The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance

by Kayse, Joan

  The Prefect’s temper was deteriorating fast. His team continued to trail the Blues. He snapped and snarled at any who thought to speak with him, including one unfortunate slave who had stumbled while serving wine to the guests. Quintus had ordered his guards to have the man lashed for his clumsiness.

  It was only after the Reds had managed to garner a one race lead over the Blues that Damon decided it was time to prod Quintus. And the Prefect himself gave him the opportunity.

  “Listen to the rabble,” he practically crowed in delight. “They despair over that pathetic team. They should lay their bets on true winners.”

  “True,” Damon concurred. “You’d think they would be more grateful. After all, you, the host of these games, have made such a difference in their lives.”

  Quintus actually looked puzzled. Damon pressed on.

  “With your support of improved insulae. My wife tells me that along with my father-in-law, you were key in getting the monies from the Imperial treasury.” Damon narrowed his eyes. Was it possible the Prefect had paled at the mention of the project?

  “Yes. Yes I am a staunch supporter of improved building codes. Senator Manulus could be very persuasive.”

  “Could be?” asked Julia, sending the man a penetrating gaze.

  Quintus recovered quickly. “Can be, my dear. Can be. I join the entire Senate hoping the day of his return will be soon.” He smiled and gave a short laugh.

  Damon’s suspicions were confirmed. Quintus’ secret had to do with the Imperial funds and the building project. He pressed his lips into a grim line. And from the tone of it, he also knew what had happened to Julia’s father.

  “A thousand pardons, Prefect.”

  Damon followed Quintus’ gaze to a stout man dressed in a brown tunic who had barged past the armed guards who now held him back by the arms. A dark shadow fell over the Prefect’s face, but he nodded for the man to be allowed to approach.

  “Casius, you risk much coming here.” Quintus said without looking at the man.

  A prickle of unease crawled up Damon’s spine. Those were the same words he’d said to Tertius that night in the garden.

  “Forgive my intrusion, my lord, but I’ve not been able to secure an audience with you.”

  “And what could we possibly have to discuss?”

  Casius plucked nervously at the neck of his tunic. “My fee.”

  Quintus took a sugared date from a platter and popped it into his mouth. “A fee? I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

  Casius leaned forward in a poor attempt to keep the matter private. Difficult to do when every patrician ear in the box was straining to hear. “The fee for providing housing and training facilities for your gladiators. My lord, the food costs alone are beyond comprehension. Why the lot of them go through an entire cow each week.”

  “The costs for the care of my property was included in the purchase price,” Quintus answered coolly.

  “For the first month, my lord,” Casius replied a bit louder and with a hint of desperation. “I’m losing money now.”

  Damon did not like the glint that came into Quintus’ eye. He waved over another man who with his bulk and height could easily have been one of those gladiators. “Take Master Casius to my secretary. See that he is taken care of.”

  Relief flooded the man’s face and with a grateful bow he followed Quintus’ man.

  “You’re quite right Pontus. It is a beautiful day for the races.”

  Damon blew out a breath. This was the last race of the day and he was eager to be gone. The strain was showing on Julia’s face and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to control his temper before flinging the bastard over the balustrade. A trumpet sounded and the teams leapt from the starting gate.

  They were into their fourth lap when a commotion at the track’s entry drew Damon’s attention. He could hear nothing over the screaming crowd and most people were oblivious to the struggle taking place between two huge men and one other dressed in a plain, brown tunic.

  Damon glanced around the box. Everyone seemed oblivious. Everyone save Quintus. Julia, noticing the direction of his attention reached out and grabbed his hand. Damon reached to turn her head, save her from witnessing what was coming. But it was too late. A startled gasp escaped her lips as Casius was thrown onto the track into the path of two Blue team chariots.

  The ensuing crash was spectacular. Horses screamed in agony as they stumbled, breaking their legs. Three drivers joined Casius broken body in the bloodied sand. The Red team finished the seventh lap in victory.

  Quintus held Damon’s gaze. “I do so love to win.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I shall cut him down, my sword through his gut, should he lay one hand on my sister!”

  Julia looked over at Lares who stood—the wonder of it able to pierce through the numbness she was feeling—his legs braced apart, a hard edge to his jaw and his arms crossed in a mature and very male fashion. Her heart tripped at the serious tone of his voice. While she appreciated the sentiment, he was still a boy and in as much danger as she, more so as he was heir to the Manulus wealth.

  Her gaze shifted to Damon who stood much like Lares, though his expression was more thoughtful. After witnessing Casius’ execution—it could be called nothing less—they’d said their farewells and departed. Even now Julia could feel Quintus’ gaze boring into her back. It had taken every ounce of will she possessed not to run like the hounds of Hades were after her, instead, smiling, exchanging pleasantries and strolling casually away, as if she and Damon did not have pressing matters to attend. Such as planning a way to save their lives.

  Julia’s fears had escalated to the point of choking her and only Damon’s steady presence had kept her from hysteria. Now that she was away from Quintus’ vile presence she was more rational, though she had not agreed with Damon’s decision to involve the entire family—they’d argued most of the way home—she could see now that precautions needed to be taken.

  “Lares. I hold dear your desire to protect me, but brother, you do not possess a sword.”

  Frustration knotted Lares’ forehead. He lifted his gaze to the corner. “Damon will get me a sword, won’t you?”

  “They always see swords coming,” Damon replied absently. “A knife is a better weapon. An element of surprise.”

  “You do not own a knife either,” Julia remarked with a sigh, her gaze flicked to Damon and back. “You do not know how to use one at any rate.”

  “I would show him,” offered Kaj, who had also been included in the gathering.

  Julia came to her feet and began to pace. “All of you act as though we could defeat the Prefect of Rome with force. He has soldiers, he has an army.”

  “Don’t let them see,” whimpered Aunt Sophia.

  Julia paused and patted her aunt’s shoulder. It was a habit to offer her elder comfort and oh, how she wished she could guarantee it. “Take my aunt to her room. See her calmed,” she instructed her maid. She turned to Damon, drew strength just from his presence. “What are we to do?”

  “Foremost,” he said pushing away from the wall, “we remain calm.”

  Oh, of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Simple enough. Only cease to worry that her family would be decimated, her servants scattered or sold, her household laid waste.

  The man she loved killed.

  Julia took a deep breath. “And then?”

  “I’d suspected Quintus of tampering with the Emperor’s building project and after today’s sojourn with the piece of shit I’m fully convinced he has embezzled Imperial funds. Your father,” his hand ran along her arm, the warmth of it easing the anxiety, “must have found evidence to that effect. That is why he disappeared, either by design or to cover up Quintus’ secret. If that evidence is something tangible, then we need to find it.”

  “I have searched my mind raw,” said Kaj. “I never saw the master with anything out of the ordinary. No unfamiliar documents, no clandestine meetings. If
he had proof, he hid it very well.”

  “There is the matter of the stranger who has been seeking an audience with the Senator,” said Damon. “Has he been here of late?”

  Basil and Kaj exchanged glances and shook their heads. Basil spoke. “No, master. It has been nearly a week since he knocked at our door. He was frightened away last time.”

  Kaj crossed his arms. “I did not want him endangering the mistress. He looked like...”

  The corner of Damon’s mouth lifted. “Like a criminal, Kaj?”

  Kaj scowled.

  Damon patted the man on the shoulder.

  “We cannot sit still and wait for the Prefect to strike.” Julia encompassed them with one look.

  “I agree,” said Damon, circling the table to where she stood. “That is why I am going to go in search of this man, the man Theophilus that Quintus and Tertius are so desperate to find.”

  “Search for him?” She did not like the sound of this at all. “How do you think to accomplish this? You’ve already been attacked once. Quintus’ men know to watch for you.”

  His lips tipped in a wry smile. “They know me as Damon Pontus, patrician. They do not know me for what I am.” He leaned against the table. “I’ll go back to familiar territory, to the alleys and dark underbelly of the city. There isn’t a secret in Rome that someone beneath the filth does not know, or if they do not, they know someone who does.”

  Julia shot Basil and Lares an alarmed look.

  Lares shook his head. “Julia, did you truly think we would not discover that Damon,” he glanced at his brother-in-law, a crooked smile tilting his lips, “has talents most husbands do not?”

  Julia shifted her gaze to Basil who shrugged his shoulder indicating he too knew of her plans. Pressing her lips together and ignoring Kaj’s smug expression she spoke to Damon. “These people will just share this information?”

  Kaj and Damon exchanged a knowing glance. “They will tell me.”

  Julia blew out a breath. Their choices were extremely limited. “I don’t suppose you’d let me come with you?”

  Damon smiled and pulled her into his embrace. Julia nestled against him, reveled in the feel of his heart beating beneath her cheek. “No. The places I am going are not the realms of goddesses.”

  “I would accompany you,” offered Kaj.

  Julia stared at the two of them. Little more than a month past they had been mortal enemies. Now, as they gripped each other’s forearms they were allies. Gods, the world was about to end.

  “My thanks, Kaj, but I need you to stay and see to Julia and the family.”

  “I’m not going to sit idly by,” she protested.

  “You can look for your father’s evidence. Turn the domus upside down. Search for something, anything that might be of use against Quintus. Do not discount anything.” His arm still circled around her, he spoke to Basil. “Now, what has cook prepared for dinner? Quintus is an ass as well as a bad host and does not see his guests fed. I’m famished.”

  *****

  Six days. He’d been searching for six days and had discovered one thing—nothing.

  Damon propped an elbow on the crude wooden table of the latest in a long list of decaying tavernas filled with over-used whores and the lowest dregs of society. He took a drink of bitter spirits and nearly choked as it burned its way down his throat. Amazing that in such a short time living among the patricians he’d developed a taste for smooth, aged wine and—goddesses.

  He frowned as he watched a pox-marked woman flop onto the lap of an oversized butcher who still reeked of ox blood. The man slopped beer down his chin and exposed a mouthful of rotten teeth with a wide grin as she ground her hips against the prominent bulge tenting his tunic.

  Had he ever really been comfortable in this world, he wondered darkly. Had he been blind to the filth, the disease, the utter lack of basic morality? The lack of honor. Loyalty could be bought for a bronze coin, a loaf of bread, a chalice of wine or a tumble in bed. The inhabitants of this world cared only for themselves and really, he could not blame them. Nobody else cared about them. Whether they lived or died, if they had food to feed their children. It was a world he understood. It was also a world he no longer wanted to be a part of.

  Finding Julia or, he thought with a wry smile, being found by Julia had changed him. Damon wanted more from his life than living hand to mouth, bowing to another. He’d told Lita he would come for her in seven days. That day would be on the morrow and he still had to uncover the information he needed. The incriminating evidence that would expose Quintus for the snake he was assuring Julia’s safety. But the question still remained—would he be able to live without Julia?

  That the answer to that was a resounding no had him signaling a serving girl for more beer. He didn’t dare give into the idea Julia had planted in his head that he could petition to have his equestrian title reinstated. It would be costly and at the whim of a neophyte Emperor whose mind was not whole. It would take an extraordinary amount of luck for all the pieces to fall together. He brooded over the full goblet. Too much luck for him.

  “How about paying for another goblet, friend.”

  Damon flicked his gaze to a dirt-streaked man who straddled the bench across from him. His head was covered with a leather skull cap, his tunic, ripped and torn and he smelled worse than the butcher. He took a quick sniff. Pigs. He leaned back and crossed his ankles. “Think you I’m a man of wealth.”

  The man wiped his running nose and scanned the room nervously before answering. “What is wealth?”

  A philosopher. The gods had sent him a pig philosopher. “I have little coin...”

  “Perhaps I should ask Theophilus.”

  Damon was careful not to show any reaction. Too much interest, too quickly often scared the rats away. He tossed a coin to a serving girl and ordered the man a drink.

  His mouth drooling with anticipation, the man reached eagerly for it only to find it in Damon’s hand instead. “Information before spirits.”

  The man eyed the brimming cup as if Damon were holding a rare, precious gem. “I know where the man is you’ve been seeking.”

  Did the man think he was a fool? He could have overheard any of Damon’s inquires and come up with that conclusion. “And who is it I seek?”

  “The same one the Prefect’s men are looking for, Theophilus.”

  Damon kept his features schooled into a mask of indifference, handed the man the goblet. He watched him guzzle half the contents before prodding him. “Have you sold this same tidbit of information to the Prefect’s men?”

  The man scoffed. “Do I look like a lunatic? The Prefect’s men don’t reward nobody for nothing. You talk to them, you end up in the city dungeons, thrown down a sewer or hanging from a cross.”

  Damon raised his goblet to his lips. He could attest to that fact. He tossed two sestarces on the table. “Where do I find him?”

  The man licked his cracked lips. “I’ve a powerful thirst.”

  Damon put another coin on the table. “That amount could nearly buy you this hovel.” He leaned toward the man, his glare meant to intimidate. “Where is he?”

  “In the corner, over your right shoulder.”

  Damon gave the miscreant a warning glare before he turned and squinted into the shadows. A cloaked figure sat on the floor, legs drawn up, shivering as though gripped in a fever. As if he could sense Damon’s intense regard, the man lifted his head and pulled the hood from his eyes. Damon rose from his bench at the same time the man scrambled to his feet.

  “Stop!” Damon shouted as Theophilus sprinted out the narrow door. The drunken patrons shouted slurs along with encouragement as Damon gave chase.

  The alley outside the taverna was dark, lit only by cloud-spattered moonlight and a single rush torch jammed in a crack of the wall marking the entrance to the business. Damon forced himself to stand still and listen. To his left, away from the torchlight he heard the slap of leather sandals.

  Damon followed the noise,
ducking down a short, connecting walkway, making a silent leap over a passed out drunkard, his foot slipping in a pile of something he’d rather not think about. Ahead there was a break between two buildings with the hem of Theophilus’ tattered cloak disappearing into the crevice.

  Reaching the narrow gap, Damon saw him wriggling, trying to get through. He glanced around and noted another, wider passage running horizontally and out to the same, wider avenue. He raced

  to intercept him.

  Bursting out into the street, he hurried to the other opening—no Theophilus. Behind him he heard a curse and saw the back of his quarry’s cloak flapping out behind him. Damon took off after him. He was running for his life, too. A life with Julia and he’d be damned if he’d let a sewer rat steal it from him.

  Damon could see Theophilus ahead and pushed himself to overtake him. The man’s fear must have given him the strength of ten gazelles because Damon had never had to run so fast to catch a target. He pumped his legs faster until he’d reached the corner Theophilus had turned down where it ended at a brick wall.

  Damon bent over, hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. Months in the patrician world had sapped his stamina. Raw anger dulled the pain that hitched in his side. He’d almost had him. Now that Theophilus knew he was being hunted, he’d only burrow deeper into his hole. It could take months for Damon to locate him, if ever.

  He straightened, hands on his hips, contemplated his next move and froze. He tilted his head and heard it—a low throated moan from the shadows of the gutter. Damon crept toward the noise, squinted at a crumbled form lying face down in the gutter. Bending down on one knee, Damon rolled the man over. A large knife protruded from his quarry’s stomach, blood seeping out and spreading in an ever-widening circle on his filthy tunic. Damon scanned the area but saw no one. But someone had seen Theophilus, someone in service to Quintus Marcellus. Another problem had been solved for the Prefect.

  Damon lifted the man by the shoulders, shook him until his eyes fluttered open. He was dying and Damon needed answers. “What crime is the Prefect committing?”