Sword of Rome Read online

  Yes, he thought, she was his mother. At least she had given birth to him, but the tenderness he’d felt for her as a boy had long since vanished. The day she had married his father’s sworn enemy was the day he started to distance himself from her. “Has it been long?” he asked, brushing her hand away from his arm. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  He thought he saw a sudden flash of hurt in her eyes, but she was good at playacting, he reminded himself.

  Sarania’s arms dropped stiffly to her sides. “Come in the house and pay your respects to your stepfather.”

  His mother was still a beautiful woman, with cinnamon-colored hair and soft brown eyes. But there were dark circles under those eyes, and she was thinner than he remembered. Though there was still no flaw on her smooth skin, she seemed to have aged since the last time he’d seen her. When she had been married to his father, she’d worn gowns of the finest imported materials and jewels that had been the envy of her friends. Now there were no jewels on her fingers or at her throat. He’d heard she’d had to sell them to pay his stepfather’s debts.

  “I have no respect for your husband, Mother.”

  She ignored the insult and pretended not to notice when Marcellus stiffened as she linked her arm through his. He was certain she wanted something from him—he would wait until she was ready to tell him what it was. He saw her face whiten as she glanced over his shoulder and focused on the man who had just entered the room.

  Marcellus turned to meet his stepfather’s dark gaze. Quadatus was of medium height, with thinning hair and a nose that looked as if it had been broken several times. His chin was strong, but his eyes were small and watery, and his girth was wide, as if he indulged in too much food and wine. But the man’s appearance was not the reason for Marcellus’s dislike. Quadatus was a vulgar man of little honor and big ambition; Marcellus had never understood how his mother could have married such a despicable man after having been married to his father.

  Quadatus had the ability to mask his feelings, and he tried to do so now, but Marcellus realized by the stiffness of the man’s body that his stepfather had overheard his unflattering remark about him.

  “Marcellus, it’s always good to see you in our home,” Quadatus began jovially. “Your visits are too few and too far apart.”

  Marcellus would never forget, nor forgive, the day he had found his mother and Quadatus in a lover’s embrace a week before his father died. There had been speculation at the time that his father’s death had not been an accident, although nothing had ever been proven. His father had been strong and surefooted, and it seemed unlikely he’d fallen to his death from the second-floor balcony of their home. One fact was certain: The widow’s tears had hardly dried before she became Quadatus’s wife. Marcellus had never pretended to like the man he suspected of murdering his father. If he ever discovered his suspicions were correct, that would be the day his stepfather breathed his last.

  “Caesar has kept me busy.”

  Quadatus took his wife’s hand and pulled her away from Marcellus, almost as if he was jealous of her attention to her son. “It seems to me you could take time out to visit your mother. She misses you.”

  Marcellus met Quadatus’s gaze, but his words were for his mother. “The needs of Rome must take precedence over family reunions.”

  Quadatus stared at his stepson for a long moment. “You are gifted, growing in power, and for whatever reason, you have won Caesar’s respect. You have powerful friends. It is said you are often in the company of Marc Antony.”

  Now, Marcellus told himself, he was about to discover the reason he had been summoned to this house. He glanced at his mother, then back toward her husband. “Antony is a good friend. We do see each other on occasion. In fact, I am on my way to his home now.”

  “And Caesar?”

  “I see him but rarely.”

  Quadatus’s smile did not quite make his eyes. “The word in the Senate is that Caesar watches your career with interest. I would imagine you are on the rise.”

  Marcellus said nothing, merely waited.

  Quadatus regarded his stepson intently. “I would like very much to be your guest when Marc Antony is dining at your home.”

  “Marc Antony is particular about with whom he associates.”

  The veins popped out on Quadatus’s forehead and his face reddened, but still he smiled. “I heard he willingly dines with women of questionable reputation.”

  The air became charged between the two men. It was Marcellus who broke the silence. “And I have heard you associate with stonemasons of questionable reputation. Have you seen Haridas lately, Stepfather?”

  Like a snake coiled and ready to strike, Quadatus hissed, “I don’t know what you mean. Haridas is worthy of his craft, else I would not have recommended him.”

  “One of my workers caught him at thievery. And I have proof he altered the plans for my aqueduct.”

  “I am sure there must be some mistake.” The senator’s fists were balled at his sides. “I was told the man was honest and dedicated.”

  “Perhaps whoever told you that set his standards too low,” Marcellus suggested. “In any event, the man no longer works for me.”

  Sarania, seeing the friction growing between her son and husband, tried to turn the conversation in a different direction. “Will you lunch with us, Marcellus?”

  Glancing toward the door, Marcellus moved in that direction. “I’m sorry, I must decline your invitation. Antony is known for his punctuality, and he will expect me to be on time.”

  “I—I wonder if you could lend me some money, Marcellus?” his mother asked, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I saw a bracelet I admired when I was at the Forum.”

  Marcellus had heard the money lenders were hot on Quadatus’s heels, and he did not want his mother to suffer because of the man’s debts. “I’ll send a man around tomorrow and you can tell him what you need.”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes suddenly became sharp and piercing. “Wouldn’t you have thought your father could have left better provisions for me? My only inheritance from him was this house, and not even enough money to pay the servants.”

  Marcellus had heard this complaint many times. “As his widow, you would have received a great fortune. When you became another man’s wife so precipitously, the endowment stopped before it could even begin.”

  “Was that your doing, Marcellus?” she asked, hurt in her voice. “Quadatus said you could change the provisions in your father’s will.”

  “As head of the Valerius family, I command all properties and holdings. I could even have taken this house, but I allowed you to keep it because I thought my father would want you to have it. It is your new husband’s duty to provide for you now.”

  “I have never known you to be so cruel, Marcellus.”

  He felt her words like a stab to his heart. “Circumstances have taught me to be hard, Mother.”

  When he stepped toward the door, his mother intercepted him and stood in his path. “Will you not reconsider and invite Quadatus to one of your banquets?” she pleaded.

  He gazed down at her. “And I’d hoped you asked me here because you wanted to see me.”

  She dropped her gaze. “The hard fact of life is that circumstances change people’s lives, and we must change as well to help those we love.”

  He sensed a double meaning in her words, but he did not understand what she was trying to tell him. He ached when he remembered how much he had loved this woman as a child. “Would you embroil me in a lesson in philosophy, Mother?”

  “No—I …”

  “Why not tell me the real reason you asked me here,” he insisted.

  She met his gaze, and for a moment Marcellus thought he saw fear reflected in the shimmering depths—and could those be tears in her eyes?

  “It is as I have already told you—your stepfather would like to be invited to dine with you when you have important persons in your home. And perhaps you could even arrange it so he could be
presented to Caesar.”

  She had taken him by surprise, and he turned and looked at Quadatus. “I assumed since you are in the Senate, you would be acquainted with Caesar.”

  Quadatus looked annoyed. “I have spoken to him in passing, but Caesar never acknowledges me unless I speak to him first. I am not certain he even knows my name. But with your help, that could change.”

  Sarania’s glance darted up to her husband’s face. “Perhaps such an introduction would help advance your stepfather’s career,” she suggested. “Can you not do this for him?”

  Marcellus felt sick inside that his mother would use him to further her husband’s ambitions. “There are many in Rome who covet an introduction to Caesar. But only a select few are afforded that privilege. I will not take advantage of my friendship with him.”

  Quadatus was growing more agitated, his face redder. “Would you at least attend a gathering at our home if we invited Senator Cassius? Perhaps you could bring Marc Antony with you? Cassius has expressed an interest in meeting you.”

  “I have no liking for Cassius—nor do I trust him.”

  “Marcellus, put your dislikes aside and use your head,” Quadatus told him. “You are Rome’s most talented architect, and there are many who would court your favor because they are interested in your talent. There are those, Cassius included, who could help further your career. You must choose your friends wisely. Caesar may not always be in power.”

  Where Marcellus had merely been annoyed before, he now felt hot fury course through him. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to curry favor with your friends. My skills are dedicated to Caesar and the Senate.”

  Quadatus’s eyes narrowed. “Then you are a fool.”

  “And you play a dangerous game, Quadatus. I will be watching you … and your friends.”

  Sarania suddenly clutched her son’s hand, and his eyes widened when he felt her press something into his palm. She gave her head a small shake, as if she did not want her husband to know about it. “How can you refuse such a small request?”

  Marcellus was puzzled—his mother’s words said one thing while her eyes hinted at another meaning. “Our friends and acquaintances don’t have the same interests, Mother.”

  Without allowing either his mother or Quadatus to respond, he turned, wrenched the door open and stepped outside, taking in a cleansing breath. He knew his mother had walked out behind him and stood on the steps, but he did not glance back as he headed for the stable.

  He mounted his horse and rode down the tree-lined road, out of sight of the house, before he halted his horse and looked at the small papyrus written in his mother’s hand.

  My son, you must act quickly. There is a plot against Caesar.

  He reread the small scroll several times. What game was his mother playing?

  He didn’t trust her.

  But he must show the message to Antony all the same.

  Sarania watched Marcellus ride away, her heart aching. “My son has not forgiven me for the time he found us together,” she said, tears blinding her. “And who can blame him? He thought I had invited your attentions—how could he know you forced yourself on me?”

  Quadatus grasped her arm and turned her to face him. “None of that matters now. You are my wife and will be until death takes one of us.”

  Her voice was no more than a whisper. “I will never understand why you wanted me for your wife, knowing I loved my husband and have no room in my heart for another.”

  “Call it desire—call it blind ambition. Perhaps it was a little of both … or neither. I wanted you, and I took you.”

  Quadatus had already proved he could be ruthless. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to obtain what he wanted. Sarania no longer feared for herself, but she lived in fear of the threats Quadatus made against Marcellus—threats she knew he would carry out if she did not do everything he asked of her. Sometimes her burdens were so heavy she wished death would take her and free her from this prison Quadatus had created for her.

  But she must remain strong so Marcellus would be safe. “I die inside when my son looks at me with such contempt. Why do you humiliate me by forcing me to ask favors of him?”

  “Your son is a patrician from one of Rome’s most esteemed families. As a result, he has influence and powerful friends.”

  Sarania’s brow knitted in a frown. “He will never accept you into his social life.”

  Quadatus’s heavy gaze fell on her. “Let us not speak of that. I would rather speak about why you deliberately tried to antagonize Marcellus so he would leave.”

  “Nay,” she said, trembling with fear. “ ’Twas his dislike of you that prompted his departure.”

  “If I thought for a moment that you baited him by design, you would curse the day of your birth.”

  Licking her dry lips, she dropped her gaze. “Did I not do everything you asked of me? Marcellus does not like you, Quadatus—he never will.”

  He yanked her to him, his snarling lips only inches from hers. “I suspect what you are trying to do; you want to make him despise you even more than he already does.”

  She winced when he tightened his grip on her arms. “Why would I do such a thing when I want only his love and respect?”

  “I have not yet decided what game you play. But if you try to thwart me, you will regret it.” He slapped her with an open palm. “Is that understood?”

  Sarania winced and fell to her knees. “I gave birth to Marcellus—he’s my son.”

  “And you are my wife.” He gave her a triumphant smile. “I saw you and wanted you, and I took you.”

  “And you forced me to marry you by threatening my son’s life. You know that is the only reason I stay with you.”

  “Never forget I could have Marcellus’s life snuffed out like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And I never make groundless threats.”

  Quadatus had used threats and lies to force Sarania to marry him, and as a result, he had a cold woman in his bed. Each time he took her in his arms, he felt her withdraw into her own private thoughts, and no matter how skilled he was as a lover, he had never made her moan with passion.

  Quadatus thought back to the day he had arrived at the Valerius villa and found Sarania alone in the garden. He had not intended to rape her, but his desire for her had been so great, he had forced himself on her behind the huge fountain. She had fought and clawed at him, but he had overpowered her and clamped his hand over her mouth to silence her screams. He had feared the worst when Marcellus had come home unexpectedly and found them together.

  How Sarania had struggled and twisted, trying to get free, but he had kept her against him, even while her eyes beseeched her son to help her. Quadatus remembered the horror and disgust in young Marcellus’s eyes that day. He’d believed his mother had welcomed the advances.

  He did not know whom Marcellus despised more, him or his own mother.

  “I will never love you,” Sarania whispered.

  “Do you think I care? You know me well enough to realize I always obtain what I desire.” He turned away and stopped at the doorway. “You might think about this—I also get rid of what I no longer want.”

  Chapter Four

  Marcellus’s sandals echoed across the blue and white mosaic floor as a servant led him through a side door into Marc Antony’s garden. Antony was in conversation with his gardener, and Marcellus waited until he had finished before making his presence known.

  Antony was of medium height, with black curly hair and a face and body that drew the women to him. There were scars on his forearms from old battle wounds, but that only intrigued women all the more. His title was Caesar’s Master of Horse—while, in fact, he was Caesar’s most trusted friend and bodyguard.

  He looked up and smiled, motioning Marcellus to him. “You are an architect—what do you think of the layout of my new garden?”

  Marc Antony’s gardens and house had once belonged to the Great Pompey, who had been beheaded by the Egyptians. As a reward for h
is loyalty, Caesar had given Antony the holdings of the former Proconsul of Rome.

  The scent of pine trees dominated the air, along with a slight aroma of lavender. Lush climbing plants arched their way across brick walls, and an enormous fountain depicting Athena pouring water from an earthen jar vied for space with the trees. Marcellus smiled. “I have always admired this garden. I see you have made many changes.”

  “I’m glad you noticed.”

  Marcellus nodded at a grove of trees. “Those Spanish orange trees will never bear fruit in this climate.”

  Seemingly unconcerned, Antony folded his arms over his chest. “So I am told. But I am determined to prove you, and my gardener, wrong. It cost me a fortune to have them shipped from Spain.”

  Marcellus grinned. “The day they bloom, send for me. I will want to see such a phenomenon.”

  Antony shrugged. “You are saying I did not spend my money wisely?”

  “You did if you enjoy the trees and don’t care that they bear no fruit.”

  Antony laughed and clapped Marcellus on the back. “I did not send for you to discuss my garden. Caesar has a mission for you to undertake.”

  “I am his to command.”

  “Aye, you always have been. Do you know how Caesar refers to you? Of course you don’t; hence, I’ll tell you. He calls you his tribune who builds instead of destroys.”

  “Which could refer to the fact that I have only fought in the battle of Pharsalus.”

  “Worry not, my friend—you covered yourself with glory that last dreadful day. But Caesar would leave fighting to lesser men. He does not want his most prized architect in the path of danger.”

  “He is on a mission to improve Rome.”

  “Precisely.”

  Marcellus gazed up at the white-hot sky. “What is it that he wants of me?”

  “You are to go to Egypt.”

  Marcellus jerked his head in Antony’s direction. “Egypt?”

  “Aye. Queen Cleopatra wants her sister with her here in Rome. And Caesar is predisposed to grant the queen her slightest wish.”

  “I had heard the Egyptian queen had no sisters left. That they were all put to death for craving her throne.”