Surrender to the Roman (4 page)

“That is a story for another day,” he understated. “Do you feel threatened by her?”

Lucia considered. “No. She keeps to herself, but Flora pushes her unnecessarily. You saw her in Dacia, then?”

“Yes.” But he’d never expected to see her again.

“She is a beautiful woman who has been kind to your daughter. And to your old mother.” Lucia rested a hand on his shoulder. “Consider these things when dealing with her.”

Marcus nodded, and Lucia passed Ademeni on her way from the kitchen. As she approached, he warned himself to be practical. She’d already tried to kill him once. And the way the woman had positioned herself between Callia and him was not without danger. Any kindnesses should not be taken at face value.

As she came into full view, Marcus struggled to hold on to his thoughts. Ademeni’s red dress and headscarf made her ivory skin glow, her midnight hair more lustrous. When his fingers itched to touch those long strands, he curled his hands into fists instead.

“You wished to see me,
dominus?
”

Marcus narrowed his gaze. Though her tone attempted to appease, her strict posture said otherwise. She wanted a fight, but only on her terms.

“Are you well?”

She offered a faint smile. “I am well.”

He circled her. “What do you teach my daughter?”

Looking straight ahead, she said, “I teach her Latin.”

“Perhaps you should help me become friends with her again.” He stopped behind Ademeni, admiring the curve of her neck. When he drew closer, she shivered.

“And you were last home…how many years ago?”

Her soft-spoken question speared his heart, and his defenses fell into place. “That matters little.”

“Such things always matter to a child.”

Marcus faced her again, scrutinizing her, hoping to find some flaw in her argument. In her skin. She held his gaze as if she knew of what she spoke. “That may be. It would not be wise to come between us.”

“Or what will happen?” She lifted her chin. “You’ll leave her again?”

“I did not ask for you.” His words slipped out before he weighed their force. She pulled her brows together, as if taken aback by the news.

She did not need long to recover. “So you would leave me in the care of your brute, Tertullian, to whatever end he chose?”

No. “He swore he harmed none on the road.”

She shook her head. “He is a liar. And what of those in his own house?” Her body tensed, ready to pounce.

She knew Tertullian had claimed her sister. A spark of danger lit the room. Marcus took a step backward. “I have no control of his house. I have control of my house.”

“It does not seem you have control of either,
dominus.
”

He paused. The gods mocked him. “I did not ask for you.”

“Yet here I am.”

He cut to the heart of the matter. “And you wish to kill me, to take your vengeance on my family?”

“You are my enemy.” Her bold gaze slid down his body, then upward again, where she met his eyes. She did not hide her disdain. “My father and brothers are dead, my family has been destroyed and my country is in your hands. Should I not wish to kill you?”

“Such are the fortunes of war.”

“So they are,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “For everyone.”

When he did not answer, she tilted her head in defiance. “Flora demands that I sleep at the foot of your bed.”

Marcus absorbed the shock of this revelation. “This is why you were in my room, stealing my knife?”

She stilled, but her breath came faster. “Do you believe I would ever offer myself to you?”

No, but the rising color in her cheeks said differently. “It is not my wish that you do so. Sleep in your own bed.”

Here he stood, arguing with a slave. And losing. He changed tactics, hoping to divert her attention. “You should go into the city, to the market, the baths. It’s not good for you to be here all day, every day. Flora says you refuse to leave.”

Eyes flashing, Ademeni answered, “She refuses to have me with her. She says I will disgrace her.”

“That will change, if you agree to go.”

Another moment passed before she nodded. “I will wear my own clothing. Flora insists my head be uncovered, but that is shameful to me.”

“So be it.” This was not wise, but she would learn on her own. Successful for the moment, he offered her something in return. “Lucia tells me that you have been kind to her. And to Callia.”

They stood toe to toe again. Marcus searched for the fine balance that would bring harmony to his house. Being in Rome was his duty—for now—and he needed home to be a place of refuge, so he could be most effective. “You have my gratitude.”

“Someone must care for them in your absence.”

Her barb hit his heart, guilt bubbling to the surface again. He had only one maneuver left to keep her in check.

“If you come between me and my family, I will sell you.” The edge of his words could have cut stone. “I will hand you to Tertullian…as he requested.”

She blanched, took a step backward. Marcus hated himself.

Her answer was barely audible. “I am at your mercy.”

Out of breath, Ademeni slowed her steps near the entrance to the place Flora called the Forum. The scent of robust wine and farm animals mingled with the masses on an early morning breeze, doing little to settle her uneasy stomach.

She’d never seen so much humanity crammed into one small area. A solid line of buildings defined the space. Hulking stone structures, temples, offices and baths shaded one side of the Forum. The lane stretched in a never-ending row of shops and apartments, braced by too many vendors’ carts to count.

The colors of the avenue stole Ademeni’s breath. Even the scandalous graffiti scrawled on the walls seemed to pulse with life. Regal columns dotted the thoroughfare, rising to the heavens on vivid streaks of red, blue and gold.

Winding queues of street vendors bartered with the mob, their chatter a constant buzz. The crowd moved like ocean waves, giving and taking as the citizens directed themselves toward separate goals. A solider held an occasional post along the route, and others weaved through the patrons to quell disputes before they started.

She expected to see Marcus every time they stopped. Ridiculous, of course, but she could not yet distinguish among the uniforms.

Ademeni avoided these men with their red capes and sheathed swords. They studied her with beady-eyed curiosity. Common sense told her to run back to the house. Coming with Flora had been a mistake. She hadn’t expected Marcus to send her so soon. She hadn’t thought him serious.

Palms sweating, she scurried closer to Flora, who refused to slow her step. They pushed into the swarm, weaving past the more ornate goods at the front before moving toward vendors of wheat, barley, wine and honey at the heart of the mall.

While they paused at each station, Ademeni regained some portion of her bearings, only to lose them again. Sweat trickled down her back, although the sun had not yet reached its highest point. Bodies pressed against her at every turn, their accidental touch souring her mood.

Flora handed Ademeni item after item until she ran out of hands with which to hold things. Barter flew between Flora and the storekeepers like flashes of lightning, so that Ademeni grew frustrated trying to keep up.

Worse than the bustle, Ademeni bore the stares of the women who paused to look at her, scrutinizing her appearance from head to toe, commenting to one another on her unusual attire. Flora averted her eyes, acting as if they had not come together.

Fresh resentment brewed in Ademeni’s heart. Although everything in the Forum was foreign to her, in truth, she was the most foreign thing within its borders. A princess no longer, not even in name. She’d lost everything but her style of dress.

Roman matrons jeered at her clothing, pointing to her headscarf and testing the fabric of her loose gown with their fingers. When she pulled away, they scoffed, the sound raking down her back like a whip.

Flora gave her no quarter, snapping her fingers when ready to move on. Ademeni wanted to flee, but one look at the maze of streets and she knew she wouldn’t get far on her own.

Curse Marcus for forcing her out of the house! He’d acted as though this excursion would be good for her. She’d been too proud to admit her fears lest he think she’d weakened, but she wondered if he’d sent her out just to be humiliated.

A sudden realization spread through her like a dose of slow, bitter medicine.

She must learn these places. For her own survival she had to be able to navigate the streets. To become familiar enough with Rome to leave it. The outing now took on new meaning. When she managed to extract revenge, she’d have but a few precious moments to escape.

Once she forced her panic to the back of her mind, she saw things with new eyes. Every strata of society mixed here, from the poor beggar and petty thief in the dust to the aristocrats who darted from their litters into the offices or baths lining each side of the avenue. Each had their usefulness.

While nothing looked familiar, everything looked the same, cities being similar in purpose. She had only to learn the new pattern of this particular place. The hum of business in the morning. The sigh of leisure in the afternoon. The frenzy of entertainment during special events.

“Come.” Flora snapped her fingers. “Stop gawking.”

Ademeni’s small triumph faded under renewed attack from suspicious women in the street who had gathered behind them as they moved from here to there. The general commotion of the market was broken by their hissing stream of gossip.

“She is one of them,” a young woman yelled into the crowd, her finger directing all eyes to Ademeni. “Look at her dress!”

Heat rose in Ademeni’s cheeks and the hair prickled on the back of her neck. She faced her accuser and saw only rage directed at her. She’d always been protected, sheltered, even. Now, she relied on Flora to fend off the venom cast her way. This would never do.

A stone hit her between the shoulder blades. As she turned her head, another grazed her cheek with its sharp edge. A third stone struck her hip. Stunned by this sudden turn, she stood frozen to the spot while stones and words were hurled.

“My husband died in Dacia!”

“On your knees, dog!”

“An eye for an eye!”

She gasped. They did not know to whom they spoke. Anger broke through fear and she straightened her spine to help raise her courage.

Just as she prepared to lash out, Flora gripped her arm and jerked her through the tightening knot of women. A soldier appeared beside them, knuckles white around the handle of his
gladius
.

Dodging him, they stumbled through the market. Emerging onto the street, Flora’s fingers dug in like talons around her wrist as she struggled to break free. “I told him you were not ready. I tell him, but he never listens—he’s too good a man to see. It’s too early, the widows are still angry and you insist on looking the part.”

Digging her heels into the road, Ademeni stopped and reclaimed her arm with a forceful yank. “Let me loose.”

Flora shook her head, chastising her. “You and your Dacian dress, your headscarf. You draw attention to yourself and wonder why they despise you.”

“I did not ask Rome to sack my city,” she sputtered, the cut on her cheek stinging. “I did not ask to be brought here. There are widows where I come from, and I pity them.”

The spark of anger in Flora faded, and for the first time, Ademeni saw a kinder spirit. “No one asks Rome to come, child. That is true enough. Can you not see that you are outnumbered? Roman widows matter in Rome.”

The gentle words hurt more than if Flora had beaten her with a switch. Ademeni glanced over her shoulder at the market. These people cared little about what had happened in Dacia, except that their husbands, sons, brothers and lovers had perished. She was their natural enemy and had insulted them by insisting on her own ways.

Her eyes widened as her heart strained to accept this change in thinking. She had done this to herself, by being herself. If they knew of her stature in the royal family, she would never escape with her life. She bowed her head and moved toward the road, pushing the fresh fear just revealed to her under the surface, where it bubbled.

“I see that you understand,” Flora said, heaving a sigh. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do. You’d do well to bear that in mind.”

* * *

Marcus drew his hand across his freshly-shaved jaw. Once the house had emptied this morning, he’d put on new clothing and delayed going to the barracks.

He took a bite of bread and fruit from the kitchen before making his rounds. The house appeared to be in decent repair. Flora would never allow one stone to fall atop another, although the gardens had gotten the better of her. Business had been well handled in his absence.

He sighed, as that business now included more than the house. He had spoken to Flora about being kinder to Ademeni, to give her some time to adjust to a new life. She’d listened, but given no indication of how she’d respond. To a lifelong slave his behavior toward Ademeni must seem more than puzzling.

In fact, he’d vexed himself.

At least they’d gone to the Forum to shop this morning.

As he neared the front entrance, his gut clenched around bittersweet memories. Julia had decorated the atrium, calling in a local artist of some renown to paint the frescoes on either side of the room. The sea-themed mosaic on the wall facing the door had taken weeks, or so she’d told him, since he had been away at the time.

Even in the hazy morning light, their spirited colors should have cheered him. One painting reflected the history of Rome, the story of the empire, from the founding through the first Caesar. On the opposite wall a vivid picture of the afterlife, to which Julia had traveled before him, displayed the hope and beauty of life after death.

Sifting through the shadows of Julia’s life, Marcus entered the first room off the right side of the atrium, where the household altar waited. He saw signs of use and surmised that in his absence Lucia had kept the daily rituals.

He sparked the incense and left an offering of grapes. On his knees, he recited short blessings for the gift of food and the safety of those who lived in his home. Lastly, he venerated his ancestors, in order of their death.

With the last breath of his prayer, his gaze strayed to the carved likeness of Julia that stared at him from above the altar, for she had been the last of his kin to depart the earth.

A twinge of regret forced his eyes closed. How memories thinned with time. Five years after her death and he’d barely known her. Their time together had been too brief, the marriage arranged with little courtship and too much fanfare, consummated only days before he’d been posted to Dacia the first time.

They had been strangers in life and in death.

As he finished his rusty incantations, the heavy door creaked open then thundered shut. The shuffle of feet passed—Flora and Ademeni returning from the Forum.

His pulse quickened. Gods save him, he’d enjoyed sparring with Ademeni. Tertullian would have broken her over his knee like a twig and taken great pride in the accomplishment. He’d expected Marcus to feel the same way. Marcus had expected to feel the same way.

Had it not been this particular woman, he might have.

A woman’s voice cried, “Leave me alone.”

He pushed himself to his feet. The argument outside meant only one thing. He shouldn’t have sent Ademeni into the city so soon, at least not with Flora.

Parting the curtain, he peered across the courtyard as he walked toward them. Flora and Ademeni, in her sky-blue dress and scarf, bickered beside the pool. Voices rose. When Flora reared back to slap her, Marcus moved quickly.

He stayed Flora’s hand, just in time. “What’s the trouble?”

Ademeni whirled from him and stalked to the pool, her hands cradling her face. Flora stared at him, her jaw slack. Then she shook her head and left him to deal with Ademeni.

“Turn around.” His throat tightened as tense moments passed.

Ademeni dragged in a deep breath, then pivoted, still cupping her cheeks. When he reached to pull her hands away, her eyes flared, and she dropped her cover before he could touch her.

“See what your city has done to me?” she accused.

A nasty gash marred the left side of her face, and his mood soured at the sight of blood. “What happened?”

Her voice rose. “I was nearly stoned to death. Are you happy now?”

Stoned? In the Forum? “Let me see—”

She shoved his hands away, and he peered around her defenses to get a better look. His pulse stuttered. Besides the angry knick on her cheekbone, tears glittered along her eyelashes. He willed himself not to see them, not to let them matter.

Blinking them away, she muttered, “I can fend for myself.”

“So I see,” he said, fighting the urge to tuck the wayward strands of hair behind her ears.

Not sensing his shifting moods, she raised her head and glared, forcing him back a step. “You mock me. Your people throw stones and you laugh. Your widows are no better than common dogs.”

He frowned. “I shouldn’t have sent you. You weren’t prepared.”

If Ademeni had an argument, she kept her thoughts to herself. She raised shaky fingers to the cut, then her stormy eyes to his.

Marcus tried again. “Let me help you.”

“I’d rather rot.” She turned her back to him.

He waited a long moment before trying again. “Come with me. This is not a request.”

She bowed her head. “As you wish.”

To his relief, she stopped fighting and followed him to the kitchen, where he took a cloth and wet it in the warm water by the hearth. “Sit.”

She obeyed, leaning her head back and to the side. When he dabbed the gash, she flinched. He released a held breath, steadied her by the chin and continued.

“Will it leave a mark?” she asked.

He smiled. She sounded like a princess.

“I doubt it,” he said. He’d seen much worse. “Your clothing makes you an easy target.”

“So Flora tells me.”

“Is it not true?” he asked.

Her back went rigid, but she gave a slight nod.

Marcus made no further comment. Better that she reached these conclusions on her own. His hand trembled as he continued to clean the wound, enjoying the contact far more than he ought. Imagining her in more appropriate—and revealing—garments did nothing to aid his concentration.

Ademeni turned wide eyes on him, lowering her voice. “Do you care for all your property this way,
dominus?
”

Jupiter might as well have thrown a lightning bolt at him. His nerves sizzled at her small step over the unseen line of decorum. She tested him. For even when she’d sneaked into his room and attempted to steal his weapon, she’d not purposely tempted him with her body.

His pulse quickened, yet he also sensed a trap. He tempered his response. “I want nothing but good health and happiness in my home.”

She slid her gaze from his. “At least you will have good health—for a time.”

* * *

Ademeni eyed the party from the kitchen. Marcus, Lucia and a handful of soldiers recently returned from Dacia reclined on couches and drank from large goblets.