“Then you won’t mind going on to Naples. Just to be sure.” Kanut turned and vaulted up onto his horse. “Shall we?”
Xanthus glanced back down the road, looking in the direction of the caravan, in the direction of Pompeii and Attia. He wanted to go back. If Kanut was right and that caravan carried Tycho Flavius, then Xanthus wanted to be there to protect Attia. And to make sure she didn’t do something reckless. But he worried that if he insisted on going back to Pompeii, Kanut—and inevitably Timeus—would have quite a few questions. Questions that Xanthus knew he could never answer.
However much Xanthus disliked it, he realized that he stood the best chance of protecting Attia by making sure her identity was kept secret, even if he had to do it from afar. So he climbed onto his horse and nodded to Kanut.
“Naples,” he said.
CHAPTER 21
The household went into a massive panic just after dawn.
Attia watched them from her vantage point on the second-floor balcony. Slaves and servants and guards and Valeria—all running around the courtyard of the villa like ants. All frantically trying to put the house in order before the guests arrived.
Tycho Flavius was two weeks early. He would be at the villa by nightfall.
The whole charade of welcoming a person who was obviously not welcomed tired Attia. She was witnessing firsthand the Romans’ greatest skills: the fake smiles, the cold, open arms. The dagger in the back. It was exactly what Timeus deserved.
“Why are you sad, Attia?” Rory asked her later that morning.
“I’m not sad,” Attia said.
“Yes, you are. I can see it on your face. Is it because the visitors haven’t come yet? Who are they? Will I get to see them?”
Attia’s heart clenched. She clearly remembered Valeria’s plea to keep Rory hidden, but even if she didn’t, she had no intention of exposing Rory to the likes of a Flavian. Any Flavian. Especially not after what Lucius had shared with her.
She tried to keep her voice light when she answered. “They’re your uncle’s guests, silly bird. But you absolutely cannot see them.”
“Please?” Rory begged, putting her little hands together. “I never get to see anyone!”
Attia knelt down to meet the child’s height. “Rory, you have to promise me that you’ll stay in your room and keep the shutters closed while the visitors are here.”
“Even in the evenings? But the sunlight—”
“It’s not because of the sunlight.”
“Then why?”
Attia tilted Rory’s chin up and looked into her wide blue eyes. “It’s because a monster is coming,” she said.
The little girl gasped and her entire body froze. Her immediate fear sent guilt lancing through Attia, but she tried to calm herself with reason. It was worth frightening the child if it meant she was also protecting her. She pulled Rory into her arms.
“I won’t let him come anywhere near you, Rory. But that’s why you have to be brave for me and promise not to go downstairs. No matter what you hear, you must stay in your room. Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Rory whispered.
“Promise again.”
“I promise.”
“Again.”
“I promise, I promise, I promise,” Rory said, her voice muffled against Attia’s shoulder.
“That’s three promises,” Attia said. “And I promise, promise, promise I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”
There was a knock on the door before Sabina poked her head into the room. “Attia, come. I need you.”
Attia planted a kiss on Rory’s cheek and followed Sabina out into the hall.
“Are you all right?” Attia asked as they hurried down the stairs to the first floor.
Sabina looked more than a little flustered. The fine silver hairs around her temples had started to pull free of her braid. There was a light layer of perspiration on her forehead, and she was frowning. “It’s never a pleasant experience when Tycho Flavius comes to visit.”
With Lucius’s disturbing theory rolling around in her head, Attia didn’t doubt the statement. “Does he visit often?”
“No, not often. He sometimes brings his father, but I hope Crassus won’t be with him this time.”
And I hope he will be, Attia thought.
“Relations between Crassus and Timeus have always been … well, tense. You know, Crassus and Lucius Bassus—Valeria’s late husband—conspired together during the Batavian Rebellion. Vespasian became Princeps because of his generals.”
“Rome’s politics tire me,” Attia said.
“They shouldn’t. As the heir to Thrace, you should know—”
“Sabina!” Attia said, glancing around to make sure no one heard.
“Well, it’s true!” Sabina responded in a harsh whisper.
“Do you want them to find out about me?”
Sabina stopped abruptly, and her face softened. “Gods, no. I … of course not, Attia. I’m sorry. So much is happening. I’m not thinking straight. Just … go to the kitchens and help them.” At Attia’s alarmed expression, she sighed. “Please?”
“They’ll just throw me out. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you sent me to the kitchens?”
“Please just go, stay out of the way, and try not to set any fires.”
Attia folded her arms over her chest as she watched Sabina hurry away. Then, for lack of anything better to do, she actually went to the kitchens and offered to help. The slaves there eyed her up and down and shook their heads. Attia couldn’t blame them after her performance in Rome. But in the end, they needed the assistance, so they tasked her with washing plates and cups while the ones with gentler hands laid out the food.
Then they waited.
The house became unnervingly still. Timeus stood at the steps leading from the courtyard to the villa. Beside him, Valeria looked like a statue, unmoving, barely blinking, pale and detached. Lucius tried to keep just as still, but he had a deep scowl on his face, and his fingers fluttered behind his back in agitation. Time passed in a blur of color—black and gray and red at the edges, like a mountain waiting to erupt.
Soon, the sound of thundering hooves and creaking wagons echoed down the road. Most of the household had gathered in the main courtyard, and Attia watched the proceedings from the shadow of a pillar.
She’d thought that Timeus’s caravan from Rome had been an elaborate production. It was nothing compared to the entourage of Tycho Flavius. Carts bearing people, food, chests, wine, and a few exotic pets streamed into the courtyard. There were dozens of horses, and even more slaves—all ornamented in tunics and bridles of silver and black. And there were soldiers. At least a hundred members of the auxilia accompanied Tycho’s caravan. They streamed through the courtyard and into the villa, guarding every door, window, and crack in Timeus’s house.