LETHE,
by Alex Livingston
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has "4921" words.
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Rome had become dangerous again.
I rarely doubted myself in these matters. I would send my silent will into the Senate and they would rule as I directed, as they had done for years. “Fidei's touch never fails,” the other Honors often said of me, yet the sweat which drenched my face as I fretted my way towards the Curia Julia was not all from the heat. The consul had named an innocent man a traitor. As I said, the City was becoming dangerous again.
Some water would help. I stopped at a fountain and drank deeply, the taste of Roman power crackling in my throat. I would need its strength keep the Senate from murdering that old legate.
Semni was nearby. She and her friends wanted to see the Temple of Vesta. I could not imagine why – they were too old to take the vows now. Perhaps they wanted to tease the virgins, now that they were beginning to understand more fully what their vows meant. She was angry at me again, and I at her, though I could not remember precisely why. She had spent the last week glowering at me about it. I kept a distance from Vesta's temple.
My favorite game – crowd-tilting – would have to serve to distract me from my anxiety. I let my feet guide me to the Curia on their own and used my touch on the people of the City. I willed the crush in front of me to part a little, easing my way. A dozen slaves carrying jars down an alley slowed and then sped up on my command. Seven women coughed at the same moment. Three men urinating into the pots outside a fuller's shop shivered with a sudden chill.
I played many more times as I walked, forgetting my fears until I found myself at the pillars of the Curia.
I did not enter. I never entered. I did not need to see the Senate to push its vote the way I chose.
I leaned against the wall near one of the windows and fanned myself to hide my face. No one would look at me anyway; I preserved a bit of my will for keeping the citizenry from noticing the thin man who stood outside the Curia so often. But the gods aid a man who takes his precautions.
Haughty voices dripped down from the window, each trying to sound as respectful as they could to the Emperor without appearing too ingratiating to his peers. Some were quite good at it; oration had not died with Cicero, apparently. There were more than a few of the younger senators who might make a decent husband for Semni. Someday.
The accused man was a fine Roman. The Senate felt implacable at first – several among them wanted the accused man gone for whatever reason, and the rest were too timid to stand against the majority. I pinched and massaged the flow of their will, prodding it back towards rationality.
Something new broke my focus. Not the distracted will of the populace, always shimmering in the corners of my eyes. Something quiet and strong.
As an Honor, as one of those who use the Roman magics to keep the peace, I am accustomed to feeling the will of others. The closest of the senses I might use to describe it is that of sight. To look upon a Roman street is to see the flow of invisible willpower. It emanates from each person, moving forward in the direction they choose. To change a single man's will is like blowing into a windstorm, but a tiny change in the tangled wills of a group of people has a recursive effect. To move a crowd is a child's game when one knows how to shape the bright river of Roman desires.
It was someone’s will I felt now. Someone who knew how to use it.
The bright aurora of the Forum coiled and writhed. Two men began a fist-fight right in front of the Julian Temple. A few youths tried to break it up. They knocked a well-dressed woman to the ground. Her servants tore at the growing fray.
Austere shadows extended from the pillars and buildings, banding the sunlight as it fell on the thrumming crowd. My daughter was in there somewhere.
I sent my will into the throng. If I failed, it would soon become appropriate to name it a mob.
The violence stopped as suddenly as it began when my will touched the Forum's aurora. Whatever – whoever had been trying to start this riot had ceased their attempt.
I stumbled across the Forum, bent with pain. I had tried too much too quickly. I ran through my memories to see how much I had lost. I knew my name, my birthplace, my daughter's face, the smell of the sea, my father's whispering chuckle, the sound of my wife's hair against the pillow.
Her eyes. I had lost the color of my wife's eyes.
Hateful voices seethed out of the Curia. The Senate had made their decision.
Cursing the crowd and the City and the aloof sun and my weak mind, I knelt at the edge of Juturna's fountain and plunged my face into the frigid spring water, gulping as much as I could and relishing the pain as my throat struggled. Roman power pooled in my belly, sating the will-hunger but not the regret.
A mob in the Forum. The old days of blood returning. Few people alive would remember the riots after Caesar’s murder, but we all knew the stories. I wish I could assume that the worst I’ve heard had been exaggerated over the decades, but I know the strange power of the crowd. A man among others will do things he would consider abhorrent when on his own. When Rome’s people unite in wantonness and anger, the same willpower that has seized the farthest corners of the world can destroy the City herself.
A vision of Semni being trampled by the screaming rabble came to my mind. I needed to see Mentis. He would know what to do.
I rarely doubted myself in these matters. I would send my silent will into the Senate and they would rule as I directed, as they had done for years. “Fidei's touch never fails,” the other Honors often said of me, yet the sweat which drenched my face as I fretted my way towards the Curia Julia was not all from the heat. The consul had named an innocent man a traitor. As I said, the City was becoming dangerous again.
Some water would help. I stopped at a fountain and drank deeply, the taste of Roman power crackling in my throat. I would need its strength keep the Senate from murdering that old legate.
Semni was nearby. She and her friends wanted to see the Temple of Vesta. I could not imagine why – they were too old to take the vows now. Perhaps they wanted to tease the virgins, now that they were beginning to understand more fully what their vows meant. She was angry at me again, and I at her, though I could not remember precisely why. She had spent the last week glowering at me about it. I kept a distance from Vesta's temple.
My favorite game – crowd-tilting – would have to serve to distract me from my anxiety. I let my feet guide me to the Curia on their own and used my touch on the people of the City. I willed the crush in front of me to part a little, easing my way. A dozen slaves carrying jars down an alley slowed and then sped up on my command. Seven women coughed at the same moment. Three men urinating into the pots outside a fuller's shop shivered with a sudden chill.
I played many more times as I walked, forgetting my fears until I found myself at the pillars of the Curia.
I did not enter. I never entered. I did not need to see the Senate to push its vote the way I chose.
I leaned against the wall near one of the windows and fanned myself to hide my face. No one would look at me anyway; I preserved a bit of my will for keeping the citizenry from noticing the thin man who stood outside the Curia so often. But the gods aid a man who takes his precautions.
Haughty voices dripped down from the window, each trying to sound as respectful as they could to the Emperor without appearing too ingratiating to his peers. Some were quite good at it; oration had not died with Cicero, apparently. There were more than a few of the younger senators who might make a decent husband for Semni. Someday.
The accused man was a fine Roman. The Senate felt implacable at first – several among them wanted the accused man gone for whatever reason, and the rest were too timid to stand against the majority. I pinched and massaged the flow of their will, prodding it back towards rationality.
Something new broke my focus. Not the distracted will of the populace, always shimmering in the corners of my eyes. Something quiet and strong.
As an Honor, as one of those who use the Roman magics to keep the peace, I am accustomed to feeling the will of others. The closest of the senses I might use to describe it is that of sight. To look upon a Roman street is to see the flow of invisible willpower. It emanates from each person, moving forward in the direction they choose. To change a single man's will is like blowing into a windstorm, but a tiny change in the tangled wills of a group of people has a recursive effect. To move a crowd is a child's game when one knows how to shape the bright river of Roman desires.
It was someone’s will I felt now. Someone who knew how to use it.
The bright aurora of the Forum coiled and writhed. Two men began a fist-fight right in front of the Julian Temple. A few youths tried to break it up. They knocked a well-dressed woman to the ground. Her servants tore at the growing fray.
Austere shadows extended from the pillars and buildings, banding the sunlight as it fell on the thrumming crowd. My daughter was in there somewhere.
I sent my will into the throng. If I failed, it would soon become appropriate to name it a mob.
The violence stopped as suddenly as it began when my will touched the Forum's aurora. Whatever – whoever had been trying to start this riot had ceased their attempt.
I stumbled across the Forum, bent with pain. I had tried too much too quickly. I ran through my memories to see how much I had lost. I knew my name, my birthplace, my daughter's face, the smell of the sea, my father's whispering chuckle, the sound of my wife's hair against the pillow.
Her eyes. I had lost the color of my wife's eyes.
Hateful voices seethed out of the Curia. The Senate had made their decision.
Cursing the crowd and the City and the aloof sun and my weak mind, I knelt at the edge of Juturna's fountain and plunged my face into the frigid spring water, gulping as much as I could and relishing the pain as my throat struggled. Roman power pooled in my belly, sating the will-hunger but not the regret.
A mob in the Forum. The old days of blood returning. Few people alive would remember the riots after Caesar’s murder, but we all knew the stories. I wish I could assume that the worst I’ve heard had been exaggerated over the decades, but I know the strange power of the crowd. A man among others will do things he would consider abhorrent when on his own. When Rome’s people unite in wantonness and anger, the same willpower that has seized the farthest corners of the world can destroy the City herself.
A vision of Semni being trampled by the screaming rabble came to my mind. I needed to see Mentis. He would know what to do.
⚜
Perhaps the waters of Rome can be explained best in the way my father explained them to me.
We had made our way through the great forest which separates Etruria from Rome. The City approached, and Father bade us rest on the crest of a low hill. I was happy to stop. I welcomed anything which slowed my progress towards this new life.
“What do you see, boy?” he asked, pointing towards the patchwork of angles that is the City from a distance.
As I traced the Tiber in my mind, I saw the flow of Roman magic for the first time. It ran along with the water, eddying and streaming. It ran along the tops of the tall aqueducts as well, pouring itself into the heart of the nest of buildings.
Father chuckled. He must have seen whatever reaction I had made. “Beautiful, yes?” he said. “I have taught you to watch quietly. The Romans, they call this ‘augury’. ‘Augur’ they will call you.”
“Augur,” I repeated. The Roman word felt uncomfortable, a stone under my tongue.
“Just so. Rome, she does not like to be told what to do. Her magics, they come not from a still soul and open mind, but from willpower. Work. From men and land. Her people put their strength into the plow, into the brick, into the spear. This transfer, this movement of will, it makes the magics.”
I frowned. He had taught me, indeed I had seen for myself, that all forms of magic are based in the extension of one's will into the world. And the Romans had will in abundance.
“But this would apply to all people, yes?” I asked, still looking for a reason not to go. “All people farm and build.”
“But not all people are Rome,” he said. “Not yet. Can you see what makes the City a different place? Where do you see the Roman power?”
“The water. It flows with the water.”
“Yes. This is why all cities cling to rivers and seas. But for Rome, this is not enough. She builds long roads for her water. 'Aqueduct' is their word.” Father pointed to one of the great structures, arches raising the false rivers like the conquered holding up their prizes. “Magic moves through water. Water shepherds it, conducts it, allows it to run. As these aqueducts pass over the heads of the Roman people, it gathers their magic.
“You will see much water in the City. The people there, they drink this water of might and will. They bathe in it. You will be like them. You will drink of their power and have success.”
I started walking towards Rome before Father had stopped talking.
We had made our way through the great forest which separates Etruria from Rome. The City approached, and Father bade us rest on the crest of a low hill. I was happy to stop. I welcomed anything which slowed my progress towards this new life.
“What do you see, boy?” he asked, pointing towards the patchwork of angles that is the City from a distance.
As I traced the Tiber in my mind, I saw the flow of Roman magic for the first time. It ran along with the water, eddying and streaming. It ran along the tops of the tall aqueducts as well, pouring itself into the heart of the nest of buildings.
Father chuckled. He must have seen whatever reaction I had made. “Beautiful, yes?” he said. “I have taught you to watch quietly. The Romans, they call this ‘augury’. ‘Augur’ they will call you.”
“Augur,” I repeated. The Roman word felt uncomfortable, a stone under my tongue.
“Just so. Rome, she does not like to be told what to do. Her magics, they come not from a still soul and open mind, but from willpower. Work. From men and land. Her people put their strength into the plow, into the brick, into the spear. This transfer, this movement of will, it makes the magics.”
I frowned. He had taught me, indeed I had seen for myself, that all forms of magic are based in the extension of one's will into the world. And the Romans had will in abundance.
“But this would apply to all people, yes?” I asked, still looking for a reason not to go. “All people farm and build.”
“But not all people are Rome,” he said. “Not yet. Can you see what makes the City a different place? Where do you see the Roman power?”
“The water. It flows with the water.”
“Yes. This is why all cities cling to rivers and seas. But for Rome, this is not enough. She builds long roads for her water. 'Aqueduct' is their word.” Father pointed to one of the great structures, arches raising the false rivers like the conquered holding up their prizes. “Magic moves through water. Water shepherds it, conducts it, allows it to run. As these aqueducts pass over the heads of the Roman people, it gathers their magic.
“You will see much water in the City. The people there, they drink this water of might and will. They bathe in it. You will be like them. You will drink of their power and have success.”
I started walking towards Rome before Father had stopped talking.
⚜
The seat of Roman power, many had told me, was the bathhouse. They were correct; the City's powerful congregated there without regard to alliance or patronage, stripping their differences away as they removed their clothes. Yes, those who sought to press my hand and instruct me on the ways of my new home were correct, but not for the reasons they thought.
Autumn had come to Rome on the day I first learned of the Honors. I sat along the edge of one of the cooler of the pools of a popular bathhouse some distance from the small clutches of gossiping bathers. A good viewing point, rather than a place to eavesdrop. It never mattered what the fools said anyway, and I could see very easily who among them held the greatest influence. They shone with Roman power.
My remarkably corrupt patron would never have seen what I saw that humid afternoon. Could the so-called augur have seen the invisible corona around a particular senator's head? The wide blur of power in which a young tribune swam? The steady stream of will and movement which bubbled up from the boilers and seeped into every corner of the pool? The bastard could barely hear the cry of an eagle on a still day without my help.
Someone's foot slid into the water next to me. “Perhaps a good soak will put you in a more social mind,” he said, easing himself down to the bench. The stranger's body was lean, with the barest hint of paunch below the graying hair of his chest. I thought he might be a legionnaire, but he bore no scars on his front – and those with scars on their backs rarely appeared at the baths. A healthy haze of Roman power danced around his face.
He smiled at me with well-practiced charm. “Better to talk with the people than have them talk about you.”
“None would talk of me,” I said with a shrug. “And some men talk for a living. It comes more easily to them.”
“Forgive me, but I must disagree. To make a wage from speech takes practice, and long hours of it.” The man reached his arm out for me to grasp. “Call me Mentis,” he said.
An odd name, surely. We held wrists for a moment, but he interrupted me before I could respond with my praenomen.
“And you are Gaius Carcannus, assistant to the great augur Aquilius,” he said. “You see? People do talk about you.”
I turned back to face the bright crowd, fireflies bobbing above a still pond. Very few reasons existed for someone to know my name, and even fewer for them to approach me. But I knew my place. Aquilius preferred to take his bribes in person. “And what do they say?”
“They say little, but some of us know the truth.”
“I do not know much of such matters,” I said with a dismissing wave, my stock response. “Perhaps you know Aquilius? If not, I can arrange an audience.”
Mentis's eyes changed, their smooth flattery replaced with bronze. His aurora became brighter, absorbing power from the waters around him. Rivulets of shining will formed in the pool, reaching towards the man. “No, Gaius,” he said. “I don't want Aquilius. It has to be you.”
“I do not read the auspices, friend,” I replied. “You know this.”
If power were heat, the water around Mentis would have boiled. “I do not require a reading, friend. I require assistance with my workers, the sort of assistance I believe you can provide.”
“How?”
Mentis leaned back and stretched his wiry arms along the edge of the bath. “Do you know where the water from this bath comes from, Gaius?”
“A spring,” I said. I wanted to keep my answers as short as possible until I worked out what was happening here. This was delicate work; if I embarrassed Aquilius, his wrath would be great indeed.
“A spring a good ride from our City. And the water travels through an aqueduct to get here. Through farmland.” Mentis paused and looked back to me, waiting until I met his gaze. “Through the places where good Roman people toil, working their will on the land.”
And that was it. This man knew the source of Rome's might. He knew what the well-wishers did not. That made him one of perhaps a dozen here in the City.
And he knew I was one of them.
“Who... who are you?” I stammered.
Mentis smiled easily, trying to get me to relax. “I serve the curator aquarum as technical advisor. Bringing water from a distant swamp to the Seven Hills is no simple feat, and I like to do everything I can to make sure our work is unhindered by....”
“Unforeseen circumstances?” I offered. I wanted to get this transaction over with as soon as possible, which gave me little patience for pauses.
“For a careful man, no circumstances are unforeseen,” Mentis said. “The curator has received new orders. It would seem our Divine Augustus would see new aqueducts. I need the men to work quickly and safely.”
I knew little about how the dance of bribe and acceptance worked, but had enough sense to keep my secrets quiet. “And how would I do that?”
Mentis rose from his seat and climbed out of the pool with a devious grin. He raised his eyebrows at a group of men lounging drunkenly in a far corner. A steady ray of invisible willpower flowed from his chest towards them.
“My father stole land from his neighbor,” one man shouted.
Another laughed. “Mine took money from his legion's payroll.”
“I sent my wife to seduce a tribune!”
“I killed a slave for dropping my wine bowl!”
“I would kill the Emperor if I could!”
“I have heard whispers of a plan to do just that!”
“More than whispers! I know names!”
“As do I! Aulus Firmus is a conspirator!”
“There are others!”
“I am one!”
Mentis let his will fade, and all voices went silent. The shouting men faced each other in awe, and the servants flanking the pools shook with terror. As well they should have – they were now all party to conspiracy.
“Put my men into action, dear Gaius,” Mentis said, “And I will show you that you are not the only one who understands true power.”
Autumn had come to Rome on the day I first learned of the Honors. I sat along the edge of one of the cooler of the pools of a popular bathhouse some distance from the small clutches of gossiping bathers. A good viewing point, rather than a place to eavesdrop. It never mattered what the fools said anyway, and I could see very easily who among them held the greatest influence. They shone with Roman power.
My remarkably corrupt patron would never have seen what I saw that humid afternoon. Could the so-called augur have seen the invisible corona around a particular senator's head? The wide blur of power in which a young tribune swam? The steady stream of will and movement which bubbled up from the boilers and seeped into every corner of the pool? The bastard could barely hear the cry of an eagle on a still day without my help.
Someone's foot slid into the water next to me. “Perhaps a good soak will put you in a more social mind,” he said, easing himself down to the bench. The stranger's body was lean, with the barest hint of paunch below the graying hair of his chest. I thought he might be a legionnaire, but he bore no scars on his front – and those with scars on their backs rarely appeared at the baths. A healthy haze of Roman power danced around his face.
He smiled at me with well-practiced charm. “Better to talk with the people than have them talk about you.”
“None would talk of me,” I said with a shrug. “And some men talk for a living. It comes more easily to them.”
“Forgive me, but I must disagree. To make a wage from speech takes practice, and long hours of it.” The man reached his arm out for me to grasp. “Call me Mentis,” he said.
An odd name, surely. We held wrists for a moment, but he interrupted me before I could respond with my praenomen.
“And you are Gaius Carcannus, assistant to the great augur Aquilius,” he said. “You see? People do talk about you.”
I turned back to face the bright crowd, fireflies bobbing above a still pond. Very few reasons existed for someone to know my name, and even fewer for them to approach me. But I knew my place. Aquilius preferred to take his bribes in person. “And what do they say?”
“They say little, but some of us know the truth.”
“I do not know much of such matters,” I said with a dismissing wave, my stock response. “Perhaps you know Aquilius? If not, I can arrange an audience.”
Mentis's eyes changed, their smooth flattery replaced with bronze. His aurora became brighter, absorbing power from the waters around him. Rivulets of shining will formed in the pool, reaching towards the man. “No, Gaius,” he said. “I don't want Aquilius. It has to be you.”
“I do not read the auspices, friend,” I replied. “You know this.”
If power were heat, the water around Mentis would have boiled. “I do not require a reading, friend. I require assistance with my workers, the sort of assistance I believe you can provide.”
“How?”
Mentis leaned back and stretched his wiry arms along the edge of the bath. “Do you know where the water from this bath comes from, Gaius?”
“A spring,” I said. I wanted to keep my answers as short as possible until I worked out what was happening here. This was delicate work; if I embarrassed Aquilius, his wrath would be great indeed.
“A spring a good ride from our City. And the water travels through an aqueduct to get here. Through farmland.” Mentis paused and looked back to me, waiting until I met his gaze. “Through the places where good Roman people toil, working their will on the land.”
And that was it. This man knew the source of Rome's might. He knew what the well-wishers did not. That made him one of perhaps a dozen here in the City.
And he knew I was one of them.
“Who... who are you?” I stammered.
Mentis smiled easily, trying to get me to relax. “I serve the curator aquarum as technical advisor. Bringing water from a distant swamp to the Seven Hills is no simple feat, and I like to do everything I can to make sure our work is unhindered by....”
“Unforeseen circumstances?” I offered. I wanted to get this transaction over with as soon as possible, which gave me little patience for pauses.
“For a careful man, no circumstances are unforeseen,” Mentis said. “The curator has received new orders. It would seem our Divine Augustus would see new aqueducts. I need the men to work quickly and safely.”
I knew little about how the dance of bribe and acceptance worked, but had enough sense to keep my secrets quiet. “And how would I do that?”
Mentis rose from his seat and climbed out of the pool with a devious grin. He raised his eyebrows at a group of men lounging drunkenly in a far corner. A steady ray of invisible willpower flowed from his chest towards them.
“My father stole land from his neighbor,” one man shouted.
Another laughed. “Mine took money from his legion's payroll.”
“I sent my wife to seduce a tribune!”
“I killed a slave for dropping my wine bowl!”
“I would kill the Emperor if I could!”
“I have heard whispers of a plan to do just that!”
“More than whispers! I know names!”
“As do I! Aulus Firmus is a conspirator!”
“There are others!”
“I am one!”
Mentis let his will fade, and all voices went silent. The shouting men faced each other in awe, and the servants flanking the pools shook with terror. As well they should have – they were now all party to conspiracy.
“Put my men into action, dear Gaius,” Mentis said, “And I will show you that you are not the only one who understands true power.”
⚜
I went to Mentis's home the evening after the near-riot in the Forum. The sunset's glow entered through a generous porch, bathing him and I in orange as we reclined on soft couches and drank wine mixed with water out of wide-lipped bowls. The memory might be a fond one were it not for the conversation.
“It was a person,” I insisted. “Someone with an Honor's gifts.” And if I was going to keep the streets of Rome safe enough for a young girl to walk alone, I needed to find him.
Mentis frowned. “Or perhaps just a hot day,” he said. “There's no way to tell.”
I hid a grimace behind my bowl. The Mentis was the most reticent of the Honors, particularly annoying since he was in charge of intelligence and espionage. One might think that the four people who keep Rome's peace could enjoy complete openness.
Over the decades of our acquaintance I had learned the many ways to get Mentis to speak. Wine was among them, but a difficult route if used on its own. As with all men who trade in secrets, the key was in conflict.
“I suppose you wouldn't have heard anything about something like that,” I said with an iota of condescension, setting my snare. “A bit too fine for your sieve.”
Mentis pulled a long sip from his bowl, but said nothing.
This was not a surprise, but could go poorly if I were not careful. My insult ground against his pride; he could give me the information I wanted and embarrass me, or he could just shrug it off.
There was one matter, though, to which his pride was keenly sensitive. “More of a matter for Virtutis, likely,” I said.
The Virtutis. Another of the Honors, and the one with which Mentis had the most challenging relationship. Spies and soldiers are ever strained allies.
His eyes flashed towards me for a moment. I wagered his anger would drown his intellect. For a man who prided himself on knowing the secret motivations of others, he was surprisingly blind to his own; Mentis's heart swung him about like a banner in the warm southern wind.
“You are right, Gaius,” he said, and I knew I had him. Mentis used my old praenomen when he wanted to make me feel low. “I do not bother myself with the idle threats of fools. But if you do go to Virtutis, ask him if he remembers Flavius Galba. If I had to guess who your phantom mob-maker is, I might start there.”
“Start there?” I snapped. “Rumors and accusations are yours, Mentis, not mine. You could learn all that The City has to tell with an hour’s concentration.”
Mentis replied with a casual shrug. “Not worth the cost,” he said, tapping his forehead. “The secrets of this empire - and a few others - reside up here. Jewels too precious to go wasting on your paranoia.”
“It was a person,” I insisted. “Someone with an Honor's gifts.” And if I was going to keep the streets of Rome safe enough for a young girl to walk alone, I needed to find him.
Mentis frowned. “Or perhaps just a hot day,” he said. “There's no way to tell.”
I hid a grimace behind my bowl. The Mentis was the most reticent of the Honors, particularly annoying since he was in charge of intelligence and espionage. One might think that the four people who keep Rome's peace could enjoy complete openness.
Over the decades of our acquaintance I had learned the many ways to get Mentis to speak. Wine was among them, but a difficult route if used on its own. As with all men who trade in secrets, the key was in conflict.
“I suppose you wouldn't have heard anything about something like that,” I said with an iota of condescension, setting my snare. “A bit too fine for your sieve.”
Mentis pulled a long sip from his bowl, but said nothing.
This was not a surprise, but could go poorly if I were not careful. My insult ground against his pride; he could give me the information I wanted and embarrass me, or he could just shrug it off.
There was one matter, though, to which his pride was keenly sensitive. “More of a matter for Virtutis, likely,” I said.
The Virtutis. Another of the Honors, and the one with which Mentis had the most challenging relationship. Spies and soldiers are ever strained allies.
His eyes flashed towards me for a moment. I wagered his anger would drown his intellect. For a man who prided himself on knowing the secret motivations of others, he was surprisingly blind to his own; Mentis's heart swung him about like a banner in the warm southern wind.
“You are right, Gaius,” he said, and I knew I had him. Mentis used my old praenomen when he wanted to make me feel low. “I do not bother myself with the idle threats of fools. But if you do go to Virtutis, ask him if he remembers Flavius Galba. If I had to guess who your phantom mob-maker is, I might start there.”
“Start there?” I snapped. “Rumors and accusations are yours, Mentis, not mine. You could learn all that The City has to tell with an hour’s concentration.”
Mentis replied with a casual shrug. “Not worth the cost,” he said, tapping his forehead. “The secrets of this empire - and a few others - reside up here. Jewels too precious to go wasting on your paranoia.”
⚜
The human sounds of work and trade faded into the night a few hours after I left the City, allowing the persistent thrum of insects to fill my ears. I savored old memories of Father’s farm until the dim yellow light of Virtutis's hut flickered in the distance against the arches of the aqueduct.
The old man did not recognize me, though he had seen me not a week prior. His fading eyes looked up at me, puzzled but not frightened, from where he sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of his spare hut, a pair of bronze greaves half-polished in front of him. “Yes?” he asked.
“Virtutis. We have met before,” I said.
“Of course, of course. Forgive me, but I can't seem to place your name.”
“You would call me Fidei.”
His untended eyebrows raised. “Fidei. And Pietatis.”
“And Mentis and you, yes,” I said, struggling to keep my patience. The City could have been rioting as we spoke. “The Honors.”
“I... have I neglected my duties?” Virtutis begged. “I'm sorry, friend. My thoughts have become like seeds thrown from a farmer's hand.”
His hands moved as he spoke, rubbing a threadbare cloth over his greaves. Massive calluses knobbed his fingers.
“No,” I replied, offering a kind smile. “Rome's legions fight bravely.”
He sighed and let his shoulders fall. “Good. Good.”
“But I need you to remember something.”
“Something?”
“Someone. Flavius Galba.”
Virtutis closed his eyes, his hands still burnishing the armor on his lap. “I just can't trust my memory anymore, you see,” he said. No anger or regret. Just a fact. “I did know Galba, I think. Before the wars.”
Rome was always warring against someone, of course, but not usually against itself. To an old Roman, “the wars” referred to the chaos which followed the death of Caesar. They rarely slept in those years.
“Yes,” the old man continued. “Yes, I knew him.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
The old legionnaire's eyes glittered in the dim light of his brazier and he sneered at me. Still a fighter. “Why?”
“There was a riot in the Forum yesterday,” I said. Hyperbole, I know, but necessary. Old soldiers trust in order and authority above all else. Riots are to be quelled.
“And Galba started it?”
“I believe so.”
“You believe so?” he chuckled. “And how many good fighting men have died because some fool in a toga believed something to be true?”
My stomach felt warm. Roman power bathed this place. So near the aqueduct. The volitions and desires of the people of the countryside, of the builders and farmers and heavy-marching legions, fairly drizzled over us from the streaming water above.
Semni, I thought, seeing my daughter's pouting face in my mind, daring not to imagine her running through streets gone mad. She must be safe.
I set a tendril of my will towards him. “Tell me,” I said, soothing and mild. “You can just tell me.”
Pinpricks of sweat formed on my brow. Virtutis's smile fell a degree or two, but then his will rose like a desert's heat, warping the air in sheets.
“You want to leave this place, friend,” Virtutis said, rising. Age sloughed off of his body. The aura of a career warrior enveloped him.
My thoughts swirled. “I...”
“Do you even remember why you came here?”
“Galba,” I managed. At least I had held on to that.
Virtutis sneered again. “Keeping Rome's men brave as they sacrifice themselves for our gain has left my memory pitted and hollow,” he said, any weakness in his voice gone. “But Galba's face I remember. We were young then. We knew him by a different name.”
The edges of my vision were fading. “What was it?”
“We called him Fidei. He was present at the death of Caesar. When Marc Antony spoke, the Fidei made Rome listen.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to start a war.”
The faint slap of dripping water near my ear woke me, and I opened my eyes to a dark sky blocked by the aqueduct’s arch. A trickle of water falling to the earth. Mud covered my mouth.
Did I know who I was? Gaius Carcannus. Called Fidei. I took comfort in knowing that if I remembered enough to worry about having lost my memories, I could not have lost them all. Confronting Virtutis had been foolish, and had cost me some shard of myself. But I would risk anything for even a slim chance at finding the mob-maker, for Semni's sake. A Rome at war with itself is not a safe place. I must have sacrificed something big to use that much will, but I had no way of knowing what it was. And for nothing.
Nothing but a name. Virtutis had been little more help than that self-important Mentis, but at least I understood now. My quarry was a former Honor, and one who held my title. A rogue Fidei. A war-monger. If Mentis's guess had been correct, that is.
I dragged myself off the ground and made for the torchlight of the City. I was going to have to do the rest of this myself.
The old man did not recognize me, though he had seen me not a week prior. His fading eyes looked up at me, puzzled but not frightened, from where he sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of his spare hut, a pair of bronze greaves half-polished in front of him. “Yes?” he asked.
“Virtutis. We have met before,” I said.
“Of course, of course. Forgive me, but I can't seem to place your name.”
“You would call me Fidei.”
His untended eyebrows raised. “Fidei. And Pietatis.”
“And Mentis and you, yes,” I said, struggling to keep my patience. The City could have been rioting as we spoke. “The Honors.”
“I... have I neglected my duties?” Virtutis begged. “I'm sorry, friend. My thoughts have become like seeds thrown from a farmer's hand.”
His hands moved as he spoke, rubbing a threadbare cloth over his greaves. Massive calluses knobbed his fingers.
“No,” I replied, offering a kind smile. “Rome's legions fight bravely.”
He sighed and let his shoulders fall. “Good. Good.”
“But I need you to remember something.”
“Something?”
“Someone. Flavius Galba.”
Virtutis closed his eyes, his hands still burnishing the armor on his lap. “I just can't trust my memory anymore, you see,” he said. No anger or regret. Just a fact. “I did know Galba, I think. Before the wars.”
Rome was always warring against someone, of course, but not usually against itself. To an old Roman, “the wars” referred to the chaos which followed the death of Caesar. They rarely slept in those years.
“Yes,” the old man continued. “Yes, I knew him.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
The old legionnaire's eyes glittered in the dim light of his brazier and he sneered at me. Still a fighter. “Why?”
“There was a riot in the Forum yesterday,” I said. Hyperbole, I know, but necessary. Old soldiers trust in order and authority above all else. Riots are to be quelled.
“And Galba started it?”
“I believe so.”
“You believe so?” he chuckled. “And how many good fighting men have died because some fool in a toga believed something to be true?”
My stomach felt warm. Roman power bathed this place. So near the aqueduct. The volitions and desires of the people of the countryside, of the builders and farmers and heavy-marching legions, fairly drizzled over us from the streaming water above.
Semni, I thought, seeing my daughter's pouting face in my mind, daring not to imagine her running through streets gone mad. She must be safe.
I set a tendril of my will towards him. “Tell me,” I said, soothing and mild. “You can just tell me.”
Pinpricks of sweat formed on my brow. Virtutis's smile fell a degree or two, but then his will rose like a desert's heat, warping the air in sheets.
“You want to leave this place, friend,” Virtutis said, rising. Age sloughed off of his body. The aura of a career warrior enveloped him.
My thoughts swirled. “I...”
“Do you even remember why you came here?”
“Galba,” I managed. At least I had held on to that.
Virtutis sneered again. “Keeping Rome's men brave as they sacrifice themselves for our gain has left my memory pitted and hollow,” he said, any weakness in his voice gone. “But Galba's face I remember. We were young then. We knew him by a different name.”
The edges of my vision were fading. “What was it?”
“We called him Fidei. He was present at the death of Caesar. When Marc Antony spoke, the Fidei made Rome listen.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to start a war.”
The faint slap of dripping water near my ear woke me, and I opened my eyes to a dark sky blocked by the aqueduct’s arch. A trickle of water falling to the earth. Mud covered my mouth.
Did I know who I was? Gaius Carcannus. Called Fidei. I took comfort in knowing that if I remembered enough to worry about having lost my memories, I could not have lost them all. Confronting Virtutis had been foolish, and had cost me some shard of myself. But I would risk anything for even a slim chance at finding the mob-maker, for Semni's sake. A Rome at war with itself is not a safe place. I must have sacrificed something big to use that much will, but I had no way of knowing what it was. And for nothing.
Nothing but a name. Virtutis had been little more help than that self-important Mentis, but at least I understood now. My quarry was a former Honor, and one who held my title. A rogue Fidei. A war-monger. If Mentis's guess had been correct, that is.
I dragged myself off the ground and made for the torchlight of the City. I was going to have to do the rest of this myself.
⚜
Semni and her friends loved crowds. They wanted to be where the City buzzed and surged with activity, where they could people-watch and flirt and engage in the intrigues of girls becoming women. I found a comfortable perch in the market square and watched as they wove their way through the crush. I had nothing to go on but an old name and rumors, but at least I could keep an eye on my daughter.
If she saw me she would run off in a huff to punish me for whatever slight I had made against her, so I willed the flow of the people heavier between us. She was probably too busy to notice me anyway, but an extra precaution never hurts.
I had spent the last two weeks hanging around busy plazas in hopes of seeing a Fidei's power, jumping at every argument and child's screech. All I could do was try to catch him in the act.
To my surprise, I was right. As Semni laughed and jostled one of her friends, thin curls of shining will reached over the marketplace and grazed the crowd with delicate touches. A man elbowed a jar out of the hands of an old woman and it exploded on the street. A debate over the price of fish oil became a shouting match.
I sent out my will like a thunderclap. The burst confused the throng for a moment, and I opened a clear path between myself and the source of the interfering magic. The opening crowd revealed a gray-headed man in a simple red tunic, rings of invisible light winding around him.
His magic quieted and he saw me. We faced each other down the path lined with Romans, and I realized I had no idea what to do. I had found Galba, but how was I to stop him?
He made the decision easy for me by turning on a heel and running. He closed the crowd behind him with a wave.
We would have made an entertaining sight, I imagine. But the common man would not have seen the sparring of wills as I cleared the obstacles he placed in my path, the grabbing beggars and angry-jawed workers. The citizens of Rome were his weapons, and I cast them aside as readily as he hurled them in my way.
Galba’s shoulders rose and fell in heavy gasps. He took one last turn and made a sprint for a plaza, stopping as he reached its edge. He turned his will away from me and towards the busy market.
It was the same market we had just left. The one Semni was in.
Stalls and racks fell to the ground in pieces. Something lit on fire. The shouts of the people became as one rumbling voice, a steady roar of malice and force. I couldn't see Semni through the jam of bodies.
I reached Galba in moments, my own breath tearing in my chest. I am no fighting man; I reverted to the simple tactics of children and pushed his back with both hands. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a grunt.
“Stop this,” I said, placing a knee on his chest.
Galba sneered, showing a few thin teeth. “I will not.”
I heard women screaming. Something heavy crashed to the road beside us. “You will,” I said, driving my knee harder into the old man's sternum.
“You have no weapon, you blind idiot,” Galba growled, his weak hands scrabbling against my chest. “By the time you smother me, this city will be a charnel-house. Listen to the mob's will, son. It will grow and devour itself. If you won't help me, you had better run.”
My mouth twisted into a disgusted frown. “Help you start another fifteen years of blood?”
“If Virtutis had agreed with me, we could have kept the Republic.” Galba yelled in pain as I crushed him. “But they always forget. Rome exerts her will and forgets the horrors of war.”
Something blunt struck the side of my head. Light burst in my eyes and I rolled to the street.
A few men began kicking Galba. Even over the roaring voice of the mob I heard his bones snapping. If they would kill an old man, what would they do to a girl?
I would lose every last one of my memories if necessary. Desperate and bruised, I whispered Semni's name and poured my complete will into the clear Roman sky.
If she saw me she would run off in a huff to punish me for whatever slight I had made against her, so I willed the flow of the people heavier between us. She was probably too busy to notice me anyway, but an extra precaution never hurts.
I had spent the last two weeks hanging around busy plazas in hopes of seeing a Fidei's power, jumping at every argument and child's screech. All I could do was try to catch him in the act.
To my surprise, I was right. As Semni laughed and jostled one of her friends, thin curls of shining will reached over the marketplace and grazed the crowd with delicate touches. A man elbowed a jar out of the hands of an old woman and it exploded on the street. A debate over the price of fish oil became a shouting match.
I sent out my will like a thunderclap. The burst confused the throng for a moment, and I opened a clear path between myself and the source of the interfering magic. The opening crowd revealed a gray-headed man in a simple red tunic, rings of invisible light winding around him.
His magic quieted and he saw me. We faced each other down the path lined with Romans, and I realized I had no idea what to do. I had found Galba, but how was I to stop him?
He made the decision easy for me by turning on a heel and running. He closed the crowd behind him with a wave.
We would have made an entertaining sight, I imagine. But the common man would not have seen the sparring of wills as I cleared the obstacles he placed in my path, the grabbing beggars and angry-jawed workers. The citizens of Rome were his weapons, and I cast them aside as readily as he hurled them in my way.
Galba’s shoulders rose and fell in heavy gasps. He took one last turn and made a sprint for a plaza, stopping as he reached its edge. He turned his will away from me and towards the busy market.
It was the same market we had just left. The one Semni was in.
Stalls and racks fell to the ground in pieces. Something lit on fire. The shouts of the people became as one rumbling voice, a steady roar of malice and force. I couldn't see Semni through the jam of bodies.
I reached Galba in moments, my own breath tearing in my chest. I am no fighting man; I reverted to the simple tactics of children and pushed his back with both hands. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a grunt.
“Stop this,” I said, placing a knee on his chest.
Galba sneered, showing a few thin teeth. “I will not.”
I heard women screaming. Something heavy crashed to the road beside us. “You will,” I said, driving my knee harder into the old man's sternum.
“You have no weapon, you blind idiot,” Galba growled, his weak hands scrabbling against my chest. “By the time you smother me, this city will be a charnel-house. Listen to the mob's will, son. It will grow and devour itself. If you won't help me, you had better run.”
My mouth twisted into a disgusted frown. “Help you start another fifteen years of blood?”
“If Virtutis had agreed with me, we could have kept the Republic.” Galba yelled in pain as I crushed him. “But they always forget. Rome exerts her will and forgets the horrors of war.”
Something blunt struck the side of my head. Light burst in my eyes and I rolled to the street.
A few men began kicking Galba. Even over the roaring voice of the mob I heard his bones snapping. If they would kill an old man, what would they do to a girl?
I would lose every last one of my memories if necessary. Desperate and bruised, I whispered Semni's name and poured my complete will into the clear Roman sky.
⚜
Semni left a few coins on the table of the home she and her friends had hidden in, a thank-you to whoever it was that had left their door unbolted. Her friends, cheeks wet and eyes bleary, wanted to run back out into the plaza as soon as the noise stopped, but she made them wait a few more moments. Just in case.
Broken bodies lay scattered around the plaza among the smashed wood and produce. Semni ushered her friends along as quickly as she could, pulling them away from the scene before they formed any real memories. She kept her eyes forward, far from the pooling blood.
One figure moved, catching her eye. A man pulling himself up off of the ground. Her father.
Semni ran to him, leaving her friends to figure things out for themselves for once. She and her father had barely spoken since the argument. But Priscus had kept all the proprieties, had asked her father’s permission. He had given it freely, even joyously. And then, without reason, he acted as if he had never even met him.
He flinched at Semni’s approach, as if expecting to be struck.
“Father, are you hurt?” she asked, gripping his arm.
He looked back at her blankly. “Not much,” he muttered. “But I think you are mistaken, child. I have no daughter.”
Semni's heart seized. Even after this, after a riot nearly killed them both, he had not forgiven her. She turned and ran before the tears came. Back to her friends. One of them would take her in, surely, until the wedding. She could never go home now.
The last Semni ever saw of her father was his back as he walked towards the nearest fountain.
Broken bodies lay scattered around the plaza among the smashed wood and produce. Semni ushered her friends along as quickly as she could, pulling them away from the scene before they formed any real memories. She kept her eyes forward, far from the pooling blood.
One figure moved, catching her eye. A man pulling himself up off of the ground. Her father.
Semni ran to him, leaving her friends to figure things out for themselves for once. She and her father had barely spoken since the argument. But Priscus had kept all the proprieties, had asked her father’s permission. He had given it freely, even joyously. And then, without reason, he acted as if he had never even met him.
He flinched at Semni’s approach, as if expecting to be struck.
“Father, are you hurt?” she asked, gripping his arm.
He looked back at her blankly. “Not much,” he muttered. “But I think you are mistaken, child. I have no daughter.”
Semni's heart seized. Even after this, after a riot nearly killed them both, he had not forgiven her. She turned and ran before the tears came. Back to her friends. One of them would take her in, surely, until the wedding. She could never go home now.
The last Semni ever saw of her father was his back as he walked towards the nearest fountain.
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About the Author: Alex Livingston writes stories and games when he's not reading stories or playing games. He has been published in Daily Science Fiction and has written several pieces of interactive fiction, including The Annwn Simulation 1985, runner-up in the Failbetter Games World of the Season Winter 2013 competition. More at: galaxyalex.com.
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