Part 23 (1/2)

”Lucius? Mother and Isabella?”

”We were all in the theater when it happened. I lost track of them, but the walls held and everyone got out. I am certain they escaped. I came to check on you.”

She put her forehead to his hand, as she had the last time he visited.

”You are still-healthy-Portia?” He lacked the words to speak of womanly things, but his mother and sister would press him for details.

She nodded. ”The baby moves within me now, Quintus.” Her voice took on awe. ”It is the only thing that keeps me from going mad down here.”

The guard must have regained his courage in the lack of aftershocks, for Cato heard him lumbering down the steps.

”You there, you're not supposed to be here!” He brandished a short sword, though he looked slow enough for Cato to take it from him.

Cato held up a hand and nodded. ”I am leaving.” He squeezed his sister's fingers and whispered to her. ”It will not be long, I promise you.”

And then he pushed past the guard, up the steps, and back into the vacant Forum area, still sun-drenched and warm as though nothing had shaken it.

Portia was safe, but what of those at home? He broke into a run once more, taking narrow alleys and side streets to avoid the crowds.

His house still stood in the center of the block, though a few terracotta tiles from the roof had slid to the street and shattered. He stepped over the shards and through the doorway, calling out to his family before he crossed the threshold.

His mother's face appeared at the far end of the courtyard. ”Quintus! Where have you been?”

At her shout, Isabella rushed out of the back corridor.

The three met in the midst of the courtyard shrubbery. ”I have been to check on Portia.”

His mother gripped his hands, wordless.

”She is well.” He closed his eyes. ”As well as she could be.”

”The baby?”

Cato smiled on his mother and Isabella. ”She tells me that the baby's kicking keeps her company in that foul place.”

Octavia put delicate fingers to her mouth and turned away as though ashamed of her emotion.

”She asked for Lucius, of course.”

Isabella nodded. ”I sent him to his home to check on his belongings and servants. He is unhurt.”

Cato surveyed the interior of the house. ”And the Catonii? Did we fare so well?”

Octavia was once again the brisk household manager. ”A few broken pots. A crack in the south wall of the triclinium. Nothing more.”

Cato's eyes strayed to the servant's corridor that led to the kitchen. ”No one hurt?”

Octavia didn't answer. He brought his attention back to her, and was surprised to see annoyance there.

Her brow furrowed. ”Perhaps there are slaves you'd like to check on personally?”

He inhaled and looked away. Despite her disapproval, he intended to do just that.

He found Ariella bent over a large basin, was.h.i.+ng pottery. At his entrance, she jumped to her feet, circled the basin, and rushed to him, her eyes wide. ”Were you hurt?”

Her swift approach and obvious concern left him a bit breathless. He shook his head, wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her close. ”You?”

”I was outdoors, at the fountain. I am well.”

They remained there a moment, and he allowed himself the indulgence, but soon released her and stepped away. She is a Jewess. And she is a slave.

”There is no Jew nor Greek. No slave nor free. One in Christ Jesus.” Paul's words, spoken by Jeremiah, but still too hard to accept. Still . . .

How much longer could he keep Ariella physically close but distanced from his heart?

His mother was right to be concerned.

CHAPTER 35.

Maius returned from the theater, still fuming. The townspeople had reacted as though the world were coming to an end, when in truth the earthquake had been minor. Maius would not care, except for the stolen opportunity for a reb.u.t.tal to Cato's speech, and the way in which the earthquake had seemed to fortify the would-be duovir's message.

He strolled through his house, inspecting walls and sculptures for damage, and found only a few minor pieces broken in the front halls, and no structural harm. The city had withstood far worse years ago.

When he reached the sunlit gardens, Nigidia looked to him from her place on a bench. He had expected frightened tears, but she only smiled, a sad smile he could not understand, that did not reach to her lovely blue eyes. She seemed to be pulling away from him of late.

”I am glad you are unhurt,” she said simply.

He left her there in the gardens, unwilling to draw her out this afternoon. His thoughts were all for Portius Cato.

The man refused to quit, refused to die, refused to be silenced. This was unacceptable. But I cannot kill him now, with the city watching.

He crossed to the cages which held his birds, needing to be greeted by those who never questioned his authority. But the birds were strangely silent. The red warbler, always vocal when Maius approached, hopped in circles behind its wooden bars, but did not sing. The silent garden, though bright and green, had an eerie feeling about it, as though even the flowers and birds feared the shaking of the earth.

”What is wrong, my pretty?” Maius reached a finger through the slats. The warbler responded with a sharp peck to his finger.

”Aahh!” He yanked his hand backward. The stupid bird had drawn blood. He put the finger to his mouth and turned from the birds, his unease building.

Perhaps some time in the baths would relax his tense muscles. Maius was not forced to attend the public baths, as his home on the outskirts of town had been built to receive public water, and supply its own luxurious and private accommodations.

He summoned a female slave and ordered the baths prepared.

”Master. She bowed at the waist, her unbound hair hanging about her head. ”There is no water.”