The Protector (12 page)

N
umb 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 thought 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.”

“Fine, then. Show us to our rooms and let’s forget this unpleasant discussion ever happened. I wish to see Octavia. Where have you placed her?”

He seemed to relax, but his hand shook as he combed back his thinning hair. “In the garden just as she asked. You know how she loved to waste time on her flowers.”

Adiona swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Yes, too bad she was surrounded by so many weeds.”

The household steward showed Adiona to her room on the second floor. Quintus was given the room next door, while the other four men were installed in two separate rooms across the hall.

The warmth of the large chamber’s deep red walls welcomed her. A comfortable-looking sleeping couch dominated one corner. To her left, against the wall, a beautifully carved chest waited for her clothes. Pleased to let in more light, she had the steward place her satchel on the marble-topped desk and open the double doors that overlooked the house’s back garden.

A short time later, a maid, Caelina, arrived with a selection of Octavia’s jewelry, cosmetics and floral perfumes to help her bathe and dress.

After her bath, Adiona wrapped herself in a length of soft linen and waited while Caelina curled and arranged her hair in an upswept style pinned with gold clips.

As Adiona reached for the jars of cosmetics, she caught her reflection in the looking glass and stilled, confused by the sensation that she’d never seen herself clearly. The black hair and curved brows were the same. The amber, slightly up-slanted eyes, straight nose and full lips were familiar, as well. But, as if a miracle had happened somewhere along the Ostian Way, gone was the need to hide behind a thick mask of face paint and kohl. With a light hand, she applied a soft gloss to her lips and just enough cosmetics to disguise the trace of bruises on her cheeks.

She reached for her satchel. She’d brought two tunics and
pallas
with her from Rome. One, a cheerful yellow in hopes she arrived to find a healthy Octavia, the other in mournful black.

Her chest swelled with grief as she donned the flowing black silk. The maid opened the alabaster jewelry box. Adiona blinked back tears, recognizing several pieces she’d sent as gifts to Octavia over the years. Normally, she would have worn most of the baubles as befit her wealth, station and the expectations of everyone around
her. Instead, she chose a simple pair of long gold earrings, a delicate bracelet and an obsidian ring she slid onto her right index finger.

“Is that all,
domina?
” the maid asked, obviously confused by a woman who ignored a feast in favor of a morsel.

A knock sounded on the door. Caelina set down the box and rushed to answer it. “It’s your bodyguard,
domina
.”

“Let him—”

“What were you thinking?” Quintus interrupted as he stalked across the threshold. He froze when he saw her. The lines of irritation faded from his face. He seemed to catch his breath.

“When?” she asked, pleased by his reaction more than she could say.

He shook his head and rallied. “Downstairs when you confronted that piece of slime you call an heir. Did you expect him to admit he’d tried to kill you?”

Aware there was a good chance Caelina was her slimy heir’s spy, she offered Quintus a calm smile and entwined her arm with his. “Walk me to the garden, will you?”

His frustration unconcealed, he led her into the hall. She patted his hand in an effort to soothe him. “What you don’t understand about Drusus,” she said once they were alone, “is that for all his bluster, he’s much too slow of mind to form a believable lie when asked a direct question.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she assured him as they descended the stairs. “I know Drusus.”

“I don’t trust him,” he said.

Soft music drifted to them from the inner peristyle surrounding the central garden. She forced a grin in an
effort to ease his discontent. “I never said
I
trusted him, either. I promise you I’ll be careful.”

He sighed and tugged his hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you harmed.”

Her confidence bloomed, fed and watered by his blatant concern for her. She feigned an air of haughty grace and winked at him. “I’m Adiona Leonia, Lioness of Rome. No one can touch me.”

He ran a fingertip along the smooth curve of her jaw and leaned closer to brush a curl behind her ear. He frowned. “What scent are you wearing, lioness?”

The question startled her. “Do I smell?” She pressed her nose to her shoulder and drew in a delicate sniff, certain by his expression she must reek. “Mmm…like flowers.”

Relieved, she laughed. “You had me worried. Caelina put rose oil in my bath.”

“I’m used to you smelling of cinnamon.”

“And you prefer that?” she asked, thinking she’d order a vat of the potion once she returned to Rome.

He nodded. “It suits you better.”

“How so?” She leaned into him. “It’s sweet—”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not
sweet.
”

“—with a healthy dose of spice.”

She rolled her eyes.

He cupped her cheek with his palm, his voice turned kind. “I’m truly sorry about your friend.”

Mesmerized by the tenderness in his eyes, she whispered, “Thank you. Now I must go to her.”

He reluctantly let her go and stepped back. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Lifting the hem of her black tunic and billowy
palla,
Adiona entered the villa’s inner courtyard. In life, Octavia
had loved the rectangular space and filled it with a wealth of flowers that bloomed in every season.

The haunting melody of a panpipe mingled with the gentle splash of the central fountain and the conversation of a small group of visitors. Her eyes misted with tears of sadness and burned from the sweet cloud of incense as she crossed the verdant garden to the slim linen-covered body laid out in wake.

Already the sixth and final day of mourning, she’d nearly missed the chance to pay her respects. Guests were already arriving for Octavia’s procession outside the city where she would be cremated.

She rested a hand on Octavia’s shrouded arm. Remembering how the gentle woman had always been quick to give a hug or lend a hand in need, she bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing. She would always regret not arriving in time to care for her friend during her sickness or to offer a final goodbye.

Through the thick haze of incense smoke, she saw Drusus immersed in conversation with an elegant older woman.

Drusus left his guest and weaved his way toward Adiona. In the hour since their confrontation in the entryway, he’d changed his light tunic to one of black. Carrying a gold chalice in his hand, he came to a stop on the other side of his wife’s corpse.

“See, Adiona, I followed all the cus…customs just like I knew you’d expect.”

“Really? Moments after Octavia died, you closed her eyes and called out her name?”

He nodded, smug.

“Then you had her body washed and—”

“Yes, of course!”

“You placed a coin in her mouth for the ferryman?”

“I need to speak with you about that…”

“As I expected.”

“I did everything,” he defended hotly. “I even wasted more spices to…to keep the stench down.”

Drusus snapped his fingers at a passing slave to pour him more wine. Noting the slight slur in his words, she frowned, disturbed as much by his glassy gaze as the rancor in his voice.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk, Drusus?”

“I? At my own wife’s funeral?” He smirked, lifting the chalice to his lips to drink deeply. “I assure you, if I’m drunk it’s s…solely from grief.”

Liar.

She bit her tongue. Everyone knew the importance of following the proper rituals if a departed soul was to cross into the afterlife unhindered. To her surprise, Drusus seemed to have followed those customs.
At least most of them.
She didn’t want to start an argument at the wake when it might cause Octavia problems in the underworld.

“Octavia was a special woman, Drusus. You didn’t deserve her.”

He shrugged, unoffended. “I treated her well enough.”

She gritted her teeth. “I pray her journey across the River Styx is smooth and the Judges honor her with a favored place in the Elysian Fields.”

“I doubt she earned a
favored
place,” he said, taking another drink. “She was an adequate wife, but failed in her ultimate duty to give me sons.”

She gasped. “She gave you
three
beautiful daughters.”

“What are daughters but mouths to feed and eventual dowries to empty my purse?”

Adiona bristled. He sounded so
male
and unforgivably ignorant. Exactly like her father and her toad of a husband. “Be wise, Drusus, and hold your tongue before you vex me beyond endurance.
Your
daughters are the reason
you
are heir to a fortune.”

“Excuse me.” The elegant woman who she’d seen speaking with Drusus joined them beside Octavia’s body. “I apologize for the interruption but it’s time.”

Adiona paled. Mortified by her loss of temper in the circumstances, she dragged in a calming breath before offering a silent apology to Octavia. She squeezed her friend’s stiff fingers through the shroud as her body was carried away by four members of the funerary
collegia.

The procession to the outskirts of the city was long. Hours of mournful wailing, the heat of the pyre and the sad trek back to the house left Adiona drained of all but her grief. Thankfully, her bodyguards had been beside her, but it was Quintus’s stalwart presence that gave her the strength to endure.

Slaves had set up a feast for the returning mourners. Drusus wasted no time refilling his glass, not that he’d been overlong without wine. If anything, he was more inebriated now than when she’d last spoken with him.

Too upset to eat, Adiona had the slaves carry food to her guards. Just as he had earlier in the day, Quintus waited in the hall within easy striking distance in case she needed him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the elegant older woman she’d seen with Drusus approached her. An affable smile lit the woman’s dark brown eyes. “I’m Gaia. A friend of Drusus…and, of course, dear Octavia.”

“I’m Adiona Leonia.”

“Yes, I know. Octavia spoke of you often. She admired you greatly and praised your strength of will. She proclaimed you the most beautiful woman in the Empire. I see she didn’t exaggerate.”

“As always, Octavia was too kind.”