An Echo in the Darkness(7)

Antigonus laughed dryly. “Rape? Given another moment, she would have enjoyed it.”

“I doubt that.”

Antigonus’ humor evaporated, his eyes flashing at the insult. “Since when did a slave’s feelings matter to you? I’ve seen you take your pleasure in like ways a time or two.”

“I don’t need to be reminded,” Marcus said grimly, downing the remainder of the wine in his cup. “What I do need is a breath of fresh air.”

He went out into the gardens, but found no relief there, for Arria followed him, Merula at her side. Gritting his teeth, Marcus bore their presence. She talked about their love affair as though it had ended yesterday and not four years before. Merula glared at Marcus, who felt pity for the man. Arria had always enjoyed tormenting her lovers.

“Have you read my book, Marcus?” she said, her voice dripping honey.

“No.”

“It’s quite good. You’d enjoy it.”

“I’ve lost my taste for trash,” he said, his gaze flickering over her.

Her eyes flashed. “I lied about you, Marcus,” she said, her face contorted with rage. “You were the worst lover I ever had!”

Marcus grinned back at her coldly. “That’s because I’m the only one who walked away from you with blood still in his veins.” Turning his back on her, he strolled away.

Ignoring the names she called him, he left the garden. Returning to the banquet, he looked for distraction in conversations with old acquaintances and friends. But their laughter grated; their amusement was always at someone else’s expense. He heard the pettiness behind the amusing remarks, the relish as new tragedies were recounted.

Leaving the group, he reclined on a couch, drank morosely, and watched people. He noticed the games they played with one another. They put on masks of civility, all the while spewing their venom. And then it hit him. Gatherings and feasts such as this had once been a large part of his life. He had relished them.

Now, he wondered why he was here . . . why he had ever returned to Rome at all.

Antigonus approached him, his arm thrown carelessly around a richly clad, pale-skinned girl. Her smile was sensual. She had the curves of Aphrodite, and for an instant his flesh responded to the dark intensity of her eyes. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman.

Antigonus noted Marcus’ appraisal and smiled, pleased with himself. “You like her. I knew you would. She’s quite luscious.” Removing his arm from around the woman, he gave her a gentle nudge, though she needed none. She fell lightly against Marcus’ chest and gazed up at him with parted lips. Antigonus smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “Her name is Didyma.”

Marcus took hold of Didyma’s shoulders and set her back from him, smiling wryly at Antigonus. The woman looked from him to her master in question, and Antigonus shrugged. “It would appear he doesn’t want you, Diddy.” He waved his hand carelessly in dismissal.

Marcus set his goblet down firmly. “I appreciate the gesture, Antigonus—”

“But . . . ,” he said ruefully and shook his head. “You perplex me, Marcus. No interest in women. No interest in the games. What happened to you in Ephesus?”

“Nothing you would understand.”

“Try me.”

Marcus gave him a sardonic smile. “I would not entrust my private life to so public a man.”

Antigonus’ eyes narrowed. “There’s a bite in your every word these days,” he said softly. “How have I offended you that you take on such a condemning air?”

Marcus shook his head. “It’s not you, Antigonus. It’s all of it.”

“All of what?” Antigonus said, baffled.

“Life. Damnable life!” The sensual pleasures Marcus had once savored were now dust in his mouth. When Hadassah had died, something within him had died with her. How could he explain the wrenching, profound changes within himself to a man like Antigonus, a man still consumed and obsessed with fleshly passions?

How could he explain that everything had lost meaning to him when a common slave girl had died in an Ephesian arena?

“My apologies,” he said flatly, rising to leave. “I’m poor company these days.”

He received other invitations over the next month but declined them, choosing to immerse himself in his business enterprises instead. But no peace was to be found there, either. No matter how frenetically he worked, he was still tormented. Finally, he knew he had to be clear of the past, of Rome, of everything.

He sold the rock quarry and the remaining building contracts—both at sizable profit, though he felt no pride of satisfaction in his gain. He met with managers of the Valerian warehouses on the Tiber and reviewed the accounts. Sextus, a longtime associate of his father’s, had proven himself loyal to Valerian interests over many years. Marcus offered him the position of overseer to the Valerian holdings in Rome, with a generous percentage of the gross profits.