“If she dies …” Her words held agitation.
“I’ll look after you.”
Annoyance drifted over Lucia’s worry. “How? I am fond of you, Leonidas, but you are a moneyless freedman.”
“I have a benefactor now,” I reminded her.
“One who has given you no means to sustain yourself. What sort of benefactor is that?”
I couldn’t answer. I did not understand my situation, but for now it was enough that I did not have to sleep in the streets.
“You will have a place to stay, in any case,” I promised.
“You had better ask your slave if she is willing to wait on a woman like me. She sounds hoity-toity.”
I thought about how cleverly Cassia had made certain there was plenty of food, drink, and warm blankets for sleeping when I hadn’t enough money to cover the costs. For a woman who’d lived a sheltered life, Cassia had coerced the hard-bitten shopkeepers of Rome to do what she wished.
I wasn’t certain what she’d make of Lucia. But Cassia belonged to me, and should obey my wishes … shouldn’t she?
I had no idea what to do with a slave. I wasn’t the commanding sort, and Cassia so far had not waited for instructions from me.
The hordes outside the brothel hadn’t thinned. It was the third hour on this winter day, the sun well up, and the streets were full. Onlookers created a jam on the road, which led from the Esquiline Hill to the heart of the city. Those who needed to pass shouted and cursed. Others stopped to ask what had happened and lingered in curiosity. Romans ever sought entertainment.
The vigiles and the cohort tried to get people to move on, but with little success against the thick-bodied costermongers and determined matrons who watched from behind folds of embroidered pallas.
The Praetorian Guard looked on with disdain at the vigiles’ efforts and made no move to help. He caught my eye, frowned a moment, as though wondering what a gladiator was doing here, then his gaze slid past me.
I spied another figure in the crowd. A small woman, nearly hidden in her plain cloak, peered around the crush to see what I’d gotten myself into.
I wondered how Cassia had known to come here, but news of a commotion and possible poisoning would travel quickly. She might have been out and followed the crowd, or overheard people speaking of it in the wine shop beneath us—she’d known I’d gone to Floriana’s and could easily ask the way.
Cassia made no move to approach me, simply watched, dark eyes taking in everything.
Time at last dispersed the throng. As the hour passed, with no word from inside the house, the spectators grew bored or realized they had better finish with whatever task they’d been sent on, and began to drift away. Lucia ducked inside, I unable to stop her. The other ladies sat in the shade by the wall, arms around knees, heads back, dozing. The day warmed, though it was a far cry from the heavy heat of summer.
By the time Marcianus emerged, only a handful of people remained, including the cohort and the Praetorian. The vigiles had given up and gone home, their night shift long finished.
“She will live,” Marcianus announced to me. The ladies, sighing with relief, climbed to their feet and trickled back inside, ready for sleep.
Marcia had followed Marcianus out, carrying his bag and watching him with a sort of reverence.
“She will need care,” Marcianus told her. Marcia’s carefully curled black hair hung lank, her face creased with weariness, but she nodded fervently, eager to help. “She must drink the concoction I mixed and eat nothing more until I see her again tomorrow.”
Marcia listened to his instructions attentively. I didn’t think Marcia was more than sixteen summers, but she was brighter than most.
Marcianus turned to me. “Floriana ate the leaves of rhubarb, from what I can tell. The stems have medicinal use, but the leaves are deadly poisonous. Thankfully, it’s a slow poison, which was why I could save her.” He frowned at Marcia. “Did she not know? Some make a salad of any green they can find.”
Marcia shook her head. “We had no salad yesterday. Or any rhubarb in the house either. We all ate the same—lentils and bread.”
“Are you certain? She could have nipped out and bought some for herself.”
“Fairly certain. I can find out.” Marcia ducked swiftly inside.
Cassia moved nearer to us. She had a tablet open and made quick, precise marks in it. Marcianus noted her, his gaze growing curious.
“This is Cassia,” I said. “She works for me now.”
Cassia adjusted her palla to cover most of her face and bowed her head in deferential greeting. She studied Marcianus as he blinked in surprise at my announcement, then she began speaking to him. In Greek.
Marcianus’s surprise turned to astonishment, then delight. He answered her, and the two began a conversation, both behaving with cordiality, but what they said, I had no idea.
Marcia returned, breathless and flushed. “No salad of any kind. As I said, lentils and bread.”
Cassia made a note. “What time did the symptoms occur?” she asked Marcia.
Marcia stared at her and addressed her answer to Marcianus. “We found her like that this morning, in the first hour. Lucia was shouting.”
Marcianus nodded, and Cassia’s stylus moved across the wax.
“May I see your notes?” Marcianus asked, and Cassia handed him the tablet. He glanced over the scratches in approval. “Very succinct.”
“Thank you.” Cassia took the tablet as he held it out to her. “I find it helpful to keep a record of events.”
Marcia and I exchanged a baffled glance.
“If anything changes, send for me,” Marcianus said to Marcia. “My house is near the fountain of the three fishes on the Aventine.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcianus had a way of commanding instant respect. His presence wasn’t powerful or dominating, but men and women alike fell all over themselves to do what he asked.
He began to walk away, but Cassia called after him, “Your fee, sir?”
Marcianus turned back with a start. He quickly assessed the house with its weary, mussed ladies, me still in the tunic of a slave, Cassia and her plain draperies, stylus hovering.
“One as,” he said. “Payable whenever it can be done.”
Cassia’s stylus moved. Marcia slid back into the house with the last of the ladies. Marcianus gave us a gesture of farewell and strode down the street.
The spectacle over, the lingerers went about their business, ready for the next entertainment they might stumble upon.
“He has much kindness,” Cassia observed as we watched Marcianus go, his lanky body jerking, until he faded into the crowd.
“I would be dead three times over if not for him.” He’d patched up wounds Aemil had been certain would kill me.
“Astute as well. He knows they can’t pay much but would be insulted to receive charity.”
“What were the two of you speaking of?” I asked. “I don’t understand Greek.”
Cassia flushed. “He asked where I came from and why I am assisting you. About my family and background. He was born in Athens, he said, though his parents were from Rome. He knows that part of the world better than this. He said he studied medicine in Athens and Ephesus.” She sounded impressed.
They’d exchanged much information. I hadn’t known this about Marcianus, and I still knew little about Cassia.