The man called Cloelius opened his eyes. “There he is, gladiator.” He raised his arm to point, water dripping from the bulky appendage. “Titianus Vibius.”
I said nothing. Vibius seemed to debate whether to stay or leave the room, but as I did not move, he opted for staying. He walked through the water to the far end of the pool, plopping down on a seat built into the concrete.
Vibius glared at Cloelius, who ignored him. After a time, Cloelius heaved himself up and climbed slowly out of the water, making a show of not bothering with farewells.
A youth, likely Cloelius’s slave, darted through the doorway to thrust a towel at him. Cloelius snatched it from him and began to dry himself as he made his way out of the frigidarium, the youth pattering after his master.
Vibius muttered something under his breath as he scowled after the departing man.
“Who is he?” I asked in curiosity.
“Him?” Vibius jerked his chin to the doorway through which Cloelius and the slave had vanished. “He is Tertius Cloelius Crispus. My brother-in-law. May the gods damn him to drown in the Styx.”
Chapter 6
I stared at Vibius, startled. “Your wife’s brother?” I asked, to clarify. “Or your sister’s husband?”
“Wife’s brother.” Vibius winced, as though he’d swallowed something bitter. “He argued long and hard against Aelia marrying me. Their father had gone to their ancestors by the time she met me, so Cloelius was already head of the household. Aelia finally wheedled him into giving his permission. She would have married anyone, I think, to leave her brother’s house.”
“Is Cloelius so cruel?” I asked.
“Not obviously.” Vibius folded his arms over his chest, which held a few curls of wispy hair. “He calls himself kind because he doesn’t beat his women or servants on a whim. Instead he shames them in public or simply flays them with his sharp—and witty, he thinks—tongue.”
I recalled the caustic way Cloelius had spoken about Vibius. I wondered if Cloelius’s dislike was solely because of his sister or if there was more bad blood between the men.
“Is he a patrician?” A man who used praenomen, nomen, and cognomen was likely from one the old and wealthy families.
“Oh, yes.” Vibius scowled. “Another reason he didn’t want Aelia to marry me. I’m a mere Equestrian. Also, she has a bit of money, inherited from her mother—far more than he does. She’s taken it out of his reach.”
“Why isn’t he in a grander bath?” I wondered out loud.
“Ha. He comes here to keep watch on me. Or so he lets me believe, but I think most men of his class simply can’t stick him. So, he bathes with the middle class and plebs.”
And gladiators, I finished silently. “He’s gone,” I pointed out. “You can enjoy your bath in peace.”
“True.” Vibius unfolded his arms and let out a breath, as though trying to relax. “That man poisons everything around him. Dry off well, Leonidas, in case any has lingered in the water.”
I sent him a faint grin then continued my soak in our newfound quiet. I understood some of Vibius’s sourness now. Guarding against the scathing Cloelius every day could make anyone’s temper short.
“I have met both of you,” I said after a time. “I believe your wife made the correct choice.”
Vibius’s brows went up at my pronouncement. He stared at me a moment then his expression turned to gratitude, and we said no more.
Sometime later, Vibius and I dried and dressed ourselves more companionably than we had undressed, and Vibius walked out into the afternoon with me.
“Until tomorrow, Leonidas,” he said.
I gave him a nod and turned my steps down the Aventine toward home.
I pondered about Vibius and his brother-in-law as I walked. I had to wonder why Vibius didn’t seek another bath, keeping its location secret from Cloelius. There were plenty of bathhouses to choose from in Rome. Or maybe Cloelius, the very suspicious brother-in-law, followed him wherever he went.
Thoughts of Vibius and Cloelius fled as soon as I stepped through our door on the Quirinal. First, it was unbolted, which alarmed me. Cassia always kept the door locked when I wasn’t home.
Second, voices floated down the stairs to me, but instead of the cheerful tones of Marcianus, I heard the thin, dry ones of Hesiodos.
It never boded well when Hesiodos appeared. I quickly climbed the rickety staircase and halted in the apartment’s doorway. Hesiodos turned to me, and I regarded the man with a steady stare.
“Leonidas,” he greeted me in a deadpan voice. “Cassia will tell you that, no, I will not intercede for you and grant you an audience with the princeps.”
