Free Web NovelChapter 21: The Feast of Masks
The villa stood on a hill overlooking part of the city.
Even from the street below, Arthur could see the light.
Dozens of lamps burned behind open windows. Music drifted into the night air. Laughter followed it. Slaves moved constantly between the gates and the courtyard carrying amphorae, trays, baskets of fruit, folded cloth, and enough food to feed a village.
Arthur stared up at it.
"Subtle," he said.
Marcus grunted.
Livia adjusted the edge of her cloak.
"You should see what they do when they’re trying to impress someone."
Arthur looked at the villa again.
"That was not a joke."
"No."
That somehow made it worse.
The invitation granted them access without delay. A steward barely glanced at the wax seal before stepping aside. Wealth had a way of opening doors faster than authority ever could.
Inside, the villa seemed determined to prove that Rome owned half the world.
Marble columns lined the courtyard. Small fountains reflected lamplight onto painted walls. Musicians played beneath silk canopies while servants circulated through the crowd carrying silver cups.
Arthur recognized spices he shouldn’t have recognized.
Imports.
Expensive ones.
The smell of roasted meat hung in the air alongside wine, incense, and perfume.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Not because of the luxury.
Because of the scale.
Thousands of years later, people would study Rome.
Tonight, Rome was drinking.
A woman crossed the courtyard carrying a tray of cups. Her linen garment was so thin it seemed designed to cooperate with the lamplight rather than stop it. Nearby, a young athlete stood beside a fountain serving wine to guests. His physique looked less like something achieved naturally and more like a sculptor had become overly ambitious and somehow succeeded.
Arthur noticed several guests admiring him.
The athlete himself seemed entirely uninterested.
"Everybody here is either very rich or very decorative," Arthur muttered.
Marcus looked around.
"Some are both."
Arthur glanced at him.
Marcus didn’t seem aware he had just made a joke.
Livia nearly choked on her wine.
For the first time that evening, Arthur smiled.
Good.
The smile didn’t last.
Aelius Varro had arrived.
Not dramatically.
Not announced.
One moment he wasn’t there.
The next he was speaking calmly with three men near the central fountain as though the entire evening existed for his convenience.
Arthur felt his shoulders tighten automatically.
Aelius noticed him almost immediately.
Of course he did.
The man raised his cup slightly in greeting.
Arthur resisted the urge to throw something.
"He’s watching us," he said.
"Yes."
Marcus didn’t even look.
"How do you know?"
"He watches everyone."
Fair.
Livia guided them deeper into the gathering.
"Don’t stare at him."
"I wasn’t."
"You absolutely were."
Arthur sighed.
Around them, conversations flowed freely.
Politics.
Trade.
Property disputes.
Military contracts.
Tax exemptions.
Arthur realized something important very quickly.
Nobody here talked about Rome.
They talked about ownership.
Roads weren’t roads.
They were investments.
Ships weren’t ships.
They were profits.
People weren’t people.
They were labor.
That thought sat heavily in his stomach.
A servant appeared beside him carrying a silver bowl filled with scented water.
Arthur accepted it automatically.
The servant nodded and moved on.
Arthur looked down.
The bowl smelled faintly of flowers.
He was thirsty.
Marcus turned at exactly the wrong moment.
The soldier froze.
Livia followed his gaze.
Then both stared at Arthur.
Arthur looked at the bowl.
Then at them.
Then back at the bowl.
"Oh."
Livia covered her mouth.
Marcus looked away immediately.
Which somehow made it worse.
His shoulders started shaking.
Arthur pointed accusingly.
"Are you laughing?"
"No."
Marcus absolutely was.
Livia lost the battle entirely.
For several seconds she laughed openly.
Not politely.
Not elegantly.
Actually laughed.
Arthur had never seen it before.
The sound surprised him so much that he started laughing too.
Nearby guests glanced over.
Arthur didn’t care.
For a brief moment, the conspiracy, the murders, the false records, and the pressure all vanished.
Three exhausted people laughed because one of them had nearly drunk finger-washing water.
The moment lasted less than a minute.
It was still worth having.
Then the music stopped.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Arthur noticed the change immediately.
So did Marcus.
A disturbance near the side courtyard drew several glances.
Nothing dramatic at first.
A servant had dropped something.
A silver cup rolled across marble.
Wine spread across the floor.
The servant—a young slave, barely older than seventeen—immediately dropped to his knees and began apologizing.
The guest he had spilled wine on looked annoyed.
Not angry.
Just annoyed.
Arthur relaxed slightly.
Then the guest struck him.
Hard.
The crack echoed across the courtyard.
The slave fell sideways.
Nobody moved.
The guest said something.
The slave tried to rise.
The second blow came faster.
This time the young man stumbled backward.
His heel caught the edge of the marble stair leading toward a side entrance.
Arthur heard the impact.
The back of the slave’s head struck stone.
The sound seemed strangely small.
The body remained still.
The music resumed.
Arthur blinked.
Surely not.
Surely—
A servant hurried forward.
Not to help.
To clean.
Another arrived carrying cloth.
Blood moved slowly between the white stones of the staircase, gathering near the bottom step before someone knelt and began wiping it away with practiced efficiency.
Around them, conversations restarted.
Wine continued flowing.
Guests returned to discussing contracts and shipments.
Arthur felt cold.
Not shocked by the violence.
Shocked by the indifference.
The guest responsible had already resumed speaking.
Someone laughed at a joke.
Another asked for more wine.
The body disappeared through the side entrance.
The blood followed soon after.
The marble remained.
Perfect.
Clean.
Untouched.
As though nothing had happened.
Arthur realized he was gripping his cup hard enough to hurt his hand.
"Arthur."
Livia’s voice came quietly.
He didn’t answer.
"Arthur."
This time he looked.
Her face had gone pale.
Marcus’s expression had hardened into stone.
Neither of them looked surprised.
That somehow hurt even more.
A familiar voice appeared beside them.
"You look disturbed."
Aelius.
Of course.
Arthur turned slowly.
Aelius held a cup in one hand.
His expression was calm.
Almost curious.
Arthur glanced toward the staircase. ƒreewebɳovel.com
Nothing remained except wet marble.
"What happened to him?" Arthur asked.
Aelius followed his gaze.
"The slave?"
Arthur stared.
The slave.
Not the man.
Not the boy.
The slave.
"Yes."
Aelius shrugged lightly.
"An unfortunate accident."
Arthur felt anger rising.
Aelius saw it.
"Careful."
The word came softly.
Only for Arthur.
Only for him.
"Emotion is expensive, Gaius."
Arthur looked at him.
"Is that what this is?"
Aelius studied the crowd.
"The empire functions because people understand value."
Arthur followed his gaze.
The guests.
The wealth.
The contracts.
The influence.
The power.
Aelius smiled slightly.
"You keep looking for illness."
Arthur remained silent.
Aelius raised his cup.
"Look around."
The music played.
The wine flowed.
The guests laughed.
The fountains sparkled beneath the lamps.
Everything looked magnificent.
"This," Aelius said quietly, "is Rome healthy."
Then he walked away.
Arthur watched him disappear into the crowd.
For the first time since arriving in the past, he felt something worse than fear.
Understanding.
Because Aelius believed every word he had just said.
And somewhere beneath the music and the perfume and the laughter, Arthur realized that many of the people here believed it too.
