The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (23 page)

“These coins are from the household funds,” Kaj replied stiffly.

“Really? And how did you convince the steward to part with it?”

“I
am
the steward.”

Damon narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Another bit of information he’d neglected to uncover made all the more galling by Kaj’s smug expression.

Shrugging the toga higher on his shoulder, he glanced down the street. People were beginning to filter out of their homes—slaves cleaning entryways, a group of young boys being escorted to lessons with a tutor, servants off to purchase food from the market vendors. The sun was barely breaking the horizon and already the city was bustling. He leveled a stern gaze at Kaj. “We must be on our way. Be certain to keep a proper distance behind me.”

They reached the bottom of the affluent Palatine neighborhood and turned toward the center of the city. Damon set a quick pace, navigating the twisting thoroughfares with ease. He knew this city like a man knows a lover. A boiling cauldron of arrogance, greed, and excess, Rome was the focal point of the civilized world, though Damon was certain a majority of the Empire’s conquered regions would hotly argue the point.

The crowds began to thicken as they continued down the
Via Sacra
and approached the two enormous pillars marking the entrance to the city center. Damon eyed the carved statues of Rome’s legendary founders, Romulus and Remus, circling their circumference. There were dozens of similar statues scattered around Rome, adorning public buildings, heralding a general’s successful campaign, an emperor’s benevolence, but this one had always been his favorite.

The famous twins faced each other, swords tightly clutched, expressions reflecting the stoicism of a conquering race, prepared to defend the nation they’d founded. Romulus’ free hand rested on the head of the legendary she-wolf who had suckled the abandoned infants. An omen the ill-fated Remus, murdered by the brother who named an Empire, should have heeded. Take care who you trust. A lesson Damon had learned good and well. With Kaj flanking him, Damon stepped through the stone arch into the Forum.

The market was well designed. A large open area provided ample room for pedestrians and shoppers to go about their business.  Weavers, jewelers, bakers, oil merchants, and pottery makers vied with
tavernas
and wine shops for their share of the citizens’ coin.

Street philosophers chalked their thoughts on the sides of buildings, some accompanied by unflattering drawings. Candidates for political offices spouted grand promises from stone block perches while those who had already been elected bustled about the business of government most notably bribery and nepotism. Temples dedicated to one god or another stood wall to wall with brothels where, Damon mused, you were more likely to get your prayers answered than kneeling at an altar.

The city pulsed with life and Damon reveled in it. This was where he’d first experienced life after Jared had granted him his freedom. He closed his eyes for a moment, savored the sounds of bartering and badgering, inhaled the scent of spices and perfumes and—he cocked one eye open and looked at the painting of a pork hind gracing the side of a building—the butcher’s shop.

“The first on the list is Iulus the baker,” Kaj said close to his ear. “He is the oldest of the Manulus family
cliens
. My master Octavian’s father was patron to Iulus’s father many years ago.”

Damon followed the servant’s gaze down a narrow side street. A generational alliance could be very beneficial. “As good a place to start as any. I’ll rely on you to make the initial introduction, then I’ll take over from there.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Kaj grumbled beneath his breath.

Damon sent him a sideways glance that only caused the big man’s scowl to deepen.

Kaj started down the avenue. Damon caught the sharp tang of baking bread a good two blocks before he saw the shop. Situated on one side of a corner building the shop had a long, waist high opening similar to a window, but with a deeper sill upon which sat stacks of round loaves. Several customers stood in line placing their orders with one of two slaves who deftly filled the requests and collected the money.

Kaj stepped up to the window. “Greetings.”

“Back of the line,” snapped the tallest of the youths as he deftly scooped up five loaves and deposited them into a woman’s basket. Keen eyes narrowed as with a glance, he counted the coins she plopped into his outstretched hand.

“I do not wish...” began Kaj.

“I said back of the line,” the slave snarled. “What are you? Deaf?”

“Listen, whelp,” A stack of loaves toppled into the dirt as Kaj fisted his hands on the neck of the boy’s tunic nearly lifting him through the window. “You’ll speak to me with a civil tongue.”

Damon crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall next to the window, casually observed the boy as he dangled at the end of Kaj’s arms. “You’ll have to forgive my servant. He is somewhat sensitive when it comes to rudeness.”

“My master will not stand for this,” the slave sputtered.

“Nor will his
patrona
,” replied Damon, examining his fingernails. He nodded once to Kaj, who released his hold. The boy rubbed at his neck and stared at Damon.

“Go tell your master,” he said in a soft voice laced with  authority, “that Damon Pontus, son-in-law to Octavian Manulus is at his door...and does not like to be kept waiting.”

Eyes wide with terror the boy scrambled toward the back of the bakery. Damon smiled and nodded at the waiting customers who stood gaping at them.

“You left them standing in the street?” a voice shouted followed by the sound of a slap. The door to the bakery flew open, revealing a short, rotund man with tufts of gray hair resembling the bits of wheat husks clinging to his tunic protruding from a shiny pate.

The baker wiped his hands on a piece of cloth looped through his belt, stepped outside, and bowed low. “A thousand welcomes to the relation of my honored
patrona
, Octavian Manulus.”

“Greetings to you ...”

“Iulus,” whispered Kaj discreetly.

“Greetings, Iulus . I am Damon Pontus, husband to your
patrona’s
daughter, Julia Manulus.”

A wide grin split the man’s round face nearly in two. “An honor to have you visit, sir. It has been too long since someone from the house of Manulus has graced this humble bakery.”

Damon kept his smile in place. Too long since Manulus coin had crossed the man’s palm more like. “May we enter?”

“What? Oh yes. Of course, of course,” answered Iulus, stepping aside so that Damon and Kaj could pass through the door.

An hour later, they stepped back out onto the street, several silver coins lighter, a sack of stale bread slung over Kaj’s shoulder. They stood side by side staring in numb silence at the activity around them.

Damon spoke first. “Before this day I thought the making of bread a simple matter.”

Kaj grunted. “Take away the concerns about weevils, the price of Egyptian wheat, the government’s taxes and Iulus’ conviction he is the baker to the gods and you still have only flour and water.”

Damon met Kaj’s solemn gaze and matched his wry smile. “Come,” said Damon. “Who is next on the list?”

*****

The sun had passed its zenith by several hours when they reached their final destination. Damon was tired, frustrated, and feeling suffocated beneath the weight of the infernal toga. His leather shoes had formed blisters on his feet and the
garum
from lunch was souring on his stomach. Unlike most, he’d never acquired a taste for the popular fish sauce and had almost refused it, until he caught the taunting glint in Kaj’s eyes. Of course then he had ordered a double portion.

They had spoken to eleven different tradesmen from fullers to butchers to scribes. The variety of clients Octavian Manulus supported was unusual. Almost to a man—and one woman, the scribe—had praised the Senator for his generosity and sent well wishes to his family.

Each one had been eager to show the Senator’s esteemed son-in-law the success of their ventures, many of which were the result of a new technique or expansion of their business. They had accepted the
sportula
without hesitation, but they seemed more interested in making sure he saw how they were prospering beneath the Senator’s support. It reminded him of children eager to please a father.

Damon shifted his weight and glanced at the passersby. As a child he’d often sought to please his father. He’d applied himself dutifully to his lessons, rarely aggravated his sisters—within his parents’ hearing—even kept his father’s gambling forays a secret, all in the vain hope that Felix would spend time with him. He’d finally succeeded in getting his father’s attention—with the high price he’d brought at the slavers.

He pushed the pain that memory evoked away and concentrated on the teeming crowds filling the streets and spreading out into the open area of the Forum. Today’s foray had stirred the desired speculation. He’d noticed several groups of well-dressed citizens standing at the periphery of the crowds observing him as he went from shop to shop. If the men weren’t already friends of the Prefect, the exchange of gold for information would correct that by nightfall.

Of course, not everyone had been as enthusiastic in their greeting. Damon pondered the response of the last client, Brutus the brick-maker. Initially delighted to receive a potential customer, a dark shadow had fallen across the man’s face as Kaj made the introductions. Brutus had made no inquiry as to his patron’s health, seemed reluctant to accept the gift of money, and offered only excuses when asked about his brick making process. Evasive tactics, common when one wished to keep secrets—or hide guilt. He glanced at Kaj, who was speaking to the doorkeeper of the carpenter Silas. He’d be curious to know the pirate’s impressions. He rubbed the dull throb across his forehead. Damn, the heat of the day was affecting him.

“Hello, beautiful man.”

His body reacted to the sultry voice, a wave of male awareness hazing his mind. Damon whipped his head around and stared into the almond shaped eyes of a tall, striking woman. He ground his teeth. Gods, his luck never changed.

She was exquisitely beautiful, as though a mural artist had taken paints and brush and managed to render an image of the perfect female. Her silky black hair was curled and coiffed into an elaborate sculpture interspersed with strands of rubies, which matched the heavy bangles adorning her wrists and neck and clashed with the saffron of her dress.

The sheer silk garment was draped around her in such a manner as to accentuate her substantial curves, and, if she so chose, reveal the rouged tips of her nipples to prospective customers. An effective ploy—one he’d fallen for more than once with this particular woman.

“I would never have imagined finding you here,” she crooned.

Neither had he. Why, in the name of Jupiter, was Lyris, a prostitute from Alexandria, wandering the streets of Rome? Damon glanced at Kaj, who was still speaking with the carpenter’s servant. One whisper, one hint of his corrupt past and all of his efforts to establish his identity as Damon Pontus would crumble into dust, exposing him and worse, Julia, to danger.

Lyris tilted her head and looked at him from beneath half- closed eyes. He saw no recognition within those dark eyes, only the glitter of invitation women of her trade were so adept at. If he ignored her, maintained his ruse as a wealthy patrician she’d lose interest and leave. One thing he knew, Lyris of Alexandria did not beg. Raising one brow, Damon sent her a haughty glare of dismissal and turned away.

“Damon Primax! Do not ignore Lyris! I will tell your mother.”

Damon groaned, wrapped one hand around her bejeweled wrist and pulled her out of sight behind a stack of baskets.

Lyris threw back her head and gave a throaty giggle. “I do not recall you enjoying the rough ways. Have you become a barbarian?”

Barbarian? An image of Jared’s wife’s brother Bran came to mind; stone-faced, reticent and humorless and always looking as if he’d just as soon put his hands around your throat and squeeze the life out.

Lyris giggled again and twined her arms around his neck. Damon pulled them off and struggled to keep her at arms distance. It was akin to wrestling an octopus. Still she managed to nip his earlobe with her teeth.

“Cease, Lyris,” he said between gritted teeth. “I am on a mission. I must not draw attention.”

She drew her lips into a perfect pout. “Your mother said you were finished with that, that you would be bringing your sister home.”

His heart clenched. His last missive to his mother had said he’d be returning to Alexandria by
Iulius
. But by the time the fifth month had ended, he had been imprisoned. Even if imperial prisoners had been allowed to send messages, he would not have been able to find the words to tell his mother that not only was her last daughter not returning, but her son was being executed.

“Chryse told me we would see you soon.”

Damon gave her a droll look. “It appears my mother shares much with you.” Or more likely Lyris eavesdropped.

Lyris squared her shoulders indignantly. “Why should she not? I am the most beautiful and earn the most coin of all her women. It is because of me that her brothel is the most renowned in the Empire.”

Damon pressed his finger to her lips and scanned the crowd over his shoulder. But the people in the street were going on with their business, paying no heed to their conversation. Relief flooded him. No one had overhead that his mother was the proprietress of a brothel.

That he still felt shame after so many years only added to the pain. The first sight of his mother after so many years was forever burned into Damon’s memory. Dressed much as Lyris was now, eyes heavily kohled and body perfumed, she hadn’t looked anything like the woman who had made him his favorite honey cakes, told him stories, held him close, and soothed him when bad dreams had disturbed his sleep. As a slave he’d learned to shield his emotions, but he’d done a poor job of hiding his disgust when he’d learned his mother was a prostitute. The hurt in his mother’s eyes had been like a spear through the heart.