Page 53 of Of Love and Treason
“You’re not going anywhere with them,” Pater interrupted. “And certainly not to one of their meetings if that’s what you were about to say.”
Iris went quiet, waiting for his suggestion. Based on the vehemence of his response, she decided not to reveal that her friend Beatrix was a Christian and that Iris had already sought her out.
Pater sighed. “If I let you talk to a Christian, do I have your word that you won’t pursue them anymore?”
She nodded, but before she could offer verbal assurances, he cut her off again. “The Christian god is not something to trifle with. Especially now. Christians are not good citizens. They refuse to attendthe sacrifices or show proper reverence to the emperor. I don’t want you mixing with them.”
The hair on Iris’s arms rose as Pater spoke, but his warning did not keep the tiny, stunted petals of hope from uncurling in her chest.
“Oneconversation.” Pater’s voice went steely. “And you’ll promise me you won’t speak of it again?”
Iris swallowed, feeling her palms grow damp. “I promise.”
“Then come with me.”
Her breath caught.“Now?”
“The sooner the better.” His chair scraped across the floor as he stood. “There’s a Christian here, but not for much longer.”
Elation surged through her, just as quickly squashed by doubts. If this was her one chance, did she want it now? Here? “Do you think a prisoner will agree to invoke his god on behalf of his jailor’s daughter?”
“He wouldn’t dare refuse.” Pater sorted through the mass of jingling keys strapped to his belt. “I would think the fear of punishment would only make his prayers all the more sincere.”
He moved toward the ironclad door as fear and hope warred furiously inside her. She nearly called him back. After the hope and longing Valentine had kindled within her toward his god, how could she withstand the bitter crush of another disappointment? Wasn’t it better to live with hope?
The key clicked into the lock. Iris couldn’t make herself tell her father to stop, but neither could she make her feet move. The door opened again with its familiar groan.
Pater waited. “Are you coming?”
XXII
TITUS SAT AT THE RICKETY DESKin his storeroom “office.” Outside, the air rumbled with snores rolling from barrack windows like lava from Vesuvius. He should have been asleep too, but something wasn’t right. He’d had no word from Adonis since he’d been planted in the notarii office. He’d sent Urian undercover with the guise of a lovestruck man longing for marriage, and paid his street rat, Statian, to keep his ears out for news of recent marriages. If Titus could only find a marriage document, he’d find the scratching quill that created it. With all these pieces set in motion, it chafed to sit and wait.
He reread his notes from the notarii interviews, the feeling that he’d missed something important hanging heavy over him. There was a discrepancy somewhere. He knew it. He could sense it.
He could not find it.
Titus cursed and rubbed his burning eyes. Something one of the notarii had said—perhaps he hadn’t written it down. Pulling out his tablets of notes, he began with the first notarius he questioned. Horace Caldarius, the man with the overeager front teeth. Nervous, he recalled, but not suspiciously so. He went down the line, glancing over the notes, recalling what each notarius looked like, how they’d acted as he questioned them.
He paced. The air in the storeroom hung still and close, making his tunic stick to his chest. Titus wished he could just go to sleep. But there’d be no rest until he figured out the problem. His bootskept time with his thoughts. Plowing forward, pivoting as he came to a wall, forward again, wall. He pivoted again, kicking over a box of ex-legionnaires’ files as he turned.
He pulled up short. Yes, that was it—something one of them had said.
Titus dug through his notes, careful not to smudge the wax on the tablets. Where was it? Where was—? There. He pulled the tablet free and tipped it toward the lamp, eyes dropping over the hasty scrawl. Something about ex-legionnaires. He hadn’t written it down, but he was sure the notarius had mentioned them. Something about making money from marrying ex-legionnaires. An odd enough detail that it was worth looking into. A quick glance at the name dropped a brick into his stomach.
Mars and Jupiter.
He’d have arrested any other notarius without hesitation. But not this one.
He woke the two speculatores he’d recruited for the job. “Ex-legionnaires.” He paced as they pulled on tunics and rubbed bloodshot eyes. “Go over the discharge lists and look into them all if need be. I want the names of every recently discharged legionnaire in the city with recent ‘wives’ or women who could be. And someone alert Statian of this.”
A recent discharge might have a greater reason to defy a marriage ban. It would seem unfair. In the same situation, Titus might agree, but that was not his job. His blood pounded; he was onto something. He could feel it.
Grumbling that the files could wait until a decent hour, the two speculatores left to pore over boxes of scrolls while Titus marched to the quarters of Trecenarius Faustus.
“Sir.” He beat his chest in salute when he’d been shown inside. “Sorry to intrude at this hour, but I think I’ve found the notarius I believe is responsible for the contracts.”
“If you have your man, why are you here?” Faustus did not appear disgruntled by the unconventional hour and crossed to the washstand, dipping his whole head in the basin, gargling andshaking it before rearing back like a dog, shooting sprays of water in all directions.
