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machine.
    Returning to the villa, he passed the evening drinking wine in the triclinium. Pilia brought in a tray of fruit. He watched her set it upon the marble table before him. She had loosened her hair. Her eyes grazed his, hopeful, hungry. “Would you care for a peach, my lord?”
    Julia had wanted beauty in the things around her, including the slaves who served her. Except for Hadassah, all of her servants had been comely, like this one. His eyes moved slowly down over Pilia’s body. His blood stirred. He had purchased her to serve Julia, but now she would serve him instead.
    Remembering the women who had been ordered to his cell in the ludus, he gave Pilia the choice. “You wish to serve me?” he said, his brow raising slightly.
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Look at me, Pilia.” When she did, he smiled faintly. “I’m not hungry for a peach.”
    She put it back on the tray. Her hand trembled slightly, but her eyes were dark and telling. When he held his hand out, she came to him without compulsion.
    He was pleasantly surprised at her skill and eagerness.
    “Did you serve your last master so well?” he asked much later.
    She smiled slyly. “That’s the reason his wife sold me!”
    Atretes’ expression hardened and he turned from her.
    Pilia frowned slightly, perplexed. “Have I displeased you, my lord?”
    He turned and looked at her coolly. “You served me very well,” he said dryly.
    She rose uncertainly. “Do you want me to accompany you to your chambers?”
    “No.”
    She blinked in surprise. “No, my lord?” She attempted a seductive smile.
    He looked her straight in the eyes. “You may go.”
    She paled at his coldness, her gaze dropping from his. “Yes, my lord,” she said and left the room quickly.
    Atretes wiped a hand across his mouth as though to remove the feel of her. Taking up the wineskin, he drank deeply. He left the triclinium. His footsteps echoed softly across the marble tiles of the antechamber. Loneliness closed around him, squeezing him until his heart ached. For what? A harlot like Julia?
    He climbed the steps and went to his chambers. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tipped the wineskin again, wanting to get drunk—so drunk he’d fall into black oblivion and sleep without dreaming.
    Dropping the wineskin, he lay back on his bed, his vision blurred, his head light. It was a good feeling, a familiar feeling. Tomorrow it wouldn’t feel so good, but for right now it was just right. He closed his eyes, drifting, and thought about the black forests of Germania and bathing in the river. Then there was nothing.

    He awakened in darkness, hot and uncomfortable. Groaning, he rolled over and sat up, not used to the softness of a mattress. Dragging one of the furs with him, he laid down on the floor and sighed. The cold marble was like the granite bench on which he had slept in the ludus cell.
    Lagos found him there in the morning. Had he choice, he would have left. As it was, he couldn’t without incurring the master’s wrath later and perhaps more dire consequences. Swallowing hard, he crossed the muraled floor and bent down. “My lord,” he said, but Atretes snored loudly. Summoning his nerve, Lagos tried again. “My lord!”
    Atretes opened one eye and focused slowly on the sandaled feet near his head. Muttering a curse, he covered his head with the fur. “Get out.”
    “You said to notify you the moment the apostle arrived.”
    Atretes muttered a foul curse in Greek and shoved the fur aside. “He’s here?”
    “No, my lord, but Silus sent word a woman is at the gate. Her name is Rizpah and she says you are expecting her.”
    Atretes threw off the fur. Squinting at the sunlight streaming in from the balcony, he rose.
    “She has a babe in arms, my lord.”
    Atretes gestured impatiently. “Tell Silus to take the child from her.”
    “My lord?”
    “You heard me!” he bellowed and winced in pain. “The child is mine, not hers. Give her a hundred denarii and send her on