“I'm always ready to ride,” Jacob replied, thinking Pomponius intended to exercise some of the horses in the paddock next to the stables.
“I have some business at the army post,” Pomponius said, “and the road into town should be clear enough to travel; we haven't had any fresh snow in a few days. You'll have a chance to see how that filly takes to the road, not just the track.”
Jacob nodded his agreement, but he hadn't really heard anything past the statement that Pomponius had business at the army post.
Finally!
Jacob thought. He had finally found a way inside the camp!
Barely able to contain his excitement, Jacob spread a saddle blanket over the filly's flanks, then cinched the bridle and harness in place. She seemed to catch his enthusiasm and whinnied in anticipation. “Yes, girl,” Jacob said with a pat to her muzzle. “We're going for a ride.”
A very important ride,
he added silently.
Trousers were not just warmer, Jacob decided as he mounted, they were much more comfortable for riding than the tunic and heavy toga he had previously been accustomed to wearing. He was glad he had adopted the unusual garb, and glad to see how well the filly performed on the road. The animal was sure-footed and strong, and although spirited, she readily obeyed Jacob's commands.
Pomponius and Jacob said little as they rode. When they did speak, their words formed puffs of frost in the air. It was so cold that inhaling deeply was like breathing in tiny daggers. Fortunately, the army post was only a short ride awayâtwo miles at the most.
When they arrived at the camp and were cleared by the sentry, who immediately recognized Pomponius, Jacob was elated. He couldn't help thinking of all the days he had scouted the place and the time he had tried to talk his way past the guards. It hadn't worked then, but now, thanks to his new employer, he was inside.
They tied their horses outside the main building. A guard ushered them into the commander's office, which was spacious but spartan, and Pomponius introduced Jacob.
Regulus, the commander, was an affable sort for an army officer, but he definitely had the authoritative bearing of a man in power. And he had no tolerance for breaches of discipline, as Jacob soon found out.
After a few minutes in which the three men talked idly of the weather, comparing it to the temperate Aegean coast around Ephesus, which Regulus had once visited, the commander and the breeder got down to business. Jacob paid scant attention as they talked about foals and feed. He imagined himself slipping through the camp and scouring the long rows of barracks for the man he'd hated for so many months.
Suddenly he heard loud voices in the outer office, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Was it Damian's voice, or was Jacob imagining things?
He did not have long to wonder. The door burst open and Damian pushed his way past the soldier who tried to stop him. “I won't abide this, I tell you.” Damian swaggered into the room, yelling. He pointed a finger at Regulus and said, “The lack of respect around here is outrageous. Completely unacceptable! Do you hear me?”
It had been three months since Jacob had gotten a good look at Damian, and the signs of dissipation were evident. His face was bloated, his eyes bloodshot. His words ran together, and his gait was unsteady. It was all Jacob could do not to jump out of his chair and grab Damian. To be so close after all this time . . .
Regulus stood up, glowering. “How dare you burst in here uninvited! I have guests.”
Damian blinked and looked around him, as if suddenly aware of his surroundings. He glanced directly at Jacob, but did not appear to recognize him. Perhaps it was the local costume Jacob wore. Or perhaps it was the fact that Damian was dead drunk, and it was not yet noon.
Damian mumbled something Jacob couldn't make out.
I could take him so easily,
Jacob thought.
Right here, right now.
His heart was pumping so fast, the blood thundered in his head.
“Out! Now!” Regulus ordered. “Or I'll have you court martialed. There will be no second warning.”
Damian started to protest but reconsidered. He turned and walked to the door, then twisted around and addressed Regulus. “I'll have your commission.” Damian spoke slowly and deliberately this time, making an effort not to slur his speech. “When I get back to Rome and report to the emperor, I'll see that you're replaced.”
When he left, Regulus spoke to the soldier Damian had shoved out of the way. “Confine him to quarters,” the commander said, “and don't let him leave. If he gives you any trouble, tell him it's at my direct order. Station a guard outside his door. I will not tolerate another one of his outbursts.”
There was a moment of awkward silence when the guard left, then Regulus said, “I apologize for the intrusion.”
“Appears you've got a bit of a discipline problem on your hands,” Pomponius said.
“Not among the enlisted men. This troublemaker is not stationed here, thank the gods, and he'll soon be gone, I hope.”
“A drunkard is always trouble, and it sounds like this one has a grudge against you.” Pomponius, apparently worried about Regulus being replaced, asked, “Can he make good on his threat?”
“I doubt it.” Regulus retook his seat, looking concerned in spite of his disclaimer. “I would have sent him packing already, but he is a tribune of some importance, and I thought it best not to antagonize him. He was an assistant commander here several years agoâbefore my timeâand he was not well liked, apparently.”
Jacob spoke for the first time. “He's not well liked in Rome, either.”
The commander leaned forward, his brows furrowed. “You know this man?” he asked Jacob.
“If his name is Damian, I do.”
Regulus nodded. “It is.”
“I haven't seen him in a while,” Jacob said, “but I thought that was him. I'd heard he might be in the area.” He spoke casually, but his mind was racing as he tried to decide how much to tell the commander about his involvement with Damian.
“How do you know this tribune from Rome?” Pomponius was studying his new schoolmaster with a keen interest and perhaps a new appreciation.
“His father, who happens to be married to my older sister, is a powerful senator.” Jacob turned to Regulus. “Damian poses no political threat to your command. He was Domitian's flunky, but Emperor Nerva has no use for the tribune, in spite of the senator's influence.”
Regulus brightened and relaxed in his chair. “So his threats are idle bluster.”
“Yes.” Jacob hesitated before continuing. “However, I wouldn't say he means you no harm. He has a reputation for ruthlessnessâa well-deserved reputationâtoward anyone who gets in his way. I've seen it firsthand.”
Jacob briefly recounted how he'd seen Damian flog an elderly man and stab a defenseless woman under the guise of enforcing the law. Jacob omitted the fact that the woman was his mother or that he'd been a prisoner on Devil's Island when he'd watched Damian whip the apostle John.
“I'd hoped the rumors of violence were just thatârumors,” Regulus said.
“No, I'm afraid they're true. I'd watch my back, if I were you. He's a very violent man.” Jacob thought of what he would do to that violent man when he caught him, and his pulse raced even faster.
The avenger of blood has found you, Damian.
“Thank you for the information,” Regulus said. “I'll keep him under house arrest for a few weeks, and as soon as the mountain passes thaw, I'll give him the boot.”
Jacob nodded as if acknowledging that as a sensible solution. Then he said, “When Damian leaves, would you let me know as soon as possible? I will try to get word to my family, to alert them. They fear him greatly, with good reason.”
To Jacob's delight, Regulus agreed. The commander and the breeder went back to their business discussion, but Jacob's mind was fixed on one thought: The pursuit of his enemy was about to resume.
PETER DESPISED CONDUCTING BUSINESS AT THE BANK; he was uncomfortable outside the familiar environment of the harbor office. He was also uncomfortable flaunting his wealth, but he did use it to his advantage occasionally, and summoning Nicasius to his office rather than visiting the bank in person was one of them. Nicasius, who had handled financial matters for the shipping business for many years, was quite happy to oblige his establishment's largest depositor.
The occasion of Nicasius's visit to the harbor was an auspicious one. The long months of legal wrangling over Abraham's will were finally over and Peter, older than his absent twin brother by a few fortuitous moments, was now head of the household and in charge of managing the estate.
Peter enjoyed assembling the small group in his office to transact a transfer of funds. Antony was there as the legal representative for the estate. Nicasius, resplendent in his white woolen toga and gold jewelry, looked officious and prosperous, as befitted his position. After Quintus ushered the banker into the office, he nodded respectfully toward the others and turned to leave.
“Quintus,” Peter said, “please stay. This meeting actually concerns you.”
“Me?” Quintus looked flustered for a moment and stood awkwardly by the door.
Antony rose. “Take my chair,” he said. Quintus tried to protest but Antony insisted. “I think you should sit,” he said with a broad smile. When Quintus took the offered chair, Antony leaned back against the long cabinet built into the wall.
“You know Father's will has been upheld by the court,” Peter said to Quintus. “Nicasius is here to handle some financial matters related to the will. And that's why we need you here as well.”
Peter informed them of the will's bequest regarding Quintus, and when he announced the amount, Nicasius arched an eyebrow. While the sum slightly surprised the banker, it floored the recipient. Quintus, who customarily showed little reaction, blinked and dropped his jaw, lengthening his elongated face to almost comic proportions. “I expected Abraham to remember me in his will,” he said after a moment of stunned silence. “But that is beyond generous.”
Peter simply nodded and smiled at Quintus, then exchanged a look with Antony. He had asked the lawyer not to disclose the fact that he and Rebecca had doubled the amount of Quintus's share of the estate. Peter reasoned that if he could somehow have had the opportunity to discuss it with his father, Abraham would have readily agreed.
Quintus had worked for the shipping company since its inception, had run it in Abraham's absence, and had taught Peter everything he knew about the business. Without Quintus, the operation would have ceased at Abraham's death. He was far more than an employee; Quintus had been like a member of the family before Peter was ever born.
Nicasius asked a few pertinent questions and acquired the information he would need to effect the transfer of funds to Quintus. Their business concluded, the four men continued to talk about commerce in general and shipping in particular. With sea traffic about to open in a few weeks, life was already getting hectic for Peter and Quintusâ a prospect that also pleased Nicasius, since it would mean extra revenue flowing through his hands.
While they were chatting, the subject of Naomi came up. “I suppose you heard the news about Senator Mallus,” Nicasius said. “It was in the
Acta Diurna.”
The handwritten journal of important social and political news was posted daily on white boards in prominent places around the capital city and distributed in the provinces. It took a while, but copies eventually made their way across the Empire.
“With the shipping season about to start,” Peter said, “I've been too busy to catch up on the news from Rome.” Naomi's husband was a powerful senator, so it did not surprise Peter that he would be mentioned in the
Acta
.
“It seems he's had a stroke and has been unable to attend the Senate for several months. He's in financial trouble, as well.” Nicasius went on to tell them what he'd heard from business associates in Romeâthat the senator had made a number of risky investments in the last few years, and now they had gone sour, draining his resources. Maintaining power and prestige in Rome was an expensive enterprise, and the once fabulously wealthy senator was, for all practical purposes, bankrupt.
“The creditors are circling like vultures,” Nicasius said, “and all of Mallus's property will have to be sold to pay his debts.” The bejeweled banker loved to gossip, and he gestured expansively as he chattered on about the political and financial repercussions of the senator's demise. “I doubt he'll live much longer. In fact, he's likely to be gone by the time your sister gets back to Rome to see if she can salvage anything from his estate. There's probably not much she can do, but that's no concern of yours anymoreânot after what she tried to do to your family.”
That's putting it mildly,
Peter thought.
“I had to refuse to extend her any more credit,” the banker said. “Naomi was boiling mad, I can tell you that. But what else could I do? She had already borrowed quite a bit against her husband's name, and I'll never see a
denarius
of it now. Well, that's just the cost of doing business, I suppose.”
When Nicasius finally emptied the last arrow from his quiver of gossip, he left for the bank. Quintus went back to work, considerably wealthier than when he had arrived that morning. Antony continued to lounge against the cabinet, while Peter remained lost in thought.
After a while Antony sat in the chair across from Peter. He did not have to be told what had Peter looking so somber. “There's nothing Naomi can do,” he said. “Not legally, anyway.”
Peter nodded slowly. “I'll take your word for that. But I'm not worried about further legal maneuvers from Naomi. I'm worried because I don't know what she's capable of doing when she's desperate. And if Mallus is as broke as Nicasius says he is . . .”