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

by Anne Garboczi

  She’d prefer a divorce. Her throat constricted. Tears swam in her eyes. She’d never see Aquilus again. She hardened her jaw. Yes, she’d prefer that Aquilus divorce her, but if he refused after this then she’d make the best of it.

  No more harsh words and insults. She’d apologize to him, even if she didn’t truly think the blame lay at her door, and after that act the proper domina. He might approve of her then.

  Failing sunlight made long shadows on the broad road leading through patrician villas. Ness drew her cloak over her painted arms and Celtic clothes. Though the air still bore the warmth of summer, she shivered.

  Then the iron gate of the Ocelli domus rose high in front of her. She chafed her thumb against her fingers. Blood pulsed through her veins. Should she truly do this?

  With a bow, a slave swung the gate open. She stepped inside the courtyard. The courtyard’s stone gave way to marble at the doorway. Another slave, an old man who looked like his feet ached, ushered her into the darkened atrium. The sound of eating and talking rose from the lighted triclinium.

  Her breathing came heavier. Ahead of her an ornate silk separated the atrium from the triclinium. Her heart pounded in her throat. She nudged the thick fabric.

  The setting sun poured through colonnades spanning out to the peristyle garden. A score or two people already reclined at table, but not Aquilus. She jerked back behind the curtain’s cover and the hood of her cloak slipped off. This was Aquilus’ night to impress Rome. She shouldn’t embarrass him in this way.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth and pictured Britain wheat blowing in the summer breeze. To get a divorce, she needed to do this. She gripped the curtain between thumb and forefinger. Her sweat left a stain on the silk. With a flick, she freed the clasp of her cloak. It slid down her shoulders revealing the barbaric clothes beneath.

  What was she thinking? She jerked her hand back. Her heart raced so fast she couldn’t breathe. She was a wicked person for even inventing this plan. She needed to run out of this villa and never breathe to Aquilus how she’d considered hurting him. Falling to her knees, she grabbed for her cloak.

  She froze, her fingers still twisted in the cloak’s fabric. Give up? If she walked out that double door back into the streets, she admitted defeat. Or she could take a deep breath, walk into that triclinium and do what she’d set out to do. As Aquilus had said, ‘why think about the consequences?’

  A wine amphora sat on an ostentatious entrance table. Seizing it, Ness splashed it on her dress.

  Then, she pushed the curtain aside.

  Inside the room, men and women lay at low tables partaking of the feast.

  Julia’s husband reclined at the first table, but fortunately, the girl didn’t. Ness walked up to his table. “Charmed to see you again, Quaestor. Pity about you losing your appointment. One more failure for your record.”

  The quaestor stared askance at her.

  Ness swiveled her bronze bracelet and gulped. A shiver ran through her, but she’d already passed the point of turning back.

  Table number two: “Aedile, goblet still full? Don’t fear. Bernice wouldn’t poison you. Though Senator Gaius did say this city would be better administered by a dead man than you.” She didn’t feel guilty about that insult. After killing his infant daughter, the aedile deserved anything.

  The aedile’s eyes bulged.

  Behold, not so hard. Her dress swished around her ankles as she moved to the third table. She spilled the rest of her wine amphora on the fat consul’s tablecloth.

  The consul’s baggy neck wobbled as he sat up. “You again!”

  Ness confiscated the tart in front of him. “Not good for your health. What would your mother say? Oh, that’s right, she turned to unmentionable pursuits after your father was executed thirty years ago.” She’d have to remember to thank Cornelia for that bit of gossip.

  The consul’s elbow slipped, splaying his rotund body on the couch.

  Poor man. What a painful way to lose one’s parents. The sticky feeling of guilt sweated her hands. She wiped her palms on her dress and marched up to table number four: “Yes, Legate, I have heard of your conquests on the eastern frontier. But the Emperor gave your second-in-command the triumph instead of you. Why?”

  Legate Servilli, a weathered man, blinked. He ran his gaze down her unbound hair, which made her look like a Celt, not a harlot, despite what Cornelia had said. He laughed.

  Ness scowled and turned to the women.

  The big-nosed, bony one stood across the room. Maneuvering around tables, Ness walked up to her. “Congratulations. I hear you married again.”

  The woman jutted her jaw out. “You look like a savage harlot.”

  Again, she looked like Boadicea, not a loose woman. “And tell me, is the man afraid of suffering your last four husbands’ fate? Financially benefiting widowhood each time, I hear.”

  The woman reddened. “Only two died. The others divorced me.”

  Ness stood tall. “Had to get rid of you before they died too, eh? Or did you earn a divorce some other way?”

  The woman crossed her arms. “Less well earned than yours is—will be.”

  Truth. Ness glanced to the peristyle gardens outside the colonnades. A few dignitaries circled the grounds, but she still didn’t see Aquilus. Small relief for he’d have to appear soon.

  Her breathing came in short heaves as she moved to the head table where Bernice made desperate motions at Praetor Ocelli. Ness grabbed the diamond-studded vase that ornamented the host table. “Is this the Syrian glass?”

  Horror crossed Bernice’s face as she let out a series of gasps. “Put that down!”

  “Rather gaudy, don’t you think?” Ness turned the thing in her hands. Blown glass sounded delicate, but the dancing minotaurs in the design weren’t.

  Sending her couch flying back, Bernice sprang forward, and—

  No! Diamonds scraped Ness’ skin as the thing slipped in her hands. Bernice head-dived toward the vase. Too late.

  Ness’ gaze riveted on splintering glass. She hadn’t meant to do that.

  “You!” Bernice’s wild-eyed spluttering made the cosmetics on her lips streak.

  Praetor Ocelli stood to his feet, pompously white hands entwined around excessive rings.

  Then Ness saw him.

  Aquilus stood at the colonnade, his sandals grass-stained. He moved his gaze from her Celtic dress, unbound hair, woad, and wine, to the tables surrounded by angry faces and gossiping voices.

  Ness shifted her foot back.

  Aquilus tensed, shoulders rigid, but it was his eyes that frightened her. Not anger in them, no, something stronger. He jerked his thumb toward the garden wall outside the peristyle.

  Ness pressed her bare toes against the tile. A score of people gawked at her, but that equaled nothing compared to Aquilus.

  His eyes said now.

  A faint breeze blew from the garden, flushing candle smoke through her nostrils. She tried to pry her gaze away from his face. Failure.

  He took one step toward her.

  She came.

  Might as well talk anyway so he could give her the divorce, right? So why couldn’t she breathe?

  Then she stood in front of him. A handbreadth of stone now separated them from prying eyes. She looked at Aquilus’ face. Her heart began running like a chariot horse’s hooves.

  The sun slipped slowly beneath the garden’s wall as he looked at her. If only she could follow the sun.

  “You will not—”

  Cold marble touched her neck as she pressed back.

  Aquilus stepped forward. His two hands spanned her as he leaned up against the wall.

  She looked at his face, only a few handbreadths away, and she realized what frightened her. He held himself perfectly under control. Wrath-filled, he was, yet he displayed no angry red and his voice didn’t rise.

  If this was Aquilus’ reaction under control, what was out of control?

  “You will not ruin my life’s wor
k,” Aquilus said, voice eerily level.

  She shifted her gaze from his eyes to his mouth moving with the words to his hands pressed against the wall. Her mouth went dry. Flattening her arms against her side, she willed herself to stand straight. “Give me my divorce.”

  “No.”

  “Why? Is it that you love me so much?” She hid the tremble in her voice. Only an hour ago she’d promised herself if this attempt failed, she’d stay.

  “Love? You’ve been killing that irrational emotion for a long time now.” His voice cut like sharpened steel.

  For one moment, there in the dark garden of a Roman’s house, she felt fear.

  “Leave here,” he ordered.

  She looked back at the dinner party. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as her pounding head refused to invent a scornful denial. She looked at Aquilus’ face, still controlled, but so close to that edge. So incredibly close.

  Those dark eyes fixed on her.

  She left.

  The morning after the disaster that was last night, Aquilus stared at the notes that had poured in all morning. He broke the seal to the latest. Like the others, it gave regrets that this man, too, would not be ‘able’ to support his Germania plan.

  Aquilus clenched his jaw. How could Ness have done this?

  Yanking his toga off its hook, Aquilus exited his tablinum. He would go to Praetor Ocelli, see what they could ransom.

  His angry strides made short work of the walk, but the slave who answered the praetor’s door left Aquilus waiting in the entranceway.

  Aquilus scowled. So, the praetor raged too.

  Finally, the man made a pompous appearance wearing the purple-bordered toga of a magistrate. He didn’t even extend his hand.

  Aquilus wrinkled his nose. One could kill Hannibal’s elephants with the scented oil the praetor exuded.

  Praetor Ocelli crossed untrained arms. “You owe me sixty thousand denarii.”

  Aquilus raised an eyebrow. “Sixty thousand?”

  “For the vase your wife broke.”

  “Soldiers use clay pots,” Aquilus muttered, but he nodded his acceptance of the demand. “On a related note, I’ve received regrets all morning.”

  Praetor Ocelli flicked his thin fingers against his nose. “Last night did tend to have that effect.”

  Had the man ever handled a sword? “You know these men. What will regain their support?”

  “You could divorce the woman who caused it.”

  Aquilus scowled. “Other solutions?”

  The praetor parted his lips, revealing thin teeth. “Senator Gaius did after his first wife misspoke.”

  “Not happening.” Though he’d certainly felt like doing something. How could Ness even consider sabotaging the plan he’d worked on for years?

  “I know the women—men,” the praetor corrected himself hastily, “who were offended would relent if you divorced her.”

  So, Bernice had done this to force him to divorce Ness. It sounded like the kind of backstabbing idiocy society women would invent. Well, Bernice and her minions could think again. Paterculis didn’t divorce and he’d not be the weak link in the ancestral line. “I said no.”

  “She’s an unconnected Celt. It’s not like you’d have to return a dowry.”

  “I told you to start thinking of other solutions.” Aquilus’ voice rose.

  “And servants talk. Rumor has it she played the harlot’s part against you. Some barbarian lover named Cedric?”

  Aquilus clenched the handle of his knife and regretted not driving his blade along with his fist into that Celt last year. “Get your polluted mind out of my bed chamber. She’s my wife. I’m not divorcing her, and you can inform your gossip sources as well.” Aquilus turned and kicked open the gate to the street beyond.

  “She’d have made a better mistress than wife,” the praetor called after him in an oil-tinged voice.

  Something inside him broke. Aquilus whipped about. He shoved the praetor into the wall, splintering a table behind him, and wished the man was Cedric.

  “How dare you?” The praetor slid a wicked-looking blade out of his tunic.

  Aquilus shoved the man again. “Muzzle yourself!” He shouted into the praetor’s scented face. “And if I ever hear these insults to my wife’s honor spread about again, there will be repercussions.” Turning on his heel, Aquilus left.

  “You’ll pay for this.”

  “I don’t care,” Aquilus yelled back over the courtyard.

  Gravel kicked up between Aquilus’ feet as he strode down the street. He drove his sandal against a stone that jutted out of the dirty road. Bernice would ensure that gossip about Cedric spread throughout all of Rome by sunset. As if he needed another reason to be the ridicule of Rome.

  Quidquid. What actually mattered was that his Germania plan lay in ruins and he’d just destroyed his last slim chance of rescuing it. When listening to Praetor Ocelli, he should have closed his mouth, displayed some self-control, and thought about the good of Rome.

  Slamming the man against a wall, in truth? He should go back and apologize, not that it would do any good with a man of the praetor’s temperament.

  Aquilus lengthened his stride and glowered at the refuse lining the street. If he turned around, it would be to shove the word ‘harlot’ down the man’s teeth with a fist.

  As Aquilus crossed the Paterculi atrium, a servant handed him three new letters of regret. He seized the tablets and flung the tablinum curtain open.

  Cassius sat inside. He rose, his informal tunic half covering a sunburned neck. “Salve.”

  “Dare I hope you haven’t heard yet?” Aquilus threw the tablets against the floor. They hit the tile with a satisfying smack.

  “Rome’s a large city, but not that large.” Cassius glanced at the now-broken tablets.

  Yanking the stool out from the table, Aquilus crashed onto it. “At least I didn’t invite you to the dinner.”

  A laughing glint shone in Cassius’ gray eyes. “It sounded rather amusing.”

  “Amusing? Do you know how many years I spent on my Germania plan?”

  Cassius sobered. “You’re right, lad.”

  “Of all the spiteful things she could do.” Aquilus looked out the window as all the things he’d like to yell at people flashed through his wits. He refocused on Cassius. “As we speak, the praetor’s lambasting my name across every circle he knows.”

  Cassius opened his round mouth. “Every circle he knows? That’s all of Rome.”

  “Just about.”

  Cassius wrinkled his brow. “Surely last night didn’t offend him so much?”

  “I also slammed him against a wall this morning.”

  Cassius’ lips twitched. “You’re a Stoic?”

  Instead of answering, Aquilus tore the seal to one of the new notes—a consul this time. With one arm, he swept the whole mess onto the floor.

  How could Ness do this to him? She hadn’t just done it to him either. People in Germania needed this plan. His plan would settle the region, bring peace and prosperity not just to Rome, but to the barbarians. Aquilus kicked the table so hard it hurtled into the wall. One leg splintered.

  “Aquilus?”

  Recapturing composure, he turned to Cassius. “Mea culpa. What did you come for?”

  “You have a wondrous plan. It shouldn’t go to waste.”

  “Should being the operative word.” Aquilus glared at the writing table.

  “Let me pass it for you. Let me adopt your son.”

  “I already said ‘no.’” If he threw the ancient table, passed down through generations of Paterculis, out the window to smash into pieces would he feel any better?

  “It’s for the good of Rome, and what about honoring your father’s wishes?”

  With a groan, Aquilus turned away from the table. Cassius spoke truth. Duty dictated he should do this but he didn’t want to. He wanted his sons despite duty, just like he had wanted to marry Ness. See where that had got him.

  �
��I would love him like my own and you would see him often,” Cassius said.

  But the boys were his sons.

  “I know you love your sons, but don’t let emotion cloud this judgment.” Cassius stretched out his hand.

  Aquilus looked at Cassius’ earnest face and felt his soul bend. Though it tore at him, for his father and duty he could do this.

  What about Ness’ thoughts on the matter? Legally this was his right to decide, but he could wait and discuss it with her.

  Last night played before his wits. One had to have a perverted mind simply to invent the things she performed.

  “Very well.” Aquilus took Cassius’ extended hand.

  Rising, the senator walked out into the streets and Aquilus leaned back against the edge of the doorframe and tried to ignore the sharp pain in his head.

  Water splashed from across the atrium. Aquilus looked up. Wryn paddled in the atrium pool, wet up to his sturdy waist.

  Sliding down to the floor, Aquilus watched.

  Wryn dragged himself out of the pool and toddled closer, prattling in an odd mixture of Celtic and Latin. The boy walked up to him, and his face came even with Aquilus’ slouched shoulder. The boy patted his knee and then started scrambling up.

  He held out a hand to shield the boy from falling as Wryn mounted his knee and then kicked his legs and crowed.

  Reaching out, Aquilus touched the boy. Wryn grabbed his extended hand and began tugging at Aquilus’ signet ring.

  Aquilus took the ring off and held it out. “It’s the eagle and the raven, the Paterculi crest. I’ll make you one someday like my father made me.”

  Babbling, Wryn slid off Aquilus’ knees. His little feet made contact with Aquilus’ stomach. Grabbing at the iron ring, Wryn tried to ingest it.

  Aquilus laughed. “I said in time, not now.” His face paled. One of his sons would never claim the eagle and the raven. He tightened his hand over the boy’s shoulder. It was for Germania and for his father’s friend.

  Duty be cursed. These were his sons. He wanted to show them how to fight with armatura swords, and take them to the forum, and teach them Greek and the strategies of warfare. His breathing grew heavier, yet he had given his word.

  Once a Paterculi gave his word, he never took it back.