But instead of drinking the wine, Marsallas merely stared down at the rich liquid, his mouth twisting, his mind racing. A long silence fell between the two men, both of them lost in their own thoughts until Marsallas broke it by muttering, “She is as slim and beautiful as I remember. It would have been something if she had gone to fat!”
Marsallas looked up at Fabius, seeing the slight smile on the younger man's face. He grunted slightly, his own mouth twisting into a smile of sorts. “I’ve said that before haven’t I?”
“Aye. A few times this evening.”
Then as quickly as it came, Marsallas’s smile vanished. “I wanted to hate her, Fabius. But instead I kissed her,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He saw Fabius’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his words. “See, I have shocked you now, eh?”
Fabius nodded, before he leaned forward, “She told me she is staying at the inn near the Forum. She leaves tomorrow, after the Fifth Hour.”
Marsallas assimilated that bit of news without responding, and another silence fell between them, both of them oblivious to the raucous laughter behind them as they sat at their table in the drinking den.
“Was she your lover, Marsallas? In…in Herculaneum? Is that why she came here to see you?” Fabius finally asked, several minutes later.
For several long seconds Marsallas said nothing. He desperately wanted to say “yes” to Fabius. To tell him that Justina had once been his lover in the true sense of the word. But that would be a lie. All he’d had ever done was kiss her, caress her, nothing more.
He lifted his head, eventually meeting Fabius’s curious gaze. “You couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried, my friend. Justina was never my lover. She’s my uncle’s mistress!”
Justina looked out of the window, and stared down into the crowded Forum for what must have been the hundredth time. Patricians, plebeians, merchants and slaves all going about their daily business, totally oblivious to the woman who watched them all with anxious eyes.
Would he come? The time was approaching for her and Diogenes to leave, but she wanted to wait until the last possible moment before she returned to Herculaneum, just in case he turned up.
She worried her bottom lip with small white teeth, thinking about their meeting yesterday. He had looked at her with such hatred, but then he had kissed her with such passion, and then such tenderness, that she had been overwhelmed. And when the kiss had ended, and she'd left his quarters, frustration had eaten away at her, for failing to explain anything to him. But then what had she expected? It was obvious that he still loathed the very sight of her after all these years.
Justina sighed, and moved away from the window back to the bed. She finished packing the small amount of clothes she had brought with her, the chore taking her mind off the long journey ahead of her, and the conversation she would be required to have with Quintus. She dreaded what his reaction would be, once she told him that she had failed to persuade Marsallas to return. And even though she knew he would be too weak to retaliate, Quintus still managed to cause her stomach to clench in fear. And, of course, he still had Secundus to do his bidding…
Just thinking of Quintus’s cruel, and hated, overseer caused her to shiver in repulsion. Secundus acted as Quintus's right hand man, effectively running the villa, and had done so ever since Quintus’s gradual decline in health several years ago meant he couldn't control his slaves - and her - as he used too. But Secundus was even crueller than Quintus if that were possible, and he meted out such horrific punishments on any of the slaves that incurred his wrath, that even Quintus, had on occasions, had to intervene and tell him to stop, such were the extent of their injuries.
He’d also been her nemesis these past two years, ever since he had arrived at the villa. He watched her every movement, his snake-like eyes missing nothing as they stripped her body bare, and he always seemed to be near her, waiting for any excuse to touch her. It had become so unbearable at times that she had even been forced to inform Quintus. Thankfully, Quintus had warned him off, and the touching had stopped for a while, but then slowly, insidiously, it would start all over again. And Justina knew he was only biding his time, waiting for Quintus to die, before he made his final move and took what he wanted. Her. In his bed. Justina’s lips twisted wryly as she thought of the potential danger she was in. How ironic, she thought, that for six years she’d managed to avoid Quintus’s touch, only to find herself at the mercy of his overseer.
Justina shuddered, and deliberately dismissed him from her thoughts. She needed to finish packing if she were to be ready to leave at the allotted time, and worrying about Secundus wasn’t going to solve anything. She would just have to deal with him when the time came. And she would. Because once Quintus was dead, she would be a free woman, a woman who would finally be in control of her life…and her destiny.
A few minutes later she was ready, and when she heard a knock at the door she walked over to it and opened it, assuming it would be Diogenes come to collect her. But her body froze when she saw Marsallas leaning against the door frame watching her, a brooding look on the harsh planes of his face.
For a moment she remembered the young man of her youth, and mourned his demise, for the man standing across the room from her bore no resemblance to the youth she had know all those years ago. And although he had been muscular as a young man, today, as he stood there in the doorway of her room looking totally at ease, Justina had to acknowledge that he had matured into an outstanding specimen of manhood.
The life as a charioteer demanded peak physical fitness, and Justina had to acknowledge that he looked every inch the superb athlete that he must be. And he looked totally at ease in his skin, as if he knew exactly what effect he had on women.
Unbidden, he came slowly into the room, smiling a wolf’s smile, and Justina blushed at having been caught staring at him again. He lifted his arms in a gesture of supplication, the action faintly mocking, as his blue gaze fixed on hers with such intensity that it caused Justina’s stomach to clench partly in fear, and partly in response to the sheer masculinity he exuded.
"So here I am. What was so important that you had to travel to Rome to see me?”
Justina swallowed, her nerves on edge, as he came further into the room, his muscular presence instantly shrinking the room. She felt her breath catch as he came closer, standing no more than three feet away from her. The harsh lines of his face had been carved out by his life in the Circus. But he was also ruggedly handsome, and just looking at him caused her heart to beat erratically even after all the years away from him.
She had the urge to move away, to put some distance between them, but didn’t want to appear a coward, so instead she lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the eyes. Her fear dissipated somewhat, when she saw with some surprise, that he looked ill. His skin was a sallow yellow colour, his eyes bloodshot, and she could see sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. Concern overcame fear, and she ignored his question. Instead she asked, “Are you ill?”
She saw him raise an eyebrow, and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Your concern is touching, Justina. No, I am not ill, just recovering from the excesses of last night, if you know what I mean. Life as one of Rome’s great charioteers, is just one long endless party.”
Justina blushed at the sarcastic tone of his voice, and she turned away, annoyed with herself for showing concern for him. She should have realised that he would turn it against her.
After a tense silence had fallen in the room, she turned back to him and saw him watching her through narrowed eyes. He was obviously still