by T. L. Higley
CHAPTER 28
Maius was displeased with the day.
He paced his lower gardens, which were angled to catch the rays of the setting sun, but took no notice of the spectacular display of purple cloud and pink light in the west. It had been frustrating enough to hear of Portius Cato's sponsorship of the games, but today's events far surpassed Maius's dour expectations in the damage done to his own position.
The younger man had been a candidate only a few days, and already he had won the hearts of the fickle public—at least when it came to showmanship.
A cushioned chaise sat near the central fountain, and Maius forced himself to recline, for pacing showed a certain amount of weakness, of fretfulness, and he had no need for such things.
But his thoughts flowed back and forth, first assuring him that Cato was a novelty whose charm would soon wear thin, then warning him that the man was a danger to the life he had shaped here in Pompeii.
Maius focused on the trickle of fountain water and scent of evening flowers, wanting his gardens to soothe him as they usually did. A flutter at the edge of the enclosure brought welcome distraction. His daughter's penchant for bright fabrics made her seem like one of his exotic birds.
"Nigidia, come and sit with your father."
The girl slid to his side and perched on the edge of his cushion, extending her bottom lip. "You are so glum, Father. The games always make you giddy for hours." She laughed and ran two fingers over his brow. "I believe you have new lines here since this morning."
Maius caught her fingers and kissed them. "You know me too well, my pet. I am afraid Father is not so pleased with the games today."
Nigidia's blue eyes danced. "I found today's games especially amusing. When that Cato fellow jumped over the wall and ran into the sand—"
She did not finish, perhaps because the black fury that swelled through Maius was evident on his face. He leaned forward. "That man is your father's enemy, Nigidia. Do not speak of him in my presence, nor praise him to anyone!"
She patted his arm, as though his anger were nothing to her. "I have never known you to have an enemy of any consequence, Father. Doesn't everyone soon learn that Nigidius Maius rules Pompeii with a fair hand?"
He tried to smile at his loyal daughter. "Of course you are right, Nigidia." He nudged her away from the chaise. "Run along now, and leave your father to his thoughts. You have cheered me greatly."
She pecked his cheek with a quick kiss, but before she ran off he almost believed he saw . . .
No, he was being foolish. His Nigidia would never look at him with a hint of anger, or, worse, disgust.
Still restless, he pulled himself from the cushions and crossed the terrace to his bird cages. The servants were faithful in leaving scraps of meat and vegetables in a dish placed nearby, for Maius to push through the bars into their eager beaks, and he chose a red-plumed warbler whose ruffled feathers reminded him of Nigidia, to offer a bit of veal.
"That's right," he whispered to the bird who greeted him with a chirp and hopped to receive his offering. "It is Maius who feeds you, Maius who watches over you."
All of Pompeii needed to be reminded at whose hand they flourished. But how could they be reminded when they were so distracted by the juvenile antics of a young wine-maker?
The gardens grew dark and servants came to light torches, but still Maius wandered, ripping leaves from plants and shredding them, kicking at dirt that had escaped its borders. The visitor he had been expecting arrived at last, ushered in by a slave to stand at the edge of the garden, under a smoky torch planted in the garden's soft soil.
Maius tossed away the flower he had been ripping apart. "Otho. I began to think you had more important business to attend."
Otho, a local fuller, was a frail man, with cheekbones that seemed almost to protrude from his skin. His sallow eyes traveled to the stone walkway. "Forgive me, Maius. There was an emergency—"
Maius held up a hand. "Spare me the inconsequential tedium. You have given Primus your payment, I assume?"
The man's expression flickered, and something akin to defiance seemed to cross his features. "Yes, of course."
"Is something wrong, Otho? The month's payment seems unfair, perhaps?" Maius baited him, both waiting and fearing his response.
Otho straightened bony shoulders and lifted his pointed chin. Again, there was that look in his eyes. "Unfair? Payments made to you simply to keep my business going?" The sarcasm was faint, but clear.
Maius spread his hands. "You wound me. Surely you realize how much more I do for you than this? Safety for your workers, peaceful and profitable transactions."
Otho looked away, shifting his weight from one foot to another, then returned his gaze to Maius. "Perhaps these things would be free in a different Pompeii."
Maius pressed his fingertips together over his ample belly. "A different Pompeii? And where should we find such a thing?"
Otho shrugged one shoulder. "There are alternatives . . ."
"Courage, Otho. Speak your mind. Portius Cato? Is that the different Pompeii of which you are dreaming?"
Otho said nothing, but did not look away. The defiance Maius had sensed under the surface became plain.
The man seemed to find his courage then, and spoke quietly. "They are saying that he is the man to restore the health of our city."
Maius crossed the terrace quickly, surprising Otho with his advance. "Listen to me. You can listen to talk of change and dream of a new Pompeii all you wish, but your vote belongs to me, as surely as your business belongs to me, and to give away one is to give away the other." He poked a thick finger into Otho's frail chest, pushing the man backward. "Do not believe for a moment that I cannot destroy you. And I would destroy you without a thought."
Otho swallowed, and the knobbiness of his throat was almost comical, but Maius was far from amused.
"I will see you next month, then." Otho bowed.
Maius smiled and dipped his head. "Until next month."
In the moments that followed Otho's departure, Maius's thoughts went from dark to black. He crossed to the low wall that bordered his garden and faced the city, each of its lights representing to him another traitor to his leadership.
To eliminate, rather than defeat, one's opponent was also weakness. But there were times when it became necessary. This had become one of those times.
Portius Cato must die.
CHAPTER 29
The morning after Cato's sponsored games dawned fair, and the threatened rain of the previous day was forgotten. Cato rose early and again left the tending of his vines to Remus. He made his way to the Forum, his mind full of today's goal.
Thus far he had made his candidacy known, and performed a bit of theatrics for the populace. But it would take far more than such attention to win the election.
The magistrates' offices at the southern end of the Forum housed the treasury and were the main location for justice since the basilica's unrepaired damage from the earthquake over a decade ago. And the offices' position at the bottom of the Forum, where the road from Marina Gate led across the Forum to the Market Street, made it the busiest section of town.
Not coincidentally, it was outside these offices where a suggestum had been erected, a large platform for public speeches.
Not yet.
He crossed the Forum and entered the Temple of Apollo. His rituals were overdue. Though he had maintained the rites faithfully at home, a sacrifice here was called for. He went through the motives of paying the priest, money that would be passed to the slaughterers, and stayed for the blood sacrifice and the flute player's melody—loud notes to drown out any sounds of ill omens. The priest kept his head his covered, also to guard against ill omens, and Cato said the prayers intended to make the gods favorable toward him. He had given to them. Now they must give to him.
But the ritual felt hollow and pointless. Was this all the gods offered—a trading of favors? Did not Jeremiah's God's offer of a relationship far outweigh such
practices?
He returned to the Forum, and as the morning sun lifted over the top of the Eumachia Building on his right, Cato ascended to the suggestum, and surveyed the Forum below.
Already the city churned with the early shoppers, with horse-drawn carts criss-crossing to make deliveries. Philosophers spouted ideas to small groups of intellectuals and beggars and prostitutes made their appeals to the rest.
Cato inhaled and set his shoulders, lifted his eyes to the mountain beyond the Forum, lit by the morning sun and watching over the city as always. From this height, above the chaos of the Forum's paving stones, there was a strange kinship with the mountain, a parental sort of feeling for Pompeii, as though the mountain were Mother and he were Father, called to protect. He shook his head at the notion.
This business with Portia has made me sentimental.
He had stood thus on platforms in Rome. Had stated his case, made his position clear. There had been powerful men there as well, men he had tried to unseat.
Tried—and failed.
The experience had shamed him, made him fearful. He saw that now. He had come to Pompeii to hide, to avoid ridicule and forget his failure. But the failure had followed him, because the failure was not the political defeat but a more personal fear.
It was time for the fear to be put away. Time to become the man he truly was, and to remove the mask of indifference.
A merchant of the Fruitsellers Guild ambled to the base of the platform from the direction of the Marina Gate, followed by a slave pushing an aging cart of oranges and lemons, its blackened wood rotting in places. The merchant shielded his eyes from the sun and looked up at Cato. "Time for a speech?"
Well past time. Cato nodded, and the merchant raised a fist in support and directed his slave to circle the cart and become the start of an audience for Cato.
And so it began. In the manner of the Greek philosophers, adopted and expanded by Roman politicians, Cato lifted his voice to the hurrying crowds and began to recite the crimes of his opponent, the promised benefits of his own leadership, and the dire need for change in the government of Pompeii.
Some continued on, more interested in their own affairs than the politics of the city. But many more slowed, then stopped and gathered around the fruitseller and his cart, curious to hear the first public speech by the candidate who had everyone talking.
Cato's voice took on strength as he warmed to his subject, reminding the people of Nigidius Maius's stranglehold on the economics of Pompeii, of his criminal tactics for maintaining power. Gone were the generalizations of change and new leadership. Cato had committed himself now, accusing Maius by name of everything from blackmail to treason.
"How long will you allow yourselves to be bullied into voting against your conscience, citizens? How long will you allow your livelihood to be threatened by the greed of this one man? It is time to stand!"
As he had in the arena yesterday, Cato received a shout of agreement from the men and even some women who had gathered. Upturned faces reflected confidence, passion for change.
"We will take back Pompeii, friends! I promise that fairness will become the new standard for government in this town. And we will flourish here at the base of Vesuvius, enjoying her many blessings!"
He stepped down soon after, and was mobbed by supporters. Back slaps and gripped arms, eager faces and offers of campaign help.
The nagging condemnation that had plagued Cato since he had fled Rome began to dissolve in the support of the people, and the confidence that he was at last where he needed to be.
Cato broke free of the crowds later in the morning. His new purchase should be waiting for him at home by now, but he took the slow route back to the house, stopping to talk with several businessmen along the way.
Yes, he had crossed a line today, committed himself to a course of action.
But he was far from sure that everyone would approve.
CHAPTER 30
Ariella woke to sunlight streaming onto the cushions from high windows in Europa's house, found Jeremiah dozing on a mat beside her, and jumped from her bed, forgetting her injuries.
Several breathless moments later, she probed her ribs with her fingers and decided that, although painful, the pain was bearable. The cuts on her upper arm were still dressed with Europa's rags. The bruises, well . . . there was nothing to be done there.
She slipped past Jeremiah, not wanting to disturb his rest, and made her way to the garden, where several servants tended the flowering bushes, stripping dead blossoms and clipping stray branches.
Flora was there as well and looked up at her approach.
"Will you give your mother my thanks? I must get back." How much did the girl know of her plight? She nodded in seeming understanding, and Ariella fled the house and headed through the morning shopping crowd, toward the theater and the gladiator barracks behind it.
The sidewalks were crowded already, and more than once she came up fast behind a strolling citizen and had to pull back, circle around and dodge through gaps in the crowd to keep moving. Drusus and the others would have missed her by now. What would be her punishment for having been gone all night?
But when she crossed under the entrance to the barracks training field and saw Drusus under the portico at the field's edge, he held out his hands in a gesture of welcome and even relief.
She approached warily, disbelieving that he had been concerned.
"There you are at last." His voice carried across the field, and drew the attention of those who lounged or trained.
"I am sorry, Drusus. I was—"
He waved away her apology. "I care not where you spent the night. Or with whom." He winked as if they were drinking comrades. "But you have turned out to have more value than I ever dreamed, and I feared I would have to return the gold if you did not show."
"The gold?"
"Oh, yes." Drusus's yellow-toothed smile was one of leering amusement. "He has paid quite a sum for you. At first I said my new little gladiator had turned out to be a better entertainer than I had imagined. But in the end"—he spread his palms wide, as if to indicate his own helplessness in the face of a tempting offer—"I had to agree that gold in the hand is always worth more than the uncertain gold of the future."
Ariella shook her head several times, for a strange, warning sort of buzzing had begun between her ears. "What are you talking about, Drusus?"
He grinned. "Oh, do not act surprised, my young lad. You must have known that this would be the outcome of all the attention your benefactor has displayed. It was not enough to pay for your private lodging, to sponsor the games, to watch you fight." Drusus shook his head, his greasy hair swinging. "Ho, when he jumped into the arena to save you, I saw a hundred more games sponsored by noblemen anxious to prove their manhood. But it would seem that he must have you closer than that. In his house, where his access to you will be unrestricted." Drusus again held out innocent hands. "And who am I to prevent ardor, in whatever form it takes?"
Ariella's head throbbed now, with a sharp pain that felt like a dagger behind the eyes. "Portius Cato?" She felt her hands clench at her sides. "Are you saying that he has paid for me?"
"Oh, he has paid well, my boy. Quite well."
She staggered backward, saw the blue sky ripple above her. Drusus reached out a hand to steady her. "Come now, there are worse things than being the slave of a rich man." He laughed. "You will not likely die at the end of a sword, for one."
Unless it is the end of my own sword.
He gave her a little shove. "You must go now. I promised him I would deliver you before noon, and you have kept me waiting."
Ariella shook her head, wordless.
"What? You don't want to go?" He leaned in, his lecherous voice a rasp in her ear. "Does he do things to you? Things you do not like?"
Ariella swallowed. Drusus's question came not from concern but from some sick curiosity.
"Do not do this, Drusus. Do not sell me to him."
He brushed his
hands together. "It is already done."
"I will not go."
His eyes narrowed. "Then you shall be taken there." He glanced across the field at the clustered group of fighters, passing the dipper of water. "Two of you, over here."
Ariella turned to her colleagues, hoping for pity, an ally. But it was Paris and Floronius who responded. Perhaps they sensed that the summons had something to do with her, and were quick to grasp the chance to humiliate her.
"Our newest fighter is leaving us." Drusus pushed her toward them, and she stumbled, lost her balance and was forced to brace herself against Paris's chest. She snatched her hand back, as though she had been burned. "Ari has been purchased by Portius Cato, in the Arnio Pollo block. But it would seem that our young friend will not go willingly."
He needed say no more. The two brutes grabbed her by the arms and dragged her toward the gate before she could get her feet under her body. Her feet spun to gain ground, and she yanked at their hold on her. "I will walk!"
But her two nemeses would not give up the sanctioned rough handling. Neither released his grip, only their tongues as they dragged her through the city streets.
"At last." Paris's voice was gleeful. "We are rid of the runt who would steal the people's attention."
Floronius laughed. "We can be glad, at least, of the attention of one nobleman."
Ariella struggled still to get free of the tightening grasp of their iron fingers on her upper arms. Paris's grip pinched just below Europa's dressing of her wound, threatening to tear open the gash. Her ribs blazed with heat. "Please." She still scrambled to keep up with their longer pace. "Let me walk."
"Let you run, you mean." Paris chuckled. "Run away as you did last night? Not a chance."
They drew attention as they pushed through townspeople milling along the sidewalk or coming and going from various shops, and Ariella cringed at both the physical pain and the pain of humiliation. She trained her eyes on her feet and let the anger build in her like embers fanned into flame. Sweat ran down the center of her back, but the sounds and sight of the busy streets faded as she released her surroundings and gave her thoughts free reign.