but Alphena didn’t think her father was really looking at the art.
She suddenly realized that the secretary was still on his stool behind Saxa, hunched over a wax tablet. His hand was poised on his bronze stylus, but he was perfectly motionless. She had forgotten the man was there … but it didn’t matter now.
“I very much want Hedia and my son back,” Saxa said. “I will trust you, Daughter, because my wife has shown that she trusts you. And because I don’t have a better idea myself. I don’t have any ideas.”
He wet his lips and continued, “I only ask that you consult Publius Corylus before you act. I know there’s a risk—”
Alphena had a flash of memory, pressing her body against Corylus and demanding that he take her. She flushed, but nobody would notice her complexion here in the office.
“—but I see that we must take risks.”
“Father,” Alphena said, “Publius Corylus is gone also. Has been taken, we think. Master Pandareus and I and Corylus’ man Pulto think that.”
Saxa winced. “This is terrible, terrible,” he said in a quiet voice.
He straightened. “Agrippinus, come into the office!” he called. “And somebody send for Lenatus as well. I suppose he’s in the gymnasium. I want him here also.”
The office door snapped open; the majordomo stepped through. Past him before the door closed, Alphena glimpsed Charias disappearing through the side doorway of the entrance hall. Six or more servants were probably running to summon the fencing master.
Ordinarily nothing happened in a town house, so when something did it was a matter of great excitement. In the present case, what was happening might mean that every member of the household was sent to die in the imperial silver mines in Spain.
Most of the servants weren’t sophisticated enough to realize that, however. They were just excited to have something to discuss other than the affair a new kitchen maid was having with one of the servants who delivered produce nightly from Saxa’s estate north of Carce.
“Would you like Pandareus to be present, Father?” Alphena asked.
“What?” said Saxa in what for him was a sharp tone. “No, no. You’ll tell him what you want; you don’t need me.”
There was a bustle from outside the rear door. A servant started to speak, but Lenatus said in a parade-ground voice, “As requested, sir!” and flung the door open himself. He must have just stripped off his breastplate, because his tunic was sweaty at the places where the armor squeezed it to his body.
Lenatus is sophisticated enough to know how badly this could go wrong.
“Agrippinus and Lenatus,” Saxa said in his newly firm voice. “Lady Hedia and Lord Varus have disappeared. I suppose you know more about that than I do.”
He swallowed. “Lady Alphena has a plan to, to deal with the situation,” he said. “I don’t know the details; I don’t want to know the details. I want you to do whatever my daughter requests, no matter what it is. Agrippinus, this applies to my whole staff, in Carce and at any other location they may be. You will see to it that everyone understands.”
Lenatus nodded. “I report to Lady Alphena, right,” he said. “Can I tell Pulto about this? He’s in the gym right now. We were sparring.”
“You can tell anyone as necessary to carry out Lady Alphena’s directions,” Saxa said. “Now—”
“Your Lordship, may I clarify one matter?” said Agrippinus. He didn’t wait for permission to continue. “With all respect to the courage of Lady Alphena, she is young and hasn’t in the past always displayed what she herself in later years will think of as reasonable caution. Ah, this business could verge into matters which the Emperor would consider treason, with consequences which not even your great authority could avoid, Your Lordship.”
Alphena started to speak. She realized she didn’t know what to say: everything the majordomo had said was true, but it didn’t matter.
“Agrippinus, you’ve been legally free for the past five years,” Saxa said. Usually he was full of enthusiasm about the trivial things that to him were important. Today he sounded grave and worthy of the high positions he had held. “I have no doubt that thirty years in my household have left you more than comfortable financially. I don’t grudge you that.”
He paused, but his expression kept Agrippinus silent whether or not he might otherwise have tried to answer.
“This is a matter touching the safety of my wife and son,” Saxa said. “I will take any risk for their sakes. If you are unwilling to share those risks, then leave my house at once.”
Agrippinus stood stiffly where he was. “Lord Saxa,” he said. “I will carry out these orders as I have carried out all your orders over the decades of my service. I would have failed the duties of the office which you have entrusted to me if I had not given you the benefit of my advice.”
He bowed in deeper reverence than Alphena had seen the majordomo offer her father in the past.
Turning to Alphena, Agrippinus said, “I await your orders, Your Ladyship.”
“We’ll go to the gymnasium,” Alphena said. It wasn’t private—no place in a house so full of servants was really private—but it came closer than anywhere else did. “We’ll want Pulto.”
Charias, back in position, got out of the way as Lenatus pushed open the rear door of the office. “Clear the way!” Agrippinus said, asserting his authority from behind the fencing master.
“Not you, Master Pandareus!” Alphena called. “You’re coming with us to the gymnasium.”
The teacher had obeyed Agrippinus with the humility that was as natural to him as learning was. Alphena knew that Pandareus was deservedly proud of his knowledge, but he really didn’t care about the trappings of honor.
“You know, Agrippinus…?” Lenatus said from beside the majordomo as they walked through the central garden toward the rear of the town house. The servants scurrying away probably weren’t listening, but the fencing master didn’t appear to be concerned about that. “You saved your life back there when you said you were in with us.”
Agrippinus opened the gymnasium door. “Lord Saxa wouldn’t have had me executed for that,” he said. “Besides, I was merely concerned that His Lordship understood the situation.”
Pulto was alone inside the enclosure. He had taken off his armor, but Alphena noted that the sword and dagger on his equipment belt were real, not weighted wooden practice weapons.
“No, His Lordship isn’t that kind of fellow, not at all,” Lenatus agreed. “The thing is, buddy, it wouldn’t have gotten to His Lordship.”
Pandareus entered, the last of their group. Alphena started to close the door, then looked back the way they had come. Charias was in the mass of servants. “Charias, mind the door,” she ordered crisply, then shut it.
“It seems to me and Pulto that this isn’t just family business,” Lenatus said. “From what we’ve seen, the safety of the Republic depends on Lady Hedia and maybe Varus too. So if I thought you were going to run out and probably try to get ahead of the informers by talking to folks in the prefect’s office about what might be treason, well, you’d be a danger to the Republic.”
“Me and Lenatus, we got a lot of experience dealing with dangers to the Republic,” Pulto said. He grinned.
Instead of crumpling, Agrippinus drew himself up to his full height and said, “Then as a citizen of Carce, gentlemen, I
thank you. Now, if you’re done posturing, shall we get on to Lady Alphena’s plan?”
Lenatus laughed and clapped the majordomo on the shoulder. “You’re all right, buddy,” he said. “Let’s do that, and I’ve got a jar of wine in the equipment locker to keep our throats lubricated while we do.”
This may actually work, Alphena thought. Her eyes were stinging again, this time because of joy.
CHAPTER VIII
Alphena shivered in the pre-dawn air. She was wearing the clothing of a young female slave of no particular skills, suitable for a scullery maid or the like: a single light tunic with no overwrap, and sandals coiled from straw rope.
She carried a bindle with a second tunic wrapped around the few possessions that a girl of her type might own: a yellow linen sash; an almost-empty jar of eye shadow; a pair of earrings twisted from gold-washed iron wire; and an ivory comb from which half the teeth had been broken. Agrippinus himself had gone to the Tiber Market and bought a girl named Popiliana, just imported from Syria. She spoke no Latin and her Greek was doubtful; even her Aramaic was so bad that the majordomo doubted it was the girl’s first language.
Alphena wore Popiliana’s clothes and carried her possessions. The real servant was dizzyingly happy with a pair of embroidered linen tunics, leather slippers, gold ear studs, and a comb that, though horn, was new and had all its teeth.
The linkman at the head of the procession stopped at a door opening on to the alley. The servant beside him banged on the panel with his baton and called, “Hey, is this Sentius’ place?”
A voice from inside said something—probably, “Right,” but the speaker’s accent blurred the word beyond certainty.
Charias walked forward and called, “New intake of servants for Lucius Sentius. Four males and one female, all classed as unskilled and sold without recourse!”
Alphena had wanted to go to Sentius’ house straight from the discussion in the gymnasium. Agrippinus had insisted that they put off the operation for at least a day so that he could make preparations, and the two veterans had supported him.
Alphena had raised her voice. Pulto, Lenatus, and the majordomo had looked at her silently, and after a moment Pandareus had said, “They are correct, Lady Alphena.”
