by Tanya Bird
He touched a hand to her back, guiding her around a group of old men stopped in the middle of the street. ‘I’m not mad. Though I could’ve done with the coin.’
‘Is Nerva not paying you?’
Her sarcasm was always delivered with such sweetness that most people missed it. Not him. ‘He’s paying me.’
She shook her head.
‘What?’
‘Men.’
‘Men?’
She stepped around a puddle of water, bumping him lightly. ‘You are always chasing more. Why not be happy with what you have?’
‘Because more is better, and every sensible man knows you should have a second source of income, a backup plan.’
She brushed hair from her eye. ‘It is called family. That is your backup plan.’
‘Rely on others’ generosity? That’s your advice?’ He checked behind them, then the windows above.
‘Stop,’ she said.
‘Stop what?’
‘Waiting for the sky to fall on us.’ She nudged him. ‘Enjoy the walk instead of preparing for certain death.’
She was right. He was waiting for the heavens to come down on them. It was a habit formed in his early years when he lived on the streets, when the only name he went by was Rat. There was always someone coming for him in those days—usually because he had stolen something.
They reached the bottom of the hill that led to the Papias house. Dulcia lived there with her mother and her father’s legitimate family. The two sisters were the worst-kept secret in Rome. Even the lady of the house, Aquila Papias, had given up trying to deny their blood relation. Rufus’s ongoing affair with Dulcia’s mother was the second worst-kept secret in Rome.
The pair climbed the hill in silence, stopping a few doors down. He turned to look at her properly. She was staring at the bloodstain on his tunic. Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he forced her gaze up.
‘If you faint, I’ll have to leave you on the doorstep, because they won’t let me inside.’
Her eyes creased at the corners. ‘I had better not give them another reason to be rid of me.’
His hand fell away. ‘What do you mean another reason?’
She focused on the blood spot once more, twisting the bronze band on her middle finger, the one he had won in a fight two years earlier and gifted her.
‘I heard Aquila telling my mother it was time I married.’
His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Aquila wishes you married?’
‘She wishes me out of the house. Marriage solves that problem, I suppose.’ She pressed her lips together before continuing. ‘There is no reason for me to remain unmarried. Even Licinia has pointed out the fact a number of times.’
He rested his free hand on his hip to stop it from balling into a fist. In his other was her basket. ‘You’re taking marriage advice from a priestess?’
‘She serves Vesta. What better person is there to take advice from?’
He shrugged, his gaze sweeping the street once more. ‘A person who knows you.’
She laughed, putting all her brilliant teeth on display. ‘Like you?’ A hand went to her stomach. ‘Why did I not think of that?’
‘My advice—’
‘Do tell.’
‘Is wait. There’s no rush.’
She let out a noisy breath. ‘I cannot share a room with my mother forever.’ Her eyes searched his, still light from laughter.
‘You also can’t marry the first man who asks.’
She tilted her head. ‘But he will not be the first.’ The light vanished. ‘He will be the third.’
His hand slipped from his hip as he stared at her, waiting for her to tell him she was joking. ‘The third?’ Another long pause. ‘Why have you never mentioned this before?’
She looked away. ‘You want to hear about a man I am not going to marry?’
‘Two men.’
‘Both of whom I am not going to marry.’ There was a hint of exasperation in her tone.
He felt something that could only be jealousy based on how hard it hit his gut. ‘So… you just told them no?’
‘Rufus told them no.’ She was watching his face carefully. ‘The decision is his.’
‘Thank the gods he saw sense.’
‘He seems to think I can do better.’
‘He’s right.’
There was amusement in her eyes. ‘You never even met them.’
‘And yet I already know you can do better.’ He searched the streets again. What in heaven’s name was he looking for? Potential suitors preparing to leap out and ask for Dulcia’s hand, perhaps.
He took a step back from her and ran a finger down his nose. ‘You should go inside.’
She nodded but did not move. ‘Thank you for walking me home.’
He met her gaze once more. ‘I don’t have a choice. You’re easy prey.’
There was that hint of a smile again. She closed the distance between them, her hand going to his forehead and her brow creasing with worry. Gentle fingers brushed either side of the wound. He did not push her away that time.
‘It’s just a scratch,’ he reassured her. He was waiting for her to turn and rush up the steps, like she always did.
She took the basket from him. ‘Will you be at the Trigarium tomorrow? I could visit there after I pray.’
He looked past her to the house. ‘By yourself?’
She suppressed another smile. ‘Yes, as is my right as a freed person.’
He shook his head, realising he was not going to win that argument. His first instinct was to say no, because the charioteers and grooms had a tendency to look at her like she was a prime cut of pork. But she enjoyed seeing the horses, and if he said no, he would not see her at all. ‘We can go down to the river when I’m done.’
The light returned to her eyes. ‘We are too old to climb trees.’
‘That’s something an old married woman would say.’
She could not stop the smile that time. ‘I trust you will behave yourself tonight. No fighting.’
‘No time. A quick drink at the tavern, and then it’s home to work on my poetry.’
Her gaze fell to his grin, then away. His dislike of poetry, and her love of it, was a constant source of amusement between them.
‘Good day, Nero.’
He watched her leave, the basket swinging in her hand. ‘Good day.’
Chapter 2
Dulcia snatched her palla off the bed and pulled back the curtain. She gasped when she almost collided with her mother. Tertia reached out to steady her.
‘Where are you going in such a rush?’
‘I told you last night. Prayer, then to the Trigarium.’
Her mother’s face creased with disapproval. ‘To see Nero?’
Dulcia tried to step around her. She was late thanks to Aquila changing the evening menu, resulting in a second trip to the market. Then she had been forced to endure Germana’s foul mood as she slammed ingredients on the bench and ranted to herself. The woman really should have retired, but Aquila did not want to go through the hassle of replacing her. Apparently Dulcia was not a viable option, despite having cooked for the family since she was seven years old. ‘I am allowed to socialise,’ she reminded her mother. ‘My work is done.’
Tertia kept hold of her arms. ‘I encourage you to socialise, but do you not have other friends?’
Dulcia stopped trying to squirm free. ‘I do not need other friends. I like the ones I have.’
‘A priestess and a groom?’ Tertia exhaled. Aquila had been working her hard also, and she looked exhausted. ‘What about appropriate friends?’
She tried again to break free of her mother’s grip, that time succeeding. ‘I have to go. I am late.’
Her mother’s gaze fell to the carrots she was carrying. ‘Please tell me that is not your offering to Vesta.’
Dulcia looked down, then back at her mother. ‘An offering for the horses.’
Tertia rubbed her forehead, then waved her daughter off
. ‘Be back before dinner or Aquila will make life unbearable for both of us.’
Dulcia was already walking off, rolling her feet in a way that made her footsteps soundless. She paused at the atrium to ensure it was not occupied, then hurried off in the direction of the front door.
‘Dulcia, is that you?’
Aquila’s voice stopped her. She groaned inwardly before turning, her expression neutral, trying to cover the carrots with her palla as she did so. ‘Yes, Era?’
Her domina’s painted face was hard-set, her mouth pinched.
‘I need you to run some errands for me.’ She touched a hand to her freshly done hair. ‘Do I need to write you a list, or do you think, just once, you can keep everything in that simple head of yours?’
Dulcia’s eyes went to her feet. Aquila had a way of making her feel like the awkward slave girl of her youth. It would always be that way. Her domina did not care if there was a piece of paper that stated she was free. Her house, her rules. And Dulcia’s endless humiliation. ‘I will remember, Era.’
Aquila drew a long breath, then released it. ‘You know, these tasks are too important to rely on your memory. I suppose I shall have to write it down after all.’ She went to turn, then stopped when she spotted the end of a carrot poking out of Dulcia’s palla. ‘What is that?’
Here we go. ‘Carrots, Era.’
Aquila’s eyes trailed up to meet hers. ‘Yes, I see that. What are they for?’
Any attempt to lie would only be punished. ‘I had planned to take them as a treat to Nerva’s horses.’
If she thought Aquila’s mouth could not tighten any further, she was wrong.
‘To my son’s horses?’
That was her way of laying claim to the man Dulcia dared to call brother out of earshot.
‘Yes, Era.’
Aquila jutted her chin. ‘You can put those back in the kitchen. The only places you will be visiting this afternoon are the ones on my list. Understood?’
Dulcia bowed her head. ‘Yes, Era.’
Both Nero and the horses would have to wait.
The following afternoon, Dulcia finally made it out of the house. First, she took some bread to the Temple of Vesta, lingering on the steps until Licinia was able to come see her. The priestess dusted her offering with mola salsa, a special flour made by the vestal virgins for that purpose, then sat on the steps.
The girls had met at age thirteen, a few months after Mila had left to go to India. Dulcia had visited every temple in the city, trying to fill the void of her sister’s absence with prayer. She had spotted Licinia feeding a stray dog by the fountain, where the vestals collected water, and had been immediately intrigued by the young girl in white robes. Licinia had looked up from the animal, and Dulcia had seen her own loneliness mirrored back at her. It was by no means a conventional friendship, but a few stolen moments here and there had sustained them for years.
‘Are you going to watch the horses?’ Licinia asked.
Dulcia nodded. ‘I was supposed to go yesterday, but Aquila was determined to keep me busy.’
Licinia appeared to mull that over for a moment. ‘She continues to have difficulty adjusting to your freedom.’
‘Yes, it has been a tough few years for her.’
Her sarcasm was not lost on Licinia, who smiled down at her lap. ‘You are a constant reminder of her husband’s sins. Perhaps it is time to leave the household.’
‘And go where?’
Licinia looked up and watched the passers-by for a moment before replying. ‘You could find a husband.’
Dulcia shook her head. ‘It appears to be a popular topic at the moment. I was just discussing it with Nero a few days back.’
‘You were speaking to Nero about marriage?’ There was a coyness in the priestess’s tone.
‘He was not offering, if that is what you are getting at.’
Licinia sighed. While she would never admit it, she was a romantic at heart. ‘He is probably too afraid of rejection.’
Dulcia laughed. ‘Nero is afraid of nothing. He has not asked because he sees me only as a friend or a sister.’
‘Do you actually believe that?’
‘He is family.’
‘He is besotted.’
Dulcia’s cheeks coloured. ‘I think the fire in the temple needs stoking.’
Licinia suppressed a smile and stood. ‘Let us pray Vesta shares your sense of humour.’ She adjusted her robes. ‘Are you not going to thank me for my counsel?’
‘Is that what that was?’
The priestess glanced behind them, ensuring no one was listening. Clearing her throat, she tried to muster a more neutral expression. ‘Ask Nero what he feels. Perhaps he needs encouragement.’
Just the thought of that conversation made Dulcia’s stomach knot. ‘And get laughed at?’ She bowed her head for the sake of anyone watching them. ‘Thank you for your counsel.’
Licinia’s eyes shone at her. ‘May Vesta watch over you.’
Turning, Dulcia hurried off down the steps.
Nero checked that the horses were behind the line drawn in the dirt. When he beat Manius Liberia, he did not want to be accused of cheating.
He glanced across at the spoiled pleb, posing as a nobleman atop his chariot. Four ridiculously expensive horses, all paid for with his father’s coin earned off the backs of slaves. Manius always put Nero on edge. Maybe it was because he always seemed to arrive at the same time as Dulcia. He liked to make a show of himself whenever she was around, and she was too polite to insult the man by letting her disinterest show. But Nero saw through her frozen smile and well-rehearsed manners; she was as bored as any other listening to the man talk about himself.
‘Ready to lose?’ Manius called.
Nero shook his head at the pompous fool. There was no questioning Manius’s skill as a charioteer, but Nero had proven enough times that he was just as good.
A groom stepped forwards and raised his arm. ‘On my signal,’ he shouted.
Down went his arm.
Nero’s chariot was first over the line. He hissed at the horses, barely touching Amator with his whip, while Manius flogged his lead stallion as though he were running the last lap at the Circus Maximus.
They had agreed to one lap, four horses, and a rather appealing prize pool from where Nero stood. It was insignificant for a man like Manius, who did not race for coin but for his ego.
Nero was disadvantaged being on the outside, thanks to an unfortunate coin toss. He would need to get in front after the turn. Wide was safest, but he would be unlikely to make up the distance if he did that.
‘Ha!’ he shouted, slapping the reins on the rumps of the horses. When Manius went to take the turn, Nero went for the narrow gap on the inside, leaning all his body weight to the left to prevent the chariot from tipping. The risk paid off, and he came out of the turn in front.
‘You are mad!’ Manius shouted behind him.
It was not the first time someone had told him that.
Hooves pounded the dirt, and wind roared in his ears. For just a moment, he forgot about the insignificance of the race, instead envisioning thousands of spectators either side of the track. He imagined the feeling of crossing the finish line first, the rewards that would rain down on him. Not only the coin, but also the respect. People might finally see him as something more than a rodent.
The flash of Manius’s horses in his periphery brought reality crashing back. It was a timely reminder that his entire wage for the month would be gone if he did not cross that finish line first. It would be nothing for Manius to lose, but utterly humiliating for Nero to explain to the household why he needed to borrow money—again.
‘Ha!’ He ran the whip over Amator’s back. It was all his lead stallion needed, surging forwards with renewed energy, knowing exactly what his driver needed from him.
Nero blinked against the dust as Manius closed some of the distance between them.
‘Ha! Ha!’ Nero shouted, putting a bit of muscle behi
nd the whip.
He thanked the gods when he crossed the finish line half a length in front of his opponent. As the horses slowed, he prayed they would not pull up lame and give away his misadventures to Nerva Papias. The general had entrusted the care of his racing horses to him on the word of his sisters.
When he finally turned the chariot around, he was met with a very unimpressed Manius. ‘Better luck next time.’
The charioteer nodded and turned to the groom holding the coin. ‘Pay him. I will make it back tenfold at a real race.’
Nero did not mind the dig, because his opponent’s clenched jaw and fierce eyes told another story entirely.
‘Nero.’
He turned, searching for Dulcia amid the horses. She stepped out from behind a passing mare, a smile lighting her face when she saw him. He should have been unaffected by the sight of her by now, but his temperature always ran a little hotter when she was around. Even with her simple braid and faded stola, she looked like she belonged on a pedestal with an altar at her feet.
He had been worried when she had not shown up the day before, but after asking around, he learned Aquila had her running errands all over the city. That woman sure loved to remind Dulcia of her place in the household.
Jumping down from the chariot, Nero walked around to hold Amator’s bridle while he waited for her to reach him. ‘They missed you yesterday,’ he said when she got there. It was easier to speak for the horses than himself.
Her hand went to the stallion’s neck. ‘Did they? Well, it is a good thing I brought apology carrots, then.’ She walked around Nero, breaking the vegetables in half and sharing them out among the horses. When she was done, she looked over at Manius, who had stopped to watch her. ‘Did I see you racing?’
‘I don’t know if I’d call it racing.’
The groom chose that exact moment to walk over and hand him his winnings. He had no choice but to pocket it, aware of Dulcia’s eyes on him.
‘What would you call it?’ she asked.
He cleared his throat. ‘Had to make back what I lost the other day.’ Worst excuse ever.
Dulcia crossed her arms in front of her. ‘Spoken like a true gambler.’
