She nodded, and he gestured her to follow him. The streets were narrow, and became more crowded with people and animals as they headed toward the center of the town. The buildings, though nowhere near as grand as those in Rome, looked new, or newly refurbished, with clean concrete walls and neat brickwork. The legionaries must have been hard at work improving the town.
Volusia walked at Max’s side, their arms occasionally brushing. How strange it was to walk through the streets beside him. Even in Rome, she had almost always been carried in a litter whenever she wanted to go somewhere. The streets were dangerous, and mugging was always a risk. But today, with Max at her side, she felt completely safe.
In the road ahead, a large ox pulling a cart full of boxes made its lumbering way toward them, a man tugging at the rope connected to its halter. The street was barely big enough for the huge animal, causing everyone to squeeze themselves out of the way on both sides. Volusia followed Max’s lead and carefully stood to the side, waiting for the ox and cart to pass.
As the ox reached them, its path swerved toward them. Max’s arm shot out and swept Volusia backward, until her back pressed hard against the building behind her. The ox’s hooves missed her toes by barely a handspan.
“Watch your beast, cocksucker!” Max bellowed at the ox’s driver.
The other man made an impolite hand gesture. “Bugger off, Roman swine.”
Max replied with a hand gesture so rude Volusia blushed. The ox finally trudged past them, the cart so close it brushed her skirt. A little unsettled by the aggressive exchange, she glanced at Max’s face, only to see that he was grinning.
“You haven’t lost your taste for profanity, I see,” Volusia said.
“If anything, the army has only increased my vocabulary.” Max put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re all right? You look a little shaken.”
The warm, heavy feel of his hand on her shoulder, even through her linen cloak, was making her feel even more unsettled than the incident with the ox. “I-I’m fine. I was worried you’d come to blows.” She knew plenty of men—stepfather and husband included—who wouldn’t have let such insults pass. But to Max, it seemed to be all in good fun.
He removed his hand and shrugged. “If I got into a fistfight with every man who swore at me, I’d be too busy to get anything else done. Now, if that beast had injured you in any way, it would be a different story.”
Her stomach gave a pleasing yet disconcerting lurch at the thought of him taking action to defend her.
They continued walking in silence. Soon, they arrived at a small square that was lined with shops. Temporary stalls filled the open space in the middle. A display of colorful pottery caught her eye. “Let’s go look over here.” She wanted to make a good first impression on the residents of Narbo by supporting their industry and craftsmanship.
Max followed her around the market as she browsed everyone’s wares. He was a steady, mostly silent presence at her back, occasionally murmuring in her ear if a certain shopkeeper was known to be dishonest or their items of poor quality. She made several purchases, including a set of blue-glazed water jugs, a bolt of flowing turquoise fabric, and a delicately carved ivory comb for her hair. She arranged for the items to be delivered to her home later.
Shopping never failed to whet her appetite, and her stomach growled as the scent of something savory wafted over her. “That smells delicious.”
Max pointed to a stall across the square. “Carmo’s chickpea fritters. They’re good. He drizzles them in rosemary-flower honey. It’s a specialty of the province. Have you tried it yet?”
“Oh, everyone loves rosemary-flower honey in Rome. It comes from here?”
Max nodded. “Want me to get you some fritters?”
It would have been more proper to return home for lunch, but Volusia was much too tempted by the prospect of some warm, crispy chickpea fritters doused in sticky honey. “Yes, please.” She handed Max the remains of her purse. “Will you get some for both of us?”
Max took her money and obtained a pile of fritters wrapped in a clean white cloth. He guided her away from the market to a quiet side street, where they sat on an empty stoop and dug into the fritters. Volusia bit into one in delight. The fritter was warm, slightly greasy, crispy on the outside beneath the thin coating of honey but light and delicate on the inside.
Max shoved one into his mouth whole and chewed loudly, which made her smile. His table manners had always left something to be desired. A vestige of his childhood spent on the streets, along with his penchant for foul language. As a mother, Volusia’s heart broke to think of him being abandoned by his birth family and forced to fend for himself, but the fact that he had survived proved his strength and resilience.
Comfortable silence stretched between them for a few minutes as they ate. Volusia had never imagined she would find such enjoyment sitting on the street, eating greasy food with her hands, but this was the most fun she’d had in ages.
Max leaned back with a contented sigh after polishing off his half of the fritters. He licked his fingers and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is there any news from Rome? I haven’t been home in two years.”
Volusia cleaned her fingers on the edge of the napkin. “All anyone talks about is the civil war. It’s somehow tedious and trying at the same time. Avitus says that Octavius will likely invade Sicily soon. It makes me nervous to think of fighting so close to Rome. Are you disappointed to be missing the excitement?”
Max shrugged. “Sometimes, but I think I’d rather be bored here in Gaul than have to fight other Romans.”
Volusia grinned. “Finally, a sensible man.” She turned to more interesting topics. “I don’t see much of your family, but I understand all is well. I heard from my stepfather that Aelius is considering another run for the consulship next year. Assuming we still have a republic after this war, that is. And if your father runs, you know mine will have to as well, to prove he can beat Aelius.”
Max groaned. “Again? At least this time I can hide out here in Gaul. Maybe I should ask for a transfer to Syria.” He chewed his lip pensively, as if he were actually considering it.
Volusia laughed. “Nothing is certain. Don’t you miss Aelius and Crispina?”
He nodded. “Of course. But I don’t miss Rome. You can hardly take a step without someone asking you for money or trying to distract you so their friend can pick your pocket. If it weren’t for my family, I’d be happy if I never saw the city again. I’d much rather be out here in the provinces. We may not have a theater or circus, but at least there’s fresh air to breathe and room to gallop a horse.”
“The countryside does seem beautiful,” Volusia agreed. “I admired it on our journey, and I’d love to see more of it.”
