by Mira Zamin
* * *
As Avaritus disappeared, Olympia discreetly dismissed the attendant. The poor man did not need to witness this. He gave Olympia an unspeakably thankful look as he departed.
“Olympia, what should we do? What if that bastard is right?” Lucretius snarled while pacing the room. His toga whipped violently around his legs as if absorbing its wearer’s anger. “Help me think, Wife.”
She smiled at her husband, newly glowing. Her smile quickly dimmed. “We have raised our daughter well. She would not do a thing like that. Now, sit down beside me,” she said comfortingly, patting a spot on the sofa. “We must trust her.”
Lowering himself onto the creamy-colored couch, Lucretius affectionately stroked his wife’s back. “As you say, my heart of hearts. How should we handle this?” He scrubbed a hand through his black hair. “It is one thing entirely to run a province, but when the issues come so near to your heart…” Here, he touched his heart. “I cannot think clearly.”
“If she has done something, she will come to us of her own will,” Olympia told him confidently, standing to pour Lucretius a goblet of wine. The yeasty scent, usually barely discernible, made her somewhat queasy. “Besides, the crew of the ship spend their nights at inns or on the ship, and our guards would have surely reported if someone had gone to Calista’s room, or if she had left the villa. Especially at night. They would have stopped her from leaving. They are our guards after all. And,” she added, “you know no one passes through the gates at night without Cornelius’ knowledge.”
“Even so, we should ask the guards and Cornelius,” Lucretius decided, taking a deep draught of the fragrant wine. “She is, after all, quite clever. If there were any possible way for her to escape without detection, I have no doubt she has the ability to discover it. We must be completely thorough in our investigation.”
“I concur,” Olympia agreed, melting into his embrace. “I cannot think what Avaritus meant by telling us this. He still means to marry her, I am sure.”
Lucretius’ expression darkened. “If she continues to behave like this even that will not be certain,” he said ominously.
