The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (39 page)

Damon hissed in a breath as Quintus laid it along his ribs.

Through the red haze of pain he saw satisfaction on the Prefect’s face.

“And,” Quintus continued in a conversational tone, “it is common knowledge that a slave will only tell the truth under duress.”

Damon choked out a ragged laugh. “Patrician reason. You’d torture truth from those who will die anyway.” He narrowed his gaze on Quintus. “I know nothing of interest to you.”

Quintus lips thinned. He walked to Damon and pulled his head back by his hair so that he was forced to look at him. “What did Theophilus tell you?”

“That you were an ass.” He bit back an oath as another iron seared his chest.

“I do not play games, slave.”

Another iron. “Neither—” he answered through clenched teeth. Gods that hurt. “—do I. What is it you think I know, Prefect? What is it that has you so scared?”

His taunt earned him another iron close to his groin.

“What did Theophilus tell you?”

*****

Damon could not tell if it was night or day but he did know he was in hell.

He shifted, tried to find some way to ease the strain on his arms. Not an easy feat when they were stretched high over his head chained to iron pegs in the rock wall. He gave a short, bitter snort. What was more pain when his whole body was in agony?

Quintus and his men had spent several hours trying to wrest Theophilus’ last words from him. He smiled tightly. They’d not been successful and he’d garnered great satisfaction in the look of pure rage on the Prefect’s face before he’d passed out.

He looked around the dank cell. Finding himself here had not been a surprise. Realizing he was still alive wash. He swallowed, cringing at the rawness in his throat. Why hadn’t Quintus killed him? Oh, he harbored no illusions that the Prefect enjoyed watching him suffer. Did the man know that leaving him alone to agonize over Julia’s fate was worse than any lash or chain?

He fought against the despair threatening to engulf him. Was she safe? Was she frightened? He blew out a ragged breath. No, he decided, she wouldn’t be frightened. If he knew his goddess, she was trying to devise another scheme to see him free and that sent searing terror through him.

Gods.

He heard the bolt of the cell door lift, watched as the warped and molded wooden door scraped open. He fully expected Quintus to be standing there, gloating. The bastard had visited several times during his
lessons
as he termed them, taking a morbid pleasure in seeing Damon writhing in pain.

Damon held his head up, prepared to look him in the eye. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of thinking he had won. But when the door opened fully, rage and anguish tore through him.

Silhouetted against flickering torchlight was Julia. Damon drank in the sight of her, a visual inspection causing his gut to twist. She looked pale, her features pinched and drawn. Her eyes were rimmed in red, swollen and even now filling with tears. It only increased his guilt to know she had been distraught on his account. But a wave of pride tempered his grief when she stepped inside the cell, lifted that stubborn chin defiantly and wrenched her arm free from Quintus’ grasp.

Their gazes locked and the pain wracking his body flowed away as he read the love in those blue-green eyes. Oh, yes. He’d inherited his father’s fortune. To find the woman he loved more than life itself only when he was about to lose that very life.

“You see, Julia. He is not dead.”

Damon jerked his attention back to Quintus. “Get her out of here.”

“I did not bring her,” Quintus protested, with mock affront. “She showed up at the prison gates making demands.” He leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms. “I thought to send her away, but being the altruistic sort, decided it might be beneficial for her to see the manner of man she has aligned with, assist her to make the right decision.”

“Prefect, I beg one indulgence,” said Julia, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Damon. “Might I have a moment alone with my hus...the slave?”

Quintus shrugged his shoulders. “My benevolence is running high today and so I grant your request.” He stepped to the door, his face turning hard once again. “Do not linger.”

No sooner had the door closed than Julia was on her knees beside him. The cool softness of her hands skimming his bruised flesh felt like silk. Emotion choked his voice. “Julia, why did you come?”

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I had to see you, know you where all right.” Her voice caught. “Oh, Damon. What have they done?” She cupped his cheek in her hand. “I love you.”

How could a declaration of love be both joyous and painful but Damon felt both in his chest as she carefully kissed his mouth.

“More, woman,” he growled.

“I do not wish to hurt you.”

“It hurts worse not being able to taste you.”

She framed his face in her hands and caught his mouth in a deep kiss, pouring her love into it. He returned it, every want, every desire, every lost dream he’d ever had poured into this one last kiss.

Damon forced himself to pull away. “Julia, there is one last hope for you.”

“And you,” she insisted.

“No, love. Not for me.” He shot a quick glance to the closed door, lowered his voice. “I found the man Theophilus, the night Quintus’ men took me. He was dying, but before he did he spoke of ledgers, scrolls, twice written. I believe that is the proof your father had, records of Quintus’ embezzlement. Find those scrolls Julia. Get them to the Emperor.”

In classic goddess fashion she opened her mouth to argue.

“No. No arguing. There isn’t time.” The door swung open. He leaned against her ear. “I will love you for all time, goddess.”

Quintus’ voice dripped with venom. “It is time, Julia.”

Julia kept her gaze locked on Damon’s as she stood. “Your oath, Prefect,” she said tonelessly.

Quintus heaved an aggrieved sigh and recited in a bored voice. “I vow the slave will be set free, exiled to some distant land where he may live out his wretched life.”

“Julia, no!” Damon struggled against his chains. “You can’t take his word! You can’t believe him!”

Julia turned on her heel, pausing beside Quintus. “I ask the indulgence of one more day to see my household settled.”

Quintus raised his hand and stroked Julia’s cheek, his eyes filled with a look of twisted desire that cut through Damon like a knife. Damon sagged back against the wall.

“Of course, my love. One more day and then we will be wed.”

Quintus stood at the door, watched Julia leave. He turned back to Damon, a slow, triumphant smile curving his lips.

Damon answered with a glower. “When will I die, Prefect?”

Quintus gave him a measuring look. “You’re not as ignorant as I believed. Tomorrow morning you will die the lowest death. You will be crucified.” A cold smile curved his lips. “I do so love to win.”

Damon closed his eyes, willed himself not to give into the despair licking at his heart. There was still hope. Not for him, his pathetic luck had run its course. But for Julia. He would spend the last day of his life praying to every deity he could think of that she would find the evidence that would save her life.

***

“There is nothing here, mistress,” said Kaj.

Julia raised her head at the sorrow in her friend’s voice, clenching the papyrus roll in her hand. Kaj couldn’t give up, he just couldn’t. She had to find it. She had to find the scrolls and save Damon.

She’d returned from the prison, desolate. Damon had been so wounded. Quintus had insisted to her that they had only interrogated him a bit, wanted to learn the truth and as all good patricians knew, a slave would only speak the truth under duress. That Damon had even been able to still raise his head and give her that wonderful, arrogant half smile had only sent the dagger deeper in her heart.

Immediately, she’d set the household to looking for the scrolls. They’d searched every crevice, looked beneath furniture, torn the house apart. She even had two servants dig up the garden. She’d concentrated the search to her father’s library. With Lares’ and Kaj’s assistance she’d scanned and discarded scores of texts, records, and personal writings.

She rose from the desk. “No, Kaj. It is be here.” It had to be here. “It only makes sense when that man, Theophilus kept coming to see father.” She snatched up a leather tube that was already emptied of its contents, let it drop from her hand. She let out a ragged sob. “Damon.”

Kaj’s eyes filled with sorrow.

“Julia,” said Lares gently.

Julia slapped away her brother’s reassuring hand, rubbed the tears away. She was not giving up. Damon’s life depended on it. She would send the family away to safety and go to the Emperor and plead his case. She’d ask her father’s friends to help.

“Let him see.”

Julia raised her head and wiped her eyes. Aunt Sophia knelt beside her, one frail hand stroking Julia’s shoulder. She wanted to weep all the more for the compassion in her befuddled aunt’s eyes.

“Let him see.” She repeated.

“Oh, Aunt Sophia,” she said in a trembling voice. “Please, not now.”

Sophia’s mouth twisted in a frown. She caught Julia’s wrist in a firm grip and pulled her to her feet.

“Aunt Sophia!”

Aunt Sophia answered by guiding her back to her father’s massive desk. She fell to her knees and poked her head under the table.

“I will call Helena,” said Kaj.

“No,” said Julia, holding up a hand. “I think she wants to show me something.”

Aunt Sophia smiled and picked at some loose mortar in the floor. Julia tried to lift the stone out but Kaj nudged her aside and removed it. Julia reached in and pulled out three leather tubes. Hands shaking, she opened the first and scanned the rows of carefully scribed entries.

*****

Damon stumbled as the soldier prodded him forward with the point of his spear.

At dawn, two soldiers had come to his cell, shackled him hand and foot, bolted an iron collar around his neck and taken him to the entrance of the prison. There he joined another group of prisoners just like before, though these men looked anything but innocent of heinous crimes.

This time his execution would be a more public affair. No sinister machinations but a proclaimed message of triumph for Quintus Marcellus. The condemned men were paraded out of the prison with a blast of trumpets and driven through the streets of Rome toward the most populated road in Rome, the
Via Appia
.

Yes, Damon thought dully. Quintus wanted the entire world to view Damon’s corpse and know that he had won.

Damon paid no attention to the crowds who jeered at him. He couldn’t care less about anything save Julia. The not knowing, or worse, the knowledge that she might even now be suffering under Quintus’ cruelty  was killing him faster than any cross.

“Master!”

Damon plodded forward, barely registered the rotten cabbage that glanced off his shoulder.

“Master! Damon!”

Dazed, Damon looked to his left, searched the crowd. His mind was playing games with him.

“Master Damon Pontus!”

Damon blinked, focused on the bald man towering over the crowd. Kaj?

Kaj shouldered his way to the edge, took advantage of the soldier’s inattention to walk beside Damon. “It is found. Julia found it.”

Damon paused, his chains clanking as he gripped Kaj’s arm. He searched his eyes, relief flooding him at the truth there.

“Move, you dog,” growled the soldier, jabbing Damon forward.

Kaj tried to follow, but another soldier held him back. “Master, it...” he shouted.

Damon tried to hear what he said, but the din of the spectators drowned him out. It didn’t matter. He raised his head, ignored the pain as pride squared his shoulders. Julia was safe. His woman was safe. This time he would die for a reason. He would die with honor.

The remainder of the journey was a blur. He roused enough to note he was to be among the first to be spiked. He stood without struggling as they stripped the tunic from his body, vaguely noting the raw pain of the dried, bloody cloth ripping open his wounds.

Damon squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to watch the preparations as they tied him to the cross. It would be over in a few hours. He’d never truly thought a man could die content but he would in the knowledge that his goddess would live. He whispered a prayer to Jupiter and one to Jared’s god that she would be happy. That she find a husband worthy of a goddess’ love.

“Halt,” barked a deep voice.

Damon kept his eyes closed. They were talking about something else. His death would not be interrupted, not with Quintus orchestrating the execution. He jumped as the ropes binding him were removed and he was lifted to his feet, the world spinning into blackness.

*****

Roses. The afterlife smelled of roses and woman. His woman.

Damon floated in a light haze. It was a pleasing surprise to find that his eternity would be scented with memories of the goddess who had, for a brief time, made his life in the mortal world worth living.

“Damon?”

Damon’s brow furrowed at the gentle voice. It sounded like her, too.

“Damon Primax, open your eyes.”

With effort he did, squinted at the blurred image hovering over him. Blinking slowly, for even that small action was painful, the vision came into focus.

A look of relief crossed Julia’s face before she spoke. “It is past time for you to wake up and speak to me.”

Damon shook the cobwebs from his mind and looked around the room. He was lying on the bed in Julia’s chamber. The window was open, sunshine lighting the handful of people scattered along the walls; Jared and Bryna with their tiny son, Lares, Aunt Sophia, Basil, Dorcas, even Kaj who—he blinked again—was actually smiling.

Julia was perched on the bed beside him, tempting him to reach out and touch her thigh. He managed to do so but his hand shook. She smiled and slipped her hand in his, wiping a damp cloth over his brow.

“I don’t understand,” he croaked, pausing to drink from the cup of cool water she held to his lips.

“Aunt Sophia,” Julia replied. “She knew where the scrolls were hidden. Father no doubt thought she would not comprehend what they were and felt no need to conceal his actions from her.” She sent a loving look to her aunt. “But she did and she saved you.”