Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2) (9 page)

Before Cordus could decide what to do, the discipulus’s gaze had already swept past him and was on Uller again. “You did not say there would be so many guests,” the discipulus said in a quiet tone more chilling than if he had shouted. “You will need to pay another toll, slave.”

Uller nodded, reached into his tunic pocket and retrieved a money pouch. “How much, discipulus?”

“Twenty sesterces per guest.”

Without expression, Uller counted out twelve ten-sesterce notes and handed them to the discipulus. The discipulus shoved the notes into a pocket within his robes. He nodded to his partner.

The second discipulus kicked Tribune Galerius. He slowly rose to his feet. Once the emaciated man stood, he gathered his strength, gripped the chain with both hands, and then leaned backward to use his weight to pull the gate open. The gate inched horizontally inward. It could not have been heavy, but Galerius struggled with it as his bare, blistered feet slipped on the paved, dusty road. One discipulus could have opened it with little effort. The only reason they made Galerius do it was for humiliation and torture. The two discipuli returned to their shaded chairs near the Roman armored cars.

With the gate opened, Galerius collapsed to the ground and lay on his back panting. Uller drove past the gate. Cordus stared at Galerius. Strips of flesh had been removed from Garlerius’s calves and forearms, exposing rectangular, oozing wounds beneath dirt and grime.

“Barbarians,” Blaesus whispered.
 

Kaeso watched the discipuli, while Nestor, Dariya, and Daryush did their best to keep their eyes on the road ahead.
 

Rage boiled in Cordus once again. Reantium had been a peaceful world before the civil war, and the Roman garrison was more of a lictor force ensuring public safety. What changed? Had the garrisons turned brutal as Roman control broke down with the civil war? But why would they? The colonists were citizens, not an occupied nation. What could cause citizens to turn so fanatical that they’d viciously slaughter their protectors?

After the checkpoint, the drive to Tarpeius’s holdings was uneventful and silent. Twenty miles of straight road on flat ground surrounded by wheat and maize fields. Cordus occasionally spotted an automated harvester roaming the fields, either watering the crops or spraying fertilizer or insect repellent. Each harvester was over three stories tall, with one-story wheels that fit between the crop rows. The top of the harvester had multiple appendages and arms to complete almost any farming task.

After driving twenty miles, they approached a tall watch post, three stories high, with sensor arrays and small pulse cannons at the top. The post stood near the right side of the road surrounded by a wide, cleared semi-circle. A few hundred paces beyond it was another post. They continued like this until they reached a right turn with two more elaborate towers on either side of the road, each bristling with sensors and pulse cannons.
 

Uller turned onto the paved road without stopping. Cordus had no doubt that if their car failed to send a friendly signal, the cannons on the watch towers would fire.

“Has Tarpeius always protected his villa so well?” Cordus asked Blaesus.

“Yes,” Blaesus said. “Although I think the posts along the main highway are new. How about it, Uller?”

“They are new, dominar.”

Blaesus sniffed. “You never were a conversationalist. It’s a wonder why Tarpeius keeps you.”

“Yes, dominar.”

They drove another two miles, tall maize stalks lining the road like a green wall, before they arrived at the main Tarpeius villa. They passed more watch posts and then entered a vast clearing with emerald green grass, patches of flowers, decorative trees, and life-sized marble sculptures of Romans garbed in everything from ancient armor to modern toga and pants. Dozens of workers tended the vast gardens. With a second look, Cordus noticed they were all golems—all male and Germanic, with the same light brown hair and fair skin. They were like younger versions of Uller Mus. Cordus had no doubt Uller’s genetics were used to create the golems. Roman patricians loved to create their golems based on a favorite human slave.
 

They passed the gardens and entered a circular drive in front of a columned villa built in a semi-circle around the drive. The villa was a hundred paces in length, one level, with a traditional red-tiled roof. More golems clipped and tended to the multitude of flowers arranged around the villa and drive.

Uller stopped the car in front of a smiling, white-haired man dressed in a colorful toga, bordering on garish.
Aulus Tarpeius.
Cordus recognized him from the state dinners Tarpeius attended when Cordus was a child, before his escape from Roma. Tarpeius appeared the same now as he did then: steel-gray, short-cropped hair, a smooth face, and broad shoulders and chest.
 

The moment the car stopped, Blaesus stepped out and strode toward Tarpeius. Both men laughed, clasped forearms, and then gave each other a tight embrace.

“Aulus Tarpeius,” Blaesus exclaimed, “your surgeons have made you look
younger
than the last time I saw you.”

Tarpeius smiled. “They’d better; I pay them well enough. I could set up an appointment for you, old friend.”

Blaesus put up his hands. “I prefer to meet the gods with my natural beauty intact.”

Tarpeius grinned at Blaesus, then shifted his eyes toward the rest of the crew exiting the car. His eyes widened when he saw Cordus. Tarpeius went to him, then knelt on one knee and bowed his head.

“Sire, it is an honor to host you at my villa. Forgive my humble surroundings, but I am a simple farmer.”

Cordus couldn’t tell whether Tarpeius was joking, for he said this with his head bowed and without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
 

“I…appreciate the welcome,” Cordus said. It had been a long time since anyone treated him this way. He remembered discomfort over it as a child. As an adult, it embarrassed him. “Please stand, Aulus Tarpeius. I’m not the Consular Heir anymore.”

Tarpeius looked up, confused, but he stood. “Blaesus said you had…grown up. I hope you have not forgotten your people, sire. They are desperate for leadership, especially in these horrific times.”

After Blaesus introduced the rest of the crew to Tarpeius, Kaeso said, “We went through Nascio. Is the whole planet like that?”

Tarpeius’s smooth features suddenly reflected his age. He stared blankly beyond Kaeso at the garden and the working golems. “No. Many places are worse.”

“Why did this happen?” Cordus asked. “Roman citizens live here, not a conquered people. Religious and ethnic differences here seemed so minor.”

Tarpeius shrugged. “When the civil war started, people wondered what Reantium independence would be like. Didn’t take long for power-hungry flamens to start making things out to be worse than what they were. The rhetoric escalated a few months ago until…” Tarpeius paused, then looked at Cordus. “I never thought something like this could happen here. But it has, and so we survive as best we can.”

His haunted stare lingered on Cordus a moment until he blinked, and his smile returned. “Let’s not speak of such unpleasantness now. You are my guests, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had any. I’ve prepared rooms for you all and a feast later that I’m sure you’ve never seen on Caesar Nova. I’ve been a Saturnist my whole life, but I couldn’t bear a day on that dreary rock of a world.”

Blaesus snorted. “You have no idea.”

As Tarpeius led them inside, Marcus Antonius appeared beside Cordus. Cordus thought he maintained his composure rather well at Marcus’s sudden appearance.

“Something’s not right, young Antonius,” Marcus said, his hands clasped behind his red-cloaked back as he stared at Tarpeius’s back.

Cordus ground his teeth.
I told you to stay away until I called you.

“Ah, but you did call us,” he said with a grin. “Your own doubts and instincts know something is amiss. You subconsciously seek confirmation with us, so here we are.”

Cordus pretended to gape at the beautiful frescoes, ancestral busts, and sculptures filling Tarpeius’s villa. It wasn’t hard considering he hadn’t seen such art since he left Roma. Even Dariya and Daryush stared open-mouthed at Tarpeius’s wealth.

Fine, so confirm away. What is it that has me uneasy?

“You’re wondering why you’ve only seen golems and not humans since you arrived at Tarpeius’s villa. Tarpeius and Uller seem to be the only humans here. You remember that Tarpeius once owned human slaves, which, by all accounts, he treated so well that some indebted citizens on other worlds wanted to sell themselves to him.”

Cordus scanned the villa. Here and there, golems scurried about, dusting vases and sculptures, clipping and watering flowers. Savory smells came from the direction Cordus assumed to be the kitchen. He heard banging pots and pans, but no talking. Golems rarely spoke, so Cordus assumed they also manned the cooking duties.

The human slaves may have fled the revol—

Marcus snorted. “They’re slaves. They can’t ‘flee’.”

There is a simple explanation we don’t know yet, that’s all.

“A simple explanation,” Marcus repeated thoughtfully. “Why don’t you ask Tarpeius about it?”

Cordus hesitated.

“You don’t want to because you fear it’s something you’re not supposed to notice. And you fear it could make things…unpleasant.”

Things are already unpleasant. I need to figure out what to do about it.

“Do you want my opinion?”

Cordus looked at Marcus. The apparition bared his teeth in a sarcastic grin.

What is your opinion?

“Talk to your father.” And then Marcus vanished.
 

Gods below, what was that supposed to mean? My
real
father or…

Cordus glanced at Kaeso’s back right in front of him. Kaeso’s head tilted left and right as he took in his surroundings. He no doubt already noticed the lack of humans, and would be wondering the same thing as Cordus. Up ahead, Blaesus and Nestor talked with Tarpeius about the current state of the Saturnist movement. Dariya and Daryush gaped at the atriums they passed, filled with small fountains and lush green plants beneath skylights.

Cordus moved forward to walk beside Kaeso. Before Cordus could say anything, Kaeso whispered without moving his lips, “What do you see?”

“A lot of golems,” Cordus whispered back.

Kaeso gave a quick nod. “Slaves are gone.” His eyes casually took in the villa. “I’d suggest we leave, but I doubt we’d get far.”

Cordus’s heart thundered and his palms grew sweaty. It was one thing to have his own suspicions, but it was something else to hear Kaeso worried.

“What do we do?”

Kaeso gave him a raised eyebrow. “What do
you
think we should do?”

“This isn’t a godsdamned drill,” Cordus hissed. “This is real.”

“I know, but you asked for this. What do we do?”

Cordus glared at Kaeso.
Could the old man be playing with me? Is this act a test?

The set to Kaeso’s jaw and the way his eyes kept moving said he was worried. Either the old Ancile had hidden his acting talents from Cordus for six years, or he was genuinely tense.

Cordus tapped his teeth together. He noticed more golems cleaning and running as couriers. There were too many golems for even this massive villa. Why?

Why
not
ask Tarpeius?
he thought. If something bad was going to happen, it would happen whether or not Cordus provoked it now. Perhaps there was a simple explanation. Perhaps his instincts—though less probably, Kaeso’s instincts—were wrong. If Tarpeius wanted to betray them, it was better to force his hand now than wait until
he
chose to spring a trap.

“I think I’ll have a talk with Tarpeius,” Cordus said, then strode toward the group ahead.

9

Kaeso didn’t stop Cordus, but the Ancile’s footsteps followed right behind him.

Tarpeius was saying to Blaesus, “…So when things started crumbling, I put Drusa and Figula on the family starship and sent them to Figula’s cousins on Libertus.”

“You must miss them terribly,” Blaesus said.

“Yes…”
 

“I can’t believe Drusa is twenty years old! Why that girl had me running in—”

“What about your slaves?” Cordus asked.

Cordus would have missed the hesitation in Tarpeius’s step had he not been looking for it. “They went with Drusa and Figula, sire. I worried for them, as well.”

“So you bought a lot of golems.”

Tarpeius nodded. “Not the same quality as human slaves, of course, but they’ll keep things running until it’s safe for my staff to return. Here we are.”

They emerged onto a covered terrace behind the villa. A large banquet table the shape of a horseshoe was arranged before them. Cordus’s stomach rumbled at the scents of roast pork and the deep saltiness of open
garum
dishes. Stacks of various breads sat in the center of the table beside platters with cheeses, vegetables, and olive oil urns. Beyond the terrace was a large expanse of gardens, trees, and lawns similar to the front. Beyond the gardens towered the endless maize stalks surrounding the villa, like the sea to an island.

Several golems stood to one side holding sweaty metal pitchers, their eyes fixed on the table. A quartet of golems sat on stools behind them with traditional Roman stringed instruments, playing a piece that Cordus recognized from the state dinners in the Consular Palace.

A shudder ran through Cordus as he felt twelve again.

“Please sit where you feel most comfortable,” Tarpeius said.

Blaesus clapped his hands. “Aulus, you dog, you’ve outdone yourself. I haven’t seen a feast like this since my Senate days in Roma.”

Next to Cordus, Dariya murmured, “I have not seen one like this since I was a slave.”

Cordus glanced at her, but her eyes—and Daryush’s—were fixed on the table. She then grinned at Cordus. “I would rather eat one than serve one. Right, ‘Ush?”