“He married. The Paterculi daughter. Kidnapped her at knifepoint, I hear.” The crone tsked her tongue against her gums, but she smiled.
Knifepoint?
“Though I don’t imagine the lady’s repining. Any girl would fall for Marcellus’ looks and charm.”
Any girl, including that one with the jeweled knife? Gwen dug her fingernails into the splintered counter. “Think he’ll stay faithful to his wife?”
“That one?” The crone scoffed. “When Jupiter takes a vow of celibacy.”
Not encouraging. Gwen slid her fingers over the cold steel of her gladius’ hilt.
“There’s a weaver on the street by Aventine Hill, Flora, just claimed him as the father of her child. The girl who died at the Lupanar brothel last month, Marcellus visited her just before she died. Some say he killed her.”
Brothel? Not even a patrician with no morals, such as Fabius, would visit a brothel. The places stank of disease and low-class obscenity. Marcellus had said he didn’t frequent brothels.
Then again, she only stood here because she believed him a liar.
Yet kill a prostitute? Marcellus might have lovers, but he’d never go around killing women. Which is why she still couldn’t credit Wryn’s assertion that Marcellus was a member of the most ruthless smuggling ring in the empire.
She glanced at the setting sun. The sections of town this woman named were far too crime-ridden for even her to attempt alone at night.
The new recruit fixed moody eyes on her from ten paces away. She couldn’t bring him. All of Marcellus’ men were far too loyal. What had Marcellus done to inspire such loyalty?
Chapter 23
Marcellus swung his gladius to Androkles’ chest, winning the fight. Sweat dripped off his tunic as he stabbed the short sword back in its scabbard.
He scanned the rabble as they wielded new blades clumsily in unaccustomed hands, for no one taught a slave how to hold a weapon. Marcellus narrowed his eyes. He’d seen Caius Marcellus train a thousand times in this very courtyard. Surely, he could imitate that. Also, a full day had passed, and Gwen still refused to so much as speak to him.
Androkles swung the gladius like a long staff.
“No, not like that.” Marcellus advanced. “If you have no shield, wrap your cloak around your other arm.”
“You should buy shields.” Bruno swung with his blade. The new recruit parried.
Yes, he should, though there went another large chunk of Gwen’s dowry. She’d want that dowry back after the consul made him disappear. He shoved down the guilt. He’d repay her with the coin he got from capturing the Shadow Man. “All right, tomorrow I will.”
Sword clashed against sword as the sun sank lower, plunging the courtyard into dusk. Something brushed his side. Marcellus twisted.
Gwen held his sword in her hand. “This is why you always protect your scabbard with your sword arm. I’m surprised you weren’t killed in the Dacian Wars.” She sliced the blade right and left. “A good weight anyway.”
The rabble’s gazes fixed on her.
One foot forward, she rested her weight on her forward leg as Caius always had during his practices in this courtyard. Her lithe form reminded him not the slightest of Caius. Setting sunrays glinted off the sword as she swung the point down to level. “Fight me.”
“No.”
“Very well.” She spun to Androkles. “How about you?” She brought her blade right.
Androkles parried and then made a mighty downswing.
If Androkles hurt her! Marcellus lunged forward.
Feet light as the wind, Gwen sidestepped Androkles’ blow. Her blade glanced left, moving his sword away from his body. She stabbed, and her sword point pricked Androkles’ chest. A smile lit her face. “Won.”
Begrudging admiration lit Androkles’ eyes.
She spun to point her sword at Marcellus. “Now you.”
“You have my blade.”
Stepping back, she grabbed a belt and scabbard from the bench. “Use mine.” She tossed it.
He caught it. The scabbard had the mark of a legion on it, even the sword’s hilt revealing it as army issue. “I’m not going to fight you.”
“Because you’re afraid you’ll lose, I presume?” She raised one black eyebrow, sword pointed forward, other hand on her hip.
“Cheers for the domina.” Bruno raised his sword high.
Androkles grinned. “Fight the domina.”
“Do it, Marcellus.” The new recruit dug his gladius into the soft garden earth. “Or should we ask your woman to lead these martial exercises?”
Marcellus clanged forward with the sword, hard enough to strike Gwen’s from her hand. She twisted and thrust.
The point of her gladius pricked his chest. She parted ruby lips. “You’d be dead right now if I wished it.”
He clanged his sword harder against hers.
The metal vibrated, but she stabbed again.
Dropping the blade, he grabbed her wrist. In one motion, he flung her against his chest and pinioned her there. He twisted her wrist, and the gladius fell from her hand. Locking his arms over her body, he pressed her hips back against him, holding her hands fast in his. “And you’d be dead now.”
“You can’t kill me after I already killed you.” She kicked back.
He held her tight against him, gentler though then if he used this move on a true opponent. The heat of her shoulders burned his chest. Her glossy hair brushed his jaw.
Twisting her head, she reached for his lips. His hands relaxed as her soft mouth pressed against him. Had she forgiven him then? If she knew the half of what he’d done, she’d never forgive him. A slave deceiving a patrician girl. Arm around her waist, he leaned into her kiss.
The blade of a knife jammed against his throat. Gwen’s dark eyes glinted. “You shouldn’t kiss a girl when doing battle.”
Where had she gotten that knife?
The rabble guffawed. “She has a point, Marcellus,” Bruno said.
Androkles laughed. “A very sharp one.”
Thrusting the flat of his hand against her wrist, he shoved the blade away. With a twist to her arm, he wrenched her knife hand back behind her shoulder blades. He held her there. “And when you’re trying to kill someone, you press the knife tighter to their throat.”
She dropped her gaze, her voice a whisper. “Let go of me.”
He released her wrist and touched her shoulder. “Gwen, please talk to me. Tell me why you’re angry.”
“You know full well why I’m angry.” Lifting the hem of her dress, she dug her dagger into a leg sheath.
A leg sheath. Perhaps he should have worried less when she came to Aventine Hill. “I swear I was never unfaithful to you, Gwen.”
“You swear a great many things.” Her sandals slapped against the stone, her hips swaying with the movement as she walked away.
With a groan, Marcellus seized his gladius and turned back to the training. At least with this state of affairs, Gwen wouldn’t notice when he left tonight to meet the Viri.
Gwen sat underneath the low overhang of the myrtle tree and waited as the moon rose above the villa gate. The tramp of footsteps sounded. A cloak covered Marcellus’ head, and several of his rabble followed him.
Good. This time, she intended to discover where Marcellus went. After they had crossed into the street, she dug her lock pick in the latch, then slid through the gate, silent as a shadow. Marcellus and his rabble zigzagged down alleyways. She brushed the cool brick of houses as she glided after them. Her foot hit a pebble. It skittered across the street.
Marcellus glanced back. She dug her shoulders against an apartment wall. The little alcove hid her body. Marcellus leaned toward Bruno, and they exchanged whispered words.
As Marcellus slid down an alleyway, Bruno walked directly toward her.
Surely he couldn’t have seen her? She glanced left and right. If she ran, he would see her, and the apartment’s courtyard left no escape.
Bruno stepped in
front of her. “Marcellus does not wish to be followed.”
“Why?”
“It is dark, the streets are dangerous. You should be home.” Bruno extended his hand to her.
“No.” She darted right.
Bruno closed his hand on her arm gently, but his muscular arms looked fully capable of exerting more force. “I can’t allow that.”
She forced her shoulders to slump. “You’re right. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
With a nod, he released her arm and motioned down the dark street. Five paces, fifteen. A group of festive partygoers crossed in front of them.
She ducked in front of the entourage and ran down an alley. The clap of Bruno’s sandals pounded behind her. She ran through an apartment courtyard, jumped a walled enclosure, and pressed back against the hard trunk of an olive tree.
Stilling her breath, she listened as Bruno’s pounding footsteps passed on. Gwen dug her fingers into the iron curlicues of the gate and scrambled back over. The clouds obscured even the moon as she traced her path back east. No sign of Marcellus now.
Her shoulders slumped.
Something moved beside her. She whipped around. A man grabbed her arm. His breath reeked of cheap wine. She stabbed her knife point against his ribs.
With an oomph, he released her.
Her sandals struck against the streets as she ran. A cluster of unshaven men emerged from a tavern up ahead.
Marcellus hadn’t lied on one score at least. Rome’s streets were dangerous. Where was she? Shoving back against a brick building, she glanced right. There were no signs to mark her way.
She slid left. Strange buildings towered over the streets, the overcast sky shrouding all in darkness.
Her fingers tightened around Wryn’s gladius in the darkness of unknown streets. A man with the look of a criminal stepped out of a shadow. His gaze swiveled to her fine dress. She lunged for her knife.
Grass rustled as the Viri’s men unloaded the smuggled goods. Marcellus grabbed a box of grain. “Pile it on the wagons.”
The men nodded. Still no word from the Shadow Man. Marcellus repressed the urge to spit. How would he catch the Shadow Man while the man hid in fear of this spy—well him? He had to meet Fabius the day after the morrow to give his report.
“Legionaries,” cried one of the Viri’s men.
Marcellus whipped around. He hadn’t alerted Fabius to this shipment. Yet, sure enough, the tromp of many feet and the light of lanterns emerged around a river bend. Marcellus dropped the box. “Run!”
He shoved ahead of the Viri men. He couldn’t get caught. He dove onto his horse, grabbed a fistful of mane, and shoved himself up. Marcellus struggled for a steady seat as the horse started moving, its hooves pounding against the hard earth.
When the clash of legionary armor had faded below the roar of the Tiber, Marcellus finally drew breath.
Victor would have something to say about a shipment lost under his command. If the Shadow Man intended on hiding, he knew one more person who might have information. He urged the horse on.
Leaving the steed in the rich section of town, Marcellus snuck across familiar roads up to a patrician villa. Silent as a shadow, he swung over the Paterculi gate. He slid past empty rooms to Wryn’s bedchamber. Empty too. Good. Inserting a lock pick, he jiggled the lock to Wryn’s box. It held fast. He yanked up.
An iron clasp broke. Marcellus cursed. Wryn’s smuggling reports and a gold ring lay in his hands. Words lined the tablet beneath the ring.
Taken from the leader of the Viri.
Marcellus stuffed the ring into the pouch at his belt. A footstep sounded. Marcellus shoved back.
Yawning, Wryn strode through the curtain and threw himself on the bed.
Where had he been all night? Perhaps Gwen should spend some of her interrogation energy on her brother.
When Wryn had turned into the blankets, Marcellus slid into the atrium. With that damaged lock, Wryn would know someone had broken in.
Only one thing for it. Slipping into the tablinum, Marcellus tossed the room, strewing scrolls and tablets across the floor like a burglar looking for coin. He slid into Gwen’s room. Some burglar-worthy jewelry and fine silks still lay in the cupboard. Marcellus stuffed them into the sack on his shoulder. Then, before the first glimmers of light rose, he slipped out through the courtyard.
As darkness turned to dawn, the streets grew broader. Gwen recognized a gnarled olive tree and heaved a sigh of relief. This was her familia’s street. Her shaking fingers relaxed their stranglehold on her knife. A pinpoint of blood gleamed on the blade. She’d pricked that knife against three men’s ribs this night.
Her arms trembled, her stomach cried for food, and she was never venturing the streets of Rome alone at night again.
She rapped her knuckles against the gate.
Germanus, the porter, smiled and swung open the metal latch. “Domina Gwen. I’ll let your brother know you’re here.”
With a nod, Gwen moved to the atrium. She sank down on a stool, yet her legs still shook.
“Some fruit, child?” A beaming cook walked through the kitchen doorway.
“Gratias.” Gwen bit into a pear and the sweetness partially stilled her shaking breaths.
Rubbing his eyes, Wryn emerged from his bedchamber, tunic still tousled from sleep. “Gwen.”
“You’re never the one to stay abed.”
“Out half the night catching a smuggling shipment.” Wryn stifled a yawn. “Good, you woke me, though. I have to leave within the hour for Moesia.”
Father and Mother had already left. Gwen bit her lip.
“Are you well?”
“Very.” She forced herself to bite into the pear.
Wryn’s questioning gaze still pierced her. “Marcellus?”
“He’s well too.”
“I didn’t mean the barbarian’s state of health. I meant how he’s treating you.”
She forced herself to meet Wryn’s gaze. “All is well.”
“Good.”
Feet pounded against the tile. “Dominus Paterculi.” A breathless servant looked to Wryn. “A burglar broke in last night. Things were strewn everywhere.”
Wryn swung around and raced to his room.
Gwen followed him.
Wryn held his box of smuggling information. The hinge fell open, broken. “They stole a gold ring.”
“Ring?”
Wryn groaned. “It belonged to the Shadow Man. I gave half the guards a night off last evening, figured there was no need to worry about assassination attempts with all the familia gone. Now this happens.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Wryn stood. “I had word Father and Mother arrived in Gaul safely. Anything I can do for you before I leave too?”
Discover where Marcellus went at night? Tell her which Marcellus was the true one: the man she’d come to love in moonlit gardens, or his reputation? She shook her head. “No, but I’ll miss you.” She threw her arms around his neck.
Within the hour, Rome would become lonely indeed.
As dawn’s light brightened into morning’s warmth, Marcellus bit into a hunk of bread and crammed meat in after it. The hearth fire heated the kitchen. Most of the rabble still slept. Gwen too, of course.
Wretched business, her trying to follow him last night. Praise heaven he’d noticed her before she’d encountered any danger and Bruno had seen her safely home.
“About Gwen.” Bruno stood in the doorway.
Marcellus swiveled. “Yes, did she say anything after you took her home last night?” Would she be even more furious at him this morning?
Bruno rubbed one hand over the other. “She gave me the slip.”
“Where is she?” Marcellus’ plate clanged to the floor as he leaped up.
Bruno raised his hand, palms up.
“I told you to guard her with your life.”
“I tried.”
“Gwen’s been on those streets all the night?” Marcel
lus’ hands trembled. “We have to organize a search party. We have to—”
“In all of Rome?”
A footstep sounded in the courtyard. Gwen’s black hair mussed around her shoulders and the faintest of dark circles lined her eyes. Breath heaved from Marcellus’ lungs.
Gwen touched her foot to the atrium pool as she met Marcellus’ gaze.
Bursting out of the kitchen, he ran to her. “I feared you were dead.” He crushed her against his chest.
He cared about her then, but what had he left to do last night? Gwen ran her gaze over his face noting each handsome angle, each mysterious feature. “Don’t ever do that again.” He clenched his hand over hers.
“I won’t.” Next time, she’d avoid the rabble and discover where Marcellus went. Though she’d like to bring someone with her, preferably someone burly and good with a knife.
Marcellus closed both hands on her shoulders as he held her out in front of him, concern etched across his brow, his breaths still ragged. “Rome’s streets are dangerous.”
“I know.” She leaned up and kissed his lips. “I visited Rome often as a child. And you?” She flicked her eyelashes up. Would he answer the question he’d refused to on their wedding night?
“I’m not talking about my childhood.” He glared at the tile.
Why? “Where were you last night?”
“I could ask the same of you.” Sliding his arm behind her shoulders, he directed her left to the sturdy oak door that walled off their bedchamber.
She tugged back from his arms. “If you don’t tell me—”
“I know. You’ve no wish for my company.” He held the door open with his arm. “Get some rest.”
She stepped inside, and he let the door clank closed, shutting him out from her. Tugging her sandals off, she threw herself on the bed. Her head pounded and her legs ached.
Worse yet, the bed stretched out in cold vastness. She clutched the pillow in her arms and rolled into the blankets. Sunlight streamed through the window. She thrashed right, yet, without Marcellus’ arms around her, sleep eluded her.
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 23