“I believe you have never met my stepmother, Athena.” Paulinus tucked my unwilling hand into his arm, bringing me to her couch. Such a dear boy—so many patrician men talked over my head as if I were a statue—but why did he have to be so polite now? “Lady Lepida Pollia.”
I extended my fingertips. The hand that clasped mine was as white and pampered as ever.
“Such an interesting performance,” she drawled. “Athena—a Greek name? Surely you aren’t from Greece.”
I unreeled a fluid line of my finest Greek, and saw her flush. She still couldn’t speak Greek. I would have bet she still couldn’t spell, either. In any language.
“Athena’s Greek is far better than mine,” Paulinus was saying, oblivious. “She’s from a noble family in Athens.”
“I would have guessed the slum quarter of Jerusalem,” Lepida murmured. “How long have you been singing in Brundisium . . . Athena?”
“Oh, five years or so.”
“Before that?”
“Here and there.” I sketched an airy professional gesture. “Enjoying myself.”
“Indeed. A great pity Brundisium has no arena, so you can’t enjoy yourself at the games. I hear you have a great passion for gladiators.”
“I prefer music to blood, Domina.”
“But the games are so thrilling.” She stretched a languid hand for a cluster of grapes. “Why, just last week in the arena Arius the Barbarian lost a hand to a Turk. That must have been a sight. Grapes?”
“No, thank you.” I kept my face still. Oh, God, she was lying, she had to be. I listened for all the news from the Colosseum; I would have heard if Arius had lost a hand. She had to be lying. I’d have to make inquiries among the grooms and the litter-bearers, just to make sure—they always followed the games . . .
A little smile flicked her mouth, and I blindly turned toward Paulinus, smoothing a stray fold of his white lawn synthesis. “Still coming to dinner tomorrow night?”
“I thought we agreed next week?”
“I have a cancellation tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid he can’t come tomorrow,” Lepida broke in smoothly, insinuating a hand into Paulinus’s elbow. “He’s promised to take me to the last play of the season.”
He looked down at her. “I did?”
“You did.” Her eyes never shifted from mine.
“All right. Next week then, Athena?”
“Next week might be tight, too . . .” Lepida traced one finger along Paulinus’s hard shoulder.
“Then perhaps at the barracks party next month.” I drew my arm from Paulinus’s, giving his hand a last small squeeze. “If you wish to hire me for any little entertainments of your own, Lady Lepida, then talk to Praetor Larcius. The great music patron; you’ve heard of him? Well, perhaps music isn’t quite your forte. He handles my career. Be sure to book at least three weeks in advance. I’m in
great
demand these days.”
“You always were. Among a certain set.”
I smiled. She smiled. I strolled away.
“Do you know Athena?” I heard Paulinus ask his stepmother.
“No,” she said easily. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
My breath came short as if I’d dashed a mile. But I had another party to sing at, and no time to think about Lepida Pollia. Even if I was a singer and a success, I was still a slave—and I couldn’t go home and grind my teeth and weep into my pillow the way I wanted to. I had to make music and smile prettily for whatever guests had hired me from Larcius . . . and sometimes that sat as heavily as the slaps and jabs of my days as Lepida’s shadow.
A
lovely evening, Paulinus,” Lepida yawned as they climbed out of the litter. “Have a drink before you head back to your barracks.”
“I’ll just look in on Sabina.”
“As you like.”
Sabina was fast asleep, curled around a straw-stuffed horse, eyes tight shut. Smiling, Paulinus smoothed the hair out of her eyes and then slipped back into the hall.
The house was dark and quiet, the slaves long gone to bed. The smell of jasmine drifted up from the atrium on the hot summer night. Paulinus felt his way down the back stairs, down the hall, past the library. And as he passed the last room—his stepmother’s room—the door eased open. He reached out to close it, and stopped.
His stepmother stood by the bed, her back to the door. A pile of discarded sapphires gleamed on the bedside table, and her hair was a loose black sheet down her back. He hadn’t realized what beautiful hair she had.
She stretched languidly, and the light from the single lamp played over her white arms. Her blue silk robe had slipped off one shoulder, and as she gave a little ripple of her back it slipped off the other and drifted down to settle over the floor.
Paulinus closed the door. And his eyes. He took a step back, stumbled into a vase, grabbed it hastily to keep it from falling, and knocked over a statue of a bathing Aphrodite. The crash was appallingly loud. He took off down the hall.
He went to see her the next day. Only the proper thing to do. Hadn’t his father asked him to look after her? He was just following orders.
“Paulinus!” She stretched out a soft hand. “To what do I owe the honor?” She wore Nile-green silk with a single massive pearl at her forehead and another on her hand.
He found himself stuttering.
“Nervous?” She led him into the atrium, sinking down into the cushions of her couch. “Why? Going to visit that singer, maybe?”
He reddened. “No—I—well, that is—”
“Really, I don’t know what you see in her.” Gesturing him to sit. “Years ago she used to be my personal slave.”
“But—you said that you’d never met her.”
“I lied.” Lepida rang for wine and refreshments. “She’s cleaned up since those days, but she’s still the same little whore. Wine?”
“Um. Thank you.” He looked at his stepmother as she leaned forward to pour him a goblet. He had never imagined Lepida’s soft mouth saying words like that.
“Oh, yes,” Lepida continued casually, stretching a pale arm along the cushions. “She serviced every man in the house, including my father. Including
your
father. Sweetmeats,” she added to the slave who appeared in the doorway.
“My
father
?” Paulinus choked on his wine. “But—he never—he doesn’t—not slaves. It’s not his way. He wouldn’t think it was fair.” How had he gotten himself into this conversation? It wasn’t
fitting
.
“Oh, I imagine it was her idea. A few smiles, a few sidelong glances—the same way she hooked you, I imagine.” Lepida dropped her pointed little chin into the palm of her hand. “ Just think, Paulinus. You and your father have shared the same girl . . .”
He stared at his stepmother. Her perfume wove through his nose. Some strong musky scent. Her fingertips glided along his knee.
He jumped to his feet. “I should go.” His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.
She tilted her head to look up at him, her blue eyes calm. “Guard duty?” she said, and the husky note in her voice was gone. If it had ever been there at all. “What a pity. Do say good-bye to Sabina before you go, or she’ll mewl all day.”
Lepida stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his cheek. A step-motherly kiss.
He still flinched.
LEPIDA
O
H, excellent! He was nervous already. Wondering just what was going on. Let him wonder.
He really was handsome. Tall and straight and sun-browned, a direct gaze, black hair that curled vigorously no matter how hard he tried to flatten it down. He’d look like Marcus when he was old, but he was young now. Young and strong, and there was no hump on
his
shoulder. Yes, quite handsome. I’d never noticed before, until I saw Thea draped all over him . . . and it had all given me the most marvelous idea.
Paulinus didn’t come see me for nearly a week. Dull days. The slaves were irritable. The shops were closed due to some dreary holiday. The skies clouded over in the first hint of fall, turning the famous blue harbor into gray slate. Sabina moped, running to the window every time she heard a horse outside. “’Linus promised he’d play with me,” she sighed.
“He’s playing with me now,” I explained. “Grown men like Paulinus don’t play with little girls.”
“But he promised.”
“Men are liars, Sabina. Now go away.” I gave her a swift clip around the ear, and she fled wailing. Children really are tiresome.
Boring days, but I survived. All part of the plan. I counted four days, then made sure to bump into Paulinus just outside his barracks.
He was bare-chested and sweaty in a training kilt, just come from exercising. When he saw me, he halted as if he’d hit a wall. “What are you doing here?”
“How rude, but I’ll overlook it. I’m going to Senator Halco’s banquet tomorrow—the last good party of the season, and I need an escort. Pick me up tonight.”
“I—”
Drifting closer, I wiped his forehead with my bare hand and surveyed the film of perspiration on my fingertips. “Goodness. All sweaty.”
I left him standing there, looking after me. Stunned, no doubt, and wondering how it all happened.
A
LL dressed up,” Verus whistled when Paulinus emerged in white lawn synthesis and signet ring. “Who’s the lucky lady? Athena?” “Lepida.” It popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.
“That is, my stepmother asked me—I’m escorting her to a banquet this evening. That’s what I meant.”
Had Verus given him an odd look as he backed out the door?
“Paulinus,” Lepida greeted him, gliding across the marble floor. Scarlet silk draped against every curve of her body, and a single massive ruby gleamed at her throat. Her eyes were outlined in kohl, her lips colored carmine. He wondered how he could ever have seen her as childlike.
The banquet was all bright lights and bright gowns, loud voices and louder music. Hired dancers and acrobats, a blur to his eyes. Roast flamingo and dormice rolled in honeyed poppy seeds; all ashes in his mouth. Lepida shared his dining couch, laughing and flirting and talking with everyone except him. But under cover of her
stola
, under cover of her conversation, her foot caressed his.
“Senator, how delightful! Do show me—” She reached across Paulinus’s back to examine Senator Halco’s sapphire ring, and her breath whispered across his neck.
“Lady Cornelia, your hair! However did you manage those curls—” She turned over for a better look, and the tips of her breasts brushed his shoulder.
He remembered nothing about the banquet. Nothing but his father’s wife making love to him in a thousand tiny ways.
“A delightful party,” she enthused as they streamed out of the house with the other guests. Dawn lurked around the corner, but, she was still bright-eyed. “To think I thought Brundisium was going to be boring. I haven’t had so much fun in years.” Her fingers kneaded his arm.
He handed her up into the litter. She arranged the folds of her
stola
, allowing him a glimpse of bare white ankle, and he was helplessly certain that she wore nothing at all under the clinging silk.
She shot him a glance under black lashes. “You’ll take me home, of course.”
“I’ve got guard duty in two hours.”
“Skip it.”
“I can’t. My centurion—”
“You’d leave me alone in the small hours of the night, just to avoid a scolding from your centurion?” Blinking innocently. “Whatever would your father say?”
Father.
His father, bent and quiet and kind-eyed.
Lepida may look lovely and worldly, but she’s still very young . . . watch over her for me.
Paulinus wanted to die.
“Climb in.” Lepida flung herself back against the cushions. “I’m getting cold.”
He climbed in.
She tapped the side of the litter. It swayed like a ship as the bearers rose and lurched out into the street. She twitched the green silk curtains shut, cutting off the light from the streetlamps and turning the litter into a dim shadowed box. Paulinus crammed himself into the far corner, blood pounding in his own ears.
“So silent, Paulinus.” Her voice had an even greater effect in the dark. “Too much wine?”
“No,” he managed. “Against the rules, before guard duty.”
“Do you always follow the rules?” Her sharp-nailed little hand found his wrist.
“Yes,” he clipped. “It’s safer.”
“Oh, but safe is so boring. Safe is so . . . safe.” Her painted mouth found his.
Her arms twined around his neck like snakes, and her teeth drew blood from his lip. But when he leaned in toward her she tugged back, teasing his lips with her tongue, working her belly against his. He kissed her with a stifled groan, ripping the silk away from her breasts with shaking fingers. She wrenched his tunic up, her legs twining around his hips as her musky scent twined through his brain, and as he fell into her he felt her smile.
Afterward he turned his back. He wanted to die.
“Well, I do believe we’re home.” Lepida pulled her red
stola
around her naked body and slipped down out of the litter. “Coming, Paulinus?”
“Don’t,” he said dully. “Don’t.”
“Coming?”
He looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes sparkling, her milky throat rising out of the torn
stola
like a flower stem. She grinned, tongue flickering over her lips, and he felt a dull ache on his shoulder where she had left bite marks.
“Yes.” The word was as heavy as lead in his mouth. “I’m coming.”
He followed her into the house like a dog.
Eleven
T
HERE was a boat, Paulinus knew, that carried the souls of the dead to the underworld. A dark boat rowed by a grinning, skull-faced ferryman. Paulinus’s own boat was a bed, white and airy and beautiful as a cloud, and the lovely black-haired girl who stroked the oars in it was carrying him to hell faster than any skeletal ferryman.