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Chapter XIV

LOREN

G ladiators battled it out in the arena below, but Loren quickly realised the real manoeuvring was relegated to the stands, where the most vicious battles fought were bloodless.

‘Stay at my side,’ Julia muttered, smile plastered tight. They paused outside the private row, reserved for the upper class. ‘Some in this audience will be interested in you. Too interested.’

As if that weren’t ominous. Nerves swirled in Loren’s stomach.

‘You’ll be stunning, dear. No need to worry.’ Julia patted his cheek and linked her arm through his. Together they pushed through a heavy curtain.

Pompeii’s amphitheatre adhered to strict class lines.

The lower in society you were, the higher you sat.

Loren had never been so close to the action.

The roar hit him first, concentrated in the belly of the bowl-shaped stands.

Above the elite bench, men and boys had their pick of the plebeian seats, while women and slaves were on the uppermost outskirts.

Women, with one exception. Not a soul blinked at Julia as she drew Loren along.

Unlike the crammed public stands, the private row had room to spare, with wide aisles and cushioned benches.

Even giant Gus could comfortably walk, silently bringing up the rear of their party as Ax had lurked off to lick his wounds.

Loren tried not to gawk at the faces they passed.

Politicians, patricians, rich Romans here on holiday – men he recognised from the Forum meetings he’d crashed. His nerves amplified.

Julia led Loren to the centre front, above where the champion fighters emerged, and dismissed Gus, who retreated to stand with the other private guards. A handful of men, all robed in togas, glanced up.

‘Lady Julia!’ A portly man stumbled up from his sprawl, gold circlet askew. He clutched a half-empty goblet and threw out his other arm in welcome.

Loren took a swift breath. Here was his chance.

‘Umbrius,’ Julia said, cool as ever. ‘Pleasure. Might I introduce you to—’

‘Come, come. Sit.’ Umbrius, Priest of Jupiter and head of the council, flopped down, wine sloshing. He patted the cushion beside him with excess enthusiasm. ‘The drink is truly excellent, our sponsor outdid himself. Have your servant bring a glass.’

Julia tucked her skirts neatly as she sat. ‘Loren isn’t a servant.’

‘I was about to say, he does look different. Where’s your regular? The woman?’

‘Incapacitated, unfortunately.’

‘Shame.’ Umbrius beckoned to nobody, and a cupbearer appeared to refill. ‘Who did you say this boy is?’

‘He’s my—’

‘It’s Loren, sir,’ he blurted. If he thought his nerves agitated before, now they boiled over. ‘I don’t know if you remember, but we met, not quite a month ago.’

Umbrius frowned, unspeaking. Sweat prickled Loren’s palms. He wiped them on his toga.

‘In the Forum,’ he continued. ‘After a meeting.’

‘Part of the council, are you? I don’t recall seeing you before. ’

‘Ah. Well.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘No, sir. But I follow the council’s votes avidly. It was after you gave that speech on cutting education funding— ’

‘Oh, dear,’ Umbrius said.

‘And I know you said not to approach you again, but I must urge you to reconsider—’

‘Now that you mention it, I do remember you.’ Umbrius clutched his wine tight to his chest, a wrinkle between his brows.

‘Do you?’ A spark shot through Loren. He nearly floated.

‘Of course, of course. Let’s, ah, talk after the games. Have a seat, won’t you?’

Loren sat, breathless, simmering. Last night, he promised Felix he wasn’t distractible, but here he’d wasted his chance to ask the questions bursting on his tongue – things like what Umbrius made of the helmet’s disappearance, whether he took it as an omen or message, what his worries were.

What his plans were. But he could ask none.

Not with others so near, who might cast a suspicious eye for curiosity above his station and not trusting the plan of the gods.

He fought to play cool, not to let his impulses snare him in deeper trouble.

‘Well,’ said Julia, lips quirked. ‘Lovely that we’re all acquainted.’

‘Refreshing to see a young man take such an intimate interest in local politics,’ a voice drawled from the other side of Umbrius. ‘What did you say your family name was, boy?’

Julia stiffened, whole body turning to stone. ‘Servius. I hadn’t noticed you.’

Servius smiled, a slow, relaxed thing, and leaned forward.

For a hot autumn day, he wore odd clothes, all tall boots and tight gloves.

His toga was crisp as they came, draped over a deep red tunic and pinned with a hawk crest. Something about him tickled Loren’s memory, as though he’d seen Servius in passing .

Umbrius latched on to the topic change. ‘Julia, did you know our dear senator is sponsoring today’s games? From his own pocket, mind you.’

‘Is he.’ Julia’s smile didn’t waver. ‘How generous.’

Servius waved dismissively. ‘Umbrius exaggerates. It was nothing. Between the quakes and theft, the city needs its spirits lifted.’

‘Spared no expense.’ Wine splattered from Umbrius’s goblet, narrowly missing Julia’s dress. ‘Now, Julia, about that donation we discussed. One must wonder if the Forum had been in better shape, the guards might be more motivated to, ah, guard.’

‘Discussing temple repairs on a festival day? Leave the woman alone. The games are about to start.’ Servius gestured for more drink, and the cupbearer acquiesced, which proved an adequate distraction.

‘Alcohol, always the great mediator. Advice for your new ward.’ His eyes gleamed as he tipped his cup to Loren.

‘Loren is a clever boy, Senator.’ Nails dug into the meat of Loren’s arm, half-moon pinches of pain, and he barely suppressed a wince. ‘He hardly needs to dole out wine to get what he wants.’

Servius’s jaw clenched, a tiny motion. ‘The games are about to start.’

Julia faced the arena. ‘Indeed they are.’

Loren wondered what, exactly, he had missed.

‘Weak stomach?’ Julia asked after the last match. They were taking a turn around the garden outside the amphitheatre, waiting for Priest Umbrius to sober up.

Camilia used to drag Loren here on festival days, once they were released from temple duties. By the time they’d arrive, even the worst seats would be picked over, leaving them to sit on the highest wall, feet dangling. The distance made it harder to see the gore .

‘Perhaps gladiator events aren’t to my taste,’ Loren admitted in a small voice.

‘You’ve turned green.’

‘He licked blood off his sword.’

Laughing, Julia clutched his elbow. ‘Games are among the most crucial aspects of your political career. How do you win over the masses? Pay for entertainment.’

‘Like Senator Servius did.’ When Julia didn’t respond, Loren rushed to add, ‘I’ve seen him before, I think, with the council. I didn’t realise he was part of it.’

‘He isn’t,’ Julia said carefully. ‘Servius advises the council. Influences policies. But he belongs – belonged – to Rome.’

‘You don’t like him much.’

‘Was I that obvious? Servius and I go back.’ She sighed. Under a sprawling fig tree, a bench offered privacy from other early leavers, and she beckoned Loren to sit. ‘Do you know how I can tell you’re a clever boy, Loren?’

He blinked, his ears heating. ‘I’m not, really. My father thought me dim.’

Julia snorted, an inelegant sound. ‘Lend yourself more credit. You notice feelings. You perceive what others pass over.’

‘There are terms for that. Oversensitive. Thin-skinned.’

‘Don’t discount the power of reading others’ emotions. But you must be wary, doll. Politics is a game where your opponent will do anything to gain the upper hand. Exploit any weakness. You mustn’t let this be one of yours.’

Loren frowned and shifted on the bench. ‘How does this relate to Servius?’

‘By virtue of being an unwed woman with the nerve to own property, I have enemies. And as I said, our visiting senator and I go back a long way.’ Julia’s smiling mask faltered, mouth pressing a touch too tight.

‘Servius is nearly impossible to shake off. It’s enough to drive anyone to the brink. Make them do anything to win.’

‘My lady?’ A shadow passed over the garden, sun dipping behind a bank of clouds.

‘It’s a festival day, Loren. Put Servius from your mind.’

‘Telling me not to worry only makes my worry grow.’

She barked a laugh. ‘Funny how that works, isn’t it? The arrangement you and I now share eases my own burden, at least.’

Their arrangement. Loren should tell her. About his parents, his visions, the responsibilities waiting back home. The truth of where he came from. The helmet. Gods, his secrets strangled him. Fiddling with the ring around his neck, he opened his mouth . . .

A trumpet blare cut him off. All around the garden, people hushed.

‘The procession begins,’ Julia said dryly.

Bloodlust satiated, the real celebration could start.

Sweet smoke from burning beacons filtered over the heads of those walking.

Drums beat a steady rhythm, bells chiming along.

Priest Umbrius summoned Julia from the throng of spectators as easy as pulling in a fishing net.

Julia indulged him, and with Loren on her arm, they marched down the Via dell’Abbondanza near the head of the parade.

‘When we get to the temple,’ Julia muttered, again with her unmoving smile, ‘position yourself next to Umbrius. Offer to help.’

Loren stared. ‘Why?’

‘He’s performing the afternoon augury. If you want to be noticed by anyone, it would be him.’

‘Surely I’m not qualified for that.’

‘You’re sweet when you’re nervous. If I consider you qualified, you are. ’

Loren’s mouth pinched.