Love Is in the Air (55 page)

Yet, Fiona fidgeted as she gathered the ingredients for dinner. Syra braced herself for the cook’s confession.

“You will think me silly,” Fiona finally admitted.

“Loose your tongue, woman.”

Taking a deep breath, the cook turned with tears in the corners of her eyes. “Once Lylith tastes your toffee, she will have little use for me.”

“You think I wish to replace you?”

“Nay. Not your desire, but Lylith’s, yes. One day soon I may be down in my heels, cooking in the market.”

Secretly, Syra felt relief ripple through her body. There was no plot uncovered, only Fiona’s insecurities. “Brutus surely would not allow that to happen.”

“Perhaps in the past. But now? His mind is elsewhere. It worries me.”

“He is the same man, Fiona.”

“Is he? Two weeks ago I would have wagered a year’s salary that Brutus himself would have been beating down the streets in search of Tiberius. Now he will barely speak his name.”

Indecision tore at Syra. How she wished to comfort this woman. The news would be so soothing to the cook. But she could not reveal that the stable boy was safe without revealing other less-appealing truths. No, she would honor Brutus’ request. Yet there had to be a way to relieve Fiona’s other worries.

“It is simple. I shall not cook.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. Then what is your role here?”

“As you said, I will land on my feet.”

Fiona was suddenly distracted as she checked the tomatoes. “Oh, dear.”

“What is wrong?”

“I forgot to buy fresh tomatoes.”

Syra did not see why this was such a crisis. “No bother. We will collect some tomorrow.”

The cook was now nearly frenzied, pulling out all of the fruit in the pantry. “It will be too late. Lylith insists on a fresh tomato every morning.”

“She might not arrive until the afternoon, Fiona.”

There was no dissuading the older woman’s panic. “Or at sunrise. She will be most displeased.”

“There is still time. I shall go down the hill and buy some.”

“You don’t understand. They must be firm, but not too hard.”

Syra gently grabbed Fiona’s trembling hands. “I shall not fail you in this.”

The gravity of her words in ratio to Lylith’s frivolous demands must have penetrated the cook’s worried mind, for Fiona suddenly burst out in laughter. The woman’s hand flew to her lips, as if surprised that the sound had come from her mouth. Seeming to regain her balance, Fiona smiled at her.

“I am sure that you will not. But you need an escort.”

“Horat is down at the Forum.”

“Then take—”

Neither woman spoke as the name hung unsaid in the air between them. Tiberius had been their constant companion on trips such as this. It was still hard to imagine that they would not stumble over the child who was always underfoot.

“I will be fine, Fiona. Just make Brutus some lamb for tonight.”

“Aye. It sounds like he will be needing comfort after the palace.”

With one last squeeze of the cook’s hand, Syra set off.

Behind her, Fiona rattled off Lylith’s preferences. “She wishes them juicy, but not dripping. Red through, but not the color of a bruise.”

Syra was certain that the cook was still listing the qualities of a perfect tomato, but she was quickly out of earshot. In truth she was glad to be out of the house. Since the stable boy’s disappearance, a pall had fallen over the mansion. Brutus seldom came home, and when he did, deep lines creased his face. The Roman had seemed to age a decade in the span of a few weeks.

Now with Lylith’s return, it seemed that there would be no end to the tension. But for now, the sun was setting in a glorious golden orb, and Syra could imagine that she was once more free.

* * *

Brutus repositioned himself yet again in the high-backed chair. This Senate session appeared to be never-ending. Another fresh-to-the-ranks senator was extolling Caesar’s virtues to the packed Curia. But few of his fellow legislators seemed to truly be paying any attention. The whole day had been filled with such filibustering. No serious business had been conducted this day. It was just a parade of Caesar-worshippers trying to convince Cicero to allow a vote on conferring kingship. Even Julius himself had tired of the constant adoration and retired for the day.

Finally, the paunchy man finished, but another equally unsophisticated senator rose to take his place. Brutus groaned inwardly. Would Cicero not stop this madness? Dragging out the debate would get them nothing except callused bottoms. And there was truly no debate. The lines were drawn, and nothing short of violence seemed to be able to end this stalemate.

“Enough!” Antony bellowed, shocking the entire Senate except for Cicero, who seemed pleased with the younger man’s response. Marc tried to regain his composure, but anger etched his face. “Have you not heard enough of the people’s desire, First Senator? Why will you not call a vote this day?”

Cicero did not even rise from his chair to address the brash lieutenant. “There is much we must consider, Antony.”

“The gods themselves have spoken!”

“Aye, fellow senator. And does not Minerva teach us to constrain our haste? When the gods speak, I think it is the most important time to listen cautiously.”

Brutus could feel the heat across the stage as Antony’s eyes flashed.

“Caesar leaves for Parthia within the week.”

“Do not fret. The vote will be cast before then.”

Frustration was clear in Marc’s voice. “Then tell me, great Senator, why the delay?”

“I have been doing my own research, and it seems the stars come into their best alignment for a decision of such magnitude three days hence.”

“The Ides of March?” Antony pondered out loud. Slowly a smile spread over his flushed face. “Aye. That bodes well. It is a date that shall be remembered. A date that will stand in infamy. You have chosen well, Cicero. May we call this session to a close?”

Cicero nodded, and the gong was sounded before a single breath could be taken. It seemed that the guards were as anxious to leave the Curia as Brutus himself. Not wishing to be cornered by either side, the senator stepped down into the crowd of white robes. Perhaps he could leave the Curia amongst the crush of senators exiting.

There would be no going back to his office. He knew now that Cicero had tipped his hand. The orator would be hounding Brutus to commit to some ill-conceived conspiracy. Wishing to hear none of their rhetoric, he headed away from Saturn’s Temple toward the Sacred Way. Even with Lylith returning soon, his home seemed suddenly more tempting than his office.

The camouflage of white robes and purple sashes lasted less than a hand’s-span of minutes. Up ahead was the Virgin’s young acolyte. There was no doubt whom she waited upon. Brutus did not bother to duck out of the way. The dogged apprentice would search him out. Instead, he headed straight toward the girl draped in white silk.

“Yes?”

The acolyte handed Brutus a small object. “The Virgin wishes you to have this.”

It took a moment for the Roman to recognize the small necklace that Tiberius had worn since the day they met. A small part of him had wished to believe that the Virgin had been bluffing. But now that he held this tiny token, Brutus could no longer fool himself. The boy was truly dead.

“If you waver this night, hold tight and remember the course you must walk.”

By the time Brutus looked up, the girl had disappeared into the sea of white robes that descended down Capitoline Hill into the city. What had the acolyte meant about this night? Why would he waver? Brutus did not have to ponder this mystery long, as a boy with chocolate skin walked up. His eyes were lined with the black of the Nile and his skirt was fringed in gold. There was only one place he came from, and only one man he served.

Caesar.

Damn, but the Virgin had known that he was to be summoned to the palace before he had. Hiding Tiberius’ charm in the folds of his cloak, Brutus did not put up a single argument when the boy motioned him into an ornate litter. There were certain times when you simply bowed your head to the Fates’ yoke.

* * *

Syra could feel the heat evaporate from the air as the sun descended beyond the horizon. The shopping excursion had not been as tedious as she had feared. She had found a merchant well acquainted with Lylith’s demanding palette. The stingy Roman had assured her that the tomatoes were perfection incarnate. Just to hedge any error, Syra had bought half a dozen other plump fruits to assure that Lylith could find no fault with Fiona.

With her task now accomplished, Syra knew that she should head home, but her feet hesitated. Fiona would be worried soon, but still she could not bring herself to climb back up the hill. Twilight was such a special time of day. Even the marketplace was transformed by the fading light. The usual din of merchants shouting their enticements was replaced by the quiet murmuring of lowered voices. Husbands helped wives clear out stalls. Children asked when supper would be ready. It was as if Rome became a city of humans again rather than a multicolored carnival.

Heading east, she skirted the Sacred Way. It would be crowded this time of day, with privileged women walking home with their bags filled with more riches than they would need in a hundred lifetimes.

No, Syra would take the long way around Palatine Hill. She would follow the great wall until she was around the other side. There she would take the small alleyways up the steep slope to the mansion.

As the city quieted, the roar outside the wall escalated. How well she could remember the creaking of wooden carts. Those outside the walls were waiting until Rome’s gates were thrown open to their rumbling conveyances. Then the city would bustle again. Syra planned to enjoy the few minutes when Rome was nearly still—in transition from the day of commerce to the night of pleasure.

Passing one of the gates, Syra watched as the guards changed their duty. The ramparts emptied as soldiers were relieved and repositioned. A part of her mind that would never feel comfortable in this city kept track of all such movements like a mother who always knew where her babe was. Syra had learned this city’s defenses as if she were the captain of the guard. In a few moments, the top of the wall would be nearly empty as the soldiers were brought toward the gates to assist with the huge influx of carts. Rome had grown secure in its greatness and left most of the wall unguarded at night. A mistake that Syra hoped that one day she would take advantage of.

Continuing on her journey, she noticed a small access gate. The door was not normally used for the movement of troops. In truth it was supposed to be locked, but in the past weeks, Syra had realized someone had tampered with the mechanism. Now it was open at all times. Soldiers came down the steps to relieve themselves during the hot summer days or for an early morning rendezvous with a fair maiden. Something made her feet move toward the small wooden door. It had been so long since she had seen the outside world. Syra was beginning to believe that it no longer existed. Rome had become the all, even to her.

Her heart raced as she put her hand upon the thick wood. Syra gave it a shove at the very top, as she had seen a guard do just the week before. The hinges creaked a bit too loudly for her taste, but the door opened. Taking one last look behind her, Syra entered the darkened staircase. Carefully shutting the door behind her, she climbed the steps. Her legs strained at the steep staircase, but still she continued. It was heartening to be doing something so very forbidden.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, she was most unprepared for what she saw. Syra had remembered the multitude of homes stacked upon one another opening out into field upon field of crops. Instead, lying just beyond the houses was an enormous army. The brightly colored tents extended as far as the waning light illuminated. As the sun plunged behind the horizon, fires were being lit. The bawdy songs of men ready for battle floated up on the light wind. The host assembled was greater than any Syra had ever seen. It boggled her mind that so many men could be gathered together for a single purpose, under a single man. This Caesar had a gift seldom seen in history. She actually felt sympathy for the land that would see this awesome weapon unleashed.

Syra could remember nights like these well. Sitting beside the fire, sharpening her blade. Telling herself and everyone else that she was not afraid of what the next morning would bring. Syra could smell the bite of leather in her nostrils as surely as if she were oiling her saddle. Her heartbeat increased as she remembered the thrill of battle. How ill suited her dress felt at this moment. Would that she were down with those men. Free of her confusion and inner turmoil.

“You wish to join them?” a voice asked from behind.

Syra did not turn around, for she already knew the tone well. It was the old woman from the market. In fact, she was afraid to even crane her neck for fear the hag would vanish into thin air.

“It is my calling,” Syra answered simply.

The old woman spat. “You know nothing of your calling.”

“Would you like to remind me?”

“If that I could. If that I could.” The old woman shook her head and joined Syra at the rail. “Time is short, you know.”

“No, I do not.” Actually, that was a lie. Syra could feel a stirring. Much like she did those months ago when the urge to find Rome had been strong. She had not felt such turmoil since then. But now it seemed that both her mind and her body betrayed her. Her dreams were thick and rich. The feel of a sword pommel in her hand or a man’s hands on her thigh felt more real than the bag of tomatoes in her hand. These dreams wanted something from her, but she did not know what.

“Child,” the old woman said with disgust, “you look to the east, but your life’s path lies behind you.”

When Syra turned to ask the wizened woman to explain, she was gone. She could only shake her head. What did this old woman want? And why did her gut tighten every time she appeared? With the magic drained out of the moment, Syra climbed down the stairs and continued out onto the avenue. Would that she were more like Brutus. His life was charted out before him like a sailor’s map. The Fates seemed to kiss him while they cursed her.