“No.” Growing up, Felix wanted to follow in his late father’s footsteps and become a statesman, which would have required at least ten years of military service. But at the age of seventeen, his mother finally told him the truth about his father’s death: he’d been poisoned while governing one of the Gallic provinces, rather than dying of an illness as Felix had believed until then.
This revelation had thrown his plans into disarray. Suddenly, his dreams of becoming a praetor or governor or consul seemed pointless. Why serve the same system that had murdered his father?
So he’d turned to trade instead, investing in ship financing before slowly building his own fleet. He wasn’t satisfied to be a simple merchant. Felix had spent his whole childhood and adolescence dreaming of greatness, of honoring his father’s legacy, so if he was going to pursue something, he’d be the best at it. He’d still attain greatness, still honor his father, just in a different way than he’d originally planned. One day, he could hold the entire Roman economy in the palm of his hand, and he didn’t need to be a consul or governor or even aprincepslike Caesar Augustus to do it.
Felix fixed Marcus with a stern look. “And I didn’t learn tofight. Boxing is an art. It’s as different from a brawl in the streets as wine is from vinegar. Why were those boys attacking you, anyway?” Given how annoying Marcus was being at this very moment, it was distinctly possible he’d deserved the beating.
“We made a bet on the races,” Marcus said. “I won—of course—and they wouldn’t give me my winnings. They said I must have cheated, which is stupid, and I told them that any idiot would have known better than to bet on the Blues for that race, as they’ve got a new driver who hasn’t learned the horses yet. That was when the punching started.”
“I see.” Felix had found himself in similar situations as a boy—always wanting to beright, to demonstrate his intelligence and superiority even when it got him thrashed.
Marcus jogged a few steps and planted himself in front of Felix, blocking his path. For a moment, the expression of unyielding stubbornness on the boy’s face looked very like his mother—though Lucretia carried herself with a dignity that her son lacked. “I still want to learn.”
Felix attempted to sidestep him, but Marcus matched the movement. Felix glared at him. “Get out of my way.”
“Or what? You’ll punch me?” Marcus put up his fists in such an amateurish manner that Felix almost groaned. It was no wonder the boy had become an easy target for bullies.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give Marcus a few pointers. Just so he wouldn’t get himself killed in his next scuffle. Felix swept out a hand to push Marcus’s elbow down. “Someone can break your ribs if you keep your elbows up like that. And don’t put your thumbs inside your fists.”
Marcus adjusted his fists. He threw a wobbly punch and almost fell over.
Felix caught him by the shoulder. “Your feet are as important as your fists.” He demonstrated a typical boxing stance with his right foot a step behind, knees slightly bent.
Marcus copied it. Felix gave him a light push to the shoulder, and the boy toppled, catching himself on his hands and knees.
“Practice that until someone can shove you without you falling over,” Felix said. “Then you can come back. Now, I have a meeting.”
“I’ll practice!” Marcus shouted after him as Felix stepped swiftly around him. “I’ll be back!”
Chapter 4
Felix was glad to find Lucretia’s investor at home, and the man received him in his study. Publius Calpurnius Lentulus was a sturdy man with graying hair who surveyed Felix with a cool, reserved gaze. “I find myself quite busy this afternoon, so if you don’t mind…” His fingers tapped the surface of his desk.
Felix heard the unspoken words beneath Lentulus’s outward politeness.Get to the point.“Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, affecting ease though it was clear the man had only received him out of the barest civility. “I understand you have a significant stake in the business of the late Gnaeus Cornelius.”
“I have a significant stake in the business of his widow, Lucretia.”
“Yes, of course,” Felix said. “I am of a mind to expand my own holdings, and I would like to make you a generous offer for the purchase of your shares.”
“No,” Lentulus said curtly.
Felix blinked. “You haven’t even heard my offer yet.” Mentally, he increased by half the price he’d originally planned to offer.
“As you are so well-informed about my business holdings, I wonder if you also know that Gnaeus Cornelius was one of my closest friends. We served together in the fifth legion.”
“Ah, the fifth.” Felix racked his brain to come up with anything he knew of that legion, for once cursing his lack of military experience. “My stepfather was in the, er, third.” In fact, he had no idea which legion his stepfather had belonged to, but it seemed a safe enough fib.
Lentulus ignored the remark. “I would never withdraw my support from Lucretia. It would be an affront to Cornelius’s memory.”
“With respect, sir, I find that sentimentality is rarely a good foundation for business decisions.”
Lentulus’s gaze hardened. “Perhaps not, but the fact remains that my holdings are as profitable as they ever were. Lucretia’s management has not faltered.” He rose to his feet, forcing Felix to rise also.
The dismissal was clear, and Felix knew it would be useless to push further. He inclined his head in a formal nod. “Thank you for your time.”
He left Lentulus’s house. The sunlight, which earlier had seemed like a beneficent omen, now made him squint uncomfortably, and sweat dampened the back of his neck as he walked through the streets.
Winning Lentulus would have been the keystone of his maneuvers against Lucretia. It should have been an easy victory—offer Lentulus more than the shares were worth, make a deal, and go on his way.
