Iris nodded. She clapped her hands. “Out!”
The other women immediately dropped what they were doing and left the room. Volusia smiled. Iris had run the household in Rome with a firm hand, and it seemed she was poised to do the same here. “These army men could learn a lesson from you, Iris.”
Iris finished making the bed, tucking the linens beneath the mattress and plumping the pillow. “Indeed, mistress.”
“Your family lives hereabouts, don’t they? Does the country seem familiar?” Iris’s family in Gaul had sold her into slavery to pay a debt, which was how she’d ended up in Volusia’s service.
“I remember passing through Narbo on my way to Rome,” Iris said. “It was the biggest city I’d ever seen, until Rome, of course. My family is several days’ ride north of here.”
“Perhaps you could visit them. Or invite them to come here to see you.” Volusia had always sympathized with Iris’s plight, being torn from her family and sent to a far-off land. Volusia had known upheaval in her life, as her father died when she was a child. But her mother remarried soon after, and Volusia grew to love her stepfather, Rufus. It was nothing compared to what Iris had suffered.
“That would be very kind, mistress.”
“We’ll speak about it more once things are settled here.” In truth, Volusia had been thinking of freeing Iris. Iris deserved it, after ten years of loyal service, and now that they were in Gaul, near Iris’s family, it seemed right. But she didn’t want to send Iris back to a life of poverty and struggle, so she needed to convince Avitus to gift Iris a sum of money upon her emancipation.
“Would you like to rest, mistress?” Iris suggested. “I’m going to have a talk with the kitchen to make sure they know what you like to eat.”
“Thank you, Iris.”
Iris nodded and left. Volusia sat on the bed, but she wasn’t precisely tired. Everything here was so strange, and she felt out of her depth. The air tasted different and this house, though a relatively new construction, was much smaller than she was used to. Before, she had only ever gone between Rome and her family’s summer estate in Baiae. Now, she was separated from everything she knew by a stretch of hundreds of miles and a towering mountain range. Rome was crowded, smelly, and loud, but it was home.
She sighed and lay back against the pillows as a sudden surge of loneliness overwhelmed her. She’d accompanied Avitus here not because she wanted to, but because it was a wife’s duty to go where her husband went. But now, it hardly seemed to matter. They’d barely seen each other on the journey. Avitus rode with Silvanus, his favorite secretary, and she’d been sequestered in the carriage most of the time, though on pleasant days she did insist on riding her gelding. Now, Avitus had barely stepped foot in their new home before going straight to the government offices to speak with Petronax, the stern commander who’d been in charge of the province until today.
Whatever her regrets, it was too late to turn back now. She had no option but to make Narbo her home.
Drusus nudged Max in the ribs. The legion had begun to disperse once Volusia, her husband, and the rest of their household disappeared through the city gates. “You sick or something? You’ve gone pale.”
“I know her,” Max replied under his breath, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “I was just surprised to see her.”
“The wife?”
Max nodded. “Volusia. We used to be friends. Before she married, and before I joined the army. My father and her stepfather, er, worked together.” Max’s adoptive father and Volusia’s stepfather had been consuls in the same year, occupying the two highest positions in the Republic. Max had decided to conceal his father’s political history from his legionary comrades, not wanting them to think him some sort of spoiled prick. Max and Volusia had spent many hours sitting through interminable dinners while their fathers talked politics. They’d quickly built a friendship rooted in mutual boredom and the urge to see how much mischief they could get away with.
Drusus opened his mouth to reply, but his face settled into a blank mask as his attention fixed on something behind Max’s shoulder. His fist snapped to his chest in a salute.
Max whirled around to see Glabrio, their centurion, wearing his customary scowl. Max stood at attention and saluted.
Glabrio lifted his chin. “Report to my office immediately, Legionary Maximus.”
“Yes, sir,” Max said. Fuck, he was in for it now.
The centurion turned on his heel and strode off. Max exchanged a grim glance with Drusus, then set off in Glabrio’s wake.
He trudged behind Glabrio to the low stone building that housed administrative offices for the legion, next to several rows of barracks. The military buildings were separated from the town by a wall and a guard, but the barrier was perfunctory. There was little restriction on who might enter the camp, and soldiers were free to move around the town when off duty.
Max found the close-clustered buildings oppressive and cramped; he preferred living in a tent on campaign, but the legion was too well-established in Narbo for such primitive measures.
When he entered the centurion’s cell-like office, he saluted once more, clasping his fist to his chest in a practiced gesture. Glabrio was a stickler for protocol and convention; he regularly disciplined legionaries if he deemed their salutes too slow or not crisp enough. For this reason, he and Max generally did not get along.
Max privately thought that Glabrio had a stick so far up his backside he should be chewing woodchips. He did, however, respect Glabrio’s experience, so managed to maintain a façade of compliance…most of the time.
Glabrio settled behind his desk and surveyed Max with a dissatisfied frown. “I look forward to hearing the explanation for your behavior today.”
Max swallowed and clasped his arms behind his back. “The explanation, sir, is that I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
Glabrio’s glower intensified. “You showed a clear lack of regard and discipline in front of our new governor.”
“With respect, sir, I was there by the time the governor arrived. He wouldn’t have noticed anything.”
