Текст книги "The Left Hand of Calvus"

Автор книги: L. A. Witt

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

I’m still in heavily guarded solitary quarters. I leave only when Drusus summons me or I see the medicus, and today, when I hear Arabo’s heavy footsteps and the rattling shackles in his hands, I fight the urge to retch. One of these outings will result in my return to the regular barracks. To training as a gladiator. To my death.

Arabo takes me to Drusus again, and I know immediately something isn’t right. As the bodyguard unshackles me, Drusus is pacing in front of the chair on which he usually lounges so casually. He says nothing until Arabo leaves and we are alone.

Without looking at me, he says, “I received a message.”

“From whom?” I ask.

“From—” He pauses. “From Verina. She says it’s urgent. Terribly so.” He continues pacing across the floor, cupping his elbow in one hand and gnawing his thumbnail. “She’s never summoned me like this before.”

“With respect, Drusus,” I say, “if the Master Calvus catches—”

“I know the risks,” Drusus snaps. He exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m . . .” He shakes his head. “Look, how much does Calvus Laurea know?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I step away from the door and lower my voice so it won’t carry outside. “He told me only that his wife was having an ongoing affair with a man within this ludus. He didn’t know a name, and he gave me nothing else.”

“And no other politician’s wife has ever bedded a man from this ludus,” Drusus growls. “And paid for the privilege, for that matter.”

“Is it possible . . .” I hesitate.

“Is what possible? Go on, speak.”

“Is it possible Master Calvus knows you’re the one his wife is involved with?”

Drusus halts. His eyes lose focus, and he digs his teeth into his thumbnail. “I . . . suppose. I never thought he knew about it at all, but if he knows she’s . . .” His eyes dart toward me. “If he knows she’s involved with a lanista . . .” He stops, rubbing his forehead and releasing a long breath. “Gods, that must be it. He wouldn’t go to this much trouble if he thought she was just bedding slaves like every other woman in the city.”

Drusus runs an unsteady hand through his short hair. This isn’t the man I’m accustomed to. He’s not calm and eerily collected like always, not poised to offer an unsettling smirk or a threat he’s more than willing to carry out. He’s nervous now. Confused. Uncertain.

“Are you going to meet her?” I ask quietly.

“I have to.” Drusus swallows. “I have to see her.”

“Drusus—”

“I have to,” he whispers with a degree of desperation I never imagined him capable of. “Something is wrong, and I need to see her.”

“And you could be walking into a sharpened blade. Drusus, I know I’m out of place here, but—”

“What choice do I have? I can’t explain everything, but if Verina says it’s urgent, then I need to see her.”

“I can’t stop you. You’re my master.”

“You’re probably wiser on this matter than I am.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead again. “If I lose any more of my sense, I’ll go right to the house of Laurea to see her.”

“I assume she’s asking to meet elsewhere?”

Drusus nods. “At sundown, among the whorehouses by the amphitheatre. It’s a place we’ve met before.” He shifts his gaze toward me. “I don’t dare go alone. I called you in here to ask if you’ll accompany me. As one of my bodyguards.”

“I’m at your command,” I say in spite of the nervous flutter in my stomach. “If you order it—”

“I’m not ordering it.” His voice is soft now, gentle and nearly pleading. “I won’t order you or either of my bodyguards to accompany me for something like this. I can only ask.”

“Yes,” I say. “I will. Of course I will.” I shift my weight. “But I’m not in any condition to fight. Not yet. My back . . .”

Drusus winces. “I know. But Arabo is, and he’s agreed to come with me. Between the three of us . . .”

“Whatever you need me to do, Drusus.”

“Thank you.” He touches my face, and after a moment’s hesitation, rises up on his toes and kisses me. Barely pulling away, he whispers, “This is more dangerous than you probably realize.”

My heart quickens. I don’t know if he means going to see Verina, or if he means . . . this.

Whatever the case, he’s right.

“I know it’s dangerous.” I rest my hand on his leather-covered waist. “But, with respect, why are we . . .” I hesitate. “What of Verina?”

Drusus trails calloused fingertips down the side of my face. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Saevius.” And he kisses me again.

Frustration burrows itself deep in my chest, and I want to shove him away as badly as I want to drag him even closer.

You have Verina, I want to say. Don’t raise my hopes, Drusus. Please . . .

But I kiss him and hold onto him anyway. The breastplate keeps my hands from his skin, so I slide them up to his neck and hold both sides as I kiss him harder. I know, and I’m certain he knows, this can’t last beyond this moment, but I savor it for what it is and as long as it lingers.

Eventually, Drusus pulls back, and he touches his forehead to mine. “Gods, Saevius . . .”

I shiver at the need in his voice, the need that matches mine completely.

“We can’t do this now.” He breathes hard against my lips. “Verina. I . . . have to see her.”

Jealousy tries to claw its way to the surface, but I just nod and step back. Whatever business he has with Verina, it can’t wait.

“Let’s go, then.” I gesture toward the door.

He takes a deep breath and nods. He starts for the door, but I stop him with a hand on his arm.

“Drusus.” I close my eyes and exhale. As I open my eyes, I whisper, “I’m in no place to ask anything of you, but please, Drusus, please promise me this will be the last time. You’ll both be killed if—”

“It will be.” He reaches up and touches my face again. “I need to see her this one time. I need to know what’s so urgent. But after this . . .” He trails off, shaking his head. “After this, I can’t go back there.”

Arabo and I follow Drusus into the city. He takes us past the market, closer to the amphitheatre and its surrounding row upon row of taverns and brothels, finally stopping in front of a rundown building that looks like it’s held up by little more than the half-hearted goodwill of the gods.

“This is the place,” he says.

I look up at the building, raising an eyebrow. “It is?”

“We’ve met here before.” He gestures for me to follow him. “About as discreet as you can get in this city.”

It’s certainly discreet. The only way I imagine anyone would ever be found here is when the ramshackle place finally collapses and the Vigiles pull out the crushed bodies. The narrow hall inside winds like a labyrinth with no apparent reason to its direction, and sometimes a crooked support beam stands right in the middle of the cramped walkway. Drusus slips past with ease, but Arabo and I have a little more difficulty. An even narrower staircase leads us up to the second floor, the steps creaking and groaning beneath our feet.

All around and above us, the wood is old, dry, and splintering. The stonework was shoddy to begin with, and crumbling from time and weather.

At the top of the stairs, Drusus pushes open a half-broken door. “Arabo, you stand post outside this door. Saevius, you’ll be in here with me.” He looks at us. “No one comes in this room except for Verina. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Dominus,” we say in unison.

With the bodyguard outside the closed door, Drusus paces back and forth across the creaking floor. Neither of us speak. The building shifts and groans, as if every breath threatens to bring it crumbling down.

Voices and footsteps outside turn our heads. We both freeze when the door opens.

“In here.” Arabo waves Verina in.

She enters, and as Arabo closes the door behind her, Verina throws me a wary look, but then turns to Drusus.

“I came as soon as I could,” she says. “Your message said it was urgent, and—”

“My message?” Drusus glances at me, eyes wide. To her, he says, “I received one from you.”

“I don’t understand.” Verina shakes her head. “I sent nothing.”

All three of us exchange glances.

More voices outside. Urgent ones. Footsteps.

Slowly, as one, we turn toward the rickety door.

And that’s when the chaos erupts.

Outside the room, men shout and scuffle.

“We need to get out of here.” Drusus steps back from the door.

I look around the tiny room. “Except there’s only one way out.”

“Maybe not.” Verina brushes past us to the window. “There’s a cart below. We can—”

The door crashes open. Arabo stumbles backward, dragging Lucius with him. Drusus tackles Lucius from the side, and both men go down. “Lucius, you son of a whore!” Drusus snarls as he punches him in the jaw.

A pair of men I’ve never seen before storm in through the open doorway. One goes for Verina, but I head him off and take him down. His weapon falls to the floor. Verina snatches it up while I subdue the man.

The other invader comes after me, and I block the club in his hand, but he collides with me and shoves me away from my unconscious adversary. My wounded back hits the wall, and searing pain blurs my vision just long enough for my attacker to land a fist in my gut. I grunt, curse, and then send my elbow into the side of his head before grabbing his hair and slamming his face into my leg. His knees buckle, and I drive him all the way to the floor. As soon as he’s pinned, I snap his neck like I did Iovita’s.

I grab his club and scramble to my feet.

Verina’s pressed up against the wall, and Arabo’s got his back to her and the dagger in his hand. He’s poised like a predator, ready to lunge at Lucius the moment he gets the opportunity.

Drusus and Lucius struggle violently for control of Lucius’s weapon, and with the blade between them, they grapple and crash into a wall. The impact jolts the entire room, everything around us wobbling from the force of the blow. Drusus slams into Lucius again, and something splinters.

“Watch that wall, Drusus,” I shout. “It’s gonna give!”

He drags Lucius away from it. Lucius throws a punch.

The first attacker, the one I’d taken down when he went after Verina, isn’t as immobile or unconscious as I thought. He takes advantage of the distraction, and in a heartbeat, he’s dropped Arabo to the floor and swept a kick around to the backs of my knees, knocking them out from under me. I fall, just barely regaining awareness in time to fend off a dagger. I block his arm. The dagger hits the floor and spins across it. I clasp my fists together and sweep my arms to the side, buckling his knees and bringing him down.

He recovers quickly, though, and pulls me off balance. My back scrapes against the wall, and the pain blinds me once again, giving him the chance to pull me all the way to the floor. The dagger flashes, but Arabo attacks him and knocks him off me.

A roar draws my attention, and I look up just in time to see Lucius ram his shoulder into Drusus’s midsection, sending both men flying into the wall beside the window.

Into the wall, and through it.

Boards and supports snap. Both men scramble for something to hold on to, but the broken boards they grab break off in their hands. Drusus clambers for purchase. Lucius snatches a more solid board. They’re both dangling now, but not falling.

Arabo and I both lunge for Drusus. At that moment, Lucius throws an elbow into Drusus’s face. Drusus loses his grasp on the ledge, but he grabs Lucius’s tunic, and both men drop out of my sight.

The crash is sickening. The street below erupts in screaming and shouting.

“Drusus!” Verina hurries to the gaping hole in the wall.

The remaining attacker is on his feet, and when he starts toward Verina, I shout her name, but he’s faster than either of us, and grabs her. Light glints off metal just before he plunges a long blade deep into her side.

She gasps, her eyes widening. He jerks the weapon free, then shoves her, and before I can release my breath, she’s gone, plummeting out the same way Drusus and Lucius did.

Below, more screaming.More chaos.

I grab the attacker, and pure blind fury drives my fist into his face again and again, even after he stops fighting, and it’s only when Arabo murmurs a soft, “Oh gods . . .” that I stop and look up.

He’s looking over the ledge, his face slack.

I snap the attacker’s neck and let the limp body drop to the floor.

As I get back to my feet, Arabo says, “Let’s get down there. Quickly.”

With Drusus’s bodyguard on my heels, I hurry out of the room, down the rickety stairs and narrow hallway, and out into the street.

People are crowded around the base of the building. We shoulder our way through.

A few bystanders huddle around Verina and the smashed cart. She’s bleeding badly, a leg twisted at an unnatural angle, and her movements are sluggish and weak.

Drusus and Lucius, however, are gone.

“Where are they?” Arabo looks around. “They couldn’t have—”

“The others,” someone says, pointing frantically down a side street. “They went that way!”

Arabo and I both run in the direction we’re pointed. The crowd is thinner here, as the road leads farther away from the marketplace and into the less savory parts of the city, but still we don’t see any sign of Lucius or Drusus.

The road splits. Arabo goes left, I go right. It’s narrower here, with shadows and crevices in all directions where the men could be fighting, nursing their wounds, waiting to ambush us, dead.

Gods, show me Drusus. Please, please, take me to him . . .

They fell from a second floor. If they’re able to outrun us and get this far from the cart that broke their fall, they can’t be seriously wounded. Not yet, anyway. I don’t imagine they’re running away from each other.

The narrow road spills out into an intersection, and from here, roads and alleys fan away like spokes on a wagon wheel. I skid to a halt, panting as I try to figure out which way they might have gone.

Arabo jogs out from one of the side roads. “Did you find him?”

I shake my head. “Lost them both.”

“Curse it.” He looks back, then turns to me. “If they can move, they’re going to keep moving. And we’re nearly out of daylight, so—gods, Saevius!”

I blink. “What?”

He cranes his neck. “Your tunic. It’s a bloody mess.”

I reach back with one arm, and my fingers meet soaked linen. When I draw my hand back around, my fingertips are red.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” I moisten my lips, my head suddenly lightening as the loss of blood catches up with me. “Just reopened wounds.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “We need to get you back to the ludus.”

“What about Verina? And Drusus?”

“The gods know where Drusus has gone.” He purses his lips. “Let’s go back and see about Verina, but then you need to see the medicus.”

I nod, and we hurry back down the side street to the chaotic scene beneath the gaping hole in a second story wall. A frantic crowd has formed around the cart and the bloody, twisted woman who’s now completely motionless beside it.

Arabo grabs my arm. “We have to get out of here.”

I gesture at the cart. “But what about Verina?”

He glances past me, shaking his head. “She’s dead. And this place is probably going to be overrun with Vigiles before long.” He shoves me toward another alley. “Let’s go.”

I throw one last glance toward Verina, but she’s deathly still and as ghostly white as her dress. What little of her dress remains white, that is. There’s nothing more I can do for her, so I follow Arabo out of the marketplace.

“Where would Drusus have gone?” I ask.

“If he’s alive, he’ll come back to the ludus,” Arabo says “Nowhere else he can go.”

“Unless he thinks they’ll come looking for him.”

“Who?” Arabo looks at me. “Who is behind this?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know for certain.”

“And Lucius was involved.”

“Him and Iovita.”

Shaking his head, Arabo mutters, “Bastards.” He turns to me. “Do you think there are more of them? Among the familia?”

“I don’t know.”

Arabo says nothing for a moment. As the ludus comes into view up ahead, he lowers his voice. “The men cannot know Drusus is missing. The whole familia will fall into chaos.”

“And they’ll likely kill me if I set foot in the ludus.”

“Where else can you go?”

I blow out a breath, but don’t have an answer.

“It’s getting dark,” Arabo says. “We’ll go in the back, and I’ll make sure no one sees you.” He glances at my back, one eyebrow raised. “You’ll be going to the infirmary instead of your cell anyway.”

“Do you really think I’ll be safe there?”

“You will be if I pay off the medicus.” He glances at me, then adds, “Under the circumstances, I think Drusus would forgive us for using the ludus treasury.”

“Let’s hope so,” I mutter. “What will you tell the men about Drusus?”

Arabo’s quiet again. Then, “That he’s attending to a matter in the city, and that the men are to continue their training in his absence.”

“Will they believe you?”

Arabo walks a little faster. “Gods, I hope so. But it depends on how many of them are in on the plot to kill him and Verina.”

“And if he turns up dead?” The thought sends a sickening shudder through me.

“Then there’s little we can do.”

I wince and curse as the medicus’s needle pierces my back once again.

“Don’t move,” he says.

“Then put some more of that tincture on it,” I grumble.

He dabs a damp cloth against the wounds. I suck in a breath through my teeth.

“You wanted more,” he points out, and removes the cloth. As he begins suturing again, the pain isn’t as fierce.

“Still working on him?” Arabo’s tone is a mixture of concern and amusement. When I look up at him, his brow is knitted with far more of the former than the latter.

“I’ll be fine.” I glance back at the medicus. “I hope.”

“Your own fault for not letting him sew it up last night while it was still fresh, you fool,” Arabo says with weak amusement.

“I didn’t want to wake him.”

The medicus says nothing, just jabs the needle in with a bit more force this time.

Arabo winces when I do, but doesn’t speak.

Once the medicus has finished suturing and bandaging my back, and Arabo and I are alone, I whisper, “Any news?”

“Lucius just returned.” He gestures at one of the windows looking out at the training yard below us. “On an undertaker’s cart. Beaten and bruised, just like the lot of us, but the side of his head’s smashed in and he took a blade across the throat.”

My heart beats a little faster. “Think Drusus killed him?”

“I hope so,” Arabo mutters. “Question is, where is he now?” He drums his fingers rapidly on the table. “He’s either been arrested or killed. Otherwise he’d have come back by now.”

“There has to be more we can do.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Something other than waiting here for another cart to bring him back.”

“I know,” Arabo says quietly. “In the meantime, the men have accepted my insistence that Drusus is in the city handling business matters, but they’ll only buy that for so long. If they catch wind he might not be coming back . . .”

I exhale, but say nothing.

Down below, whistles and catcalls replace the usual sounds in the training yard.

“What in the name of the gods . . .” I stand, with Arabo’s help, and we both go to the window to look outside.

One of the gate guards dwarfs a young woman as he escorts her across the yard. Her eyes are wide, her tiny shoulders bunched, and she watches the men warily. Rightfully so: she’s dressed and painted like a whore, and a yard full of dangerous brutes is no place for her.

“Who is she?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Arabo says. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

He leaves, and it’s only a few moments later when he returns, the young woman walking timidly behind him.

“She’s here to see you,” he says.

“Me?” I look at her.

She nods. “My name is Sidonia. I was sent to summon you.”

“To where?”

“My madam’s brothel.”

I pick up the clean tunic Arabo brought me earlier. “I’m in no condition to service anyone. Take someone else.”

Sidonia doesn’t move. “I was ordered to bring you and no one else. Mother Lucretia says you must come immediately.”

I chew my lip. The same brothel where I’ve serviced wives, but also reported to Ataiun and, on one occasion, Calvus himself. Surely one or the other is waiting for me now.

Arabo and I exchange glances.

To the girl, I say, “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

She gives a single nod and steps away.

“She could have information about Drusus,” Arabo says in a hushed voice.

I throw a wary glance at the girl. “Or she could be collecting and killing anyone involved in Verina’s death.” Or summoning me back to my original master.

“So what do we do?”

I gnaw my lower lip for a moment. “I don’t think there’s a choice. I have to go and see what she has to say.” Or what he has to say. But it could be something about Drusus. Gods, please . . .

“You’re probably right,” Arabo says. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you.” I wince and push myself to my feet. My back stings and burns as I pull on the tunic, and the sutures itch beneath the coarse linen, but scourged flesh will draw too much attention outside the ludus. Even inside the ludus.

Arabo and I approach the girl, who is waiting for us by the window, staring out as she chews her thumbnail.

“All right,” I say. “We’ll go.”

Sidonia stiffens. “Not both of you. Only the one called Saevius.”

Arabo and I glance at each other.

“I’m not going without him,” I say. “He can wait outside the brothel, but there are too many men between here and there who might want us both dead.”

“Fine,” she says. “But he does not come into the brothel.”

“Agreed,” I whisper, and wonder just what in the name of the gods I’m walking into.

More than once, I consider turning back instead of following Sidonia. Arabo is nervous too; I can see it in the glances he throws me every so often. This could be a waste of time. It could be nothing at all. This was dangerous. Gods, what are we doing?

But this woman, this madam, might know something of Drusus. Maybe he’s alive somewhere, and if he is, maybe she knows.

Or it’s Calvus. It’s been so long since he’s summoned me, and now his wife is dead. He’s either here to demand answers, or he’s here to kill me.

Fortune, Jupiter, anyone who might be charitable, please watch over me, and wherever Drusus is, watch over him.

Before we left the ludus, Arabo gave me a small dagger, just in case. It’s tucked discreetly beneath my clothes, and I keep my thumb against the hilt just to reassure me it’s still there.

We arrive at the brothel, and Arabo waits outside as Sidonia leads me in.

The air is rich with perfumes and thick with sweat. Several of the whores lounge on pillows and furs in this room, drinking wine from gaudy cups as they wait for the next man in need of their services.

“Mother Lucretia,” Sidonia says. “I’ve brought him as you requested.”

“Leta,” the madam says sharply without looking up. “Be done with it.”

One of the whores rises. Her dark hair falls over part of her face, obscuring most of her features. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at me, just waves a hand and starts down the hall. She keeps her other arm tucked protectively against her side, and she walks with a slight limp. From this vantage point, she’s lovely—slight in the frame with a green silk dress clinging to her smooth, gently curving waist. It’s a wonder she’s not occupied with more lucrative matters than speaking to me, and I pity her whatever an enthusiastic man must have done to her to make her move so gingerly.

And as she leads me down the hall, nerves prickle the back of my neck: who is waiting for me? Calvus. It has to be Calvus. I pray it’s Ataiun or any of Calvus’s other servants. Anyone but the man himself.

I casually slide my hand over the dagger hidden beneath my tunic, making doubly sure it’s still there. Amorous sounds come from some rooms. From others, the low murmur of voices. One man roars loud enough to shake the building, but I can’t bring myself to be jealous of him or whoever he’s fucking. My body wouldn’t stand for it now anyway, and even if it would, worry weighs too heavily on me to feign lust for whomever offered the right amount of coin.

The woman stops in front of a rickety wooden door that’s no different from all the others. She opens it, steps inside, and leaves it open for me to follow.

A couple of oil lamps and a shuttered window offer just enough dim light for me to make out my surroundings and a few of its details. Our feet are silent on the thick furs carpeting the floor. I pull the door shut behind us, eyeing the shadows for any signs we’re not alone.

Calvus isn’t here. Neither is Ataiun.

I’m relieved, but confused. If they’re not here, then why am I?

Looking at Leta’s back, I quietly say, “You had a message for me?”

Slowly, she turns around, and with a slender hand, she pushes the fringe of hair out of the way and lets the flickering light illuminate her face.

My knees almost buckle.

The long, false hair and the painted skin aren’t enough to mask the familiar face, especially the blue eyes I’d know even at a thousand paces. It takes all the air in my lungs to whisper the single word: “Drusus?”

“Yes,” he says just as softly.

I approach slowly, cautiously, narrowing the space that separates us, as if one false move will jar me out of this dream, and yes, it’s him. It’s truly him. When we’re but inches apart, I force a breath into my chest as I reach for him. “Drusus, you’re . . . you’re—”

“A woman?”

“—alive.” I kiss him. He’s still for a moment, frozen in my arms, but then he sighs and surrenders to my kiss, sliding one hand up my arm while the other remains tucked against his side.

Gods, he’s really here. He’s really alive. I let the taste of his mouth intoxicate me, and as I cradle his neck in one hand, I let the other carefully roam his body just to be sure he truly exists.

Without his ever-present breastplate, the truth reveals itself in the softly curving waist beneath my palm and the gentle swell of breasts against my chest, and in my mind I see the woman I followed into this room.

I draw back and look down at Drusus, letting my eyes confirm what my hands have already discovered. There’s no mistaking it.

This is no disguise.

“Drusus, I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“Your eyes don’t deceive you.” He—she sounds exhausted. Resigned. And still exactly like Drusus has always sounded, that voice that’s a note higher than a Roman man’s, and I realize now is just a note lower than a woman’s.

Shifting her gaze away, she folds her arms across her chest, wincing as she moves her left arm.

“But . . .” I moisten my lips. So many questions. So, so many questions. The one I finally speak is, “What are you doing here?”

She looks at me, eyes wide like that wasn’t what she expected me to ask.

I shift my weight. “What’s going on?”

Drusus glances at the door through which we came. “Lucretia owed me a favor. She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on or that I am Drusus, only that she’s keeping me here as a favor. I came here because no one will think to look for me . . .” Her eyes dart downward at her clothing, and her cheeks darken. “No one will think to look for me here. Like this.”

“But you wanted me to find you.”

This woman before me nods and takes a deep breath, and when our eyes meet, I don’t understand how I’m looking at a woman. The piercing blue eyes are just as they’ve ever been, even if they’re ringed with kohl and framed by a wig. The very same blue eyes I saw when we sparred, when Drusus fought as well as any man could, when he stared me down in the pit, when he cut down gladiators twice his size and put lanistae in their place at the arena.

And the voice, though it’s unsteady and quiet, is the same one I’ve known all this time: “Saevius, I need your help.”

I shift again. “With . . .?”

“I need . . .” She cuts herself off. Cursing under her breath, she steps back, and with some more cursing, the likes of which I’ve heard a thousand times at the ludus, she unpins the wig and pushes it off. My breath catches; though the body is still unmistakably that of a woman, the face is now even more the Drusus I thought was dead. A man . . . a woman . . . I don’t . . . I don’t understand.

Rubbing his—her?—forehead, Drusus sighs. As he drops his hand to his side, he looks into my eyes. “First, you’ve got to believe me: Verina was not my lover. She never was. It was just safer to pretend she was.”

“Safer?” I blink. “Safer than what?”

He swallows. “Than letting anyone find out she was my mother.”

“Your—” I slowly let my gaze drift downward, taking in Drusus as he is now, slender in silk and jewels. As I meet his eyes again, I whisper, “Statia.”

He nods again. “I was, yes.”

I slowly moisten my lips. “And Kaeso is your son.”

“Yes, Kaeso—” His voice falters just slightly. “Kaeso is my son. And I need your help getting him away from my father.” He pushes a shaking hand through his short hair. “Now that my mother is dead, Kaeso is in danger, and I can’t . . .” He makes a frustrated gesture at the arm he’s holding against his side. “I can’t fight like this. I don’t know if I can get him out without getting us both killed.”

“And he’s in danger?” I ask. “In your father’s house?”

“There is no place in the Empire where he’s more in danger than in my father’s house. Mother was the only thing keeping him safe. Now that she’s gone, Father has no reason not to cast him out and the gods only know what might happen to him.”

“But why? His own grandson—”

“Bastard grandson,” Drusus says through tightly clenched teeth. “And whatever Father chooses to do with him now, it’ll be quiet and it’ll take Kaeso as far from Pompeii as possible, that much I can be sure of. Openly discarding or selling a child, even a bastard child, so soon after my mother’s death wouldn’t look good for a politician.”

We’re both silent for a moment. I can’t imagine what Calvus would do to his own grandson, but he’s already had his wife killed. And somehow, his daughter, the mother of his grandchild, secretly became a lanista.

“Forgive me, I . . .” I let my gaze drift down his body, then back to his face. “How did you become . . .”

He takes a breath and squares his shoulders. “How did I become Drusus the lanista when I was born Statia of Laurea?”

I nod.

He chews the inside of his cheek, and then clears his throat. “We don’t have much time. Help me get dressed.” He nods toward the side of the room where his breastplate is propped against a pillow beside a folded gray tunic. “I can’t put it on myself. Not with . . .” He gestures at his arm. “Taking it off was one thing, but . . .”