“Oh yes, sorry.” John stuffed the scroll he held into his tunic. He smiled at her. “Your brother gave me information on the smugglers he’s tracking. Fascinating, but I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
“What information?” She leaned forward even though if Father and Wryn spoke truth about John wanting to marry her, this would only encourage him.
John placed one foot on a stool and rested his hand on his knee. “It’s mostly related to the slave trade. Pirates have captured ship crews and sold them into slavery. Wryn freed an entire crew at the Ostia slave markets last week. Some of the captured crewmen overheard things while enslaved.”
Wryn told John this not her? “Thank you for the information.” Unlike most men, John didn’t question her for wishing to know it, but she could fall asleep listening to his voice.
“How are you these days?” From the tone of his voice, his eyes might have held a smile if she bothered to glance up.
Slumping in the chair, she plopped her chin in her hands. “No different than when I last saw you.”
Long, languid pause.
“I could bring this parchment over tomorrow, see what you make of it if you’d like?”
Moving her elbows off her knees, she straightened. “Yes!”
“Wryn said you had an interest in the Viri smugglers and piracy.”
The edges of her mouth pulled up in a crooked half-smile. If John had spoken to Wryn, that was the polite paraphrase of what he heard. “Yes, I am.”
“Why?”
“I like all politics, but since Emperor Trajan’s not at war, smuggling is the most insidious threat of our era, like the Trojan horse to Paris, or the Carthaginian conflict under Hannibal.”
John touched his dark-eyed gaze to her. “Most women don’t care.”
“Wryn only reminds me daily.” With a groan, she sank her chin back into her hands. She couldn’t hear Marcellus’ voice anymore. Perchance he’d left for his house. If only he were a smuggler like Wryn irrationally speculated, then she’d clap Marcellus in irons.
“I think it’s agreeable that you do.”
She jerked her chin up to look at John’s face. She blinked. “Why?”
“Makes you more interesting to talk to than other girls.” John flashed a smile, an outright charming smile.
Perhaps John wasn’t so bad. A little dull, yes, but maybe Father insinuated correctly that if she spent more time with John, she could like him. She should try at least. Besides, nothing could hurt more than the way her shredded heart bled at present. If she married John, next time she found an exposed infant she could keep him or her. “Wish to walk in the gardens?”
“I’m already in trouble with your father for what happened in a villa garden last time.”
Oh. She glanced down. “That was my fault.”
“Not the way your father tells it.” John grinned at her.
“You don’t look chagrined.”
“You kissed me. Scarcely a thought to create a dour countenance.”
She had given John ideas. Gwen squirmed on the chair.
A hand brushed her scapula. She twisted. Her gaze collided with the last man she wished to see.
“Gwen.” Marcellus ran his gaze over her.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to talk to her in public. She turned to John. “Is that a new knife on your belt? I could certainly see you as a tribune.”
Hermina could have invented a better flirtation line, but John’s ears still reddened.
Rather than leaving, Marcellus leaned on the back of her chair. “Charming tonight, are we?”
She could smell the scent of him, the aroma of earth and river water. “Go away.”
He reached for her hand. “Walk with me.”
She jerked her fingers away. “No.”
“Very well. We’ll talk here.” Marcellus slammed into the seat beside her.
Gwen shifted her gaze to John. His eyes widened. Surely Marcellus wouldn’t truly sit here and talk.
Marcellus slanted his eyebrows up. “Gwen—”
She did, after all, have a lot more to lose from the exposure of their trysts than he did. She leaned toward Marcellus and lowered her voice. “At the end of the hour, behind the second hedge.”
He stretched then stood. Bending over the back of her chair, he let his breath graze her ear. “Not in an hour, now.” Turning on his heel, he left.
She looked to John.
He gazed at her. “Why did Marcellus talk to you?”
“Um….”
“He’s got quite the reputation. Are you sure you can trust him?”
“You needn’t worry. I don’t.” Not after he appeared in her bedchamber last night. Her bedchamber. She’d sleep with one hand on Wryn’s short sword tonight.
Marcellus had said now. If she didn’t go to him forthwith, would he do something indiscreet enough that her familia noticed?
“About these smugglers.” John rested his hand on his knee.
“Pardon me. I’ll only be a moment.” Standing, she moved through the atrium as if headed to the bathhouse, then circled right.
In moments, she passed through the peristyle to the dark hedges of a sprawling garden. The starlight illuminated a rose trellis beyond the second hedge. Marcellus already stood underneath the arbor.
She walked only close enough that her voice wouldn’t carry to those inside. “I told you that we’re through.”
He rested one hand on the arbor. It bent. “What if I don’t want us to be done?”
“Then you should have asked for my hand in marriage, not appeared in my bedchamber like an assassin.”
“I love you, Gwen.”
“Go write love sonnets like Catullus then and die of a broken heart.” She kicked a tree trunk.
“You’re going to give up what we had?”
“What we had?” She glared at the most handsome man ever to live. The starlight reflected off his broad shoulders. “A few stolen kisses, snatches of conversations, and a lot of lies. I’ll quite enjoy looking my father in the face without carrying around a chest-load of deceit.”
“Gwen.”
“No.” She spun on one heel.
He snagged her arm.
“Let go of me.” She shoved his chest.
“Wait, Gwen.” He looked into her eyes. Sadness lingered in his own. “I want to make it better, Gwen. Tell me how.”
She hesitated.
He held her gaze.
Could she forgive him? She swallowed hard. “Are you going to ask for my hand in marriage?”
“Gwen.” Mother called from the lighted colonnades.
“I have to go.” Gwen pried at his fingers, which still surrounded her bare arm.
He slipped his other arm around her waist. “Meet me again on the Aventine Hills by the weaver’s stall.”
Gwen bit her lower lip.
“Tomorrow. Please, Gwen.” His taut body radiated yearning, but he hadn’t promised to ask for her.
She should say ‘no.’ She ran her gaze over his face. No one made her feel alive like Marcellus. “What time?”
“Half-past the noon hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Bring guards this time.”
She rolled her gaze to the stars above. “Very well.”
Taking her hand, he brought it toward his lips.
She yanked away. “I only said I’ll be there.”
“That’s enough.”
As she walked away, two more words trailed after her on the night breeze. “For today.”
Sun streamed on the Paterculi garden. Gwen looked to the two tattered-clothed women standing in front of her. “I found two positions, one cleaning for the Linthicus family, and I opened a new room at the Fides fuller shop.” Gwen picked up two knives, still hot from the sun-baked brick. “These are for you. I’ll teach you how to use them. All women should carry arms.”
“I’ll take the fuller shop position,” the younger woman said as she took the shining blade. The older woman, w
hose threadbare tunica tore up to the knee, blinked, but she also took the knife.
“Good. I’ll get you some new clothes.” Gwen looked to the sundial as the women turned away. Raising her own knife, she flung it forward. It arched through the air to embed in a sapling trunk on the far side of the pool. Four more hours until she met Marcellus.
Behind her, Mother dug a trowel into the garden bed, pulling dirt over new shoots. Herbs, spices, and flowers emerged from the ground. No one could grow things like Mother.
Sandals thudded against the pavement. Father took a seat on the raised garden bed. He touched Mother’s hand. “John stopped by at cock-crow this morn, Gwen. Want to know what he asked?” Father’s eyes held a teasing glint.
“Oh, about the smugglers? You should have called me. I wanted to see that parchment Wryn gave him.” Grimacing, Gwen plucked a pebble from the garden bed and tossed it across the stones. With this Marcellus business, she’d completely forgotten John said he’d stop by. She did need to know about those smugglers to catch the Shadow Man. Also, she needed to find more work opportunities for whoever would ask next, and make Wryn fall in love with Aulia. She sat on the garden wall.
Father laughed, his hand over Mother’s now. “Scarcely. John asked for your hand in marriage.”
Oh. She truly shouldn’t have kissed John at the Tellnus party. Unlike with the last ninety proposals she rejected, she squirmed on the warm stone. She’d still have to see John every First Day. “Tell him ‘no’ gently. I can do it if you wish.”
“Why would you wish me to tell John ‘no’?” Father’s hand fell from Mother. “He’s a follower of the Way, a good man. Ambitious, and able to provide you ample opportunities to help him with the political work you love. I could get him that tribune post you want, and then you could help him.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“You were kissing him in the garden.” Dropping the trowel, Mother stared severely at her. “According to your brother, sprawled all over the man, with your tongue down his throat. Why were you doing that if you have no feelings for him?”
“Why was she doing that if she did have feelings for the man?” Father rose, voice tense. “Why didn’t Wryn tell me that part? He implied one chaste kiss.”
“Perhaps because he knew you’d have this reaction.” Mother stabbed the trowel into the dirt.
Wryn had kept her secret, a little. Also, he’d seen much more than he’d let on. Gwen swallowed. An itchy feeling started underneath her tunica.
“After all that, you’re telling me you don’t want to marry John?” Father narrowed his eyes.
“It’s her choice,” Mother said.
“I’m giving you the choice of who you please, Gwen, but it might be time to consider what you desire in a husband. No more kisses either, or I may change my mind about giving you choices.”
In truth? Gwen smiled. She’d remember that when she was working on convincing Father to accept Marcellus’ suit. Wait, Marcellus hadn’t asked for her. He didn’t want her. Tears formed in her eyes.
“If she even wants a husband.” Mother plopped a shovelful of dirt over a hyssop plant.
“That too. I’ll never force you to marry, daughter.” Father rested his dark-eyed gaze on her. He raised his voice. “Though I’d like to after hearing this news. I will force you to stop kissing men.”
“Of course, Gwen doesn’t have to marry.” Mother stood. “Forcing to marry is an inane Roman custom.”
“I want to get married.” Gwen slapped her dirty feet against the cobblestones.
Mother swiveled.
“How can you and Father even discuss this? I want to get married.” The sun shone off Gwen’s hands as she gestured with as much frustration as she felt.
Father tilted his hard jaw down. “It’s not entirely preposterous that we might question your resolve after ninety marriage proposals.”
When Father said it like that, she did sound like an old maid. The right man hadn’t asked yet.
“What about a Celtic man, one who lives on the land? Ride horses, plow the fields?” Mother smiled, a light in her eyes like every time she mentioned her people.
Gwen groaned. “Tie myself to a tiny patch of dirt where the greatest intellectual stimulation is the choice of seeds to plant? I’ll never change the Empire that way.”
“Be polite to your mother.”
Gwen looked to Father. “You wouldn’t want me married to some grimy farmer who doesn’t even speak Latin.”
“Well, no, but that doesn’t excuse you insulting your mother’s people.”
True. Gwen dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Mother sighed. “You’d like the freedom in a Celtic village.”
“Is there a particular man you’re interested in?” Father found her gaze. “I could speak to the man’s familia, see what his intentions are.”
“I—” Marcellus had no family left alive, and she doubted he’d find her father’s thoughts at all convincing. “I’ll figure it out myself.” She glanced to the sundial. Only three and a half more hours.
“As you should.” Mother picked up the trowel. “No sense in these robbing-the-cradle matches anyway. Take all the time you need.”
Time? It was about time for her to marry. All her friends had married three years ago, if not five or six.
“I’ll tell John to wait a fortnight while you consider his offer.” Father walked toward the peristyle roof.
“I said no.” Gwen raised her voice through the hot air.
Father looked back. “Give John a fortnight.”
The clash of staves rose above the Tiber. Sweat dripping down his chest, Marcellus leaned on the end of his staff.
“Ready for this revolt any day.” Androkles wiped his dark hand over his forehead and heaved in a breath. “Once you catch that Shadow Man and earn the million sestertii to buy blades, we can launch the attack.”
Lowering staves, the other men gathered. “Yea, Marcellus,” Bruno said. “How long until we send those Cretans to Hades?”
“Change in plans.” Marcellus faced his men. “I’m taking the Marcellus estates instead of coin. We’ll have to wait several years and collect the harvests before we have enough money to launch the revolt.”
“What?” Androkles raised his voice.
“I’m bringing Gwen Paterculi here as wife.”
“Marry a patrician woman?” The new recruit spat. “How many slaves has she beaten?”
Bruno grabbed Marcellus’ arm. “What’s come over you?”
“The Viri ordered me to kill Gwen or pay with my life. I’m hoping the Shadow Man considers marriage an alternative to murder.” Would he? Marcellus dug his fingers into the staff’s hardened wood. The Shadow Man had never ordered Victor to kill his wife.
“You should kill her then,” the new recruit said.
“I couldn’t.” Marcellus didn’t meet the man’s gaze.
“Doesn’t mean you have to marry her.” Sweat dripped down Androkles’ face. “Tell the Shadow Man you’ll take someone else’s life in her stead.”
Marcellus clenched his fists. “If I don’t do the deed, he’ll send someone to kill her.”
“So? Let her die. She’s a patrician, the kind we intend to kill.” Bruno gripped his knife. “The kind who sent my sister to her death. I’ll kill her for you.”
Gwen was different. She helped people. Marcellus stared out at his men. “I’m the leader here. I say I’m marrying her, so I am.”
Androkles grabbed Marcellus’ upper arm. The man’s hot breath hissed in his ear. “I know it hurts. I had a woman once, baby girl too, before the master sold them. You have to forget and focus on your revenge. Focus on the masters who did this to us.”
“You can’t marry her,” another man called out.
The new recruit took one swaggering step closer. “I’ll kill her behind your back. Then the Shadow Man won’t want you dead.”
Marcellus whipped his gaze over his men. “If anyone so much a
s lays a finger on Gwen, they’ll answer to me, and I shall not be inclined to mercy.”
The new recruit fell back. The rabble’s voices rose in protests, curses, and oaths as they challenged the insanity of marrying Gwen.
Hands on his belt, Marcellus glared at his men.
“She’s a domina. You’re leading a slave revolt.” Androkles raised a scarred hand. “Do you truly not see the problem here?”
Marcellus glared at him. “My other option is to risk capture by running away to Germania. How am I supposed to start a slave revolt in Rome while on the frontier with no coin for blades because I didn’t catch the Shadow Man or earn my reward from Consul Julius?”
“I refuse to accept this.” The new recruit and others of the rabble drew their knives.
“Leave then.” Marcellus gestured to the streets. “Start your own slave revolt. Despite that, I’m the one who freed you all.”
Glares cut through the heated air, the tension palatable as many men gripped staves. Marcellus spread his feet and stared back.
Bruno released his knife hilt. “You’re a lovesick fool, but I’m not going anywhere.”
The new recruit swore by all of the Mt. Olympus gods, but the others’ complaints died to whispers.
“Back to training.” As the men dispersed, Marcellus shifted to Bruno. “Thanks for standing by me. Especially after what happened two nights ago, and me arriving too late for your sister.”
“Me staying does not mean I agree with your decision.” Bruno crossed thick arms. “Though I would like to see the look on Fabius’ face when he discovers you’ve stolen his bride.”
Marcellus grimaced. Fabius already wished to sell him back into slavery. “Don’t overexcite yourself. Her father’s more than likely to say ‘no.’ The Marcellus estates are nowhere near as grand as Fabius’.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Flee to the border of the Empire past where I can be arrested and crucified.” Who would keep Gwen safe from the Viri then?
“What if Fabius catches you on your escape?” Bruno raised thick eyebrows.
“I’ll take my own life before I become a slave again.” Marcellus kicked the earth. “Don’t mention this to the others. I don’t need panic.”
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 8
