He rolled his eyes. “That butcher in Britannia didn’t want to marry you because you carried one of my children. Now you’ve birthed four.”
Edna dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Victor. I shouldn’t have taken your son or struck you.” She touched his chest. “Please forgive me.”
Behold, sanity again. “You saved the boy’s life anyway. The Paterculi walls won’t keep Horus from me now that he’s free. I’ll head to the courts this afternoon to adopt him as my son. After that, I legally have every right to bring soldiers to Wryn’s door and demand he hand over my heir.” Victor caressed his hand across Edna’s cheek.
She didn’t look happy. Probably still wished a child from her womb would inherit the Ocelli estates, but she’d get used to it. She always did.
Safe inside the Paterculi walls, Libya clenched Horus to herself. She ran her hand through his dark hair and over his tanned fingers and beautiful face she thought she would never see again.
A footstep clicked on the atrium tile. Horus jerked up. “Wryn!”
“He’s alive.” Breath slid from Wryn’s chest. He touched her shoulder as he clasped Horus with his other arm. “How did you find him?”
“Victor’s mistress brought Horus to me. Didn’t want Victor to have him.”
Tears smudged Horus’ cheeks. “Mama Carissime, they told me I’d never see you again.” He clung to her.
Libya wiped at the tears.
“I tried to be brave, Wryn,” Horus’ tears rolled down her tunica as he clung to her, “but I didn’t have my spear or my sword.”
Wryn touched the boy’s trembling back. “You did well.”
“I missed Mama. And I cried and cried and cried. Then that bad man told me he was my father.” Horus trembled as his frantic voice rose.
“Shh, Horus.” Libya stroked her hand down Horus’ arm. “All is well now. A blackened bruise in the shape of a handprint marred her son’s cheek.
“Who did this to you?” Voice harsh, Wryn touched the bruise.
“That bad man who said he was my father. He isn’t, Mama, is he? Is he?” Horus tugged at her tunica.
“I —” Libya glanced from the curtained doorway to the window. Her voice broke. “Victor is your father. I’m sorry. I wish he wasn’t.”
“I don’t want to go with him. He said he’d take me to his villa and make me live there. I hate him.” Horus’ breathing came fast and hard, his little chest trembling as the words spilled over each other.
Wryn rested his big hand on Horus’ shoulder. “Guards surround this villa, and a gate strong enough to keep out the barbaric hordes encloses it. I’m not going to let anyone take you again, Horus. I promise.”
Wryn looked so confident, his stance protective as he sat a handbreadth from her. She could see his chest move with each breath he took. She’d seen no sign of Aulia or a wedding party yesterday. Had Wryn changed his mind about marrying her? Glorious thought.
“You promise?” Horus rubbed his fist against his eyes.
Wryn nodded. “I promise.”
Face brightening, Horus wriggled out of her lap. “Can I have lots and lots of sweet cakes for my birthday too? Because you missed my birthday and you said you’d come. I’m six now.”
“That’s something to talk to your mother about.” Wryn rose. “Speaking of which, I need to talk to you, Libya.”
Libya stood and followed him out of the room. A curtain separated them from Horus in this familiar tablinum.
Wryn looked at her. “I don’t imagine Victor will give up on finding his son. I’m sending you to one of the Paterculi houses in Britannia. It’s near the Camulodunum garrison and well-guarded, so you should have no trouble from Victor’s henchmen there, especially now that the Viri are in shambles.”
Britannia? When would she see Wryn again? Her throat tightened. “Thank you for all you did to find Horus.”
“I was happy to do it. I’ve arranged for the military escort to arrive within hours. There’s a good school in Camulodunum. My brother and I attended there. Horus can continue his education.”
Leave for Britannia today? She reached out and clasped Wryn’s hand with both of hers. “When will I see you again?”
“See each other again?” Wryn slid his eyebrows up. “Why? So we can torture ourselves?”
Torture? She didn’t consider their moonlit talks torture. Her voice quavered. “I thought we were friends. I’d count it an honor to continue that friendship no matter where life takes you.” Even if he married Aulia. Please don’t marry Aulia.
“I can’t be friends with you, Libya. Perhaps the apostle Paul could, Christus himself, but I can’t.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze. Desire once again ruined everything.
“When Horus comes of age, I’d like to help him attain whatever career he chooses. If you send him to me then, I’ll aid him.”
Tears formed in her eyes as she nodded. She’d never see Wryn again. Edna had spoken truth. She did love Wryn. Not like a woman should love a man, longing for his touch, reaching for his kisses. She loved his soul, their conversations, the way he played with her son. They could have remained friends for a lifetime, only he called friendship “torture.” Perhaps her life would have proven easier if she’d been born ill-favored of face.
Libya’s chest shook with silent sobs. “I’ll miss you, Wryn Paterculi.”
“And I, you.” His gaze fixed on her, a depth of sorrow in his eyes. Gathering himself, he squared his shoulders, stiff as any soldier. “The military escort is coming at the second watch of the night to escape detection. I’ll say my farewells to Horus before he goes to bed tonight.” Wryn’s sandals sounded against the tile as he walked out of the room.
Life on this Britannia estate meant she would have her freedom, her son, and a wide-open future for Horus thanks to Paterculi aid — everything she ever dreamed of for the last six years. She fell on the stool, caught up a pillow, and sobbed into the embroidered cloth.
She cried tears for the last hours of Horus’ danger, tears for the months she spent here in the Paterculi villa, tears for ten years of infamia, tears for herself and who she could have been if her father hadn’t sold her at twelve. Most of all, tears for the man she wanted and could never have.
Wryn breathed a sigh as he watched Libya walk through the curtain. Would he never see her again? What other choice did he have? It’s not as if he could marry a prostitute.
The noise of the tribunes who helped him search for Horus and round up the rest of the Viri rose from the Paterculi triclinium beyond.
Horus scrambled through the low window. “Look, Wryn, I found the perfect stick for our bow and arrow.”
“Who are you going to shoot?” Wryn forced his gaze to focus on the boy as a thousand moments played through his mind. That bonfire with Libya, the horseback rides to Ostia, loitering in the villa gardens as Horus played.
“Not you. I promise. Please, please, please.” Grabbing Wryn’s hand, the boy tugged.
“All right, we’ll take a few hours now and do it.” Now before Horus and Libya left. Left because he sent them away. “One moment.”
Wryn walked into the triclinium where yawning tribunes ate.
“Some night tonight.” Tribune Lucius grabbed a handful of grapes.
“Saved an Emperor’s life, guess I can put that on my list of accomplishments.”
Tribune Vitus scooped up almonds. “Ha! As if the Emperor even noticed. Caius Marcellus gets the glory.” He looked up. “Annoying, isn’t it Felix?”
Wryn slammed down on the opposite couch. “Annoying doesn’t describe the half of it.”
“Don’t suppose there’s any wine in this house?” A tribune with wide-spaced eyes took on a hopeful tone.
Uncorking an amphora of the best Paterculi wine, Wryn poured it into the goblets half-filled with water. “Thank you for your help searching for Horus.” Wryn clapped his hand on Tribune Vitus’ shoulder. “Here’s to a mission complete.” He raised the goblet high.
&nbs
p; The clank of metal sounded, but its tinny ring felt hollow. He’d done what he set out to do, rescue Horus, put an end to smuggling, save the Emperor’s life, and send Libya far away from him. So why did he feel as miserable as Prometheus?
Tribune Vitus drank deeply from the goblet. With a clap, he set it down. “If Victor still wants him, the boy’s not safe here, Felix.”
“I know. I’m sending Horus to a well-guarded place in Britannia.” He’d miss the child, maybe not so much the fire-setting, but definitely everything else.
“When Horus was your slave, you had some legal claim to him. Now Victor will go to the courts and adopt his bastard child as his own. Then he can come here with legionaries demanding his son.” Tribune Lucius plucked a grape. “Not that it matters, the fate of a freed slave boy, but you seem to care.”
Cold fear sliced through Wryn. “He has no proof Horus is his. The courts won’t just let him —”
“A wealthy patrician comes to the court asking to endow a destitute boy with all that he owns?” Tribune Vitus laughed. “What more proof of paternity do they need? No man would do that unless he knew the boy was his son.”
The goblet fell from Wryn’s hand. Red liquid spilled around his feet. “Libya will speak against it.” Surely that would be enough? No, it wouldn’t. Why hadn’t he thought of this?
“The word of a freedwoman? I know you’re enamored of your mistress, but think.”
“She’s not my mistress.” Wryn’s head pounded.
“Quidquid. If any patrician shows up to that court and asks the magistrates to sign the adoption papers for Horus, they’ll agree. No proof needed.” Tribune Lucius took another swallow. “After Victor does that, it can’t be undone. He’ll have full legal rights to this boy.”
Wryn clenched the table. “Only if he can find him. I’ll spirit Horus away to a remote villa.”
“A bad idea.” Tribune Lucius frowned. “The first thing Victor will do after adopting the boy is obtain a legal order demanding you turn him over. You’d be breaking the law denying him, and Victor will track him down eventually no matter where you send him. He could have you exiled for kidnapping a patrician’s son.”
He’d promised Horus safety, pledged his sacred word. Now, this? Wryn’s heart contorted.
“It’s scarcely your responsibility that the woman had the ill-fortune to bear the son of a patrician who wants the child back.” Tribune Vitus took up his goblet.
Tribune Lucius sloshed his wine goblet against Vitus’. “If you wish to comfort the woman you love, get her with child yourself. She’ll soon forget this boy. As the son of your enemy, he probably would have grown up to stab a knife in your back anyway.”
Love? You don’t let the woman you love lose her only son to a murderer. “Any patrician could appear at that court, and the magistrates would take his word that Horus was his son, let him irrevocably adopt Horus?” Wryn gulped. “Even I?”
If he did this, not only would he take on another man’s blood as his firstborn heir, he’d take on the shame of infamia. Because no world existed where he spent the years until Horus attained manhood under the same roof as Libya and didn’t want her.
Tribune Lucius stared at him. “You jest.”
“You’ll ruin your inheritance adopting a slave boy.” The sunlight reflected off Vitus’ stretched eyelids. “You don’t have children yet, so he’d be your firstborn son, your heir. An unrelated former slave would inherit all you own.”
Not just unrelated, but related to his worst enemy. “I know.” Wryn’s heart beat unevenly. He’d defied Roman law his entire life to follow the Way and prepared himself to die for this gospel, though he had no desire to die. He wanted Libya with every fiber of his being and cared for Horus as a son, yet held back because of Roman custom. What kind of fool was he?
Lucius struck his hand against the table with a clang. “You truly want to give your inheritance to the bastard son of your sworn enemy?”
“I don’t care anymore.” Wryn’s heart soared.
“Think Wryn.” Vitus grabbed his shoulder.
“I’ve done all the thinking I need to. Rome can burn themselves down with their gossip, and Legate Aemilli can expel me from the garrison. I’m doing this.”
The brick walls of the Basilica Julia law courts towered high. The noise of money changers rose from the bottom floor. Wryn plunged his signet ring into the wax, leaving the indentation of the eagle and the raven.
With a nod, the magistrate handed him the adoption papers, the deed as simple as Tribune Vitus had said.
Parchment in hand, Wryn crossed underneath the archway. A surreal feeling filled him as he looked at the black ink. All around, people bustled, noise filling the halls as orators argued court cases while pettier quarrelers squabbled.
In the space of a quarter-hour, he changed his life forever. Horus, Libya, the stigma of infamia, all part of his world now. Not what he’d planned for himself, ever.
Gwen engaged in insane antics, creating public disturbances at dinner parties to break up girls’ unwanted betrothals, inviting three score destitute women to live in her villa gardens. Not him. He led armies and planned to rule provinces, with justice and equity, but certainly not with scandal.
A voice rose loudly from a courtroom within. Victor’s voice. “Horus is my son. You had no right to allow Felix Paterculi to adopt him. Rip up the parchment.”
Wryn looked through the arched entrance. Victor and the magistrate stood at the door by the back of the room.
The magistrate straightened his toga. “You’re saying this boy is your legitimate heir, a child of your wife or one adopted into your familia?”
“No, but he’s my blood. Ask Horus’ mother, Libya. She’ll tell you I lay with her and fathered that child.” Anger flamed Victor’s cheeks.
The magistrate flicked dust from the crease of his purple-bordered toga. “When there’s no marriage, a child inherits the status of his mother. If this Felix Paterculi was fool enough to adopt another man’s blood as his legal heir, then the boy’s a Paterculi now. Nothing you can do about it.”
“But he’s my son.” Victor struck the court table.
The magistrate looked down his wrinkled nose. “Not in the eyes of this court, Dominus Ocelli.”
Whipping on his heel, Victor strode to the arched entrance. As he passed under the carved scrolls overlaying the arch, his gaze caught Wryn’s. Victor clenched his fists, red running down the swollen veins of his neck. “You took my son.”
Wryn grinned. “Not in the eyes of this court.”
Victor spat on the mosaic of Romulus and Remus beneath his feet. “Very well, you want a bastard son of mine to inherit all you own? Have at it. I’ll marry some clean woman and sire a legitimate heir now that you’ve stolen my son.”
Wryn’s hand tightened on the scroll. “I stole nothing. If you wanted Horus, you had your chance six years ago.”
Victor scoffed. “I had your woman first too. You can think of that when my blood inherits your estates, and you lie with a woman who I’ve known in every way possible.”
For a moment, Wryn looked at Victor. He relaxed his hand, revealing sweat stains on the parchment. “You’ve never loved anyone but yourself.”
Turning on his heel, Wryn crossed over the mosaic, down to the lower courts and the street below.
Chapter 34
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Libya meandered across the garden walkway that the afternoon sunshine heated to a soothing calm. After tonight, she’d never walk these pathways again. Never see Wryn again. A deadness filled her heart.
“Libya.” The cook pounded toward her, consternation on her face.
“I’m not cooking the bread for you tonight. I’d only burn it anyway.” She needed to pack and say farewell. Wetness moistened her eyes. Life with no Wryn.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to. I wanted to apologize for how gruff I’ve been. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”
Libya narrowed her gaze. Had news of Horus
and her departure inspired the woman to some heights of goodwill? “Of course. I’m sorry for all Horus’ misdeeds too. I did try to make him stop.”
“Oh, that sweet boy.” The cook waved her hand.
Libya stared.
“He can steal as many sweet cakes as he wishes. I wouldn’t think of holding anything against the master’s son.”
“What?”
The cook pushed a sweaty lock behind her ear. “The master adopted him in the courts this afternoon. I hadn’t credited the rumors about them sharing blood, but obviously, it’s true.”
Libya strained ears that must be failing her. The cook hadn’t just said that.
“I do hope you won’t hold our misunderstandings against me. I need this position.” The cook clasped her thick hands together.
Perhaps the cook had been moonstruck?
A sandal clapped against the tile. Wryn stood there, his bearing confident, his shoulders square, his brown eyes as riveting as always.
Libya glanced at the cook’s departing back, then back to Wryn. She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger. “The cook prattled some gibberish about you adopting my son?”
“I did.” Wryn held her gaze.
“You adopted who?” Gwen burst into the garden carrying her baby. Marcellus followed a step behind her, holding their daughter’s hand.
“Horus,” Wryn said as loudly as if he spoke the truth.
Libya’s head reeled. He’d taken it upon himself to raise Victor’s blood? Horus would have everything, an education, a patrician’s opportunities — a father. Oh, to throw her arms around Wryn’s neck.
“Libya’s just now finding out?” Gwen raised her voice. “You can’t adopt a woman’s son without asking her first.”
“Victor prepared to adopt Horus.” Wryn’s voice sounded miles away. “Once that happened, he could legally bring soldiers to drag Horus from this house. I only preempted him by moments.”
Without Love: Love and Warfare series book 4 Page 34