Chapter 8 #2
I closed my eyes, not wanting to imagine Drusus’s grief and impotent rage. Britannicus had been murdered, many said by Nero, and any who supported Britannicus had been declared a criminal.
As much as I disliked Drusus, I could understand his festering rage and his need for vengeance. I was doubly glad he’d managed to slip away, and that his dancer had as well.
But this was Saturnalia, which should be a joyful time. I tried to banish Drusus’s desperation and focus on what was in front of me. Nero and Poppaea were unharmed, Drusus had escaped, and the bloodshed remained in the arena. Cassia and I were home and safe for now, with good wine to drink.
I briefly touched the wooden table, not wishing to tempt Fortuna to take all I’d gained in this year of freedom away from me.
When I opened my eyes, Cassia was sliding a slim wooden box across to me.
“Happy Saturnalia, Leonidas,” she said softly.
I stared at it, mystified. The box was no different from those that merchants put goods into for ease of carrying, but for some reason, it perplexed me.
“If you open it, you’ll discover what is inside,” Cassia said in amusement. “It is your Saturnalia gift.”
I raised my gaze to her in surprise. “You had no need to get me a gift. You help me every day.”
She shrugged. “I wanted to. You have been free a year and a day. It is a time for celebration.”
“I bought you a gift as well.” I laid the small bag, which I’d unhooked from my belt, in front of her. “Joyous Saturnalia to you.”
Cassia took up the bag, her expression wary, as though she expected one of the joke gifts the merchants were currently selling by the basketful.
She undid the drawstrings and opened the bag, then she stared into it, her lips parting in shock.
I undid the small brass catch on the box and lifted its lid.
A tapered piece of golden wood, well carved and polished, lay in the box. Narrow bronze supports rose from this base, as finely wrought as the pin I’d procured.
“Where did you get this?” Cassia asked me in hushed tones.
“From a goldsmith called Decimus,” I answered. “I had him make it. For your best cloak.”
“Oh.”
Cassia glanced at the pegs that held my cloak and her foul-weather one. The day had cleared, which I hadn’t thought of when I’d seen her hanging it up.
“If you don’t like design, I can ask Decimus to exchange it for another,” I said when Cassia spoke no further.
“No, no.” She lifted the pin, turning it around in her fingers and studying the delicate leaves in wonder. “It is beautiful. An astonishing gift.” She lowered it, her eyes guarded as she gazed at me. “But I sold that cloak.”
“You did?” I barked, stunned. “Why?”
“Because I knew the wool merchant would give me a good price.” Cassia touched the wooden piece in front of me. “So I could purchase this. It is a stand for your rudis. To hold it in honor.”
“Ah.”
Cassia’s smugness at her transaction began to fade. “Leonidas.” She glanced at the shelf above us, but seated, she’d not be able to see whether the rudis was on top of it. “How did you pay for the pin? I assumed Aemil’s fee, but?—”
“Aemil wouldn’t give it to me.” I shrugged. “At least not right now. But once he finally does, Saturnalia will be past. I didn’t want to wait another year.” One never knew what games the fates would play in a year.
“So you sold your rudis?” Cassia demanded, incredulous.
I shrugged again. “It is only a wooden sword. The papers Aemil and Hesiodos signed make me free, not the rudis.”
“Yes, but that is not the point.”
Cassia let out a long breath, then she surged to her feet, thrusting the pin back into the bag. “Come with me. We are going to find Decimus and buy back your rudis. That will be my Saturnalia gift to you.”
“Only if you take back your cloak.” I slid the wooden stand into the box and closed its lid. “You are very fond of that cloak.”
Cassia became wistful. “It is quite serviceable.”
I kept my expression neutral at her understatement. I knew it had been as much a wrench for her to part with her finest garment as it had been for me to give away the rudis.
“We will visit the wool merchant, then the goldsmith,” I said as we both wrapped ourselves against the cold. “Then I will show you a pastry shop where they shape the dough like birds. Melts in the mouth. We will bring those home and feast on them, with Livius’s wine.”
Cassia’s eyes sparkled. “Done.”
We walked out into the winter sunshine, our purchases tucked into my cloak. Another contingent of revelers dashed by.
“Io, Saturnalia!”
“Io, Saturnalia!” Cassia shouted in response.
We followed the throng down the hill, a sharp breeze scattering the earlier rainclouds.
“Perhaps next year, we ought to compare notes before we purchase our gifts,” Cassia said. “Or keep to the figurines, as tradition dictates.”
You are worth more than those, I wanted to say.
But her words held a promise that she’d be with me for another year. That would be worth the most of all.
“Perhaps,” was all I answered.
Cassia beamed me a sudden smile, which lit up her face among the folds of the brown cloak and made her beautiful.
I took her hand, and together we raced down the hill on the heels of the merrymakers, their shouts and responses floating into the pale winter sky.