Part 18 (1/2)

Albus laughed. ”Once Yeshua has set you free, you are free indeed. There is nothing left but to follow Him.”

Freedom. The word clashed with their prison errand-and with the bondage of his own heart.

Cato had been given a large basket to carry, and he kept his face half-hidden. They approached a darkened doorway and Cato followed the younger man past a guard and down a flight of shadowy steps that grew damper as they descended. Somewhere at the bottom a torch flickered uneasily, and an oily smoke filtered up to his a.s.sault his nose.

Portia is down here.

Anger and powerlessness swept over him, as strong as he had felt earlier when Ariella faced her opponent.

Another guard sat at the bottom of the steps, and he jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes, at their approach. Cato's escort whispered to him, as though they were acquainted. The guard stepped to Cato and rifled through the contents of the basket, clean tunics, and loaves of bread. Cato kept his head down, but the guard's attention was on his cargo. He nodded once, jerked a thumb over his shoulder and regained his seat.

His new friend led him deeper into the underground chamber. ”We are allowed to bring supplies to the prisoners several times each week. A charitable pursuit looked on with favor by the city's officials, thankfully.” And not the least of their charities, Cato knew.

They pa.s.sed several tiny chambers, with only a narrow door to mark each one, and a squat little window that looked upon the inside of the prison. The cells smelled even worse than the street.

The young man stopped before the fourth door. ”She is here.” He took the basket from Cato and indicated that he should step to the tiny window.

Cato peered through the square opening, but could see nothing in the darkness beyond. ”Portia?”

There came a shuffling, slow and deliberate. Then a pale face at the hole, eyes sunken and hair hanging in stringy clumps. ”Quintus? Is that you?”

Oh, Portia.

Cato's heart fell to his feet. He beat back the tears that threatened to spill, and reached cold fingers through the square. She studied his hand as though it were a novelty, then clutched at it with a desperation that broke his heart. ”Portia, you are ill!” She fared even worse than he had feared.

She swallowed and leaned her forehead against his hand. ”I have been ill, yes. But-but it is not the confinement.” She lifted her head, and he saw her own tears streak through the dirt that clung to her pale skin. ”Quintus,” she whispered, ”I am with child!”

Cato cursed inwardly. No. Not now. ”We will get you out, Portia.”

She shook her head. ”I have heard things. Maius does not push for a trial yet. He uses me to blackmail you. He will tell you that you must give up the election.” She tightened her hold on his hand. ”Do not do it, Quintus. Not even for me. He must be stopped.”

Cato's companion was at his side, pus.h.i.+ng clean clothing through the opening, and Portia accepted it with a grateful smile. He gave her bread and a jug of something, and she disappeared from the opening to store her treasures.

When she returned, her spirits seemed lifted, but it shattered Cato again to think that such small comforts could cheer her. ”I will stop him, Portia. I promise you. But I will not leave you here.”

”How is Lucius?”

”Like a s.h.i.+p with no rudder. He mourns your absence every moment.”

She bit her trembling lip at this, but then succ.u.mbed to more tears. ”You will give him my love?”

Cato nodded.

”But do not tell him of my condition, Quintus. Promise me this. I want to tell him myself. And I fear what he might do if he knew. And Maius-I am afraid that Maius would claim that the child-” She seemed unable to speak the words.

Cato reached through the opening to cradle her cheek. ”I will not make this promise, dear sister, because I cannot be certain what tomorrow will bring. But if I can keep your secret, I will.”

She leaned into his hand, apparently content with his answer.

”We must go,” Cato's guide said at his shoulder. Cato turned to find the basket empty. The man had already distributed its contents to other prisoners. Were any of them innocent, as Portia?

Portia brought his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers and he leaned his forehead against the small opening, as close to her as he was able. ”I will be back, Portia. Courage!”

And then they were out, back up the steps into the black night, crossing the city in silence once more. s.n.a.t.c.hes of drunken laughter and the shrill calls of brothel women echoed through the streets. The respectable citizens were behind their doors and it was the time for other pursuits. Cato followed his companion back to Europa's house, his mind and body numb, his eyes trained on the dark sidewalk and its cat's eye stones.

Portia and Ariella. Two women with secrets. Two women in trouble.

The frustration of helplessness surged in his chest, hot and bitter. He marched on, noticed a patch of tiny yellow flowers that bloomed in a crack between sidewalk and house, a surprising bit of beauty in the grubby street. Cato ground his foot into the flowers until they were crushed into the crack. The puny show of power did nothing.

How could he make a difference in this city, when he could not even save two women? He was a kitten fighting a bull, and would soon be stomped on like the flowers.

Back at the house of Seneca and Europa he changed his clothes quickly, thanked the couple for their help, and headed back out into the city. Already, his fury had hardened into a new goal.

The moon still hid behind the night's clouds, making it difficult to judge the time. But Cato decided he did not care if he roused the lanista from his bed. He had business with the man that he intended to conclude tonight.

Perhaps he could not help Portia immediately. But there was another woman who needed him.

And he had not lied when he promised she would never again stand in the arena.

CHAPTER 28.

Maius was displeased with the day.

He paced his lower gardens, which were angled to catch the rays of the setting sun, but took no notice of the spectacular display of purple cloud and pink light in the west. It had been frustrating enough to hear of Portius Cato's sponsors.h.i.+p of the games, but today's events far surpa.s.sed Maius's dour expectations in the damage done to his own position.

The younger man had been a candidate only a few days, and already he had won the hearts of the fickle public-at least when it came to showmans.h.i.+p.

A cus.h.i.+oned chaise sat near the central fountain, and Maius forced himself to recline, for pacing showed a certain amount of weakness, of fretfulness, and he had no need for such things.

But his thoughts flowed back and forth, first a.s.suring him that Cato was a novelty whose charm would soon wear thin, then warning him that the man was a danger to the life he had shaped here in Pompeii.

Maius focused on the trickle of fountain water and scent of evening flowers, wanting his gardens to soothe him as they usually did. A flutter at the edge of the enclosure brought welcome distraction. His daughter's penchant for bright fabrics made her seem like one of his exotic birds.

”Nigidia, come and sit with your father.”

The girl slid to his side and perched on the edge of his cus.h.i.+on, extending her bottom lip. ”You are so glum, Father. The games always make you giddy for hours.” She laughed and ran two fingers over his brow. ”I believe you have new lines here since this morning.”

Maius caught her fingers and kissed them. ”You know me too well, my pet. I am afraid Father is not so pleased with the games today.”

Nigidia's blue eyes danced. ”I found today's games especially amusing. When that Cato fellow jumped over the wall and ran into the sand-”

She did not finish, perhaps because the black fury that swelled through Maius was evident on his face. He leaned forward. ”That man is your father's enemy, Nigidia. Do not speak of him in my presence, nor praise him to anyone!”