Fated: Torn Apart by History, Bound for Eternity (23 page)

He wished to say many things to this foreigner, but his tongue was thick in his mouth. Syra did not speak again. She only turned away and disappeared between a crack in the wall. He turned back to the source of his betrayal. The child who Brutus once thought orphaned was helping his father out of the courtyard. Several silver coins glistened in the moonlight.

So small a price to destroy a life
, Brutus thought. In several long strides, Brutus reached the two who had undone his trust.

“
You will go nowhere.”

Tiberius swung around with sheer terror in his eyes. Any murderous rage Brutus might have had dissipated upon the sight of the boy’s face as he eyed the bloody dagger in the senator’s hand.

“
Please, don’t!” the boy begged. Not for his own life, but for that of his father’s.

The stench of the man assaulted Brutus’ nostrils. Had the brute rolled in stale wine? From the bloodshot rims of the man’s eyes and ruddy nose, Brutus was probably not far off the mark. It was then that he recognized the thick hands and cruel lips of the brute.

“
It was you!” Brutus could not help but exclaim. A year ago the senator had come upon a merchant beating his young, orphaned slave. Brutus had taken pity on the scrawny child and bought him from the man. Now it came to light that it was the father selling off the son.

“
Did you profit from my generosity only to destroy me?”

By the smirk on the man’s face, Brutus had his answer. The Roman needed to steady himself as his head spun. This plot was over a year old. Suddenly these two before him were nothing. Brutus needed to discover who would conceive of such a long and tortuous plot.

Blood surged in his veins. “I would have every right under the law to leave both of you gutted and ready for the Styx.”

The man snorted loudly. “See, Tiberius, they are all the same. Using the law to pamper themselves.”

“
You are lucky, sir, that I have greater matters to attend to. I will let you go if—”

“
Anything!” Tiberius shouted. His young voice was so filled with desperation that it almost caused tears to rise in Brutus’ eyes. But now was not the time for sorrow. Now was the time for truth.

“
I must know who hired you.”

“
It’ll do you no use, senator. The plotter is beyond your reach.”

Brutus drew himself up to full height so that he towered over the two. He let the metal of the blade flash in the moonlight. “I will decide such things. Out with it.”

As the boy spoke, Brutus suddenly wished that he had not asked such a question. He physically stumbled back a step. This could not be.

* * *

Syra watched as Brutus strode from the courtyard. She had sequestered herself behind the eastern wall. While she was appalled at Tiberius’ deep betrayal, Syra wanted to be sure that Brutus did not act on his dark mood. Blood being spilt would not cure the ache in his chest. She was relieved when the senator had lowered his weapon. He had stumbled back from the boy’s chatter and had even allowed Tiberius to collect the silver coins from the ground. She was not sure that it was a conscious act on the Roman’s part. He seemed dazed as he disappeared past the far gate.

Syra considered following Brutus. The senator was in the foulest of moods. She feared that he might act rashly. But she remembered the harsh look in his eyes. They had turned a steely gray. There was not an ounce of affection in the cold stare that he had given her. She was certain her master would not appreciate her continued surveillance.

Back in the courtyard, the Roman had finally showed his true form. Those words had been of a master to a slave. She owed him no more.

Rising, she found her legs leaden under her. Her heart was equally heavy. It seemed that Brutus was not the only one affected by this night’s events. She had meant to seek her room, but found herself wandering down to the waterfront. There was a pain in her chest that could not be soothed by clean sheets.

For the first time in her life, Syra had opened the door to trust. There was the glimmer of hope that perhaps people, even Romans, could think beyond themselves. But she had been sadly mistaken. Not even a child could be trusted inside Rome’s blasted walls. It pained her in a way she could not have even conceived of a month ago.

How could the single turning of the moon change her so? She had felt her skin an armor against any who tried to assail her. How could her heart be injured when she did not let anyone past that thick layer of cool reserve?

Even though she was fully dressed in her careful disguise, she felt more naked than she had back in Brutus’ bath upon her first night in Rome. Now, even her body betrayed her. Her breasts chafed at the tight binding. They had been freed from such confinement for too long. Even the padding she used across her belly to mimic a paunch scratched and irritated her skin. She had worn such a ruse for years, yet her body rejected the attempt to hide her figure.

And her skin’s complaints were the least of her worries. If only her burgeoning womanhood could be cinched down as easily as the fullness of her breasts. It seemed that at every turn, Syra reeled from new revelations. She might have been born a girl, but never had she known what it was to be one.

Unlike Navia, Syra had never even tied a bow in her hair. She had heard other women talk, but she had dismissed it all as rather silly. That is, until now. No one could have described how sensual it was to have silk drawn across the skin. How the tiny goose bumps along the arm could be felt all the way down in the groin.

Syra never would have believed that if one ate toffee slow enough and savored its taste upon the tongue, that one could feel so full. It was as if her body had been a vessel too long empty. A part of her wished to pour in these new feelings and fill the void. But she was too long on the road and had lived her life on the wrong end of a sword to throw herself in with abandon. She had tried to keep herself apart from the other women. Their light laughter mocked her. How easily their dainty muscles moved under their skin. How freely they talked of their loves and desires.

Until coming to Rome, Syra would have said the only desire distilled in her heart was that of revenge. The only release she had known was the elation after a victory. In her hardened state, she could not have imagined what Brutus’ hot breath upon her skin could evoke. How could his deep baritone make her stomach tighten and her loins ache?

Syra stopped herself. These were not the thoughts of a slave woman, but a free woman. Even though she now wore dresses and frills on her wrist, she was as much a prisoner as she was back on the slave cart. Remembering the cruel look upon Brutus’ face, she wiped the memories clean of those nights spent under the stars learning Rome’s mysteries. Syra would never know what his hand would feel like upon the smooth curve of her back. Or what his lips might feel like upon her own. Those urges were for another woman, not her. She must keep apart. Syra had come to Rome to learn her enemy. In that, she could not waver.

* * *

Brutus’ stride became longer as his mind recovered from the keening blow. Fists clenched at his side, he traveled up the Sacred Way, barely noticing the heavy traffic that flowed around him. Merchants were of no interest to him. His only desire was to face his betrayers and watch them flinch under his anger. Tiberius’ deception was but a waning light compared to the flaming torch of evil that sprouted in Rome’s bosom.

A part of his mind knew that he should simply return home and let his mind heal from the turmoil of the previous day, but his feet carried him toward the Forum. There were times when logic was most unwelcome. Tonight, he would have answers. And revenge for a life that had been torn from him.

At any moment another of his servants could betray him, and he would watch his life tumble down around him again. For this, the perpetrator would pay.

Not slowing his pace, Brutus entered the marble temple. The beauty of the eternal flame of Vesta did not register in his eyes, let alone his heart. He strode past the flustered Virgin. Vaguely, he remembered Cylista from a week ago, but he did not acknowledge her greeting. Instead, Brutus headed to the right, down the long hallway that led to the residences.

“
Brutus! You know you are not allowed uninvited.”

The Roman showed her the bloody knife. “Oh, I have been invited, Virgin. Do not block my path.”

The young girl tried to hold her ground, but Brutus simply brushed past her. The Virgin stumbled to the side as her guard rushed forward. But they were in a quandary. The girl could not leave the sacred flame. Nor could the guard leave the girl unattended. They could shout all they wished, but Brutus would not be dissuaded. He bounded up the steps to the upper level, two at a time. His blood burned hot. All the tension of the last few months had coiled into a strained spring waiting to be released.

There were no guards upon this level. Why would there be? Who would think to lay assault to a Virgin? Despite the lateness of the hour, Brutus did not bother knocking. He simply burst into the chamber, and was not surprised to see the oldest Virgin sitting at her desk. Gray hair grown out for decades tumbled from her shoulders and nearly brushed the floor. The burning candle at her side softened her ancient features. But no lighting could temper Brutus’ anger at Symphia.

“
You she-bitch!”

The old woman raised her tired eyes, but instead of shock, there was only amusement. “At least I’m not a bastard, such as you.”

“
How could you? Do you have no shame?”

“
You brought this on yourself, Brutus.”

Brutus pulled the small dart from his cloak. “You poisoned your own steed. I say again, do you have no shame?”

Far faster than her old bones should have been able to, Symphia rose from her chair. “I am not ignorant in my pride as you are. People, even grand stallions, must die if we are to save Rome.”

“
Your actions curse the very city you wish to save.”

The elder Virgin’s age was betrayed as she leaned against the thick wood as she neared. “You have turned your back upon your duty, Brutus. It was your responsibility to protect the Republic. Do not argue with my methods when you did not even raise a hand at Caesar’s ascension. I have done what was needed to be done.”

“
You delude yourself, Symphia. You have done nothing but stir a pot that is already boiling over. You are only ensuring that all of us will get scalded.”

Symphia seemed unperturbed. “It will be a cleansing burn, then.”

Brutus grabbed the frail arm and jerked her around to face him. “I will not let you do this. I will expose you. All your scheming will be for nothing.”

“
You are denser than even I thought.” Symphia laughed at his rage. “You would dare to publicly accuse a Virgin?”

“
Accuse and see you buried alive along the Appian Way.”

“
You know the law better than that, Brutus. Only if I sullied my body could you enact that punishment.”

Brutus let the old woman’s arm go, but he held her tight with his stare. “You have tainted your soul, Symphia. For that, Rome will bury you.”

The Virgin’s laughter was both light and cold. Could she not see that she was worse than Caesar? This temple was the heart of Rome. The essence of Vesta. She had brought shame to this place in her arrogance.

“
And what will you accuse me of, young boy?”

“
With all of it. The stallion, Caesar’s chariot upon the Hill, the Circus. All of it.”

Again, the old woman chuckled. “And whose word do you have?’

Brutus realized he had been wise in allowing Tiberius and his father to live. They were living proof of her deceit. “Those that you have hired will speak out against you.”

“
The stable boy and his drunk father? Do you think me an idiot? I knew of their rendezvous long before you. You really should have killed them, you know.”

An icy hand clutched his chest. How could she have known the disposition of their meeting? Brutus felt his heart skip a beat as Symphia tossed several silver coins upon the table. “I hear the boy clung to these until the end.”

“
How…” Brutus’ voice trailed off as the horror of what she had done sank into his marrow.

“
You were not ten steps away when my men dispatched them. Did you really think that I would allow any loose ends?”

Pushing aside his shock, Brutus pressed his advantage. “There are others who know your sordid tale.”

“
Who? Your red-haired whore?”

Brutus did not think upon it. His hand raised on its own and back-handed the Virgin. Her lip split upon impact, showering blood over her snow-white sleeping gown. But instead of rage, she only smiled a bit.

Hands shaking, Brutus measured his words very carefully. “Never. Never call her that.”

“
That’s better. We’ll need that fire in your belly to bring down Caesar.”

“
If you have harmed her—”

“
Harmed? Why would I do such a thing?”

The Roman’s stomach soured at the Virgin’s implication. While his naïve trust had been shaken back at the courtyard, he still found it hard to imagine that the fiery Northerner was anyone’s pawn.