Cara stomped her foot against the packed dirt. “Only so you earn what you deserve.” Her eyes glinted up at him, pink lips pursed so perfectly.
“You don’t draw well.” He skimmed his hand down her cheek as he moved toward those pink lips.
“Then you make the eagle undead.”
Victor crushed the grass in his father’s garden with his sandals as he paced back and forth, the last watch of the night fading into day. One smuggled shipment had been safely unloaded this night. With any luck, he’d soon hear the other had gone smoothly, too. The hedge brushed against his shoulder.
Someone touched him.
Victor flung himself back.
“Another shipment captured last night by the legate’s men. A thousand denarii lost.” Marcellus lounged back against the bushes.
Victor fingered his throat. The man could have killed him before he’d even seen his face.
“Given more thought to that position in Rome?”
Victor opened his mouth.
“I would.” Then, like a shadow, Marcellus disappeared into the ante-dawn dimness.
With a groan, Victor turned away and strode into his father’s tablinum. Father would rage at him again when he made this report.
Inside the dim tablinum, the man stretched his sickly legs out on the couch and peered at a scroll. “How did last week’s meeting with the Shadow Man go?”
Victor glared at his father. “You planned for the Shadow Man to force me to kill Eric.”
Father looked up from the couch. “My orders didn’t motivate you to see that accomplished.”
“Nor should they! Eric’s harming no one, and he remembers nothing.” Victor kicked the table, rattling wax tablets.
“He married Cara.”
“Because he’s a softhearted fool, not because he remembered. Why do you care so much?”
Father shoved himself up to a sitting position. “I swore twenty years ago I’d make the legate pay.”
Victor groaned. Revenge. Now Father’s obsession with Eric made sense. “Six more shipments confiscated this month. The Shadow Man wants full payment in two months, whether we make a profit from the goods or not. We’ve got more pressing problems than revenge.”
Father gnawed on his lip with yellowed teeth. “Another leak you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Legate Paterculi’s simply getting too good at searching secluded river banks. I heard his eldest son, Wryn, has made hunting down smugglers his personal obsession.”
Father dug his gaunt fingers into the couch’s arm. “Kidnap Eric and demand ransom. That’ll pay our debt.”
“No. Let Eric stay miserable in his hovel with his wanton wife and squalling babe. If you need to right some blood feud with the legate, stab a knife between his ribs yourself.” Victor rolled his gaze to the ceramic impression of Jupiter on the ceiling. At least he had no reason to envy Eric now.
Father slumped back against the cushions, his graying skin hanging from his chin. “I hear the Shadow Man offered you a position in Rome as an enforcer. You’ll need to go to Rome before winter anyway. The Linthicus family’s ready for you to collect your bride.”
Victor grunted. “Dowry money, at least that’s something the Viri can’t tax.” Edna could cease shedding tears over it. He could have left her and her baby to suffer insult and starvation in Camulodunum, but he’d done what she’d asked. Also, he needed to cease saying things about smuggling to Edna late at night while deep into wine.
“You’re a gutless fool if you let this opportunity pass you by.”
The first ray of dawn filtered down through the perpetual grayness above. Victor ran his hand over the mosaic pattern behind him. “Once I put my hand to that plow, there’s no turning back until I reach the river Styx.”
He might cross the river Styx sooner than that if Marcellus had a mind to kill him. He’d appeared out of nowhere this morn. Had the man trained with assassins?
“It’s only a matter of time until the Shadow Man orders you to kill Eric.”
“He said he wouldn’t.”
Father shrugged. “The Shadow Man always makes his henchmen prove their loyalty.”
A cold shiver ran beneath Victor’s tunic.
Chapter 24
The XXIV of Iunio
The baby gurgled at Cara through the sunshine. Cara smiled as she leaned back against the hovel’s outside wall.
A few daisies sprang up in the dirt between threshold and cobblestones, brightening the dreary street. Cara ran her fingers over Lucia’s plump cheeks. “You’re a tremendous amount of trouble, daughter, but you are rather adorable.”
Lucia bit down on Cara’s finger.
Inside, the cauldron sent up vapor as the water reached boiling point and marked the time to wash clients’ clothes. Cara stood and walked inside.
Both hands behind Lucia’s back, she leaned over her, smiling into the child’s face. “I’ll teach you how to do all this someday.” She kissed Lucia’s cheek and ran her nose over the babe’s. “I remember the first day my mother let me help her with the washing, and – ”
Knuckles rapped against the doorway. The man from Aulia’s party, Lycaon Vibianus, stood at the door, his white tunic drawing stares. “Where’s Eric?”
“Working still. I’m sorry.”
“Tell him it’s almost time to celebrate. I had news from a Gallic cutter that our ships are but a week out.” Lycaon slid his gaze over the straw pallet, one table, and a bench. He should have seen the place before the dozen extra denarii from his backing had allowed them to buy this furniture. “Looks about time, too. Do you have a tumbler?”
Cradling Lucia against her chest, Cara crossed to their little pile of dishes. She handed Lycaon the earthen tumbler with the smaller crack.
Pulling a small amphora from under his arm, Lycaon popped the stopper. He spilled undiluted wine into the tumbler and drained the draught. “Here,” he handed the amphora to her, “for your husband. May the gods richly bless our profits, for they know I need it.”
As the sun set into the oak trees, familiar footsteps crossed the threshold. Laying Lucia down, Cara grabbed Eric’s hand. “Lycaon came by. He said our ships will arrive within a week.”
“We can buy a house. A real house.” Eric gestured around the space. “No rotting walls.” He slid his hand down the worn fabric of her dress. “Buy you new clothes.”
“And you.” She touched the neck of his jerkin. Finally, Eric would have work he could enjoy, not this dock drudgery he’d endured for her.
He crinkled his eyes, turning his mouth up. “Why? These trousers have good wear left in them.”
“They’re trousers.”
“Are you calling my clothes uncivilized?” A laughing glint shone in his brown eyes.
How could he laugh at trading wealth untold for destitution, and her? She loved him for it. She let her eyes dance. “Not exactly. Then again.”
“Too barbaric to kiss me?” He spanned his hands around her waist, his thumbs pressing the fabric of her dress to her belly.
“Perhaps.” Thrusting her shoulders back, she smiled daringly at him. “Lycaon left you wine, you know.”
“I am loath to admit I agree with the Stoics on any point, but fermented drink is vile. Water the daisies with it.”
“Eric!” She stepped back. “The stuff must have cost a month’s wages.”
“Sell it then.”
“I can’t. Lycaon poured a glass. Besides, it was a present from our first customer. I don’t want to throw it out.” She gestured to the amphora.
“You know what happened last time I touched that stuff. I am never drinking again. Ever.” He sat down on the pallet beside Lucia. The baby rolled to her stomach.
“And what? It would be so disagreeable to do tonight what we did then?” Cara bent over him, hands on his shoulders, her face a handbreadth from his as her eyes laughed at him.
He locked his hands behind her waist, dragging her down. “I don’t need wine to obtain that.
”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she slid onto his knees, but her heart clenched within her. “Eric, what would you be doing now if you hadn’t married me?”
“Hmm.” Eric glanced out the open door to the dirty streets, tag and rag street children, and hovels, which must look so different than everything he’d planned for himself only a year ago. “I’m not sure. I had dreams, but knowing my father, he probably would have gainsaid them. Maybe I’d have taken a political post. Suffered through life as a tribune.”
“I’m sorry I took away your choices.” If only she could pay him back, but she was no Queen of Sheba with a patrician’s wealth and a queen’s beauty to offer him.
“We’d both had too much wine. It was no more your intent than mine.”
“I didn’t drink that much.” Actually, she hadn’t drunk anything at all. She’d never ventured this close to the truth before. Would he take her meaning? She bit the tip of her fingernail.
He pushed her finger away from her lips. Then he brushed his mouth over hers, the salty taste of Tamesis water washing over her. “Obviously, you drank enough.”
No, fully sober, she’d planned her actions that night.
A handbreadth from Eric’s leg, Lucia cried. He swept the baby up. “Besides, can you see me as a tribune?”
“Yes. If you’d wished it, you’d have made a wondrous tribune.” She smiled at him.
“Ha!” Eric blew on Lucia’s nose and she crinkled her little eyes. “What about you? Where would you be today?”
“Married to Conan.” Since he’d given her no choice in the matter. Cara traced her gaze over Eric’s crossed knees, which she sat between. She should tell him the whole truth. How could she now, with Eric’s one strong arm wrapped around her, his other cradling their daughter, all things going perfectly?
“I’m sorry, too.”
She snorted. “Don’t be.”
Overhead, moonlight brightened the dark street. Walking beside the litter borne by four mute slaves, Victor leaned toward Father’s ear. “Are you sure the Shadow Man will negotiate? We have nowhere near the money.”
Pain crossed Father’s face as the swinging of the litter jostled his crippled body, but he nodded. “That’s the way of the Viri. They’ll offer you a task to perform in lieu of the money, but it’ll be a task you’ll wish you never had occasion to turn your hand to.”
“You talk as if you’ve been late for the Viri before.”
Father nodded.
“What did they make you do?”
Unlike when Father had cut those four slaves’ tongues out, or told Victor to kidnap Eric, or ordered piracy on the high seas leading to hundreds of deaths, a haunted look burned in Father’s eyes. “I’ve no wish to speak of it, but I was never late again.”
Victor’s heart shuddered against his chest. “What if I refuse this task the Shadow Man assigns me?”
Father snatched his hand, squeezing sickly tendons against him. “You are my last living child, my sole heir to carry on my name. You will not refuse.”
Moments later, the barred door of a warehouse confronted them. After a knock and whispered password, the door swung open. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath their feet. Inside, backed by a dozen unshaven cutthroats, stood the Shadow Man.
“Have my payment?” The Shadow Man’s gray cloak hung over his eyes. The light of the candle behind him flickered as he glanced at Victor’s father.
Victor stepped in front of his father. “Not yet. I need more time.”
“There is no more time.” The Shadow Man parted colorless lips in what? Amusement? “I’m a generous man. Kill the Paterculis, and I’ll forgive the debt you’ve accumulated this year.”
Victor tried to keep his voice level. “Why?”
“Does it matter? Unless you’re more loyal to them than me?”
Father had spoken truth about the task’s unpleasantness, but he had no wish to die. “Paterculis?” Victor felt his hands tremble. “You mean the legate, right?”
“And his sons. Who knows what he’s told them.”
“His one son is a boy, six years old.” Victor’s breath came in gasps. Would the Shadow Man order him to kill Eric?
He couldn’t kill Eric.
He had to kill Eric.
Victor glanced at Father. The man’s crippled legs buckled under him as two mute slaves held him up. The Viri would kill them both if he failed.
“I’ve no interest in the child.” The Shadow Man’s voice slid through the air, slick like spiced oil.
Even the Shadow Man didn’t kill children then, at least not all the time. Victor dared a breath. “Eric’s not involved in military maneuvers like Wryn is.”
“You mean, this Eric that you drugged and who might still remember enough to bring the Viri to its knees?” The Shadow Man flicked the edge of his cloak back. He ran his pale fingertip down the runes on his knife handle.
“He doesn’t remember. After I kill the legate, who would Eric tell?” Victor tried to keep his quavering knees steady.
“What’s his life to you?”
“He’s my friend.” Victor sucked in another breath of air. Philotes, goddess of friendship, I promise you a herd of goats if you’ll only save me from having to kill Eric.
“Friend?” The Shadow Man snorted. “Friends make you weak.”
“But – ”
“Take the enforcer position for me, and I’ll let you content yourself with shedding Legate Paterculi and Wryn’s blood.”
Victor blew air from his nostrils. Getting those goats for you, oh great goddess, Philotes. He’d make Marcellus kill the ship captains, so the enforcer job wouldn’t prove too terrible.
“If we obtain one scrap of evidence that Eric remembers, you’re killing him, too.” Turning, the Shadow Man and his guards slipped away.
Grimacing, Victor turned to his father. “Splendid. Now I have to invent a way to kill the two most heavily-guarded men in the province.”
“And Eric.”
“Have you no ears? The Shadow Man said Eric could go free.”
“If he remembers nothing.” Father leaned closer. “You’ve given the Shadow Man means to prove your loyalty. He’ll ensure you have to kill Eric.”
Ludicrous. The Shadow Man couldn’t make Eric remember. Could he?
“Here.” As morning mist whipped up Londinium streets, Victor handed his father the parchment detailing the lay of the Paterculi villa that he’d bribed a slave to get. The ides of Iulio marked the parchment in large letters. “On that date, Marcellus will enter through the bath house window at midday and lay in wait in the gardens until the sun’s set. He’ll kill Wryn first, then the legate, and exit through the main gate disguised as a porter. Marcellus claims he’s gotten past the Paterculi guards before. If he dies in the attempt, I’ll not mourn.”
Father struck his hand. “Fool! You don’t commit murder plans to writing. Burn that, and I told you assassins won’t succeed against the legate and his son.”
Victor clenched his jaw as he jammed the parchment back into the pouch on his belt. “How do you intend to kill them?”
Lying back on the couch in the rented townhome, Father drummed a table with his fingers. “We need two methods so people will assume the killings were by two different hands. I’m thinking hemlock for the son.”
Something rustled outside the curtained entranceway. Springing to his feet, Victor shoved aside the curtain. No one was there. He grew as restless as a woman over this. He could kill. He could. “How about hemlock for both?”
“No, two different methods, two different killers.” Father rubbed his hands. “No one will guess the same hand killed them.”
Father’s method also would make the task twice as difficult. “The man’s never without guards. What would you have me do, throw a discus at his head?”
“You’re ingenious.” Father clasped a cushion with glee. “The legate still hasn’t found his son yet, true?”
“True.”
“There
’s a pentathlon in Londinium in two weeks. Isn’t that the event Eric’s obsessed with?”
“Was obsessed.” He’d have to kill Eric’s father. Victor shoved away images of that ship captain Marcellus murdered. It’s not as if he’d personally stab a knife into Legate Paterculi. “According to Marcellus, Eric’s currently breaking his back earning a pittance on the docks.” Perhaps he should visit Eric. He’d like to see Eric not accursedly happy for once.
“On the docks?”
Victor raised his hand, palm up. “Those Paterculis always were insane.”
“This will work out perfectly. I’ll need you to obtain a handwriting sample from Eric, and then – ” Father lowered his voice as he explained the plan. “Take a little more care with this secret. With your weak-willed ways, you’re likely to spill your guts to one of your women.”
Victor clenched his fists. He was not weak willed. He’d show his father, and the Shadow Man, and Marcellus that by planning the legate’s murder. Then, he’d take the enforcer job in Rome and get all the power and glory he ever wanted. And all the killing.
His hands trembled, but he didn’t have to kill Eric. Wait, what if Eric took a day off dock work to compete in the pentathlon? Then Eric might see something and, according to the Shadow Man’s command, he’d have to kill Eric, too.
He’d need to ensure Eric didn’t compete.
A half day for Eric. Not quite as good as a full day off, but still heavenly and rare. As the summer sun shone in the open door, Cara gave the porridge one last stir. Eric had taken Lucia with him to buy grain, and when he returned, they’d walk to the river bank and do nothing, wondrous, beautiful nothing.
Well, except tend a screaming child, but Lucia liked to sniff the wildflowers. She’d make a daisy chain for the baby. Now if Paloma could just refrain from barging through this door, with yet more monologs and tales of boys, life would be perfect.
“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Victor strode into the hovel. He flicked her hair. “Still brown. Thought it’d be gray and you’d have horns by the rumors in town.”
When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2) Page 28