Chapter 14

And then we waited.

Palta and I were the only ones who left the house now, and only to get food. We went to different shops every day, so that we wouldn't become too familiar to people. And that meant we could report back on what was happening in the city.

Things changed almost immediately. We started seeing drawings and graffiti on the walls of buildings, even in the Parioli district—caricatures of the pontifex, making him look like a doddering old fool, with "Tirelius non curat!" scrawled underneath. Tirelius doesn't care! And stick figures of what was supposed to be Affron, along with the phrase "Affronius pro pontifice!"–Affronius for pontifex! In the markets where we shopped, we now heard people complaining about how unfair the priests were, how Roma and its people were always being taken for granted, how it was time for a change. And why were they persecuting that wonderful viator Affron, who only wanted to help the Roman people? Shoppers talked of seeing protests against the priests—protests that the governor's soldiers did nothing to break up.

So Decius was holding up his end of the bargain. But in the meantime... Affron sat for long hours in the peristyle, speaking to no one, just staring off into space. At dinner, he would drink wine until Valleia ordered Palta to take the jug away. "What is the matter?" Valleia asked him one night.

"Nothing is the matter," he replied. "I am just contemplating what I will do when I become pontifex."

"I don't believe you."

He shrugged. "It will all be fine," he said. "No need to worry."

But the rest of us worried.

"He is our weapon," Carmody said to me after Affron had gone to bed one night. "One shouldn't go into battle with a weapon that hasn't been tested."

"But the rest of us have seen him use his magic," I pointed out. "Everyone but you. It works. It's powerful. He can do this."

"He is not acting like he can do it."

I couldn't argue with that. "Should we talk to Decius?" I asked Valleia.

"And say what?" she demanded. "Decius has made it clear what will happen if we don't go through with this." She looked at Carmody for support.

He nodded. "We are committed to the plan," he said. "We must make it work."

Palta said nothing.

And then, finally, the Roman Games opened. Banners and flags flew from every building. Even in our quiet castellum the main streets were filled with dancers and musicians and revelers. Everyone seemed to have a jug of wine; everyone seemed happy.

Inside our house, though, everyone was quiet and tense.

Affron spent most of the day sitting motionless in the peristyle. I sat next to him, hoping we'd have another one of our conversations, like we'd had after he'd stolen the money from the pawnbroker, but he stayed silent.

The chariot race was to be held on the afternoon of the second day. It was always the highlight of the Games.

I didn't sleep well the night before. I couldn't imagine anyone else did, either.

We were all up early the next morning. The day was hot, overcast, and oppressive. Valleia had decided that she, Affron, and Carmody would be the ones to go to the Circus Maximus. They were going to leave early to ensure that they got seats close enough to Tirelius. Valleia didn't want Palta and me to come. "We can't all march in there together," she pointed out. "It will be too obvious. We don't want to be captured now, when we're so close to victory."

This time Affron didn't insist on taking me. He didn't say anything.

"Then Larry and I will go by ourselves," Palta announced.

"As you wish," Valleia replied. "But you'll be safer here."

Palta gave her a look that said: I don't have to obey you.

"Be careful," she said to Affron before they left. He smiled at Palta and me and kissed each of us on both cheeks; Carmody shook our hands, and then the three of them headed off.

Palta pulled at her earlobe as we stood in the atrium. She did that a lot when she was tense or thinking hard. "We can't stay here," she said. "We must see what happens."

"But it'll be hours before the chariot race. Do you want to sit out in the heat all day?"

Then abruptly she sat down and started to cry. "I don't want this to happen," she said finally. "If it fails, it will be bad. If it succeeds, it will be worse."

"Why will it be worse?"

Her gray eyes looked up at me. "Because then you will go home."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I sat down next to her, and I took her hand in mine. We stayed there for a while before we silently stood up and left.

Everyone was headed to the Circus Maximus. Jugglers and dancers and even magicians were out on the streets to entertain the crowds. Most women had garlands of flowers on their heads, so Palta bought a cheap one from a street vendor and put it on. She looked pretty, and the garland seemed to make her a little happier. She grabbed my hand.

As we approached the Circus Maximus the crowds got even bigger. And that's where we saw the demonstration: a large, milling mass of people had gathered in the plaza outside the stadium and were shouting at a bunch of soldiers who stood in formation, shields raised, keeping the crowd from advancing any further. I could hear people chanting: "Tirelius non curat! Sacerdotes non curant! Affron pro pontifice!" Tirelius doesn't care! The priests don't care! Affron for pontifex! Occasionally someone threw a rock at a soldier, but he would fend it off with his shield without even flinching.

"Those soldiers are well trained," Palta remarked.

"Decius will claim he's doing all he can to stop the protestors," I said.

"But it's obvious he could do more, isn't it?"

"I suppose he could order the soldiers to attack the people. But he could claim to Tirelius that that would just make things worse."

"What if Tirelius doesn't come?"

"Decius was sure he'd come."

I realized that this idea gave her hope. If Tirelius didn't show up, then everything would be okay—for a while, anyway.

We circled around the protestors and soldiers and made our way to one of the entrances. From inside I could hear the roaring of the crowd and the blare of trumpets. I thought about gladiators fighting lions in ancient Rome; this wouldn't be like that, I was pretty sure. But people sure sounded excited.

Admission was free to the Games, and there was no such thing as reserved seats. You just pushed your way through the crowds into the stadium and tried to find a place to sit.

We walked along one of the long torch-lit tunnels, elbowing past people—some entering, some leaving, some just standing around and drinking cups of wine. Palta held onto my arm to keep us from getting separated. A couple of drunks tried to pinch her, and she spat out curses at them.

And then, finally, we were inside. The huge place was packed with cheering people. Out on the field a burly, long-haired man was winding up to throw the discus. He had a big chest and thickly muscled arms and legs. He twirled a couple of times and let the discus fly; it soared into the air and landed a long way down the field. But apparently it wasn't good enough; the man shook his head and turned away, and there were scattered boos from the crowd.

We climbed up into the stands, looking for empty spaces in the long concrete rows. There weren't any. We kept climbing, both of us sweating in the humid air. Finally we pushed our way into a row near the very top. I was right up against a fat guy in a stained robe who stank of body odor and garlic. We were so high up we could barely make out the athletes on the field.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" I asked Palta. "You know, sports events?"

She shook her head. "I have seen stadiums on Gaia, but they were always empty, ruined. No time for sports."

In the stands near the middle of the field I spotted several empty rows of seats covered by a purple canopy. And in the middle of the seats were three thrones. I pointed to them. "I bet that's where Tirelius and the rest of them will sit."

Palta nodded. "It is so far away. Will people even notice what happens?"

"Decius will make sure people find out."

"I can't see Affron and the others. Can you?"

I shook my head. "I'm sure they're over there somewhere."

Down on the field, more naked, burly men threw the discus. Before long I became bored. When would the chariot race start? When would Tirelius show up? Sweat poured down my body. Eventually the discus competition ended. There was a ceremony on the field, like in the Olympics. A bunch of trumpeters came out from beneath the stands and played. Someone on the field—it looked like a priest—put a laurel wreath on the victor's head. Then he ran around the track, waving to the crowd. People stood and cheered.

And then the discus throwers left the field, and the javelin throwers came out and started their contest. The fat guy next to me went off and came back in a few minutes with a cup of wine. He seemed to enjoy farting, and the smell was just about unbearable. Palta and I bought figs from a passing vendor. The sky became overcast; I felt a few drops of rain. The javelin competition seemed to last forever. The crowd didn't seem to mind. Maybe I had watched too much sports on TV, but I thought it was really boring. I wanted to see the chariot race. I wanted to see Tirelius start to crown the victor with a laurel wreath. Then I wanted to see him fall to the ground and start writhing in agony as the crowd gasped in horror.

I wanted to step into the portal and step out of it into Glanbury—back when I left it, if possible. Or whenever. I wanted my family, my friends, my school. I wanted to be a counselor-in-training. I wanted to go to high school. I wanted to eat Doritos.

Morning turned to afternoon. The javelin throwers finished, one of them was crowned with laurel, and then there was a spectacular interlude when dancers and gymnasts performed while a huge band played weird music. It was like a halftime show in a football game, except the music on Terra never sounded quite right to me—the harmonies didn't make sense, the melodies never seemed to go anywhere.

After that, men in pants and tunics came out to prepare the field for the chariot race. The crowd cheered and then became quiet. The men seemed to take forever. Palta and I bought bread and cheese. I went to pee, and it was hard to get back to my seat. People were sitting in the narrow aisles now and pushing to make room in the already cramped rows. All around the stands people were waving flags and banners.

And then, finally, the chariots appeared, emerging through a large opening in the stands, on the opposite side of the field from the seats with the purple canopy. The chariots themselves weren't much to look at, really—they were basically small wagons with open backs and platforms for the drivers to stand on, with a couple of wheels underneath them. But the four horses that pulled each chariot were gorgeous. The charioteers waved to the crowd as they came out. Unlike the other athletes, they weren't naked; each of them wore a different-colored tunic and a leather helmet. The crowd cheered for all of them.

"Do you have chariot races in your world?" Palta asked me.

"We used to, I guess." I told her a bit about horse racing, but I didn't know that much about it, and anyway, chariot racing looked like it was going to be much more exciting. The chariots made a slow circuit of the track. Then the drivers got down and took care of their horses for a while. A long while.

"Tirelius isn't going to come," Palta said suddenly. "They're waiting for him, and he isn't coming."

"He'll come," I replied. But what did I know?

We waited. The crowd was on its feet, but quiet. The rain was heavier now. "Rain means many deaths," the fat man next to me said. He seemed pretty excited by the idea.

Finally there was a stirring. The charioteers lined up their chariots on the track; soldiers marched out onto the field and made a double line extending to the purple-canopied seats. A half-dozen trumpeters played a fanfare. Then a bunch of people came out, walking in pairs. I guessed that they were Roman officials; I thought I saw Decius in his white robe in among them, and the crowd gave a loud cheer when he appeared.

They were followed by purple-robed viators, and that's when the booing started. And then, finally, a litter emerged, carried by six men. On the litter was an ornate chair, and on the ornate chair sat Tirelius. Even from this far away I recognized him.

Boos echoed around the stadium. "Tirelius non curat!" the fat man next to me shouted, waving his fist in the air. "Affronius pro pontifice!" someone behind us added.

The soldiers extended their right arms towards Tirelius as he passed.

Tirelius made a little gesture acknowledging them.

Just seeing him at a distance gave me a creepy, frightened feeling. This was the man who wanted to capture Palta and me and put us to death. I remembered his icy stare during Affron's trial. I wondered for the first time if he might have some kind of mental power like Affron's. What if he could sense our presence in the midst of the huge crowd? What if he could do something to us?

I shivered.

The litter-bearers lowered Tirelius and his chair in front of the far stands. All the other dignitaries were standing, waiting for him. The pontifex got off the chair and slowly walked up to the throne in the middle of the seats. The two vice-pontifexes sat on either side of him, as they had at Affron's trial. He sat, and then the dignitaries sat. The boos eventually subsided and turned to cheers as the charioteers got up onto their chariots and were strapped in. Someone with a megaphone started announcing stuff from the middle of the field. I couldn't hear any of it; the crowd was roaring now.

And then I guess there must have been a signal that I didn't notice, because suddenly the horses leapt forward, and the race began.

I've been to sports events before, but I never saw or felt anything like this. The crowd gave out one long, loud roar of noise; I was probably shouting myself. The chariots flew around the track, passing close to each other at a big wooden post on the turns as they tried to get the inside position. The lead went back and forth. Finally on the third or fourth lap two chariots collided. Their horses got all tangled up with each other in the mud, and I couldn't see what happened to the charioteers, although they had to have been seriously injured, if not killed. I expected the race to stop but it didn't—the remaining chariots just veered around the wreckage and kept going. The fat man next to me jumped up and down and screamed advice at the remaining charioteers.

I had no idea how long the race was supposed to last. Some kind of big pole in a corner of the track looked like it was keeping track of the laps, but I couldn't make any sense of it. Anyway, the crowd seemed to know exactly what was going on. After a while the charioteer in blue pulled away a bit from the others, and the stands shook with excitement as people urged him to go faster as the red guy started to catch up to him. There was another crash; more wreckage to swerve past. And the red guy was nearly up to the blue guy...

And then, suddenly, it was over.

The chariots that hadn't crashed slowed to a stop. The crowd kept roaring. The blue guy raised his arms in triumph; the red guy slumped over. People raced out onto the track to take care of the charioteers and horses from the crashes. The charioteers, covered with blood and mud, were carried off on stretchers; the crowd didn't seem to pay any attention to them.

"What do you think?" I asked Palta.

"I have never seen anything like it in my life," she replied.

Neither had I.

And now the moment was approaching. Affron was somewhere in the stands. He would be getting ready. He would wait until all eyes were on Tirelius. And then it would happen.

A few people were starting to leave, I noticed, but most were still in their seats. Torches had been lit on the field, and a platform had been wheeled out. It was raining harder now; I saw flashes of lightning in the distance.

The charioteers lined themselves up on the platform. The trumpeters played a fanfare. Tirelius and the two vice-pontifexes made their way slowly down from the stands, across the field, and up onto the platform.

The crowd started booing once again, although not as loudly as before. The fat man next to me looked like he was almost passed out. Maybe a lot of people were like that—there had just been too much excitement, too much wine consumed. Affron can't wait too long, I thought, if he wants to get a reaction from the crowd.

Tirelius and the other two old men were standing on the platform now. Someone had handed him the laurel crown. The charioteer in the blue tunic came up the steps and knelt before him.

Now, I thought. Now!

Tirelius bent over slowly and placed the crown on the charioteer's head. The crowd cheered. The charioteer rose and waved to the crowd. He stepped aside, as the vice-pontifexes and then Tirelius walked down the steps.

And that was all. It was over. And nothing had happened.

Palta was clutching my arm.

"He couldn't do it," she whispered.

I shook my head in disbelief.

"Perhaps now Valleia uses gant..." she said.

But no, Valleia wouldn't use the gant; no one would use the gant. It was over. Tirelius got back onto the chair, and the litter-bearers picked him up and carried him through the lines of saluting soldiers. I heard a few boos, but now everyone was too busy leaving before the thunderstorm arrived. The torches flickered in the rain. Tirelius disappeared into the tunnel, followed by the priests and the other officials. I supposed Decius was among them. And he would be furious.

I didn't move. I couldn't move. It was over, and with it my hope of ever returning home. The fat man staggered past us, along with everyone else in our row. It was dark now, except for the occasional flashes of lightning.

I couldn't imagine what would happen next. I didn't even want to think about it. Now Decius was our enemy, in addition to Tirelius. And what had happened to Affron? Was it that he couldn't use his power on Tirelius, or that he wouldn't?

Palta was still clutching my arm. She was worried about Affron, I knew—and maybe about me, I realized. And she had every reason to be worried about me.

"Come," she said. "There's nothing for us here."

She was right, but was there anything for us back at the house in Parioli? Or anywhere?

I stood up.

Palta took off her soggy wreath of flowers and flung it away, and then we went down the long set of steps past the few people remaining in the stands. I looked around for Affron and the others, but I didn't see them; I hadn't expected that I would. The passageway leading out of the Circus Maximus stank of pee and vomit. In the plaza outside no one was demonstrating; I just saw drunken fans waving blue flags and banners in the rain. A few wet and bored-looking soldiers remained to stare at the people streaming past.

We saw a flash of lightning and then heard a thunderclap close by.

"Gods are angry," Palta said. "The gods."

I didn't argue with her. I wondered what she had thought about gods back on Gaia. Did she blame them for everything that had gone wrong on her world? We started walking towards Parioli. But then Palta suddenly pulled me off the main street. "Where are we going?" I asked her.

"Nowhere," she replied.

And then we were running, as the thunderstorm raged. Running through the streets of Roma, past the crowds, past the drunken fans and the beggars and the prostitutes. Running nowhere, just because we had to do something. Because if we stopped, we'd have to think about what was going to happen tomorrow, and the day after that, and the rest of our lives.

Finally we paused in a long colonnade lit by a couple of torches, and we leaned back against a column, catching our breath as the thunderstorm raged. We were both soaked to the skin, but the night was warm, so it didn't feel so bad.

"I used to love being in places like this during a storm," Palta said, pushing her wet blond hair back off her forehead. "It would make me feel safe, even if the gods were angry. They weren't likely to be angry at me."

"Me too," I said. "My mother was terrified of thunderstorms. She was sure we'd be struck by lightning. She'd always want us to come inside and stay away from windows. But I liked being out on our porch, hearing the rain drumming on the roof."

Was terrified, I thought. Past tense. As if I was never going to see her again. As if she had ceased to exist somehow, with me here on Terra.

I think Palta saw something in my eyes as I talked about home, because suddenly she slid into my arms and kissed me, there in the colonnade. The kiss felt wonderful; she felt wonderful. For a brief moment I didn't want to be anywhere else but right there, in Palta's arms.

A laughing couple hurried past us, arms around each other, paying attention only to each other. A mangy dog slunk by on the street. Everything was dark; everything was wet.

The kiss ended, but Palta stayed in my arms.

"Maybe Affron will have another plan," Palta said.

"I don't think we can trust Affron to come up with a plan," I replied. "I don't think we can trust him to do anything."

A wagon with a canvas top rattled past and then stopped. Two men got out and came into the colonnade. A lightning bolt lit up the sky. I saw a pile of rubbish, an unpainted door. The men had long beards and colorful robes. Palta pulled in closer to me as the men approached.

"Pulchellus puella," one of the men murmured as they came nearer. Very pretty girl. Another lightning flash. He smiled and bowed. He was missing several teeth.

The other man muttered something to him in a foreign language.

The first man shrugged. "Me paenitet," he said to us. I'm sorry.

And then he grabbed Palta while the other man pulled me back, punched me in the face, and knocked me down. I hit my head hard against the cobblestones, and the man kicked me in the groin.

Palta screamed and kept screaming. I didn't see what happened next. By the time I had staggered to my feet, the wagon was disappearing in the distance, and Palta was gone.