For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1)

by Anne Garboczi

  If Cassius wanted a son, he could find someone else’s.

  After leaving Cassius, Aquilus headed for Praetor Ocelli’s house. No one man he knew had as much influence as Cassius, but the praetor knew everyone.

  Soon, the praetor welcomed Aquilus into a tablinum where gold statues of Bacchus and Venus intermingled with pearl-encrusted silk tapestries. Aquilus narrowed his eyes at the obvious signs of decadence. Ivory tusks on an acacia door, in truth? Still, he needed allies. “I need help bringing my plan to reorganize Germanian trade to Emperor Domitian’s attention.”

  Praetor Ocelli raised one eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you talk to the Germanian governor?”

  Aquilus grimaced. “He’s not amenable to the idea.”

  “There’s little I can do then. Good day.” The praetor began straightening tablets on a low table.

  Liar! Would explaining how the plan would save lives sway the man? Likely not. “You are respected socially, Praetor, but not militarily. Your name attached to a province plan like this would take your reputation to new levels.”

  The praetor inclined his head. His thin nose pinched together.

  Aquilus waited.

  “All right, I will try.” The praetor smiled and fingered his gold signet ring, which bore the image of Apollo.

  Inwardly, Aquilus groaned. “I can show you the plan and explain its merits to you.”

  The praetor shook his head. “No, an unproven plan for the provinces won’t be accepted on its effectiveness. We need to take a social tact to gain men’s support.”

  Aquilus frowned. In the army, people just implemented good policies.

  “Domitian has recently elevated many men of equestrian rank. They are rich but have no social standing. If I held a dinner party and you added the legendary Paterculi name to it, these men would flock to support your plan in order to gain social prestige.”

  With a sigh, Aquilus nodded his acceptance.

  “I can bring the equestrians in through Bernice’s family. Then there are the military leaders that knew your father. What connections does your wife bring?”

  Aquilus shook his head.

  “None?” The praetor widened his eyes.

  “That’s what I said.” Aquilus scowled.

  “You really did marry a village girl.” Praetor Ocelli gave him a pitying look.

  Aquilus ignored him.

  Crossing the room, the praetor adjusted the ivory tusks hanging from his door. “Still bring your wife, though. She can help win over the women and put a warm finish on the estimable Paterculi reputation. Salve.”

  Grimacing, Aquilus turned and walked out of the Ocelli domus. Ness would rather throw herself into the Mediterranean than attend that dinner. Well, he’d not stoop to cajoling her. Such unnecessary kindness would only encourage her waywardness. A Paterculi wife had duties and she could start attending to them. He had principles.

  He groaned. Who did he hope to fool? He’d violated his principles a thousand times these past months to get her to smile on him. Half the time his advances didn’t even work, yet still, he gave in to her and tried. Zeno would deride him as a weakling.

  How could any man cling to self-respect and principles when he saw her? When Ness smiled the world burst into light. When she pressed her mouth to his all the gods envied.

  He didn’t believe in the gods, but if he did he’d post extra guards around his gates. For surely Jupiter would look down from the heavens and, seeing Ness, lose all interest in immortal goddesses and steal into his house and carry her off to Mount Olympus.

  Of course, once there, she’d give Jupiter such a piercing headache blasting his ears about wanting to go to Britannia, the god would swiftly return her.

  Eric made wild motions with his hands, trying to flop out of Ness’ arms and crash head first into the garden. Why? Who knew, maybe he thought his stubborn head would break the earth in two.

  Fingering another invitation to a gathering of Roman noblewomen with one hand, Ness grabbed Eric tighter. This time, Bernice wanted to show off an expensive purchase of Syrian glass.

  What if she did go this time? While the women weren’t Enni or Fiona, they were people, and perhaps speaking with them would help fill this aching void of loneliness that troubled her day and night. What she’d give for a real conversation with another human soul.

  No. Ness hardened her jaw. The women would just mock her if she went. Ness cast the tablet to the ground.

  Sidestepping Cornelia’s misplaced sandals, Ness pressed her lips together. Almost ten months had passed. Why hadn’t Aquilus given in?

  A dark shadow bounded through the moonlight. Crouching on its back paws, a mutt clomped its slobbery jaws over Wryn’s forearm. The boy cried.

  Ness pushed Aquilus’ dog off her son.

  A footstep sounded behind her. Aquilus entered the courtyard. “Why are you shoving my dog?”

  “It was bothering me, same as you now.” Ness leaned closer to examine the bite marks above Wryn’s wrist. He wriggled in her arms and Eric threatened a screaming fit.

  Aquilus held up a ledger. She couldn’t quite see through the dusk, but she knew spilled ink covered the page. In truth, a vain attempt to force him to divorce her. He’d grown inured to all minor annoyances.

  “You should have done the household accounts yourself, but you didn’t. So, after filling out the supply list for half of Germania, I did it myself. Then I find this.” Aquilus’ voice held anger.

  All he needed to do to have a perfectly well-ordered life was sign one piece of parchment. She, on the other hand, was trapped in this filthy city without a friendly soul in sight and forced to endure Aquilus’ tirades and the twins’ screams with no recourse. She bounced Wryn on her hip. He whimpered pitifully and brought up his hand, still marked by dog teeth, to rub his eyes.

  “You not only refuse to lift a finger around here, but you’re also going to destroy the work I do? Next, I’ll have to fear for my official correspondence.”

  She raised her gaze from the twins. Oh, she’d thought of it. She’d seen Germanian parchments lying on his table. The parchments symbolized what had ruined their marriage, but she’d stayed her hand. “Lift a finger? Who’s taking care of your sons?”

  Aquilus grazed the tip of his tongue against his teeth. He shifted his gaze from her to the twins. Most of the anger faded. “Are you tired?”

  “I just want a divorce.”

  Face darkening, he slammed the ledger shut. “And choose the most mean-spirited way to go after one.”

  “If you gave me a divorce, you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

  “I gave my final answer ten months ago.” The Roman domus behind Aquilus silhouetted his frame. The shadow of the house and its master fell across her and she wanted nothing to do with either.

  “It’s not very final if you say it a dozen times a day.”

  “Because holding your tongue is apparently a Herculean labor for you.”

  She pressed her lips together as his words sliced through her. He hated her. Why didn’t he just let her go?

  The breeze blew through his close-cropped hair. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t mean that.”

  An apology? From Aquilus? Or as close as she’d ever seen him get to an apology. Her heart beat unevenly.

  Laying the parchment aside, he looked at her. “You left your hair loose today.”

  With a squirm, Wryn got himself half-free of her arms. Bending, Ness set him down then straightened and planted her bare feet on the grass. “Yes.” Despite the sticky heat, she’d worn her hair loose like a Celt, not bound up like a Roman domina to show him she would return to Britain.

  He reached out and touched a lock of her hair. “In legend, mortal men built a tower to the heavens that stretched so high the sun scorched the topmost stone. The gods grew jealous and sent lightning to destroy the tower. Before it fell, the bravest of the men broke off a piece of the sun and gave it to his betrothed. From then on her hair possessed the gold of sunligh
t and even Venus envied.”

  Heat rose through her. She stepped back. “I never heard that legend.”

  “There should be a legend like that.” He closed the distance between them into nothingness. The dusk made dark shadows over his darker skin. He caressed his hands across her shoulders, his fingers catching in her loose hair that he’d said Venus envied.

  This entire day she’d spoken to no one but Cornelia and that woman had merely grunted while stuffing a roll in her mouth.

  Taking her hands in his, he bent and trailed kisses across her chin just to the corner of her mouth. He touched his hands to her hips and tugged her so tight against him that his arms blocked the night breeze.

  Heart pounding, she reached for his lips. He touched his mouth to hers and sunshine poured into her, filling her to overflowing.

  His fingers caught in her hair as he caressed his thumb across her cheek. “Come to the praetor’s dinner with me. I couldn’t bear to go alone.”

  Unlike her, Aquilus had always happily spent time away from her. She jerked against his arms. “You just apologized to manipulate me into going to that dinner.”

  “A normal wife wouldn’t force me to cajole her to uphold the Paterculi name.” His arms still surrounded her as he looked at her, frustration in his gaze.

  She shoved his solid chest with both hands. “I’m never kissing you again.”

  He shot an irritated glance at the darkening heavens. “As you said last week.”

  She felt her face heat to scorching. The moon had waxed full. He’d quoted Aristophanes. She’d resisted his charm longer than any other woman would have.

  “Stop fighting me and we could actually have a marriage.” He touched her shoulder, his fingers more firm than caressing.

  “Take a position in Britannia.” Chin up, she gazed into his eyes searching for any sign of weakening.

  “I’m not giving in to your haranguing.”

  She threw his hand off her shoulder. “Then end this farce of a marriage and let me go.”

  “No.” He glared at her. “And you are attending Praetor Ocelli’s dinner.”

  “Ha.”

  Aquilus spun around and left.

  Chapter 17

  Another sun dipped behind the horizon. Crouched, her knees pressing her tunica into damp earth, Ness pruned herb sprigs. Tomorrow morning she’d sell them at market again.

  Laying her knife aside, she frowned. Aquilus had lost her a whole year’s harvest ten months ago. Now she had to pay for ship fare before she could save for sheep.

  She needed a divorce. Why hadn’t Aquilus given in? Jealous pride? No, with the way she treated him only sheer folly could explain his stubbornness.

  From the far side of the enclosed garden, Eric screamed. He stood outside a small building and kicked at the door. “In! In!”

  Going to him, Ness scooped the boy up. Dirt covered the child from head to toe. “It’s just a storage room.”

  “No! In!” Eric threw himself forward.

  “Bedtime.” Ness clamped his struggling body against hers. Last year’s long tunic barely covered Eric’s thighs now.

  “No!” Eric screamed.

  She looked off to the orange hues of the painted sky. Truth be told, she couldn’t let him in even if she wanted to.

  Those household keys that every Roman wife had, that Aquilus had made such a show of giving her last time, well, he hadn’t surrendered them this time. That meant she couldn’t touch the money box either, not without asking Aquilus’ leave, that is.

  The boys needed new clothes. If she asked, Aquilus would give her the money. She scowled. The Mediterranean would dry up before she asked that man for anything but a divorce.

  He’d invented some amorous legend to steal her heart when he didn’t love her at all, but only wanted to manipulate her into aiding his wretched politics. What kind of degenerate did that? Worse yet, she’d fallen for his words. Again.

  Well, she’d not trade kisses with him another time. From now on she’d harden her heart to him. She wrinkled her brow and the linen marriage stolas that she refused to wear came to mind. A few cuts and seams and they would do for the boys’ new clothes.

  Grabbing an empty bucket with her free hand, Ness walked toward the atrium. She sloshed the pail in the atrium pool. The pail thumped to the floor as the wrestling Eric twisted out of her hands and dashed for the tablinum curtain. Wryn raced after him.

  Dropping the bucket, she chased them. Aquilus’ half-burned lamp still lit the room, illuminating shelf after shelf of scrolls.

  She eyed the written treasures. Eric scooted under the table while Wryn stared at his brother and she made her decision.

  Parchment crinkled between Ness’ fingers, making that sound only the best paper does, as the Aeneid unrolled between her crossed knees. Aeneas fought his way through the burning city of Troy as Eric juggled wooden statues. With passionate ardor, Aeneas vowed to rebuild his city, but then the poet-inspiring Phoenician Queen appeared.

  Wryn’s noisy climb up onto the stool punctuated Aeneas’ promise of love, marriage, and endless devotion. Ness smiled.

  Wait! Now Aeneas chose his mission over the Queen and left her country. The Queen was so heartbroken she killed herself with Aeneas’ sword. Ness’ face fell.

  “The next chapter is better,” a voice said.

  The scroll jolted in her hands, wobbling the oil lamp.

  Aquilus leaned up against the tablinum’s doorframe, looking into the light within. “Aeneas builds Rome in it.”

  Ness dropped the scroll as if it had bitten her. “I liked this chapter fine, but Aeneas wasn’t worth dying for.”

  Aquilus scowled. Ness glared at him and she said Aeneas like she meant him, which defied all logic. He’d never broken faith like Aeneas to the Phoenician Queen. Additionally, the Aeneid concerned a lot more than one broken relationship. “I wanted you to know that I will present my Germania plan in three weeks.”

  “I’m still not going to the praetor’s dinner party.” Ness backed up to the open window.

  She wore only a flimsy tunica, no marriage stola to hide the way the breeze twisted the cloth around her body, or cover the gap at her neck. She’d probably neglected the stola to reiterate that she’d prefer a divorce.

  Just now, though, he’d no inclination to complain. “Please come, Ness.”

  She shook her head vehemently. The movement swished the tunica around her hips. The light of the clay lamp on the table behind her made the white linen almost translucent.

  Couldn’t she just attend this dinner like a normal wife for once? “This is the single most important event of my career.”

  “I’ll go if you give me a divorce after.”

  “Absolutely not.” He felt his voice rising.

  She clenched her hands. The wind whipped back her hair revealing even more flawless features. “All you’ve brought me is pain.”

  “Brought you pain?” One would think God would have mercy on mankind and not let a woman so abrasive be this beautiful.

  Her knuckles whitened as she balled her fists. “You weren’t there when my sons were born. You weren’t there when they cut their first teeth or learned to crawl. You weren’t here for me before, when I was a new bride dragged to a foreign city of vicious noblewomen. In the first eleven months of our marriage, you were gone six.”

  He’d been there the other five and a half, and attentive too. Half wasn’t all that bad.

  “You thought because you were a tribune and I a ‘mere’ Celt, you could always have your will done.”

  Treated her worse because she was a Celt? In truth? Not a patrician woman in Rome had a husband more forbearing than he.

  “There’s something bigger in Britannia than tiny villages and painfully eked out crops, carefully treasured to last long winters. There’s freedom. We pursue real things, the sun and the creek, the fish and the deer.” Her eyes filled with a wild look, a look of hunger, desire, and fight—the look of the Celtic warriors in battle.<
br />
  He had fallen in love with the way those eyes flashed that day in her village when she translated for him.

  She raised her hands. “We have a nobility that is based on the strength of your arm and the skill of your bow, not a father’s name or an emperor’s whim.”

  “Actually, the Britain Celts had an active social hierarchy in place for at least a century before Rome invaded.” If she planned to diatribe, she should get her facts right, though that was another reason he’d fallen in love with her back in Britannia. Unlike Bernice, Ness cared about the provinces.

  “That is completely not the point!”

  One of the boys yanked at Ness’ skirt. Aquilus peered through the darkness, trying to distinguish all too similar faces.

  Wryn rubbed his little fist across his eyes. “Sleepy, Mama.”

  Kneeling, she kissed the boy’s cheek. “I know, Wryn baby. Come on.”

  His face softened more than it probably should have. Just then, Eric started yelling and kicking.

  While Ness grabbed Eric, Aquilus crouched down. “Wryn.” He held out his hand to see if the boy would come. He’d been consumed with finishing Germanian details of late.

  Marvelous to behold, the boy walked forward.

  Aquilus watched Wryn’s face. Could he really have a son? Only a few years ago, he’d been with his own father, and now he had a son? Not too many years more and the boy would be old enough to instruct.

  “If you’re going to annoy me with your presence, you could at least wash him.”

  Aquilus glanced up and watched as Ness forced a wriggling Eric into a water bucket. Aquilus turned his gaze to Wryn. The boy was filthy and so small. Cleaning a legionary’s leg wound, that he could do, but this? “Why don’t you use the baths behind the villa?”

  The brick baths with the hypocaust that cost a thousand denarii heating them were a small luxury that his grandfather had built for just such a task as this.

  “Eric and Wryn needn’t get used to those enervated Roman comforts. Celts wash in streams.” Ness scrubbed her fingers against Eric’s hair.