The Protector

  Touched to the heart, Adiona embraced Sapphira again. “I’d be honored. I’ve never had a mother.”

  “Then the honor is mine.”

  The men made quick work of saddling the horses one of Joseph’s sons had fetched from the stables. As she stroked her mount’s long neck, she noticed Josephina took overlong in her farewells to Quintus. After Josephina smothered Quintus in a second hug, Adiona itched to pinch the younger girl. An unfamiliar emotion settled over her like a murky, green fog. She wanted to pull Josephina’s hair out by the roots or push her over the seawall. Most of all, she wanted Josephina’s hands off her man!

  She knew she was being childish. She believed Quintus’s explanation of the relationship, but the fact that he admitted to loving the younger girl in any fashion when he didn’t love her tied Adiona’s heart in a knot.

  Another hug and Adiona was boiling. “Are you ready to go, Quintus?” she asked coolly. “Or shall we all head back inside the tabernae and plan to leave tomorrow?”

  Quintus, the infuriating man, dared to laugh. Joseph’s sons snickered. Quintus lifted Adiona into her saddle and climbed into his own. “By all means, let’s travel.”

  Seething, she noticed Josephina’s smirk as they left.

  What is that girl up to? she wondered, just as they turned the corner.

  Chapter Eleven

  What is wrong with you? Adiona mused to herself as their group made slow progress through the street’s morning throng. Josephina is a sheltered fifteen-year-old, not a devious matron out to ruin you.

  Musing she needed a change from the intrigues of Rome, she felt absurd for suspecting the girl of nefarious activity and was more than a little embarrassed by her waspish behavior at the inn. Still shaken by the knowledge that she loved Quintus, she willed her tight muscles to relax. The attack from her unknown enemy, Falco’s scheming and the uncertainty of where and when her assassins might catch up with her, if indeed they were even following her, must be taking a toll on her nerves.

  “It’s a good day to sail.”

  Adiona glanced at Quintus. His eyes were a deep shade of heart-stirring green in the lean, bronzed planes of his face. “What?”

  “It’s windy.” He gestured toward the colorful flags stretched taut by the strong gusts of air. “It’s a good day for a sail.”

  Caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed they’d arrived at the wharf. Busy and thriving, Ostia was Rome’s main port, providing the landlocked capital with goods from all over the world. In the half-light provided by the rising sun, galleys and sailing ships were being loaded at the docks. Some ships had already sailed or put oars to water as they navigated the man-made channel that led farther out to sea.

  Joseph’s son, David, drew his horse alongside Quintus. “Horatius is waiting for us at the last dock.”

  “You’re sure he’s an adequate captain?”

  “The best I know, besides you,” David said with a grin. “His boat isn’t large, but it’s swift. If the weather holds, you’ll make Neopolis by midmorning.”

  The closer they got to the water, the stronger the wind. The air was heavy with a sharp hint of salt and strong stench of fish. White-capped waves marched toward shore, jostling the vessels moored in the docks.

  A large, heavily bearded man met them on the wharf. Dressed in a stained brown tunic, he wore a gold hoop pierced through each ear. David introduced him as Horatius, their captain.

  Horatius led them to a well-maintained sailing ship, its sail lashed tightly to the cross mast. Once on board the vessel, the men talked amicably. All seemed well until the captain glanced at Adiona with the kind of lascivious intent that left her longing for a bath.

  Disgusted but used to male aggression of that sort, she ignored him as though he were dirt. Still talking, Quintus turned and looked over his shoulder, following the other man’s gaze across to the deck toward her.

  He gave her a reassuring smile, then turned back to Horatius, his hands clenched into fists. The wind swept across the deck stealing Quintus’s words, but she understood by the captain’s sudden shamefaced expression that Quintus had defended her honor.

  Lighthearted, Adiona gripped the ship’s rail. She pressed into the wind, her cloak whipping around her, and made her way across the rocking deck to a long, wide bench near the blunt-shaped stern. Chilled by the cold sea air, she shivered. She placed her satchel on the bench beside her and bundled deeper into her cloak.

  Flocks of birds in vee formations filled the cerulean sky. Their calls vied for precedence over the snatches of foreign languages drifting to her from the nearby piers. She leaned back against the bulkhead. Her hopes for an uneventful journey began to rise. Whether Falco had been in league with her assassins or formed his own band of thugs, the attack on Onesimus and the others proved the murderers didn’t know her whereabouts. The knowledge was a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders. The danger was far from over, but for now it seemed routed.

  Her thoughts returned to Octavia and the three precious girls who’d be motherless if she failed to recover. A need to make haste for Neopolis gripped her. She wanted to pray for her friend, but rejected the notion. Except for the day she asked the gods to keep Quintus safe in the arena, she hadn’t sought their help in years.

  A shadow fell across the deck. “You look sad, my lady. If it has to do with the captain, don’t be troubled. He won’t bother you again.”

  She grinned. “Thanks to you, my protector.”

  “That’s what I’m being paid for,” he said.

  She realized he was joking, but the undeniable truth caused her heart to sink like an anchor. Looking out to sea, she brushed loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. “I’m worried about Octavia.”

  “We’ll be under way soon.”

  “It can’t be soon enough.”

  He leaned back against the rail across from her, his arms folded across his broad chest, his legs braced against the sway of the boat. The sun glinted on his black hair and darkened his skin to a deep burnished bronze.

  “I wanted to pray for her,” she said.

  He dropped his hands and gripped the rail behind him. “Why don’t you?”

  “Except for once recently, I haven’t prayed for a long while. I don’t think the gods even exist,” she whispered, aware she spoke blasphemy.

  He leaned toward her in a conspiratorial manner. “Don’t be shocked, but I don’t believe in them, either.”

  She worked her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Yes, but you do believe in your God.”

  “Why don’t you believe in Him, too?” he invited pragmatically.

  When she didn’t answer right away, he offered, “Would you like me to pray for your friend, my lady?”

  She raised her hand to her forehead, shielding the sun from her eyes. “Yes,” she said, reassured and comforted by his ability to pray even when she found she could not.

  He sat next to her and took her hand in his warm grasp. He bowed his dark head. “Dear Heavenly Father, Adiona and I come to You concerning her friend, Octavia. We’ve been told she’s unwell and may perish. We don’t know the future, but You do. If she’s not already recovered, and if it be Your will, we ask that You heal her in Jesus’s name, amen.”

  Stunned, Adiona blinked in confusion. “You address your God as Father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” she asked more sharply than she intended.

  “Our texts say that as believers in Christ we’re adopted into God’s family. That we’re no longer spiritual slaves, but are His sons and daughters.”

  She pulled her hand away. “I already had a father. I don’t need another one.”

  His brows drew together. She saw the questions forming in his too-quick mind. She refused to speak of the General. It was bad enough she’d told Quintus about her husband.

  The boat lurched as it was cast loose from its mooring. David and Seth wrestled with the square canvas sail, while Otho and Rufus pulled up the anchor. Frantic to change the subje
ct, Adiona latched on to the first thought that came to her head. “What did David mean when he said you’re a captain?”

  His mouth tightened. He settled back on the bench and rubbed his palm over his tired eyes. She hadn’t fooled him. She’d have to be careful or he’d steer the conversation back to her father before she realized what he’d done.

  “I used to own a fleet.” His eyes were bloodshot, his handsome face lined with fatigue. He’d said he planned to sleep today on deck. She was keeping him awake. “I found it boosted my profits to own my ships,” he continued. “There was no middleman to pay and where there was room, my captains were instructed to rent out the space.”

  “You were very rich.”

  “My family and I were comfortable enough, though I doubt I was as rich as you.”

  “Yes, well, my husband had several more decades than you’ve had to make his fortune.”

  “I suppose so.” He shrugged and leaned against the bulkhead. His eyelids grew heavy. He struggled to keep them open. “It doesn’t matter. It’s only money. I’ll make more.” His eyes closed. Thick black lashes fanned out like miniature arches across his high cheekbones.

  Adiona waited, careful not to disturb him. When his breathing turned deep and even, she reached for her satchel and removed one of the silk tunics she’d brought to wear once she reached her destination. She folded it into a soft pillow. Coaxing him into a reclined position, she placed the tunic under his head, then used all her strength to lift his muscular legs onto the bench. She stepped away, breathing heavily. Stretched out on his back, Quintus slept with his left palm flat on his chest, his right arm dangling to the deck. Her chest tightened. He looked boyish, the lines of stress banished by slumber.

  She thought to take off his sandals, but changed her mind. The movement was certain to disturb him. She lovingly brushed his hair off his brow and, unable to resist the temptation, buried her fingers in the soft, thick strands.

  When she’d done all she could to make him comfortable, she sat on the deck, leaning against the lip of the bench like a bolster in case the ship rolled and pitched him forward. Taking his right hand off the deck, she kissed each of his callused fingers and the center of his palm. “Sleep, my love. I’ll be your guard and keep you safe for once.”

  The Bay of Neopolis sparkled like sapphires in the midmorning sun. Adiona brushed a loving hand over Quintus’s lightly bristled jaw before calling his name. He woke instantly, pushing himself into a sitting position, his sandaled feet hitting the deck with a thud.

  Adiona snatched her tunic off the bench and stuffed it into her satchel before he realized she’d made a pillow for him. Quintus rubbed his face with his palms and stood.

  “Did you sleep well?” Adiona asked.

  “Remarkably well.” He grinned, adjusting his tunic and the gladius strapped to his belt. “Did I miss anything?”

  “The view was gorgeous,” she said, thinking of his face as she’d watched him sleep. “But the voyage was calm and uneventful.”

  Once on land, Quintus paid Horatius. He waited with her and the others while David inquired about directions. Usually, a whole host of servants traveled with her. Under normal circumstances, one would have been sent to Drusus’s household to inform them of her arrival. Horses would have been provided for her as well as a guide for her party. However, Quintus stubbornly refused to send word to her heir, reasoning that if Drusus were embroiled in the assassination attempt on her life, the fiend didn’t need extra warning in which to make plans.

  Although administered by Rome, Neopolis rejoiced in its Greek roots. Inhabitants thrived on the classical arts: music, theater and literature despite the economic decline that had hit the city decades earlier. The eruption of Vesuvius and the destruction of Pompeii and the surrounding town two years previously had not helped matters, but Adiona suspected people paid little heed if the colorful posters advertising a plethora of entertainments was anything to go by.

  The lively but dirty street that led to Drusus’s home was lined with brightly painted houses. A salty breeze blew in from the bay as people sat in arched doorways playing dice or board games of twelve lines or lucky sixes.

  The uncertainty of Octavia’s condition caused Adiona’s head to drum with tension. Hope for Octavia’s recovery wrestled with a fear that Adiona might be too late. The need to see her friend became paramount. Quintus’s steady pace frustrated her until she wanted to scream.

  Adiona noticed that with each step their horses took, Quintus grew quieter, tenser. Alert and cautious, he sat rigid in his saddle, the reins clenched tight in his fists. His profile was hard and unyielding, as though his chiseled features had been cast in bronze.

  “I know this place,” she said when they came to a short row of market stalls selling bread and other dry goods. “We need to go left. We’re almost there.”

  She bristled when Quintus looked to David for confirmation before heading in the direction she’d indicated. Typical man!

  Two blocks ahead, Adiona recognized the domus Drusus rented from her. The largest residence on the street, the stucco, two-story building was surrounded by a high protective wall and massive front gates. Stripped of the colorful potted flowers and hanging baskets Octavia used to soften the exterior, the stark facade radiated a sense of foreboding.

  Adiona’s stomach churned sickly. She feared the worst.

  A guard met them at the gate. Quintus explained who they were and offered the scroll Salonius had given Adiona in Rome as proof of their identities. The gate opened. A slave appeared on the front steps, then quickly retreated.

  Once inside the courtyard, Quintus dismounted. He helped Adiona do the same. He took her satchel, carrying it for her as she moved swiftly toward the columned portico.

  Drusus arrived in the doorway just as Adiona started up the steps. Short and shaped like an egg on legs, Drusus clapped his chubby ring-bedecked hands in welcome. “My lady Adiona! Gods be praised. You’ve finally arrived! The girls and I feared you’d met with harm as each day ticked by without your gracious presence.”

  “I left Rome as soon as possible.”

  Adiona searched her heir’s round face and small brown eyes for any trace of bereavement. When she found none a fountain of hope sprang up inside her. “Octavia? Is she well? Has she recovered?”

  A feigned expression of sadness pulled his ungenerous mouth into a frown. “Sadly, you’re too late. Octavia is dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Numb from the heavy weight of grief, Adiona entered the house. The sweet aroma of incense nearly overpowered her in the grand entryway. A mosaic of a serpent-draped Bacchus enjoying a feast covered the floor. The walls were painted in a fresco of a forest filled with romping nymphs and fauns. How like Drusus to surround himself with pictures of parties and excess.

  “When did Octavia pass into the afterlife?”

  “Sadly enough, the day after Salonius left us for Rome.”

  “I’m truly sorry. I know you must have been devastated by her untimely passing.”

  “The children will miss her,” he said, unconcerned. “I, on the other hand, had to cancel a hunting trip.”

  “A hunting trip?”

  “Yes, I can’t tell you how vexed I was when Octavia didn’t have the decency to live until after I’d returned…or at least until after I’d gone.”

  Every nerve in her body taut with indignation for Octavia’s sake, she itched to slap him.

  “Where are the girls? I’d very much like to see them.”

  His brow crinkled as though she’d asked him to calculate a difficult mathematical equation. “I believe they were sent to their grandmother.”

  Adiona’s jaw tightened in frustration. How could any decent man not know where his children were located?

  Disgusted a gem like Octavia had been wasted on a lout who bore her so little regard, Adiona struggled to maintain a mask of politeness out of respect for her departed friend.

  Drusus reached for her hand, then though
t better of touching her. With a derisive glance at Quintus and their small traveling party, he called for his steward. “Have someone take these men to the slave quarters.”

  “No,” Adiona snapped. “Install Quintus in a room next to mine and provide these other fine men with chambers of their own.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Drusus denied like an affronted rooster. “Slaves and gladiators as guests in my home?”

  Adiona felt Quintus stiffen beside her. “Shall I remind you, Drusus, that I own this house? You’re as much a guest here as anyone else.”

  Impotent fury burned in Drusus’s narrowed eyes. His hostile gaze flicked to Quintus, before raking over Adiona. “So the ice maiden has finally taken a lover. How charming. I’m sure Salonius will be interested to know you’re sleeping with a slave behind his back.”

  A sound very much like a growl emanated from Quintus’s throat. Adiona sidled in front of him, worried he might attack her heir before she learned the information she sought. “Salonius? What does he have to do with me?”

  “He was here a week ago. I know you saw him in Rome. You wouldn’t know about Octavia otherwise.”

  “I did see him—”

  “Of course, you did. You’re betrothed to him.”

  She laughed so hard, she gasped for breath. “Excuse me? Me marry Salonius? Either you’re jesting or you’ve lost your mind.”

  “I don’t believe you. He told me himself.”

  A subtle breeze blew away all hints of amusement from the entryway. She straightened her spine and leveled him with glacial stare. “You believe Salonius…over me?”

  For once Drusus had the wit to back down. He studied the toe of his sandal. “Of course not, my dear. That would be foolish of me.”

  And you’re the biggest fool I know. “Look at me, Drusus.”

  He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.

  “Have you conspired to murder me?”

  Every man in the room gasped. Drusus’s eyes bugged and he paled. He looked as though he might choke…or worse, faint. “Of course not, Adiona! I’m not an imbecile. I know the terms of your will.”