Rubies of the Viper Read online

  “So that’s it. I’m not a man.”

  “Someone said this Alexander was going to get the worst of it.”

  Theodosia sat in silence, remembering her sharpness with the steward in the library. Roman women were notoriously harsh with their slaves. No doubt she’d already managed to confirm that reputation.

  Well, so be it. Better a strong start than a weak one.

  “There’s something else.” Lucilla stood and went back to massaging her mistress’ shoulders. “Maybe I shouldn’t say it, but I get the feeling this Alexander’s way too powerful around here. Sounds like he thinks he’s the master himself.” She bent to Theodosia’s ear and whispered, “Oh, miss, please do be careful with him! I get the feeling he could be real dangerous!”

  A wave of affection for her maid surged through Theodosia.

  “I’m not worried. If he can’t adjust to me, I’ll get rid of him.”

  “That’d be good. But still... I think it’d be better if you was married. Then they’d be dealing with a man again. They don’t think a woman can run a place like this, especially a young woman and... a pretty woman. There was plenty of comments about that, too.”

  Theodosia chuckled grimly. Gaius’ reputation for abusing his slaves was so bad that even the most jaded Romans had snickered about it for years. And the gossip had picked up since his murder. Theodosia had anticipated a better reception from those who had been the easy targets of his fury.

  She left her chair and propped an arm against the wall next to the balcony.

  “I’m not asking you to spy on anyone, Lucilla,” she said, staring at the stars. “But lots of people think it was my brother’s slaves who killed him. I wouldn’t have come out to the villa by myself if I believed that, of course, but still...” She looked over her shoulder. “You’re the only one I know for sure I can trust. If you hear anything that matters, you must tell me.”

  Lucilla made no response. Theodosia faced back toward the sea.

  “Living here may not be easy for either one of us, you know. We just have to make sure it isn’t life-threatening as well.”

  Chapter Three

  Alexander watched from the shadows of the atrium as Theodosia Varro lingered over her breakfast in the sunny, flower-filled peristyle. Her yellow tunic and ankle-length blue stola fluttered with each gust off the sea and echoed the blue and gold of the frescoed walls behind the colonnade that surrounded her. The breeze caught her hair, too, sending golden-brown wisps flying.

  The late-May morning was perfect, so when the houseboys had finished scrubbing the atrium floor, Alexander had instructed them to set up a table beside the pool, next to the bronze figure of Adonis dressed as a hunter. The statue was Greek, of course, as was all the art in the house except the Etruscan antiques collected from the nearby necropolis.

  Alexander had selected Dabini and Selicio, the tall Ethiopians who were the best waiters in the household, to attend the mistress this morning. He noted now, with satisfaction, that the two had made no mistakes.

  Theodosia Varro even deigned to smile at them as she rose.

  She sauntered along the pool, stopping every few paces to observe a goldfish, catch a scent, or admire a blossom.

  Alexander’s eyes never left her slim figure.

  What a lovely thing this must be for you. Home again, after years in exile. What wouldn’t I give for such a homecoming?

  “Morning, Alexander,” she said in Greek as she passed, trailing behind her a subtle clove-oil fragrance.

  “Good morning, mistress.”

  How odd to speak his own language with her. Gaius Terentius Varro always flew into a rage if the Greeks in his household did so, even though he, like all educated Romans, spoke Greek fluently.

  Alexander held the sapphire-colored curtain aside and stood behind Theodosia Varro in the doorway as she surveyed the library, awash now with light flooding through the eastern window of the five-sided room, whose views of the sea to the west were spectacular all day long. The morning sun gilded the walnut tables with their mother-of-pearl inlays, the finely wrought chairs, the bronze lamps, the blue-veined marble floor. In the late afternoon, the sun would turn it all to flame.

  Alexander never failed to marvel at this room. Window glass was a luxury enjoyed by the wealthiest Romans only; he had never seen it until he arrived here. Having such a wonderful space all to himself had done much to ameliorate the bitterness of his slavery. Now—after eight years—he was losing it.

  “You finished your work last night?” There was no hint of a smile in his new mistress’ voice as she marched to the big, sun-washed desk.

  There’s no softness in this woman, for all her looks. Maybe I should have told...

  He sighed.

  Too late for that.

  “Everything is ready.” He pulled out the chair for her.

  Theodosia Varro sat; then she twisted in her seat to peer through the window, giving Alexander the chance to inspect her as leisurely as she had inspected him last night. He was struck by the beauty of her skin and hands. Her fingers lay like cream against the deep blue of her stola. Even her arched nose—so very Roman!—was becoming. Though her hair was wind-blown now, she obviously preferred loose waves to the tightly curled styles favored by most patrician women. The sun burnished highlights in it that, when she turned back toward him, framed her face in gold.

  “Well, Alexander, what have you to show me?”

  There were sheets for each of her properties... the residences—this ancestral villa, with its enormous swath of surrounding land and a long stretch of seacoast; Gaius’ mansion on the Caelian Hill in Rome; and the little house in the Subura where Theodosia Varro had been living... and the revenue producers—the vineyards near Reate, the farm, the two marble quarries in Italy, and the three silver mines in Spain.

  Alexander spread each set out in turn as he explained them. He had organized the data in columns detailing land, equipment, furnishings, artwork, and slaves; business expenses; gross and net profits and losses for each of the past eight years. It was no mean fortune. Any one of the mines produced enough in a few months to maintain an ordinary family in Rome for a lifetime. All told, the estate included four thousand slaves.

  The delicate creature studying those pages might be the wealthiest unmarried woman in the whole Roman Empire.

  His fellow slaves could stop their grumbling.

  There’ll be a new master around here soon enough.

  “Why do these go back only eight years?” Theodosia Varro asked after an interval. “Didn’t my father keep records?”

  “I couldn’t find any when I came, so I started keeping them.”

  It was a matter of pride to Alexander that he wouldn’t have administered the estate any differently—or any better—had it belonged to him.

  “Show me the list of slaves here at the villa.”

  Alexander pulled out the appropriate sheets. One hundred and fifteen labored in and around the villa. He had categorized them by occupation, noting the age, nationality, and specific tasks of each. On the last page, she would find his name: Alexander, 29, Greek, steward.

  The list covered eleven pages, and as Theodosia Varro read through them, Alexander saw her expression change. The eager look he first took for greed vanished, replaced by a furrowed brow. Her eyes scanned top to bottom, quickening with each sheet until she reached the last one.

  “Why is it that I don’t recognize any but the oldest servants?”

  “That was the master’s doing, mistress.” He paused for her response, but her face was blank, so he went on. “He sold almost the entire household—over a hundred—and bought new slaves to replace them.”

  Theodosia Varro’s mouth fell open. Red blotches popped out on her cheeks.

  “But he was raised with them, same as I was!”

  “Apparently, that didn’t matter much to him.”

  “Uproot an entire household?” Her voice was faint. “On a whim? Gods, how unfair!”

  “Where
is it written that a Roman can’t indulge his whims? That a Roman must be fair?”

  Theodosia Varro turned toward the window, as if to hide her consternation. Alexander regarded her curiously. Up to now, their exchanges had reflected the usual balance of formality and intimacy between a slave and his owner... a self-conscious reserve on both sides.

  Suddenly, there was a break in that reserve.

  After a while, she leaned back and raised flushed cheeks to him, making no effort to hide her distress.

  “The young women... The girls who were around here when I was growing up...” Her eyes were liquid. “All gone?”

  “The only females he left were the laundresses and the wives and daughters of the shepherds, goatherds, and gardeners... who live by themselves a distance away.”

  Theodosia Varro swung toward the window once more and sat with her back to him, obviously wrestling her emotions into submission. When at last she faced him again, that break in the reserve had yielded to the mask of command that he associated with Roman faces. The red blotches and liquid eyes had disappeared.

  “You’ve done a fine job on these records.”

  The unexpected compliment surprised him.

  “Thank you, mistress.”

  “And I understand you’re also responsible for the good service I’ve been enjoying. The waiters told me you trained the entire staff, or at least the younger servants... which I now see is just about everyone. Your talents are remarkable, it seems.” She paused. “Tell me something about yourself. What part of Greece are you from? How on earth did you end up here?”

  Alexander sucked in a breath and considered his response. He’d won on the issue of his name, she on the issue of the library. Here was another issue to negotiate.

  “That is a long story, mistress, and a very personal one. I would prefer not to talk about it.”

  And then he waited. It was unheard of for a slave to refuse to answer a question, much less tell his owner that something was none of her business. In most Roman houses, a remark of that sort would quickly earn him a whipping for insolence. Alexander looked his new mistress in the eye and awaited her anger.

  Theodosia Varro stared at him in obvious disbelief, her eyes remote and appraising. After a long interval, she bobbed her head.

  “As you choose.”

  <><><>

  They were still in the library when Theodosia caught the sound of horses in the driveway. It was nearly noon.

  “Go and see who it is.”

  Alexander bowed and left. Theodosia knew she should wait, but she followed right away... too curious to hold back.

  She was standing at the top of the wide steps in the main entryway, shielding her eyes from the glare, when a stable hand strode around the corner, coming to take the visitors’ horses. Theodosia exhaled sharply through her mouth.

  Juno, what a man!

  Tall and robust, with brawny arms and shoulders and a full beard, the slave looked as if he could haul Emperor Claudius’ ceremonial chariot with just one of his massive hands. Though he wore the same coarse brown tunic as all the others in the household, on him it hung differently.

  This must be the giant that Lucilla was talking about.

  Two riders were accompanying an open carriage up the driveway. The burly fellow held the horses as the men dismounted. One was balding and heavy set, the other clearly his son by their identical jaw line.

  Alexander offered his hand to a girl inside the carriage; then he lifted out a fat-faced boy of three or four, who immediately took off for the rocks along the shore. Alexander chased him and—to Theodosia’s great surprise—swung the squealing child into the air and around his head for a few turns before returning him to his sister’s arms.

  “Theodosia?” said the heavy-set man. “I am Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus the Elder. Of Reate and Caere.”

  “Hero of the conquest of Britain, then quaestor, then praetor... and one of my father’s dearest friends.” She smiled and gave him her hand. “See, General? I know all about you.”

  “Guess you do. That’s dangerous in a woman.”

  Vespasian turned to his children.

  “This is Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus the Younger,” he said, drawing the name out for effect, “my daughter, Flavia Domitilla, and troublesome little Domitian.”

  Already, Theodosia was charmed by Vespasian’s Sabine accent. The laugh lines around his eyes testified to the earthy humor and tongue for which he was famous. She had heard much admiring talk about the general from Reate.

  “You live in Caere now?” she asked.

  “This side of town, near the tombs. Inland, so Flavia’s nagging me to build a new villa by the sea.” He cast his daughter a pseudo-malevolent frown. “But I’m an honest man, so how am I to get the money?”

  “Guess she’ll have to wait till she marries her rich lawyer,” Titus said.

  Titus was already taller than his father, though he looked no more than fifteen. Thick black hair rippled around his face; thick black lashes fringed his eyes.

  “Sorry about Gaius’ death, Theodosia,” he said. “Must be scary for you, all alone here.”

  Theodosia stifled the urge to wince. The last thing she wanted was for her servants to think her new situation frightened her.

  “I understand you’ve been seeing a lot of Lucius Sergius Silus,” Vespasian said.

  Theodosia nodded.

  “He was my father’s lawyer and friend. My brother’s lawyer, too.”

  “Flavia’s to marry him sometime next year,” Titus said. “Father’s big catch for her. He’s only thirty years older than she is!”

  “But he’s the emperor’s advisor,” Flavia said. “He’ll present me at court when we’re married.”

  “Gods, is Lucius in for a surprise. He thinks he’s getting some meek little thing for a bride.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s known me all my life.”

  “Anyway,” Vespasian went on, “it was Lucius who told us you were coming home this week. Since we live out here—so far away from all the sons and daughters of bitches in Rome—Lucius keeps us supplied with the latest news and gossip.” Vespasian shook his head, eyes twinkling. “By Juno’s tits, it’s hard to tell the difference these days. So, my dear, don’t pay any attention to what you hear, especially from a young pup like this.” He pointed his thumb at his son. “He likes to think he’s got Gaius’ murder all figured out.”

  “It was the litter bearers killed Gaius,” Titus said. “But don’t worry. Your slaves have been well warned by what happened to those four in the Carcer Tullianus.”

  Theodosia shuddered at thought of the notorious prison.

  “Titus!” said Flavia. “You know they’d have put the whole household in Rome to death if they thought the slaves did it. Lucius says street thugs murdered Gaius.”

  A year or so younger than her brother and pretty in an immature way, Flavia exuded warmth and self-assurance.

  “I’ve been dying to meet you, Theodosia! Actually, everyone’s been curious, even Father.”

  “But we really didn’t come just to gawk,” Vespasian said, “despite what Flavia says. So... just ignore her.”

  “That’s all he ever does,” Flavia said. “Ignore me.”

  “We came to invite you to dinner—”

  “See? Ignoring me!”

  “To meet the neighboring landowners. Important folk, all of them. Interested?”

  Theodosia laughed at this example of resolute ignoring.

  “Yes, but... only if you’ll stay and have lunch with me today. Eating alone is going to get old fast. I can see that already.”

  <><><>

  “Did you know my mother?” Theodosia asked Vespasian as they strolled through the masses of spotted lilies and red and yellow roses that separated the house from the pergola.

  “Actually, no. I knew Terentius’ first wife, but your mother never joined us. I understood she was having a difficult pregnancy. And then, of course, she died.”


  “Giving birth to me, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Father never told me how she died. Never talked about her, just said he loved her so much he gave me her name.”

  “Shame he didn’t give you a Roman name,” Titus said from behind them. “You’d have made a wonderful Terentia.”

  “Oh, no!” said Flavia. “Greek names are lots more interesting.”

  The girl bounded toward the pergola, ran up the stairs under the lilac-covered entryway, and skipped across to the stone wall.

  “Theodosia,” she said as the others stepped through the fragrant purple arch, “this is absolutely the most gorgeous place I’ve ever seen!”

  Theodosia laughed and nodded. Her earliest memories were of sunny afternoons in this airy, vine-covered arbor built on a flat rock projecting out over the sea. The breeze carried a fine spray up from below as gulls swooped and called.

  “Haven’t you ever been here before?”

  “Gods, no. Gaius never invited anyone to his villa.”

  “Except his buddy, Otho,” Titus said. “Folks used to say Otho spent as much time at Gaius’ villa as Gaius did. Of course, with Otho around, nobody else wanted to be here.”

  “Someday,” Flavia said, “I’m going to have a villa by the sea, with a pergola exactly like this. Wait and see!”

  Just then, Alexander came into the arbor bearing an ornate silver tray, pitcher, and cups, each of which—Theodosia noted as he drew closer—was adorned with a large ruby in an intricate raised setting.

  “To your new life, Theodosia.” Vespasian raised the cup of Falernian that Alexander offered him.

  “Oooooh, what wonderful goblets!” Flavia turned hers around and inspected it closely. “This is the biggest ruby I’ve ever seen, and... what an amazing design!”

  “Looks like a serpent eating an apple,” Titus said.