“He’ll have to return tomorrow,” she said without pausing her rapid pace toward the front of the palace. “The meeting with my property manager has made me late.”
“But domina…” Her steward’s steps gained ground behind her. “He says it’s urgent.”
“When is it not urgent, Felix?” she tossed over her shoulder. “And yet, when is it ever?”
“He brings word from your heir.”
“Most likely Drusus means to beg more coin.” She plucked a white silk palla from her maid’s outstretched fingers and swirled the bejeweled shawl around her shoulders without missing a step. “If not for my cousin’s sweet wife and lovely daughters, I swear on Jupiter’s stone, I’d never send that worthless leech another copper as.”
Without warning, the beaded curtain separating the corridor from the inner courtyard parted. Salonius’s large frame filled the doorway. The epitome of a Roman upper-class male, he was freshly shaven and clothed in white linen. Dark curls were cropped close to his head and his manicured nails suggested many hours of leisure spent at the baths.
“My lady.” He bowed and gave her one of the quick smiles she was certain he practiced in any reflective surface he came across. Why so many women found his studied seduction attractive, she couldn’t guess.
“Salonius,” she acknowledged with a quick nod. “You’ll have to excuse me. I must be on my way.”
His hand snaked out and caught her wrist in a light but unbreakable grip. “Surely you can take a few moments to see an old friend, my sweet?”
She tried to shake off his touch, but he held firm. “Unhand me,” she said loftily.
“In a moment.” He brushed his wet lips over her knuckles.
Repulsed, she yanked free of his hold and wiped the back of her hand on her stola.
Torchlight lent him the feral, yet amused, appearance of a hyena. “When are you going to stop this charade and admit you wish to wed me as much I want you to?”
“I suppose when the River Styx runs dry and Vulcan’s forging fires extinguish.”
His laughter echoed through the domed corridor. “Don’t lie, precious. Everyone knows you’re just waiting until I fall to my knees and beg for your hand.”
“I’ve no doubt everyone and the little wife you keep hidden away in the country would find that most amusing. As for me, I’d think you quite foolish.”
His laughter faded, replaced by an ardent seriousness that caught her off guard. “You know I’d divorce her like this—” he snapped his fingers “—if you’d agree to be my wife.”
“Then your wife has nothing to fear from me.”
His expression soured as he slowly circled her. “You’re off to the Viriathos reception, I imagine.”
“Yes.” Aware that wealthy, yet idle, men like Salonius both revered and despised the gladiators, she hid a smirk at his disgruntled tone and turned to leave.
“Wait.” He held out a scroll as if it were a treat meant for an eager puppy. “I returned from Paestum by way of Neopolis this afternoon. You’ll want to read this.”
“Leave it with Felix. I’ll see to it when I return.”
“No, Drusus has important news. It can’t wait.”
Resigned and conscious of the passing time, she swiped the scroll from his outstretched hand and hurried away before he delayed her further. Outside, she cringed at the late hour. The sun had already set, its red-and-gold streaks fading into a deep purple sky.
A brisk breeze ruffled the curls piled high on her head and flowing over her shoulders as she crossed the columned portico to the litter awaiting her. Titus, her lead guard, drew the transport’s heavy drapes aside. Her gold bracelets jangled as she climbed inside and breathed the scent of cloves her slaves had used to freshen the luxurious cushions. “Let’s be on our way, Titus. Caros will never speak to me again if I don’t show my face soon.”
The litter lurched as four burly slaves lifted the conveyance and prepared for travel. Titus gave orders for her three other guards to take their positions surrounding the group.
The light dimmed as they carried her from her palace’s torch-lit courtyard and into the dark streets of the Palatine Hill. With no lantern to read Drusus’s message, she adjusted the heavy silk of her embroidered stola and reclined against the fringed feather pillows and mountain of furs.
“Gods below, I hate weddings.” Only for Caros could she be swayed within a league of a marriage fete. She despised all reminders of her own marriage. Even now, eleven years later, she remembered the terror and helplessness she’d suffered that hideous day. And worse, later that night when Crassus ordered his guards to beat her for failing him.
A shudder of disgust rippled through her. Her fingers tightened on the scroll and she squeezed her eyes shut, glad the wicked old toad was dead. Reminding herself she was no longer that helpless twelve-year-old girl, but an independent woman in charge of her own life, she pushed the hateful memories to the back of her mind.
As the litter passed deeper into the maze of city streets, the sound of her slaves’ swift steps mingled with the aroma of cook fires and the local inhabitants’ bursts of laughter or occasional arguments.
Pleased by the litter’s quick pace, she willed herself to relax. She’d spent the last several days dreading tonight. Given Caros and Pelonia’s fondness for their Christian slave, Quintus was sure to be in attendance. Her attraction to him was over, she vowed, but the sting of his insults still smarted. With no desire to be further humiliated, she planned to avoid him at all costs.
Twisting one of the long curls flowing over her shoulder, Adiona tamped down her melancholy mood and forced her thoughts back to Caros. The fact that her friend was a Christian amazed her. When Caros confessed his belief in the illegal sect and their crucified God, he’d known she would keep his secret, just as he’d kept various secrets for her over the years. But she had trouble understanding why he’d put his life on the line when all gods were the same, and like most people, not to be trusted.
The litter slowed. She sat up. They couldn’t have arrived already. They’d passed through the city gate and turned onto the lonely stretch of road leading to Caros’s gladiator school mere moments ago. They had at least half a mile left to travel.
“Halt!” a commanding voice ordered.
The litter stopped. She reached for the curtain, annoyed by the delay that might squander the good time they’d made since leaving Palatine Hill. “Domina, stay inside,” Titus warned in a low voice meant for her ears alone. “We’ve met with a band of street rats. There may be trouble and you’re easier to defend if you remain hidden.”
“Let us pass,” another of her guards demanded of the thieves. “We’re guests of the lanista, Caros Viriathos. Cause us no trouble and we may allow you to live.”
Tension sizzled through the night. The sound of ominous footsteps penetrated the thin layers of cloth cocooning her. A twinge of anxiety snaked through the darkness and across the back of her neck.
