by Tessa Afshar
Claudia, who in spite of her slender figure had a passionate love for sweets, grinned. “In that case, it would be rude not to go.”
Grato was an unmarried man closer to sixty than fifty. We were greeted by his steward, an educated slave with the manners of a diplomat, who showed us into the dining room, where other guests had already gathered. Claudia’s prediction had been astute. This group held no attractions for two young women.
“May we see your ravishing home?” I asked Grato. “It is said that none in Corinth can equal its sumptuous art.” I had learned one thing from my misspent year among Corinth’s rich and idle. Flattery opened many doors.
Grato obliged me with a winning humility that explained how he fooled so many. If I had not known the source of his collection, I would have enjoyed the tour. Most of what he showed us was too heavy to prove useful for my intent. In a side chamber, I finally saw what I wanted. He had a collection of small, jeweled boxes, delightfully constructed from gold, silver, and precious stones. Pulled apart and melted down, they would fetch a decent price. All that remained was for me to take them.
The following day, I walked over to the plot of land next door and settled on a smooth rock to think. Distracted by thoughts of Grato’s house, I had forgotten to bring a shawl to ward off the chill in the air. I sat shivering in the wind, wishing Theo were with me. I longed to share my secret with him. To plan and plot with him. To enlist his help in swaying Father to my side or, failing that, enlist his assistance with robbing Grato’s house. An impossible longing. Theo was as likely to expose me as he was to help me. I could not predict how he might respond to my plan. I expelled a long breath.
“That was a heavy sigh.”
I started at the unexpected voice. “Justus!” The man had a way of always surprising me.
“Race you to the tree and back. For old times’ sake.”
The idea of beating him cheered me, and I nodded. Justus unpinned his cloak while I hiked up my tunic. I no longer had the speed I once enjoyed, but then neither did he. By the time I reached the tree, my breathing was jagged. I doubled back and pushed harder. Justus kept up step for step, but he did not pass me, and we arrived at the finish marker together.
I bent over, hands on knees, too winded to speak. To my satisfaction, Justus’s breathing was no less labored. We caught each other’s eyes and began to laugh.
“I fear I am growing old,” he said. “It comes from too much work. Like Corinth’s ancient king Sisyphus, rolling the same rock to the top of the hill only to have it roll back down, and I have to start again. Such is the labor of men.”
“Do you not like your work?” I asked, concerned. The thought of Justus unhappy made my heart contract.
He sat on the stone I had occupied earlier. “I enjoy most things about it. Like all work, import and trade have their challenges. The unpredictability of the elements and the dangers of travel, the dishonesty of people, the endless problems that crop up when one least expects them.” He shrugged. “Every good thing comes with a price. I have much to give thanks for.”
A pair of golden finches flew into view. They danced together in the air, whirling one way, then another in a parallel arc before perching on the branches of a tree. Justus and I watched their graceful movements, entranced. “They are beautiful,” I said.
“They remind me of you.”
The breath hitched in my throat. “Me?”
“You and Theo.”
“Me and Theo!”
“Can you still do it? That odd backward flip you used to do with him?”
“What?” I gazed at him, nonplussed. He was not supposed to know about that.
“The window in my tablinum opens this way. In the summer, a blanket of shrubs covers the view. But later in autumn, I can see the land clearly. I used to watch you and Theo train.”
My eyes rounded. “That was private.”
He laughed. “Then perhaps you should have removed yourselves to a more secret location.”
“We were under the impression this was a secret location.”
Justus held up his hands. “I have no quarrel with you. I merely wished to know if you could still do it.”
Pride battled with irritation. It was not a long struggle. Pride won with ease. I stood still, knees touching, my feet aligned with my hips. Squatting, I stretched my arms behind me and swung them in a wide arc, gaining the impetus I needed as I jumped. Tucking my knees into my chest, I flipped backward and landed with perfect precision on my feet without staggering.
Justus’s clap held a slow, mocking edge. “It’s even more impressive up close. Theo told me about the man from Crete who inspired you.”
“He told you?”
“Only after I shared my knowledge of your activities. I remember one time, I saw you climb a tree.” He looked around and pointed to the gnarly sycamore. “That one. It took you a moment to scramble up. Then you hung from a branch, using your calves and knees, hands extended down. Theo grabbed your arms, and you pulled him up, that great lug of a boy, until he perched on the branch next to you. Can you still do that?”
Something about the intensity of his tone began to make me uncomfortable. “Why do you wish to know?”
He made a fluttering gesture with his fingers. The dark-green eyes shuttered. “Merely admiring your many talents, Ariadne.”
“I might be able to,” I said, opting for caution.
“It is an interesting skill, and surely not common. It put me to mind of a story I heard recently about a robbery at the house of a Roman official.”
The blood drained from my face. “How odd,” I said.
“I was traveling to Delphi. A short trip to resolve an unexpected problem with a shipment of goods. On the road, I ran into Brutus. Have you met him? The man whose house was almost robbed a couple of years ago. You must have heard about it. Corinth was in an uproar over the matter.”
“I am not certain.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears.
“Allow me to refresh your memory. I speak of the famous attempted robbery where the thief was almost captured in the garden. The man pursuing the thief thought he had vanished into thin air. But another guard reported seeing an accomplice who could climb trees with the dexterity of a dryad, hang from them upside down, and pull a grown man up with her bare arms.”
Justus cracked his knuckles. “Brutus told me, while we shared a meal at a roadside tavern, that the man thought the accomplice was a woman. Her cloak had slipped from her head, and he had glimpsed a long braid down her back. Brutus thought this impossible, of course. But I knew better.”
Justus leaned forward, his gaze sizzling into me. “Who was that, Ariadne?” His usually aloof manner had deserted him, the golden skin of his face turning an angry red.
I stared at him, my tongue paralyzed. With unbelievable speed, he was on his feet, standing in front of me. Before I could expel a breath, he pulled me hard against his chest. “More to the point, who was the thief who helped you?”
“What . . . What are you talking about?” I stammered.
His hands wrapped about my arms, holding me close. “I know it wasn’t Theo. I have it on good authority that he was in Ephesus at the time. So you have roped someone else into this ridiculous ploy. Who is it, Ariadne? Who is the poor fool you have wrapped around your finger?”
Before I could think of a convincing lie, he bent his head and kissed me. It was as if his anger melted, soothed away by the simple touch of his lips on mine. His kiss, warm and soft at first, became deep and hungry, making me gasp. Strong hands slid up my back to the base of my neck, tangling in my hair. I shivered helplessly.
I hadn’t had a chance to pull my tunic down when I had finished running, and my bare legs could feel the cold wind as it whipped against us. I burrowed deeper into him and moaned with longing. His kiss went wild, brimming with a raw edge of yearning that matched my own.
Happiness and confusion and fear were exploding through me like a cyclone. Justus wanted me! After years of
neglect, he finally desired me. He thought I was a thief! He knew my secret.
I hardly felt the first pelting drops of rain as they lashed against us. Then the heavens opened as if to empty a lake over our heads. We were drenched in moments. Justus stepped away, looking dazed. Water ran down his cheeks. I ran tender fingers over his lips and down the grooves I had always admired.
He bent his head and gave me one more lingering kiss, as if in spite of the wind and the rain and our heated words, he could not help himself. Then he withdrew, arms folded against his chest. He studied me for a moment, gulped, and hastily turned his back.
“Take this,” he said, offering his cloak over his shoulder, keeping his face averted. I looked down and choked. The rain had plastered my old linen tunic against my skin, soaked it so that it clung to my body, almost transparent.
“I will take you home,” he said when I had covered myself in the soft folds of his cloak. His voice had turned as cold as the weather. I blinked, startled by the transformation in his face, which had gone from the melting features of a lover to the icy appearance of a magister. Then it dawned on me. The kiss was an aberration. He had not meant it to happen. Anger and disappointment had twisted into momentary passion. He was as surprised by his actions as I. There would be no more kisses.
This was time for sword and parry, for an interrogation that might change my fate.
I set my face into an apathetic mask, and we began to walk side by side, two strangers. The rain stopped before we reached my house. Justus hesitated.
“Was it a dare? A game gone too far with one of your old flighty friends? I cannot fathom what else would possess you to do such a thing.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Where were you that night?”
He was going to press and press until I gave him irrefutable proof of my innocence. “I was with my father. You can ask him if you don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t tell you what night.”
Once again my tongue had landed me in trouble. “I knew what story you were talking about. I heard the rumors.”
Justus did not reply. Instead, he motioned me toward the posticum, where we met with Delia.
“We are soaked through, as you see,” he said. “Your mistress and I were caught in the downpour. You had best help her change into dry clothes before she catches a chill.”
I noticed that he made no move to leave. “Shouldn’t you return home to change as well, Justus?” I hinted. “Surely this damp threatens your health as much as it does mine.”
He gave a tight smile. “I am practically dry.” Water dripped onto his shoes from the edge of his tunic and ran in droplets from his plastered hair onto his exposed neck. “Delia, please fetch Galenos to me.”
I realized at once what he meant to do. He wanted to test my alibi. To speak to Father before I could. It was a frightening thought. And yet I could do nothing about it without appearing guilty. I turned on my heels and climbed the stairs that led to my chamber. If the Isthmian Games had a competition for changing robes, I would have won that day. I raced down the stairs in time to see Father embrace Justus and invite him into the dining room.
Folding the cloak he had loaned me, I followed the men, using it as an excuse to join them uninvited. “I fear it is soaked.” I handed the garment to Justus, and instead of leaving, leaned against the wall, pretending to be a fresco.
Father had someone fetch Justus towels and a fresh cloak. “And bring warm spiced wine with extra honey. That was quite a downpour,” he said.
“Yes.” Justus sank onto a marble couch.
Father gave him a quizzical look. He made a strange sight, dripping over our furniture when he could have returned to the comfort of his own home and changed into dry things.
“I have a question to ask you, Galenos. Will you tell me the truth?”
Father crossed his legs. Not even by one twinge did he betray the underlying offense of such a request. “Of course.”
“The night Brutus’s house was robbed—do you remember it?”
“I do. What is this about, Justus?”
“Please, Galenos. Answer my question. Was Ariadne with you that night?”
My father hesitated. He turned his face to look at me. “She was.”
“Are you certain? It was quite some time ago.”
“I have no doubt of it. We were awake together almost the whole night. I . . . needed help, and Ariadne remained with me into the morning. She took care of me. Hard to forget such an unusual evening.”
A wave of relief washed over me as I realized how adroitly Father had averted a disaster. He had told the truth, but he had told it in a way that provided me with an alibi. Without telling a lie, he had implied that he had been unwell that night, and I had nursed him through ill health.
Justus seemed confused. “Ah . . . Forgive me for my impudence. Thank you, Galenos.” He came to his feet. “I had better go home and change. These damp things are growing uncomfortable.” He fumbled with the wet cloak. “Ariadne, perhaps you would be kind enough to accompany me to the door?”
I walked beside him in silence, my feelings a tangled mess as I considered the alarming accuracy of his intuition. He had come so near to discovering what I had done. I didn’t even have words for his kisses. At the gate he turned to face me. “I apologize, Ariadne. Clearly I was wrong.”
“Clearly,” I said, my voice stony. In truth, I could not find it in myself to be angry. Frightened out of my wits and stupefied with love, yes. But I could not hold the truth against him.
“I . . . I could not think of another explanation.”
“Of course not.”
“And . . . I am truly sorry for taking advantage of . . . of the situation.”
Now I was angry. “Indeed.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I ought not to have kissed you.”
I shoved the door closed in his face, and hoped with great sincerity that it had broken his stupid, crooked nose. What woman wanted to be kissed to distraction and then told it was a mistake?
CHAPTER 22
I STARED AT THE WOODEN BEAMS of the door, fuming. Something niggled at my mind. Justus’s behavior did not make sense. He had erupted like a volcano, emotion leaking out of every word. That was not Justus. The Justus I knew had mastered a polished remoteness of manner that could chill you to the bone with one word. He was cool, even in anger. He did not blow up like lava.
Why had he pressed to know the identity of my partner with such vehemence? He had not jumped to the conclusion that my father was the thief, an error that had provided me with an alibi. Instead, he had referred to my accomplice as the man I had wrapped around my finger. The mere mention of my supposed partner had plunged him into fury.
Justus had not acted as a man investigating a crime with calculating logic. He had behaved like a man betrayed. He had acted like a jealous lover. I remembered with vivid intensity Justus’s reaction when Paul told us that true love does not succumb to jealousy. At the time, I could not conceive of a situation in which Justus would have faced such an emotion.
My breath caught. He might not admit it, not even to himself, but Justus cared for me, not as the little sister of his dear friend, but as a woman. It was the only explanation that made sense.
I grew still, body and soul, everything coming to a stop. My heart swelled with hope.
With slow steps, I made my way to Father’s tablinum, where I knew he would be waiting for me.
“What was that about?” Father demanded as soon as he saw me. “Why did Justus ask me about the night of Brutus’s robbery?”
Sinking onto the stool facing him, I recounted what Justus had said. I left out the kiss, of course. He raked his hands through his hair. “That man is too sharp. He almost had you, Ariadne.”
“One thing saved us. No one connected the attempted theft at Brutus’s house with the Honorable Thief. You left no letter. Claimed no part in it. Everyone in Corinth assumed it to be the act of a common criminal.
If the Honorable Thief had been known as the culprit, Justus might have realized you were my accomplice that night. As it was, he assumed I had partnered with a young man of my acquaintance. He suspected me guilty of youthful mischief that had gone too far.”
Father laid his head on the back of the sofa. “Thank goodness we have stopped.”
I knotted my hands in my lap.
For the length of a breath I toyed with the idea of complying with Father’s wishes. Of stopping. If Justus had begun to love me, he would give us the financial help we needed. I could give up my plan to rob Grato. My father’s heart would burst with shame if he had to accept money from Justus. He would rather be poor than receive charity, knowing he could never repay such a sum.
No. I would have to find my own way as I always did.
Father and I had cobbled together a patched-up peace between us. I did not speak of Paul or God, and he did not mention the Honorable Thief. To him, the subject was closed. Finished.
He spent his time with Dionysius and Paul and Paul’s friends. When he was alone, he amused himself with a new hobby: German soap. He had become unusually enamored of the stuff and conducted his own experiments on its effectiveness. I thought he had grown a little too fond of cleanliness.
One afternoon, he brought home a fresh batch.
“Try this one,” he said, offering me a light-green ball. I sniffed at it with caution. Thankfully, it had lost its unpleasant odor of animal fat and smelled instead of lemongrass and lavender.
“Smells better,” I admitted.
“I had the man who makes them add perfumed oil to a batch, as you suggested. It makes them more expensive, of course. But I think it also adds to their desirability.” He pressed several balls into my hands. “Try them on your hair.”
“What for?” Being a man, he had no idea how long it took to wash and style hair as long and thick as mine.
“Because I wish to know if it works.”
I expelled a heavy sigh, fisted my fingers around the soap, and walked off toward the baths. I saved the man from capture and death, robbed for him, planned and schemed for him; I even washed my hair for him. Did he appreciate me? Of course not! He preferred to pour his appreciations into the Jewish God with a dead Son who was, in fact, not dead. I wished someone would explain that puzzle to me.