Rubies of the Viper

by Martha Marks

  “But he did! Think about it. What does he want to own so badly that it’s eating him up inside?”

  “The farm he worked as a slave.”

  “Yes. So, he gets his rich friends—all those wealthy freedmen in the palace—to agree to lend him the money to buy it. Then what happens? Gaius refuses to sell to him. Remember Nizzo’s comment that day at the farm? ‘That’s exactly what your brother said the last time I proposed the deal to him.’ But Nizzo’s no fool, so he thinks, ‘I can fix it so there’s another owner. The little sister will be easier to persuade.’ And so, by Juno, here I am a few months later, listening to his arguments.”

  “You could be right about the murder. Nizzo might have figured a young, inexperienced woman would be easier to deal with.”

  Bet he’s rethinking that now.

  “And if so, you’re quite safe. A plot like that wouldn’t work again, because, as you say, you were there to inherit the family estate.”

  “How does that make me safe?”

  “Well, you’re not married. You have no family. Who would inherit your property if you died right now?”

  “Emperor Claudius.”

  “Exactly. And do you think that old bird would sell a big chunk of the most valuable farmland in Italy to a freedman? Not a chance. He’d keep it himself, for the income... and Nizzo knows it.”

  “You’re probably right.” She chuckled once, then after a few moments chuckled again. “Of course you’re right! Gods, I feel better than I have in months!”

  Alexander’s face must have betrayed his confusion, for Theodosia’s hands came up in a sidewise flutter of fingers.

  “Never mind why. It’s just something stupid I’d been believing since May.” Her face puckered, and she laughed outright. “Oh, it’s all so clear now! Nizzo took a slave from the farm to Rome and forced him to help murder my brother; then he killed him, too—right there—and dumped his body into the Tiber where nobody could identify it.” She laughed once more. “Have you ever heard of a more perfect crime?”

  She sat down at the desk, smiling broadly.

  If thinking that her bailiff murdered her brother makes Theodosia Varro so happy, who’s her steward to argue?

  “May I ask,” Alexander said, “why you were so afraid of me last spring?”

  “It was something I’d heard. Doesn’t matter now.”

  “It matters to me. Was it something Tribune Otho said? He hates me, you know.”

  “And you hate him.”

  Alexander hesitated. The truth might be dangerous, but this was no time for lies.

  “I won’t deny it.”

  “What happens if I marry him?”

  “Then I’m in trouble.”

  “If that’s what I decide to do... how could I help you?”

  Alexander glanced down and sighed.

  “Sell me before your marriage.” The words came hard. “Didn’t Vespasian say he’d like to own a steward like me? So... give him that opportunity.” He looked at her. “You’re not old enough to free me, you know, even if you wanted to. The law says you must be twenty-five to manumit a slave.”

  Theodosia filled the silence by drumming on the desk. After a while, she rose, laid both her hands on Alexander’s shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes at close range.

  “Why does Otho hate you so?”

  “No idea, miss.” He shook his head as if to answer her question, but in reality to steady himself against the unsettling effect of her intimacy. “I’m in no position to do the tribune any harm.”

  “He made you sound like a real monster last spring, before I left Rome.”

  “He’d like to see you dislike me as much as he does.”

  “Well, it hasn’t worked.”

  The smile returned to Theodosia’s face as she lowered her arms and took a step back from him. But still... her eyes never left his.

  “I’m not at all afraid of you, Alexander. Nor do I dislike you in the least. In fact, I’ve become surprisingly fond of you.”

  Alexander made no response.

  “I haven’t told you that before, have I?”

  Am I the one she’s going to start teasing now?

  “Well, I am fond of you. But right now, I need to be alone.” She flicked her fingers toward the door. “Leave me. Please.”

  <><><>

  That night, after dinner—and two hours of reading in her suite—Theodosia drifted outside, drawn by the hum of cicadas.

  Wispy clouds ambled by overhead as Juno’s crescent glided among them. The hottest July in memory would pass into history on a still, starry night.

  She strolled past the pergola into the woods and kept going to the far edge, to a rocky clearing where the coastline jutted out into the sea. She had often ridden this way by day, but never before had she ventured such a great distance at night. And never had she come alone.

  It was dark under the big pines. She saw her villa shining in the moonlight across the curve of the shore.

  Feeling the same exhilarating mix of freedom and danger as on that earlier venture into the cove, she dropped to the ground, leaned against a tree, and closed her eyes.

  For another hour she listened to the lapping of waves against the rocks and held a series of fantasy conversations with the four men who were growing in importance in her life.

  She told Titus that she planned to marry Otho.

  She told Otho that she planned to marry Titus.

  She told both Titus and Otho that she would marry neither of them.

  She told them that she was taking Stefan as her lover.

  She told Stefan to come to her suite tonight.

  She told Alexander that he now belonged to Vespasian.

  She told him that his wife and son had been found in the household of a kindly Athenian, who was selling them to Theodosia.

  She told him that Antibe and Niko had never been enslaved and were looking forward to his return to Corinth in six years… as her freedman.

  When her fantasies were exhausted, Theodosia stood and made her way home. It was the first of many solitary nocturnal walks that she would make before the summer ended.

  <><><>

  The next afternoon, Theodosia returned from riding with Titus to find Alexander pacing in the driveway.

  “A legionary brought a letter from the governor of Corinth.”

  “You opened it?”

  “It’s addressed to you, miss.”

  Dearest Juno, for his sake... let it be good news!

  Alexander stood just inside the blue curtain as Theodosia slit the wax seal and read silently, aware that the wait was torment for him. Then she handed the scroll to him.

  Alexander’s eyes were the only things moving as he absorbed the words on the page.

  “No record at all? But it was the governor’s own men who arrested me. I spent three months in his damn prison.” His voice was growing louder. “There must be some record of that!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If he said he knew about my case but not what had happened to my family... But to know nothing at all! He’s got to be lying!”

  “It’s been almost nine years.”

  “You don’t think they just lose records, do you?”

  Theodosia toyed silently with the objects on her desk, not sure how to deal with his disappointment and anger.

  “You know they don’t!” He was almost shouting now. “Those bastards have the records all right, they just don’t want to bother looking for them. What are a few miserable Greeks to the masters of the world? They’ve been sending us off in their stinking slave ships for two hundred years!”

  Abruptly, Alexander checked his tirade, drew a breath, and exhaled it. Then he stepped over to Theodosia and returned the letter to her.

  “Forgive me, miss. I’ve no business talking to you like that.”

  “We’ll have to try again, I guess.”

  He stared at her.

  “You’ll write another letter?”

  “Wha
t else is there to do? Just don’t expect too much.”

  So, Theodosia wrote a second letter to Governor Junius Gallio, reminding him of her father’s service in the same capacity, declaring the matter urgent, and promising to keep on until she got the information she needed.

  <><><>

  The response came—with remarkable swiftness—the last week of August. Theodosia and Alexander read the letter together.

  Clerks had indeed found records of one Alexander, son of Demosthenes, a well-to-do Corinthian shipper. Both had been convicted of defrauding a dozen Romans doing business in Corinth. Their assets were seized, and the son, Alexander, was enslaved as punishment.

  “Is that true?”

  “That is what happened, but as for the accusation... No, it’s not true. We were set up, miss. You may not believe me—I know that’s the oldest excuse in the world—but it’s true.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “The Romans who accused us were investors in our main competitor’s business. Treachery isn’t limited to politics and war, you know. I’m sure the Roman investors and their Greek puppets got very rich with us out of the way.”

  “But the trial...?”

  “The trial! The magistrate, the clerks, the lawyers, the witnesses, the plaintiffs... all Romans! Nobody gave a damn about a couple of Greeks hauled up filthy and ragged after three months in prison.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “He was almost fifty. Not worth much as a slave, I guess.”

  Alexander stopped cold. Theodosia waited for him to go on.

  “I was right there,” he said a while later, “chained to the wall, when they slit his throat.”

  Theodosia winced and briefly touched his arm.

  After a few moments, she continued reading. Yes, the governor went on, since it was a criminal case, the records on the man Alexander were intact. Data on his wife and child were unavailable, but the governor supplied the name of the official in charge of the census a decade earlier.

  That evening, for the third time, they composed a letter for Alexander to carry to Ostia in the morning. Theodosia dropped her head into her hands as he left the library, wondering which of them would tire of this process first.

  <><><>

  It was at the far edge of the woods, in that clearing around the curve of the shore, that Otho proposed marriage two nights later. None of Theodosia’s rehearsed speeches had prepared her. She stood looking at her hands, at the trees, at the sea... everywhere but at Otho.

  “It’s too soon. I don’t yet know what I want.”

  “You haven’t promised yourself to Titus?”

  “No. I’d give him the same answer right now. I can’t decide between the two of you, or if I even want to marry at all.”

  Otho’s laughter roared across the water.

  “It’s hard enough to believe you can’t decide between me and that baby-faced boy, but to think of remaining a spinster... What else is there for you but marriage?”

  “That.” She waved her hand toward the cluster of lights across the water. “My home. My land. My servants.”

  “Sentimental rubbish.”

  “Guess I shouldn’t expect you to understand. You’ve known all your life that you’d inherit your father’s name and money and villas and slaves and power. Not me. I never thought I’d have anything, and now I do. I have everything! But the day I marry, I lose it all.”

  Otho’s face seemed stuck between a laugh and a sneer.

  “I can’t believe you’re such a fool. You’ll ruin this place. You know nothing about managing money and property.”

  “Gaius relied on Alexander. So will I.”

  “That impudent Greek still has to be dealt with. He and that big fellow who puts his hands all over you.”

  “Stefan helps me on and off my horse.”

  “Well, you’d better watch yourself with him or nobody of any worth will touch you. Your wealth might land you an ambitious plebeian for a husband, no matter what your reputation—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my reputation.”

  “And maybe you can keep Titus hanging around like a lapdog... ruffling his fur... tweaking his ears... But no woman makes sport of me.”

  Without warning, Otho seized her wrists, pinned them behind her back, and came down roughly on her lips. Wedged between his arms and chest, she could only submit to his tongue as it probed ever harder and deeper into her mouth. He had kissed her that way once before, but he was gentle the first time. This time he was not gentle.

  Fearing her neck might snap, she tried to escape his grasp, but it was impossible. She struggled to breathe and push him away.

  Juno, help me!

  She felt so weak, so powerless.

  This must be what the slave girls go through!

  Then, as unexpectedly as he had begun, Otho released her and stepped aside. A sardonic grin spread across his face.

  “Baby-faced Titus never kissed you like that, did he? And that big barbarian slave better pray I never find out he did so, either.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Theodosia had the same circular conversation with Alexander several times that summer.

  “You ought to visit the house that my lord Gaius built in Rome,” he would say. “Aren’t you curious to see it?”

  “I’m not going back to Rome,” she would say.

  “Then you should sell the house.”

  “But I haven’t even seen it.”

  “So... go see it!”

  Finally, once the heat of August had passed, she gave in. Lucilla, Alexander, Stefan, and Marcipor accompanied her to Rome.

  After exploring her brother’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Theodosia knew for sure that Gaius had been mad. There was much too much of everything... golden lanterns by the dozens, golden roses on every ceiling, golden shells around every doorway, African ivory on every table, rare serpentine marble on every floor, ornate frescoes on every wall, Athenian sculpture throughout the house and garden...

  By comparison, their ancestral villa looked like a peasant’s abode.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. Three hundred slaves lolled about under a single overseer whose job it was to keep them all busy and in line.

  That day, Theodosia instructed Sergius Silus to sell the mansion, furnishings, and slaves. She would stay a week, then go home for good.

  Just as Sergius Silus was leaving, Otho showed up with his friend Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus... the prince called Nero. After their last encounter, Theodosia was not thrilled to see Otho. And she was puzzled.

  How did he find out so fast that I was here?

  She was curious, however, to meet the emperor’s grand-nephew and stepson. A devotee of music and the theater, Nero had performed in public on several occasions... a scandalous act for a nobleman that had created even more sensation than Theodosia at Vespasian’s dinner party.

  “So, this is the young woman I’ve been hearing about. A fellow artist. A lady who sings. Plays the cithara. What a delectable novelty!”

  “His Highness craves novelty in his entertainment,” Otho said with the pride of one who possesses privileged information.

  “And, my dear,” said Nero, “surely you appreciate how very hard novelty is to come by. Everything they offer me is so trite and boring. You must promise to perform for me at the palace.”

  “Whenever Your Lordship wishes.”

  Juno, keep me from ever having to fulfill that promise!

  Nero chatted on, but his appearance distracted Theodosia from the conversation. Rings on every finger and half a dozen bracelets on each arm clanked with his smallest gesture. Sculpted tiers of reddish curls around his face created a disconcerting air of femininity. Though he wore imperial purple, Nero was hardly a figure to inspire girlish admiration.

  A series of chins launched a single flabby ripple that extended from his fleshy lips through his blotchy, bloated neck and on to his protruding belly. Below his fine toga, a pair of spindly le
gs seemed barely enough to support his ponderous body. Despite the heavy musk he wore, the stench of rotting teeth forced Theodosia to outperform the most skillful of actors, keeping her face sociably close to his.

  All Rome had rumbled last year at news of the marriage of Claudia Octavia, the daughter of Emperor Claudius, to this son of the emperor’s niece/wife... and now his adopted son. In a city accustomed to political marriages, theirs was exceptionally significant, because Britannicus—the emperor’s own son—was still a child. So now, even the poorest urchin in the street could tell you who would assume the throne when the ailing Claudius went to join Caligula, his demented predecessor, in Hades.

  “I share your sorrow at the loss of our beloved Gaius,” Nero was saying. “He was my good friend, so I feel I’ve known you, too, my dear, for many years. And of course, Tribune Otho speaks constantly of you.”

  “I don’t know what Otho has told Your Lordship, but—”

  “I trust the marriage will not be long delayed.” Nero’s malodorous mouth came closer and whispered in her ear. “My friend is most eager. We will hold a great banquet at the palace to celebrate the consummation of your marriage.”

  Remembering the insistent force of Otho’s tongue, Theodosia felt herself reddening, as usual. But she couldn’t just turn her back on the next emperor as she did when her steward made her blush.

  <><><>

  The next morning, Theodosia offered Stefan a guided tour of Rome on foot. Lucilla begged to come, too, and soon their little entourage had expanded to include Alexander and Marcipor.

  It was fun for Theodosia to see the city through Stefan’s eyes. To a man whose idea of grand architecture was an old stone villa on the Etruscan coast, the marble temples, theaters, palaces, and baths gleaming in the sun around the Golden Milestone rivaled Mount Olympus.

  As they meandered along the Argiletum, the Forum’s busiest street, under the two-storied portico of the huge Basilica Aemilia, Stefan gawked at the shoppers, moneylenders, and street walkers jamming the entrances to the elegant shops.