To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  Marcellus ran his gaze over the man as he drank again.

  “I thought Victor an easily-duped friend when he insisted the Paterculis bore no love for you. Then when you beat your wife—”

  “What?” The goblet fell from Marcellus’ hand to crash against the damp floor.

  The Shadow Man’s fingers tensed around his knife hilt.

  “Yes, of course, I just didn’t remember which time you referred to.” Marcellus stumbled over the words.

  The Shadow Man’s body relaxed and he cackled. Had the rabble discovered the man’s identity? Because he’d take great pleasure in turning him over to Consul Julius’ justice. “You’re free to go. Since you’re on foot, take any horse in front of the warehouse, a gift.”

  Not staying to ask more questions. “My thanks.” Marcellus inclined his head and tried to keep his itching feet from darting for the door.

  “I rescind my earlier warnings to avoid the Paterculis. I won’t have you divorcing the Paterculi girl either. That familia may yet prove useful to our cause.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Marcellus headed for the door.

  “Look.” Fabius handed the tablet to Consul Julius Semproni. “Our wretched spy has, at last, made himself useful and caught the Shadow Man.”

  “Excellent.” Consul Julius shifted a stack of scrolls. “I just had word from a different source. There’s another higher up, above even the Shadow Man. We’ll need Corann to continue posing as Caius Marcellus.”

  Fabius slammed his fist against the table. “The man’s become insolent. If you deny him manumission papers and coin, he’s as likely to turn traitor as continue to aid us.” He’d already plotted out what he’d do to Marcellus now that Consul Julius had no further use for him.

  The consul sighed. “Perhaps you are correct. Write to him then and tell him to meet me at my southern villa. I’ll have three score bodyguards there to arrest him. That man’s dangerous.”

  “You’ll give him to me as my slave?”

  “Or course, Fabius.” Consul Julius smiled. “While I’m not as hot-tempered as a youth like you, I too wish to see Corann rue the day he ever considered breaking the bonds which bind a slave. First, by killing his master, my friend, and then by taking this illustrious patrician girl into his bed.”

  “Good.”

  Consul Julius leaned back. “When you send him to the salt mines, do ensure you cut his tongue out first. Because if Legate Paterculi ever discovered I gave my slave the means to seduce his daughter, I’d be in more trouble than I care to contemplate.”

  Marcellus swung up on the first horse outside the warehouse. The overly-spirited thing bucked. Marcellus scrambled for seating. As he slid across the saddle, he glimpsed the rabble. He motioned left.

  A quarter mile from the warehouse, he yanked the horse to a halt and jumped off. Soon quickly-moving feet sounded. The rabble—and Gwen? Bruno shouldn’t have let her risk her life coming to that warehouse.

  Running so fast she out-sprinted even Androkles, Gwen flung herself into Marcellus’ arms.

  Her heart raced against him. He stroked his hand against her hair, yet still her body shook. “Don’t cry, Gwen.”

  She lifted her tear-stained face. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  A spear stabbed through his heart. He’d lied to her. Lied. He pressed his face into her hair and the scent of her overpowered him as guilt washed over him. “You shouldn’t weep for me so much.”

  “Of course, I’ll weep for you. I love you.” She held his hand to her heart.

  “And I you.” Yet hate was stronger than love. He had to lead a slave revolt, kill the patricians who had abused so many slaves. Enforce the penalty of a life for a life. He had to.

  “Androkles discovered the Shadow Man’s identity,” Gwen said. “It’s Senator Sulla.”

  The clomp of the rabble approached. Bruno looked at him. “How did you escape?”

  Marcellus wrapped both arms around Gwen, holding her still-shaking chest against his as he looked to Bruno. “The Shadow Man let me go. I don’t know why.”

  “Gwen’s plan worked.” Bruno beamed.

  “Good thing it did. She was the one at fault for his imprisonment.” The new recruit glared.

  “What plan?” Marcellus glanced down at Gwen.

  She turned crimson all the way to the roots of her stunning hair. “I’ll explain later.”

  Yes, he’d lied to her, but not all the way. He’d go with her to the provinces. He could work on training freed slaves for the revolt there and still have her. He’d wait at least a year to start the uprising. Perhaps two? Five? She’d made a good point that Roman soldiers had trained for years. He needed his army just as well-trained.

  After that? His fingers tightened against her back as she buried her head in his shoulder again, her arms clenched around his neck. After that, he’d never see her again. How could he betray her thus?

  Marcellus shook his head. Many, many months left before he’d have to face that.

  “There you are.” Petiphor ran from an alley, a wax tablet in one hand, a gladius in the other. “I found this when I went back home like Bruno made me. Then I decided I’m eleven years old, a man grown, and I won’t be kept at home like no woman.”

  Gwen jammed her lips together.

  Androkles took Petiphor’s tablet. One glance at it and he beckoned right, a look of lethal urgency on his face.

  Leaning down, Marcellus gently untangled Gwen’s arms from him. “One moment, delicia.” He kissed her lips. She smiled at him as if he was honest and forthright, with clean hands, no lash to mark his back or bloodstained hate to mark his heart—like John. Smiled at him as if he deserved her.

  He winced and walked to Androkles. Half the rest of the rabble gathered around, ten paces now from Gwen.

  “Consul Julius wants you to meet him at the southern villa. He has your manumission papers and the million sestertii.” Androkles extended the tablet.

  With a nod, Marcellus took it.

  Androkles spread his feet. “Once you report to the consul, we can launch the revolt?”

  “Not yet. Gwen—”

  All groaned. Bruno slapped a hand on his shoulder. “We have a higher goal here, Marcellus. A goal you trained us for.”

  “I need a year with her.” At least. Marcellus’ heart squeezed against his chest, blocking blood flow. “We’ll go to the Germanian border or Britannia. We can train more men there. Get a better foundation for the revolt. We’ll still do it.” Then he’d lose Gwen.

  “Marcellus.” The new recruit stepped into his space. “All the imperial slaves know of the revolt. We’ll need to launch this in the next week or someone’s loose lips will betray us to the patricians and all of us will hang on crosses.”

  Marcellus went rigid. “Since when do they know?”

  The new recruit rested his hands on his belt. “Since I told them.”

  “You did this to force my hand.” Marcellus glared at the new recruit. He spun his gaze around the circle of his men. “All of you.”

  “It was the new recruit, but I agree with him.” Androkles crossed hairy arms. “You weren’t acting rational.”

  Marcellus kicked the dirt, scattering pebbles high. “I hate you.”

  The rabble shrugged.

  Now he had no choice. Marcellus’ shoulders slumped. “All right then. This week. You, Tarbus, go get our only other horse and meet me outside the city. The rest of you, go back to the villa and prepare for the revolt.”

  “Come, domina.” Stepping forward, Bruno extended his hand to her.

  Marcellus shook his head, voice low. “Gwen goes with me. After I get the coin from Consul Julius, I’ll ride with Gwen to Gaul.”

  The new recruit shoved his eyebrows down. “That’s a five-day journey, even if you switch horses. The slaves won’t stay silent so long.”

  “Then find a way to keep them silent,” Marcellus said through gritted teeth, “because I’m not launching a revolt until Gwen’s safely with her fami
lia.”

  “Of course, you’re not.” With a glare, the new recruit turned.

  Gwen brushed bread crumbs from her skirt. The campfire glowed in dawn’s light.

  Marcellus kicked dirt over the embers. “You worked in stables, rode horses, right, Tarbus?”

  The new recruit nodded.

  “Then, here, you take this beast.” Marcellus tossed the reins to the mount the Shadow Man had given him, the only decent horse here.

  Gwen stood. “Don’t give away our horse.”

  “That fiend is going to get both our necks broken.” Marcellus switched over the saddle bags.

  “It gallops like a horse is supposed to. I’ve seen baby chicks with more spirit than your horse.”

  “At least it hasn’t killed me yet.” Marcellus launched himself into the saddle of the worst steed in Rome.

  With a groan, Gwen swung up in front of him. “To think you’re half-Celtic. Celts, the horse people.”

  An hour later, Consul Julius’ sprawling villa came into view. Marcellus pulled the horse to a halt behind a grove of olive trees. He swung down. Looking up, he touched her hand. “I’ll go in myself. No need to remind them of how angry they are at me for marrying you.”

  “Then after this, you’re done.” She jumped into his arms. “Where do you want to go?”

  He held her so tightly against himself as if he’d never let go.

  With a kick, she slid down, her chest brushing across his. “I think Britannia. I grew up there, and it’s where we fell in love. My mother’s family lives in a Catuvellauni village. We could stay there for a time. You did say you knew how to farm.”

  The new recruit looked to Marcellus. Lifting her hand, Marcellus touched his mouth to her skin. A sadness hung in his eyes. “We’ll talk later, delicia.”

  “Here.” Gwen pulled a tablet out of the saddle bags. “I wrote down all the evidence we have on Senator Sulla and his movements through the provinces.”

  Marcellus took the tablet and strode forward, down the hill, through the villa gate, then through the courtyard, and into the house beyond.

  The tile clacked beneath Marcellus’ sandals, an ominous stillness in the air.

  “I was expecting you.” With a smile, Consul Julius motioned him into the tablinum.

  Fabius stood inside.

  Only hours left until he’d kill Fabius. For the first time all day, Marcellus smiled. “The Shadow Man is Senator Sulla. I’ll take my manumission papers and million sestertii.” He nodded to the parchment and bag of coin.

  “You are sure?” Consul Julius touched the sack of coin.

  Marcellus nodded. “Here’s the proof of it.” He extended the tablet Gwen had written on.

  Consul Julius skimmed the wax, then he nodded. “Guards.”

  A dozen rough men filed into the room.

  “My manumission papers.” One hand on the knife, Marcellus grabbed for it.

  The consul held up the parchment. “Here, Fabius, Corann’s slave papers. I’ve given him to you to do with as you will.”

  “No!” Marcellus whipped out his knife. Too many guards surrounded him. Hands grabbed him on every side. He slashed up, but one man immobilized his wrist, others wrestling down his arms.

  “As I will, what a ring that has to it.” Fabius rested his gaze on Marcellus. “First, I’m giving you the scourging you deserved five weeks ago. Then I’m selling you to the salt mines.”

  The guards dragged Marcellus into the courtyard. A whipping post stood in the center. As the familiar sound of iron manacles clanked shut over his wrists and ankles, locking him against the post, helplessness sank like lead in his heart. Just like three years ago when Fabius had held his life in his hands. That time, Fabius had power over his mother too. At least Gwen wasn’t inside these walls.

  One guard grabbed his tunic neck, ripping the linen down across already-scarred flesh.

  “Prepare the hot poker for after I cut his tongue out.” Fabius motioned to the bonfire burning on the cobblestones.

  Marcellus froze. The poker heated red-hot as Fabius’ lash whistled through the air. Marcellus fixed his gaze on it. Once before, Fabius heated a rod in the fire as he stood chained, waiting. Marcellus fought back the urge to scream.

  Fabius lifted the scourge high. With the crack of a whip through the air, the metal bits dug deep into Marcellus’ skin. Despite himself, a low groan slid through Marcellus’ teeth.

  Like last time, Fabius laughed.

  Chapter 35

  Gwen gazed in horror as a dozen men dragged Marcellus into the courtyard. Even from this distance, she could make out Fabius’ whip. He swung it through the air.

  “What are we going to do?” Gwen shook the new recruit’s shoulder.

  “Do?” The new recruit raised his hand. “There’s two score guards.”

  “Fabius is whipping Marcellus.”

  “He’ll do much worse before he’s done, but our suicides won’t save Marcellus.” The new recruit glanced back at the horses.

  She glared at the man. “I’m going in there.”

  The new recruit looked at her, scorn in his eyes. “Too arrogant to realize they’ll kill you?”

  “I’m a Paterculi.”

  The new recruit raised one slick eyebrow. “A Paterculi who lay with a slave. You well-know the penalty for that.”

  True, and when she walked in there, Consul Julius would know she knew about Marcellus’ slavery. A shiver ran down her. A consul wouldn’t enforce that law against another consul’s daughter. She walked out of the trees.

  Raising her hand, she grasped the iron gate. The gate swung at her touch. She walked into the courtyard. Fabius held a whip high. The lash struck against Marcellus’ back. Blood already streamed in rivulets down his scars.

  “No!” She screamed.

  Twisting his head, Marcellus turned his bloodshot gaze to her. Fear flashed across his face. “Leave, Gwen.”

  She moved to the far side of the whipping post and faced him. The wood his arms were chained to grazed her. She brushed her hand across his shoulder. “I’m a domina. It’s who I am, remember?”

  Fabius raised the whip again.

  “Hold.” She stepped around the whipping post, between Marcellus and Fabius.

  Fabius glared at her.

  Consul Julius motioned to him and he lowered the lash. “Gwen Paterculi.” The consul inclined his head. “I suggest you leave and forget all you saw here.”

  “Marcellus caught the Shadow Man for you!” Gwen raised both hands. “You promised him his freedom, and money too.”

  “He’s a slave.” The consul bore his gaze into her. “I apologize that he foisted himself on you while you were unaware of his position. After you walk out of here, I promise to declare the patrician Marcellus dead so that you will have no societal repercussions from this accidental encounter.”

  “It wasn’t an accidental encounter. It was a marriage! I don’t want him declared dead. I want him released and freed.”

  “My lady.” Consul Julius took a step closer, his rotund legs sagging underneath his tunic. “I do not wish to appear to threaten you.”

  Now, of course, he would threaten her, but Father was a consul too. She jammed her hands against her belt.

  “Marcellus is a slave, Fabius’ slave. Legally, since you, a patrician woman, cohabited with a slave without the master’s consent, Fabius could take you as his slave too.”

  Her leg muscles iced over. Fabius? The man turned his gaze to her, a revolting level of interest in his eyes. Fabius was a thousand times more likely to hold her to that law than Consul Julius.

  “Now we’d never stoop to that unpleasantness.” Consul Julius swung himself down on a garden bench.

  Fabius made a face.

  Consul Julius took a huffing breath. “But it should serve as a good reminder of why you should turn around, walk out this gate, and tell your familia that the patrician Marcellus died gallantly at the hand of bandits.”

  Marcellus craned his head
toward her, his body imprisoned by the manacles. Horror filled his eyes. “Do as Consul Julius says, Gwen.”

  Turning her back to him, she crossed her arms. “Is it legal, Consul, to pass off a slave as a man of patrician rank? Dupe patrician women into committing this most grievous offense? What view do you think the courts would take of your offense?”

  The consul wiped his dripping nose. “We could be fined, but for the greater good of capturing the Viri—”

  “Fined?” She advanced. “If my father has any say in it, and believe me, he will, you’ll both get exiled for what you did to me.”

  “But you’ll be my slave.” Fabius ran his ruthless gaze down her. “Now which of those fates is worse?”

  Her chest trembled, but she forced her back straight. “You’re angling for a promotion from the Emperor, Consul Julius. Honestly want to trade that for an island exile?”

  Dropping the whip, Fabius tugged his knife free. “Simple solution. We kill you now.”

  Consul Julius glared at him. “We’re not going to kill a patrician. You’re thinking like a slave, Fabius.”

  Fabius’ blade glinted in the sunlight as rage spread across his face.

  Jumping to his feet, Consul Julius waddled forward. He clamped his beefy hand on Fabius’ arm. “Come to the triclinium.”

  Gwen watched them leave to make the decision that could turn her back as bloody as Marcellus’.

  Marcellus’ haunted gaze found hers. “You shouldn’t have come, Gwen.”

  She clasped his hand, pinioned by the iron manacle, as the armed guards watched. She smiled at him. “Then again, I shouldn’t have married you either.”

  Fabius glared across the table.

  “We’ll manumit Corann on the condition he continues to spy for us.” Consul Julius slammed his flabby elbows down. “He’ll prove useful looking for the higher up Viri who runs the ring.”

  “Why? Because of Gwen’s idle threats?”

  “Did you see the look on her face? Those were no idle threats.”