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“Many are the plans in a person’s heart,
but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”
Proverbs 19:21
Whether he wanted it or not, Quin was now the prison master of Philippi. If Fortuna smiled on him, and so far she hadn’t, he could save up some silver fast and get out of this sleepy outpost of a town.
He followed Decimus to the northwest corner of the forum. The terrain rose sharply northwest of the Via, and the structures, especially the prison, were built into the rocky soil.
They crossed the wide road and turned left. “The closest one is the jail, and the one next to it is your new domus. It’s not large, but it is quite nice.”
Decimus gestured to the jail as they passed. “There are six cells on the main floor, each of which can hold three or four if needed, though that would be an unusual case indeed, and below ground is the inner cell, which is used at night or for particularly troublesome or dangerous prisoners.” The duovir halted and pulled a key from his belt, then unlocked the front door of the small house and pushed it open. “I had it cleaned in case you decided to join us here. The house comes with a cook and a house slave.”
The door opened into a small atrium, complete with an impluvium. Couches were arranged on either side. A young man and woman, about the same age, waited silently.
“You can acquire your own if you prefer, but they served the previous jailers, and are well acquainted with Philippi and what you may need. Of course, either of them can also take care of your more personal needs.”
The woman studied the tiled floor. The man stared over Quintus’s head.
Quintus wasn’t sure where to look.
“I apologize for the small size of the accommodations.” Decimus moved around the pool. “This was, I believe, a bakery or some other such building. It was turned into a domus many years ago, but it’s not exactly a traditional Roman house. You can use the rooms as you see fit. There are two on each side of the atrium for you to use as cubicula.”
Decimus led Quin through the hall to the other end of the domus. He halted and turned to face him. “To your left is the culina, and a small dining area—not a real triclinium, of course—is here on your right. You have a garden along the back here.” He stepped into the garden. “Whoever converted this into a house had this garden installed. Had the roof removed. Made the house seem even smaller, I think. The house was connected to the aqueduct for the bakery and so he also put in the fountain. Again, I do apologize, but at least you have somewhere to live until you find something more appropriate.”
Quin shook his head as he circled the fountain. “This is more than enough for me. You forget I’ve been sleeping in a tent for most of the last six years.”
“Still, it’s not what you are entitled to, as a tribu—”
“It’s more than enough.” He approached the fountain as he scanned the garden. Not a true peristyle, since it had no columns or portico, it was nonetheless open to the sky and abundant in flowering plants.
And it had a fountain. Not like the massive, ostentatious one his pater had in their villa in Rome. This one was quite simple. A basin about as wide as he was tall, a small column in the middle that ended in a spout that spewed water.
But that beautiful sound was the same.
Perhaps Fortuna had blessed him after all.
And after fourteen years in Rome’s army, how could overseeing a jail in Macedonia be that hard?
This should be easy.
Humiliating, but easy.
The Roumanos with the piercing gray eyes sat before her. Since meeting him on the ship, Tia had seen him in the forum several times. A few times she’d even caught him watching her, but he’d never come for a message. He wasn’t as tall as Britanni men, and his face was as smooth as a baby’s. She’d never understood why Roumani men scraped the hair from their faces each day with a blade. Grown men should have beards.
With a disarming smile, he laid his hand on the table.
She didn’t need to hold his hand. Didn’t need to touch him at all. But she’d set up the ruse, and now she was bound by it. She slipped her hand under his. It was warm and large, rough and strong. A gold seal ring, with a winged horse, adorned his smallest finger.
Brigit, show me. She avoided his steady gaze. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Quintus. What’s yours?”
“I am called Tia. Do you have any particular question for the goddess today? Do you have travel plans? Family concerns? A decision you need help with?”
“I’ve made a decision, and I need to be sure I made the right one.”
“Can you tell me the nature of your decision, or perhaps the choices that you had?”
“I could’ve said yes, or I could have declined.” He grinned, accentuating the mark a blade had left on his cheek years ago.
“Very good.” She studied the candle, listening, waiting for the messages. The flickering flame danced but revealed nothing.
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Hush.” She closed her eyes, searching her mind. “The goddess is speaking,” she whispered.
“Really?” He chuckled.
She shoved his hand away. “Fine. You should go.” Even if the goddess gave her an answer after such irreverence, she wouldn’t pass it on. He didn’t deserve it. Let him figure out the answer to his problem himself.
“I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand with both of his and gently enclosed it. “I’m sorry, truly. May I have the answer?” His gaze held hers. “Please?”
She wanted to tell him no, but those eyes . . . they drew her in. He did seem truly repentant.
“One more chance. Belittle my gift—or my goddess—again—”
He shook his head vigorously. “No, I won’t. Never. I apologize.”
She removed his bottom hand and set it aside. “Now keep quiet.”
Speak to me.
A word formed, as out of the morning mist that covered the hillsides back home.
“The right answer was yes.”
He frowned briefly, blowing out a long breath. “All right.”
“Was that not your plan?”
“It wasn’t my preference, but I had no choice, really.” He dragged his free hand though his short, dark hair. “I have another question.”
“You paid for only one.” She folded her hands in her lap, a hint he should go.
He didn’t take it. “I’ll pay for another.”
She glanced behind him. No others waited. Cassia chatted with the owner of the silver shop next to theirs. Why not?
“What do you see in my future?”
She beckoned for his hand again. Closed her eyes. Crimson and black dominated a flurry of color and chaos, refusing to settle. She shuddered as the images settled into one disturbing vision. How could she say this? It was not a happy vision. Cassia and Max would punish her.
She jerked her hands free. “I see nothing. I’m sorry. You must go.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She glanced at her owners. “Why would you ask that?”
“You frowned.”
She shook her head. “No. You must go. Please.” Cassia was still distracted, but how long would that last?
“Why won’t you tell me?” His brow furrowed, his eyes begging her to continue.
“No. You need to go.” Any moment now, Cassia would walk in.
“Are you afraid I’ll be upset?” He glanced over his shoulder. “If I promise not to complain, will you tell me what you saw?”
Closing her eyes, she sighed and took his hand once more. “I see blood. Quite a bit, actually. And I feel pain, heart-rending agony.” She opened her eyes.
His face paled.
He was getting angry. She should have known better.
She poured all her energy into understanding the goddess’s message. “Wait—the blood is not yours. It’s near you. All around you. You are immersed in trouble.”
&nbs
p; “Who? Whose blood is it?” The Roumanos’s grip tightened.
Shaking her head, she opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s all I know. I didn’t see any more. I don’t often get details. Just impressions.”
“Do they always come true?”
“In one way or another, yes. Maybe it’s not as serious as it sounds. Once, I saw a great fall in a man’s life. He was afraid he would die for months. Wouldn’t go more than ten steps from his house. Then his son dropped a pottery bowl that belonged to his mother, who had recently died. Normally, he would have been furious, as it was very precious to him. But he was so relieved ‘the fall’ was a bowl and not him, he laughed.” She smiled weakly.
Relaxing, he leaned nearer. “I have one more question.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “My future—will you be in it?”
She laughed dryly. “After a vision like that? I don’t even have to ask the goddess that question. Not a chance.”
Gallus paced in the peristyle of his villa. There had to be a way to undo this mess Decimus had gotten him into. Quintus Valerius as his keeper of the prison—this was never going to work. He was obviously a good little soldier—too perfect. He would follow every law perfectly, make it impossible for Gallus to use the prison as he needed to. How was he supposed to lock up his enemies if the jailer was going to require a believable charge, a sufficient number of witnesses, and knew they should only be under house arrest instead if they had sufficient means?
Gallus needed to eliminate the tribune. But how? The law allowed Decimus to appoint him, and Gallus could not undo it. He could make something up, some horrible thing Quintus was guilty of, but he’d eventually be found out. He could try to dredge up some mistake in his past, but after all his years of exemplary service, Gallus would not likely find one. After all, he came with a recommendation from Titus Flavius Vespasian himself. And Vespasian had a great deal of influence since he’d returned from Britannia—to a triumphalia, no less. Vespasian was the darling of Rome at the moment, and he was not someone Gallus needed to make an enemy of.
No, the only way to get rid of the tribune was to catch him making a mistake now, here, in Philippi. To do that, Gallus would need help.
“Leonidas!” That slave was either nowhere to be found or hovering too close. “Leonidas! Come!”
His servant appeared. “Yes, Domine.”
“How many days has Quintus been the prison master?”
“Five.”
“Get me the names of everyone who works in the prison now that he is in charge. The scriba should have all the names.”
“Yes, Domine.”
Gallus returned to the peristyle and reclined on a couch. Nicanor brought him a platter of cold duck from the night before, along with fresh bread, and poured spiced wine.
His mind plotted as he swirled the wine in his golden goblet. He needed to find a few choice men who would be his allies, and he needed them on his side before Quintus could earn their loyalty. But what would be the best way to use them?
He had consumed the last bite of duck when Leonidas reappeared, wax tablet in hand.
He snapped his fingers and the slave placed the list on his lap. Wiping the grease from the duck on a cloth, he scanned the list. Recognizing a few of the names, he crossed off those he knew would be of no help to him and then placed a mark next to four of the remaining names.
“Bring me these men immediately.”
Leonidas blinked. “Domine, I’m sorry. To your house?”
He glared.
Leonidas bowed. “Yes, Domine.”
He waved the Greek away and drank the last of his wine as he paced. He should probably have had Leonidas flogged. Still, it wasn’t a stupid question. Gallus had never conducted city business from home. But this was different. He couldn’t be seen talking to these men in the basilica.
What should he say when they arrived? Should he bribe them? Simply order them? To do what exactly?
The questions came and went until Leonidas returned, four men trailing him. “The men you requested are in the atrium.”
“Have them wait. I’m not ready for them yet.”
After several more moments of fruitless wandering through his peristyle, he summoned them.
“Were any of you hired by Quintus Valerius, or were you there before he was appointed?”
An older man, balding and portly, scowled. “I was there. I was promised the position of keeper. I don’t know why it was given to him instead.”
“I assure you, that was not my decision.” He studied the other three. “And the rest of you?”
“I’m new, and so is he.” A young Greek, barely old enough to grow a beard but tall and strong, jerked his thumb at the man next to him.
“And where were you before?”
“We’re from the mines.”
Excellent. “And you?” Gallus pointed to the remaining guard.
“I’ve been there for over twenty years. I just want to finish my term and retire.” The man sighed and hooked his thumbs in the sash of his tunic.
Gallus resisted the urge to laugh out loud. He couldn’t have hand-picked a better group. “You—what’s your name?”
“Alexios,” the older man who wanted to be keeper answered.
“Go with Leonidas and wait in the peristyle while I finish with these three.”
When Alexios disappeared, Gallus returned his attention to the others. “I have a job for you. If you do well, you”—he pointed to the oldest—“will be allowed to retire early. If you do not, I will add ten years to your time.”
The old man’s scowl deepened.
“And you two will be sent back to the mines. Do you understand? Quintus may be the keeper, but I am duovir. I do not wish for you to make his job easy for him in any way. Do I need to elaborate further?” He fixed his gaze on each in turn, waiting for assent. “You are dismissed.”
The three exited and Leonidas ushered in Alexios.
“Bring more wine.”
The slave bowed and disappeared.
“Alexios, I have a proposition for you.”
“All right.” The chubby man’s eyes narrowed.
“I need you to watch Quintus and report to me on a regular basis.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know when he does something, anything, that is not lawful, or wise, or could be used against him in any way. And if it proves useful enough to remove him from his position, you will be appointed in his place.”
Leonidas rapped once on the door, then entered with a tray. He set it on a nearby couch, poured two glasses, and silently left.
Alexios thought for a moment. “How do I know you will keep your promise?”
“I didn’t promise, and you don’t know.”
He sucked in a deep breath, then shrugged. “All right.”
“But the other three are watching as well, and if I hear from them what I should have heard from you, you will be sent to the mines in their place.”
Alexios drained his cup. “I’ll report back in three days.”
“Two.”
“Two, then.” The older man lumbered to the door and left.
Now he only needed Quintus to do something unlawful, or at least ill-advised, and he needed Alexios to see it.
There was no doubt in his mind Alexios would report it. He wouldn’t dare be stupid enough to keep it from Gallus and risk his own life in the process.
How long it would take for the supremely disciplined tribune to make a mistake was another matter entirely.
Tia wandered down the hall toward the peristyle.
Something was definitely different. What was it?
Smiling. The other slaves were smiling. Jaws weren’t clenched, shoulders weren’t tight, even the air seemed lighter.
Why?
The open-air room was uncharacteristically empty when she entered. The morning platter of food left by the lectus was fille
d with less than half the normal amount of food.
Cassia came in from the other room. “Ah. Ready to leave?”
“Where’s the dominus?” She glanced around.
“He went to Amphipolis. He’ll be back tonight. It’s a short journey. Let’s go, before the coin goes to someone else.”
With Max gone, with one less set of eyes upon her, would there be a chance Tia could escape?
In the forum, a line formed quickly. She’d begun to recognize many of the questions. Some came every day, it seemed. But she waited patiently. The answers were always different. She made sure to hear the truth.
She didn’t want to be struck again.
Cassia was far less watchful than Max.
And Tia knew the way out of Philippi well. From the shop, she needed to go to the end of Commercial Road, only a few steps north to the forum, then either east or west on the Via Egnatia. From here? She was already more than halfway there. Could she make it fast enough? But then where would she go? Neapolis was to the east. That was about the extent of her knowledge.
The young man who wanted to know if his wife had been unfaithful—she hadn’t—left and an old woman approached.
North of town lay the mountains. Full of gold, they said. She could probably live there, for a while. Winter would come soon. But winter here was like autumn at home. She could do it.
The old woman wanted to know if it was safe to travel. It was.
Cassia neared. Why did she have to hover? Tia would never get away with her so close.
A young man asked if he should begin a new business with a friend. He should.
And so the questions, and answers, continued. When the sun reached its apex, they retired to their shop in the marketplace. Many of their regular customers came later in the day looking for bargains as the vendors lowered their prices.
As the day drew to a close, Max strolled up.
Cassia greeted him with a kiss. “Did you complete the transaction?”
“I did. Learned something else too.” He grinned.
“What’s that?”
Sold Into Freedom Page 10