He could so easily move his hand around her waist, pulling her against him. No audience here, unlike the Ostia taverns, so neither he nor she would have to stop.
“I barely kept him from running and waking you.” Libya arched her elbow, mirth in her eyes. “He said it was something about Christus’ birth.”
Christus. Wryn collapsed against the tree trunk. Turning his head, he broke their gaze. The noise of insects chattered on as he stared out into the darkness. Christus.
With Libya no longer in his vision, a wave of exhaustion swept over him. Too late garrison duty last night, then only a few hours of sleep this morn. He’d rest one moment here, then carry Horus back. No more bonfires with Libya. Tomorrow, at the first hour, Marcellus and Gwen would arrive to talk of the Viri. At least that would give him something to think about besides Libya.
With one jerk, Wryn bolted upright. Sunrise lit the clearing. Libya bent, adding a log to the fire’s embers.
He jumped to his feet. “It’s morning!”
“I didn’t wish to wake you.”
“You should have woken me.” By the look of that brightening sky, the first hour would soon arrive. If Gwen found out he spent all night with Libya… Wryn willed his heart to slow, no such good fortune. “We’ve got to get back.”
“Horus sleeps yet.” Libya pointed to the boy nestled in the blanket. “He needs his rest after the number of times he woke last night.”
Moving to the fire, Wryn kicked dirt over the logs Libya had added. “We’re leaving.”
“I never wake him early. He’ll act surly the entire day.”
“I’m sure Horus will survive.” Him, if he didn’t reach his villa before Gwen, not so much.
“You’re the one who kept Horus and me here the entire night.” Libya stiffened her shoulders. “Horus shouldn’t have to lose sleep because you’re late.”
If only Libya didn’t speak the truth. He didn’t know how he’d ever explain this all-night foray to the servants at his villa. Wryn jerked his thumb toward Horus. “Wake your son.”
Libya pressed her lips together. “Yes, master.”
Master? He spent the night with a woman of infamia who was his slave. No world existed in which he could make this sound innocent.
The servants’ tongues would clack so hard the leaves would chatter when he walked back through that villa door with Libya at this hour.
Once gossip started, it spread across Rome faster than Nero’s fires.
Unlike Gwen, he always kept his name out of the marketplace. So much for that. Wryn reached for Horus, who rubbed fists over sleep-filled eyes. Did Libya just glare at him? Swinging the boy on his shoulders, Wryn started off at a hurried pace.
Perhaps he could still beat Gwen to the villa.
Chapter 19
The iron bars of the Paterculi gate creaked. Libya shifted the satchel with what was left of the mutton they’d eaten last night at the Tiber.
Wryn slid Horus to the ground. “Has my sister arrived yet?”
A guard nodded, hand on his short sword. “She and Marcellus left a quarter-hour ago now.”
With a groan, Wryn headed inside the villa.
The cook’s harsh voice grated from the right. “You’re late, Libya. I told you we’re pickling a mess of fish today.”
“Mea culpa.” Libya hastened to the kitchen. The brick building already reeked of fish. Phoebe and another serving girl stood over bowls, scraping out fish guts.
A heap of limp fish heads stared back at her, their eyes wiggling. Libya wrinkled her nose and grabbed a scaly body.
Phoebe elbowed her. “I hear you have the master’s ear and rather more of him as well.”
Libya stiffened. “You know Wryn. He’s not like that.”
“Wryn, is it?” Phoebe giggled as she slapped a slab of fish down. “How did you crack his defenses? An entire night away.”
The other serving girl grinned. “Is he as handsome underneath that tunic as he is with it on?”
“Nothing happened.” Libya thwacked a knife against the fish, lopping its head off. Those virgins giggled as if they described a frolic. Men, even the kind ones, never looked at your soul again after they had your body.
“As if we’d believe that.” The morning breeze tugged at Phoebe’s hair, but not one strand of her tightly-bound locks came undone. Phoebe’s palla, a length of green-bordered cloth, lay neatly folded on the kitchen stool.
“Why, because I’m a prostitute?” Libya glared at the two girls. Wryn saw her soul, liked her soul. He’d never desire so empty a thing as the use of her body.
Phoebe’s gaze touched her star. “Well, you are.”
Truth. Libya slammed her foot against the clay stove. The impact brought no comfort. She could no more scrub off the filth of infamia than remove the tattoo from her cheek.
Last round of the night and almost time to return home. Dawn’s light glimmered on the horizon as Wryn entered the tribune quarters.
“Where’s your monthly garrison report? Legate Aemilli’s collecting all of ours at the end of the hour.” Tribune Vitus stood by a plate of grapes with several other tribunes.
Wryn stared at him. The report. He spent all night at the Tiber instead of completing the report that was due today.
“Mine’s done.” Tribune Lucius threw it onto the pile and grabbed a handful of pine nuts.
“I’ll bring it tomorrow.” Wryn signed at the bottom of the night watch. Late for the first time, and just when he hoped to convince Legate Aemilli to let him abandon this idiotic drainage project, or at least give him a decent shift.
Tribune Vitus smirked. “Perhaps if you spent fewer nights with women of infamia you’d have finished it.”
Wryn froze as every tribune in the room swiveled toward him.
“You hadn’t heard?” Vitus’ eyes danced as he met the other tribunes’ curious gazes. “The servants’ gossip said our Felix Paterculi never came home last night, spent the entire time with a prostitute.”
“Got betrothed and keeping a mistress all in the same month?” Lucius guffawed up a grape. “Our innocent tribune is growing up.”
Heat scorched Wryn’s face. “Libya’s not my….” Did he really have to pronounce that word? “Mistress.”
“Libya, so that’s her name?” Tribune Vitus grinned.
“Is she beautiful?” A squinty-eyed tribune nudged him.
“Dark or fair?” A thin-lipped tribune let out a nasal laugh.
“I didn’t notice.” Wryn slammed the tablet cover shut.
“Spent all night with a prostitute and didn’t even notice?” Vitus smirked. “As if we’d believe that.”
Wryn’s hand clenched. Libya was never a prostitute.
“Starting out with a woman of infamia, have to give you credit.” Tribune Lucius parted his thick eyelids farther. “Would have thought you more the type for an innocent slave girl.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Wryn’s voice rose. Whoever said women gossiped more than men lied. “Her son wanted to build a bonfire.”
“You’re investing in her son too?” Tribune Vitus whistled. “She truly must be beautiful.”
Libya was that.
Lucius furrowed his brow. “Was she the woman who came here three months ago with that horrid child who tried to burn the garrison down?”
“I heard a rumor that he’s your son,” a tribune with a paunch said. “You served many years in Moesia near that inn you bought her from.”
Wryn stared at the man. “That’s absurd.”
“I heard a rumor that you’re paying for him to go to school, Collegium Academy, no less.” Tribune Vitus tugged the garrison tablet toward him and raised a stylus.
“Collegium Academy?” A beady-eyed tribune whistled. “That’s the school I went to. My father sold a villa to afford it. I’m liking this theory about the boy being your son.”
A numb feeling started in Wryn’s right hand. “Many masters educate those in their household for positions as scribes and acco
untants. The pedagogues at other schools didn’t have a basic mastery of classic literature or other things Horus will need to know.”
“Tell me, when’s a slave need to know Grecian war strategy or
Demosthenes’ rhetoric skills?” Vitus smirked as he signed his name on the tablet. “Unless, of course, he’s your illegitimate son and you plan to procure him a soldier post someday.”
Horus would excel at soldiering. Only now Libya would marry Jacob, and the boy would waste his intelligence on molding clay. Five more wretched days until that marriage. “Horus is not my son. If you could start refuting these ridiculous rumors before my aforesaid betrothed has my head, I would count you true friends.”
Vitus started. “She’s your slave, true? It’s not adultery as if she were a married woman or some patrician maiden.”
“Nor even stealing such as making use of another man’s slave without his permission.” Lucius reached for the garrison tablet.
“I doubt that matters to Aulia.” Wryn scratched his finger against the helmet he held. He knew to expect gossip after last night, but of all the mortifying rumors he imagined, this was worse. Horus, his son? Surely Aulia and Gwen wouldn’t believe this preposterous tale?
Vitus blinked. “Aulia Corneli? You’re a thousand times more upstanding than most of the men her father’s betrothed her too. And all the patrician men do it. She won’t complain.”
“I’m not all patrician men.”
“Quidquid.” Tribune Vitus rolled his eyes.
In other words, Vitus would do his best to spread this gossip throughout Rome. A shooting pain pierced Wryn’s forehead.
Libya watched as hordes of little boys, most dressed in patrician linen, poured from the marble structure. Horus’ brown wool tunic stood out among the rest. Libya grabbed Horus’ hand and ducked down a side street, past merchants’ houses. If she took too long meeting Victor, the cook would notice.
“I learned about Vergil at school today. He’s a poet. The Trojans, they filled up a big —” Horus blinked. “This isn’t the way home.”
“I know.” Libya darted down an alley and up a side street.
Victor stood under the shadow of a small temple. The white marble gleamed in the sunlight.
She stepped on the first polished stair. Her dusty sandals seemed too common for this sparkling stone. Inside, gold and silver glistened as holy fire burned on magnificent altars, so much finer than the catacombs.
“Salve.” With an incline of her head, Libya dropped Horus’ hand. He scampered right, toward where festival dancers gathered in the street.
Victor’s gaze followed Horus as he darted here and there. “You are sure he is my son?”
“Can’t you tell?” She gestured to Horus. He had the same nose, the same arched eyebrows, the same haunting black eyes, only set in darker skin. She looked at Horus’ face the last six years and thought of Victor, yet Victor hadn’t even recognized her when he first saw her. Libya clenched her jaw.
What had she expected? Men always counted a woman worthless after they’d lain with her. If she could ever gain her freedom, she’d never lie with a man again.
Victor brought his chin down. “I see the resemblance.”
Libya’s hands knotted over each other as sweat stuck her fingers together. “Will you free him? And me?” What had Victor meant by more than free him? Offer him schooling? A trade?
“Depends.” Victor’s dark-eyed gaze roved down her, stripping her as naked as many men had done before. “Will you spy on Wryn Paterculi for me?”
Libya stiffened her shoulders. “You wish me to betray my master?” Freedom, she’d do anything for freedom. Would she betray Wryn?
Victor’s laugh rose above the sound of cymbal and lyre. “Don’t pretend moral conviction. You’re a whore. I’m sure you’ve done dirtier things.”
How dare Victor say that? Wryn acted as if she was more than a prostitute, as if she had worth.
The characteristic smile slid over Victor’s features. “Besides, I’m the father of your child. You owe me more loyalty than any Paterculi.” He stroked his finger across her cheek.
In a flail of arms and legs, Horus hurtled back. “Don’t touch my mother.” His fist slammed toward Victor’s ribs.
Libya lunged at Horus. Her son’s face reddened, temples bulging. He never cared who touched her before, though he saw more things than she wished at that Moesian tavern.
“Feisty.” Victor laughed again. “He’ll train well with a sword.”
“I already know how to fight with a sword.” Horus lowered his voice to an unnatural growl. “Wr —”
“Horus. Look there, the festival.” She pointed to the tambourines and dancers. “Go see what they’re doing.”
Horus glared up at Victor. Then, tugging away from Libya, he scampered across the street.
Victor watched the boy a moment longer. “He’s a fine lad, my son.”
“You’ll free him then?” She focused her pleading gaze on Victor. Surely, he owed her this much. “Me?”
“I can do more than just free him, Libya.” Victor flicked her hair. “If you get me the information I need about Wryn, I’ll adopt Horus and take him as my legal heir.”
Libya’s fingers shook as she didn’t dare believe what he just said. “Legal heir?”
Victor moved his firm chin down. “Endow him with all I own. So, go find me that information. And yes, I’ll free you too.”
Betray Wryn? Her heart constricted as she searched Victor’s face. Yet, he’d give Horus a patrician life, the education, opportunities, and wealth she only ever dreamed of for her son. After being a slave for twenty-two years, she’d have her freedom and her son would have a father. “My master is a guarded man. I may not be able to discover what he plots against you.”
Victor grinned. “You’re a woman of infamia. I’m sure you’ll puzzle out a way.”
A way to betray Wryn?
“Tell me you’ll do it, dancing girl.” Reaching out, Victor caressed his hand across her abdomen, his strong fingers catching on the linen. “I have to say, I like what you wore dancing better.”
She could give Victor only some information. Enough to allow smugglers to go free, yet not enough to harm Wryn. Who cared if the Emperor collected fewer tariffs because smuggling thrived? Horus would have a patrician life. They’d both have freedom. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. Meet me at the Ocelli warehouse in three days’ time, by the docks.”
“Very well.” Pushing away from Victor’s touch, she moved for Horus.
“You look even more lovely than seven years ago, dancing girl.” Victor’s voice carried after her on the breeze.
Chapter 20
Libya swept the garden walkway a fifth time, then a sixth. Mere hours passed since she agreed to betray Wryn. Horus bounded out of the pool, dripping wet and less clothed than proper.
A footstep sounded on the pathway. “Tonight, Ostia.” Wryn smiled at her, some tablets in his hand. No, not Wryn, the master. She couldn’t think of him as Wryn.
Libya nodded, gaze directed down and he kept walking. She swept the path a seventh time, an eighth as the sun’s shadows grew longer.
The master’s sister crossed the peristyle. A master she could betray. Never Wryn.
Horus ran toward Gwen. “Did Alena come?”
“No, I’m just here to get a few things my mother wanted sent to her.” Gwen looked to Libya. “May Horus stay the afternoon and evening with me while you’re in Ostia with Marcellus and Wryn? Alena wants to play with him.”
“Please, Mama!” Horus jumped up and down.
“I need your brother’s permission.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell Wryn to meet Marcellus at our villa for a change. Come. I’m walking back now.”
Horus ran after Gwen and Libya followed.
Blossoming laurel trees spread through the Marcellus
courtyard. Libya looked up at the tall branches. With a thundering noise, Horus tore across the
stones, past the villa door. “Alena!”
“She’s likely in the sitting room with Aulia.” Gwen passed Libya and moved through a curtain into a smaller room.
Aulia? Libya curbed her step. Her gaze turned to the atrium. Though not as grand as the Paterculi villa, this house had the same structure from the atrium pool with the opening above it to the main rooms around the atrium, all covered by elaborate tapestries representing wealth untold.
Would Horus truly lay claim to a villa such as this one day? Victor said he’d make Horus his legal heir.
Slowly, Libya crossed to the room Horus and Gwen had entered. She snagged the curtain. Female voices rose.
“Libya,” finished a voice she’d heard before.
Pushing aside the fabric, Libya peeped through a sliver of space.
Aulia sat on a couch with Gwen. A needle in her hand, Aulia tugged at the embroidery in her lap. Her countenance looked anything but pleased.
Libya pressed back against the cold plaster.
“This is my brother we’re talking about.” Gwen handed a basket of blocks to her daughter, and the child scampered to the other side of the room where Horus’ tower soared high. “The one who doesn’t even consider it appropriate to kiss your betrothed before you marry her, despite that you’re longing for him to. Speaking of which, you should just tell him.”
Lips shoved tightly together, Aulia stabbed her needle through the fabric like a short sword. “I did.”
Gwen smiled. “What did he say?”
“I don’t think he even heard me. He was glancing out into the courtyard at her.” Fire lit behind Aulia’s pale eyes.
The most proper dominas always ended up ordering the most beatings. Suppressed wrath perhaps? Libya dug her nails into her palms.
“Aulia.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “It’s Wryn. If you want to rage at him for something, which I encourage, what about his self-assured temperament or cynical sense of humor? He does not have a problem with women.”
“The boy.” Aulia gestured to Horus whose blocks now towered waist-high. “He spends too much time with him.”
Without Love: Love and Warfare series book 4 Page 20
