Page 8 of The Legionary Seduction (Roman Heirs #2)

M ax served out the last day of his guard detail, and returned to normal duties. A month passed in which he saw nothing of Volusia. His days consisted of a rotation of cavalry drills, building maintenance, sharpening weapons, and patrolling the countryside. He tried to forget Volusia, to be grateful he could now visit Elephant whenever he pleased.

But thoughts of Volusia surfaced at the most inopportune times. He remembered the feel of her plastered to his back whenever he galloped Elephant, and the sight of a redcurrant bush made him think of the blissful afternoon they’d spent among the trees.

One morning, he sat in his bottom bunk attempting to shave with the aid of a blurry silver mirror. A hubbub of voices rose in the hallway outside, but Max didn’t pay enough attention to parse out the words, focusing instead on making sure he didn’t cut himself with the razor. No doubt his fellow legionaries were just gossiping about something inconsequential.

Hurried footsteps sounded, and Drusus threw open the door, poking his head into the room. “Have you heard? We’re to form up immediately.”

Max ran a hand over his chin. He was only half-done shaving. “What’s the matter? Are we under attack?”

Drusus shook his head. “People are saying…” He hesitated and came fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. “People are saying Governor Avitus is dead.”

Max dropped the razor, which clattered to the floor. “Juno’s cunt.” His mind immediately went to Volusia. What happened? Is she all right?

“I imagine Petronax wants to address everyone, to get the news out there and stop gossip from spreading. So get dressed quick.” Drusus left the room.

Max rushed to dry his half-shaven face and throw on a tunic. His mind raced. Could this be true? Governor Avitus had seemed in the best of health from the little Max had seen of him.

He tried to imagine Volusia swathed in the dark clothing of mourning, her hair left loose. Would she be distraught with grief, despite what she had shared with him about their marriage? Avitus was still the father of her child, after all.

Max hurried out of the barracks and followed the horde of soldiers assembling in measured ranks on the field before the city. He found his spot next to Drusus. At least this time he wasn’t late.

Once everyone had assembled, Petronax appeared before the crowd. As one, the legion saluted.

Petronax wore a charcoal black toga, more somber than his usual chainmail armor and scarlet cape, though gold bracelets and rings still glimmered on his arms and fingers. “I come before you with tragic news,” he said, his voice carrying across the crowd. Those at the back would have a hard time hearing, but the message would filter through the ranks. “Our esteemed governor Avitus was taken ill a few days ago, and succumbed to his illness last night.”

A murmur swept through the assembled legion.

Petronax kept talking. “No doubt he is in Elysium now, and we will honor his memory as he deserves. To turn to more mortal concerns, the Senate will be alerted of this tragic development, and they will appoint a replacement in due course. In the meantime, I will resume my role as acting governor.” A note of smugness broke the solemnity of his voice. He paused.

The legionaries stamped their feet in dutiful approval. Petronax nodded in acknowledgement, then made a gesture of dismissal. The legion saluted once more, then began to filter off the field.

“He didn’t mention Volusia,” Max muttered to Drusus.

“Why would he?” Drusus said. “The widow doesn’t concern us.”

“I was just wondering what might happen to her.”

“Well, she’ll return to Rome, I expect,” Drusus said. “Or wherever she came from. She has no reason to stay here now, does she?”

A pang of shock shot through Max, leaving devastation in its wake. Of course, it was that simple. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Volusia was going to leave Narbo, and he would never see her again.

Volusia sat at her dressing table, an open box of jewelry before her. She ran her fingers over the pieces. Each held a memory that stabbed deep into her chest. There was the carnelian ring Avitus had given her upon their wedding. The sapphire bracelet, a betrothal present. The pearl and ruby necklace for Lucius’s birth. He’d even given her a golden hairpiece when he’d been made governor of Narbo, as consolation for having to leave Rome.

The remains of her life with Avitus glimmered back at her from the silk-lined box.

She was still in shock at the suddenness with which it had happened. Not even a week ago they’d been eating dinner, herself and Avitus and Silvanus as usual, when Avitus had complained of a stomachache. Nothing odd in that, though Avitus usually boasted a robust digestion.

From there, it had only worsened. The stomachache had become a piercing pain that wouldn’t relent. He’d grown feverish and listless, and couldn’t seem to draw a full breath.

For once, she’d been grateful for Silvanus’s presence. He’d sat with Avitus during the nights, while Volusia kept vigil during the days. When Avitus finally died, Silvanus had been at his side. She began to think that maybe Silvanus had truly cared for her husband.

Her gaze went to the one piece of jewelry that wasn’t in the box—her wedding ring. It shone too brightly on her finger, polished by ten years of daily wear. She took a deep breath and twisted it off her finger. It yielded easily, and in a moment, her finger was bare. A swell of emotion rose within her, too thick to name.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Volusia dropped the ring into the jewelry box and turned to see Iris enter the room.

“Petronax is here to see you, mistress. I can turn him away if you like.”

Volusia shook her head and rose. “I’ll receive him in the atrium.”

Iris clasped her hands together. “Are you sure, mistress? You’ve hardly slept. You should be resting.”

“I’ll rest later.” Between funeral arrangements and preparing for her inevitable departure from Narbo, there was too much to be done. Something else occurred to her as she thought of their departure—a conversation she needed to have with Iris. “Petronax can wait for a moment. There’s something I need to speak with you about.” She beckoned Iris closer.

Iris closed the door and came to stand before her. “Yes, mistress?”

Volusia gazed at the face of her faithful companion. “Iris, I want you to know that I was planning on freeing you here in Gaul, close to your family. I only waited because I didn’t want to send you off with nothing, and Avitus had promised to gift me some money to give to you on my birthday.”

Iris’s face remained blank, but Volusia knew her well enough to catch the flicker of emotion in her pale blue eyes. “That would have been most generous, mistress.”

“No more than you deserve. But now that he’s gone, I have nothing to give you. Not now, at least. Avitus’s will transferred his entire estate to my control, to keep in trust until Lucius comes of age. Once I return to Rome, I can give you what you deserve. So I wanted to give you the choice. I’ll free you now, if you desire it. Or, if you stay with me until Rome, I can send you off with enough money to set up a life for yourself wherever you choose.”

Iris met Volusia’s gaze for a moment, as if trying to ascertain whether she was serious. Then, Iris dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to Volusia’s feet in a quick, formal gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, mistress. I will go with you to Rome.”

Relief filtered through her at Iris’s choice. At least, after having lost Avitus, she wouldn’t have to lose Iris just yet. She bent and raised Iris to her feet, clasping her hands. “Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to making that journey alone, besides the escort. Now, I should go speak with Petronax. Likely he wishes to discuss the arrangements for my departure.”

Iris nodded and stood aside. Volusia exited her bedroom, and Iris fell into step behind her.

The legion’s commander waited in the atrium, garbed in a black toga. Volusia herself didn’t have any black clothing, so wore her most drab gray dress with a matching palla pinned to her head to cover her hair, which she’d left unbound as befitted a widow in mourning.

Petronax gave a small nod when she approached. “My condolences on your loss, lady.”

“Thank you.”

“I came to tell you that an escort is being prepared as we speak for your departure from Narbo. You may leave at your earliest convenience.”

“The funeral rites have not even taken place.” Petronax seemed quite eager to rush her away, as if to remove every trace of the province’s former governor.

“Of course you may stay to see the formalities observed. Will you wish for your husband’s ashes to be interred here, or will you take them back to Rome?”

“They belong with our family in Rome.” She thought the loss would be easier for her son to comprehend if she could present some physical proof of his father’s death, even if just an urn of ashes. “If that’s all, commander, I have much to attend to.”

He gave a stiff nod, then turned on his heel and left the house.

Volusia watched him go. His visit brought to mind the dark thoughts that had plagued her as Avitus had inexplicably sickened. It seemed impossible that his death could be nothing more than tragic happenstance. As she had watched her vigorous husband waste away before her, foul play seemed the only thing that made sense.

But no sooner could such a thought enter her mind than she recalled all the reasons it didn’t add up. Firstly, how could anyone want Avitus dead? True, she’d overheard him and Petronax arguing, but a mere argument was hardly a reason for the legion’s highest commander to murder a Senate-appointed governor.

Furthermore, even if Petronax had wanted Avitus dead, she couldn’t think of how it might have been accomplished. Avitus had been taken ill after dinner, so poison seemed likely, but she and Silvanus had eaten from the same dishes and drank the same wine, and neither of them had suffered any illness.

It just didn’t add up, but something in her refused to believe a healthy, vital man like Avitus could be struck down so easily.

She heaved a sigh. There was one person who might be able to sympathize with the frazzled workings of her mind right now, so she dismissed Iris and went to find Silvanus. She had to ask him about his plans to leave Narbo anyway.

The door to Silvanus’s bedroom was closed, and she hesitated before knocking gently. This was the room Avitus had spent his nights in, the room he’d died in.

“Yes?” came the call from within.

“It’s Volusia.”

She heard footsteps, and then the door swung open. Silvanus looked gaunt and exhausted, as if the last few days had aged him ten years. Despite herself, a twinge of sympathy pained her.

“What is it?” he said, his voice almost a snap.

“I just wanted to ask what you plan to do now. I’ll be returning to Rome after the funeral. You are welcome to join me.”

Silvanus shook his head. “Petronax has offered me a position here, with the provincial administration.”

“You’re staying in Narbo?”

He shrugged. “Where else would I go?”

Volusia recalled that Silvanus hailed from a rustic town in northern Italy and did not have much in the way of family. There was likely nothing for him there, or in Rome, so perhaps it made sense he’d stay here. “Very well. Speaking of Petronax…may I come in?”

He frowned at her for a moment, then stood back from the door and allowed her to enter the bedroom.

Volusia closed the door behind her and tried not to look at the bed where Avitus had died. “Did Avitus mention anything to you about Petronax? Any quarrel they might have had?”

Silvanus crossed the room and sat heavily in a chair by the wall. “What are you getting at?”

She bit her lip. To think such things was one matter, but to actually speak them aloud… “Do you not think it strange how he died?”

His gaze flicked up to her, as quick as an arrow, then slid away. “People get sick all the time. Some of them die.”

“I just…did the thought of foul play really never cross your mind?”

“I think you should be careful about throwing around accusations about the most powerful man in the province,” Silvanus said, lowering his voice.

“I’m not throwing around accusations. Just asking questions in the privacy of my own home.”

Silvanus let out a tight sigh through his teeth. “Of course the idea of foul play crossed my mind. But I can’t see how anyone could have accomplished it. The three of us ate the same food that night.”

“Did Avitus share anything with you that might point to a reason for someone to want to…” She couldn’t say the words: to kill him .

Silvanus shook his head slowly. “Not that I recall.” A flash of pain crossed his face, as if he were recalling every conversation he’d ever had with Avitus.

Impulsively, Volusia went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know how much you cared for him. And I’m grateful for everything you did for him, especially at the end.”

Silvanus pushed her hand away with surprising force. “It’s over, Volusia. We don’t have to pretend to be the best of friends anymore.”

“I-I wasn’t pretending—”

Silvanus rose to his feet, shoved past her, and left the room without a backward glance.

Volusia stared after him in shock for a moment, then gathered herself. Silvanus was entitled to his frustration, and he was clearly still reeling from Avitus’s death.

With a sigh, she left the bedroom and made her way to Avitus’s study. She wanted to make a start on clearing things out to determine what should remain here and what should be taken back to Rome. It felt strange to rifle through her husband’s things, and perhaps Silvanus was better suited for the task as his secretary, but she didn’t want to bother him right now.

She found a pile of wax tablets and sorted through them to separate blank ones from ones containing writing. Silvanus would have to advise on which of the filled ones needed to be kept. As she glanced over one blank tablet, something caught her eye. A slight indentation in the wax, revealing words not completely removed.

Curiosity took hold, and she tilted the tablet to find the best angle to read the letters. It appeared as if the tablet had once been full of writing, but only the barest trace of a few words remained. She squinted, moving a lamp nearer to better see.

…ax revenue…counting irregular…ruption….

These words made no sense. Ax revenue? She looked closer, trying to see the ghosts of missing letters.

It wasn’t ax revenue , but tax revenue. Accounting irregularities. Corruption .

At the very bottom of the tablet, there was a hazy stroke and curve which might have formed a P.

Petronax .

Volusia set the tablet down with shaking hands. Avitus had a habit of writing out his thoughts when he was struggling with a problem or question. Was this tablet evidence of him figuring out that Petronax was up to something unlawful?

If this was true, and if Petronax had gotten wind of Avitus’s suspicions, it was easy to see how Avitus might have ended up dead.

Silvanus’s words came back to her. “I think you should be careful about throwing around accusations about the most powerful man in the province.” She shivered. If Petronax really had done something to Avitus, Volusia had to tread carefully. This province was full of people who were loyal to Petronax, people who would believe him over her without a second thought.

She ran a finger over the wax surface of the tablet. She could just take a stylus and rub away the traces of writing. She could return to Rome, start a quiet life as a widow with her son, and forget all of this.

That choice tempted her. It would be so easy to turn a blind eye, to pick the safe, comfortable option.

But Avitus, though he wasn’t perfect, deserved better. If he really had been killed, he deserved justice. And if Petronax was misappropriating tax revenue, then the people of this province deserved better.

Volusia closed the tablet and tucked it under her arm. She needed to keep it with her, as it was the only shred of evidence she possessed. Evidence that Avitus, at least, had suspected something.

She went to her bedroom. Iris was there, starting to pack a trunk. Volusia wrapped the tablet in a shawl and placed it into the trunk. “Make sure this isn’t disturbed,” she said to Iris.

Iris glanced at the bundle and nodded. “Yes, mistress.”

Volusia longed to tell Iris everything she suspected, but held back. She trusted Iris, but these suspicions were dangerous, and for the time being, it was safer for Iris not to know. Silvanus’s warning about throwing around accusations stuck in her mind. The fewer people who knew her suspicions, the better. But there was one thing Iris could help with.

“Iris, do you remember that legionary who was on guard duty here when we first arrived?”

Iris looked up from her packing. “The one who couldn’t stop staring at you like a puppy?”

Trust Iris to make her smile barely a day after her husband’s death. “Yes, that one. I need to see him. Do you think you could ask around and find out where he might be tonight?” Max might be the only person she could trust with her suspicions, and even he was a risk given that Petronax was the legion’s commander.

Iris raised an eyebrow. “Really, mistress? Are you sure that’s wise? I know you’re no longer married, but—”

Volusia blushed. “It’s not that. I just need to speak to him, and I can’t trust a messenger.” Summoning Max here would be too suspicious—why would the governor’s widow need to speak with a lowly legionary? So she’d have to go to him, as discreetly as she could.

Iris nodded. “All right. I’ll find out what I can.”