To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  “Oh.”

  “What I did, marrying you under a false identity, is illegal. Your father enforces the law. He could decide to have me killed.”

  She bit her lip. Father was terribly law-abiding. “It doesn’t seem right to lie to Father.”

  “You want me to hang on a cross?”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. Though with Livia, Father wasn’t willing to break the law to save her.”

  Marcellus grinned. “I never told you about Drusus, did I?”

  “What about him?”

  “He didn’t fall off a horse. I kidnapped him and took him to Bruno.”

  “You told him to take Livia back too?” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Marcellus.”

  He stood, lifting her with him, then sat on the bed beside her. “You’ll lie to your father for me?”

  Father hadn’t agreed with how Drusus treated Livia, but he’d followed the law and not gotten involved. Convincing him to let the law slide this time, especially with how he hated Marcellus, would take more hours than she had this day. Perhaps she should tell Mother first. Gwen looked into Marcellus’ eyes. “I shouldn’t, but I will.”

  “Thank you.” He squeezed his hand around hers, so tight, a depth of emotion in his eyes.

  “Where should we go after tonight? I was thinking somewhere in the provinces where no one cares about status. Northern Britannia? Eastern Germania?”

  He circled his strong arms around her. His chest moved as if from silent sobs.

  She drew back. “What?’

  “Yes, I’ll go. If only for a few years.”

  She cocked her head. “What happens after a few years?”

  “I don’t know. Time changes things, delicia.” A mask dropped over his features. “Your father’s waiting in the atrium.”

  After catching her sleep-tossed hair up and drawing a belt around her waist, Gwen tugged the door open. Her bare feet slapped the tile as she ran forward. “Papa!” She embraced him. “I missed you.”

  “How are you, Gwen?” A troubled look lingered in Father’s eyes.

  “Never better.” She grasped his hand. “I’m working on redecorating the villa.”

  “In truth?” Father’s dark eyes pierced her.

  “Father. Is it so impossible to believe that I survived two and a half weeks without your or Mother’s presence?”

  Father pursed his mouth, but he said nothing.

  “How long are you in Rome?”

  “Just until tomorrow, then I’m back to Gaul. I came to check on you.” He pulled her closer to him, away from Marcellus. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong?”

  “Of course, Father.” She smiled at him.

  “Well then.” Father glanced to the courtyard. “I have to go to the Senate. Your mother plans to come to see you soon too.”

  “Salve.” Gwen embraced him again.

  “Oh, and Marcellus.” Father looked to him. “I have an Aedile position in Gaul. Yours for the taking. Your tribune experience in Dacia would serve you in good stead.”

  Marcellus shook his head.

  “It’s a career-advancing position. You should take it.” Father raised his voice.

  Marcellus stiffened. Gwen laid a hand on Marcellus’ shoulder. “Marcellus will consider it, of course. It’s very kind of you, Father.”

  As Father’s footsteps faded, Marcellus’ voice brushed her ear. “Thank you.” His chest grazed her back as he wrapped his arms around her front.

  “You’re indebted to me.” She twisted to him. “I’ve lied to my father twice now on your account.”

  “Twice?”

  “I told him I kissed John, not you, that night in the garden when Wryn caught us.”

  Marcellus’ eyes laughed. “As if John’s kisses could compare to mine.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She shifted one shoulder up, a laugh in her eyes. “But I’m going back to bed if you’d care to attempt proving your point.”

  Gwen buckled the sword over her tunic. The brown wool still smelled of Marcellus. She sucked in his scent as shadows spread across the room.

  The rabble’s weapons clinked as she walked into the darkened courtyard.

  “Take care tonight, delicia.” Marcellus stole his arm around her waist. His arms crossed over her, tugging her shoulders up against his chest.

  The rabble shifted their feet on the stones, all twenty of them here tonight, including Petiphor.

  Marcellus looked to them. “Tonight, we catch the Shadow Man.”

  “Yes, sir,” sang a chorus of voices.

  “If he’s a patrician as Gwen suspects, there’s one of three houses he’ll return to. I’ve assigned men to each of those houses. The rest of you will follow him.”

  The rabble nodded.

  “If you discover the identity of the Shadow Man, send word immediately to Consul Julius, but don’t reveal the man’s name. I want to ensure the consul pays me those million sestertii.”

  The men trampled to the gate. A few paces behind, underneath the shadow of a laurel tree, Marcellus bent and pressed his mouth to hers.

  The new recruit snorted. “You’ll never catch the Shadow Man by kissing.”

  “Then again—” Gwen grinned at Tarbus. “I doubt you’d know much about either of those things.” Turning through the darkness, Gwen slid her arm around Marcellus’ neck. The hardness of his shoulder muscles pressed against her arm. She fit next to him, their bodies pressed so tight.

  Wryn wasn’t here to tell them they broke every bound of decorum, which they did, in the most delightful way possible.

  Fog rolled up from the river. Gwen squatted by the low branches of a pine. Half the rabble knotted behind her. The third watch of the night was almost spent, and Marcellus had unloaded all the smuggling cargo.

  The Shadow Man stood twenty paces ahead. He’d brought more guards tonight, three score men at least.

  The Shadow Man’s slick voice rose through the wind. “Consul Paterculi offered you a coveted political position, Marcellus.”

  Marcellus stiffened. “I turned it down.”

  The Shadow Man gripped his dagger. “He offered it because you turned spy on us.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Guards.” The Shadow Man glanced behind him. The men swarmed. Grabbing Marcellus’ arms, the guards threw him over a horse’s back.

  “Take him to the warehouse. After I get some sleep, I’ll interrogate him.” The Shadow Man rubbed his thin hands together. “And greatly enjoy the process.”

  Behind her, Bruno slid out his gladius. He motioned to the rabble.

  The horses’ hooves pounded against the ground. The rabble broke into a run. Gwen’s breaths came in pants, but she lagged behind.

  Turning a bend in the river, she stumbled upon the rabble. They stood, hands on swords, glaring ahead.

  Bruno kicked the dirt. “We lost him.”

  “What do you mean lost him?” Her breath came in choked gasps. “You have to know where Marcellus is.”

  “He could be at any warehouse in the city. Once they start to interrogate him, they’ll see his back. They’ll know he’s not Caius Marcellus, but a spy.”

  The new recruit whipped toward her. “This is your fault, domina.” He took an angry step closer.

  Extending his arm, Bruno blocked the new recruit’s path, but no man contradicted him.

  Gwen’s breathing quickened. Marcellus was bound now. There was nothing he could do against so many men. “What if Rome discovered what low esteem my father actually holds Marcellus in? Then the Shadow Man would have no reason to suspect a spying alliance.”

  Bruno scoffed. “Your father offered Marcellus a coveted political post. You won’t convince the Shadow Man in the next five hours that your father hates Marcellus.”

  She pressed one cold hand over the other as an idea swirled in her mind. She shifted her feet on the slick riverbank. “That all depends on how furious at Marcellus my father is.”

  “You think
your father would help us?” The new recruit spat.

  No, if she told Father, the best he’d do is turn to the proper legal channels. With the vastness of Rome, the few legionaries the urban cohort devoted to law enforcement would need much more than five hours to find Marcellus.

  “He’s more likely to say good riddance, let the Shadow Man kill him.” Bruno ripped a dead pine branch off and cast it to the ground.

  True, but if she made Father angry enough, he’d steal the Praetorian Guard to help him hunt down Marcellus. That news would spread across Rome like wildfire.

  “Bruno.” She stepped in front of him. “I need you to give me a bruise.”

  “What?”

  “Here.” She touched her upper arm.

  “I’m not hitting you.”

  She grabbed Bruno’s thick arm. “I can’t play a convincing abused wife without any bruises. As you said, I need to incense my father.”

  Hand up as if to shield himself, Bruno ripped away. “If I survive this foray against the Viri, I plan to live a long, happy life. Neither of which I expect would happen with Marcellus’ wrath directed toward me.”

  She looked to the new recruit.

  He edged back. “What about cosmetics? Paint something.”

  “Marcellus’ life is in danger. I’m not attempting some half-hearted scheme.”

  Still, the rabble backed away from her.

  She groaned and caught up the branch Bruno had ripped off. “Petiphor.” Grabbing the boy by the arm, she dragged him a little distance away. “Here.” She tossed the sturdy branch at him. “Now we’re going to have a long staff fight.”

  “But, domina.”

  She glared at the child. “We’re not stopping until you’ve given me some respectable bruises. Especially here.” She rolled up her tunic sleeve, well Marcellus’ tunic sleeve. She had to save him.

  Gwen rolled over the rock outside the Paterculi villa back wall. The box she’d hidden there last year for just this sort of situation sat in the dirt. She glanced to Bruno. “I’ll meet you two streets west in a half-hour.”

  The first rays of dawn glinted off metal hinges. The lid creaked under her fingers. She grabbed the chiton inside and dug her sandals into chinks in the villa wall.

  With a plop, she landed on the other side. Her fingers flew as she changed into the chiton. Then she walked into the courtyard.

  “Who goes there?” A guard stepped out of the peristyle, sword out.

  “It’s Gwen, you imbecile,” called the cook, flourishing a chicken leg. “When did you get here, child?”

  “Just.” What were the Viri doing to Marcellus? Gwen’s chest heaved.

  “You look dreadful.” The cook ran a pudgy finger across Gwen’s cheek. “Tears streaking your rouge, bloodshot eyes.”

  Good. “I need to see Father.” Her voice shook. What kind of torture implements did the Shadow Man employ?

  “Why, Gwen, when did you get here?” Father smiled at her. He glanced at her tear-stricken face. He clenched his fists. “What did Marcellus do?”

  “Look.” She rolled up both sleeves. Still darkening bruises covered her skin. Tugging down the neck of her chiton, she showed him the beginning of a bruise that ended far lower. “I don’t know where Marcellus is now. Somewhere in the city. I’m so frightened.”

  “I’m going to hunt that criminal down, and then I will—” Father clenched his knife, his glare intense enough to incinerate as he spoke to himself. “I’ll need the Praetorian Guard and—”

  Excellent. She let her sleeves fall back over the bruises.

  He turned to her. “Will you be all right here if I go? Your mother will arrive this evening.”

  “Perfectly. Find Marcellus swiftly, please.” Had the Shadow Man arrived at that warehouse yet? He’d kill Marcellus, death through torture. Her throat constricted, tears flowing down her face.

  “I’m getting my armor.” Father strode back into his room.

  A footstep sounded in the atrium. The porter bowed. “John Spiros here.”

  She ran forward. “What are you doing, John?”

  “Your father sent me a note yesterday evening. He wants to see me about Marcellus. To interrogate me, no doubt. Not to worry.” John bent his head, voice falling. “I won’t mention the Viri, only what an attentive husband Marcellus is.”

  No! She couldn’t have John saying good things about Marcellus. “I just told my father I got these from Marcellus.” She shoved up her sleeve.

  “Marcellus did what!”

  “Shh.” She grabbed John’s arm and pulled him into an empty room. Sunlight streamed through the window. “He didn’t, actually. But the Viri have him right now, thinking he’s spying for my father. I need Father to hate him so much word will pass through all of Rome within the hour before the Shadow Man starts torturing Marcellus.”

  John’s eyes bugged from their sockets. “So, you told your Father that Marcellus manhandled you?”

  “More beat than manhandled.” She tugged down her neckline to reveal more bruises. Petiphor swung harder than one would think for a child of ten or eleven.

  A groan slid through John’s teeth. “I am so glad you refused my offer of marriage. I cannot imagine a less-qualified wife.”

  She blinked. “I’m saving my husband’s life. What better wife could a man have?”

  “When I think of a wife, I think of peaceful evenings reading Sophocles’ plays together. Watching the sun set over grape vines at my villa as our children play at our feet. While you,” John sighed, “consider marriage a never-ending affair of strapping on swords and fighting desperate villains.”

  She bristled. “As tribune you’ll go into battle.”

  “Yes, I will, not my wife. When I’m off-duty, I’ll read Sophocles with her, not participate in some crazy schemes of lies, and subterfuge, and—”

  “That’s very narrow-minded of you.” She needed to recover her gladius before rejoining Bruno. “Start inventing some violent stories about Marcellus to share with my father. Perhaps you could tell Father that Marcellus assaulted me at Victor Ocelli’s party last week and you had to throw him off.”

  John groaned. “I’ll lie to your father for you, despite the fact he’ll have my head after.” He gestured to the door. “Go save your husband.”

  Chapter 34

  Gwen gathered with the rabble in the back alley of the Marcellus villa.

  Androkles and three other men burst into the group. “We found the Shadow Man. It’s Senator Sulla. Saw him get in this morning. I sent word to Consul Julius. Where have you been?”

  That explained how the Shadow Man knew about the Aedile appointment. Father must have mentioned it at the Senate. “The Viri took Marcellus.” Gwen’s voice stuck in her throat.

  “Quick.” Bruno clenched his gladius. “Perhaps we can follow Senator Sulla to where they’re keeping Marcellus.”

  As they crossed broad patrician streets toward the Sulla domus, a litter emerged. It had the Sulla seal on it, a snake with fangs.

  Narrow streets twisted, buildings jutting out onto cobblestone as they followed Senator Sulla, the Shadow Man. At last, a ramshackle warehouse loomed ahead. The smell of the Tiber washed up against it.

  With the click of a latch unlocking, the door swung open, and the Shadow Man entered, followed by a full dozen men. Scrambling onto a brick wall, Bruno peered through a cracked board.

  Bruno jumped down and looked to the rabble. “On my count, we’ll break through that door.”

  Sweat building on her palms, Gwen gripped her gladius.

  Bruno touched her shoulder, his big hand comforting. “You shouldn’t go, domina.”

  “What! He’s my husband.”

  Bruno dropped his voice to a deadly calm. “There’s two score men in there if there’s a one. Most, if not all of us, aren’t coming out alive.”

  “Take Petiphor and leave.” Androkles shoved the boy at her. “Marcellus wouldn’t want you here.”

  “Marcellus is in no position to hav
e an opinion.” With the scrape of metal, Gwen drew her sword.

  Marcellus yanked against the chains that held his wrists high. No give in them. Only his bare toes, two of them already broken, touched the dirty floor. His limbs strained. A few dozen Viri men sat on the other side of the darkened space, digging their teeth into meat and bread. One tipped back a tankard.

  Clenching his fists, Marcellus tried to push away the overwhelming sensation of thirst.

  The door gaped, flooding the darkened building with light. Marcellus glimpsed the gray cloak of the Shadow Man.

  Torture, all the Viri said the Shadow Man was an expert. Sweat ran down Marcellus’ face, stinging his eyes as fear twisted his gut.

  “Shall we start with the thumb screws or flay off a few strips of skin first?” The Shadow Man laid a narrow box on a crate. He flipped it open and ran his thin fingers over the metal implements.

  Marcellus’ head pounded, his thick tongue sticking to drier mouth as the too high chain tore at his muscles, but he smiled. “How kind of you to give me options. I think I’d like a demonstration first. Try your implements on yourself?”

  With a snort, the Shadow Man reached for a jagged piece of metal.

  “Sir.” A guard leaned to the Shadow Man’s ear.

  The Shadow Man tensed, then a cruel smile spread across his lips. “I’m delighted you told me this.”

  Marcellus’ fingers trembled. Sweat rolled down his lip, carrying the taste of blood.

  A piece of metal glinted in the Shadow Man’s hand. Stretching up, he moved the metal toward Marcellus’ wrists.

  Marcellus stiffened, breath sticking in his throat.

  With the clink of a key in a lock, the chains gave way. Marcellus fell back against the rough wood.

  “Here.” The Shadow Man threw the key to him. “Unlock your feet.”

  Marcellus stared at him as he bent and unlocked the chains. A knife hung on the Shadow Man’s belt. He’d lunge for that.

  “Eat.” The Shadow Man shoved a goblet and food forward. “I must apologize. I underestimated you.”

  Warily, Marcellus grabbed the goblet. The heavenly slosh of liquid wet his throat.

  “When you said you could control a Paterculi wife, I should have believed you.” The Shadow Man plucked a grape and bit into it. His hood still hung over his eyes, casting his face in shadow.