Part 12 (1/2)

But this was no dream, and though Portia did lean over him, it was with the deadly glint of a silver dagger.

He scrambled backward on the couch, and propped his hands behind him. ”What? What is this-”

The dagger was at his throat in an instant. ”Do not scream.” Portia's voice rasped at his ear. ”Or I swear by the G.o.ds I will slit your throat and not care who finds your blood on me.”

Maius pressed his lips together and swallowed. Her eyes were wide with fury and a cold sweat formed across his neck and dampened his hands. ”You cannot harm me without retribution.”

”No one saw me enter.”

Maius began to shake, and he held his hands in front of his face. ”Please. What do you want?”

She advanced the dagger. ”I want my life to return to what it once was.”

Her hand shook. Maius saw the tremor and gained confidence. This act of defiance was outside her ability to carry off. She was bred to days of refinement and luxury, not knife-wielding in the night.

Summoning his own courage, Maius jumped from the couch, grabbed her wrist, and twisted the knife from her grasp.

Portia cried out and went down on her knees.

Maius held the knife in his right hand, and still bent her wrist with the other. She raised white eyes to him. Anger surged through him. Anger at showing fear in front of a woman, anger at how near she had come to taking vengeance.

He reached out with the knife, jabbed it close to her ear, and watched as she yelped and squeezed her eyes shut. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced a lock of her dark hair from her head and let it fall to the atrium floor.

She breathed again, opened her eyes, and went limp in his grasp. He let her go and she sank to the floor, her face in her hands.

Maius gazed at her there at his feet, and felt himself spent and satisfied. For good measure, he kicked her in the ribs. She made no sound.

”Take yourself back to your husband and your brother.” His voice was a hiss only a whisper above the fountain's murmur. ”Give them a message from me. Nigidius Maius owns Pompeii.”

He poked at her with his toe again, and this time she roused, pulled herself to standing, then fled the atrium without a word.

Maius bent to the floor when she had gone, lifted the single dark curl and let it wind itself around his forefinger. And then he s.h.i.+fted his eyes to the doorway where she'd disappeared, and smiled.

CHAPTER 18.

Portia remained in Cato's house for the day, and stayed the night, saying she was not yet ready to face Lucius again. When the morning meal was served in the triclinium, she joined them looking haggard, as though she had not slept. Octavia fussed over her, but Portia sank to a couch without speaking, almost without seeming to hear.

With his father gone, Cato was now the pater familias, and he performed his duties to the G.o.ds on behalf of his family today, taking a portion of the meal and tossing it onto the flames of the brazier, and setting aside a small offering of salt and fruits.

Isabella did her best to charm a better mood from her sister, but it was almost as though Portia had seen some dark specter in the night and could not shake it from her. She took no food.

Before they had finished their pastries and wine, however, the darkness seemed to spread into the house. A commotion in the front of the home made its way to the triclinium, where the four had already risen to their feet. Portia hung back, clinging to Cato's tunic.

Cato took in the three soldiers. ”What is this?”

”We are under instruction to take Portia of the Catonii into our custody to await trial.”

Portia gasped behind him, and Octavia and Isabella both stepped forward.

”Who brings a charge against my sister?” Cato's palms grew sweaty and he s.h.i.+fted to block Portia from their view.

”Nigidius Maius. On the charge of a.s.sault.”

Cato reeled back as though he had been struck himself. Adultery, he had expected. But a.s.sault? ”This is ludicrous. My sister has a.s.saulted no one.”

Behind him, Portia's fingers twisted his tunic until he felt her knuckles dig into his back.

”She has been accused of stealing into the home of Nigidius Maius and attempting to murder him with a knife.”

Cato turned enough to see Portia's bowed head, then pulled away from her grasp. ”Portia?” She raised fearful eyes to him, and he read the truth at once. ”When?”

She leaned in, until they were cheek to cheek. ”I am sorry, brother. I do not know what came over me. Last night-”

Cato put two fingers over her lips. ”Say no more.” He turned to the soldiers. ”This situation should be treated as a civil offense, not a criminal one. I will discuss the matter with Maius, and we will come to a financial agreement-”

”Maius has indicated that she will be tried.”

Cato's mind raced. The Roman judicial system allowed much leniency in these types of cases, and a sufficient payment should cover the offense. That Maius would insist on making it a criminal case could only be for revenge.

Was it not enough that he burned my fields?

He remembered his words to Portia last night, that the people would believe her innocence. What would they believe now?

The soldiers would brook no more delay, and they shoved Cato aside to grasp both of Portia's arms. Octavia and Isabella both cried out as if they'd been seized themselves.

”Do something, Quintus!” His mother's eyes on him were like twin fires.

The soldier jerked Portia away from her family, broke the hold that Octavia had retained on Portia's robes. Cato was powerless to change this, she had to know that. Not now, not today.

He pulled his mother back. ”We must let her go.” He caught Portia's eye before they pulled her from the room. ”Be strong, sister. We will have you home before you know it.”

At the mention of her home, Portia crumpled, no doubt remembering the angry husband who awaited her there. The soldiers dragged her from the room.

And then she was gone, leaving Cato and the two women staring through the triclinium doorway in stunned silence.

But Cato could not keep silent long. No jesting comment, no irreverent sarcasm, could mitigate this disaster. Instead, a deep and furious anger boiled up from within and spewed out with flaming curses. He kicked at the couches, knocked over the tables of food, sent pastries scattering across the mosaic floor.

His mother tried to calm him, cool hands on his arms, but he shook her off. He despised injustice of any sort, and this was the worst kind, the kind that threatened those he loved.

In the stillness that followed his rampage, a terracotta jug teetered on its side on the floor, the only sound in the room save Cato's panting outrage. He lifted a sandaled foot above the jug and smashed it down, welcoming the pain of jagged edges.

Perhaps there had never been a doubt. Perhaps since that first meeting in the wine shop, when Maius had looked at Portia with greedy eyes and smirked through his subtle threats against Cato, perhaps he had made his decision in that very moment, though he had not known it until today.