The door swung shut behind her, blocking the spring breeze, and Cara turned her gaze to Eric. He knelt on the floor beside the pallet, the baby in his arms. Waxy blood smeared across his jerkin now, yet he gazed at the wrinkled infant as if he held the finest of treasures. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Beautiful? The rumpled baby looked like it had just survived the most grueling day of its life, which was more than likely the truth.
Eric ran his calloused hands, now permanently stained from grease, over the babe’s caked hair. He dropped his voice to a hush. “Is she really ours?”
“No one else in the world will claim responsibility. See how fast the midwife ran out.”
Eric fixed his gaze on the babe’s little face.
Cara scooted up against the wall and her insides contracted, not as painful as the last hours, but not pleasant either. “What will you name her?”
“I don’t know.” The baby reached out and clasped Eric’s littlest finger. “Look!” His face lit. “She likes me.”
All right, so the baby did look dear if you forgot about the rat wrinkles. “You have to name her. She can’t not have a name.”
“What would you name her?”
Cara felt her face heat underneath her disheveled locks. She gouged her sweaty fingers into the pallet. Would he detest the name as Conan had? “Lucia, after my mother.”
“Name her that then,” Eric said and broke a rule, the rule of the Roman naming ceremony.
Perhaps motherhood wouldn’t prove so very horrid if one had a heroic husband who broke the rules.
Eric cradled the baby close and she burrowed her head into his chest, lips moving in suckling noises.
Cara held out her arms. “Lucia, please.”
“In a bit.”
She pressed her hands down against the pallet. “Babes have to suckle to live. Your mother told you that, right?”
One moment more, and Eric bent and placed the baby in her arms. As she tried to remember everything Edna’s and Pruella’s mothers had ever said about feeding a baby, Eric moved between her and the wall.
Sitting behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back into the comforting haven of his arms and chest.
He brushed sweaty hair back from her ear and leaned toward it. “I’m glad I married you, Cara.”
His baby in her arms, her head resting against his shoulder, she turned her gaze up to his face. A smile parted his handsome mouth, his broad cheekbones clean-shaven for once, his dark eyes gazing at her, filled with – adoration?
Would he still look adoringly at her if he knew Lucia’s arrival in this world, or at least the deeds that caused it, had been no drunken accident?
Ten days. For ten days now, she hadn’t slept. For the last nine days, Eric had torn himself away for gruelingly long hours at the docks, because new baby or not, they had to eat.
A piercing cry split the fog in front of Cara’s eyes as Lucia screamed for food.
“I just fed you.”
Another cry erupted from Lucia’s little mouth. Each time the baby suckled burning javelins pierced her flesh, but babies starve if you don’t let them eat. Thus, for the third time that hour, Cara fed the child.
Outside, the sun set into shadows, and the moon rose, and still Eric worked. Cara moved to the kettle. She gave the porridge one weak stir. Her head nodded forward over the ladle, her unbound hair slipping over her shoulders.
A bloodthirsty shriek rose from where Lucia lay, splitting through the pounding pain in Cara’s skull.
“Sleep child. Sleep! I command you to sleep.” Arms shaking, Cara caught the baby up. Her bleary eyes refused to focus as the dirt floor and the straw pallet and Lucia’s red face faded in and out.
Turning her head, the baby nuzzled her.
“No, you can’t. It feels like knife stabs!” She laid the baby on the pallet.
A roar erupted from the babe’s tiny mouth, ear-piercing shrieks, and screams, and howls. Flopping down next to Lucia, Cara pulled her cloak over her head. No use.
After a few more screams, which seemed to stretch for hours, she let the child eat. Pain seared through Cara once again. Her stomach contracted, radiating agony until her tears rolled down to fall on Lucia’s face as the babe’s screams subsided into the rhythmic sound of sucking, swallowing, and pain.
Smoke rose from the hearth as their hard-bought food burned. Cara tried to shove herself up. Failure.
The door swung open with a creak. Chill evening wind invaded the house and Eric walked inside. “Sorry, I’m late. Atticus Orca kept us over and wants me early tomorrow, too.”
Cara’s tears streamed down the babe’s face, mingling with the milk splashed across Lucia’s mouth. She dug her fingernails into her palms as she stifled her own screams. “I can’t do this. I simply cannot do this.”
Eric crossed the room. Kneeling beside her, he pushed her unbound hair back behind her shoulders, running his fingers down her waist-length locks. “What happened?”
“Everything is searing pain and I haven’t slept in days and the porridge burned and this child won’t sleep.”
“She looks asleep now.”
Cara glanced down at Lucia, whose eyelids had slipped closed. Only now her own blood pounded through her veins so fast she’d never sleep.
Lowering himself next to her, Eric wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “It will be better tomorrow.”
She jerked her head up. “No, it won’t! We’re going to die. All of us. If you don’t sleep for enough days, you die.”
Eric ran his hand down her back, massaging the skin. “It’ll be all right Cara, mother of my children. I promise all will be right.”
Sliding Lucia down on the pallet, she twisted toward him. “Promise?”
“Promise.” His arms surrounded her and her tears flowed down the skin of his chest. Hands on his jerkin, she clung to him.
For just that moment, it was all right.
Chapter 21
Darkness shrouded the isolated oak grove, the noise of horses rising from the far side of the trees. Victor glanced up.
A cloud slipped over the moon, leaving only the faint glow of starlight to illuminate the meeting place the Shadow Man had chosen.
Marcellus jogged his arm with his elbow. “When do we meet him? Sure he’ll give me that promotion?”
Many men saw their last moments on Jupiter’s green earth the day they met the Shadow Man. Victor’s palms sweated. “He said he’d be here.”
Like a shadow, a man in a gray cloak shifted through the trees behind them. A full dozen men followed him, bodyguards by the look of their rough clothes and many blades. A thin snake, head reared up and fangs protruding, decorated the hood of his cloak.
They walked forward through the stillness, the noise of sandals sliding over grass just audible. A cold wind snaked through the oak grove. The man, who had killed thousands, stopped a pace in front of Victor.
The Shadow Man’s voice slid through the air like a crawling thing. “Legate Paterculi confiscated ten of your last twelve shipments. I don’t tolerate failure.”
“Nor do I, and tonight I’ve found our culprit.” Grasping Marcellus by the shoulder, Victor attempted to throw him forward.
“You!” A string of street phrases slid from Marcellus’ mouth. Like a wild beast, Marcellus drove his elbow into Victor’s stomach. Bounding back, Marcellus snaked his arm around Victor’s throat, blocking airflow.
Victor grabbed for Marcellus’ arm. No use. He felt his life’s air fade as he flailed back.
Marcellus stood no taller than he, but he moved like a volcano eruption, the force of rage strengthening his arms.
Victor struggled for his knife as he went faint.
Then, Marcellus dropped his arm, a mask of carefree calm sliding over the seething wrath. He turned toward the Shadow Man. “I’m no spy and I’ll prove it to you.”
“How?” The Shadow Man’s cloak swished through the air. Victor gritted his teeth
. The man would have let Marcellus strangle him before he interfered.
Marcellus spread his feet. “The Paterculi boy Victor drugged. I know where he is if you have a use for him.”
How did Marcellus know? He’d searched for Eric for months. Victor massaged his throat.
“Oh, I have a use for him.” The Shadow Man’s voice was soft, eerily soft for such a man.
“He’s living in a hovel on the west side of the docks. Go down River Street and it’s the third house on the left,” Marcellus said.
Victor spat on the ground. “That proves nothing, except that you’ve been working with the Paterculis.”
The Shadow Man’s hood shifted as he turned to Victor. “Actually, the Paterculis have vainly searched for Eric.”
A chill ran down Victor’s arms. Why did the Shadow Man follow Eric’s story?
The Shadow Man rotated toward Marcellus. “Which means Eric is not our spy. Leaving you.”
Good. Victor glared at Marcellus. While he’d never killed a man before, if he had to start somewhere, running a short sword through Marcellus’ ribs sounded satisfying.
Marcellus rested his hands on his belt. “Legate Paterculi’s paid off the ship captains. Offered them a bribe if they turned the goods over to him. Have you noticed how you haven’t succeeded in executing the last dozen or so who failed you?”
“Because Legate Paterculi doubled the guards on his smuggling raids, and then swiftly shipped our men up north away from the ports where the Viri have influence.” The Shadow Man moved his pale hand, shifting his cloak, and touched his sword’s pommel. Only another moment and he’d drive that blade through Marcellus’ chest.
Despite himself, Victor dug his teeth into his lip, but Marcellus’ death meant Father wouldn’t insist on Eric’s death.
“Maybe it’s because the legate settled those captains on a plot of land in the North.” No cowering from Marcellus, he boldly perused the Shadow Man. “Did you ever go to one of their trials?”
“You expect me to believe your far-fetched tale?” The Shadow Man’s low voice lost its slippery quality. With the slither of metal against metal, he started to draw his short sword.
Marcellus shrugged. “The Ocelli’s next shipment is due tomorrow during the third watch of the night. Lie in wait for the legate’s men and see what transpires.”
“How did you discover this? If I believe you.” Irritation tinged the Shadow Man’s voice, but he dropped his short sword back into its scabbard.
“The legate has a daughter, and I’ve always done well with women.” Marcellus looked right at the Shadow Man and smiled.
“Very well, I’ll send my men, but if you’re wrong, you die. Don’t try to flee from me. I will find you.”
“I never flee.” Marcellus’ boast reverberated through the dark night.
The Shadow Man turned away from him. “I have a position for you in Rome, if you’re interested, Victor Ocelli.”
Return from this province exile to take his place in Rome? Exactly what he desired. Still, Victor’s pulse throbbed.
“We need an enforcer. You’ll command a thousand ship captains.”
A thousand? Victor smiled.
“If you take the position, your task will be to kill the ones that fail and recruit new.”
Oh. Victor let his moist hand slide off his sword pommel.
“If you take responsibility for these ship captains, their failure is yours.” Even with the gray hood draped over his brow, the Shadow Man bore his gaze into him. “Let one escape to tell the legionaries of our treachery, and I will kill you.”
Victor tried to swallow, but his throat refused. Sweat dripped from his palms, running down his fingers. “I thank you for the honor, sir, but I am most content in Britannia. My father’s an old man. He needs me with him in his last days.”
“I’ll take the position.” Marcellus stepped into the Shadow Man’s space.
“You’re still not cleared of treachery,” the Shadow Man raised his voice again, “and even if you are proven innocent tomorrow, you’ve worked with us for all of what, nine months? The Ocellis have served the Viri twenty years.”
Served? Victor twisted at his knife handle. He’d like to rule rather than serve, but to kill that many men and he end up the one to lose his lifeblood if he showed a moment’s mercy?
“We’ll talk of my plans for Eric tomorrow, Victor.” Then the Shadow Man slipped back into the trees.
A hand grabbed Victor’s shoulder. “You accused me of treachery.”
Jerking away from Marcellus, Victor yanked out his short sword. “A misunderstanding.”
“You planned for me to die this night.”
True. Victor’s blade gleamed in the moonlight as Marcellus shifted on the grass. If the man leaped forward with the same violence as before, he wasn’t half sure he’d get a sword through the man’s ribs before Marcellus strangled him.
“Unlike you, I’ve slain men before, and those who have tried to kill me are now dead. I’d suggest you think on that.”
“Is that a threat?” Victor gripped his sword with two hands.
“What do you think?”
Victor slid his foot back across the slick grass. The malice in Marcellus’ eyes sent another shudder through him. Victor’s heart thudded against his chest. “No harm’s done. As soon as your name’s cleared tomorrow, you’ll get your cut of the money, same as before.”
“I want more.”
“What more?” Victor touched his throat. He’d offer several thousand denarii to keep Marcellus’ stranglehold off his neck. Patricians trained their sons in swordplay from infancy, not the street blows Marcellus had used. Why hadn’t the patrician Marcellus gone for his sword?
“I want you to take that enforcer position, then split the power gained with me.”
A heavy feeling spread down Victor’s limbs. His sword hilt slipped through his dripping hands. “I have no taste to make that many men live in fear of me, or kill each that missteps.”
“I’ll kill them for you.”
That could work. Starlight glinted off Victor’s sword pommel. He dug his fingers into the cold metal. “I’ll think on it.” What did the Shadow Man intend for Eric?
Almost four weeks had passed since the world turned upside down with the birth of the most beautiful savage ever to scream her lungs out. Cara pressed her hands against her ears as, instead of napping, Lucia screamed. “Eric!”
Today was his day off, but barges had come in from Gaul this week and he’d worked into the second watch of the night.
Despite the screams, he leaned back against the hovel’s wall, eyes closed. How could anyone rest with this commotion? Sitting straighter, he covered a yawn with his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Life. Everything. The empire.” Behind Cara, the baby screamed. Edna’s mother said not to hold a baby while she slept.
Eric grabbed Cara’s hand and pulled her down next to him, his arm behind her back. “It won’t be like this forever. Someday Lucia will be big. Our merchant venture’s going to thrive, and one day we’ll sail with the ships we send. Sprawl on the beaches of Italy, watch the sun rise over the Parthenon. Mayhap take Lucia to Asia. Hunt tigers together.”
“Lucia can’t hunt tigers.”
Eric grinned. “Watch her try.”
Cara leaned back against his shoulder, willing the blood thundering in her veins and the tears, which always seemed close to the surface these days, to quiet. “When will you start your shipping venture? I can do the money counting for you.”
“I need to identify an interested backer, but I can’t meet a patrician or equestrian looking like this.”
Cara ran her gaze over Eric. The barbarian trousers revealed his bare feet below the cuff. Moving behind him, she rubbed her fingers over the knotted muscles of his shoulders, working down to his shoulder blades. “I could weave you a tunic if we had enough left over for wool.”
“Colossal if.”
A pace from them, Lucia wriggled on t
he pallet and once again roared louder than any not-yet-month-old baby should. Cara dropped her head to her hands. “All that babe does is scream.”
“Let’s walk to the river. You’ll feel better and maybe she’ll stop screaming.” Standing, Eric held his hand down to her.
“I want Lucia to learn to sleep without being held. Edna’s mother said babes should.”
Eric glanced at his daughter. The child opened her mouth; a shriek erupted. “And Leonidas wished to defeat the Persians at Thermopylae. Let’s go out.”
The door burst open. A hand-wringing Paloma flung herself inside. “It’s horrendous!”
Eric looked up.
Cara shook her head at him. He mustn’t encourage this kind of talk. Yesterday, Paloma stayed six hours, and a fortnight had passed since Eric’s last day off. “Is this about that merchant’s son again, Paloma? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Don’t be preposterous. He was last week. This is about the potter’s son.” Paloma blushed, smiling now.
“I thought you didn’t even want to marry.”
“I don’t, but I kissed him behind his father’s shop,” Paloma clasped her hands over her heart, “and I have to tell you all about it.”
“You shouldn’t be kissing boys.” Cara stood.
“Because it’s wicked?”
“No, because it is witless.” And one hurt people one never meant to. Cara scooped up the red-faced urchin she called daughter. “Can you come back tomorrow, please?”
“Oh, all right.” Paloma pranced back into the streets.
Cara and Eric emerged after her. Unseasonably hot air wrapped around them, the sun’s heat beating down on their heads.
Cara inhaled. Eric had spoken truth. The sounds of milling people and barges docking in harbor eased the desperation beating in her veins.
Crates piled high on every side, dock loaders and ship captains bustling here and there as pleasure seekers strolled through the afternoon sunshine further on. Cara clasped the baby to her and miraculously, Lucia’s brown eyes twitched here and there with interest, her lungs silent.
“Eric.” Atticus Orca, the lean man Eric often told tales of, strode forward. “I’ve got a Hebrew tablet and three Greek ones for you to translate when you arrive tomorrow.”
When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2) Page 25