Leaning against a cold stone pier, Margo thought she finally understood what had driven her mother to prostitution. Since leaving Minnesota, there'd been a moment or two when Margo's hunger and desperation had made any source of money seem attractive. How much worse must it have been for her mother, with a young child to raise, mortgage payments, groceries, medical bills ...
And a husband who drank whatever money he got his hands on including any he could beat out of her..
In that moment, it became doubly critical for Margo to succeed. Not only did she have to prove to her father she could do this ... I'll make you proud, Mom. And I'll pay him back for what he did to us. l hate him! I'm glad he's dying, he deserves it... But she wanted him to live just long enough. The only way Margo could find to strike back at him, to really prove she wasn't everything he'd ever called her, was to do something no other woman had ever been able to do.
And she had only three months left in which to do it Three months to convince Kit she was ready to scout, to tackle an unknown gate, to come back with proof of her success. Three months. From where she sat, it seemed as impossible as telling Kit the truth about his only child.
Malcolm Moore's smile, flickering at the edges of memory, seemed nearly as great a threat to Margo's plans as the ticking dock. Men were nothing but trouble. They used you if they could, hurt you when they pleased, shattered your dreams if you didn't run faster than they could punch you to the ground ...
Malcolm Moore isn't like Billy Pandropolous. Or my father. But it didn't matter. She didn't have time for love. At least Malcolm Moore was too much a gentleman to hurt her the way Billy Pandropolous had That was very little comfort when Margo crawled back to their rented room in the wee hours and huddled under her cold blanket for the remainder of the night.
Margo tried to keep up a brave front when they returned to Rome. Malcolm, suspecting none of the turmoil inside her every time his wide mouth curved into a smile, showed her the Campus Martius, where the secular games were held in the Circus Flaminius. The area also boasted gardens where young men could exercise and play, the Villa Publica where Romans assembled for the census and to levy troops for the legions, the Septa where people came to vote, splendid shops where the wealthy purchased luxury items imported from around the empire, even a place along the Tiber where Romans could swim and splash in the shallows.
They toured the Forum Romanum, with its Comitium, the Forum's political center; the religious Regia with the real Temple of Vesta, the House of the Vestals, and the seat of the Pontifex Maximus; and the Forum proper, a marketplace, center of civic activities, public functions, and ceremonies. The Forum's famous rostrum or speaker's platform was where a man could address his fellow citizens while running for office or just pass along juicy tidbits of news. Decorated with the prows of ships taken in battle, it was impressive, with its backdrop of the Temple of the Divine Julius (on the spot where his body had been cremated), marble-faced basilicas or law courts and other public buildings. Margo was surprised to find women lawyers arguing cases in the basilicas.
"Yes, women lawyers were increasingly common from the late Republic on," Malcolm explained. "Women in Imperial Rome weren't confined to the home as they were in early times and other cultures."
Margo liked that. The water clocks used to time the lawyers' speeches fascinated her. Some dripped water from a tank into a bowl, lifting a float with an attached rod whose cogs turned the hour hand. Another kind used water pressure to blow a tiny trumpet every hour.
"An alarm clock,' Margo marveled. "They use an alarm clock!"
Malcolm only smiled, which left her insides in turmoil.
They followed the course of the aqueducts through the city, while Malcolm explained how the public fountains worked and how the aqueducts fed the great public baths as well as private homes. He even hired a boat and took her into the immense Cloaca Maxima which drained the city's swampy valleys.
He took her down the fullers' street, showing her how "dry cleaning" was done by slaves who stomped soiled garments into damp fuller's earth. The absorptive clay then dried and was beaten out of the cloth, taking with it oils and dirt. Then he let her watch Roman glass production, following that with a trip to a mosaic artist's the best of 'em." He hoisted the wineskin with a chuckle. "Come on, let's find something to eat."
Quite unexpectedly, Margo realized she was having a good time. She relaxed. Maybe a little dissipation would be fun. She'd certainly worked hard enough to earn a party. And if you have to say goodbye to this man someday soon, maybe you should enjoy him while you still have the chance. So Margo ate sausages that had been cooked in deep vats of olive oil, tried fresh-baked bread hot from the oven and wonderful little cakes made with honey and sesame seeds, and washed it all down with sweet red wine that left her giddy.
Greatly daring, she did a dance, not caring when people laughed and called her provincialis, rusticus, and other probably less flattering names. Malcolm roared with laughter, then cut in line behind her. His hands came to rest on her hips, leaving her flushed from scalp to toes. They snaked their way through crowded streets in a wild line dance that ended in front of a tall marble temple. When the dance broke up, Margo staggered dizzily, then fell laughing against Malcolm. He caught her and set her back on her feet. His face was flushed.
Her heart gave a traitorous thump.
"Where are we?" she asked breathlessly. Over there was the long side of the Circus and over that way was the river, but she didn't know what this temple was.
"That's the Temple of Ceres, Liber, and Libera." It came out oddly husky. His eyes were fever bright.
"Who?"
"Ceres, Goddess of Grain and Agriculture. Liber Pater and Libera, very ancient Italian god and goddess. She and Liber Pater celebrate a sacred marriage."
Margo found herself swallowing hard. "Really?"
"Why join during the Ludi Ceriales. That's about twenty-two days from now."
The whole city beyond Malcolm's bright eyes was spinning in her awareness. "Do Roman gods do anything besides make love?"
"Not in the spring." He was very close to her. His smile-and that answer-did wicked things to Margo's insides. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way his hair, fell across his forehead in an unruly curl, the way he took her questions seriously even when laughter made his eyes sparkle-even the sharp masculine scent of him-
Everything about Malcolm Moore set her blood pounding. l don't care if this is all there is, I don't care about scouting, I don't care about anything, oh God, let him kiss me .....s though he'd heard her silent prayer, Malcolm bent toward her. April sunlight turned the dark sheen of his hair to the gloss of a raven's wing. Then his mouth covered hers, warm and demanding and gentle all at the same time. Her senses reeled. She found herself clutching the front of his tunic. Margo had never been kissed like this, as though her mouth were a precious jewel which must be handled with exquisite care. Then his hand slipped from her face and touched the side of her breast
The kiss exploded into a mindless clutching at one another in the bright April sunlight. Afterward Margo was hardly cognizant of stumbling through the streets with his hand on her waist. Was hardly aware of the change when he plunged into a rustling grove of trees and sought a remote, unoccupied corner. Peripherally she noticed low hanging branches that dipped to screen a tiny glen. A natural spring bubbled up from a rocky basin and poured away through the trees.
Then she was in his arms again and his hands were on her bare skin and the only thing in her awareness was the pounding of his heart against hers as they went to the sweet scented earth in the tangle of their clothing.