by Martha Marks
“That’s not true.”
“You’re accusing Marcus Salvius Otho of lying?”
“No. Just that... The only patrician I spoke with was Sergius Silus.”
“What were you doing in the city?”
“I went there on the master’s business.”
“So, why weren’t you there when the authorities sealed his mansion the next morning? After Gaius died, they wouldn’t let anyone in or out until Emperor Claudius decided the fate of the slaves.”
“I left Rome late that afternoon, several hours before the murder. Ask General Vespasian. I stopped by his villa that evening on my way through Caere, bearing a message for him from Sergius Silus.”
“You could have turned around, gone back, and used that as your alibi. Gaius was killed around midnight. You see how easy it would be for someone to suspect you in this business? And you’ve already told me how much you hated my brother.”
“I had nothing to do with your brother’s murder, miss, and the authorities wouldn’t have covered up a slave revolt if they thought that’s what it was. They’d have executed every one of his slaves in Rome. No, miss, the fact that robbers didn’t kill him doesn’t automatically mean his slaves did it.”
“You sound like Titus.”
“Maybe he’s on to something. Think about it. What was my lord Gaius doing in the brothel district in the middle of the night without bodyguards? Nobody expects litter bearers to provide any protection.”
“Gaius went there without guards all the time. You know that. Gods, everyone in Rome knew that.”
“Yes, miss, everyone in Rome knew that.”
“Look, he was in a bad area and got jumped by robbers, who killed him. Either that or he was extraordinarily obnoxious that night, and his bearers rid themselves of him. No other alternatives were investigated.”
“And why weren’t they?”
Theodosia started to answer but stopped short. Robbers would have taken a gold ring. Slaves had nothing to gain from murdering their master. Their claims of innocence would not be believed, even when made under torture. Gaius’ late-night trips were predictable. If anyone had wanted to murder him, that was the perfect time and place to do it.
Alexander shouldn’t have known anything about his master’s death, and he shouldn’t have said anything to Theodosia about it. She’d be justified in turning him in to the Praetorian Guards. And now he was insinuating conspiracy with a calm and confidence that unnerved her. She had no reason to believe him, and yet...
Vespasian’s words returned to her memory:
“There are so many thugs around nowadays, and not all of them are poor foreign folk.”
Theodosia shivered in the warm spring night.
Was Gaius murdered by someone with enough power to influence the investigation?
She shivered again.
And if so, what does that mean for me?
Chapter Six
Full of energy despite a sleepless night, Theodosia rose the next morning with plans to explore every corner of her villa. She felt confident today—her second full day at home—as if confronting her fears in the dark had strengthened her.
She began with the storage area behind the peristyle, sticking her head into every cubicle she passed. There were sacks of barley and other grains; amphorae of olive oil; tubs of fruit and nuts from last fall’s harvest; honey and pungent spices. One room was locked; she supposed the wine was stored there. Nearby was a tiny sleeping chamber.
Everything appeared to be in order, so she headed to the kitchen, hoping it would be as she remembered... a noisy finch singing in its cage by the door, something fragrant simmering in a kettle over the fire pit, and rough-hewn tables, stools, and benches scattered around the room.
Since time began, it seemed, Varro slaves had gathered here for after-work camaraderie. Theodosia’s father had followed the philosophy of his famous grandfather from Reate, Marcus Terentius Varro, among whose prolific writings were treatises on humane slave management. Even Gaius—who abused his servants in many ways—had not chosen to deny them the evenings of unfettered leisure that were a family tradition.
As she neared the kitchen this morning, Theodosia heard a harsh voice railing at someone. Stepping to the door, she saw Milo, the bald-pated head cook, sitting with his back to her, jabbing his finger into the chest of the same curly haired boy whom Alexander had brought to play with Domitian. The kitchen staff sprawled around the table, laughing.
The scullion stood before Milo, his head down. Abruptly, Milo leaned forward, grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and slapped him in the face with the other. The boy tried to pull away, but he couldn’t break Milo’s grip. Only when he looked up did anyone notice Theodosia in the doorway.
The child’s teary eyes seemed to grow larger and freeze as he spotted her.
The others followed his gaze, their laughter stopping as they jumped to their feet, scraping benches across the floor and rocking the table. Milo, his face reddening, released the scullion. As Theodosia stood wondering whether to interfere, the boy ran over and dropped to the floor beside her.
“What has he done?” she asked after a moment.
“He is uncooperative and disobedient, mistress. Shirks his duties every chance he gets.” Despite being called to account before his staff, Milo’s voice sounded steady. “This morning, I sent him to bring buckets of water to wash the dishes. Instead, Denos here,” he gestured to one of his assistants, “caught him in the garden, drawing in the dirt with a stick.”
Theodosia thought of the piped-in, heated water that supplied the lavish bath in the house. Apparently, such conveniences didn’t extend to the working parts of the villa.
Before she could reply, she heard footsteps behind her and turned. The scullion dashed out the door to Alexander, who had stopped a few paces away. To Theodosia’s surprise, the boy buried his face in the steward’s tunic and clutched him about the legs.
Without acknowledging her, Alexander took the child in his arms and whispered something that Theodosia couldn’t hear.
She stepped outside.
“Bring him and come with me.”
She led the way into the garden, to a circle of pink oleanders surrounding an elaborate Etruscan urn that had been made into a fountain. Reaching out to the boy in Alexander’s arms, she pushed up the long curls that fell over his forehead. There were three old scars on his face, and one cheek was red from Milo’s slap. Still, he was beautiful.
“What’s your name?”
The boy clung to Alexander’s shoulder.
“Don’t you have a name?”
“Philip of Macedonia.” The voice was expressionless.
“Tell the mistress your real name,” Alexander said in Greek, “and speak to her in our language.”
The child stared at Theodosia. Finally, he answered... in Greek.
“My mother and father called me Lycos.”
“Well,” Theodosia replied in Greek, “I think we should call you Lycos, too. Don’t you agree, Alexander?”
Alexander gave her a look she had not seen on his face before.
“I certainly do, miss. It was the master who mocked him with the name of our great Greek king. It amused him to give us ludicrous names. He became angry if Lycos used his real name or mine.”
“And I’ll be angry if anybody calls you anything but Lycos.” She patted his arm. “Now, you go play in the garden.”
Alexander set the child down and whispered again in his ear. Lycos grinned and scampered away.
“You’re fond of that boy,” Theodosia said.
“He’s a sweet child. Reminds me of another boy I used to know.”
“Your own son, perhaps?” The hunch came to her in the instant she articulated it. “You said yesterday that many of your memories are painful. I know I’ve no right to pry, but am I wrong to guess that you once had a wife and family?”
Theodosia thought he would reproach her, but he just shook his head.
“No, mi
ss, you are not wrong.”
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know. I wrote three letters to my wife in Corinth after I came here, but never got an answer.”
“How did you send those letters?”
“Bribed sailors leaving Martanum and Ostia for Corinth. Only the gods know if they were ever delivered. A slave’s letters, you know. They all probably ended up in the sea.”
“Probably so, if they went without a Roman seal.”
Alexander stared into the fountain.
“Have you ever loved someone you were powerless to protect?”
“Only Phoebe, my nurse.”
“Then you know how terrible it is.”
“Maybe I can help you.” She snapped a blossom off an oleander and twirled it. “Any letter that Theodosia Varro writes will be delivered.”
That unfamiliar expression returned to Alexander’s eyes as he looked at her. Theodosia felt as if she had cracked the shell of a very hard nut.
“You would help me find my wife and son?”
“If I can.”
“Oh, miss!” Alexander gave an odd half-laugh. “You’ve no idea how often I have begged the gods to let me know they are alive somewhere. Just to know they are still alive.” His voice was husky but controlled. “You asked me yesterday why I hadn’t run away. Well, it did occur to me to do so, many times. I kept thinking of Antibe and my little Niko, and also of the fear we would all live in, even if I could get away and find them. So maybe you were right yesterday, when you said I was afraid.”
He faced the fountain again.
Don’t interrupt. Let him talk.
“When I was a boy in Corinth, my parents drilled into me the most important lesson a Greek can ever learn. The Romans are all powerful, and there’s nowhere one can go to escape the reach of Rome. And they were right! All the jewels in that chest couldn’t buy safety with so much money and influence chasing me. Your brother was vindictive and cruel. He’d have hunted me down like he did those two in Sicily, just for the fun of it. I couldn’t stand being torn from Antibe and Niko again and brought back to face the punishment given to runaways. I’d seen what he would do, and it was dreadful, as I told you last night.”
He paused, but Theodosia—sitting now on the fountain edge, letting the water cascade over her fingers—still made no comment.
“I know how the Romans operate,” Alexander went on. “They surely sold my wife and son into slavery when they sold me, so I’d be risking that same punishment for them if I tried to free them, which I can’t do, because I don’t have any idea where they are. They might be in Lusitania, or in Africa, or in Britain. I wouldn’t know where to start searching for them, even if I were free and could do it openly.”
After another silence, Theodosia looked up.
“I’ll write a letter and see if I can locate your wife and son. If so, maybe I can find a way to bring them here. The stewards of estates like this often have their own families; no reason why you should be any different. But... there’s a catch.”
She rose and confronted him, eye to eye.
“In return for my help, I’m going to demand more of you than Gaius ever did. I want your frankest advice. Your total honesty. I want your friendship, too. I don’t want to spend my life worrying that you might be my enemy... somehow conspiring or working against me.”
“There’s no way I could be your enemy, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, I think you could be a real enemy if you chose to be, regardless of the circumstances. But I want more from you than just not to be my enemy. I want us to be friends.” She waited for his response, but none came. “Friendship is not something I can order you to give me. Friendship must come freely, as a gift. Can you accept a Varro as your friend?”
“It’s a bit hard to think of the person who owns you as a friend.”
“Willing to give it a try?”
Alexander turned and stepped away.
“You say you want my honesty? Well—in all honesty—I don’t think we can be friends. I just don’t think that’s possible, under these circumstances.”
“If not friends, then, at least not enemies. I’ll help you—voluntarily—if you’ll do the same for me. Well no... maybe it won’t always be voluntary on your part, because—as we both know—I do hold the ultimate power in this relationship, and I’ll use it if I have to. I’d prefer your voluntary help, though.” She went to stand in front of him. “Look. Between what you told me out here last night and what Lucilla says all my other slaves think of me... I’m sure I have enemies I don’t know about. It doesn’t seem too farfetched that you might be one of them.”
“Miss, I—”
“So, just in case, I’m willing to take some steps to ensure that you have a stake in my survival. Since my father was once governor of Corinth, I should be able to get some answers. We’ll write a letter today, and you may take it to Ostia tomorrow. With my seal on it, you can be sure that it will be both delivered and answered.”
Alexander regarded her warily.
“What do I have to do to earn that favor?”
“Well... since you’re not willing to tackle something as difficult as friendship with a Varro, we’ll make it easier. First, you will tell me everything you know about my brother’s murder.”
“Miss—”
“Everything.” She paused to let the word sink in. “And second, you will escort me to the farm the day after tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you going to wait for Nizzo to call on you?”
“No. I want to see the place for myself, and I intend to arrive unannounced. Just look at all I’ve learned this morning by showing up unexpectedly in the kitchen.”
“Nizzo won’t be pleased. He isn’t used to being supervised.”
“You go there on occasion.”
“As an errand boy, nothing more. Nizzo is free and a Roman citizen, thanks to your father. He’s not about to take orders from a slave.”
“Well, he will take orders from me. Alexander, that farm belongs to me. I have every right to visit it.”
“You said you wanted frankness from me. So, miss, I’ll be frank. You own some of the best farmland in the entire Roman Empire, plus a horde of brute laborers. Your crops are sold in markets from Ortobello to Pompeii. Your vineyards produce a wine that’s among the most esteemed in Rome, and wool from your sheep may well be in the toga the emperor’s wearing today. It’s a huge, complicated agricultural operation, and for decades Nizzo has run it all. There’s a reason why your father lifted up that one man above a thousand others who started exactly where he did and placed him in charge of them, even while he was still a slave. Nizzo isn’t polished, but he’s smart and tough and honest and ambitious.”
“But it’s my property. I want to see it.”
“You won’t like what you see.”
“That’s no reason for me not to go.”
“No? Here’s another reason. You say you’re worried about enemies? Well, threaten Nizzo’s authority and you’ll make a formidable enemy.”
“He’s just a freedman.”
“Don’t underestimate him. He has many influential friends in Rome. Antagonize Nizzo and you’ll have more enemies than you can imagine.”
Theodosia turned and studied the roses.
“I know I asked for your advice, but that doesn’t mean I have to take it.” She laughed, amused at the curious situation she had gotten into. “Look, Alexander. I didn’t ask to inherit all this. All I ever wanted was to live here at home. I never envied Gaius his property.”
“Well, envy it or not, you’ve got it now.”
“True. I’ve got it now, and I’m going to see every bit of it that I can.”
Alexander reacted with the sigh of one who is not being heeded.
“How do you intend to get there? The place is deliberately isolated. There’s no road at all from this side, so you’d have to take your carriage into Rome, then out on the Via Clodia. It would take four days round trip, and y
ou’d probably have to spend a night in that wretched place.”
“How do you get there and back in one day?”
“Through the woods. On a horse.”
“Then I’ll go that way, too.”
She turned around in time to see a remarkable series of expressions cross his face... as comprehension gave way to disbelief and then to astonishment. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“What’s the matter? Never seen a woman on horseback?”
“Not a Roman woman, no. Do you ride?”
“I haven’t in years, but I used to ride very well. Father taught me, and we’d go galloping off somewhere every day, right up to the afternoon he died. After lunch today, I’ll take a horse out and get some practice.”
“You’ll be sore. General Vespasian’s party is just three days off.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Alexander’s astonished look slowly evolved into a grin.
“Well, it’s obvious I have no choice.”
Theodosia matched his grin.
“No, you don’t.” Motioning him closer, she changed her tone. “Now... tell me more about that boy, Lycos.”
“My lord Gaius bought him in Rome last summer. He speaks Greek, as you saw. Says he was stolen from his parents by pirates. All he knows is that they lived on the coast, but there’s a lot of coast in Greece.”
“Why did Gaius buy such a little fellow? I’m sure it wasn’t out of compassion.”
“He bought him for a plaything, to put it as delicately as I can. The boy was to be trained to serve him flawlessly, in every way your brother might think up.”
“So, why is he working now for Milo in the kitchen? I’m guessing you didn’t assign him to that.”
“You are even more intuitive than I suspected. But in fact, I did cause it by befriending him. Shouldn’t have, but... It was so easy to imagine he was my son, speaking Greek and all. Same curly hair as my Niko.”
“Gaius didn’t like that much, I’m sure.”
“I guess not! He ordered him to stay away from me, but Lycos kept coming to the library. Every day, except when the master took him to Rome to serve as entertainment at his parties.” Alexander made a face and waved his hands. “You don’t want to know. Anyway, there were times when he left Lycos here, so I began teaching him to read and write. Then one day, my lord Gaius caught us reading. I’d never seen him so angry before.” He patted his cheeks. “Lycos and I were both well slapped that afternoon. Slapping in the face was your brother’s favorite form of correction.”