An Echo in the Darkness(15)

And now Julia had found that Calabah was no more to be trusted than the others, and her betrayal was deepest and most astonishing.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Primus poured more wine into his goblet and raised it to her. “Perhaps now you have a better understanding of how I felt when Prometheus’ affections turned to another,” he said wryly, reminding her of his handsome catamite, who had run away. “Don’t you remember? He was enraptured with Hadassah’s every word, and she finally stole his heart from me.”

Julia’s eyes glittered. “Calabah is free to do as she likes,” she said, pretending indifference though her tone was brittle. “Just as I am.” She wanted to hurt him for reminding her of Hadassah. The slave’s name alone, like a curse, always roused an incomprehensible loneliness and fear in Julia. “Besides, Primus, Calabah’s affections can’t be compared to those of Prometheus. He didn’t come to you of his own accord, did he? You had to buy him from one of those foul booths beneath the arena stands.” Seeing her words had struck their mark, she smiled and shrugged. “I’ve nothing to worry about. Sapphira is little more than a temporary diversion. Calabah will tire of her soon enough.”

“As she’s already tired of you?”

Julia raised her head sharply and saw his eyes shine with malicious triumph. Fury rose in her, but she pressed it down, speaking quietly. “You dare a great deal, considering your own precarious position in my household.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My father is dead. My brother has relinquished all rights over me and my possessions. I have no further need of you as a husband, do I? What is mine is mine with—” she smiled coldly—“or without you.”

His eyes flickered as he understood her threat, and his demeanor changed as swiftly as a chameleon changes colors. “You ever misunderstand me, Julia. Your feelings are uppermost in my every thought. I only meant that if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it is I. I empathize, my dear. Haven’t I suffered myself? Who was it who comforted you after Atretes deserted you? I did. Who was it who warned you that your slave was stealing your brother’s affections and poisoning his mind against you as she did with Prometheus?”

Julia turned her face away, not wanting to think about the past, loathing him for reminding her of it.

“I care about you,” Primus said. “I am the only true friend you have.”

Friend, she thought bitterly. The only reason Primus remained was because she paid for the villa, the clothes and jewels he wore, the lavish, rich food he loved, and the pleasures of the flesh he embraced. He had no money of his own. What little money he did make came from patrons afraid he would turn his acerbic wit on them and expose their secrets. However, that means of support had proven more and more dangerous of late, his enemies increasing. He now relied heavily on her financial support. Their mutual need of one another was what had made this marriage convenient in the beginning. He needed her money; she needed to live with him in order to retain control of her money.

Or had.

Now, no one cared any more what she did with her money. Or her life.

Primus came to her and took her hand, his own cold. “You must believe me, Julia.”

She looked into his eyes and saw his fear. She knew he feigned concern merely to protect himself, but she was desperate for someone to care about her. “I do believe you, Primus,” she said. She wanted someone to care.

“Then go to the haruspex and find out what causes these fevers and bouts of weakness.”

And thus, Julia found herself here in this dark, torchlit sanctuary, witnessing a grim ritual. Having studied the texts and tablets, the haruspex slit the throat of the small thrashing goat. Turning her face away as its terrified bleating gurgled into silence, Julia swayed and struggled not to faint. With another expert stroke, the priest laid open the animal’s belly and removed the liver. Servants removed the carcass as the priest reverently placed the bloody organ on a golden platter. He probed at it with his fat fingers, studying it, certain that the answers to whatever disease had befallen Julia would be found on its slick, black surface.

The priest gave his opinion and sent her away with little understanding of what ailed her. His veiled sentences hinted at myriad possibilities, and he made few suggestions. For all the good her visit had done, he might as well have said, “The gods refused to speak” and dismissed her. As she looked around, she saw others, more important, who were waiting—government officials concerned about possible outbreaks of disease or coming disasters. And she understood. What did the fate of one sick, frightened, and lonely young woman matter to anyone? What mattered were the gold coins she had given for the goat.