Guards lurked at every pillar, which were pure white marble. Our praetorian was nowhere in sight.
Nero stood in a niche in the back wall, as though he himself were a statue. He wore a finely woven linen tunic covered with a purple toga, and supple leather sandals on his feet. A gold fibula held his tunic at one shoulder, and gold armlets graced his wrists. He was a far cry from the scruffy man who’d played dice in the popina the other night.
The servant brought us to the middle of the room, bowed low, and stalked out the nearest door.
Another toga-wrapped man appeared from behind a column at Nero’s end of the room. I recognized his shaved head—he was the majordomo who had admitted us in the past.
“The princeps was dining,” the man said. “Servius did not tell me what petition you have, but whatever it is, make it quick.”
Servius must be the praetorian guard who let us in. The majordomo remained in front of us, waiting for us to tell him all, though Nero stood not ten feet behind him.
I cleared my throat, which was very dry. “We wish to speak to the princeps alone.”
The majordomo barked a laugh. “You think highly of yourself, gladiator. On your knees before your betters.”
Nero didn’t move an inch. Perhaps he truly was trying to resemble a statue. I heard that he’d attempted many things he’d learned while studying acting and music, some of them bizarre.
Cassia immediately landed on the tiles, her body bent in deference. I lowered myself more slowly, my knees stiff. As soon as my face touched the floor, I heard sandals brush the marble.
“I will speak to the gladiator,” Nero rumbled. “I do not believe he’s come to fight me. Everyone, out.”
No one moved. A helmet creaked as a guard fought to stand still.
Nero’s voice rose in annoyance. “I said—out!”
The majordomo heaved an aggrieved sigh, before I heard his footsteps, slow and disapproving, following the same path out of the room as had the servant.
The guards remained. When Nero had stated everyone, I doubted he meant the men who’d keep him safe. I was dangerous, and he knew it.
The statue halted before us. “Cassia. Please stand and tell me what this is all about.” A laugh emitted from Nero’s mouth, high-pitched and almost a giggle. “You have saved me from a horrible meal with boring senators, my dear. I must commend you.”
Chapter 7
Cassia rustled to her feet. As Nero hadn’t ordered me to rise, I remained with my nose touching the cold floor.
“I’ve brought something for you,” Cassia said without preliminary. “Leonidas has it.”
“Oh?” Interest filled Nero’s voice. “Well, get up then, Leonidas, and give it to me. Is it dice?” He laughed again. “I don’t have time to let you try and win your money back.”
I stood slowly, aware of the men with swords only a few paces from me, and carefully opened the pouch at my belt. My hands in full view of the guards, I pulled out the small sack Cassia had handed me.
As I doubted the guards would let me give the princeps a closed bag that might contain anything—a scorpion perhaps—I reached inside and withdrew the ring.
Nero’s brows went up, but he appeared puzzled rather than concerned. “Pretty. A gift for me, Cassia? How kind.”
Cassia stepped closer to him and murmured, “It is a king’s ring. From Rome’s monarchy.” When Nero continued to frown at her, she whispered, “It is Tarquinius’s ring.”
Nero’s eyes widened, and he took a hasty step back, as though I’d tried to give him a snake.
The guards noticed. Two broke from their pillars and advanced.
Nero waved them off with a snap of his hand. “Are you certain of this?” His voice turned hard, no more curious interest.
“I translated the inscription,” Cassia said. “It reads …”
Another chop of Nero’s hand through the air cut her off. “I know what it says. Someone will use this ring to claim my place.”
Both Cassia and I stared at him. He hadn’t so much as glanced at the unusual script.
