She’d risen from the bed, her hands clenched into fists. The knuckles were white.
“Even murder?”
She stood frozen, her eyes locked into mine. Pain was there, a fresh, surprised pain, anger, fear and maybe a little admiration: she hadn’t thought I’d ask. I hadn’t thought so, either.
After a few moments she spoke. Her tongue moistened her dry lips. “Obviously not. How could his death benefit my family?”
I kept going. “What happened last night?”
She looked at me and didn’t waiver. “He was already drunk when I arrived. He was disgusting, a sweaty ox, not fit for even that horrid place. He stank of perfume, and played with me as a cat does a mouse.”
She shuddered, more in anger and disgust than fear.
“He-he refused to release any money unless he-he ‘approved’ me. So, first, he ordered me to take off my clothes, like a slave. Then, he said, he’d decide if I was worth-if I was worth bearing his seed.”
She didn’t seem to hear my teeth grinding.
“I refused, and he taunted me, pawed at me. I-I endured it as long as I could, the insults-his hands on my body, foul and filthy-even through my clothes, I felt them soiling me. He mocked my father, called him names, and boasted that none of us would see even a tenth of what had been agreed upon. I finally understood my debasement would accomplish nothing.”
Her jaw set in a grim line as sharp as her words.
“I even begged the bastard for a hundred sestertii, a fifth of what he’d promised, told him our honor depended on this money, and he laughed in my face.”
Tears of anger didn’t soften the hate in her eyes. She turned and looked straight at me, frank and direct.
“He said a pauper’s daughter was worth bedding, but not marrying, and he’d have to rethink the entire arrangement.”
She broke off for a moment, and wiped her face with her tunic, as if she were washing herself. I felt dirty hearing it. She took a deep breath.
“When I walked out the door, he was unfavorably comparing me to one of the whores he was about to use.”
I said: “Did he mention Agricola?”
“Once or twice. He thought he was being sly. Said something about having a new governor soon, one with whom he could do business.”
“How did you get the information you brought to me? About Domitian and Maecenas?”
She hesitated.
“Keeping something back won’t help your father.”
Her eyes flicked doubt and a little irritation at mine, but she continued.
“A few days ago, my father told me the Syrian was a spy. For Domitian. Word has been going about for months that the governor was to be replaced, so I wasn’t surprised. And it’s difficult to know what one means by “spy.” Some people might boast about an imperial connection but not really have the ear of the Emperor at all. That sort of thing. The betrothal itself was negotiated about four months ago, rather suddenly, and I assumed this was all bluff, or some gossip my father had heard from Caelius.”
“Marcus Caelius Prato? The real owner of Lupo’s?”
“Yes.” She pronounced it with distaste. “He-takes an interest in my father. It was he who suggested me to Maecenas.”
She locked eyes with me. “I knew what Maecenas was-I met him two or three years ago, when my husband was alive, at one of your Roman festivals. I think he had investments here. He leered at me even then, and Idwal-my husband-nearly throttled him. But now-”
“Now you needed money for your family.”
She looked away. “Yes. And anyway, I didn’t think anything sinister about it-everyone, after all-even Agricola-has spies. But the morning of the day I saw you-yesterday, I suppose, though it seems much longer-Caelius was visiting, and I-” She blushed. “I hid behind the hearth and tried to overhear their conversation.”
Throughout the entire humiliating story of Maecenas’ behavior, she hadn’t reddened. And now she was blushing at some eavesdropping. The woman amazed me.
“What did you hear?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “Bits and pieces. But I did catch something about-about a message. Later, after Caelius left, my father told me that Agricola was to be removed as governor and that the Syrian was going to help. How, he didn’t specify-he just gave the impression that Maecenas had a job to do, and would do it anyway he could.”
She tugged at her hands, over and over again. “I was upset. I’ll do whatever’s necessary for my family, but I won’t harm my own country. My father-” She hesitated again. “My father is dying, and he’s bitter. He feels cast aside. Ever since my mother died-in childbirth, delivering Hefin-he hasn’t been well. It’s been slow for him, and painful. Idwal gave him hope. And strength. He knew Hefin would be provided for, and have a father to teach him. But Idwal died, and since then, my family has died, too, a little more every day.”
Her hands, still now, dropped to her lap. Sadness lined her face deeper than age ever would. I took her hand in my own and held it.
She looked at me, her eyes warmer, and back down to earth. “My father has heard of you, and spoke of you once or twice. Someone told him you’re a friend to the Old Faith. But when I told him I wanted to speak with you, he became agitated, and absolutely forbade it. As soon as he fell asleep, I came to you, anyway.”
The old fox hadn’t shown any recognition when we talked. And didn’t he realize that forbidding his daughter from seeing me-especially when her freedom was about to end-was practically throwing her in my face?
“After I left you, I returned home to find that Maecenas was already here and had sent us his message.”
She moved closer. I could smell the skin-sweet dampness between her breasts. She grasped my arm.
“I-I thought I could love Rhodri. When I came to you, I only wanted to warn you. But-I can’t love Rhodri now.”
Her mouth opened underneath mine, probing and demanding and almost angry. I kissed her harder, and she pulled me down against her. After a few minutes, we drew apart. We both knew it wasn’t finished.
She adjusted her tunic and smoothed her hair. I said: “I can help your father.”
“How, Ardur? You can’t marry me, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’d be a suspect.”
“That isn’t actually what I had in mind.”
Two bright pink spots appeared in her cheeks, but she met my eyes.
“What, then?”
It was a simple question, and remarkably unemotional under the circumstances.
“Maecenas left money. A lot of it.”
“You found it?” She seemed surprised. “Was it a great deal?”
“Yes. Much more than five hundred sestertii. In a few days I’ll make sure some of this money makes its way to you and your father.”
She stared at me as if she were trying to solve a philosophical dilemma. I’d maybe expected a more earthy thank you.
“You can give your creditors my name-”
“No. That would be stupid. Then you’re linked to me again.” She thought for another moment.
“I’ll tell them the money was paid, but that it’s tied up in the investigation, waiting for the governor’s personal clearance. That should give us some time. Caelius will be able to do something, as well. Though I don’t like owing him anything.”
The only thing I owed Caelius was pain. I didn’t think he’d be as good at taking it as he was about handing it out. I wanted her far away from him. He was as rotten as a fat maggot.
“Say nothing to Caelius. Nothing about me, the money, nothing. No one knows about it except you-that means your father, too. And if you can, spy on him again, but only if it’s safe. He’s dangerous, especially when he’s got nowhere to run. How did he get so close to your father?”
“I’m not sure. But for the last year or so, he’s been visiting regularly, and my father treats him almost like a son. I suspect he’s been helping to keep creditors at bay, and he’s never been less than deferential and polite to me. But I’ve never liked him.”