Page 49 of Of Love and Treason
Bile rose in her throat.
Beatrix’s arm went around Iris as her knees went woozy. “Are you all right?”
The sound of the tribune’s boots faded. Iris pressed her lips together, willing her heart to stop pounding. “I-is he gone?” she stammered, breathing too hard.
“He’s gone,” Beatrix confirmed. “Are you all right?”
Iris bolted up the stairs. “Let us in, Markos!”
The door opened ahead of her and Iris led Beatrix into the office. Her father had either just finished lunch or was in the middle of eating. The air smelled of cold meat pie and overly herbed gravy that didn’t quite hide the sharp tang of rancidity. Beatrix’s perfume soon took care of that.
“Iris?” Pater’s voice came from behind the desk. “What brings you—? Are you all right?” He let out a breath. “You saw Tribune Braccus, didn’t you?”
She nodded and held out a shaking hand, which he grasped in both of his.
“Did he speak to you?”
Again, she could only nod.
Pater cursed. “Pardon me, my lady.” His voice turned toward Beatrix. “Can I help you?”
“Pater.” Iris latched on to the distraction. “This is Beatrix, the perfumer at the market. Her nephew has disappeared and she’s looking for him.”
“Ah.” Pater’s tone went strange and tight.
“Jailor.” Beatrix’s voice dipped as she bowed. “My nephew disappeared the night before last in the Markets of Trajan. I sent him to fetch something from my shop and he never returned. He never made it to the shop either.”
“I see.” His tone implied that he didn’t. “And you think he may behere?”
“I’ve been everywhere but no one will look for him because he hasn’t been missing for three days.” Beatrix sucked in a breath andrushed on. “But what if he’s hurt? Can you, I don’t know, can you look for him? The family name is Favius.”
“Favius.” Pater repeated the name as if he’d never heard it in his life and shuffled things on his desk.
“Yes,” Beatrix said in an eager voice, stepping closer to the desk.“F-a-v-i-u-s.”
“I have no record of a Favius here.” Pater slid something across the desk with a scuffing sound. “My record book,” he said. “See? He disappeared, you say?”
“Yes, the night before last.” Beatrix’s gown rustled as she bent to inspect the book. “But he wouldn’t be in your book. I was hoping you could ask—”
“Have you checked with the Vigiles? The Urban Guards? The Praetorians?” Pater had a disingenuous tone, as if he only asked the questions to placate Bea. A niggling feeling that he was hiding something prickled at Iris’s gut.
“I’ve checked with all of them,” Beatrix said. “No one has him and no one will look either.”
A bloodcurdling scream rose from the belly of the prison. Iris jumped, bumping Beatrix, who gasped.
“What was that?” Beatrix asked in a breathless whisper.
Her father cleared his throat, his chair creaking as he shifted his weight. “You’ve heard of the Gothic assassin Grenadix, I assume?”
Beatrix didn’t answer, but by the way Pater continued, she must have shaken her head. “He was sent to Rome by his chieftain to assassinate the emperor Valerian. He was caught instead and imprisoned. Valerian died before a grand public execution could be planned. And then Emperor Gallienus had plans to use him in some sort of public exhibit, but the wars started and Gallienus died and now we’re saving him for a triumph parade. If—when Emperor Claudius Gothicus has one.”
Beatrix’s voice sounded weak. “He’s been down there for...”
“Almost ten years. It’s unheard of, I know, for a prisoner to be kept so long, but I don’t have orders otherwise. He’s insane.” Pater’smatter-of-fact tone went suddenly dismissive. “I’m sorry I cannot be of more help to you.”
“I know something’s wrong, but I don’t know what to do.” Beatrix sounded about to cry. “What if he’s dead by the time anyone bothers to look for him?”
“Perhaps he’s run off with his lover or taken a trip with friends. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be found just now.” Impatience sharpened Pater’s voice. Iris frowned; it was quite unlike him.
