Sold and Seduced

by Michelle Styles

  ‘But I thought it was pirates.’ Sulpicia flushed red. ‘Publius told both of us it was a notorious pirate. How could he make a mistake like that? The head of a trading house? Isn’t it just like a man? That gold is gone, spent to clear Publius’s debts. Not that it was his fault. Those dice were unfair. He will pay it all back on the liquamen, you will see. His luck will turn. Fortune favours him.’

  Lydia stood up and dusted a few of Korina’s hairs off her gown. She had had enough of feeling sorry for herself. If she could keep her mind occupied on the small things, maybe she would stop worrying about the bigger thing. ‘There is no point in sitting around and commiserating, Sulpicia. I have a betrothal to prepare for.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘C ould you have chosen a more disreputable place to drink, Piso?’ Aro remarked when he had finally run his most senior captain to ground.

  The bar was typical of Piso’s watering holes, Aro thought crossing the narrow room. Dark even on the brightest day, and lit with too few lamps. The frescoes portrayed gaming with dice and knucklebones, an activity replicated on the tables that were dotted about. Despite it being only the seventh hour, the bar was full of the flotsam and jetsam of humanity—labourers intermingled with branded slaves and other more dubious characters. The barmaid behind the counter also did a brisk trade in the pleasures of the flesh. The elaborately embroidered toga she wore and the explicit frescoes on the back wall proclaimed it.

  Piso stood up, disentangled himself from one of the women and indicated a stool next to him.

  ‘You can learn things here. The barmaid is an old and valued friend.’ Piso gave a wide smile and signalled for another cup. ‘Have you come to pay me the money you owe me? That wine was sold to Ofellius, weeks ago.’

  ‘Why should I owe you anything?’ Aro remained standing and kept his face without expression. ‘It is you who owe me. Veratius Cornelius did not sell anything.’

  ‘But the wine has been sold to Ofellius.’

  ‘The bet was Senator Veratius Cornelius sold the wine to Ofellius. He didn’t. You should pay attention to the wording of any bet.’

  ‘I should know better than to bet against you. You have the luck of the gods. I had thought the denarii were mine this time.’ Piso laughed and then he leant forward. ‘If Veratius Cornelius didn’t sell the wine, who did?’

  ‘You should be seeing to the fitting out of your ship, not seeing to the knucklebones and listening to Forum gossip.’

  ‘My men know what to do. Not everyone is like you, Aro. Some of us like to take refreshment and enjoy life.’ Piso drained his cup of wine and wiped his mouth, giving a satisfied sigh. ‘When do we load the Falerian? We can set sail before nightfall. The wind is still blowing in the correct direction. A risk, true, but with your good fortune…By all the gods on Mount Olympus, you are the luckiest man I know.’

  ‘We don’t.’ Aro tossed a pouch of coins into Piso’s lap. ‘You were correct about the wine. It was sold. Congratulate me. Instead of acquiring the wine, I marry.’

  ‘You’re doing what?’ Piso’s large hands fumbled with the purse, spilling two coins on the table.

  ‘Getting married to Senator Lucius Veratius Cornelius’s daughter.’

  ‘A joke is a joke, Aro.’ The colour drained from Piso’s face and he took a gulp of wine. Aro sat down on the stool opposite Piso, enjoying his friend’s discomfiture.

  ‘This is no laughing matter, my old friend.’

  ‘Marriage? You? You have always maintained that marriage is for weak-minded fools who have nothing left to lose.’

  ‘Do I look like I am joking?’ Aro narrowed his eyes at the reminder of his view on marriage.

  Piso shook his head slowly.

  ‘Good, then you may wish me good fortune and join me at tonight’s betrothal feast.’

  ‘I would rather face the rocky shoals in the teeth of a gale than face marriage to a respectable Roman matron.’

  ‘I have faced the rocks outside Corinth in one of the worst storms Neptune has thrown up and lived,’ Aro said with a shrug.

  ‘By Hermes, I thought we were paying a visit to Poseidon’s nymphs that day. You saved my life and the rest of the crew with your superb navigation.’ Piso held out his hand. ‘See, it shakes from the memory.’

  ‘We made it through safely. Trust me now.’

  ‘But marriage? That is a whole other venture.’

  ‘And what makes you believe that the gods are not with me this time?’ Aro raised his cup of wine to his lips and tasted the overly sweet wine. ‘They were with me then, and they have not yet deserted me.’

  ‘If you need a woman that badly…’ Piso gestured towards the barmaid who sauntered over, her thin tunic leaving little to the imagination ‘…why not take Flora here or use one of the higher-class houses of pleasure? What was that little matron from Baiae called? It is what you told me to do when I made a fool of myself over that little serving girl in Athens. You remember, the one with the big eyes and the greedy fingers?’

  ‘I have had enough mistresses. I desire a wife.’ Aro banished from his thoughts how Lydia’s gown had hinted at her curves, the brief glimpse of her throat and the way her lips had parted ever so slightly when his lips had brushed her hand. Physical desire had nothing to do with the reason he had made his offer. It was a business transaction. It solved several problems. Most importantly, it eliminated the need to pay for a fixer. Senator Veratius Cornelius had enough influence with the censor to ensure he would be elected to the Senate. The sparkle in Lydia’s eyes was incidental.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re not a Roman.’ Aro began. His hand touched the ring he wore on a chain about his neck, his father’s signet ring. A ring he would not wear on his finger until he had fulfilled his sacred vow, until he had restored the honour of the Fabii.

  ‘For that—’ Piso gave a laugh ‘—for that, I get down on my knees and thank Hermes and the other gods every night, that they saw fit to make me Greek.’

  ‘If I were Greek, I wouldn’t have chosen this bar to drink in.’ Aro regarded the various workmen, branded slaves and sailors who intermingled in the bar—the usual waterfront mob.

  ‘We Greeks know excellent wine when we taste it, and Flora is pleasing to the eye and not too pricey on the purse.’ Piso tapped the side of his nose. ‘Tell me, why now? Why not earlier this year when that Roman widow was pursuing you all over Baiae? She was a patrician. What has changed?’

  ‘Sulla’s reforms are being done away with,’ Aro said. ‘I told you about this last Ides. The dictator’s shadow was not very long.’

  Piso wipe his hand across his face. ‘Why do you need to be in that particular pit of snakes and schemers? You have enough money and estates as it is.’

  ‘I vowed to regain everything Sulla unjustly took from my family and I intend to keep that promise.’

  ‘How so? How will marrying this woman give you anything you don’t have?’

  ‘Marrying a Veratii will give me the votes I need to enter the Senate without having to resort to a fixer.’ Aro tapped his cup against the table. ‘Lucius Veratius Cornelius controls enough tribes to make men wary about voting against him. He has promised to support me. He wants his daughter married to a senator. When you think what the going rate for a fixer is…The loss of the gold is cheap compared to what I have gained.’

  ‘Romans are slippery characters. There is many a man who has come to grief with a Roman woman. I would not trust them further than I could throw them.’ Piso took a swig of his wine. ‘Which is why I stick to barmaids and women of easy virtue. You know where you and your money stand with them.’

  ‘I am not a seaman, facing his first voyage. I have navigated around senators before.’ Aro regarded the dregs of wine in his cup, remembering the negotiations he had had with Veratius Cornelius after his daughter finally left the room. ‘We drew up the contracts this afternoon. The betrothal takes place this evening, and the wedding tomorrow. I have been to see the priest. For a fee, he
has agreed the auspices are excellent for tomorrow.’

  ‘A toast to the favoured couple, then.’ Piso snapped his fingers and the barmaid refilled their cups. ‘I drink to your happiness, my old friend.’

  Aro ignored the cup of wine. Happiness was not part of the arrangement. ‘To the marriage.’

  ‘You have taken our seats,’ a gruff voice said behind Aro.

  Piso started to stand up, hand on dagger. Aro gave his head a shake. He had no wish to start a fight here, in this crowd. Without turning towards the speaker, he pointed to an empty table. ‘There are a few free seats over there. Why not avail yourself of them?’

  ‘These are our seats.’

  The entire bar went silent, held its breath. Aro saw Flora stop wiping the cups. Not a single dice or knucklebone was tossed.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that there were names on the stools.’ Aro kept his voice steady, unconcerned. ‘Piso, were you aware of such a thing?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘These are our seats.’ A heavy hand went on Aro’s shoulder.

  Piso winced, but remained where he was. His hand shifted slightly and Aro saw him tap three fingers on the table. Three men, that was all. He had been in worse situations before. Then Piso said, ‘You really shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘I would ask you to remove your hand. It is well that I am in a good mood today. We are celebrating my betrothal. Come, share a cup of wine with us, and forget this unpleasantness.’ Aro’s body tensed. He would give the man another heartbeat and then he’d respond. If he reacted quickly, he could regain the advantage and Piso and he might yet walk out alive. ‘There is no need for a quarrel. I am sure there is plenty of wine to go around. Flora, find these men a table and a jug of honey wine.’

  ‘There is no place here for the scum from the Lupan House,’ the low growl replied. ‘This is where Ofellius’s men drink.’

  ‘I drink where I please.’ Aro jabbed his elbow back. He heard a loud grunt as he connected with the man’s midriff. ‘Nobody tells me what I do.’

  Seizing the advantage, he charged his shoulder in as he rose and lifted the man off his feet, throwing his would-be assailant’s body across the table and on to the floor where Piso hit the man with a flagon of wine. His companion with a purple puckered scar halfway down his face drew a dagger and started to thrust forward, but Aro blocked him with his forearm, and the blade hit his arm purse. Aro drew back his fist and connected with the man’s jaw, sending the man thundering back into the bar. An amphora crashed on to his head and the would-be assailant lay still.

  Aro crouched, waiting for the next attack, but the curtain to the bar swayed. The attacker had fled. Everyone else in the bar turned back towards their drinks. Within six heartbeats, the noise of dice, knucklebones and good-natured banter once more filled the room.

  ‘I told you, you shouldn’t have done that,’ Piso remarked conversationally to the now prone assailant. ‘You don’t want to make the Sea Wolf angry. It’s not good for your long-term future. Let alone your health!’

  ‘Shall we go?’ Aro tossed two denarii to the barmaid. ‘I have seen enough.’

  ‘Did you get a look at the men?’ Piso asked in an undertone.

  ‘Ofellius’s men. He will regret it.’ Aro pressed his fingertips together and tapped his mouth. ‘The question I want answered is why now, when we have been at peace for so many months? Why does he wish to restart the hostilities? There is more than enough trade for both houses.’

  ‘Ofellius wants the respect you enjoy.’ Piso stepped over the prone man and tossed a few coins to Flora.

  ‘You really do choose the most extraordinary places to spend your time.’ Aro said as they entered the street and headed back towards Aro’s villa on the Aventine. ‘Maybe next time, somewhere less rough, where the wine is better.’

  ‘You could have a point there.’

  Lydia straightened the folds of her pale blue gown for the fourth time. She touched her hair, now confined in the latest style: artfully cascading waves.

  Beroe, the tire-woman she shared with Sulpicia, insisted the waves were much better than her more usual knot at the back of her neck, from which her hair kept escaping. Beroe had sent her out with strict instructions not to touch her curls or the wine dregs she had applied to her lips and cheeks. Lydia tried to explain Fabius Aro did not care about the looks of his bride, but Beroe objected—all men cared about was the figure.

  She glanced about the atrium with its pool of water reflecting the light from the several strategically placed oil lamps. The jasmine had started to release its perfumed scent, giving a whole feeling of unreality to the scene. Could she really be waiting for her bridegroom? Only this morning, she was overseeing the carding of wool and worrying about the shortage of olive oil.

  A wet nose nudged her palm. Lydia reached down and stroked Korina’s silky soft ear.

  ‘Korina, I thought you were safely shut in my room. It can’t be helped now. Better find out if Fabius Aro is a dog fancier or not, before the marriage. Not that it matters, but I would like to think I can take you with me.’

  Lydia resisted the temptation to curl a tendril of hair around her little finger. It should not matter what sort of man he was. She had no choice. She had to fulfil her father’s promise, until such time that he was able to release her and she would be able to return home, honour intact. What was it that Sulpicia proclaimed? Marriage for a patrician was not a meeting of hearts, but a meeting of purses. Love, generally, had nothing to do with it.

  Lydia crossed over to the household shrine, held her hands up in supplication and offered up a prayer to the Lares and any other god that might be listening that tonight would go well and that some day she might experience the sort of marriage her mother and father had had.

  Korina raised her head, and her ears perked up. Lydia put a hand on her collar to restrain her. Her stomach twisted in more knots than she thought possible.

  ‘Easy girl.’ Lydia did not know if she was speaking to the dog or herself.

  The sound of unfamiliar voices and footsteps filled the small atrium. Lydia swallowed hard and turned to face them. The time had come all too quickly.

  Fabius Aro was in the lead with a crowd of men behind him. His dark hair curled slightly about his temples. Instead of a toga, he wore a richly embroidered blue tunic, and a dark cloak was thrown about his shoulders, fastened with a large gold brooch. The very picture of a successful businessman. Lydia wondered if he had deliberately decided not to wear a toga. The tunic was slightly longer than the one he had worn earlier, but did nothing to disguise his muscular calves.

  A small thrill sliced through Lydia. While he was not as classically handsome as some, there was a certain quality about him, a raw sort of power. She could easily picture him commanding a ship.

  ‘Lydia Veratia, I had expected your father to greet us,’ he said quizzically.

  ‘He is busy in the dining room.’ Lydia hesitated, wondering how much he’d guessed. Her father had retired to the dining room early, with a few carafes of wine and some old friends from his gymnasium, the ones that did not have other better invitations for dining. She wondered what her mother would have thought of this. Her mother revelled in her reputation as a gracious hostess. ‘Shall I send word for him?’

  She motioned to Gallus, who bowed low before disappearing into the villa. Aro stood there, flanked by his men—none of whom made a sound. Lydia resisted the temptation to fiddle with her hair as the silence between them grew. What did one say to one’s nearly betrothed?

  Korina had no such hesitation and nudged his hand, demanding attention. Lydia lunged forward, made a grab for Korina’s collar, but encountered Aro’s warm fingers instead. She jumped backwards as if they had burnt her. Aro’s eyes flashed. He reached down and patted Korina on the head.

  ‘She has the lines of a good hunting dog,’ he said. ‘Is she yours?’

  ‘She comes from good stock.’ Relief flooded through her. They could stay on safe subjects. ‘
Senator Gracchus bred her. But she has never hunted. I have had her as a companion since she was a puppy.’

  Lydia watched the black curls on the top of his head as he fondled the dog’s ears. Korina, the slave to affection that she was, turned over on her back and wriggled, inviting him to stroke her tummy. He knelt down.

  ‘Then you shall not be parted from her.’ A smile tugged at his mouth as he straightened, brushing his hands against his tunic. ‘I remember greyhounds from my youth. Loyal and faithful creatures. We had several, but they were lost when we left Rome.’

  ‘Did you live elsewhere?’

  ‘Is your father coming out to greet us?’

  Lydia frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gallus return, but her father had not yet emerged. She couldn’t keep Aro standing here like some errand boy. ‘Several close friends from the Senate and a number of my father’s clients arrived early to celebrate the betrothal. Undoubtedly, one has detained him. Shall we join them in the dining room? The cook does a very good lark’s tongue.’

  ‘I regret, no. There is much to be done. I want my ships to be ready to make the next tide after the wedding.’ He inclined his head. ‘Arranging to be married was not on my agenda for today.’

  ‘Nor mine.’

  She lifted her eyes and met his gaze. There was something dark and unfathomable about his eyes that seemed to peer deep within her soul. With an effort she turned her gaze towards the atrium’s pool and the reflection of the dancing oil flames.

  There was a great shout of laughter and her father emerged, his scarlet dining tunic slightly askew. He made an elaborate bow towards Aro. Then they exchanged pleasantries. Lydia started to twist her hair, but remembered what Beroe had said and instead pressed her palms together. Her slight hope that the contract was not settled was dashed when her father started to say the ritual words, demanding the bride price. Lydia cheeks grew warm. Would either of them admit what she was bought for?

  ‘I have brought the arra, the symbol of your bride price.’ Aro reached out, captured her hand and placed a gold-and-iron ring on her fourth finger.