Planting her feet on the stone, she slapped her hand on the bench back. “I am going to Claudia’s house.” And the fuller’s after.
Stepping back, Marcellus lowered the gladius. “Of course.”
“Then why won’t your stupidly loyal rabble let me out the gate?” As if he still didn’t trust her.
“Sorry.” Marcellus dropped the shield. “I’ll take care of that.” Slipping his arm around her, he walked through the atrium, his touch washing over her like Mediterranean waves.
The new recruit stood at the villa gate, feet spread. The gate key dangled from his belt.
“Open this gate.” Marcellus nodded to the lock.
The new recruit rested his hand on his sword pommel. “You may thrill at the thought of risking crucifixion for the joys of a lover’s passion. But not all of us get so much pleasure from wagering our lives on a woman’s whims.”
“I’ll walk with her myself, Tarbus.” Marcellus wrapped his other arm around her shoulder as the warmth of his chest seeped into her back. “Now open the gate.”
She whipped around. “You don’t trust me either?”
Tarbus grated the key in the lock.
Tugging her forward, Marcellus walked out to the street. He dropped his mouth to her ear, his breath brushing her cheek. “I trust you with all my secrets, delicia. But what man would forgo a chance to spend another hour in your company?”
A half-hour later, the porter for Claudia’s familia swung the villa gate open for them to enter. She and Marcellus followed him to where Claudia sat on a garden bench, embroidery spread across her lap.
Gwen ran and threw her arms around Claudia, mussing the stitching.
With a groan, Claudia extricated the fabric. “I’m supposed to finish a dozen more household linens like this before my wedding next month.”
“You cannot marry Fabius.” Dropping down beside the girl, Gwen grabbed Claudia’s small hand. “I’ll speak to your father myself.”
“As if that would accomplish anything.” Claudia cast a nervous glance to Marcellus. He stood a pace from them, his back touching a myrtle branch.
Gwen followed Claudia’s gaze. “He won’t repeat anything.”
“He’s a man,” Claudia dropped her voice, “and he grew up with Fabius.”
“Which is why I can tell you, Claudia, that Gwen’s right.” Marcellus’ deep voice broke the garden stillness. “If you marry Fabius, he will never be faithful to you, and he will use his power as dominus to hurt you and those you care about.”
Claudia shifted her hand, revealing wrinkled fabric her fingers had clenched, but she met Marcellus’ gaze full-on. “That’s some censure coming from you, Dominus Marcellus.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps it takes an ingrate to recognize one.”
“I’ll help you run away.” Gwen gestured beyond the garden’s walls. “You could go to your mother in Moesia.”
“I don’t know.” Claudia dropped her voice. “My father would be so angry.”
“But Claudia—”
“You don’t understand. My mother’s family are wealthy merchants, not patricians. If I defy my father like this, I lose any chance of reentering patrician society.”
“Oh, I think Gwen would understand something about defying fathers.” A teasing light glinted in Marcellus’ eyes.
With an eye roll, Gwen made a shooing motion.
He grinned at her, then walked back to the atrium.
Gwen grabbed Claudia’s hand with both of hers. “Fabius is worse than you know. You should hear the tales Marcellus tells of him.”
“But running away?” Claudia’s dark eyes grew round, trepidation on her small face.
She was so young, much too young to have to make this choice. “I’ll help you with everything, Claudia. Deliver you safe to your mother myself.”
“I’ll think on it.” Claudia tugged her hand away. “Now I have embroidery to finish, and you have a husband, who you didn’t have to sink to equestrian rank to get, waiting for you. Salve.” Claudia flicked her hand to the atrium’s colonnades.
Sink? If only marrying Marcellus merely sank her to equestrian status, like John. Gwen stood and walked to Marcellus.
He took her hand, his calluses pressing against her palm. His green eyes smiled at her, every look of his life-giving. “Show me your fuller’s shop?”
She nodded. A lifetime with him was worth losing patrician status for.
Gwen glanced at the locked room the rabble wouldn’t let her enter. She trusted Marcellus, yet....
Crossing to the outer courtyard, she slid behind overgrown hedges until she came to the curtained window. Bars locked tight against the brick. She dug Wryn’s gladius against the rusty nails. One gave way. She scraped the metal against brick once again, and another nail came loose.
Footsteps sounded on the side path, but these junipers towered twice as tall as she. She dug at another nail. Her fingernail ripped, tearing down to flesh.
The bars shifted. Shoving them left, she squeezed through the gap.
She landed on something that felt sharp even through her sandal. She gasped. Piles of weapons filled the room—not dozens, not hundreds, but thousands. Swords, shields, knives, even bows and javelins, enough to outfit an army.
What kind of army did Marcellus plan to arm?
Her heart stopped. His words from weeks ago rang through her ears. What if the oppressed someday rise up against their oppressors? Slaves, even.
Marcellus intended to lead a slave revolt, a treasonous slave revolt that would cost Claudia, Livia, her familia, and so many others their lives.
Her tunica tore on the rusty bars as she scrambled out. She ran to the back courtyard. The clang of blades rose as Marcellus and the rabble trained—to lead a slave revolt.
She strode into the melee. Marcellus waved his hand and the swords lowered. Sweating hard, the rabble directed curious glances to her.
Spinning slowly, she dropped her voice. “You’re starting a slave revolt. All of you.”
The rabble’s faces paled. Marcellus reached for her hand. “Delicia, I never—”
“I saw your weapons. You needn’t lie—again.” She glanced around the circle of hardened men. “Why are you following him in this? Even if you do win a battle or two, you’ll all lose your lives eventually. Untrained freedmen are no match for Rome’s legionaries.”
Bruno raised his meaty hand. “If we die, we die washing the land’s injustices away with patrician blood.”
She spun toward him. “What about the slaves who have a woman, children? Do you think mothers and babes want to see their men, their fathers die? When Rome exacts revenge, they won’t spare the women and children either.”
Marcellus brushed her shoulder. “You gasped to hear of the injustices rained on me as a slave. How can we allow this to continue?”
Gwen looked deep into his eyes. “Work through legal channels to improve slaves’ plight. Help them run away. The church already does much such work.”
Androkles scoffed. “And not a patrician dies. We’ll take a life of theirs for every life of ours they’ve stolen.”
“Spartacus lost. Miserably.” She gestured over the junipers. “And in that kind of purge, you’ll kill the innocent along with the wicked.” Claudia along with Fabius. Why couldn’t Marcellus see that?
“No slave owner’s innocent.” The new recruit stood tall.
Her eyes widened. “Not even the patrician children? The women? The kind masters?”
The new recruit plunged his blade into the dirt. “They all deserve to die.”
She whipped toward the man she’d thought to call husband. “You believe this Marcellus?” Her voice caught. “Do I deserve death?”
“Of course not.” Marcellus reached for her, pain in his eyes. “Never you.”
“What about the others like me? Claudia, Aulia?”
His face tightened, hate burning in his eyes, try as he might to cover it. “You’d not like to hear my answer.”
&nb
sp; “On the contrary.” She plopped down on the garden bench. “I greatly desire to hear how my husband plans to die.”
Wary gazes focused on her from every side.
She looked to Marcellus. “Where did you even get the coin for that many weapons?”
The new recruit snorted. “You brought twenty-five million sestertii to this villa, domina.”
Gwen dropped her hands. “You used my dowry to purchase blades for your slave revolt?”
Marcellus ran his tongue over his lip. “I’ll pay you back once I get the money from Consul Julius.”
“You used my dowry to help yourself, and half this city die in the most ill-conceived type of rebellion.” She raised her voice above the juniper branches. “How long do you truly hope to last against the might of Rome?”
Androkles took a menacing step forward. “You will not tell, domina.”
“Or you’ll kill me? I know, your leader’s already made that threat. Don’t you think I’m going to die anyway in this inane revolt? Blood will pour down the streets.”
In a stride, Marcellus shoved Androkles out of the way. He sat beside her on the bench. Unlike the others, his eyes had a pleading light, his hands stretched out to her. “Vengeance is worth bloodshed, Gwen. Can’t you see that?”
“What good is vengeance if you’re all dead? You’re not giving you or any other slave one iota of a better life. You’re just making everyone who ever hurt you, along with innocent bystanders, miserable.”
The new recruit clenched his hands. “Yes, that’s called revenge.”
She leaped to her feet. “No, it’s called idiocy.”
“Gwen.” Marcellus stood.
“In the end, innocent and wicked, patrician and slave, all die together.” She whipped toward the man she wanted a lifetime with. “What does that actually accomplish, Marcellus? Let God judge the evildoer.”
He caught her hands. “Gwen, you have to understand.”
“No, I don’t. And I never will.”
He didn’t pursue her as she marched into the darkness of the villa.
A day had passed since the woman he loved had learned of the revenge he plotted against the patricians he hated. Marcellus paced the courtyard. Gwen had a point about Spartacus. He could be leading his rabble to their deaths. This revenge is what had kept him alive the last three years.
This revenge would lose him Gwen.
Perhaps she spoke the truth that a few patricians were innocent. Her familia and John Spiros seemed to respect human life, slave or free. Most patricians did deserve to die, though. He could free slaves by killing them.
As Gwen had said, he could also free slaves by less lethal means. Stealing away slaves in the dead of night, spiriting the oppressed to Germania, merely helped the innocent. It did nothing to slake his thirst for revenge or bring down the flaming judgment sword against those like Fabius.
Behind him, a man coughed. “You have a problem.” Bruno extended a wax tablet.
“Tomorrow night I’ll meet the Viri, catch the Shadow Man, collect the reward from Consul Julius, then we’ll launch our revolt.” And he’d lose Gwen. He couldn’t endure thinking of that now. “What possible problem could I have?” Marcellus dropped his gaze to the tablet.
Greetings Gwen,
I pray this missive finds you well. I am traveling to Rome next week and will be at your house midday on the second of Maius.
Your father
The second of Maius, tomorrow. Marcellus gulped. “I have a problem.”
“You can’t bar him entrance. If last time was any portent, he’ll bring legionaries and a battering ram.” Bruno chafed his big hands against each other. “If your woman tells her father one tenth of what’s gone on, we’ll all be nailed to crosses before a new sun dawns.”
In her current mood, Gwen would no doubt do just that. Marcellus shoved the tablet into Bruno’s hands. “I’ll fix this.”
Picking up a rock, Gwen flung it across the garden path. From the movement of the rabble around the exterior walls, Marcellus had ordered extra guards since yesterday. Locking her in again.
He was a liar. Liar. And she was a fool for continuing to fall for his wretched lies. He’d used her and lied to her, and then used her again. She slapped her hand against her forehead. What was wrong with her wits? Or her heart.
A footstep sounded. Marcellus locked his gaze with hers. With his square hand, he gestured to the bench she sat on. “May I sit?”
“No.”
“I was thinking about what you said yesterday.”
“No hurry, you’ll have a lifetime. As soon as we catch the Shadow Man, I’m leaving.” She slapped her hands against the bench.
His green-eyed gaze lingered on her. “Until you said it, I hadn’t thought about how many would die.”
“You have a thousand blades piled in that room.” She stabbed her finger toward the villa. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about bloodshed. Relishing it more like.”
“You know what it’s like to fight against injustice.”
She cocked her head.
“With your friends, the girls betrothed to wretched men. Sometimes, at first, you don’t choose the wisest method for helping them either.”
The petition, which had almost lost Livia her children, and now resulted in Claudia’s betrothal to Fabius. Gwen tried to glare, but Marcellus’ gaze looked so pensive.
“What if I found another way to free slaves? Used the rabble to spirit them away to the Germanian border?”
“Oh!” She sat straighter. “Could we smuggle patrician daughters who didn’t want to marry that way too?”
“Yes, we could, delicia.” He reached for her.
Wait, he was lying again. She shoved back against cold marble. “You’ve planned this revolt for months, years. My one conversation won’t change that.”
“I thought about what Jesus said about revenge too. I can’t follow the Way and embrace this path of reckless deaths, can I?”
“Very true.” She gripped the marble. “But then, I think you like your revenge a whole lot more than my Jesus.”
“Don’t you believe a man can change, Gwen?”
“But….” She looked at him. So much sincerity shone from his eyes.
“You’re right that I spent years living for revenge. Then I fell in love with you. Love is beautiful, so much more beautiful than hate. You have to believe me.” He knelt by the bench. He touched her knee.
She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I knew I could change you.” She’d cross that line off the tablet right now.
The slightest hint of discomfort lingered in his eyes, but it swiftly passed. Clasping both her hands, he held them, still kneeling. “You believe me then?”
Ripping her hands away, she moved down the bench. “I’ll believe you if you sell all the weapons.”
Sitting next to her now, he worked his hand between her back and the bench she leaned tightly against. “The rabble needs weapons, delicia.”
She shoved his hands off. “Not a thousand swords, they don’t.”
“Very well, my love.” He stroked his fingers across her cheek. “Am I forgiven then?”
She narrowed her eyes, but he smiled at her, his hand extended palm out, his arms waiting to surround her in their embrace. “After you sell the weapons.”
“Then I’ll have to ensure I find a buyer before nightfall, delicia.” With a bow, he turned away.
As Marcellus trudged into the stable, the rabble surrounded him.
Bruno grabbed him by the shoulder. “You’re giving up the revolt? We joined to help you overthrow Rome.”
“Peace.” Marcellus held up his hand. “I couldn’t have Gwen betray us to her father. I’m fully committed to the slave revolt.” Change him? She thought she’d changed him. Marcellus’ heart sank.
“Oh.” Bruno dropped his hand.
“You’d best get what rest you can this day because we’re staying up all night digging a hole underneath the stable floor for the weapo
ns.” Marcellus kicked a loose board. Gwen was naive enough to believe him. Who did that make him deceiving her?
What else could he have done? Let the rabble get crucified because he was fool enough to fall in love with a domina?
A groan slid through Marcellus’ teeth. No, he shouldn’t have started flirting with her two years ago. He’d hurt her. He’d never meant to hurt her. Or to lie to her so very much.
First, he needed information about the garrison to ingratiate himself with the Viri so Consul Julius wouldn’t sell him back into slavery. Then, he’d fallen in love with her and selfishly wished to steal as many moments as he could. Then, because of his indiscreet handling of meeting Gwen, the Shadow Man had ordered Gwen dead. He’d saved her life by marrying her, yet he’d cut her to the quick too. If another man had done to Gwen what he had, he’d want to slit a knife across that man’s throat.
“When do we launch the revolt?” Androkles jostled through the rabble. “If the domina’s plan succeeds, we’ll catch the Shadow Man tomorrow night.”
“I don’t know.” In as far distant of the future as possible. He needed time with Gwen. She spoke truly that if he failed to vanquish Rome, he’d be responsible for the death of the rabble and every other slave who joined his revolt.
Chapter 33
Sleep drifted around Gwen. Sun streamed through curtains, but she’d spend half this coming night catching the Shadow Man, so she fully deserved to lie abed. She squeezed her eyes tighter.
“Good morning, beautiful.” A hand brushed over hers. Marcellus looked down at her. “Your father’s here.”
“What?” She sat up. “Why didn’t he send a letter?”
“I don’t know, delicia. But—” Marcellus knelt by the bed, his hand over hers. “Can you not tell him about me?”
“I’ll have to tell him that you’re not a patrician soon since you’re losing this villa once we catch the Shadow Man tonight.”
“Yes, tonight, delicia. You know that conversation with your familia won’t prove pleasant. What if your father’s rage delays us and we are too late to catch the Shadow Man?” Marcellus clasped her other hand too.
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 31
