To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 10

  He spat on the ground. He’d wager when Fabius Agricola came to Aquilus Paterculi with his wealth and political connections, Aquilus would welcome him with open arms, even though Fabius would abuse Gwen.

  As soon as his offer of marriage spread, he’d have Fabius and the Viri to answer to. He didn’t even get Gwen, and Fabius could sell him into slavery, or the Viri could assassinate him.

  He needed to flee to Germania. Now. He’d just decreased his window of escape from a few weeks to mere hours.

  Gwen ran the sharpening stone down her knife. She tested the edge of the blade on her skin. Perfect. Second hour of the day and Marcellus had said he’d come this morn. Crossing the atrium, she pressed her ear to the tablinum curtain. No sound but the scratch of Father’s stylus.

  Third hour of the day. Gwen spread the scrolls of patrician officials’ movements around her in the garden. She’d discovered two dozen men so far who’d traveled to the same countries as the Shadow Man. The parchments blurred before her eyes. If she stood on the granite wall between the hedges, she could see through the outermost gate. No sign of Marcellus.

  Fifth hour of the day. He’d arrive soon. Only one more hour until noonday. Clicking the key to the storage room, she pushed through crates until she found the one from the villa they’d cleaned a few years ago. She cracked the crate lid and tugged out a flame-colored cloth. The fabric ran through her fingers, as beautiful as she remembered. She’d wear it on her wedding day. She bit her lip.

  Should she marry Marcellus? She never knew what he’d do next and, more often than not, he was less than respectful to her. Showing up in her bedchamber for one. He cared about the poor, though, and always supported her dreams to help women. She had a sharpened knife if he ever crossed too many lines.

  Seventh hour of the day, already morning faded into afternoon. Perhaps somehow Marcellus had come and gone and she’d missed him. She slid into the tablinum. “Any marriage offers recently, Father?”

  Father laughed. “Never saw my little girl so eager. Ready to settle down these days?” He ruffled her hair. “Thought more about John?”

  Perhaps Livia could marry John. If only Drusus would give the children back, Livia would be much happier with a new husband like John. Gwen pressed her mussed curls into place. “You didn’t answer the question. Anyone to present to my scrutiny today?”

  “No.”

  Marcellus hadn’t come. Her heart dropped like granite into the ocean depths.

  “We’ll leave for the dinner in a few hours. A legate from Dacia is speaking. You’ll enjoy that.”

  Enjoy? She’d never enjoy anything again. Chest heaving, she ran for her room. Bursting through the curtain, she flung herself on the bed.

  Marcellus didn’t love her. He hadn’t come. Her tears soaked into the damask coverlet as her sobs shook the mattress.

  Chapter 9

  The stir of voices filled the lighted room. Gwen searched through the faces. Livia stood at the back of the festive triclinium, eyes red.

  “How are you?” Gwen wrapped her arm around Livia.

  “I miss my children. I begged my husband to take me back. Begged.” She raised pale hands. She looked as wan as if she hadn’t eaten since the divorce.

  Guilt pinched Gwen’s heart. “You would go back to Drusus?”

  “I’d have my children, and he’s not so bad.” Livia’s ribs trembled, her breathing labored.

  “He is so bad.”

  “I want my children.” Livia’s fingers quaked as tears streamed down her face. “I caught a glimpse of Drusa from the street. She stood by her nurse, bawling. She must think I abandoned her. And my babe, I ache to hold him. Drusus hasn’t let me see them once.” Livia glanced toward the right. The blood drained from her face.

  Gwen followed her gaze. A man walked through the marble columns at the head of the room. Drusus. “I created this problem. I’ll fix it.” Her sandals made a thumping noise as Gwen marched forward.

  “Speaking to him won’t help.” Livia’s weak voice trailed after her.

  Gwen pushed through groups of gossiping women until she came to Drusus. She tapped the odious man’s shoulder. “Please give Livia the children. It was my fault about the petition.”

  Livia’s husband rolled his eyes to the mural of Jupiter. “No wonder you’re eighteen and no man wants you.”

  Quidquid. “Please give Livia the children. The babe’s but a week old.” She couldn’t let Livia suffer for her actions.

  “I’m keeping my heir. The girl child too.”

  “Let Livia see them at least. Children need a mother.”

  “True.” Drusus drew his bushy eyebrows together. “As soon as I find a docile woman to wed, they’ll have one.”

  “If you wish a wife, take Livia back.” It’s what Livia wanted, even though her husband would strike her again. Gwen grimaced.

  “No.”

  “I won’t give her any more ideas.” Except, perhaps, a lesson in knife-wielding. Gwen kept her hands at her sides and, with effort, prevented them from clenching. “I’ll ask my father to help you politically in exchange.”

  “Not interested.” Drusus glared at her. “I hope you marry a man strong enough to force some servility on you.”

  Hate and remorse coursed through Gwen’s veins. She should have known better than to involve Livia with who her friend had for a husband. Drusus’ brutish visage remained as complacent as if he felt no guilt for his vile actions.

  A voice she recognized rose from across the room. Another man she hated. Public or not, she spun on her heel and marched to Marcellus. He stood by a plump youth. She grabbed Marcellus’ arm, digging her fingers into muscle.

  “How dare you?” Gwen glared at Marcellus. With a nervous look to her, the plump youth faded into the crowd.

  “Dare I what?” Marcellus wrenched away.

  “Make promises to me and not keep them.” She raised her hand and she’d dearly love to strike it against his jaw. “You’re a villain.”

  Marcellus slid his brown eyebrows up. “A villain?”

  “Lying to me.” He’d only said he’d offer for her to get her to kiss him and she’d fallen for his debauched scheme.

  “I never lied to you… much.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “You patricians are all the same.” Marcellus lowered his voice to a knife-stab of a whisper. “Think because you’re a Paterculi, you hold ownership of virtue.”

  She raised her voice. “Maybe because Paterculis do. Maybe because you’re as low scum as the Ocellis.”

  “Exactly what your father said.” Marcellus glared at her. “You’re as self-righteous as him.”

  “Don’t speak about my father that way! Wait, when did you talk to Father?” She looked at him.

  “I came to your house this morning and asked for your hand. So much for telling me I had a chance.” Even in a whisper, Marcellus’ voice held bitterness.

  “No, you didn’t. Father said you didn’t.”

  “Then he’s a liar.” Twisting, Marcellus strode away.

  “You’re the liar. My father would never lie.” She yelled the words after him despite the fact heads turned.

  The thunder of sandals pounded behind her. Father touched her shoulder. “What did that man say to you? I told him I wouldn’t have him speaking to you.”

  “You told Marcellus? When?”

  “He asked to marry you. The presumption.” Father glared at Marcellus’ departing back.

  She whipped toward Father. “You said I had no proposals to consider.”

  “You don’t. I told him ‘no.’ He is to stay away from you, and—”

  “Father!” She stared at his face, which had grown so harsh. “What happened to giving me a choice?”

  “Good choices. Marcellus is a treacherous leach and a violent—”

  She locked her elbows against her stomach. “I want to marry Marcellus.”

  Father blinked. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. He’s int
elligent and believes in freedoms for women and wants to help the oppressed.”

  Father tilted his head, surprise in his dark eyes. “No, he doesn’t. He’s a self-seeking, violent—”

  “You have to listen to me during this discussion.” She touched Father’s shoulder. Father could be hardheaded, but eventually he always said ‘yes.’

  “What discussion? You’re absolutely not marrying him.” The candlelight flickered on Father’s hard face.

  “I couldn’t get a tribune position because I’m a woman. I can’t ever become a senator or lead men into battle. You won’t even let me attend political dinners alone, like Wryn, despite that I’m just as skilled as him with a knife.”

  Father held his peace, but the corner of his gaze tracked Marcellus’ back and his fists clenched.

  “You keep telling me all will be well, being a woman isn’t all bad. Well, marriage is the most womanly thing one can do. Here, for once, what I want is attainable, and you say no?”

  “You’re welcome to wed. Just not him.”

  “I want to marry him.” She grabbed Father’s arm with both hands. Fortunately, the buzz of other voices rose loud enough to mostly cover this conversation.

  “I guess I can understand that irrational desire, likely based on the fantasies young women have passed around about Marcellus. Never fear, though, you’ll overcome it.” Father patted her shoulder, then removed her hands and turned.

  “It’s not an irrational desire. I’m in love with him.”

  Father turned back. “Love is one of the most irrational of desires, but I highly doubt you’re in love with him.”

  Such a Stoic. “Who are you to say who I can love and who I can’t?” Here came the heated part of the argument which Father and she always had to get through before he started to see her side. A few hours more and he’d give in.

  “I have some dignitaries to see.”

  “Very well.” She stepped back. “I’ll convince you to let me marry Marcellus later.”

  Father burned his gaze into her. “Perhaps you misunderstood. I will never agree to give you to that brute.”

  She slid moist palms across her tunica. Last time Father had used that tone was during the Eric catastrophe, over a year and a half ago now.

  She watched Father stride past Senator Sulla. Could Father truly mean that? She needed to speak to Marcellus.

  Slipping around silk-clad women and drinking men, she scanned room after room until she spotted Marcellus. He stood at the edge of a small room off the atrium, head back against the plaster. The entranceway curtain half blocked his body, but she could see his chest heaving in and out with angry breaths.

  “Marcellus.” Sliding through the curtain, into the empty room, she touched his tunic sleeve.

  “You’re not allowed to talk to me, remember?” Marcellus glared at the other wall. “Now the entire dinner party knows I asked for you. Thank the gods Fabius Agricola hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Fabius? Also, Marcellus needed to stop swearing by the gods and convert to the Way. She pulled the curtain shut. Only an oil lamp lit the square space. “I’m sorry I questioned you.” She slipped both her hands around his. The sinews of his hand pressed back against her palms.

  He shook her hand off. “Now you’re sorry? Now that your precious father has told you the truth. What about trusting me?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.” She clasped her hands against each other. Marcellus hadn’t lied to her. He did want her. She’d like to slide her arms around his neck and press her lips to his, but with the rigid way he held his shoulders and the unseemly display of anger on his face, she’d have to wait.

  “A little late for discovering that, isn’t it?”

  “Come talk to me in the gardens.” She stroked her finger against the dark veins on his hand.

  He shoved her hand away. “To what end? So you can send me on another fool’s errand?”

  “No, to talk.” She shot a severe stare at him. “You should count yourself fortunate you asked for me this morning. Elsewise, I’d have a much less tolerant attitude about this untoward display.”

  “I tried to make a commitment to you against all rational judgment, and what do I get for it?” Marcellus pressed both hands over his face as his voice sank to a groan she could barely hear. “He’ll arrive soon, and if those that overheard you gossip to him….”

  He? “Please come to the garden.”

  Marcellus shook his head. Grabbing the curtain, he jerked it open. He looked back. “Don’t talk to me again this night.”

  The tramp of his sandals sounded in the atrium as the curtain fell, closing her off from him, but Marcellus had finally asked for her. Now she just had to convince Father to say ‘yes.’ Mother would take her side at least.

  From the far end of the triclinium, Marcellus watched Gwen. She spoke to her friends. The candlelight flickered on her beautiful face, her dark curls clustered around her ivory skin, her delicate nose pointing down to her red lips. She raised her hand as she spoke, her gestures animated.

  He swung his gaze to Fabius, the reason he had to attend this stulte dinner party so as not to arouse suspicion before he ran away. No one had repeated Gwen’s conversation to him. Marcellus dared to drag in a breath.

  Still, he and the rabble would leave this night before either Fabius or Victor got wind of his offer of marriage, and either the Shadow Man or Consul Julius killed him. Only one more score he needed to settle before he left.

  Fabius’ voice rose loud from too much wine. The plump youth guffawed.

  The Germanian frontier would offer protection. If he and the rabble could get there. Garrison soldiers guarded the barrier between provinces. His face had become well-known living as Caius Marcellus these past three years. As soon as Fabius spread the word that he was no Caius Marcellus, but a runaway slave, the hunt would start.

  They’d have to get a good-sized start on their pursuers.

  Even from five paces away, Fabius’ grating voice scorched Marcellus’ ears. “I cemented a way to gain her brother the praetor position he desires. This week, I’ll offer for the girl and win the bet.”

  Gwen? Marcellus’ heart dropped. The Shadow Man had said he’d have another kill her if Marcellus didn’t do it. Despite Gwen’s father’s other flaws, he protected his house like a garrison. As soon as Gwen left that fortress to marry—which her father would ensure happened soon to collect what political capital he could from marrying off a daughter—Gwen would fall victim to a Viri’s knife.

  What could he do about that from a thousand miles away? Fabius most likely spoke the truth that Aquilus Paterculi would choose him. Despair, fury, the desire to fling his knife across this room and land it quavering in Fabius’ heart, washed over Marcellus. He shoved down the emotions. He wouldn’t have survived the last three years if he didn’t know how to numb all feelings.

  Gwen had said her father listened to her wishes, but if that were true, she’d be his betrothed wife right now.

  That made two more things to do before he left. Marcellus clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, but he forced his legs to move toward the man he hated, who would get the woman he loved. “Fabius, I need to speak with you.”

  Fabius turned bloodshot eyes to him. “I don’t need to speak to you.” He dismissed him with a wave of his hand, like a slave.

  Marcellus glared at the plump youth and he quickly retreated, leaving him alone with Fabius.

  “What, slave?” Fabius crossed his arms.

  Oh, to hack off those arms before they ever touched Gwen. Marcellus forced his fingers free of his knife. “When you marry Gwen, you’ll protect her?”

  “What concern is my future wife to you?” Fabius’ arms bulged from the preparation of battle, proving the years he’d spent conquering and pillaging any peaceful frontier tribe whose wealth Rome coveted.

  He could slice a knife against Fabius’ throat before that man had time to draw his army-issue short sword. What good would
that do Gwen? Ten score other men just as brutish as Fabius clamored for Gwen’s father to choose them. Unlike Fabius, he couldn’t warn those men. Marcellus moved closer and lowered his voice. “The Viri plan to kill Gwen.”

  “What?” The wine haze lifted from Fabius’ eyes.

  “You’ll need extra guards. Your house isn’t secure.”

  Fabius crossed one arm over the other. “My house has proved an impervious defense for my family for two hundred years.”

  Ha! He’d penetrated those walls ten times in the last six-month looking for what he’d found last week. The only reason no Agricola had died in the last two hundred years must be because no one had ever hired an assassin against them. Strange that the Agricolas had never inspired anyone to kill them.

  Marcellus’ veins popped as every muscle constricted. Fabius would hurt Gwen, abuse her. No! He forced himself to focus on one goal, keeping Gwen alive. The rest was out of his hands. “Your windows are unbarred. The main bedchamber is in direct view of the outside gate, allowing an assassin to shoot an arrow through without even entering the villa. You’ll need to fix those things and hire sentries to rotate duty every six hours. Garrison legionaries will work, or I can help you find men trained in street fighting.”

  “Why?” Haughtiness spread across Fabius’ features. “Wish to see what goes on in that chamber between Gwen and I? I’ll do with my wife what I see fit. Now get out of my sight.”

  Marcellus stared at the man. Fabius was too arrogant to even realize he’d get Gwen killed.

  Fabius raised his hand as if for a blow.

  The fool. Marcellus turned on his heel. Weren’t even patricians supposed to guard their wives and heirs with jealous vigor? If not out of love, at least out of some kind of possession.

  He had to flee Rome tomorrow or he’d pay with his life. Once Gwen’s father married her off to Fabius, the Viri would kill her.

  Marcellus spat on the tile. The legate wouldn’t let him marry Gwen because of a lack of land and titles. He at least wouldn’t have let Gwen die.

  He couldn’t protect her now. Unless….