by Martha Marks
Theodosia slammed both her hands into the blanket.
“Are you so dumb, Lucilla? Don’t you know what the punishment is for a slave who kills a Roman? It’s crucifixion. The slowest, most painful way to die that anyone ever invented. It’s much, much worse than a whipping! By Jupiter, girl, I would have every right to sentence you to both those things... for spying on me and attempting to murder a Roman. And there’s not a soul on earth who’d raise a hand to stop it.”
Lucilla gasped and shot Alexander a plea for help.
“May I say something in Lucilla’s defense, miss?”
“I didn’t know you two got along well enough for that.”
“We don’t, but... To be fair... The senator uses similar tactics on me. Sometimes he blusters. Sometimes he cajoles. Sometimes he tries to bribe. But there’s always an implied threat. Either I cooperate with him now or I’ll pay with my hide when I become his property.”
Theodosia set the tiny serpent on the table beside the blue glass vial.
“Keep Lucilla locked up until I decide what to do with her. Come back when you’ve finished.”
Then she closed her eyes, unwilling to watch as he hustled away her once-trusted maid.
<><><>
“I am going to sell her,” Theodosia said when Alexander returned.
“You all but promised you wouldn’t if she told you the truth.”
“I know, but if I can’t trust her...”
“You still need a maid.”
“Etrusca will attend me until I find another skilled girl. Can we assume Lucilla is the only one Otho got to?”
“No telling. He certainly worked hard enough on me.”
Otho worked hard... at marrying me.
The realization hit her with the force of Otho’s fist by the fountain.
There’s something more to this.
“When did Otho give Marcipor to Gaius?”
“A little over a year ago, I guess. But please don’t worry about all this just now. I should have waited to tell you.”
“You couldn’t have waited. I insisted, remember?”
Theodosia closed her eyes and lay quietly for a while.
Otho first approached Lucilla a year ago.
He gave Marcipor to Gaius not long before that.
I didn’t get to know Otho until after Gaius died, but he said he knew he wanted to marry me after I bumped into them on the street. “Pauper or not, it was a beautiful woman I saw that day.”
Gods, when was that? Two years ago?
She opened her eyes and turned to Alexander.
“Bring Marcipor to me.”
“Later, miss. First, you must rest.”
“I’ll rest later. First, I must talk with Marcipor. And you,” she added with a slow, affectionate smile, “must do as you are told.”
<><><>
Alexander glanced at the other Greek as they stepped into the mistress’ bedroom. Anxiety clouded Marcipor’s handsome features. Theodosia looked anxious too. She had twisted to one side, clutching the blanket as if somehow it could protect her from all the Othos of the world.
“Marcipor, when did Senator Otho give you to my brother?”
“Almost eighteen months ago.”
“I’m not going to waste words. I believe he gave you to Gaius to spy on him, and I believe you’ve spied on me, too.”
The fine brown eyes widened in alarm.
“I’d never spy on you, miss!”
“I think you did. To help your former master marry me.”
“He didn’t say anything about spying on my lord Gaius. After the master died, he did demand that I spy on you, but I— I don’t ever want to belong to him again. I hope you never marry him. I’d help anybody but him. Alexander will tell you...”
Theodosia flicked her eyes to her steward.
“Tell me what?”
Alexander wasn’t sure what Marcipor wanted him to say, but he knew what he could truthfully say.
“I don’t know except that Marcipor dislikes my lord Otho as much as I do. The senator abuses him, both verbally and physically, every time he comes around. You’ve seen a bit of that, I think.”
“I have.”
“Then imagine how much worse it is when you’re not around. If Marcipor is a spy then he must also be a very good actor, and I’ve never seen anything to indicate that he is either.”
Marcipor blinked his gratitude, which Alexander acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head.
Theodosia lay motionless. Alexander wondered what was going on behind her impassive expression.
“Last spring, Marcipor,” she said after a long interval, “I asked you some questions that embarrassed you. Now I have to embarrass you again, because I need to know what was going on before my brother’s death. Answer truthfully if you want me to believe you. First, tell me why Otho gave you to Gaius, if it wasn’t to spy on him.”
“Blackmail.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The tribune had often lent me to him for a few days at a time.” Marcipor’s cheeks showed a few pink spots. “I think my lord Gaius finally decided he wanted me for good.”
“As his lover?”
“There was no love in it, miss. He was very brutal.”
“Did Otho take you, too?”
“Ever since we were boys.”
“Were you the only one?”
“No, miss.”
“Females, too?”
Marcipor nodded.
“There was a slave girl in his father’s household whom I loved, but he took her for himself. He forced her to sleep with him for months. Mostly to spite me, I think. He knew I loved her, and he had lots of others to pick from. And then—when he was bored with her—he talked his father into selling her to another man. Pure meanness, if you ask me. It wouldn’t have hurt him to leave her in the household where she had grown up.”
Theodosia’s eyes never left Marcipor’s face.
“Were Otho and my brother...?”
“Yes, miss.”
Alexander was listening carefully. Much of this was new to him.
Where in Zeus’ name is she going with this?
Theodosia’s fingers laced and locked across her chest.
“How could Gaius have blackmailed Otho?”
“Do you know the tribune’s—the senator’s—father?”
“Only by name.”
“Well, the senator—the old senator, my lord Otho’s father—believes in the ‘traditional Roman values.’ We Greeks are ruining Rome, he says. He hates what he calls ‘Greek love.’ He knows it’s not only girls his son takes to his bed, but as long as they’re just slaves...” He shrugged. “But if he found out that his son was having sex with another nobleman...”
Marcipor finished with a roll of his eyes.
“Was my brother threatening to tell the old senator?”
“I think so.”
“Why would he blackmail his best friend?”
“I can’t say.”
“Wouldn’t Gaius have suffered as much from that revelation?”
“No, miss. Your brother had already come into his inheritance. Besides... everyone in Rome knew he was hot for boys. Slave or free, it didn’t matter one bit to him.”
“What would Senator Salvius Otho have done?”
“Disinherit his son, most likely. He was always threatening it.”
“Otho mentioned to me last summer that, if he didn’t marry General Aemilius’ daughter, his father would disinherit him.”
“He was lying to you, miss. That betrothal was broken off two years ago, at the general’s insistence. Calchas—that’s my lord Otho’s body servant—says his master is smitten now with Poppaea Sabina.”
Poppaea Sabina?
Alexander remembered hearing from Stefan about her behavior at the ladies-only dinner party in Rome.
Theodosia began rubbing her temples. She looked tired.
Alexander stepped up beside her bed.
“Please rest
now, miss. You can talk to Marcipor another day.”
But Theodosia ignored him... as he knew she would.
“Got any idea why—if Otho’s ‘smitten’ with Poppaea, as you say—he’s so anxious to marry me?”
“Money, miss. Poppaea Sabina’s family isn’t rich enough. Neither is my lord Otho’s. He wants to become really, really rich.”
“By marrying me?”
“That would be the quickest way.”
“I guess. Did you ever hear Otho discuss me with Gaius?”
“I once heard him tell your brother that he wanted to marry you.”
“When was that?”
“Before my lord Otho gave me to him. You happened to be walking by and stopped to say hello to your brother. After you left, the tribune asked him who you were. And then, just a few moments later—we couldn’t have gone more than fifty paces—he told him that he’d fallen in love with you and wanted to marry you.”
“Just like that? Out of the blue?”
“Out of the blue.” Marcipor raised his eyes from the floor. “I saw you that day too, miss, but you wouldn’t have noticed me. I was in the crowd of attendants surrounding their litters.”
“What did Gaius say to Otho’s declaration of love?”
“He said no. Flat out no. Said it was impossible.”
“Did he say why?”
Marcipor licked his lips nervously.
“Just said you couldn’t marry into a senatorial family.”
“Because...?”
Marcipor flushed. His eyes went back to the floor.
“I can’t repeat what he said.”
Alexander held his breath as he watched Theodosia’s face. Her resolution never seemed to waver.
“Because my mother was a filthy Greek whore?”
Marcipor’s head jerked up.
“How’d you know that?”
“Because Otho made the same comment to me not long ago. Said Gaius once told him that.” She paused. “Was that all Gaius said?”
“Just that.”
Alexander exhaled with relief.
Secret’s still safe.
But Theodosia wasn’t finished yet. To Alexander’s surprise, she offered Marcipor her hand.
“Thank you for the information, Marcipor. Before you go, is there anything else you want to tell me?” She gave him a slight smile. “To prove once and for all that you’re not Otho’s spy?”
Marcipor stared in obvious disbelief at the slender hand stretched out to him. After a few moments, he took it. The silence that followed seemed to last forever.
Blessed gods, don’t let him say anything that will shatter her!
He watched as Marcipor battled his misgivings.
“I have a hunch, miss, but—please—my lord Otho is very angry with me, because I haven’t done what he demanded after you came here to live. Please... is it certain you will never marry him?”
“Quite certain. I promise you will never fall into his hands again.”
“And you’ll never tell him what I said about the blackmail? Or that he tried to make me spy on you?”
Theodosia sighed.
“I promise. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because you belong to me, not to Senator Otho. I will protect you. So, what’s your hunch?”
“Well, I have no way of proving it, but…” Marcipor’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think he’s one of the men who murdered your brother.”
Chapter Twenty
Later that morning, Stefan carried Theodosia to the cushioned chair beside the window in her sitting room. It was her first time out of bed in almost a month. Being lifted and set down still tortured her legs and back, and she clung to his arms until the spasms passed.
“Thanks, Stefan.” It was humiliating to be so helpless. “There’s no one else I’d trust to do that right now.”
Stefan regarded her indifferently. His beard was full again, his demeanor stiff.
Wonder what he thinks of Lucilla’s confinement. Has he heard that I’m planning to sell her?
“Anything else you need?” His chilly tone said more than his words.
Alexander’s wrong. There’s no love left between Stefan and me.
Love was part of the past.
Before the sight of a slave girl sneaking out of the barn…
Before the smack of a whip...
Before the loss of an unborn baby...
It had been Theodosia’s decision to put a stop to their relationship, but still it grieved her.
Does it grieve him, too, or is he just angry? Does love always end this way?
“No,” she said after a moment. “You may go.”
<><><>
Theodosia sat stoically in the cushioned chair, her splinted legs propped on a stool, as her new farm-bred lady’s maid struggled with the unfamiliar art of hairdressing. While her fingers worked to coax three weeks of bed-tangles from her mistress’ hair, Etrusca murmured that she had never dreamed of such a high position, that Nicanor was so proud, that they were both so grateful, that Master Nizzo would be so amazed.
Etrusca had filled out a lot in half a year; now her latest pregnancy was beginning to show. There had been no more displays of superstition, and her personality—once she outgrew her original awe of her mistress—proved bright and warm.
No wonder Nicanor’s devoted to her. What wouldn’t I give to have a man love me so much just for myself?
Timon came in to check Theodosia’s progress. She had found she liked this odd little slave with the strange way of speaking Latin. Timon might know a great deal about the human body, but the verbs and pronouns of his master’s tongue seemed likely to befuddle him forever.
No sooner had the physician begun unwrapping her right leg than Vespasian strolled in—wearing what Theodosia guessed was his finest toga—followed by Flavia, Titus, and Alexander. As if flustered by the arrival of so many Romans at once, Etrusca dropped the tortoise-shell comb. Timon bowed to his master and continued his work.
“Now... this is a pretty sight,” Vespasian said.
“Oooooh, you do look better! Not like that pitiful person they fished up from the river.” Flavia fingered Theodosia’s russet tunic. “You’ve got such superb taste. I wanted you to help plan my wedding, but—” She accepted the chair that Alexander offered her. “It’s to be the day after tomorrow! We’re off to Rome today, just as soon as we leave you.”
“I thought you were planning a spring wedding.”
“We were, but there’ve been changes.”
“Father and I are the troublemakers, I’m afraid,” Titus said. He took Theodosia’s hands and kissed each one. “We’ve been ordered into service.”
“Both of you at the same time? Is that a coincidence?”
“The emperor’s doing,” Vespasian said. “I’m to command the legion in Africa. Leaving in three days. My son enters the Centuriate the very afternoon of Flavia’s wedding. Way ahead of schedule.”
“Why such short notice? Did Emperor Claudius order that, too?”
“I doubt it,” Vespasian said. “The old goat doesn’t bother with such details. Someone else in the palace rescheduled Titus’ deployment.”
Someone else in the palace?
Theodosia looked at Alexander, hoping to catch his reaction, but—as always when Romans were present—his face was blank.
“Training camp lasts six months,” Titus said, “so if I start now, I’ll finish in June. I’ll be home in March, and off and on after that.”
Trying to shake her uneasiness, Theodosia turned her attention to the man bending over her right leg. She laid her hand on his arm and raised her eyes to Vespasian.
“Your physician is wonderful, General.”
Before Vespasian could answer, Timon lifted his head and rewarded Theodosia with a disarming smile. One of his front teeth was missing.
“I happy I serve she, lady, help she walk again someday.”
“You do think I will, then?”
“I hope it, lady. I check
leg now. Turn face please.”
“No! Why should I be the only one to miss the show?”
Timon shrugged and removed the final bandage around her right shin; then he lifted the top splint and handed it to Alexander. Theodosia pushed herself forward to get a look at the swollen mass below her knee.
“Not move, lady.” Timon ran his fingers down the shin that ranged from purple to yellow. “Splints maybe off this leg by Saturnalia.”
“And the other leg? I’ll have to work hard that night, Timon. Folks around here are stern masters at Saturnalia.”
Timon’s mouth twitched at the corners.
“Slaves not have lady’s service this year.”
“What a shame!” Theodosia smiled ruefully at Alexander. “My first Saturnalia at home in years, and I’m worthless as a servant.”
“We’ll move your chair out by the bonfire, miss,” Alexander said in the same vein, “and do our best to get some singing out of you. Perhaps the lady Flavia will join you. We can exact your share of work from her.”
“Count on it, Alexander.” Flavia laughed. “Lucius leaves for Puteoli next week. Neither Father nor Titus will be home for Saturnalia, so I’ll be available. And hey... I’m a lively serving wench at Saturnalia!”
“In the meantime, there are serious matters to discuss,” said Vespasian in a tone calculated to put an end to the banter. “Wrap that leg up, Timon. Then, you three, leave us.”
“We’ll take lunch here in an hour,” Theodosia said to Alexander as Timon hastened to obey his master’s command.
Alexander and Etrusca brought two more chairs, then headed for the door.
Theodosia glanced up to see Alexander looking back. Their eyes met, and she saw him nod, ever so slightly, before stepping into the hall.
<><><>
“Well, Theodosia,” Vespasian began when the slaves were gone, “I’m a simple man, a soldier. Not known for fancy talk. So, we’ve come to you as a family... to make a family offer.”
Titus sat and took Theodosia’s hand again. The moment of commitment had come. She would postpone it no longer.