But Lentulus hadn’t even heard the offer. His affection for Lucretia and her dead husband had outweighed any money Felix could tender.
The rejection rankled. Perhaps this was Lucretia’s edge: peoplelikedher, in a way they had never liked him. Cornelius, too, had been affable and well-regarded by everyone.
Felix never seemed to form those sorts of attachments with people. He was competent at maintaining business relationships, but having friends purely for social purposes seemed like a waste of time. He would much rather spend an evening haggling over the price of olive oil than socializing at a dinner party, though he forced himself to accept the occasional invitation, recognizing the valuable connections they could cultivate.
Well, if he couldn’t beat Lucretia when it came to the connections she had built, he would have to take more drastic measures. He just didn’t know what they were yet.
When his mind was fuzzy and he was faced with a problem he couldn’t solve, he went to the gymnasium. The pain and physical suffering of a boxing round—whether against an opponent or a sand-filled leather bag—often jolted loose the wheels of his mind.
He traversed the few blocks to the gymnasium, a large building which also housed a bathing complex. There was nothing more pleasurable than sinking into a hot, steamy bath after a brutal boxing session.
Felix paid the small entrance fee, then went to the changing room to shed his tunic, leaving himself clad in a loincloth. He picked up a clean towel and also bound his knuckles in strips of cloth to protect them. Professional boxers wore metal knuckle casings to deal maximum damage to their opponents, but such vicious measures were not necessary for a hobbyist like Felix.
In the outdoor training area, a tall, elegant colonnade bordered a running track, with an open field in the center. In the field, men practiced javelin throwing and wrestling. Inside the shaded colonnade, there were spaces for weightlifting, bagshung for boxing, and benches lining semicircular niches for those who came to the gymnasium to socialize. The clang of heavy weights hitting the stone floor echoed through the colonnade.
Felix found an unoccupied boxing bag. He set down his towel and stretched to warm up, loosening his shoulders, back, and wrists. As he did so, he gazed around. On the exterior wall of the building that housed the baths, a large mural depicted the mythic runner Atalanta. Wearing a hip-length tunic that exposed one breast, she was rendered in motion, running with her feet barely touching the ground. Felix had often thought the mural was an ironic choice for the gym, where no women were permitted.
A thought struck him, and he straightened sharply from his sideways bend.
Lucretia was a woman, and like Atalanta, Lucretia was attempting to carve her own path in a world of men. Of course, he had always known Lucretia was a woman—he was painfully aware of it most of the time—but he had never fully comprehended how he could use that to his advantage.
Because he had just realized how to cut off Lucretia’s operations from their very origin. Women were allowed to engage in business only with permission from a male guardian. In practice, this rule was loosely observed, but if her guardian should explicitly withdraw consent, then Lucretia would have to cease her operations.
If Felix could only contact her guardian…but he didn’t know who it was. Lucretia’s father was deceased, and as far as he knew, she didn’t have any brothers. Perhaps she had an uncle or a distant cousin who had assumed the role after Cornelius died.
Thus, he first had to discover the identity of her guardian, and then persuade, bribe, or otherwise coerce the man into forcing Lucretia to cease her business endeavors. Then Felixcould swoop in and buy up her ships, taking control of her lucrative merchant relationships and trade routes in the western Mediterranean.
His mind full of his fledgling plan, Felix finished stretching and approached the boxing bag. He landed one swift punch to the center of the bag. The impact radiated through his knuckles all the way up his arm.
Something about this plan felt uneasy, bereft of the satisfaction that usually filled him when he solved a nagging problem. Yes, perhaps it was unfair to target Lucretia based only on her gender, but business was business. If Felix was able to combine her mastery of trade in the western Mediterranean with his control over the eastern Mediterranean, he would be unquestionably the most powerful businessman in Ostia. And from there, he could expand north to Genua, south to Neapolis.
That was the path to true power—not through politics or statesmanship, like his murdered father. But through simple, cold money.
Atalanta had eventually succumbed to a man’s trickery, and if Felix had his way, Lucretia would too.
Chapter 5
“Ihave good news and bad news,” Dihya announced as Lucretia entered the office in the morning. “Well, mediocre news, not bad.”
“Oh?” Lucretia slipped off the light cloak she wore to protect her dress from the dust and dirt on the streets, and hung it on a hook. “Mediocre news first, I think.”
Dihya passed her a wax tablet. “A message from Publius Calpurnius Lentulus. He writes that Felix paid him a visit yesterday, attempting to convince him to relinquish his support of you.”
Lucretia scanned the message. She had, of course, anticipated this; it was why she’d made sure to ascertain Lentulus’s constancy. But the proof of Felix’s audacity made her teeth clench.
Even though he hadn’t been successful, this still required retaliation. She’d have to consider her next move. He couldn’t be allowed to get away with this unscathed.
“And the good news?” Lucretia asked.
Dihya jumped to her feet with an excited bounce. “My daughter has a suitor!”
“Oh, that’s excellent!” Dihya’s daughter, Tadla, was fifteen, and Lucretia had often listened to Dihya fret over her marriage prospects. Dihya had feared that Tadla’s pickings would be slim, without a father to negotiate her betrothal. Listening to Dihya’s worries made Lucretia grateful she had no daughters, as Marcus would find his own bride when the time came and not for at least a decade at that.
“Who is the lucky man?” Lucretia asked. “Do I know him?”
“You do, indeed. He’s none other than our favorite baker.”
Lucretia’s mouth dropped open. “Caeso? He’s interested in—in Tadla?” She would have sworn Caeso’s interest lay in the mother, not the daughter.
