To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 2

  A small ship approached through the shadows. Sailors threw the gangway onto the bank. Marcellus stepped on it, sinking the wood. “Where’s the captain?”

  The noise of faint groans rose from the hull, along with the stench of many bodies packed together. Not smuggled cargo then, but slaves, a ship’s former crew most likely. The pirates probably captured the sailors on the high seas and forced them into slavery.

  Marcellus tightened his knuckles until they turned white. “I said, where’s your captain?”

  A sailor stabbed a thick finger right. “In that cabin.” A high-pitched scream pierced the weathered wood.

  Striding over, Marcellus kicked the door open. A bare-chested man with the tattoo of Mithras on his back leaned over a soiled bed, a girl caught between his legs.

  “Don’t!” The girl screamed. She couldn’t have seen more than fourteen summers.

  The man cuffed the girl across the cheek. “Stop screaming, slave.”

  Rage swelled through Marcellus’ veins, the cloud of red obscuring all but that man’s face. Grabbing the captain’s shoulder, Marcellus flung him against the wall and, with one motion, cut with his knife.

  “You killed him!” Eyes wide, the girl stared at him. She knotted her fingers into her skirt.

  Snatching up the ship’s log, Marcellus shoved it inside his tunic and grabbed the girl’s arm. She cried yet as he dragged her away from the sight of the carnage to the darkness outside the cabin.

  “What’s the screaming?” Victor glanced inside the cabin. He groaned. “That captain works on our side. Did you truly have to kill him?”

  With a shrug, Marcellus shoved the cabin door shut. “You can’t inspire fear if you don’t kill a ship’s captain here or there for no reason.”

  Victor rolled his eyes. “Very well.”

  Chains clinked as the newly-captured slaves trudged down the gangway. Shoulders slumped, the men bore their gazes into the ground. Condemned to a life of abuse and slavery, and for what? Profit. Marcellus clenched his bloody knife hilt.

  “Daughter,” a big man yelled through the darkness.

  The girl ran and threw her arms around the chained man’s neck. The slaves’ feet pounded against the gangway as the Viri men drove them forward.

  Fighting down the hate, Marcellus forced his face to remain a mask as he followed the chained men down the gangway. “Tariffs successfully avoided. My cut of the profit, Victor?”

  “After we report to the Shadow Man.” Victor cracked a whip against the lagging slave’s back. The man stumbled.

  The Shadow Man, the leader of the Viri, they only met him on important occasions. Marcellus pressed his mouth together. “What will he do with the slaves?”

  “Sell them at Ostia, collect the full profit rather than just our tenth now that you’ve killed the slaver.” Victor stabbed the whip’s handle into his belt. “That captain was one of our best, so you still shouldn’t have killed him.”

  As the Viri henchmen drove the chained slaves a few paces down the riverbank, Victor walked right. Marcellus followed.

  A man in a gray cloak stepped out of a grove of cypress trees. “Good work.” The Shadow Man’s slippery voice slid over the cypress fronds.

  Victor nodded.

  “Tell me, Marcellus.” The Shadow Man raised a thin hand. “What other riverbank areas did Wryn Paterculi send legionaries to patrol?”

  Marcellus smiled. To the best of his knowledge, Wryn hadn’t sent any patrols. Next time the garrison captured a smuggling shipment, though, the Shadow Man would focus his energies on Wryn, not him. “Still working on that information, sir.”

  “The Paterculi girl you gained this information from. I hear you’ve grown very close.” The Shadow Man dropped his voice to a sinister whisper.

  Marcellus’ heart thudded against his tunic. “What’s it to you?”

  “She’s how you warned us about a dozen different garrison raids her father, Legate Paterculi, had plotted in Britannia. She’s in Rome now.”

  Marcellus rubbed his thumb over his knife hilt. He shouldn’t have boasted about that. “In Britannia, Gwen followed her father’s shipping enforcement. Here he’s working on a consul position, not shipping.”

  “You’re saying she’s of no further use to us?”

  Gaze on the gray cloak that hung over the Shadow Man’s face, Marcellus nodded.

  “Then why haven’t you killed her?”

  “What!” Marcellus clenched his knife.

  “Isn’t that what you do when a source has outlived his usefulness? Like that ship captain tonight.” The breeze blew the Shadow Man’s perfumed scent through the air.

  “She’s a woman, a girl even.” Marcellus clenched his jaw. He needed to stop talking. The more interest he showed in Gwen, the more the Shadow Man’s vicious wits would scheme against her.

  “If I ordered you to kill her, you would.”

  “Of course, sir.” Marcellus forced his hand to fall from his knife. “Anyway, my pay for the night?” If he stopped speaking with Gwen, the Shadow Man would soon lose interest in seeing Gwen dead. If he stopped speaking with Gwen, he’d never get to talk to Gwen.

  The Shadow Man extended a heavy bag of coin.

  With a shake of his head, Marcellus pointed to the girl standing among a row of chained men. “I want her.”

  Victor groaned. “Don’t you have enough women?”

  “And him.” Marcellus pointed to the grizzled man who’d call her daughter. “I’ll take those two as my pay for the night.”

  “Very well.” The Shadow Man hooked the bag of gold back on his belt.

  Victor rolled his eyes and tossed a ring of keys.

  The large iron circle landed on Marcellus’ hand. Striding to the chained man, he dug a key into the fetter. The iron fell from the man’s wrist. Marcellus ran his gaze down the long line of slaves marching to their doom.

  Turning, Marcellus tossed the keys to Victor. “Come.” Marcellus motioned the father and daughter.

  The moon sank toward the horizon as they walked over dirty streets, past bilge water, and hovels.

  The enslaved man held his daughter’s hand tight, his gaze wary.

  A mile from the river, Marcellus halted. He dug into the pouch at his belt and took out a fistful of coins. “Here, enough for a week’s lodging. Salve.”

  The man clasped Marcellus’ arm with both hands. “Rescue the rest of my crew. I beg of you. They were born free. A good man wouldn’t let them be sold as slaves.”

  Marcellus shrugged. “I never said I was a good man.” He turned down an alley and disappeared into the darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Morning light streamed through narrow archways, heating tiled floors. Gwen flicked the curtain shielding the entrance to Wryn’s room open.

  Chin in his hand, Wryn scanned a massive pile of wax tablets. The spring breeze blew the scent of the narcissus flower through the window.

  “Any progress finding the leader of the Viri smuggling ring?” Gwen snatched one of his tablets.

  Wryn grunted. “I’m doing Moesia tribune work.”

  “I have a theory.” She plopped herself on the edge of the table.

  Wryn raised his irritated gaze.

  “What if the leader of the Viri is a patrician?”

  “Possible, but none of the evidence points to that.” Wryn made a mark with his stylus.

  “What evidence?”

  Wryn nodded to a locked chest and took up another tablet.

  She jumped off the table. “I need to read it before you return to Moesia.”

  “It’s information I gathered and analyzed while in my position as tribune. I’m not allowed to share it outside martial circles.”

  A knock sounded on the plaster. Father stepped through the curtain, a pile of tablets under one arm. “Where’s that smuggling information you wanted me to look at, Wryn?” His gaze touched her. “Oh, and Gwen, I was looking for you.”

  Wryn swiveled.

  “You said you coul
dn’t share it because it’s tribune work.” Gwen nudged the table leg, jittering tablets.

  “Outside martial circles.” Wryn dropped his stylus. “Father commands martial circles.”

  Gwen slapped the tablet she held back on the table. “Celtic tribes allow their women into battle. I’m starting a petition to entreat the Emperor to reconsider his male-dominated—”

  “Don’t you have needlework to do?” Wryn’s black-eyed gaze taunted her.

  “Wryn,” Father said.

  Wryn raised broad shoulders. He did have a military bearing, but she still didn’t see why Aulia and half the rest of Rome swooned over her brother. “It’s not my duty to indulge her impossible dreams.”

  Impossible? Likely, but she had to try. Gwen crossed her arms, wrinkling silk. “I fully intend to seek an audience with the Emperor and speak to him about why he needs to allow women in the army.”

  “And get us all put on a purging blacklist when you suggest such an incendiary topic?” With a groan, Wryn seized another tablet.

  Father glanced from Wryn to her. “Gwen, a more plausible way to satisfy your political ambitions is to marry a man involved in politics.”

  “Or,” Gwen snatched Wryn’s stylus, “you could find me a political post in Moesia like you did for Wryn. I could go back with him this month and see what the legion there needs.”

  “More like meddle in all my work.” Wryn jerked his stylus out of her hands. “I’m not breaking the law to satisfy your curiosity, nor taking responsibility for your inevitable antics.”

  “Gwen,” Father touched her shoulder, “even I, with all the force of the Paterculi name, am not able to grant you political posts reserved for men. As the wife of a political man, though, all doors would open to you. John has a great interest in politics.”

  “Excellent idea.” Wryn straightened the tablets she’d disrupted. “Then she can pester her aforesaid husband with her unending advice and leave me alone.”

  “Wryn.” Father pressed his mouth together.

  “I’m sorry, Gwen. You’re good at martial strategy and politics.” Wryn lowered his voice to a whisper with the force of a Celtic long sword. “Good enough to drive your future husband insane.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Father spoke the truth. The time had long since arrived for her to wed. She wouldn’t mind a few adorable babies who looked like Marcellus either.

  “How long do you plan to stand in my bedchamber disrupting me?” Wryn looked at her.

  Gwen shrugged.

  Wryn groaned. “I have work to do.” Sweeping up the tablets, he strode out the curtained doorway.

  “Speaking of marriage.” Father advanced a step. He rubbed his thumb against the tablets he held. “I hear you care for John a bit more than you’ve let on.”

  Gwen raised one eyebrow.

  “Wryn told me, and John’s a good man. A follower of the Way, with a spotless reputation.” Father touched the tablets under his arm.

  Wryn told Father what? Gwen pointed to the tablets. “What are those?”

  “You’ve received so many proposals each month, I’ve scarcely had time to scrutinize the men. Therefore, I hired a private investigator to research the eligible young men in the city. Get it done in one fell swoop. See here, John’s record.” Father lay a tablet down. Only one line of writing scratched the wax. “Clean as newly-scrubbed marble.”

  “Who’s that?” She pointed to a tablet so full of scribbling the letters blurred together.

  “Fabius Agricola.” Father glared. “I don’t know why I even wasted the coin to have him researched. I’ll throw him out of the house if he ever asks for your hand.”

  “Did you investigate Marcellus?” She slid her palm over a tablet’s smooth wax. Marcellus never answered her questions.

  “Of course not. Caius Marcellus is so abominable, I don’t have to investigate him.” Father narrowed his gaze. “I hope you’re not listening to the infatuated swooning of the naive daughters of Rome.”

  “I’m not.” She picked at the wax on John’s tablet. A clump came off under her nail.

  “I’m pleased to hear you’ve picked a good man like John.”

  Her head thumped against the plaster wall as she jerked back. “What?”

  “Though I intend to yell at John this First Day for kissing you.” Father piled one tablet on another.

  “Wryn’s a tattler! Please don’t talk to John.” Her blood pulsed as she gripped the table.

  “Don’t fear.” Father touched her cheek. “I know John has good intentions.” Father’s face hardened. “He still has no business kissing my daughter in moonlit gardens before any betrothal has taken place.”

  Slipping onto Wryn’s abandoned stool, she dug wax from under her fingernail. “What if I don’t want to marry John?”

  “Then I shall do much more than yell at him this First Day.” Father stood as stiff as the legionaries he commanded.

  Only two more days until First Day service. Gwen’s heart thumped wildly. When Father discovered she’d kissed Marcellus, not John, he’d never let her see Marcellus again.

  Picking up the tablets, Father walked through the curtain.

  Two more days to come up with a solution because she couldn’t never see Marcellus again.

  Crossing the room, Gwen knelt by Wryn’s locked box. Iron bands circled the wood. Slipping her hands into the pouch on her belt, she extracted a lock pick. Jiggling the metal pieces, she listened for the right noise.

  The lock gave way. She scanned the tablets inside. Wryn listed shipments of grain brought in through the Black Sea and Ostia compared to the number of tariffs collected, only a three-quarters correlation, meaning a quarter smuggled. She extracted another tablet. A ship captain claimed pirates captured his entire crew and illegally sold them as slaves.

  Wryn’s writing cut diagonally across the tablet. Go to law court. Free captured ship crew.

  Fascinating. Next tablet. Movements of the Viri leader known as the Shadow Man as evidenced by an increase in smuggled goods. A year in Gaul, a year in Britannia, most recently in Italy near Ostia’s ports.

  If the Shadow Man was a patrician, as she speculated, she could align the movements of patricians and see which ones had visited those three countries during those years. An astute plan, and yet Wryn refused to share this information with her. Wryn’s army-issue gladius leaned against the wall. Grasping the scabbard, she slipped the sword underneath her tunica. She’d return it when Wryn had a better disposition toward life.

  The box swung shut with a click. Now how could she interest Marcellus in these sorts of things? She’d tried to make him take a political post for the last year and a half with no success.

  Striding into the Corneli sitting room, Gwen plopped down on a red cushion. Aulia, Livia, and Claudia leaned over needlework. Gwen shifted. “If you need a place to send dirty clothes, my Fides fuller shop is now open.”

  Livia gaped. “You opened a fuller shop?”

  “I bought the vats and building needed, but the one freedwoman who knew the trade did the rest. So many people in Rome lack work and the children suffer most.” By opening this shop, she’d given thirty starving women work, and many of their husbands too. “Also, do you know of any patricians hiring cooks or cleaning maids?” She still had ten more women to find work for, and new women came to their house daily, begging bread.

  “I’ll ask my father to patronize your fuller shop.” Aulia patted her hand.

  “I’m getting betrothed this month, Gwen.” Claudia smiled, her childish dimples accenting her red cheeks.

  Livia, whose stola burst with child, leaned back against a cushion, sweat collecting on her forehead. “Don’t overexcite yourself. I’d give anything to live under my father’s roof as a maiden again.” A little girl, perhaps three years of age, nuzzled her head against Livia’s stomach.

  Gwen touched Livia’s shoulder. The woman’s skin was blotched now, showing the toll the past months of sickness had taken. “How are you feeling?”


  “Nine months with child, you’d think my husband would be considerate, but oh, no. Last evening, his abominable mother visited.” Livia groaned. At the noise, her daughter squirmed. “Here.” Livia handed the girl a fistful of dates.

  “Let’s do something about it.” Gwen grabbed a length of parchment. “I have created a list of women’s grievances to present to Emperor Trajan with our signatures. When even the barbarian tribes give their women more rights than Rome does, it’s time for change. Emperor Trajan needs to raise the age of marriage for girls, and—”

  “Our signatures?” Livia scoffed. “You’d need our fathers’ and husbands’ signet rings to have any hope to sway the emperor. They’d never agree.”

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “You’re such an ideologue, Gwen. No one cares what my thoughts are, or my father wouldn’t have betrothed me to Quintus Semproni, an ancient man who has grandchildren as old as I.”

  Livia snorted. “You’ve no reason to repine. Quintus may be dull as porridge, but he’ll dote on you.”

  Planting her hands on the brick windowsill, Gwen directed a severe stare at the room. Even if she failed, she’d fail trying. “When will people start caring about our thoughts if we don’t make them? You, Livia, do you wish your little sister married off at twelve same as you?”

  Livia groaned and handed her daughter more dates. “If I’d been thirty on my wedding day, my life would still be Hades with this man.”

  “I’m working on that too.” Gwen raised one hand, holding her diaphragm high, as the famed Demosthenes suggested for rhetoric presentations. “I want the emperor to make a provision that a girl may choose to take her dowry and live independently instead of marry. She will then have that money at her disposal to live on.”

  Aulia coughed into her hand. “I don’t think it’s respectful to go against our fathers.”

  “Aulia. You don’t mean that.” This was Aulia. Of course, she meant it. A sigh whooshed from Gwen’s lungs, ruining her rhetoric posture. “Your father’s horrid, Aulia, and yet you obey his every whim.”

  “Tis my duty.” Aulia threw the shuttle through the loom strands on her lap.