Chapter XIX
XIX
A cold wind was blowing when Felix pushed through the door and into the insula courtyard.
Mater and the girls had sold off whatever goods they could spare and the apartment had grown more and more sparse every time he stepped inside, until finally, they’d left it.
Moved to an apartment just beneath the roof tiles where the rain was deafening and the clicks of pigeon toenails near constant.
But it was better than the silence of a shrinking family.
He rubbed his neck, the muscles tight and screaming for a massage he couldn’t afford.
Training had increased tenfold in preparation for the coming competition between the four ludi at the Ludus Magnus, and Felix had spent his days patching up injuries inflicted on several new acquisitions who’d caught wooden blades on the ear, cheekbone, and jaw.
One unlucky man had lost a handful of teeth.
He’d not tended Adel even once. Barely seen her, unless one counted the glimpses through the window.
And he was certainly not counting those.
A door clattered behind him and Felix turned to find Oppia skipping out of the insula’s common latrine. She skidded to a stop when she saw him, her expression of bliss twisting into something more befitting a person heading into the latrine rather than out.
“Hello, Oppia.”
Her mouth opened and she struggled to swipe the discomfort from her face. “Felix,” her tone emerged too bright. “What are you doing here?”
“I”—he squinted—“live here.”
She glanced beyond him, and up toward their apartment, pushing out a loud laugh. “Of course you live here, Felix.”
“Why are you talking so loud?”
“I’m not. I always talk this loud, Felix.” This time his name emerged on the back of a high-pitched shout.
“Hush.” He frowned. “You’re going to get us in trouble with the landlord.” They crossed the courtyard and trudged up the stairs which felt higher every day.
Oppia scrambled to keep up with him. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he sighed. “I’m tired and hungry.”
“Oh.” Oppia breathed the word as if his answer had been the biggest disappointment. “Do you want me to bring you something? Look at the sky, it’s so lovely right now. I’ll just run up and grab you a bite and you can enjoy it out here.” She ran faster, panting and managing to pass him.
Felix glanced up at the square of watery gray sky visible over the courtyard. Were ten-year-old girls always this odd?
“Mater!” Oppia gasped, when they were still a full flight of stairs away from their floor. “Mater, Felix is home!”
He picked up his pace, noting the panic that seemed to quicken her movements.
“What’s going on with you?” he hurried after her.
“Nothing. Don’t be angry.”
That was not comforting. He caught up to her at their apartment door, reaching for the latch at the same time she did.
“Please don’t be angry.”
Pressing a palm to the door, he shoved it open and stepped inside. The voices he’d not noticed before fell to an immediate silence. In a moment he realized that creditors were not the men he needed to worry about.
Mater, Felicia, and Cassia turned beaming expressions toward him. And the man sitting at the table with them—if Felix had been a swearing man, he might have done so. Still, the word that fell from his lips felt every bit like a curse.
“Pater.”
Oppia sprang from his side like a little grasshopper and bounded toward their father.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Felix!” she squealed, and clapped her hands, her eyes begging him to think it was wonderful too.
“Now we’re all together! I don’t remember when we were all together before you went away to Alexandria.
” She wrapped her arms around Pater’s waist and squeezed.
“Felix.” Pater smiled and stood slowly, one hand resting on Oppia’s shoulder. He looked older somehow, more haggard than Felix remembered. Had the years been hard on his pater, or was it the guilt of running off with a creditor’s loan that tugged on the skin beneath his eyes?
“What are you doing here?” Felix spoke through gritted teeth.
“Where have you been?” Not words a son usually spoke to his pater.
And yet once he’d begun, he couldn’t seem to stop.
Months of pent-up frustration and anger flared.
“You can’t leave us for months and then come home as if nothing happened.
We had to move apartments, sell nearly everything we owned, eat nothing but bread and whatever else the neighbors kindly gave.
I’ve been hounded by creditors—they threatened to take the girls! ”
Mater reached across the table and took Pater’s hand, the gesture at once forgiving and exceedingly irritating. “Felix, hear him out—”
“Hear him out? Does he have any idea what he’s done?”
“Do you have any idea what he has been doing?” Mater responded in a quick and even tone.
“I understand you are upset.” Pater broke in. “But the circumstances were beyond my control.”
“They always are,” Felix bit out, hating the anger in his tone and letting it pour out anyway. “When you heard the project was cancelled, why did you stay away? Why didn’t you come home?”
Pater ignored his anger and kept to his calm tone.
“By the time I learned of the cancellation, the pipes were already in production, and I could not cancel the order. I traveled all across the Mediterranean trying to sell them in other cities. Then I had to winter in Rhodes, and you know letters don’t travel well in winter. I returned as soon as I could.”
A breath of relief released the tension in his chest. “You sold them, then? You have the money? You can repay the creditors?”
Pater coughed. “I sold a few lengths of pipe. Not nearly enough to cover the loan. A—a payment or two, perhaps.”
“And the rest of the pipe?” Felix ran his tongue over his teeth, an unnatural rush of frustration coursing through him, hot as bathhouse steam.
Pater shifted. “On supply ships in the harbor. But I’m sure, given enough time, I can find buyers.”
He needed air. The tiny room had grown too hot.
Felix turned and flung open the door, before he said something they would all regret.
He dropped down the uneven stairs as quickly as he dared, cool air meeting him in a rush.
It did little to temper his anger. The confusing jumble of feelings.
Anger and disappointment wrestled for dominance, squashing any joy and relief he should have felt at knowing his pater was alive and not face down in the Tiber.
A year’s wages spent on pipe was sitting in the harbor of a city about to be sacked by Visigoths and whose emperor had left.
Felix strode to the abandoned fountain and splashed water over his face.
It cooled his skin but did little to assuage his anger, nor the guilt nipping at its heels.
He should have been a better son, been kinder, more forgiving, but he just .
. . couldn’t. Perhaps if this had been Pater’s first offense, but not after all the other things, the restaurant, the failed horse trading, trash removal, buying into a share of the inns that had turned out to be fake.
Felix gripped the edge of the fountain, staring at his reflection, blurred by the droplets trickling from his chin. So Pater was back. And without any money. What was he to do with that?
Perhaps the only relief in the matter was that with Pater back, Felix couldn’t be sold to pay his debts. And that seemed a selfish relief.