“Ha!” Fabius swelled his chest. “If I let Gwen walk out of here today a free woman, she’d never tell anyone Corann is a slave. Imagine her infamia. Exposing Corann’s slave status to her father would make her my slave.”
“Fabius, you’re too young to remember this girl’s mother. Twenty years ago, Ness Paterculi at a….” Consul Julius rubbed his large thumb over the table surface. “Suffice it to say, you can’t put anything past these Paterculi women.”
“Even if Gwen was fool enough to mention Corann’s slavery to her familia, what’s Consul Paterculi going to do? You can’t defend the indefensible of bedding with a slave, even for your daughter.”
“You can if you’re Aquilus Paterculi.” Wonder shone in Consul Julius’ eyes. “After what his wife did, not only did that man not divorce her, he gave up a consulship for her.”
“But—”
“Those Paterculis are just insane enough to get me sent to exile. And I’m not going.” Consul Julius slammed his thick fist against the table.
“Corann’s my slave. You can’t make me free him.” Or make him forgo taking Gwen as his slave too. He’d very much enjoy that.
“Those forty guards standing out there serve me. So yes, I can.” Consul Julius shoved Corann’s slave papers forward. “Manumit him.”
“We don’t have to free him to keep him as a spy. We can use his mother to ensure his obedience.”
“I’m saving that weapon for times to come.” Consul Julius thrust a pen into his hand. “Now sign.”
Glaring, Fabius did.
A footstep sounded at the edge of the courtyard. Gwen’s breath came fast and hard as Consul Julius walked onto the stone space.
“All right.” Consul Julius extended a parchment. “Fabius has freed Marcellus on the provision that he keeps working for us against the Viri. There’s another leader above the Shadow Man, and we need to find him.”
“You expect Marcellus to continue risking his life as a spy after what you’ve done?” Gwen clenched her hands.
Consul Julius shrugged. “Unless he’d rather be condemned to the salt mines.”
“You’ll divorce him too.” Fabius jostled past the consul. “We’ll have no more slave blood mixed with patrician.”
“I’m not divorcing anyone.” Gwen snatched Marcellus’ manumission parchment. “You’ll give Marcellus the family estates along with his freedom.”
“What? No! I inherited those.” Consul Julius’ pasty skin tightened.
“I expect the last three years of back profits from the villas to give to my children too.” Gwen rested her hand on her hip. “Unless, of course, you’d rather I spread the word that you broke the law by—”
Consul Julius glared at Fabius. “I’ll give the three years of back profits.”
“Children!” Fabius’ jaw exploded open.
“Yes, small things, red noses, they cry a lot. Have you never met one?” Gwen swiveled to the whipping post. “Now unchain him. Immediately.”
Consul Julius nodded to a guard, and he inserted the key. The manacles gave way, and Marcellus stumbled. His torn tunic hung half-down his bloodied back, sweat dripping from his face, but he was free.
Together they walked out the gate.
At the top of the hill, the new recruit held the reins to both horses. Gwen slipped her hand into Marcellus’. “Let’s go home. And I am redecorating our villa.”
Marcellus’ face blanched. Slowly, he parted his mouth. “I lied to you about giving up the slave revolt.” He swallowed hard. “I’m leading the first battle next week.”
“What?”
Marcellus looked at the grass beneath his feet. “I figured I owed you the truth with you saving my life.”
“You can’t Marcellus!” She grabbed his hand. “You won’t help anyone. You’ll just all die.”
He clenched his hands into fists. “I have to make the patricians pay.”
“You said you’d give up revenge.”
“I lied to you.” He kicked a fallen log. Crawling creatures erupted.
“All my effort and I failed to change you.” She buried her face in her hands.
“Don’t blame yourself.” His voice had a heavy quality. “You were never capable of changing me.”
“But….” She stared at him.
He shook his head. “You weren’t. I’ve had twenty-three years of others controlling me. I’ll make my own choices now.” He grabbed her hands, voice rising. “But join me. Wield that blade of yours for the oppressed.”
“I’m not spilling innocent blood. I’m a Roman citizen. I’ll help you free slaves, but I won’t commit treason.”
“I love you, Gwen. I want you with me in this.” He twisted his arms around her waist.
“Your hate’s stronger than any love you have for me.” She yanked away from him.
He didn’t deny it.
She stared into his green eyes, so still now. She’d thought her love could change him. Instead, she’d merely given him the power to hurt her beyond anything she could have imagined. Tears choked her. “I’m a patrician. I’ll die in this revolt too.”
“I’m taking you to Gaul first.” He reached for her.
“You’re not taking me anywhere.” Running forward, she leaped onto his horse and dug her heels into its sides.
Fabius twisted his knife hilt between his fingers as he watched Corann and Gwen climb the hill. Moving away from Corann, Gwen swung up on a horse and spurred it onto the lonely road.
Consul Julius slammed his flabby hand onto Fabius’ shoulder. “You better not even be thinking about doing anything to Corann. We need him to topple the Viri and earn us glory.”
“Oh, I’m not thinking of doing anything to Corann.” Fabius watched Gwen. Consul Julius’ rules or no, he’d not let a slave have the woman who should have been his.
His steed was much swifter than the sorry mount Gwen rode.
Marcellus watched as the dust from Gwen’s horse receded. Revenge. Hate. It’s all he’d lived for since the day Fabius killed his mother.
He glanced at the blue sky. God, you really going to see justice served if I don’t? Have some angels with fiery swords prepared for men like Fabius and Victor?
No answer.
Who wanted to wait for the afterlife when one could drink their fill of revenge now? But Gwen, he’d lose her love by taking his revenge.
An arm jostled his. “She’s some woman you have.” The new recruit pointed after Gwen.
Marcellus blinked.
“The domina knew full-well walking into that villa that she could lose her life, yet she did it anyway.”
Marcellus’ hands tightened. “She offered to lose her freedom for me too.”
“She might be a patrician, but her heart bleeds the same color as ours. I wouldn’t oppose you if you took those years to go to the Germania border with her. Delay the slave revolt.”
“You told the imperial slaves. We have to launch this week or die.” Marcellus stared at the new recruit.
“I only told two of them, and they’ll hold their tongues. I’m not that much of a fool.”
“You told me—”
“To force your hand, but I see now why you value her. I won’t object if you hold off.”
“I can’t.” Marcellus sighed. “I told her about our plans. She’s probably off to tell her father, which means we’re riding all night and launching the revolt by dawn.” He gripped his knife. Spilling patrician blood would wash away this sick feeling in his stomach.
“She’d forgive you if you offered her a lifetime on that Germanian border.”
Marcellus dropped his hands. “You’d allow, nay encourage me to abandon our plans for revenge and spend my life with this domina you hate?”
“A life for a life. She almost lost her life to save yours.”
Wouldn’t even have to be at the Germanian border. He had the Marcellus estates now, thanks to Gwen. “Give up the revolt? And I don’t think she’d ever forgive me now.” Nor should she. He�
�d lied to her so many times.
“You could ride after her and find out.” The new recruit pointed to the cloud of dust.
“This revolt is my life.” Revenge, he’d plotted it for years. He yanked a new tunic from the saddle bags.
“Then we’re ready. Let’s start this revolt.” The new recruit raised his dagger high.
Marcellus shook his head. “First, I have three-year-old business to finish.”
Chapter 36
Leaning back in the saddle, the reins draped over her lap, Gwen tried not to think. Tears rolled down her cheeks. The horse ambled left as she stared at its mane with blurry eyes.
Hoofbeats pounded behind her. Her heart soared. Had Marcellus changed his mind? She twisted in the saddle.
Fabius’ red cloak blew in the breeze.
She dug her heels into the horse’s ribs. The mount trotted—slowly.
With the thunder of hooves, Fabius drew even. She yanked her horse right, into the trees.
Grabbing her arm, Fabius flung her from the horse. Pain shot through her ankles. As she stumbled on the leaf-covered trail, she whipped out her gladius.
Fabius looked at her, malice in his eyes. Helmetless, no cheek guards or high red plume hid the leer in his eyes. “Lonely stretch of road for finding a woman alone.”
The sun glinted off the blade she held high. She made a scoffing sound. “As if you’re even capable of assaulting a woman.”
Anger spread across Fabius’ face. He stepped between her and her horse, blocking her escape. “I only meant to assault you, but perhaps I should kill you too.”
“Oh, you most definitely should.” She flicked out her knife. “Because someone’s dying today before I ever let you assault me.” His exposed neck made an easy target. She drew her arm back. If she struck him on the neck, she’d kill him. Kill. Her fingers trembled.
He advanced.
If she didn’t throw to kill, he could kill her. Still, her arm trembled at the thought of killing. She cast the knife forward.
It clipped his breastplate and clattered to the forest floor. What? She never missed that easy of a throw.
He slammed his army-issue sandal on the blade.
She slashed with her gladius. Blood spurted from his arm.
He caught her at the waist. She hacked against his bracers.
Blood oozed over his fingers. With a curse, he dropped his hand from her.
Stabbing up, she went for his throat.
He grabbed her hair. Yanking it, he flung her onto the ground. He slammed down on her. The iron of his heavy armor caught the sunlight as he pinned her hands against the pine needles. His trained muscles bulged beneath his tunic sleeve, the same muscles that had left blood on Marcellus’ back. “I fought in the Dacian Wars, remember? Whatever piddly swordplay your father may have taught you, I’m much stronger than you.”
She thrashed against him. The weight of his body pinned her to the ground. Scooting for space, she got her leg up underneath her and tried to throw him off.
With a laugh, he slammed her hands harder against the dirt. His knife hung on his belt, only a pace from her hands.
“When did you find out? When you saw the scars on his back? When you looked at the brand seared into his flesh?”
Gwen shoved her wrists against each other, tearing right and left. Fabius’ big fingers locked her hands together.
“I helped Caius Marcellus make that brand. Held him down while Caius plunged the branding iron in, one letter at a time. You should have heard him scream.”
“You’re a brute.” She twisted against him, the pine roots digging into her back.
He shoved both her hands up above her head again. He dug the fingers of his free hand into her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “What does that mean for you, delicia?” He tore at her hair pins, and her hair fell around her face. “You should lose your freedom for the infamia of what you’ve done.”
“Infamia?” Twisting one hip, she shifted his weight and scooted up. “At least I’m not a traitor. You would have sold Marcellus into slavery after he risked his life to spy for you.” She jabbed forward with her elbows.
Fabius dug his fingers into her hair, yanking her back. “He’s a slave.”
Shoved back against the hard dirt, immobilized, she met his gaze. “How many other slaves have you abused? Beaten, assaulted, killed?”
“By law, you should have been my slave too. And you’re right, I’ve assaulted slaves before, but it’s not assault when it’s a slave.”
“I’m a Paterculi, and you’d better let go of me before I tell my father.” Her voice went shrill. She tried to kick his back, but his big frame rested too low on her hips. He dug his fingers into her wrists.
“You won’t be saying anything when you lay dead at the side of the road.”
She flailed against him.
Releasing her hands, Fabius tore her chiton off her shoulders.
She darted up. Grabbing the cold metal of his knife, she drove it up.
He gripped her wrist and twisted. Pain seared through her arm as the blade fell from her fingers. He was too strong, and his heavy body held her beneath him.
Lies, they worked well for Marcellus. She forced her voice level. “I’m divorcing Marcellus anyway. If you want my dowry, I could easily marry you.”
“Ha. Take you as my wife after you’ve degraded yourself with a slave? To think, I once would have considered marriage to you an advancement.” With a laugh, Fabius shoved the point of his knife against her throat, dimpling the skin.
Sunlight reflected off a flying object. With an oomph, Fabius’ hands fell from her, a knife protruding from his neck. His eyes lolled in death as his heavy body fell against her.
She shoved at him.
Two bronzed hands grabbed Fabius’ body and threw him off her.
“Marcellus!” Her heart pounded in her throat as she scooted back against the pine trunk. Fabius’ blood spattered across her chiton, the fabric torn and dirtied. Pine needles tangled in her unbound hair.
“Are you all right?” Marcellus knelt by her. Unfastening his cloak, he laid it on her knees.
“Yes.” She wrapped his cloak around her shoulders, covering the torn fabric. “How did you know to come and rescue me?”
“I didn’t.” He reached for her. “I came to kill Fabius.”
Not love, but hate. “Then let go of me.”
Marcellus dropped his hands from Gwen. Her tears still stained his tunic, strands of her hair sticking to his chest. Her face looked so pale, but she no longer trembled now that he’d come.
He glanced at Fabius’ dead body. Strange, he’d imagined killing that man for three long years. Yet, though the man richly deserved to die, instead of reveling, all he could think of was Gwen. The pleasure came from stilling her shaking limbs, not from staring at a corpse.
Gwen had spoken truth. Love was stronger than hate. Revenge would prove a shallow substitute for Gwen. He’d give up the revolt for her and a chance at peace.
“Gwen.” He touched her shoulder. “You were right.”
She gazed at him, face hard.
“I’ll accept your Jesus and his ideas on revenge.”
“Give up your slave revolt?”
He nodded. “I’ll never stop working to free slaves, but I want to save their lives, not just make the patricians and them die together. I’ll start smuggling slaves beyond the edge of the Empire.”
She shoved away from the tree. “And follow the Way, take on Jesus as your master?”
“A life for a life.” He nodded. “I’m sorry I lied to you again.” Would she forgive that? He didn’t breathe. She shouldn’t, but would she?
She raised her hand, anger swelling over her high cheekbones. “Why should I believe you, Marcellus?”
His shoulders slumped. “You probably shouldn’t.” She deserved better than him, and after a thousand lies had she finally realized it? He searched her face.
She pushed her ruby lips together. Crossing one ar
m over the other, she pressed her torn dress against her bosom.
He could beg her to stay, slide his hands around her waist, speak honeyed words, and kiss her until she went against her better judgment. That method had worked before.
He ran his gaze over her face. She’d made the right decision rejecting him. Unlike him, she had a clean past, no blood on her hands. He’d lied to her so often, used her love for him to get what he needed to escape death at the Viri’s hands.
Standing, he glanced down the road. “Do you intend to expose my slave past and I should be fleeing to the border right now, or will you let me keep the estates? I’ll use them to smuggle the slaves out.”
“How are you going to get the rabble to consent to that?”
“I have a plan. Those patrician girls you want smuggled can come, too.” His throat constricted as he dropped his voice. “Even after you marry John.”
Gwen jumped to her feet, his cloak falling from her. She struck her hand across his jaw, hard enough to bruise. “I went to all the trouble of rescuing your sorry hide twice. I didn’t risk my life for you to marry John.”
Marcellus moved his hand to his stinging jaw even as the corners of his mouth turned up. “You are sure?”
She groaned, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders in the glossiest ringlets ever to grace God’s green earth. “No more lies, though.”
“I promise, Gwen.” He clasped her hand.
She tilted her dark-eyed gaze up to him. “You call me delicia when you’re lying to me and Gwen when you’re telling the truth, don’t you?”
“Not always.” He slid his hand over the soft fabric of her chiton, curving around her waist. “Sometimes I call you delicia because you’re the most beautiful woman in the Empire and I can’t take my eyes off you, Gwen.”
“Twice I saved your life.” She struck her hand against her forehead “Have I no wits? To think, I used to pride myself on my judgment concerning men.” Wrapping her arms around him, she clung to him.
“Twice?” He furrowed his brow. “When was the second time?”
A pounding noise came from the north. Dust rose from the road beyond.
Pulling away from him, Gwen glanced down the road. The red cloaks of Roman legionaries blew in the wind, part of the Praetorian Guard by the look of their standard. Strange that they had ridden this far south. It didn’t matter, though.
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 34
