“Are you visiting Livius now?” Vibius asked me. “Would you like me to come with you? You might find it easier to be admitted if I’m there. I know he’s an important man.”
That was generous of Vibius, since I knew he was as nervous about this discovery as Gallus.
“I’ve met Livius before,” I said. “I’ll go myself.”
Vibius’s relief was apparent. “If you’re certain.”
“You’ll need to explain to your wife what happened. Give her time to prepare for lifting the curse.”
“True.” Vibius brightened. “Visit us on the Aventine if you need anything, Leonidas.”
“Go straight home and do not allow anyone in,” I advised. “Whoever started things with this ring might be ridding himself of anyone who knows about his plans.”
Vibius’s grin faded. “You worry me. Surely, it’s all nonsense.”
“I don’t know anymore.”
I turned away, preparing to seek out Sextus Livius. I was as nervous as Vibius, but for a different reason.
My news might cause Vibius to shut down this building project, shattering my belief that I could live life on my own terms. What if Gallus wasn’t given another commission? It was possible he wouldn’t want me working with him even if he did gain one—not if he considered me bad luck. Once that stigma was hung on me, I might not convince another builder to take me on, either.
Things had grown complicated since I’d picked up the ring. I had the idea that the man—or woman—behind this plot wanted it that way.
I made my way to the Oppian Hill and the house that Cassia had indicated belonged to Sextus Livius—one of his houses, that is. He apparently owned estates throughout the Roman world.
The villa lay on the crest of the hill, which was a spur of the Esquiline, with a view to the valley Nero coveted.
As with the home of Cloelius, no shops lined the domus’ front walls. The gate that led to the vast grounds was closed, no clients lolling about the benches in the courtyard beyond. I wondered if Livius would even be home.
I couldn’t help speculating on what the owners of the other villas in the area thought of the upstart in their midst. Livius had great wealth but no status. Cloelius, with his worn house and threadbare hangings, would gaze in disdain at the fresh paint and gleaming bronze door handle on Livius’s gate.
I grabbed the bell pull and yanked it hard. Somewhere deep in the house a chime sounded, one loud enough to summon any servant catching a nap in the far corner of the domus.
Minutes passed. I idly kicked at the wall next to the gate, noting it was marble faced and that my boot didn’t stain it.
I was about to concede defeat when a bolt scraped back and the gate was dragged open. The man who glared out at me was not a wiry door slave or a haughty majordomo but looked as though he’d once been a gladiator himself.
When he realized the caller was me, his belligerence softened. He opened the gate wider and moved aside to admit me. “He’ll want to see you.”
I stepped into a courtyard lined with greenery, where a single fountain cooled the air. The rain had ceased, but the mosaic pavement—depicting animals from ordinary cats to leopards—was still wet, which enhanced its blues, greens, reds, and blacks.
A gate on the other side of the courtyard opened to a long walk through a peristyle garden. An unusual arrangement, as the peristyle was ordinarily on the inside of the house, walled off and private for the family and guests.
This one was huge, at least a hundred or so feet long, lined with hedges, marble flower boxes, and carefully pruned trees surrounding a series of fountains. The fountains weren’t running, but I imagined that when turned on, the spray would become an artwork itself.
I followed the guard along this garden to the domus beyond. Two stories of gleaming marble rose before me, surrounded by a hortus that would make Cloelius sour with envy.
The view from this spot on the hill was amazing. All of Rome, including the forums, the Via Sacra, the basilicas, and the temples on the Capitoline unfolded before me. The pile of the Palatine dominated the lefthand view.
“Grand, ain’t it?” the gate guard said. “Nero’s tried to buy it off him plenty of times. Threatened him too. But the master says no every time.”
I didn’t blame Livius. If I owned this villa, I’d lounge here in the sunshine all the day long, taking refuge under the garden walkway when it rained, and never leave.
I hoped Nero wouldn’t take it into his head to invent charges against Livius, who was only a freedman after all, in order to steal his land. Princeps had been known to do such things.
The double doors that led into the house were as opulent as the gates. A round bronze knob reposed in the center of each one, with an intricate lock to hold the two doors shut. My guide pushed one open and led me into a wide atrium.
The atrium was double the size of our apartment. Water from the day’s rain trickled from the oculus to the impluvium beneath it, the pattering sound soothing.
