Arria was still beautiful, still intent on gaining the adoration of every male in the room, still amoral and eager for any new excitement. However, Marcus saw subtle changes. The soft loveliness of youth had given way to a harder-edged worldliness. Her laughter held no exuberance or pleasure—rather, it carried a quality of brashness and crudity that grated. Several men hovered around her, and she alternately teased each, making jokes at their expense and offering whispered suggestive observations. She glanced across the room then, looking at Marcus in question. He knew she was wondering why he hadn’t been caught by the smile she had cast him when he came in. But he knew that smile for what it was: bait for a hungry fish.
Unfortunately for Arria, Marcus was not hungry. Not any longer.
Antigonus leaned closer. “See how she looks at you, Marcus. You could have her back with a snap of your fingers. The man who’s watching her like a pet dog is her current conquest, Metrodorus Crateuas Merula. What he lacks in wit, he more than makes up for in money. He’s almost as rich as you are, but then our little Arria has money of her own these days. Her book created quite a furor.”
“Book?” Marcus said and gave a sardonic laugh. “I didn’t know Arria could write her name, let alone string enough words together to make a sentence.”
“Obviously, you know nothing of what she’s written or you wouldn’t be making light of it. It’s hardly a laughing matter. Our little Arria had secret talents unbeknownst to us. She’s become a woman of letters, or more precisely, erotica. A do-all, tell-all collection of stories. By the gods, it’s stirred up trouble in high places. One senator lost his wife over it. Not that he minded the loss of the woman, but her family connections cost him dearly. Rumor has it he may be forced into suicide. Arria has never been what you would call discreet. Now, I think she’s addicted to scandal. She has scribes working night and day making copies of her little tome. The price for one copy is exorbitant.”
“Which you undoubtedly paid,” Marcus said dryly.
“But of course,” Antigonus said with a laugh. “I wanted to see if she would mention me. She did. In chapter eleven. To my dismay, it was a rather cursory mention.” He glanced at Marcus with an amused smile. “She wrote about you in detail—and at length. No wonder Sarapais was so enamored of you at the games the other day. She wanted to see if you were all Arria said you were.” He grinned. “You should buy a copy for yourself and read it, Marcus. It might bring back a few sweet memories.”
“For all her exquisite beauty, Arria is crass and best forgotten.”
“A rather cruel assessment of a woman you once loved, isn’t it?” Antigonus said, measuring him.
“I never loved Arria.” Marcus turned his attention to the dancing girls undulating before him. The bells on their ankles and wrists jingled, grating on his nerves. Rather than be aroused by the boldness of their sensual dance and transparently veiled bodies, he felt discomfited. He wished their performance would end and they would depart.
Antigonus reached out to grasp one of the women and pulled her down onto his lap. Despite her struggling, he kissed her passionately. When he drew back, he laughed and said to Marcus, “Pick one for yourself.”
The slave girl cried out, and the sound sent Marcus’ insides instinctively recoiling. He had seen the look on the girl’s face before—in Hadassah’s eyes when he had let his own passions burn out of control.
“Let her go, Antigonus.”
Others were watching Antigonus, laughing and calling out encouragement. Drunk and provoked, Antigonus became rougher in his determination to have his way. The girl screamed.
Marcus found himself on his feet. “Let her go!”
The room fell silent, all eyes staring at Marcus in astonishment. Laughing, Antigonus raised his head and looked at him in mild surprise. His laughter died. Alarmed, he rolled to one side, releasing the girl.
Weeping hysterically, she stumbled to her feet and scrambled away.
Antigonus regarded Marcus quizzically. “My apologies, Marcus. If you wanted her that badly, why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Marcus felt Arria’s eyes fixed on him like hot coals, burning with jealousy. He wondered fleetingly what punishment the slave girl would receive at Arria’s hands for something that had nothing to do with her. “I didn’t want the girl,” he said tersely. “Nor any other in this room.”
Whispers rippled. Several women glanced at Arria and smirked.
Antigonus’ countenance darkened. “Then why intrude upon my pleasure?”
“You were about to rape the girl.”