Vita Brevis Read Free Page A

Titus’s splendid baths, and not caring that this was an obvious lie from a man who moments ago had been loitering in the street. “I have to see a man about a job.”
    Metellus said, “I’ll walk with you.”
    Ruso glanced across at the demolition site, where a man in a battered straw hat was supervising a crane team as they cranked up a boulder to load into a waiting cart. Pushing aside a fantasy of what might happen if Metellus stood underneath it, he headed in the direction of the baths. His destination was up the Oppian Hill and with luck Metellus would get bored before they got there. If not, well, Kleitos was the sort of doctor who would happily spend an hour talking about the medicinal properties of thistles or the finer points of treating prolapsed hemorrhoids. That should see him off.
    They waited for two men to lug a bulbous oil amphora past, and then stepped into the street. Metellus said, “And how is your wife enjoying Rome?”
    “She’s very busy with the baby,” said Ruso.
    “Oh, dear, yes. I heard something about that.”
    “Parenthood is a marvelous thing,” Ruso assured him. “You should try it yourself.”
    “I’m glad to hear it,” Metellus told him. “Especially after the rumors.”
    Ruso said, “It never pays to listen to rumors.”
    “Actually, I find it pays rather well.”
    Ruso tried, “And what are they saying about you?” but there was no reply.
    Smells of woodsmoke and perfume and stale sweat wafted into the street from Titus’s bathhouse and the one behind it which, being built by a later emperor, was of course spectacularly bigger.
    “I was told,” Metellus began smoothly, “that the child isn’t yours.”
    Ruso took a slow breath, savoring the memory of the day his patience had snapped and he had shoved Metellus into the nearest river. “She’s not Tilla’s either,” he said. “We adopted.”
    “Ah. I did wonder, but one never knows what to expect with the Britons.”
    “My wife is a Roman citizen now,” Ruso reminded him.
    “Of course,” Metellus continued smoothly. “Remarkable. I don’t think I ever congratulated her. Please pass on my good wishes.”
    Ruso had no intention of ruining Tilla’s day by telling her the man who had once put her on a security list of Undesirables to Watch was in Rome.
    “If there’s anything I can do,” Metellus continued, “just ask. I know one or two people who could offer you work.”
    “Thank you, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
    “I do hope you aren’t relying on Publius Accius just because he encouraged you to come here—I believe that’s how it was?” When Ruso did not reply, Metellus added, “Accius was a big man back in Britannia, but you’ll need far better connections than that to get on in Rome. Especially with his tendency to make unfortunate remarks after too much wine.” He glanced back at the amphitheater. “I take it you’ve tried the gladiator school?”
    “I’m on their list.”
    Metellus said, “I may be able to help with that.”
    “Please don’t.” Facing a crocodile was one thing. Putting your head between its jaws was something else entirely.
    Metellus shrugged. “As you wish. But the offer is there. You can always contact me via the urban prefect’s office. Your wife won’t want to stay in that rather unpleasant boarding house forever.”
    And with that the man was gone, brown hair and average height and faded tunic lost among the shoppers in a shady side street. The whole exchange might have been a hallucination, except now the tightness of Ruso’s fists and the soreness of his grazed knees was accompanied by a deep feeling of unease.
    He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths and relax his shoulders. He was not involved in anything that could possibly interest the urban prefect, whose job it was to keep order in the city while the emperor was away on another of his foreign tours. If indeed Metellus really was working for the prefect. No, it was far more