The Lion and the Rose (57 page)

BOOK: The Lion and the Rose

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“Don’t you talk to that wife of yours about any of this, boy?”

I was taller than he, but I’d always be “boy.” I didn’t mind that. “Of course I don’t talk to her, not like this. Who talks to wives about this sort of thing?”

“I do.”

“You’re still a barbarian, you know that? You have no idea how things are done.”

My father just waited, arms folded across his chest, scarred as an old oak, though not as yielding.

I shrugged. “Mirah thinks I’m a bloody hero. I don’t want her knowing the things I’ve done.”

“I’ve done worse,” my father said calmly. “You know how many I killed in the arena? Men, unarmed prisoners, boys young enough to still count as children. Women—there was one dressed like an Amazon. I still think about her. I’ve killed more than you, I’ll wager; they called me The Barbarian, and I earned it.” Arius the Barbarian—the city had resounded to that name once. “Your mother knows all my stories. Even the bad ones.”

“That’s different. You were a slave; you didn’t have any choice. I did.” I rested my fists on the wall, looking down at the wooded hills. “I let the Emperor make me his dog. And Hell’s gates, he’s even
tamed
me.”

“You could kill him,” my father said. “But I don’t advise it. It’s a lot of trouble, killing emperors, and you don’t need more trouble.”

My father
did
kill an emperor, long ago. Never mind why. “Mirah wants us to leave Rome. I reckon I could, get far enough away from Hadrian to make it not worth the chase, but . . . ”

“But you’ve never liked running.”

“Still don’t.”

“So what’s your plan? Keep taking everything he dishes out; smile and say ‘Thank you, Caesar’? I know you, boy. You’re no tame dog. You’ll slip your leash someday, and then you’ll crack him open like an egg,
and that’ll be the end of you.”

I had no answer, not for him and not for me.

“My Roman son,” he said, shaking his head, and we trailed down the flowered hill in silence, the dogs loping between our feet.