Cantate Lamentationem

Urbis Adhuc esse

Justinius was unsure why an invitation to Virgilus Cantorius’s “wartime celebration” should interest him. He felt he should be insulted but he knew enough about Virgilus to realize that there was more to this invitation than was obvious. So, on the night before his departure from the city to the camps outside Carxandria, he made his way to the Cantorius mansion.

The house was well-lit with torches. The lion, Whiskers, stood by the doorway, his tail flicking as his master vomited in the street. “Cousin! Not again,” said Virgilus, standing over the heaving man. “Go home! You are unpleasant company when you are sick.”

Virgilus turned back to the door when he spotted Justinius. “Justinius Honerius! The man of the hour! I half expected you to stay home! Supporting a party like this might be scandalous. And your ‘fair lady’ is now the enemy after all.”

Justinius paused, growing hot and flustered. He stuttered. “I…didn’t…you…I thought maybe-”

“It is of no matter!” yelled Virgilus, putting an arm around him and leading him in. “I only jest. Watch your step, my idiotic cousin was sick in the hallway before he made it outside.”

Justinius was led to the large dining hall with open pillars and fine drapes. The cushioned seats and couches were festooned with war paraphernalia: arrow tips around couch edges, swords lining chairs, and spears strapped to tables bearing food. “Do you like it?” Virgilus asked. “I thought it looked quite spectacular.”

“Yes,” Justinius said, looking around. “It’s…well…”

Virgilus laughed. “I’m teasing. It’s completely impractical. I decided that I wanted to remind everyone that war is uncomfortable and unpleasant. What better way than to put them in constant danger of being stabbed if they make a wrong move? On a side note, it has been the calmest party I’ve ever hosted.”

Justinius nodded. “I can see that.”

The guests did seem more subdued, in their movements anyway. They talked animatedly but remained rigid on their chairs and couches and carefully stood and sat on them. Several were grumbling at torn tunics, togas, or dresses as they spoke to one another. “Never mind them,” said Virgilus, “There is someone else you should meet!”

Justinius was pulled by his arm forcibly across the room and toward several seats secluded in a corner. A figure in a dark cloak, holding a scythe, walked past him and moaned dramatically. “Is that supposed to be death?”

“Oh, he’s an idiot. Who cares about him,” said Virgilus. “Who would care to meet an actor playing death when you could meet a real live dead man himself!”

Justinius turned to him. “What now?”

“Justinius!” Ardellius was waving from his couch where he reclined. “Join us!”

Justinius saw the rest of his party was there as well: Mattias, Lowellus, and… “Laurentius?” asked Justinius with incredulity.

Laurentius looked up sourly from his cup of wine. “What do you want, half-gen?”

Justinius was taken aback at his attitude. “I…I thought you were dead?”

Laurentius laughed mirthlessly. “Indeed! My ribs still hurt like the hells, but I live.”

“But your father-”

“Said I was dead?” finished Laurentius. He took a massive swig from his cup and proffered it to Matthius. “More. Yes, my father decided that it would look better if I were dead along with a hoard of Aquillan soldiers. A few soldiers weren’t enough. A senator’s son being murdered though…oh yes! That was dramatic! Now all the populace think I’m dead.”

He took another long swig from the newly poured cup of wine. Justinius looked at the rest of the group of young men who were clearly uncomfortable. “But…you are here. And…not dead. Surely that will dispel rumors?”

“Frankly, no one here cares,” said Virgilus. “As for out there-”

Laurentius interrupted. “I am forced to remain inside, locked away from the world so this ruse can continue.”

Justinius gasped in horror. “For the rest of your life?”

“Oh no,” interjected Virgilus. “Just long enough for it to become old news. Then no one will care that he's alive.”

“But, his father lied to everyone!”

The group laughed and Justinius felt more anger than embarrassment fill him. Lowellus waved his cup. “Imagine, being shocked that a senator lied to the populace! I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“He’s educated,” said Ardellius, “That doesn’t mean he's smart.”

Justinius shot him a glare. “I’m getting a drink.”

Ardellius quickly rose from his seat to follow behind him while Virgilus shook his head. “You make the best of this, Laurentius. Most don’t get a fresh start.”

“I’m sorry, Justinius,” said Ardellius. “I didn’t mean it. Honest to the gods.”

“I’m sure,” said Jusinius, taking a cup and looking at the wine selection. “I’m just the idiot who expects decency from people. His speech started a war!”

“That attack started this war,” said Ardellius. “He merely spiced up the story to add more flavor to it.”

“Flavor?!” said Justinius, pouring a sweet white wine. “I watched him shed tears! I believed Laurentius was dead!”

“I’m sorry you were shocked. Honestly, I was a bit shocked too since he and I both received the news at the same time.”

“It's lunacy!” spat Justinius before taking a large swig and coughing.

Ardellius took his arm in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. “He’s not taking it well either, trust me. I only snuck him out of the house so I could get him drunk and, hopefully, he could forget about his father’s antics for a few hours.”

Justinius sighed. There was no use being angry. It wasn’t anyone’s fault here and he knew better. He knew the Senate. Truth was not to be found there. Now an innocent city was on the verge of being attacked. “I should have said something. I should have asked questions.”

Ardellius shook his head. “More fool you. They’ve wanted this war for years. You speaking up would have earned you a tongue-lashing and half-gen accusations…sorry my friend. It’s merely the reality of things.”

Justinius sat heavily on a chair, spilling wine onto his hand. He shifted his cup to the other to fling the droplets from his skin. “I wish I could stop it. But what could I do?”

“You could stage a coup,” laughed Ardellius, squeezing into the same chair so that both sat dangerously close to the sharp arrowheads. He gasped as one pricked him and he was forced to shove into Ardellius. “That would get people’s attention. Nothing short of a full breakdown of the system will stop them from having their war.”

He waved his chicken leg in emphasis till a passing Whiskers snatched it from his hand. “Oh…” said Ardellius, “Well…your’s I guess.”

Justinius didn’t notice any of this as he lapsed into a sullen silence. His mind wandered to Lumina. She stood on the banks of Lake Copiah in his mind. She would be staring at her city, her sword in hand. What would she do? Surely she wouldn’t fight?

“Justinius!”

Justinius started back to reality. “Huh? What is it?”

“I asked if you would tell me more about your…you know. How you summoned all those fair folk.”

“They are called Fatae and I didn’t,” responded Justinius. “I merely sensed that there was danger ahead. It was like I could…feel it. Almost see it in my mind's eye. I can’t explain it”

“It must be magic,” Ardellius said, lowering his voice. “What other explanation is there?”

“I don’t know,” said Justinius. “I don’t want to go so far as that. Not yet anyway. Perhaps it was…a premonition.”

“From the gods?”

“Or a god. I don’t know.”

“Whatever it is, it saved us,” said Ardellius, clapping his shoulder. “Remind me to take you with me should I ever go on another adventure.”

“You aren’t going to war?” asked Justinius.

“My uncle has called me to him up north,” said Ardellius. “No doubt the great Marius Montinius wishes to start trouble. But I have decided to refuse him. If you don’t join anyone's side, you live a much happier life. Like our host, Virgilus!”

He gestured to their host who was approaching them. “Virgilus! How is our dead friend?”

“A lot less friendly now that he’s been labeled dead,” said Virgilus.

“Well, he wasn’t very friendly to begin with,” said Ardellius, shrugging.

“Exactly,” responded their host. “Justinius, I would like to speak with you in my study, alone. If that is good with you.”

“Of course,” said Justinius, standing and nearly knocking Ardellius into the arrowheads bordering the seat. “I’ll be back later.”

Virgilus led him to the study, away from the noise and lights of the party. As they entered the library of scrolls, he gestured to a seat. “Please, sit. I won’t keep you long for I know you would drink and be merry before you leave on the morrow.”

“Only because my father requests it,” said Justinius. “I would refuse otherwise.”

“No matter.”

“Oh, and I haven’t forgotten my promise. Do you want me to recount my tale of the Aequendar and their homelands?”

Virglius paused then shook his head. “That is very tempting but that will take a long time with the number of questions I will have. Some time after this war, perhaps. It is…another concern I bring to you.”

Justinius placed his cup on the table. “Concern?”

Virgilus appeared uncharacteristically perturbed as he took a seat opposite him and fiddled with a scroll on his desk. “You know…war and the possibility of death brings out the…well, mortality of man. And it is no different with me. Since the last war I have remained stubbornly determined to give my future no thought whatsoever. My family was almost entirely gone…there seemed little point in shaking the cage and trying to reestablish our name in the world. But now…”

He paused as he opened the scroll a bit more and stared at it. Justinius leaned forward. “Now?”

Virgilus started out of his thoughts and smiled. “Well…now I’ve been putting thought into it. I realize my legacy is somewhat…well, nonexistent.”

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“What of your writings?” asked Justinius. “You have plenty of famous works.”

“Oh, poppycock,” said Virgilus. “One good fire sweeps the city and my works are all but extinct. Also…it is not so lasting as a bloodline.”

“A bloodline, sir?”

“Of course!”

“You are…thinking of getting married then?” asked Justinius, confused.

The old man chuckled. “Certainly not. I like my freedom too much for that. Besides, what woman will want me except for my money.”

Justinius glanced down at the scroll which had faded writing across its surface. “Then what?”

Virgilus held up the scroll. “You wonder what this is? It is a letter, written to me a long time ago by a woman if you can believe it. She was an educated low born, a servant in my uncle’s household. The Tyrant liked to surround himself with beautiful things, including women. And she was quite a woman.”

Justinius couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on his face. Virgilus noted it and coughed. “Yes, well, details aren’t important. We became close, we mated, la la la, and so on. The important information is the son we had.”

“Son?”

“Oh yes. The war against the Tyrant had just begun when we discovered she was pregnant. I sent her far away, to the edges of the republic. I gave her a house. Servants. Comfort. But she wanted me…I know such a curse to be so well loved.”

“Then what happened?”

Virgilus stared at the letter. “The war. The Tyrant lost. Our family was ousted from power. Only by my neutrality did I survive. I couldn’t bring her back. Not with a son. It could be seen as a bid to reestablish our dynasty. And…I couldn’t bring her back. I knew, even if she didn’t, that she was better off without me. I told her we couldn’t be together. That she was safer away from me. She didn’t believe me.”

He lifted the scroll. “She begged and pleaded. This…this was the last letter she sent me. Offering forgiveness and speaking of our son; how she would raise him well. I…I don't even know his name.”

Justinius stood, surprised and concerned to see the old man’s eye blurring with tears. He began to circle the desk but Virgilus let out a startlingly loud bark of laughter. “Last I heard, she passed on in childbirth, married to another man. But my son…my half-gen, he is still there.”

“Why do you tell me this?” asked Justinius.

“I…I know you would understand how difficult it can be, as a half-gen. You live between two worlds. I am intending to throw him between two worlds as well. My legacy is in him. I need a successor. I am hoping that, when things calm down, you will go to him and bring him back here. I fear any messenger besides a fellow half-gen, and one skilled with words, will be able to convince him to forgive his father and come home.”

Justinius was unsure how to respond. He stood awkwardly, stuttering slightly before finding the right words. “Sir, are you sure he wants to be here? Maybe it would be better for him to remain anonymous?”

“It most certainly would be,” said Virgilus. “But my son is needed. My family needs him. I, and thus he, are the last branch of the main family line of Cantorius. Our song should not end with me. It will not…”

He trailed off, his gaze far off and his breath coming in quicker gasps. Justinius began to move to him again when he snapped out of it. “Ah! Enough of me! Go! Enjoy the feast! You have a long journey before you. Matters can be saved for another time. But I will ask again, young Justinius. Soon.”

Justinius nodded slowly and returned to the party, leaving Virgilus staring down at the letter from his deceased love. Ardellius was there to meet him at the door. “Ah, there you are. You must come quickly. Laurentius has got it into his head to spite his father by joining my uncle in whatever mad scheme he has come up with.”

Justinius shook his head. “What? Why?”

“Didn’t you hear me? To spite his father! Use that clever tongue of yours and convince him otherwise or he may go through with it.”

Justinius pulled away from Ardellius’s grip. “No, I don’t think I will. At least he has the gall to stand up to his father and take his fate into his own hands. Would that I had that sort of courage.”

***

Justinius’s mood didn’t improve as he traveled to Carxandria the next day or any of the following days. The bulk of the army had traveled to the city a month before and their slow progress could be marked by their passing. The road was badly eroded in places, its mud track covered in thousands of sandal marks and hundreds of hoof prints till the earth was completely distorted in places. Autumn and winter had passed and now spring was fully in the air. Blossoms from the trees along with the rain mixed its sweet scents with that of hundreds of sweating soldiers and horses to create a noxious blend. These final legions marching together caused Justinius to have a constant headache for the first few days as their ringing footfalls filled his ears and their stench filled his nostrils.

A few days after leaving Aquilla, he could take it no more and moved ahead of the group with his guard assigned by his father. It may have been unwise, especially after his last journey, but he was distracted to consider the danger. Foremost in his thought was Lumina. What was happening? He dreaded mounting the final hill and seeing the city burning.

It was many days later while riding quickly, that he reached that point and stared down in the afternoon sun at Lake Copiah. Beyond it, Carxandria was smoking and surrounded by the Aquillan army.

The valley below, once filled with flowers and fields ripe for harvest, was now so trodden by feet that the earth had turned to mud and all plant life was squashed into an endless sea of brown. To the south, siege equipment was being pushed or carried into position: ladders, towers, battering rams, and hide-covered tortoises for protection. Onagers were positioned further away and appeared to be flinging boulders at the wall. On the north side of the city, the narrow bridge offered little room for much else than a line of onagers. No attack was coming from that side.

Justinius wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he could see Aquillan triremes in the sea outside the city while other triremes patrolled Lake Copiah from the outside. Some had onagers on them which they used to hurl rocks at the city walls with abandon. Below him, around the villas and one-time farmlands, the Aquillan’s primary camp was set up. Thousands of tents stretched for a mile at least and, in its center, Justinius could just make out one large tent. His father had to be there.

He rode swiftly down the path, ignoring the calls from soldiers who gave the camp warning of their arrival. He didn’t slow until he reached the tent at the center and jumped from his horse into the mud. It splattered up his leg and he smelt its putrid stench but remained focused. He approached the opening and the guards stopped him. “Justinius, son of Horatius, Consul,” he stated.

One guard entered the tent and came back almost immediately. “You are permitted.”

Justinius entered and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, smoky interior. The light filtering in from the top was thin and made the tent glow faintly. Incense smoke filled the air to give it a fragrant if strong smell hiding the other odors within and without. A large table was in the center which was covered in a map of the city along with cups of wine. Chairs along the edges of the tent offered a place to rest and several were occupied with officers. At the table, Horatius Conditius stood with his fellow Consul, Rufus Ambitious.

“Father,” said Justinius, approaching. “I thought the city wasn’t going to be destroyed.”

“It won’t be,” was the curt reply, “Not if we can help it. There is, however, a small band of defiant citizens within that are resisting. They are forcing us to turn this into a siege.”

“A siege we can’t afford to carry on with,” said Rufus. “Growing season is in full swing. If our soldiers don’t return home to plant, we won’t have a plentiful harvest this year.”

“I am aware of that,” said Horatius. “But a full assault would result in the death of many men, even if victory is certain. I won’t throw away lives needlessly if I can help it.”

“That is exactly what those inside are counting on,” said Rufus. “If we don’t attack, they will hold out in a long siege which will harm us in the long run. They hope to outlast us in-”

“They won’t,” said Horatius. “Their people will surely rebel against them. Sieges are grueling on the populace. They won’t go through for the sake of a few patriots.”

“How long will that be?” asked Rufus. “That could take months which we don’t have.”

“I am well aware,” said Horatius, turning away and taking Justinius by the shoulder to pull him aside. “A moment, Rufus. I must speak with my son.”

Rufus grunted in annoyance and continued staring at the map. Justinius was led to a corner where his father leaned in to talk in a hushed tone. “I have a task for you this night. It is of import that I cannot tend to myself. Matters as they are, I hardly leave this table but for relief and sleep.”

“What keeps you?”

“Mostly a constant debate over our next moves. Our men are getting tired of moving around this lake and repositioning. I’m sure they are ready to attack and despoil at this point.”

Justinius raised his eyebrows in concern. “Surely you won’t-”

“I cannot stop many things, Justinius. I am only one man. It is not your concern at this moment. For now, I need you to sail across Lake Copiah and meet a ship in the middle. There you will have the Humilius family delivered to you for safekeeping. They are to be brought back to my tent at once under the cover of darkness. No one is to stop you and ask questions.”

Justinius felt a weight lift from his heart and his throat constricted. It took him a moment to control his voice before asking, “The Humilius family? You are taking them in?”

“Yes. Damianus will remain in his city, perhaps to convince his brother who is leading the defense to stand down. But he has asked me to take in his younger siblings and keep them safe should anything happen to him.”

Justinius felt a smile begin to cross his face and he struggled to hide it. “Of course, father. It is the right thing to do.”

“You will see to it.”

“With great pleasure, father.”

***

The night was dark and the waters darker as Veronica stared into the lake from over the side of the ship. She held her brother, Ignatius’s, hand tightly as he pulled closer to her. “I do not like these waters,” said Ignatius, pulling away from the side. “There are dark shapes within.”

Veronica looked over the edge again, startled, before realizing it must be another one of his episodes. “It will be alright, Ignatius. We are nearly there…I’m sure.”

She looked to her brother, Damianus, who stood near the bow of the ship and looked out keenly into the darkness. His searching gaze never wavered and all questions were ignored. Veronica pulled away from the rail to huddle with her brother against the mast of the ship. It was a chilly spring night, a breeze tossing light sprays of water onto the ship, the brackish smell of the water filled her nostrils, and she shivered against the cold without and the dread within. Ignatius took her hand and pulled closely. “It will be alright. You look lovely.”

She shook her head and put an arm around him. “Of course, Ignatius. Of course, it will. Thank you.”

“Ship ahead!” called a sailor.

Damianus’s gaze swiveled to where the sailor pointed. “Keep your voice low. Turn to starboard. Prepare to board.”

Veronica stood with Ignatius and peered into the dark. A ship emerged from the mists over the lake, its few torches giving them only enough light to see. As they drew up side by side, sailors tossed ropes to the opposite ship and pulled the ships together. Veronica could see the familiar chainmail armor and coned helmets of the Aquillan warriors. She knew it was stupid, but she still searched the group for familiar faces, maybe Portus. She was disappointed to see no familiar soldiers. However, the young man wrapped in a cloak and hood, which he removed to reveal his face, was familiar.

“Justinius!”

He shot her a brief smile before clasping Damianus’s hand. “You weren’t seen?”

“No. These are my guard, they won’t talk.”

“Good.” Justinius’s gaze was searching the deck, his brow furrowing in concern as the one face he searched for remained hidden. Veronica knew who it was. “She isn’t here.”

He looked at her, startled, then at Damianus. “Where is your sister, Lumina?”

Damianus could not hide the pain on his face. Her brother had nearly canceled the journey when he couldn’t find her. But, in the end, he had ordered them onto the ship. “I…I don’t know. I searched everywhere for her. She had gone from the acropolis…disappeared somewhere into the city.”

“What do you mean she had gone?” asked Justinius in a hiss, his voice low. “You didn’t tell her she was to leave?”

“I didn’t want to tell them unless it was certain there was no other way to stop this fight.”

“Where would she have gone?”

“I don’t know!” said Damianus. “I searched the acropolis, our house in town, even the walls in case she wanted to go fight. She was nowhere to be seen! I couldn’t wait any longer…I had to get my siblings out while I still could.”

Justinius’s eyes were wide and his breath was coming in quick gasps. He looked back to the city then at her and Ignatius. Ignatius stepped forward and took Justinius by the arm. “You will find her.”

He stared at the young man in confusion, blinking rapidly. “What?”

Ignatius nodded. “You will find her…I think.”

Justinius looked at Damianus who shook his head. “We don’t have time for this. Please. Get my siblings to safety. Remind your father of his promise! Take care of them!”

“What of Lumina?” asked Veronica and Justinius together.

Damianus moved in close to Justinius so that Veronica could barely hear him. “I will try…but I am needed everywhere. If I find her I will keep her beside me at all times. I must beg you though…find my sister and keep her safe. She cares for you. She spoke often of you. If you care for her or have any honor at all, find her after the siege is complete. Take care of her if I…if I cannot.”

Justinius nodded at once. “I will. I won’t rest till I do.”

He fell silent while she hugged her brother Damianus. “Please be well, Damianus.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, squeezing her tight and kissing her forehead. “Take care of your brother.” He turned to Ignatius and pulled him in close. “Watch after your sister. Be brave, be strong. You are Humilius, one of the family between worlds. Remember that.”

Ignatius nodded. “I will walk to many worlds.” He took Damianus’s head in his hands and said slowly, “I cannot tell what is wrong. Watch your head, Damianus.”

Damianus gave him a pained gaze and hugged him tightly. “Do not tell me what you see. Just…pray for me.”

Veronica hugged him one last time before she and Ignatius were brought on board the Aquillan ship and carried away from her brother. Away from their city. Perhaps never to see either again.

Justinius tried to speak kindly to them. The concern in his voice, however, could not be hidden. As they landed and were smuggled quickly on foot through the Aquillan camp, she couldn't help but notice the ground around her. Crushed mud and vegetation made an unpleasant mixture. She stopped at one point to pick up a crushed flower that had somehow survived being mulched to a pulp.

The beds offered to them in Horatius Honerius’s tent were straw mats on the floor with a blanket. “It isn’t much,” said Justinius, “But war camps aren’t very comfortable. I’ll see if I can find other blankets.”

“Thank you, Justinius,” said Veronica, looking for a seat and, finding none, sitting on the mat.

Her sleep was troubled. Her dreams were unintelligible. As the first light of dawn broke through the tent flap and Justinius left his bed, she stared at the crushed flower which she had kept. The once beautiful fields she happily walked through, picking flowers without a care, no longer existed. How many more things, including her family, would no longer exist?

She brushed the mud from the broken petals of the flower and saw that, even destroyed, there was a beauty still to the flower. She thought that, perhaps, there was still hope, even for broken things.

The sound of horns broke her thoughts. Shouts and rushing feet past the tent. “The attack begins!” came voices from outside. “To your positions! Prepare for battle!”