Pompeii. Part 7

Wine, grain, olives, the market had everything. But she had need of something very specific. She strolled the perimeter, attempting to look like a casual shopper, but tasting the grit of fear. The market was jammed with people this morning, no doubt trying to make their purchases before the events of the day began in the Forum. The animals brought for the games tomorrow were to be paraded through the city today, and there would be speeches by politicians wanting to capitalize on the morale of the people in antic.i.p.ation of the games. Drusus had been wise to send her to paint signs today. Nevermind the flicker of guilt at her betrayal.

There. A shop with fabrics. Not traditional Jewish clothing of course, but she could make it work.

A woman worked the table of fabric, and as Ariella offered a low price on what she needed, the woman's sharp eyes took her in and seemed to guess her secret. But she shook her head. "The fabric is too fine." She held it out for Ariella to touch and named a higher price.

Ariella inhaled and closed her eyes at the softness. How long had it been since she had felt like a woman? She pulled two coins from her pouch, and reached across the table with them. Her hands shook as she dropped the coins into the shopkeeper's palm, and again that look of suspicion crossed the woman's face.

"Thank you." Before any questions could be asked Ariella hurried away with her purchases.

Now to find a hidden place to change her clothes. She glanced down at the gladiator tunic and belt. It would be lovely to burn the wretched things, but abandoning them in an alley would have to suffice. In contrast, the fabric in her training-callused hands felt like silk from the East.

She pushed back the way she had come, remembering some quieter streets she had pa.s.sed. All she needed was a few moments alone.

And then she would be free.

CHAPTER 10.

The morning had already annoyed Cato by the time he left the house and headed into the city. Every glance from his mother seemed to accuse, and even his younger sister Isabella had been conscripted to disapprove of him.

They knew why I came here. Why did they insist on turning it into something else? It was difficult enough to be frustrated in his goal of successful wine-making. He didn't need the women to stand against him.

His head ached and the glaring summer sun felt like a knife at his temples.

The city was thronged with shoppers and diversion-seekers this morning, and he fell in with them easily, for he sought diversion himself. The speeches and animal parade scheduled for the afternoon in the Forum interested him. He was curious to hear the local politicians, to understand them better. Only so that he could better comprehend how to succeed in his new wine business in Pompeii, of course.

That was what he had told Octavia. Her mouth had twitched in amus.e.m.e.nt and she had turned away, further aggravating him.

He grew impatient with the press of crowds on the sidewalks, and stepped down into the street, watching where he stepped as he followed a horse-drawn cart that raced ahead, its driver straddling the stepping-stones at the top of the street with the ease of much practice.

He criss-crossed through several streets, still a bit unfamiliar with the city, but always keeping the mountain to his right. A woman in a doorway called out to him with a howl like a she-wolf, earning her establishment its nickname of lupanaria. He shook his head at her offer and pa.s.sed the brothel, restraining himself from looking inside. That was not the sort of distraction he sought. Unlike most Romans, he kept himself away from that type of entertainment. His mother's longstanding work in Rome to help such women lead a better life had trained him to look on these women with compa.s.sion, and though compa.s.sion battled daily with his natural tendencies as a man, he managed to mostly control his behavior, if not his thoughts.

He reached the Forum soon enough, but ignored the long stretch of shops and temples in favor of an exploration of the munic.i.p.al buildings at the end closest to him, opposite the Capitolium temple and the mountain. Here, three large halls clad in s.h.i.+ning marble housed the administrative life of the city. The two duoviri, Maius and Balbus, governed from these halls, as well as the younger aediles who also served. The city council, the ordo decurionum, also met here. In front of the halls stood a suggestum, a platform from which orators could make their appeals. Would Maius stand here later today?

A commotion at the road leading toward the Marina Gate caught his attention. A half-naked man, his hair stringy and eyes feral, shrieked like a wild monkey and danced a circle across the stones, bent at the waist and arms dangling. A small crowd gathered to watch, but most hurried past, as though insanity were contagious.

Cato had seen this sort of thing several times in Rome and it fascinated him. He drew closer until he could see the man's wide, white eyes and broken teeth. Another man, older and heavy-set, approached the animal-man slowly, hand outstretched as though soothing a vicious dog. And indeed, the crazed man ceased his agitated dance. But his eyes spewed hatred and his lips drew back from his teeth at the other's approach. Cato shuddered.

There was evil here.

The crowd wandered away now that the frantic movements had ended, but Cato still watched.

The wild man hissed. "What have I to do with you?" The words, low and rasping, issued from his broken teeth, but sounded more like a growl from the underworld.

The older man's hand still reached for him and he swatted it away, only to have the man step closer.

As Cato watched, the simple presence of the man seemed to both infuriate and bind the madman. The older man glanced at Cato, measured him with that glance, then turned back and began to whisper to his captive.

Cato stepped closer. He heard only s.n.a.t.c.hes of the whispered words-Evil. Freedom. Messiah-and then the older man's hand was on the dirty forehead of the animal-man and he gave a mighty shout of "Come out!"

At this, the madman screamed as though being burned. Cato started forward, then stopped when the man dropped to the stones and lay still. Cato looked at the heavy-set man. "What you have you done?"

But the one on the ground stirred, then crawled on hands and knees to the other's feet and clung to his ankles as though rescued from drowning. "Thank you." These words were spoken in a different voice than Cato had yet heard, one that sounded hoa.r.s.e from disuse. A rus.h.i.+ng sound filled Cato's ears, as though something evil were fleeing the Forum even as he watched.

"Ah, Portius Cato, eyeing his future seat of power." The voice behind him held only a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Cato turned to find Taurus, the spokesman for the group who had approached him in the gladiator barracks the night of the theater performance. He glanced back at the two, but the older man was helping the younger to his feet, leading him away. He returned his attention to Taurus and bowed his head. "Merely curious to see where the power lies, that is all."

Taurus pressed his fingertips together. "And that is where it begins, my friend."

Cato bristled a bit at the familiar reference. "And where it ends."

Taurus shrugged. "Are you engaged this morning? I could introduce you to some of the leading merchants."

Cato's shoulders tightened. "As one of their own, correct?"

"As you wish, Portius Cato. As you wish."

"Lead the way, then."

Taurus led him to the first large building off the Forum, the Eumachia that housed the guild of fullers. A statue of the priestess Eumachia, who had commissioned and dedicated the building, graced the corridor at the back, beneath a roofed portico.

Inside, the business of manufacturing wool cloth was in peak activity, with raw wool being washed, stretched, and dyed using the pots of urine that filled daily at the door. The smell was typical, if not pleasant.

Taurus led him to the side of the central room, where an elegant man directed slaves. "Emeritus, I have someone for you to meet." He pulled at Cato's arm, which bothered him.

Emeritus's eyes flicked to Taurus and then to Cato, and he drew up his chin.

"Emeritus is the top wool merchant in the city." Taurus indicated the building. "And head of the Fullers' Guild."

Cato understood the implication. A powerful man stood before him. He held out an arm and his grip was returned with a solemn nod. Emeritus had the look of intensity about him, and his eyes were night-dark. Had a life among the dyes somehow given them their unnatural color?

The eyes focused on him. "Taurus tells me you are newly arrived from Rome."

Ah, and what else has Taurus told you about me? He bowed. "Yes, come to follow in your footsteps and make my fortune in this pleasant city."

"Come." Emeritus turned away. "Have some wine. We will talk."

Cato eyed Taurus, who urged him with a nod. He followed with hesitation, knowing where this conversation would lead.

In the back of the Eumachia, Emeritus snapped his fingers at a slave who fled into the interior of the back rooms.

Cato eyed the front arch of the building, past the slaves who toiled in the center. He should have declined. "I have some business to take care of. I'm afraid I cannot stay-"

Emeritus turned to him, eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "And you will not get far in that business without the alliances of those who can a.s.sist you."

Indeed. "Then a cup of wine would seem to be what I need."

The slave brought wine for all three, and Cato's first sniff and sip impressed him. Green apples and pears on the palate. "This is made here?" Surely his own rich soil was ready to produce something this fine.

Emeritus half-smiled. "'Vesuvinum,' he calls it. A clever salute to our fine mountain and the vines that grow on its slopes."

Cato frowned into the cup. "Maius." From their shared look, he'd been manipulated. Did they intend to convince him he would fail as a winemaker?

"Hmmm." Emeritus sniffed his own cup. "Pleasing bouquet, but wicked headache the morning after a feast."

Cato handed his cup to Emeritus. "Perhaps I shall improve upon even this." He bowed slightly. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Emeritus, and I am sure we will meet again."

Emeritus thrust his cup and Cato's into the hands of the nearby slave and reached out to clutch Cato's arm with a grip like a dark-eyed tiger seizing a choice piece of meat. He stepped close enough to hiss into Cato's ear. "You are either with us, or you are against us, Portius Cato. And those who are with us will do whatever it takes to rid this city of its governmental stain."

Cato yanked his arm away and readjusted his toga. "I am no friend of Nigidius Maius, I a.s.sure you. But my days of public office are over." He eyed them both and dropped his voice, matching Emeritus's intensity. "Do not ask me again."

He escaped then, out of the Eumachia and into the Forum, a cage of temples, shops, and public buildings. The desire to occupy himself with its goings-on had left him and he only wanted to return home.

A young man pushed past him, his hands full of something and his head down. Cato blinked and watched the man as he retreated out of the Forum, noted the leather cuff that belted the coa.r.s.e tunic. Had that been the young gladiator, Ari?

Cato followed him, curious, but questioning his own curiosity. What was it about the boy that intrigued him? Plenty of politicians in Rome had kept boys such as this, delicately featured and not yet masters of themselves, for their own pleasure. Cato had no interest in that type of thing. So what was it that directed his feet in the footsteps of the young fighter?

He may be vulnerable physically, but he has a strong heart.

Cato's own spirit accused him with the observation. The boy was everything he was not. Courage and determination in the face of insurmountable obstacles, while Cato had fled from his failure and weakness.

The boy kept his head down and walked quickly, as though he had an important destination. Cato continued to follow, past shops and homes, around a stone fountain at an intersection and into a narrower alley, void of shoppers.

Cato watched, fascinated, as the boy seemed to cast furtive looks about him halfway down the alley. Cato pressed himself against a wall and studied the ground, hoping the boy would not recognize him. A moment later Ari ducked into a doorway.

Still curious, and glad for a diversion at last, Cato hurried up the alley to see where the gladiator had disappeared. He drew up short to find another lupanaria, and his eyebrows shot up. He had not expected this.

Amused, he decided to cross the alley and wait in a doorway for the boy to emerge after his tryst, to have a bit of fun with him.

A minute or two later a woman emerged, but it was not a prost.i.tute, for she was modestly dressed as a respectable foreign servant woman. Cato straightened, curiosity again a pull. What was this place?

His movement gained the woman's attention and she lifted her chin to look across the alley. Only five cubits from him, she met his eyes. He saw the flicker of recognition there at the same moment that he felt it himself.

"Ari?" What kind of transformation was this?

"What are you doing here?" The boy glanced behind himself to the brothel and flushed.

Cato shook his head. "I was following you." He felt fl.u.s.tered and off-balance somehow. The boy dressed as a woman looked more like a woman than a boy.

"Why?" The word was harsh, angry. The boy's face had drained of color.

Cato crossed the street, suddenly understanding. "You are trying to escape the lanista."

"It is none of your concern!" Ari started down the alley before Cato could reach him.

Again, that strange protectiveness he had felt in the barracks urged him to speak. "Wait." He followed the disguised boy, but Ari did not stop. Cato trotted up behind him and grabbed his shoulder. Ari swung around and pushed Cato away from him, the way that Cato himself had pushed Emeritus away only moments ago. But Cato would not be put off. He only wanted to speak to Ari, but the boy was being foolish. Cato put his hands to Ari's chest and shoved him against the wall.

Ari's eyes went wide as his back hit the stone.

And suddenly, Cato knew.

CHAPTER 11.

Ariella slammed against the stone wall but its impact was lost on her. Her attention was on Portius Cato, on the way that he yanked his hands away from her chest as though he had been burned. The way the whites of his eyes seemed to grow larger, his lips parted in stunned silence.

They stood there a moment, like two carved marble pieces, and then Cato exhaled and dropped his shoulders.

"You are a woman."

"And you are a meddling nuisance!" She turned to slide away from him, but he s.h.i.+fted and blocked her way. She should shove him aside, but stood her ground and looked into his green-flecked eyes instead. "Will you take me prisoner, then?"

"I-I only want to know-" Cato licked his lips and shook his head.

"Ask it. Ask your questions." Ariella wished to be away, but she also wished to stay beside him. Her emotions tumbled like a mountain rockslide. Anger at being followed, at being found out, and yet a sweet sense of relief that this man who had occupied too many of her thoughts since she first met him knew that she was not a boy. The stone wall behind her seemed to radiate its sun-warmed heat into her body. She pulled away from it.

Cato began again. "They do not-the gladiator troupe-please tell me they do not keep you for their wh.o.r.e?"

His eyes accused and she felt the injustice of it. She wanted to see him laugh again, the way he had when they first spoke in the barracks field. "You know nothing of it."

"So, tell me."

The simple words, spoken with compa.s.sion, nearly undid her. She swallowed against the emotion. He is a Roman . . . But his eyes, his smile, they were not Roman. They were only human and trained on her in a way no one had looked at her in years. She felt a flush begin at her neck and travel to her face.

A sudden awareness of her unwashed condition, her hacked-off hair, her peasant clothes, backed her against the wall again, though it only put another handsbreadth between them. His perfectly-draped toga was brilliant white, his dark hair oiled and combed, his jaw clean-shaven. Everything about him spoke wealth and refinement.

He mistook her movement for fear. "I will not hurt you, Ari." He touched her arm, but then pulled away again, clearly unsure.

She believed him.

"Do they know?"

Ariella shook her head, then looked away, down the alley, to avoid those eyes.