She was whimpering in her sleep, a dream taking her to a frightening place. Her cries grew louder as the moments passed, she fighting whatever demons were plucking at her.
I sat up and swung my legs around, the wooden bed creaking under my weight.
There was no light at all, but I rose and moved forward, one step at a time, until my bare foot touched a fold of her blanket. I leaned to Cassia, finding her shoulder with one hand.
She didn’t wake. Cassia quieted but continued to move restlessly, caught in battle with the dream.
I groped my way down the wall, ending up sitting on the floor with my back to it. I lifted Cassia’s head to my lap, my touch on her hair lightness itself.
I was amazed my hand could move so gently. Her hair was sleek and warm, the loosened curls soft against my leg.
Cassia drew a long breath. She did not wake but slid into easier sleep, her cries ceasing altogether.
I did not move, resting my hand on her hair and my head against the wall as the long, dark night ground on.
As soon as the merest hint of daylight seeped through the ventilation window high above the bed, the majordomo strode to our cubiculum. I heard his footfalls echoing in the passageway and shook Cassia awake.
She pushed her hair from her face and sat up quickly, startled to find me on the floor with her.
I rose with difficulty, my legs stiff from my night on the tile. My muscles must be losing their hardness—I would have to visit the gymnasiums at the baths more often.
“You were dreaming,” I said by way of explanation.
“I don’t remember any dreams.” Cassia climbed to her feet without fuss, as though her restless night was no matter. “Sometimes I do not.”
By the time the majordomo unceremoniously shoved open the door, I was seated on the bunk, tying on my sandals. Cassia had resumed her cloak, busy winding her hair into a knot.
“You are to leave now,” the majordomo said unceremoniously. No offer of a repast or even a sip of water. Cloelius was finished with his hospitality.
The majordomo stepped aside as I made for the doorway and strode out of the cubiculum. Cassia lingered to fold the blankets—she could not help herself—then she followed me and the majordomo through the still-silent house.
I saw no sign of Vibius and Aelia as the majordomo led us through the atrium and to the vestibule. The two might have already departed, or maybe Cloelius was giving them breakfast—Aelia might have insisted.
Two men reposed on the benches outside the house, waiting for an audience with Cloelius. This meager number of clients was a blatant indication that Cloelius had lost status as well as fortune. Patriarchs could grant favors that had nothing to do with money, and plenty of families without wealth still had much influence. Cloelius, apparently, was not one of them.
Cassia did not speak as we traversed the foggy dawn outside the gate, the air damp after last night’s rain. Servants emerged from other villas to run errands for their masters, but other than that, we were alone.
As we reached the lower part of the hill, crowds began to form, Rome awakening. Women gathered at fountains, gabbing with each other while they waited to fill their clay vessels. They broke off to stare as I lumbered by, Cassia in my wake.
The city teemed with life. Shopkeepers removed shutters and propped open windows, setting out their wares or produce. Vendors shouted at passersby, and slaves, servants, and plebeian women bargained ruthlessly with them. Priests with folds of cloaks draped over their heads wound their way through, intent on whatever temple they made for. In the Forum Romanum, bankers in their corner sat on benches, their first customers approaching.
I was happy when we reached our narrow street and the door to our small apartment. Before I could undo the lock, however, a rush of feet made me turn abruptly.
It was Duilia, Laurentius’s sister. She clutched at my cloak when she reached us, her eyes wide with agitation.
“Leonidas.” Duilia dragged in ragged breaths.
“What has happened?” I asked sharply, even as Cassia reached out a hand to steady her.
“A body was pulled from the river this morning,” Duilia gasped. “The vigiles say it’s Laurentius.”
Chapter 12
Misery filled Duilia’s eyes as she delivered the news.
“Are you certain?” I asked. “Did you see the body?”
Cassia started at my harshness and put a comforting arm around Duilia. Duilia shook her head. “No. My father went to claim him.”
