40. Trompe L’oeils
In the brooding grandeur of the Claudian Walls, now just the Walls of Pethens, Moon Xeator dared not to raise his gaze.
Bowing to the young lord Dracus Uranus as he saw him leave, he bit his bottom lip. He occupied himself with the chores on his hand, a smile straining his cheeks.
"Lucius Bucero?" He called the man he had rescued from the Port and handed over his belongings. When the man addressed him as lord, a chill slithered up his spine. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. For a moment, he wished he wouldn't have to open those eyes again. His feet would sink into the ground as if taken by quicksand, and he would slumber in the atavistic eternity beyond any knowledge. He opened his eyes, biting hard on his lip so the veneer of his smile wouldn't crack.
"I'm no lord, Lucius," he told the man, glancing downward over the shoulder. A gut feeling told him that their paths would cross again someday.
He returned to Lorenzo Legidus. "You've been away for nearly a month, my lord," he said, bowing. "Any business accrued to your absence I can help you with?"
Lorenzo mounted a courser whose chestnut mane glimmered in the glow of dusk like greased leather. Arching his brows, he turned his eyes to the bridge that led to the inner wall and the cobbled boulevard teeming with pedestrians. He shook his head.
"Any delivery of a message and such perchance?" Xeator pressed on. He needed an excuse to slip off and meet Anthony in the eleventh district on the outer ring, just a mile west of the south gate.
Lorenzo scowled before turning tail. "So much to plan, lad, and so little time. I didn't put down all the denari on you to do my chores."
"Yes, my lord," Xeator intoned, lowering his eyes.
He waited for the last arriving horse on purpose and brought up the rear. When the chance came, he turned off the boulevard and dismounted before a warren of alleys too narrow for riding. Atop a crumbled wall, he found Anthony, who limped off the wall.
Xeator lent himself to the other man's embrace. "What happened to your leg?" he asked. Lifting his eyes while he kept his head low, he mused that the other man was hardly recognizable despite a lack of obvious changes. The amulet, along with everything it stood for, had triggered in him the vice rooted in the heart of all men.
"All these years, I'm just a foot soldier to you, am I? A pawn, eh?" Anthony bleated.
He was, and yet he wasn't. Xeator didn't have the heart for splitting hairs or sentimentality. His patience thinned, scorched by ire. And ire, as his father once told him, was the awareness of his own failures in denial. The first thing about keeping pawns was to convince them that they played a pivotal role, as if they were all destined to come to the other side of the board. He had failed in that regard. Worse still, he didn't have the time to fix it. Leave alone to care for Drusilla. To say he didn't know how she felt about him would be a lie. But he acted like he didn't know, hoping that his feigned ignorance would steer their little group back to smooth sailing on the port tack. Two people, he lamented in bitter self-loathing, he could barely manage, and yet here he was, plotting to overthrow Marcus Uranus and his Praetorship. Under his poised mien, he buckled; every word he uttered in his measured voice screamed.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught an approaching shadow and signed a warning with his hand. As Anthony slunk away, he wheeled around, smiling to greet the sneaky Bucero.
Whether the stout man had been following him on purpose, Xeator wouldn't know. He knew, however, that he suddenly had an excuse for Lorenzo to account for his absence. Instead of bringing Bucero to the Imperial Palazzo, he took him back to Commander Publius. While he held Publius in a debt of gratitude, he also had him as a witness to his whereabouts.
Remounting the courser, he sent it to a gallop. Hooves clopped the cobbled boulevard, beneath which resided a plexus of canals, water reservoirs, and tunnels. Attached underdeck to the bridges across the moat, some of those tunnels sprawled miles outside the city, securing the means of supplies and communication during sieges. And it was through one of them that Xeator had escaped thirteen years ago.
Squeezing the reins, he stopped the courser at the courtyard fronting the Legidus' residence. The sun had just set, dying the horizon with a splash of tangerine. Above it, a shimmering belt darkened as it rose to meet the indigo sky streaked with pewter clouds. Another day had come and gone, he thought, uneased by the passing time and how much that was left for him to do. He handed the reins to a servant and loped to the courtyard.
Up the stairs to the front gate, the house guards stopped him.
"Name?" asked one of the two, whose voice ricocheted inside the barbute before making its way out through the narrow gaps on the visor.
"Moon Xeator."
The guard clanked in his armor while cocking his head. Xeator pictured the incredulous look behind the iron mask. He shrugged, unclasping from the belt his amulet, a square plate cast of bronze, and handed it to the guard, who took it and went inside, leaving him with the other to bar the entrance. When he returned, he handed the amulet back to Xeator and beckoned for him to follow.
The residence of Lorenzo Legidus in the capital was as unadorned as the one in Volos, with a rather empty stone courtyard bedecked with functionality. Xeator followed the guard into the tablinum of consistent simplicity. Behind a cedar desk flanked by shelves of papyrus scrolls sat Lorenzo. He tipped his head to the side while Ulpius Attianus held up a palm, whispering to his ear.
Lorenzo mouthed a few words that seemed to have befuddled Ulpius, who hurled a sidelong glance at Xeator before taking his leave.
"So, you have acquainted yourself with Commander Publius," said Lorenzo, knitting his fingers as he hunched over the desk.
"Words sure travel fast in the capital." Xeator smiled. "I can only hope that you'd have done the same, my lord?"
Lorenzo only chuckled.
"But I do apologize for having taken longer than expected," Xeator continued. "The state banquet tomorrow is of urgent importance, and I ought to have put things into perspective. I'm willing to accept any punishment you see fit."
"Punishment I see fit?" Lorenzo jested, "Should I break your legs on the eve of the final?"
Xeator held his tongue, his gaze in a perpetual slope on the floor.
"Forget about punishment," Lorenzo rose to his feet. Proceeding to the front of the desk, he regarded the other man. "As you've said, let's put things into perspective for now. My source has just confirmed that Marcus Uranus is throwing a feast of trompe l'oeils. Rather than cooks, it'll be the goldsmiths that make our dinner. Any advice besides eat before I go?"
Aware of Lorenzo's peering eyes, Xeator gnawed his bottom lip. "His son is dead, and he is throwing a feast of gold?" He asked in reply, feigning surprise.
"All members of the Triumvirate and top dignitaries are summoned, including Augustus Gaius?" Lorenzo sneered, shaking his head. "A feast of gold. Do you eat it? Then how do you partake? What are you even supposed to say? That the gold sits well in the stomach?"
"Say nothing except your condolence." Drawing in his chin, he locked eyes with Lorenzo. "Let others talk, and the more cerebral they sound, the more it shall prove they have come prepared, while you, my lord, you'll be too grief-stricken with Domitian's tragic demise."