To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Read online

  “Purchase one then.” Marcellus turned to the stalls.

  “I refuse to cover my head.”

  “Patrician slaves frequent this market. What about when rumors that you met me here storms through Rome’s gossip chain and your father hears it? Refuse that too?”

  Gwen groaned. “Very well.”

  “Speaking of Celtic women, they wear their hair loose.” His eyes laughed as he ran his hand over her hair, his fingers sliding over each strand. He held up his palm. Two of her hairpins sat in it.

  “No!” She grabbed for them. “I’m not letting you see my hair down.” She handed a vendor some coins and received a cloak-sized palla in exchange, which she draped over her dress and hair.

  He smiled as he surrounded her hand with his and they walked down the hill to the river’s edge. Dirty hovels lined the way to the riverbank. At the river, bulrushes and flowing water covered the stench that permeated the poverty-stricken area.

  He stopped a pace from the swollen river where wild olive trees grew.

  Moving in front of him, Gwen clasped his other hand too. “Asking my father for my hand in marriage this week?”

  “What?”

  She laughed. “That’s a jest, true?” She shoved the palla off her hair. “Because I was absolutely clear with you, Marcellus.”

  He slid his hands around her waist, his fingers brushing her hips as he tugged her against him.

  “This is important.” Grabbing his hands, she wrenched them from her waist.

  “Ah, the best topics to avoid. Now if I kissed you, then you wouldn’t be able to speak.” He leaned down to capture her mouth.

  “No kissing.” She stomped her foot down on his as hard as she could. He didn’t even wince!

  “Why not?” He bent his head, arms encircling her, as he brushed his mouth over hers.

  She slammed the heels of her hands against his shoulders.

  Catching both her wrists in his one hand, he pushed them down and pressed her closer to his chest. “I could hold you forever.”

  “Once you’ve married me you can.”

  “Oh.” He released her hands.

  Again, not the answer she sought. “I’m well into marriageable age. We’ve met in villa gardens and obscure marketplaces for approaching two years now. You told me numerous times you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me.”

  He said nothing.

  “Do you not intend to marry me?”

  “I want to show you something further up the riverbank. The laurel trees are in bloom this time of year.” He brushed his hand over her knuckles.

  “Convenient time for remembering.”

  “We can talk about marriage later.” He intertwined his hand with hers as he tugged her left, along a narrow path between olive trees.

  Her sandals sank into the swampy grass. “Yes, we can. And we will.”

  Waist-high bulrushes surrounded them. Laurel branches laden with purple blossoms overhung a rock that sat in a bend in the river. He took a seat on it and she sat next to him, her leg brushing his.

  “Look there.” Marcellus pointed up the hill to where day laborers wound along a steep path. He indicated a gaunt woman with a host of children clinging to her skirts. The woman stretched her hands out to the hawkers, begging. “She’s a freedwoman. See the scar of a master’s brand across her cheek? All her children beg on the streets to keep food in their bellies.”

  Gwen ran her gaze over the woman’s tattered clothes. “I could find her work at my fuller’s shop.”

  “I wish you could show me it. You’ve done a good thing.” He gazed deep into her eyes. Marcellus was the only man she’d ever met who admired her dreams to help women.

  “After we marry, we won’t have to keep our meetings secret, and I can show you.”

  Did Marcellus just grimace? “See there, that young man, a slave. Looks intelligent, strong, but he’ll live and die at the command of another.”

  “I dislike slavery as much as you.”

  “I know, yet your familia owns slaves.” He shifted away from her, his flat eyebrows angling.

  “No, we don’t.”

  Marcellus’ green eyes widened.

  “I mean, once in a while, but they all earn their freedom after a few years. Most of our servants are free.”

  “Why?” Such an intense gaze shone in his eyes.

  “Because we’re followers of the Way.” She told him about her faith numerous times before. Like two winters ago in Britannia when she snuck out to meet him in a pine grove in the forest outside Camulodunum. They built a fire and roasted chestnuts over the flames as he kissed her and she talked of this.

  “You know you can get crucified for practicing that religion?”

  “The law only allows the government to crucify non-citizens.” Her shoulder touched his as she leaned back.

  “Yes, like that old man.” Marcellus pointed. “See how his back is bowed by the load of sticks? If he were a citizen, he’d get a dole of bread from the Roman officials. He’s not, so he’ll likely starve by winter.”

  “Jesus helped the poor. Did you read the scroll?”

  “Jesus?” Marcellus pivoted and his knee touched her. “The god of your religion? Or is this a demi-god, son of a god and a human woman?”

  “It’s not like that with the Way. There’s only one God, and He doesn’t exploit human women like Jupiter does.” She’d told him this before!

  “Sounds like a decent sort as gods go.” Marcellus faced the hovels. “What’s he say about slaves?”

  “We’re all equals. There is no slave or free, male or female. I especially like the male or female part.” She’d quoted this Scripture passage to him before, and he’d nodded in agreement as he deepened his kisses.

  “This Jesus ever start a revolution to make that pretty sounding statement come true?” Marcellus clenched his hand over the lip of the rock, fire burning in his eyes.

  “No.” Gwen traced her gaze over his face. “Jesus said my kingdom is not of this world.”

  “That’s a useless kingdom then.” Marcellus dropped his hand from the rock.

  “Not at all. Heaven is where we live for eternity.”

  “If there’s an afterlife, I’m sure you’ll make it to the good part.” He ran his thumb over her cheek.

  “You have to read the Romans epistle.”

  “Why don’t you read it to me?” He traced his finger over her lips.

  “Marry me and I will. You have—”

  He dropped his hand. “I know, one more day. If I don’t go to your father and ask for you, what will you do?”

  “Never speak to you again.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He bent toward her lips.

  She slapped her hand across his cheekbone. The stinging sound resounded in the moist air. “I’m not like other women.”

  “No.” He stood. His shadow fell across her, anger burning deep in those green eyes. “You’re a patrician, the haughty of the earth, who think they rule all.”

  “The Marcellus is someone to talk.” She jumped to her feet, sandals sinking into watery mud. “They say that in Dacia you once killed an entire village for insulting your horse.” She didn’t actually believe that story.

  “Your familia ruled provinces for generations, oppressed the commoners—”

  “We don’t oppress people!” She fisted her hand. “I expect you to ask for me before the next sun sets.”

  “I’m not going to.”

  “But you love me. You said you wanted to spend the rest of your days with me.” She raised her trembling hand as her heart twisted over itself.

  “Maybe I lied so you would kiss me.”

  “You’d never do that.”

  “So sure?” Fury shone from his eyes.

  She turned on her heel and walked to the marketplace. He didn’t mean that. Unlike earlier, though, Marcellus didn’t fret that she could get stabbed on the way home alone.

  The door of the warehouse swung shut, closing out the st
arlight. Marcellus stood on the shadowy floorboards, a few paces from Cato’s lean form. A jeweled knife hung on Cato’s belt.

  Only hours ago, he’d seen Gwen for the last time because she refused to see him unless he went to her father and asked for her hand. A slave couldn’t legally ask for any woman’s hand, let alone a patrician’s. He did her a favor refusing all talk of marriage, for she’d lose her citizenship, inheritance rights, and patrician status cohabiting with such as him. She’d struck him in the end because he refused to follow her commands. Just as any patrician did to a slave who displeased him; as Fabius had only eleven nights ago.

  If Gwen were a slave or plebeian woman, he, by Jupiter, would marry her once he received his manumission papers. If she were one of those, she wouldn’t have struck him for disobeying her order. He’d sent Bruno to follow her home and ensure no one knifed her, for he was much too incensed to do it himself.

  A board creaked as Marcellus shifted his stance. Oh, to down a cask of wine this night. Only, he couldn’t, because he had to capture the Shadow Man to earn his freedom.

  He shook his head. It was better this way. No feminine distraction to slake his thirst for revenge. No soft kisses to make him temporarily forget that he hated patricians and would kill thousands in his slave revolt.

  Wind whooshed through a back entrance and the cloaked Shadow Man plunged into the room.

  Theatrics wouldn’t spare the man capture this night. Marcellus’ rabble surrounded this building, prepared to follow the Shadow Man and discover his true identity. After that, he’d collect his million sestertii and start his slave revolt.

  “Where’s Victor?” The Shadow Man swept his hooded face right then left.

  With the clatter of footsteps, Victor burst into the room. His gaze hit the Shadow Man. He froze.

  “You’re late.” The Shadow Man’s voice had an ominous quality.

  “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir.” Victor panted for breath. “It was my wife. She went into hysterics fit to lose my unborn babe when I headed out. I had to wait until she slept.”

  The Shadow Man relaxed his shoulders. “You should count yourself fortunate the woman who delayed you was your wife. I’d not be so tolerant otherwise, but men do need heirs.”

  Breath whooshed from Victor’s lungs.

  The Shadow Man rotated. “So, Marcellus, about Gwen Paterculi.”

  Marcellus’ back went rigid, but he forced his hands to hang at his sides. “Yes?”

  “My spies saw you with her in the garden. The girl loves you.”

  Oaths rose to Marcellus’ tongue. He should have left Gwen alone the last fortnight, but he hadn’t. “I’ve learned all I can from her. Time to find better informants.”

  “No. You will kill her.” The Shadow Man’s low voice rent the air.

  Marcellus froze. “Gwen doesn’t suspect my connection to the Viri. Why does she need to die?”

  Victor guffawed from where he leaned on a pile of crates. “The Shadow Man wishes to test your loyalty.”

  Marcellus looked straight at the Shadow Man. “I’ve proven my loyalty to you a thousand different ways. Killed for you hundreds of times.”

  “If you’re too attached to her, I’m happy to have one of my other men do it. Just bring her to me.”

  The kind of ruffians the Shadow Man hired would assault Gwen before they killed her. Marcellus shook his head. “No, I’ll do it. When do you want the task completed by?”

  “Before I see you next. I don’t tolerate failure.”

  Marcellus heaved a breath. He usually didn’t see the Shadow Man more than once a month. He’d expose the Shadow Man’s identity tonight, and then Consul Julius would arrest the man long before he could force him to kill Gwen.

  If he could catch the Shadow Man tonight. His palms sweated. Well, he’d have to make sure that happened.

  “Too many guards surround the Paterculi villa for any man to breach that fortress.” The Shadow Man’s slick voice slid through the air. “I suggest killing her on one of your moonlit forays.”

  Too many guards? He’d entered the Paterculi villa before, and no guards had captured him.

  “Here’s a list of the ship captains I expect on the Tiber this month, Victor.” The Shadow Man tossed a wax tablet through the air.

  Victor caught it.

  “As always, meet each and track down and kill any who betray us.”

  Victor nodded.

  The Shadow Man melted into the darkness outside, his guards behind him. Marcellus slipped out the front door. He hurried his pace through darkened streets to catch the rabble.

  Marcellus swung left through a cross street. Three houses down, he crossed back. A wobbling lantern lit the Shadow Man’s entourage. The rabble crept through the shadows.

  “Move in closer.” Marcellus nodded to Bruno.

  Ahead, the heavily-armed guards entered a tavern.

  Bruno lowered his voice. “Now we’ll see their faces.”

  Gliding forward, Marcellus peered through a chink in the shuttered tavern window. The men pulled their hoods off. He’d worked to discover the Shadow Man’s identity for three years, and now he’d know it.

  Knife out, he ran his gaze across the tavern. No sign of the Shadow Man. Somewhere on those dark streets, he’d parted company with his men.

  Cursing, Marcellus plunged his knife into the porous wood of the tavern wall. Now he’d have to kill Gwen.

  Kill Gwen. Could he kill the woman who helped the poor and followed a ludicrously impractical, but wholeheartedly attractive ideology where she refused to recognize a difference between man or woman, slave or free?

  He clenched his fists. The next time he saw the Shadow Man, that leader who’d killed thousands would expect her dead. If he failed, his life would be the forfeit, either at the hand of the Viri or the hand of Consul Julius when the man realized he’d lost his usefulness as a spy.

  Gwen’s life or his, a bargain he’d made a thousand times before when the Viri ordered him to kill. Before, he’d always chosen his life. This time, though....

  The knife was the most painless way to die. She could see this Jesus of hers a little more swiftly than she wished.

  Two nights from now the new moon would darken the sky. He could enter her bedchamber then and do the deed.

  But.

  Ripping his knife out of the wall, Marcellus jabbed it into his belt. He had no choice.

  A dozen young women clustered in the Paterculi sitting room. Gwen’s thread bunched as she embroidered wool.

  Livia cuddled her tiny infant between her knees. “Isn’t he handsome? Look at his toes, his little chin.” She kissed the baby’s cheeks.

  “What did your husband name him?” Aulia smiled at the infant.

  “Blandinus.” Livia rolled her eyes. “I call him cub. Doesn’t he look like a bear cub with his face wrinkled up?”

  Claudia tittered. “As if you’ve ever seen a bear cub.”

  “May I hold him?” Aulia leaned forward and Livia placed the infant in her hands. She touched the baby’s hair and twirled a strand around her finger, a wistful look in her eyes.

  “How are you recovering, Livia?” Gwen touched the woman’s arm.

  Livia shrugged. “Drusus rejoiced that I bore him a son, so there’s that.”

  Gwen extracted her parchment of signatures. “I should add a section about asking the emperor to allow mothers to have a say in naming their children. Fathers shouldn’t have the right to expose an infant either.” Infanticide. Gwen shivered. Despite the mother’s wishes, a father could do it. Yesterday, she’d walked the edge of town with followers of the Way and rescued six dying infants from the rocks. Two of them still needed homes.

  “You do know your petition plan is insane?” Hermina fluttered her impossibly long eyelashes.

  Gwen groaned. Why had she even invited the abhorrent girl? That’s right, out of Christian virtue. “Who else will sign? I’ll need a few of you to go with me once I secure an audience with Emperor Trajan.” Even t
hough she’d probably fail.

  Hermina snorted. “As if that’ll ever happen.”

  “I’ll sign.” A girl who looked more child than woman, though she wore a betrothal ring, bounced on the couch.

  Gwen glanced to Hermina. “Will you? Also, does anyone know someone hiring a servant?” She’d found work for all but one of the women of infamia.

  “And bring down my father’s ire?” Hermina stabbed her needle through cloth. “I don’t want any of those flea-bitten plebeians you drag from the gutters serving at my house either.”

  Footsteps sounded outside the doorway. A tanned hand grasped the curtain. The cloth swished back and Wryn entered. “Gwen, I needed to tell you—”

  All dozen of the girls’ gazes swung toward him. Claudia batted her eyelashes. “How are you, Tribune Paterculi?”

  Hermina leaned back, hand on her hip, exposing a figure lovely enough to inspire envy. She played with the string of pearls hanging over her low neckline. “Do you think my necklace sets off this color?” From the way she flaunted every endowment, she asked about a lot more than the necklace.

  “No. I think it’s hideous.” Wryn looked to Gwen. “Just come into the atrium.” He backed out with the speed of a war chariot.

  Dropping the parchment, Gwen followed him. The curtain swished closed behind her. “You could be polite.”

  “Why? It would only encourage the insanity.” Wryn motioned her farther into the hall. “Aulia’s nice anyway.”

  “You think so?” Gwen smiled.

  “Yes, she has a little more decorum than to throw herself at men. As if I’ve any interest in marriage in less than five years.”

  “Uh-huh.” Not promising for Aulia’s desires.

  “John visited this morning. He asked me to give you this.” Wryn handed her a parchment.

  Gwen stuffed the folded note into her tunica. “What about that scroll concerning smuggling you lent John? Did he return it?”

  “Yes. If you promise not to get any idiotic ideas like starting a female legion, I’ll give it to you.” Wryn extended a scroll.

  She grabbed it. “I never have idiotic ideas.”

  Wryn rolled his eyes.

  “I hope you marry a rebel, maybe a Celtic woman like Boadicea.” Not like the proper Aulia, though Aulia had loved Wryn for years. “I’d let you have one of the exposed infants I rescued last night then.” Mother said she couldn’t keep any of the babies, though she begged to time and time again. After this, she’d have to check on the wet nurse she’d given the room adjoining hers to until she could find suitable families for the last two babies.