In the grove, a dozen ship captains knelt, hands bound, in front of the Shadow Man. All men who deserved to die most likely, slavers and pirates and their ilk.
Victor strode down the line. “He shorted us a thousand denarii this last six-month. He—” Victor stabbed his finger at one after the other, naming their offense.
The Shadow Man waved his narrow hand across the men. “Kill them all.”
One man rose. The cloak fell back from the man’s head. No man, but a woman. A young one.
“Please, sir.” She lifted her hands. “I did not betray you. Last winter, my father died, and our shipping suffered. We signed on to smuggle for the Viri. Now our profits have increased, and we no longer need to smuggle.”
A low chuckle slid through the Shadow Man’s thin teeth. “Once you join the Viri, you don’t leave.”
“I’ll keep smuggling then.” The girl’s cloak fell back over her pale arms.
The Shadow Man gestured to Victor. “Kill her with the rest.” He swung his gaze to Marcellus.
Marcellus rubbed his finger against the leather of his belt. The Shadow Man had ordered Gwen dead by the next time they met.
“Marcellus, why is it I have not heard news of Gwen Paterculi’s death?” Even lowered, the Shadow Man’s voice possessed an ominous quality.
Marcellus swallowed. If he played this wrong, his next words might prove his last.
A cloak rustled behind him. A bodyguard bent and whispered in the Shadow Man’s ear.
The Shadow Man’s cloak fell back. “You married her!”
The breeze blew at Marcellus’ tunic, the same cloth Gwen had touched just this evening. “She’s effectively silenced.”
The Shadow Man slid his long fingers around his dagger hilt. “If you’d disobey me in this, I have no proof of your loyalty to me in anything.”
“I’ve served you faithfully.” Marcellus dug his sandals into the dew-soaked grass. He grazed his fingers across his knife, but too many men filled this grove. Death by torture was the price of turning traitor on the Shadow Man. After they killed him, they’d kill Gwen next.
“You crossed me.” The Shadow Man hardened his voice.
Marcellus advanced one step and slid a carefree smile over his features. He gestured up, palm exposed to moonlight. “Are your men not allowed to have a woman? Think Jupiter would have any henchmen left on Mt. Olympus if he demanded that of his soldiers?”
From behind the Shadow Man, a ripple of laughter rose. Smiles stretched his bodyguards’ typically dour faces.
With the clink of metal, the Shadow Man skimmed his sword out. The laughter died. “You can have any woman you want. Just not that one.”
Marcellus raised his shoulders with the lightness of a laugh. “I want that one.”
The Shadow Man poked his sword point against Marcellus’ ribs. “If you would defy me in this, then you would also betray me to the garrison.”
If the Shadow Man killed him this night, he was slitting his knife across the man’s throat too. Marcellus stood his ground, the sword point pricking his ribs. “Being overcome by passion scarcely makes me susceptible to treachery.” Marcellus grinned and swept his gaze over the bodyguards behind the Shadow Man. “Tell me, Dominus Shadow, do you think of lopped-off heads and bloody corpses while overtop a Venus?”
Laughter erupted from the bodyguards, their bellies shaking with it.
“This is no laughing matter!” The Shadow Man dropped his sword point. “Kill Gwen before the next sun dawns. She’s in your house, making the deed child’s play.”
“I’ve killed everyone you’ve ordered me to these last eighteen months.” Not technically true, many he’d handed over to Consul Julius. Marcellus rested his hands on his belt. “Let me have the girl.”
The Shadow Man tugged his hood further over his face. “Apart from your insurrection, this girl you desire has a keen mind. Left alive, Gwen Paterculi could discover our secrets.”
“I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
“No one’s perfect, and she’ll have her familia’s aid.”
“If this spineless man of yours,” Marcellus elbowed Victor, “has been married over a six-month with no leaks, you think I can’t control a wife?”
“I’m not spineless.” Victor crossed his arms, stretching his fine linen tunic.
Marcellus quirked an eyebrow. “Have you killed as many men as I?”
Victor dropped his gaze.
“The man has a point, sir.” A bodyguard jogged the Shadow Man’s elbow. “Any woman married to Marcellus wouldn’t dare share a copper as without his permission, let alone spill his secrets.”
The Shadow Man whipped around. The bodyguard retreated. “Yes, Victor married, but not a Paterculi. I don’t need my henchman in a marriage alliance with our sworn enemies. How am I to trust you won’t turn to their side? Spill our secrets to the Paterculis yourself?”
Marcellus raised one eyebrow. “You have heard how I married her?”
“I assume the same as any man, with betrothal ring and fat dowry provision.” The Shadow Man clenched his thin fingers.
Victor laughed. “Marcellus compromised the girl, almost got a knife run through him by Legate Paterculi too, or so the gossip says. I don’t think you need worry about Marcellus ever being on good terms with the Paterculis.”
The Shadow Man dug his white teeth into his lip, his low hood obscuring the rest of his face. “Very well, Marcellus, but don’t cross me again. I will be watching your relationship with the Paterculis.”
Marcellus bowed. “I’d never dream of crossing you.”
The Shadow Man shot his hand forward and dug his fingers into Marcellus’ arm. “Don’t ever make my bodyguards laugh at me again.”
Then the Shadow Man turned, and Victor strode to the bound captives. He slit his knife across one throat. Blood spilled as the man fell. Victor raised his bloody blade.
Marcellus strode across the dark grass. “I thought you wanted me to kill them.”
“You called me spineless.” Victor slit his knife over another throat, and a scream rent the air.
Marcellus glanced to the two score guards that surrounded this clearing. Victor raised his knife and slit another throat, then another. So much for Consul Julius getting to interrogate these Viri captains.
Two captains left. One man moaned. The girl stared up at Victor, terror in her eyes. “Please, sir. I did not betray you.”
“You’re a beautiful thing.” Victor touched the girl’s fingers, no betrothal ring on her trembling hand. “Virginal too most likely. Seems a shame not to do something about that before she goes to her grave.”
A cry escaped the girl’s mouth.
Marcellus moved his gaze to Victor. “Aren’t you married?”
“Oh yes, the Marcellus lectures me on how to treat women. How many women claimed you as the father of their bastard child in Sicily alone? A hundred?” Victor yanked the girl to her feet, arm around her waist.
“She doesn’t want you.”
“Rest assured, I’ll frighten her much less than you would. The Shadow Man has ordered she’s to die after, so I imagine she’ll thank me for one night’s reprieve. Won’t you girl?” Victor ran his finger across the girl’s cheek.
Terror shone in the girl’s eyes.
“I’ll kill her for you.” Marcellus reached for the girl.
“No.” Victor shoved him. “I’ll do my own killing from here forward. Go back to the girl the Shadow Man let you keep for now.”
Marcellus yanked Victor in front of him. “What do you mean for now?”
“The Shadow Man always demands we prove our loyalty…eventually.” As Marcellus loosened his grip, Victor released the girl and bent to the last ship captain. The man’s dying scream rose loud.
Marcellus grabbed the girl. She shivered as he pulled her against him. Sliding his hand down her thigh, he released his clenched fingers and the knife he palmed from Cato’s belt earlier this night dropped into the pouch hanging from he
r sash. He touched his mouth to the girl’s ear. “It’s a knife. Use it for your escape.”
“My girl, not yours.” Victor grabbed the girl’s arm.
As Victor dragged her away, the girl met Marcellus’ gaze. Her lips formed one word, gratias.
“Arrest the ship captain, bring down the cargo,” Fabius ordered. His legionaries swarmed the Viri boat.
Soon slaves tumbled down the gangway.
“Thanks be to Ra!” A lanky man lifted chained arms. “We are an Egyptian ship crew. The pirates overtook our ship and enslaved my crew. The gods have answered my prayers by bringing you here this day.”
Fabius grunted and motioned to the soldiers. “Take them to the Ostia slave market. Make sure you pay Emperor Trajan’s tariffs.”
The centurion nodded and seized a whip.
“But, sir!” The lanky man fell to his knees. “We are free. I pledge. They have no slave papers on us.”
“I believe you, but Rome’s always short slaves. The emperor will rejoice to have more.” Fabius motioned to the centurion to hurry.
Chapter 16
Heavy sacks covered the gleam of blades. Marcellus stood over the ever-increasing pile. The olive trees overhanging the back wall of the Marcellus villa offered only partial protection. Many all-too-eager eyes passed down this back alley.
“Visited half the blacksmiths in the city to get all these.” Bruno dumped another sack on the pile.
“Now where to hide them?” The new recruit heaved two more bags onto the pile. Metal clinked against metal.
At least six hundred blades here. Marcellus glared at a staring day-laborer and the man passed on. “The villa. We’ll use the back room.”
“What if that domina of yours sees them?” Androkles dropped another sack. A gladius point slit through the bag, metal gleaming. “If she catches a glimpse of this haul, she’ll have more questions than even you can lie yourself out of.”
“I’ll get Gwen out of the way while you hide the weapons. One man will guard the backroom’s entrance at all times.” Marcellus ran his finger over the protruding blade. Finest steel, just like the patricians trained with to hew down the innocent. “Next week, we’ll buy twice this many blades again.”
“More?” Bruno raised his eyebrows. “Did you steal a Viri fleet last night? This many blades doesn’t come cheap.”
Marcellus’ cheekbones reddened. “I’d forgotten Gwen had that large of a dowry.”
“Cheers for the domina.” Androkles tossed a handful of laurel leaves high. “She’s provided us with the means to overthrow her entire people.”
Wealth built on the backs of generations of slaves and plebeians had funded the Paterculi dowry, so why did pangs of guilt shoot through him? Marcellus shifted his feet.
“How am I supposed to use this thing?” Androkles swung the gladius. “More unwieldy than a knife.”
He’d watched Caius Marcellus train, seen Victor handle these sorts of blades. “If the patricians can do it, so can we.”
“Patricians train from birth with these blades.” Androkles jabbed forward. The gladius point clashed against the high villa wall.
“We’ll figure it out. No more dawdling. People are looking.” Marcellus gestured to a group of potters. “We need to get these in the villa now.”
“And your woman?” The new recruit jutted bushy eyebrows down.
“Give me a quarter of an hour. I’ll take Gwen riding to the river.”
Bruno nodded. “Don’t let her get a look in the stables. She’ll expect a lot more than one horse in a patrician’s stables.”
“Bring the horse into the courtyard for me then.” He knew exactly where he’d take Gwen—a secluded waterfall on a northern tributary of the Tiber where poppy blossoms grew. They always reminded him of her when he’d visited that sanctuary these past months.
He never dared to dream he’d have the opportunity to show them to her.
Gwen pursed her lips as she scanned down her tablet. Marry Marcellus. She scratched the stylus through the first line. The baby the carpenter’s wife had adopted had developed a rash, so she’d need to send the Paterculi personal physician to attend to that. She scribbled on the wax. Bring physician for baby’s rash. Get Livia’s children back. Break Claudia’s betrothal to atrocious man. Find work for ten more women. Expand Fides fuller.
She dug the stylus into the wax. Make familia think less murderous thoughts about Marcellus. She should have realized months ago that merely marrying Marcellus wouldn’t make her familia stop hating him. She skimmed her gaze down the rest of the list.
Convert Marcellus.
Make Marcellus take political position.
Rein in Marcellus’ disrespectful actions. Use knife?
“Your friends are here, domina.” The cook coughed. “You need a porter.”
Gwen bounded off the stool. “My thanks. And sorry, I’ll hire a porter.” Another line for her list, check on Marcellus’ villa profits and see why his house is in shambles. She could invest her dowry to set things to rights. Also, where exactly had Marcellus disappeared to this morn? She’d broken her fast alone.
She caught a glimpse of Aulia’s brown hair and Livia and Claudia’s faces behind the cook.
She was years older than most girls when they’d gotten their own houses, but finally, she was married. Smoothing the stola she’d purchased this morn, Gwen kept a stately stance, but smiles kept breaking over her face. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation.”
Livia clutched her baby to her bosom, and little Drusa tagged along.
“You have your children!” Gwen clasped Livia’s hand. Unlike her, the woman wore an iron betrothal ring. So, once again that abominable man had rights over Livia. Gwen grimaced.
“Yes.” Livia clutched her baby. “Yesterday morn, Drusus took me back. He had a ghastly accident falling off a horse, and it made him reconsider how much I meant to him. Broke both legs and his right arm, plenty of ribs and his nose too.”
Aulia gasped. “I hope he’s all right.”
“I don’t.” Gwen grasped the curtain. At least Livia had her children back. “This way.” The entranceway curtain disintegrated in her hand. She dropped the ragged cloth, but a lovely breeze now blew through the atrium. They had a view of the entire gardens from the window.
“You have a beautiful house.” Aulia sat on a stool that’s faded polish begged for new wax. She tightened her shoulders. “Despite everything.”
Sweet as always. In reality, chipped tiles dotted the atrium, the gruesome battle scene painted on the plaster wall was smudged, and every curtain in the place showed signs of moths. She had Marcellus though. “I’m planning some improvements. The paintings are garish, and all the tiles are broken. The cook is a lovely lady, but her bread came out flat. I can teach her how to make it rise.”
“Your mother truly did believe in the domestic skills.” Claudia plopped down on a cushion. The saggy couch bent under her body.
Gwen laughed. “Don’t tell her that. She pictures herself as more the warrior queen, Boadicea, but yes.”
“Aulia.” Livia tugged little Drusa into her lap. “Did your father arrange a new betrothal yet?”
Aulia glanced to Gwen.
“I’m trying to make my brother fall in love with you.” Gwen looked at her tablet. Another item to add: make Wryn fall in love with Aulia. “In truth, I am, but he’s wretched hard to influence. Why do you want him again?”
“Spoken like a sister.” Claudia tittered as Aulia blushed.
“Who wants to tour the villa?” Gwen stood. “I haven’t seen all of it myself yet.”
A sandal struck the entranceway. Marcellus slammed to a halt beneath the arched doorway. Surprise shone in his green eyes, his handsome figure silhouetted by the brick doorframe. “What are you doing?”
“Hosting my friends at my new house.” Gwen rose and crossed to him. She rested her hand on his arm. She could feel the pride shining from her eyes. “Aulia, Livia, Claudia, my husband.”
<
br /> Aulia rose as Claudia touched the couch arm.
“Send them away,” Marcellus said.
Hand falling, Gwen whirled to face him. His clear eyes were perfectly calm as if he hadn’t just broken every bound of propriety. “What?”
“I don’t want them here.” He stood in his villa doorway making the absurd claim.
She dropped her voice. “Even the most docile Roman women host get-togethers. I didn’t even do anything untoward.” Yet.
“They need to leave.” He glanced to the open villa door, agitation in his movements.
Bruno poked his head through the door. Marcellus shook his head and mouthed something.
“No, they don’t.” She clenched one arm over the other.
Marcellus stepped past her. “Ladies, wonderful meeting you. Salve.” Inside the room now, he pointed out the entranceway with his forearm. Yesterday’s bruise on his jaw lent an even more intimidating aura to his stance.
Gwen gaped.
“I’ll show myself out.” Aulia stepped into the atrium, followed by Claudia, then Livia.
“No, stay.” Gwen grabbed Claudia’s arm.
All her friends gave sideway glances to her husband. With a glare for Marcellus, she moved into the atrium, blocking their path.
Claudia dropped her voice. “Rumor has it in Dacia he locked an entire village inside their meeting hall and set it aflame. Only the fire spread to the other buildings, and he barely escaped with his life. The strength of a demi-god. And the brutishness of one.”
Aulia gave the tiniest of nods, a disapproving set to her lips.
“In a war. Doesn’t mean that’s how he’d act in Rome.” Besides, if that story held truth, Marcellus would have burn marks. He didn’t though, not that she’d seen his entire body yet. Only his mangled back. Could a spear point have caused those gouges?
“Come to my house next time. If he lets you.” Livia grabbed her daughter’s hand.
Gwen snorted. “I’ll do as I please.”
Moving past her, Marcellus walked to the back of the atrium.
When he’d passed, Livia rolled her eyes. “That’s what you say now.”
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 17