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.
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.
Chapter Five
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 general
s 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.
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