The music twisted its away amongst the pillars of the vast hall, soft yet titillating, luxuriant yet with a touch of mischief. It was music that spoke of anticipated happiness, or perhaps wishful thinking to some in the room. Selenus was one of those, viewing the festivity around him with an expression of curious disappointment, his arms kept primly to his sides as he sat upon the plush burgundy couch. Around him the various provincial aristocrats, desperately clinging to their hopes and ambitions, swirled in a maelstrom of politics, social games, and sexual tension. The room, vast at it was and far more luridly laid out than Selenus had first remembered seeing it, buzzed with speech was that was a bit too high, too shrill for perfect comfort. Those attending the Lady Barbaria’s feast at the Lucallaneum perhaps felt deep down that they were clinging to an illusion, a wisp of something that had been thought lost for good. Even with squalid reality telling them no, they still came out in exaggerated gaiety, a remembrance of prosperity and position that had lain dormant in the stories of grandparents and beyond.
Selenus struggled to keep his head clear in the midst of it, his head already swimming from the few sips of sweet wine he had been coaxed into taking, his ears taking in the sounds of Latin, the occasional mix of Greek with its peculiar Italian dialect, and the unmistakable sound of other, more guttural languages. If Lady Barbaria thought to turn this into some long-sought bacchanalia, she was sorely miscalculating, judging by the dress and manners of the guests. The robes and dresses were mostly matter-of-fact, with little true color, few in the room able to afford anything like the luxury of fashion. He looked around, trying not to enjoy the soft inviting couch too much, lest he lose himself. Perhaps that was the lady’s intent, another lesson in her sudden and unexplained social education of him, the young farmer’s son. Selenus himself was keeping his distance on the far end of the couch, away from where Barbaria luxuriated and talked with some of her intimate guests. He knew the rumors that were swirling, what some made of his place at the villa. He had no wish to give reality to that gossip. A pawn he certainly felt, but he had no wish to be a toy.
What had led him here, he wondered? It was so evident by deed and wish that his place was at the Decurio’s side. No, the
Comes, he thought with a silent smile that gave lie to everything around him. And yet something had loosened within him in Bruttium. That battle, the dead around him, he had certainly lost something. Not his faith.
Ita vero, he still believed in Remus implicitly, in the Lord, and in himself. But something had given. Remus had kept him off the battlefield and when he had left the Lucallaneum, Selenus found himself bound to the side of someone far more manipulative than he’d ever experienced. He peeked over at Barbaria, who winked at him and resumed speaking to one of the local lords of the Campanian
latifundia – those which hadn’t been burned by the passing armies. She seemed to know precisely what he thought and didn’t seem to care.
Of course there were benefits to his stay here, he knew. The small library was impressive, and the lady seemed to use it as a means of sorts, the way he remembered rewarding Peperna the young cow with a carrot whenever she did something correctly. Her son Romulus was fascinating, if a touch conflicted with his imperial role. There were moments when Selenus felt like a confidante bordering on friendship and other times, he was explicitly reminded that he was an imperial subject. The months were a series of exercises in grooming, deportment, dress, the art of pointless conversation, and molding his country Latin into something apparently more acceptable. For what? If Selenus wasn’t careful, he would think that he was a fowl being stuffed for some future feast. One look in Barbaria’s eyes told him the truth of it, yet she never ventured to shed any light on how he would be consumed. He had no doubt, however, that she had her plans in motion, and he would have to get clear before they came to fruition.
”Visne saltare?” Selenus looked up to see a pretty young lady holding out her hand, the gaudy purple makeup beginning to run down her cheek. Playing it safe, he shook his head, taking a drink to mask his refusal. It wasn’t the smartest thing he could have done, the wine dripping on to his soft blue robes, his head beginning to pound. Sulking, the lady hopped away, pulling some other man into the shameless dance many in the room were beginning to adopt. These people were mad, Selenus, thought, giving no care to the world giving away around them, not caring who did the fighting beyond the walls.
”Now, really, dear Selenus, you’re giving me fits watching you hide away like that,” Barbaria said silkily, turning her full attentions on him. He felt like a small rodent held for inspection by a discerning – and disappointed – eye.
”There’s much to be gained at functions like these. If you would simply let me, there’s much I can teach you.” Her delicate hand swept over the room, taking in the various knots of conversation, consumption, and dancing. Selenus spotted Romulus in a nook of cushions in the far corner, talking avidly with what looked to be the two latest arrivals from Rome. Priests, perhaps, though what man of God would let himself be in the presence of such…such celebration. There were more sober groups, as well. Some were local magistrates, even a man who looked as if he led a small tribe of sorts, already the talk of the ladies. A Herulian perhaps, one of Odoacer’s sort. There were still small groups of these nomadic types in the nearby hills, reminders that Italia was longer a purely Roman place.
”Milady asks too much of me, I fear. There’s going to be a battle soon, to decide access to Rome. I can’t---“ he went on to protest, but Barbaria laughed, confusing him.
”Why, dear Selenus, you are a delight. Surely you know that the question of Rome has already been decided?”
His ears perked up.
”Then it’s been decided? You’ve had news from the army?!?” He perched himself on the couch, facing her, showing genuine interest for the first time.
Again she laughed with obvious mirth.
”As a student of lore, I know you think everything is decided on the field of battle. Men with swords, dashing figures on horseback, that sort of thing. Yet if you truly asked yourself,” she said with relish, sipping her wine in between sentences,
”then you would know that it is in rooms such as these…throne rooms, festive halls, palaces that the important questions are decided.” She surveyed the room in obvious pride, coming to life in the adornment of such people.
Fools all of them, Selenus thought with furtive contempt, not daring to speak his mind. He had the instinct that crossing this woman was a dangerous choice, however. Thus far it had kept him in her circle, but soon he thought, if she was truly so callous about Remus and his fate, Selenus couldn’t remain a part of it.
”But what if Remus is defeated outside the city?” he ventured cautiously, probing.
By her expression, she was quite aware of his hidden portent.
”Selenus, I wish for the Comes’ victory as much as you. It would make things so much simpler,” she said, squashing any goodwill with her cynical reasoning.
”Yet he will not be so fortunate in this battle. Odoacer is a brave general and no fool. He will not underestimate our man Remus. He will not cross a bridge. No, my dear, your friend will have to come to Odoacer if he wants the prize.” Selenus couldn’t believe how delighted she seemed about either possibility. Win or lose, she had a plan. And the tone of her speech!
Our man,
your friend. Did she truly think Remus a pawn, as she must feel he was?
Selenus nodded to where Romulus was seated.
”And what of him?” He could see Romulus and his guests nodding. The visitations had increased in the past month, particularly with the rumors of Simplicius, the Roman bishop, dying.
”I don’t think it’s really your place to ask such questions of my son, Selenus,” she said, her tone becoming serious in an instant. Many times, he had found his curiosity come up against this fortitude, and he had never tested it. Even now, as much as he found himself despising her, his wine-soaked mind relented and he backed away, compliant, as he always did. Her face softened with obvious relish and she signaled a nearby steward to refill his goblet.
”We will need the Church, should the worse happen. My son will need the Church, and they will need my son. And I will make sure the Church will need you, my dear. I will need you in Rome, victory or no in your precious field.” she said frankly. And that was as far as she would speak. Then she stood graciously, holding out hear hand. She really was beautiful, he thought, though that could be the wine talking.
”Now come, Selenus. It’s time you learned to dance properly.” Her expression was challenging, full of mischief.
Shaking his head slowly, Selenus rose and turned to leave, wanting to leave, get away. Barbaria cleared her throat with a wistful sigh and by rote instinct, he bowed before he left, exactly as she had trained him. Pet, the word accused him bitterly. He could feel the fear rising in him as he pushed through the small crowd, wishing only for quiet and peace. Pawn, his inner voice mocked him. Men and women alike protested as he bustled through them, knocking a tray of perfume to the ground, sending a pungent aroma of lavender through the room. Behind him, the Lady Barbaria stared at him, her eyes twinkling.
