Page 40 of Vesuvius

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If Felix wanted to discuss lessons from fathers, Loren had his fair share, and it started with this: keep your spine straight, no matter your circumstance. Anything less would degrade the family name.

Loren limped along with the dignity drilled into him from his first steps as a child, gaze trained ahead. Ax led the way through alleys untouched by streetlamps. Gus followed, gripping the sword he’d stolen from Aurelia. These weren’t the statesman’s guards, Loren was positive,but Ax had called himtemple boy. If this was connected to the helmet – to Felix – Loren couldn’t fathom how. A migraine settled in to match the ache of his ankle.

They headed to the eastern edge of the city, close to the amphitheatre, a few streets above Livia’s shop. A single estate dominated this block, bordered on all sides by high walls. Silence clung thick, the residents asleep or out at the street fair – but Loren would put money on the former. The owner was said to be a recluse. No one ventured past these walls.

When Ax strode inside the front gate, Loren froze. ‘You can’t be serious.’

Gus grunted again, jamming the pommel into Loren’s mid-back. Swallowing, he passed under the arch. It opened into a small receiving atrium, lit by a sconce. A still plunging pool waited in the centre, and if not for orange light playing on the water’s surface, he would’ve fallen in. Beyond stretched a corridor leading to an interior courtyard.

‘This is as far as we’ll take you. Our master waits in the garden.’

‘What does he want?’ Loren tried.

But Ax only gestured. Gus moved to guard the exit, shoulders wide, though Loren didn’t plan on running – couldn’t, because of his ankle, and wouldn’t, because he wasn’t Felix.

No sense delaying. Loren pushed his shoulders back and entered the courtyard.

Despite his nerves, he couldn’t ignore how lush the place was. A portico of slender columns surrounded the rectangular central green, where stone paths wove between flowering bushes. Water cut down the middle, a canal with bridges spanning its width. The sliver of moon overhead barely illuminated the sea of soft grass.

Everything was still.

Loren knelt by the water’s edge to splash his flushed face. It didn’t help. When he glanced at his blurred reflection, frightened eyes staredback. Felix, wherever he was now, would never know what happened to Loren here. Probably wouldn’t care if he did. The thought settled sad on his shoulders.

‘There’s an old tale,’ a woman said, and Loren nearly toppled forward. Silhouetted by moonlight, she cast a tall, impossibly elegant figure between two columns. ‘About a young man called Narcissus who fell in love with his own reflection. Need I be worried about you, little priest?’

Shock rocked through him. It was the woman from the Forum the night before, who had stared at Loren like she found him far more interesting than council chatter about a missing helmet. She offered the same look now, but without the veil of rain, her gaze was infinitely more piercing.

Knees aching, Loren rose. ‘I’m not a priest, my lady.’

‘Loren, yes? I’ve been waiting awhile to talk with you alone.’

Talk?

Anger flushed through him in a bright flare. He’d been scared out of his mind for this? For a chat? She’d picked a grand time for it. He should be out searching for Felix. Loren tamped his bubbling fury down.Don’t show emotion.

‘Why did you bring me here? Who are you?’

‘My name is Julia Fortunata,’ she said. ‘I own this estate. Come.’

Julia disappeared into the shade of the portico, skirts trailing at her ankles, a complicated drapery of sheer lavender silk. Loren paused, counted to ten and limped after her.

Illuminated by lamplight was a summer triclinium, overlooking the garden. An impressive spread of fruit and bread had been arranged on the low centre table and feather pillows cushioned the three surrounding couches. Dressed in his scruffiest tunic, his braid still sporting bits of stew, this was far too lavish a place for someone like Loren.

The Pompeiian guise of him, anyway.

‘Augustus and Axius are given to theatrics,’ Julia said, sinking onto the left couch. The light cast her features into greater relief – sharp eyes, a classic nose, burnished gold hair pinned in an extravagant updo, greying at her temples. ‘If they went about their task too enthusiastically, I apologise. I gave them orders to escort you here, not drag you. Will you sit?’

Loren remained standing, even as his ankle throbbed. ‘They chased me through the streets. I thought . . . It doesn’t matter.’

Julia had raised a cup of wine to her lips but lowered it untouched. ‘Tell me.’

If she hadn’t been the first person to inquire about Loren’s well-being in days, maybe he could have resisted the command. But her gaze was steady and curious, and Loren so badly wanted someone who would listen.

He caved.

‘I have . . . a friend. He ran into trouble with another patrician in the city. I worried they found us out. Trying to protect him from the executioner’s whip is Herculean.’ Talking felt freeing, but Loren pinched his inner elbow to keep himself in check. He wondered how much Julia already knew about Felix’s ‘trouble’. How much the council had already guessed about their thief – and the helmet.

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