Aemil would be so furious he might kill me on the spot.
On the other hand …
I glanced at the shop I’d emerged from before Aemil had hailed me. The goldsmith who owned it, a man called Decimus, made delicate ornaments of skillfully worked gold. I’d asked him what price I’d have to pay for a pin to hold closed the finely woven cloak Cassia wore in the cool of winter.
Cassia was a scribe but also a slave, so the fabrics she wore were limited by law. She stuck to linen sheaths that brushed the tops of her leather sandals or closed shoes, and woolen cloaks that hid her in their many folds.
Cassia, however, was resourceful enough to find wool so delicate it draped like a Roman matron’s exquisite silks. She was proud of the light gray winter cloak she’d recently purchased that kept her warm as she strolled about Rome on her errands.
The pin I wanted him to make would be expensive, Decimus warned me, but I was determined to find the means to buy it.
I’d learned in the months I’d lived with Cassia, who could negotiate like the sharpest advocate in the courts of the Basilica Julia, to never let pass an opportunity to bring in some needed cash.
She was at home today, as I’d wanted to keep my trip to the goldsmith secret from her, but I could hear her voice as clearly as if she stood next to me.
Tell Aemil to name his price.
“What fee will you pay?” I asked, as though it was of negligible interest.
Do not settle for the first offer, Cassia seemed to whisper to me. He will go higher, if he truly wants you.
“A sestertius,” Aemil responded testily. “I know your slave will demand at least that.”
I rubbed my head, noting that I needed to visit the barber again to have it shaved close.
“She will want two,” I responded warningly.
“Juno’s teeth, Leonidas,” Aemil growled.
I shrugged. “Two sestertii. Or I’ll have to refuse.”
Aemil weighed paying me more than he wanted against the eventual riches that my presence might bring his way.
“I could kill him,” Regulus offered while Aemil pondered. “At the games, I mean. I could run him through before the multitudes, the new primus palus ridding Rome of the old. I’d wager many would pay to see that.”
I remained stoic, my arms folded, giving Regulus the unmoving stare I’d grown famous for.
Regulus would happily murder me as part of the spectacle and laugh on the way home, though he’d find the task harder than he believed. I’d simply put him into the saniarum, where Marcianus tended to the wounded gladiators. Regulus’s injuries might take him out of the games altogether.
What concerned me more was that Aemil had gone thoughtful, considering it.
“If Regulus kills me, Cassia will quadruple the fee,” I stated. “Then, if you refuse to pay her, she’ll take you to court.”
“She’s a slave,” Regulus scoffed. “She can’t.”
“But Marcianus could,” I said. “Marcianus likes Cassia and would aid her in whatever she wished.”
Marcianus was from the Equestrian class, with his own practice on the Aventine when he wasn’t sewing up Aemil’s gladiators, and he’d taken to Cassia. They shared many interests, and I’d often find them in our apartment, nattering in Greek over some scroll open on the table between them.
Marcianus might not interfere with Aemil’s plans for my sake, but he would for Cassia’s.
Aemil knew this too. He sighed heavily. “Yes, all right. Regulus, I can’t afford a court battle, so keep your sword sheathed.”
Regulus scowled but subsided.
“Two sestertii,” Aemil told me in resignation. “For you to stand in the arena and let people cheer for you. It’s robbery, but I agree. I’ll scratch out a contract, because I know your woman will want that too.”
“Disgusting how the great Leonidas lets a slave lead him around by the balls,” Regulus muttered.
