Surrender to the Roman (5 page)

For her safety, Marcus suggested she not come outside.

Flora had delivered angry stares all night. The older slave thought Marcus favored Ademeni, or pitied her, and that she was not worthy of his attention either way. Women were easier to read than men. More spiteful, as well.

She stepped aside while Flora returned with an empty pitcher and set it on the table with a thud. “You can start cleaning this kitchen at any time.”

So this was her life. Hiding in the shadows from the world that Rome built. Working side by side with a woman who detested her, mothering a child who had an absent father.

And being mothered by a woman who had lost her only daughter. On the morrow, Lucia wanted to take her to buy fabric for new clothing. As if slaves in Rome wore anything as luxurious as the garments she’d be forced to leave behind. She humored Lucia all the same, as she saw nothing wrong with taking advantage of her kindness.

Laughter drifted into the stifling kitchen, and she dragged an arm across her forehead. There would be a hundred more evenings like this, with strangers in the house, and she needed to learn how to endure the long nights of service.

Father had always spoken of knowing the enemy better than they knew themselves. She needed to look at every excruciating moment as a chance to learn about these strange people.

From the courtyard, she picked out the voice of Marcus Cordovis, the great general holding court with his troops. She thought it unusual that he didn’t boast in his accomplishments, as most men found need to do. His men adored him as though he were one of their many gods, and the women followed his every fluid move with doe eyes filled with bold lust.

She did not blame them. He commanded attention. Standing a head taller than the others, his shoulders seemed that much wider, his chest that much broader. When he’d ministered over her cut today, he’d nearly blotted out the sun.

Larger than life, as if he could keep her safe.
May the gods curse him for his kindness.
And her, for accepting it. She didn’t wish to see him in this way.

She wanted only to defeat him, so he must remain a monster. If only he were deformed, or ugly. So far, her only leverage was the affection and questionable loyalty of a five-year-old girl.

Or was it?

Marcus stood, his shadow long in a shaft of dying sunlight that turned his tousled hair the color of burnished copper pots. Pausing, his cup lifted high in a toast, he seemed to pluck her out of the shadows and pin her with his gaze.

Her skin prickled, and she rubbed her arms for warmth, unable to tear her eyes from his. The uninvited flare of attraction ignited like a bonfire, and she doused it at once with the memory of her brother’s death.

Yet…could she use this dangerous tool?

Of course she could. A tiny voice whispered that she needed to change how she played this game. The stakes ran too high for her to play like a petulant child. She should play like a woman.

No match for his strength, she’d have to outwit him. This kind of game took patience and planning, two virtues she’d abandoned on the hard road to Rome.

She would sit still, be silent and learn both the city and this man. Strengths, weaknesses, everything she could pry from the tight lips of Flora and the more willing spirit of Lucia. The deceased lady of the house might prove to be a key to unlocking Marcus Cordovis.

A small smile bloomed on Ademeni’s lips, and in the distance, Marcus smiled back. The playing field had shifted. She would be the most enterprising and attentive slave he’d ever known.

Traveling to the Forum with Lucia proved far less traumatic to Ademeni than her earlier trip with Flora. Lucia seemed to intuit her way through the winding streets and dark alleyways, where Flora had battled the tide.

These lesser-known pathways would help Ademeni’s chances of escape. She carefully memorized landmarks along the way. This statue, that fountain.

They encountered a larger population of armed soldiers than before, and Ademeni noted their positions in the street. She shied away from them, lowering her head and ducking behind Lucia at every other step to escape unwanted attention.

The older woman laid a firm hand on her arm, misreading her intentions. “Do not worry about those men. They answer to Marcus. You need only say his name should they bother you.”

Had he so much power that he could affect her life even when she ventured outside his line of sight? She added this piece to her evolving picture of Marcus Cordovis. If each of these men answered to him, they were more dangerous than she’d surmised.

“Come, this way…” Lucia slipped up a set of broad steps, and paused under the shade of a high portico. From the wide doorway, a rotund woman greeted her with an embrace.

“It’s been too long, Lucia Antonina. You honor us today. What is your pleasure?”

Reaching behind, Lucia pulled Ademeni to the fore and presented her to the textile vendor. “We need some fabric for a new
stola
or two, and a
palla
, for the colder days.”

“Fine, fine…such a beautiful girl needs beautiful garments.” The suspicious shopkeeper looked her up and down, lingering on her face, on the cut healing below her eye.

Ademeni held her breath, knowing that what Lucia did not say was more important than what came out of her mouth. She did not mention that the “beautiful girl” was a slave. Ademeni had to wonder about the matron’s stake in a slave’s life.

Ademeni turned her head, embarrassed to be the center of attention, and tried to remember how they’d arrived on these steps.

“How is your granddaughter?” the vendor asked while Lucia browsed the fabric.

“Charming. And so smart.”

“Like her mother.”

Ademeni snapped to attention. So far, she’d been unable to decipher any of the mystery surrounding Julia’s life and death. Only that she had died too young.

“She was but a babe the last time I saw her. So sad, to be separated from her mother by such cruel fate.”

“She is blessed not to remember.” Lucia nodded, a slight frown marring her otherwise radiant complexion. “I would have given this young woman Julia’s things, but she is so much taller, and the fashions have changed.”

Ademeni blanched. Julia’s clothing should never be given to a slave. Certainly no Roman slave would wear such garments. She considered why Lucia would be so generous to a stranger—to an enemy. Kindness often had a price.

“These are from India and have a sturdy weave.”

Redirected, they quickly chose, measured and cut fabrics. Once the price had been settled, Lucia bundled the goods for Ademeni to carry, and they left the cool shade of the shop for the rising heat of midmorning.

“One more stop before we go home.” Lucia smiled. “If you don’t mind?”

Further puzzled, Ademeni answered, “You need not ask.”

Lucia nodded and pointed across the avenue. “The great temple of Venus.”

The high steps of the shop gave Ademeni a natural vantage point from which she scouted the city. The temple was the tallest point on the Via Sacra, with even more stairs and a platform that gave way to freestanding columns and a gabled roof. The grandeur stole her breath.

“What god is this?”

“Goddess of women.” Lucia started down the stairs. “Men have so many temples. Even generals build temples to thank the gods for their success. This belongs to us.”

The way Lucia included her made Ademeni anxious. She did not belong in a temple for Roman women, worshiping their goddess. When they reached the ascent of the temple, she lagged behind, the scent of incense growing stronger.

“Does Marcus Cordovis have his own temple?” she asked, studying the city from the highest point yet.

“Not yet. I won’t be long.” Lucia nodded and smiled, then disappeared to worship in whatever manner Romans worshiped.

Despite the direct sunlight, Ademeni shivered. Vivid memories of the Dacian temples and their bloody rituals assaulted her. All of that sacrifice, and they’d still been defeated.

Roman gods of war clearly held more power, and she felt safer within range of what must be a more peaceful place. Women might come here to pray for their families, or for their households.

Or for love.

Perhaps Lucia prayed for Marcus to find a new wife. That could not be the reason behind her kindness and generosity. Ademeni bit the inside of her cheek. If Lucia wanted a new wife for Marcus, Ademeni would never be the first choice. A lover instead? If her hunch proved correct, she could use the goddess and what she represented against her foe.

She eased down one step, then another. She’d made it to the halfway point when a man stepped in front of her. The large, surly soldier glared at her. “Your papers?”

Her tongue felt too thick to talk, so she stammered, “Wh-what?”

“She is with me.” Lucia appeared by her side. “Let’s be on our way before the sun burns us alive.”

Taking her by the arm, Lucia skirted the swelling crowd. If she noticed that Ademeni had almost disappeared, she did not mention it.

All the way home, Ademeni made mental notes of landmarks, prayed that Lucia would not mention her wanderings to Marcus and wondered what Lucia might have been praying for inside the temple of Venus.

* * *

Marcus tossed the quill onto the camp table and rubbed his eyes. Orders and more orders, each requiring his signature. Enough to blind a man.

Tertullian strolled into the barracks but offered no salute to his superior officer. “Is everything perfect for Trajan’s victorious arrival?”

Marcus narrowed his gaze. “Did you resign your post?”

With a show of reluctance, Tertullian straightened and offered a passable salute. “Better?”

“Not by half. Trajan will return when we least expect him. You’d do well to stay sharp.” Marcus eyed his brother-in-law. He appealed to Tertullian’s sense of loyalty. “He needs to be reminded of who his best soldiers are.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“What brings you here so late in the day?”

“My wife sends me.”

Marcus chuckled, imagining his sister ordering her husband back onto the street at dusk. “And what does the lovely Drusilla require of her brother?”

“She says—” Tertullian cleared his throat, “—that since you have not yet honored her house with your presence, that she—and by that I mean she and I—humbly accept your invitation to dine at your house tomorrow evening.”

Marcus stopped short. “My invitation?”

Tertullian raised his eyebrows. “You have avoided coming to visit at every turn. She’s beginning to think you don’t love her anymore. Her words.”

He had avoided Tertullian. Marcus ran a hand over his face. A triumphal entry didn’t happen by accident. He had a sea of details to wade through. “Send my apologies, but tomorrow is not good.”

“You’ve made my house miserable by your absence, Marcus. She wants to see you.”

He doubted his avoidance had much to do with Tertullian’s home being unlivable. “Can you buy me a day?”

“You’re sending me back to tell her no?”

“It’s not ‘no.’ It’s the next day—bring her to my house then.”

“You know what she’s like.”

Marcus leveled a pointed glare at his second. “You know what I’m like.”

“I do. And I from what I hear, you’re in dire need of some relief.”

The insinuation raised the hair on the back of Marcus’s neck and delivered images of Ademeni that he’d managed to keep under lock and key most of the day. “You’re out of line.”

“You still haven’t taken her.” Tertullian smirked and rounded the corner of the table. “Her sister has proven to be prime entertainment.”

“You’ll do well to remember your place.”

Backing up a step, Tertullian wiped the wolfish grin from his face. “Has she bewitched you with some foreign spell, or are you still too tired from the campaign to take your spoils?”

Blood boiling, Marcus reined in his anger lest anyone overhear them. “I recommend you go back to your miserable home and your lovely wife.”

“And I recommend you break your slave before she breaks you.” Face flushed, Tertullian whirled, his parting shot echoing long after he’d left.

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, at the end of his tether and thankfully, the end of his day. Now, he had to go home and announce guests for the next night. No one would understand his trepidation.

Except Ademeni, who might attempt to rip out Tertullian’s beating heart with her bare hands. He might just let her.

They could prepare for the dinner without knowing the evening’s guests. No sense in making trouble before it walked through the door.

He gathered his things and headed into the evening. Maybe he could pry Callia from Ademeni after dinner and let her laughter soften the edges of his harsh day.

* * *

Ademeni stepped out of the bath and dried herself, eyes keen on the heavy woolen curtain. She hadn’t much time to prepare.

Wrapping the rough towel around her body, she glanced at the rose-colored tunic draped across a stool in the corner of the room. She and Flora had sewn for two days under the watchful direction of Lucia.

“What are you waiting for?” Flora’s voice burst through Ademeni’s fog from the other side of the courtyard. “Hurry!”

Slipping the long linen
stola
over her head, she quickly followed with the light wool dress. The weight of the material felt like a spider web against her body. Extra fabric at the shoulders draped across her upper arms, yet she still felt uncovered, especially without the headscarf all unmarried women wore in Dacia.

She would give these things up for a time on the hope of reversing her fortune.

“Flora!” She stuck her face outside the curtain and spotted the slave lighting the sconces.

Lucia turned the corner. “What is it?”

“Is this right?” Ademeni asked, revealing herself for inspection. “Well?”

The graying woman smiled. “Wait here, child.”

The curtain dropped, and Ademeni tested her patience. Just as she was about to venture out, Lucia returned with two large, shell-encrusted pins. “These bunch your sleeves. Like so, see?”

Unexpected tears scorched Ademeni’s eyes. She and Lilah had used to dress and groom one another. She’d hated the useless preening. Now, she missed the moments of companionship she’d taken for granted. Putting away the last visible vestiges of Dacia did little to ease her anxiety.

Lucia paused at the show of emotion. Then Flora appeared, one eyebrow arched in appraisal. “You don’t need a belt. Your waist is small enough.”

The iron bell at the front of the house clanged. Ademeni started, hating each night more than the last.

“No time to wait,” Flora coached. “Take the bowl.”

The clipped instructions sounded easy enough. Ademeni had paid attention to their training, and her skills had improved enough to let her go unnoticed.

A man’s flinty greeting echoed off the atrium walls. She froze, the bowl heavy as lead in her hands. She could never forget that awful voice.

Tertullian, among others, had arrived with much fanfare.

No wonder Marcus had been so vague about his guests when Flora had inquired. He’d been worried about what Ademeni might do if she had time to plan. And rightly so.

Rage built a protective ring of fire around her heart, blinding her to the possible dangers of lashing out. A deep breath provided an eerie calm that steadied her steps and chased the tremble from her hands as she met the guests near the edge of the courtyard.

Couches had been brought out into the purple-streaked evening. She averted her eyes as each guest, six in all, washed their hands in a silver bowl, then reclined into their seats.

From their sandals, Ademeni deduced they were an uneven mix of men and women—four men, all from the legion, and the wives of two, she guessed. Stepping into the shadows, she set the bowl aside and glanced around the courtyard for Flora’s direction.

The older woman stood near the doorway, beside Tertullian, engaged in quiet conversation, as if they knew each other well. With a quick nod, he gestured toward a figure lingering behind.

Ademeni’s gaze landed on a young woman dressed in an extravagant red tunic, head bowed, as she stepped into the light. Stacks of copper bracelets jangled on her wrists, and the cut of her clothing seemed indecent, open along the sleeve and again at the waist.

As Ademeni met Tertullian’s eyes, the woman behind him raised her painted face as well.

Ademeni gasped.
Lilah.

A wicked smile played at the corners of Tertullian’s mouth as he spoke to Flora. What kind of monster paraded his depravity in front of family?

“There you are, dear brother.” Feminine laughter broke the tension. Greetings went up from the guests as Marcus made his entrance.

Dressed in a short, loosely belted white tunic, he took a slow turn around the pool to greet each of his visitors, starting with his sister.

Drusilla’s beauty stood out among the guests. Long, henna-dyed hair twisted back from an open, oval face. Familiar green eyes sparkled as she smiled, accenting a set of deep dimples in her rouged cheeks.

When Marcus pressed an affectionate kiss against Drusilla’s upturned face, an unbidden flush washed over Ademeni. Her skin tingled, and she averted her eyes, focusing instead on her own sister.

“You look rested, you old war dog.” Tertullian embraced Marcus. “Orders arrived after you left the barracks. I thought you might need to see after some business.”

A packet of papers passed between them, but Marcus only nodded and put them away.

Fresh dread washed over Ademeni. Marcus would make war again, either because he enjoyed such things or because his loyalty lay with the mad emperor, Trajan. Conquest never ended.