Max didn’t like having Glabrio here any more than Volusia did, but to leave would show weakness or a lack of conviction in what they had to say. He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “It will be all right. Just ignore him and speak to Hortensius.”
She took a long breath and nodded. “Fine.”
There was only one chair opposite Hortensius’s desk, so Volusia seated herself while Max and Glabrio remained standing, glaring at each other.
“Surprised to see us?” Max said.
Glabrio scowled. “I’ll see you dragged before a tribunal if it’s the last thing I do.”
Volusia fixed him with an icy stare. “You’ll do no such thing.”
Hortensius raised his hands. “We’re not here for this sort of talk. Volusia, you claim that Glabrio attempted to kill you on orders from Petronax, the commander of the legion stationed in Narbo. Glabrio, what do you have to say to that?”
Glabrio stepped forward. “It’s true, sir. I was carrying out a direct order from my commanding officer.”
Hortensius’s thin eyebrows rose. “Did you know why Petronax gave this order?”
Glabrio shook his head. “I did not, sir. It’s not my place to question orders. My duty is to obey.”
“You’re a sheep with a sword,” Max said. “How much did your last shearing yield?”
Volusia bit her lip, and Max recognized the expression on her face from long-ago dinner parties: she was trying not to laugh.
“Silence, legionary!” Glabrio roared. “You will not address me with such insolence.”
“I’m not your legionary anymore,” Max said. “You have no more authority over me than any citizen.”
“Let us not raise our voices in front of the lady,” Hortensius interjected sternly.
Volusia inclined her head in dignified gratitude, but Max caught a glimpse of the smile twitching at her lips.
Hortensius addressed Glabrio once more. “So you do not deny attempting to take Volusia’s life, but you would swear before a court and the gods that you were acting on an order from Petronax?”
Glabrio nodded. “I’ll make any oath required. I was merely carrying out my duty.”
The centurion’s indifference was disgusting. Max murmured a soft “ba-aa” which made Volusia snort with laughter. She parlayed the sound into a cough, pressing a hand delicately to her mouth.
Glabrio’s face purpled. Hortensius glanced at Volusia with concern. “Are you well, lady? Should I have some wine brought?”
“No, thank you,” Volusia said, her voice steady. “Just a momentary tickle.” She turned her head to cast Max a reproving look.
“I have another question.” Hortensius rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingertips. “There were several other legionaries as part of the escort, correct? Were they given the same order by Petronax?”
Glabrio shook his head. “Petronax gave the order to me directly.”
“So you”—Hortensius fixed his gaze on Max—“were the only one who saw fit to disobey. Why was that?”
Max opened his mouth, but Glabrio spoke first. “It was plain as day. There was an inappropriate attachment between the two of them.” He waved a disdainful hand at Max and Volusia. “Always skulking around the horses in the evening, and sitting close around the campfire.”
Hortensius’s brows drew together, and he looked at Volusia. “Is that so?”
“We’re childhood friends,” she hurried to say. “Of course Max didn’t want to see any harm come to me. Frankly, I was offended that none of the other soldiers stood up against such a blatant transgression. It’s disgraceful.”
Hortensius turned to Max. “Your answer? Why were you the only one to stand against your centurion?”
The smart reply would have been to agree with Volusia. She wasn’t wrong, after all. But the truth rose to his lips before he could stop it, rushing out in a torrent of careless words.
“Because I l—”
