Caelia bustled about in the rented villa, finding things to straighten and clean. Once she had accomplished all that reasonably could be done or needed to be done at all, she started again. Physical exertion distracted her from the horrid dream. The image of Lucius' blood upon her hands would not leave her, and it made a knot form in her throat every time she thought upon it.
"Caelia.." Marcus spoke lightly, and she started.
"Ah! You frightened me.." she breathed, brushing a few errant tresses from her gaze before returning to the heavy tapestry she currently beat without mercy.
"You seem a bit on edge," he countered lightly, leaning against the balcony edge.
"What happened last night?" She queried, an attempt to divert him from her obviously sour mood.
"Ah.." Marcus began, hesitant. He wanted to be honest with her, and alternately he wanted to shield her. To protect the sweet innocence that exuded from her.
"Just an intruder.." he finally offered, holding out a handful of figs. "You haven't eaten. Hungry?"
Caelia desired, more than anything, to brush his efforts away. Perhaps his company could ease her tormented mind, however. She relented and took the offering, abandoning the work of her hands to lean against the banister as well and nibble upon the fruit.
"Well? What happened?"
Marcus chuckled at her curiosity. "He was simply detained. The Master can deal with that later."
"Ah," was her only reply, her mood obviously darkening once more at mention of Lucius.
"Caelia, are you-"
"Do you think dreams really mean anything at all, Marcus?" She interrupted, her gaze lifted to the horizon where she could see Rome in all of her busy, over-crowded and bustling glory.
Marcus could not discern what it was exactly that had her in such a queer mood, but he chose to humor her.
"I am not sure, Caelia. My parents believed that dreams were gifts from the gods. Warnings, sometimes. Encouragements others. I have had enough bizarre ones to think that perhaps they are a result of nothing more than the choice I made in dinner the night before. Why? Did you have a troubling dream?"
Caelia only nodded, and no amount of prodding could prompt a confession of the details.
Lucius did not return until well past mid-day. Stealth was as much a part of his nature as breathing and so he entered the residence without any detection from the slaves within. He was exhausted. He had spent the better part of the night and most of the morning with his old friend Crassus. They had compared notes until they believed they had outlined the Emperor's scheme thus far. It was a bit like a heady game of strategy, and though they could (and did) spend hours speculating – they had no way of knowing his next move.
They agreed upon a course of action. A plan was formed, and then they had spent several hours just speaking easily with one another. If they both shared one thing in common it was an intense sense of loss over Gaius Julius. The ability to commiserate and share such thoughts meant more to Lucius than he would have ever expected. He went into Crassus' home expecting an altercation and instead had found himself comforted and enjoying the company of the older man.
Morning had come in a blink and Lucius trudged into his accommodations seeking at least a few moments of rest. Before he could do such though, a persistent beating sounded at his doorway.
"Yes," he grumbled roughly.
"Master," a somewhat timid voice replied. One of the male slaves he had brought along was at the door, stuttering along about something.
Lucius' was tired and of a short temper, and he swung the door open unexpectedly. The man had, apparently, been standing very closely to said door and nearly fell into the impressive width of his Master's chest. He grappled for anything to catch his balance and ended up gripping at the cloak swirled about Lucius' shoulders. Once he had righted himself he recoiled as if burned, a hissing noise escaping betwixt his teeth.
His chattering continued on, worsening with the newfound fear. When Lucius could not tolerate it any longer, he bellowed.
"Marcus!"
With that he slammed the door on the pitiable creature groveling there, his foul mood taking an especially dark turn.
Marcus heard the call from his position with Caelia upon the balcony. He cast her an apologetic glance and then slipped inside.
Caelia finally sought out real sustenance, filling her stomach before moving into the small lawn just behind the villa. She had exhausted herself on things that did not even need to be done for most of the morning. With the edge taken off of her fright and worry over the dream, she felt whimsical enough to stare at Rome once more. The city seemed to have a heartbeat all it's own that throbbed within her, and she enjoyed the invigorating sense of life it gave her. She could easily imagine, however, how exhausting it would be to live there for an extended period.
It was as she pondered these things that she felt rather than heard the other slaves bustle quickly into and out of her proximity. Her curiosity was piqued, and she followed along.
"He breached the wall, but we subdued him. I am quite sure he intended harm, as he was thoroughly armed." Marcus intoned lightly, seeming less and less frightened of his Master with each audience he was granted. Lucius found it a bit refreshing after his encounter with the fool at the door.
"Yes, of course.." he breathed, thinking aloud more than speaking to Marcus. "Where is he now?"
"In the storage facility. We have had someone with him since he appeared." Marcus replied.
Lucius nodded and then walked past Marcus without another word. He did not indicate whether Marcus should or should not follow, so the young man chose to do just that.
His Master had a long stride and it was a challenge to keep up and keep quiet, but they soon found themselves outside of the small building where the man was being held. Lucius opened it quickly, and found yet another of his slaves consistently prodding the ribs of a bound young boy with a sharpened stick.
The site was entirely disgusting at its very core. The boy who was bound looked like he could scarcely be older than seventeen, no doubt the reason for his miserable failure. His slaves had went above and beyond reasonable measure when they bound him. Ropes were lashed from ankle to knee, and his arms were twisted in such a way that his shoulders must be dislocated. They were bound together behind him, again with enough rope to subdue half a dozen men.
The most puzzling part was the blood that leaked rather copiously from his lips and the pallor of his face.
"What have you done to him?" Lucius asked brusquely. The slave in his employ snickered a bit, thinking to impress his Master with his cunning.
"The little snitch had poison on him, Master. Forced it down his throat m'self!"
Lucius bristled.
"Get out," he breathed. The words were so soft Marcus wasn't sure if he heard it correctly. The tone was succinct, however. It was laden with venom and the sadistic bastard who was torturing the dying boy quavered in the realization that he had not, in fact, pleased his Master but quite the opposite. He dropped the stick, a small clattering in the otherwise silence before he turned and ran like a coward from the enclosed space.
Marcus felt as though he was observing something somehow private, not intended for his eyes. He could not, however, compel himself to move from his position. The Master did not order him away, and so he stayed.
Lucius sighed rather heavily and removed the gag from the boys mouth.
"Who sent you?" He asked simply, his voice even and cool. It lacked the malice Marcus had expected.
The criminal in question could scarcely hold his head up, and his lips formed words but his breath was so weak he could hardly propel an outward sound.
"Are you suffering? Yes, of course you are. This is how you intended to see me die, isn't it? The poison burns you alive from the inside out. That is why it feels as though you are on fire. It can sometimes take days, do you realize that, boy?" Again Lucius was speaking as calmly and nonchalantly as though he were explaining the days of the week. Marcus was beginning to feel a bit nauseous at the horrid sight of a living, decaying body. He was moved to great pity and consternation.
By now the boy was sobbing, but his lungs were not functioning well enough to keep up with the demands. He would take a wheezing, horrid breath and then sputter it out in a high pitched attempt at weeping. Blood splattered with every breath, beginning to soak the Master's cloak. Lucius brushed his hood away from his face, and Marcus could clearly see the normal portion of his face.
Was that pity etched clearly in the fine features? Sadness? Regret?
"Ah, boy…" Lucius began, oblivious to the presence of Marcus. "I am sorry for your plight. Do you wish for me to end it? Do you want peace from this agony?"
The boy nodded vehemently, and then sagged in his bonds. "P.. p….please!" He begged.
"Tell me who sent you.." Lucius demanded, his tone as soft as if he were nursing a wounded toddler.
"B.. b.. brutu…"
If this news surprised Lucius it was not evident in his face. "Brutus?" he repeated, and the man nodded again with the last of his strength.
Without another word Lucius reached up and with a single hand clasped the boy around the throat. Within a minute he was gone, released from the agony of life. Marcus throat was dry. Words failed him and still he could not move. He had just witnessed murder. Merciful death, no doubt, but his Master had just murdered another man in his presence.
Before either man could speak, however, the sound of a feminine sob pierced the silence. Both men whirled about just in time to see brilliant eyes clouded with tears, and then the owner of said orbs turned in a mass of chocolate curls to run, hand over mouth, back towards the villa. Lucius cursed beneath his breath, but returned his attention to the matter at hand. He began to unwind the bindings about the dead boy when Marcus could not contain himself any longer. Torn between chasing after Caelia and asking his burning questions, he chose the latter.
"I.. don't understand your kindness.." he breathed.
In a rare moment of honesty Lucius spoke. His melodious voice was tinged with tiredness and sorrow.
"Just a child, Marcus, caught up in a twisted and diabolical game. He had no hope of winning. He had no hope.."
Marcus could only stare as his Master continued to free the whelp and then wiped at the blood around his mouth. Anger would follow later for Lucius. For now he felt the great weight of being a murderer caught in the middle of an intrigue where innocents die. As Marcus finally turned back toward the villa, and Caelia, the soft sound of his Master singing a prayer to the gods on behalf of the boy filled his ears.