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organ.
    Torn between relief and apprehension, Olivia drew the sheet around her for protection. “I submitted,” she protested. “Even when he beat me. Do you want me to die? Will that be enough?"
    Her question brought to Justus’ mind all the unpleasant rumors that had persisted about his third marriage. “No, of course I don't want you to die. But I think it ought to be possible for you to find someone who can do what is needed."
    "But I thought he"—she flung out a hand to point at Arnax—"was what you wanted. You said he would have to be more forceful. You saw him! How much force do you require now, Justus?” She drew her hand back and held it over her mouth. She wanted terribly to be calm.
    "Brute force is one thing,” Justus said slowly as he regarded the sleeping secutor, “but there are other sorts of fear. I think that perhaps you should look elsewhere. Find a man who is different from the others, whose tastes are...devious.” He permitted himself a half-smile of anticipation. “I know of men who take their enjoyments...strangely. Surely you can seek out one such."
    Olivia shrank back in the bed. “How strange?” she asked in a thread of a voice.
    "I leave that to you, Olivia. But I warn you, choose well. I don't want to have another night as disappointing as this one.” He started to rise as he reached for the Parthian night robe that had fallen to the floor some time before.
    She tried to nod, but found she could not move. Her body seemed to belong to someone else now, some malformed child. “Justus,” she said, fixing him with her stare, “no more. I beg of you. Send me away, anywhere. I'll go meekly, without complaint, no matter where you send me. I'll live simply. I won't ask you to help me in any way. Let me go. Please, please let me go."
    He opened his small eyes very wide at her plea. In this light they appeared almost sand-colored, and their very lightness was frightening. “If that is what you want, Olivia, of course I will send you away.” He was drawing on his robe as he spoke, catching the loose garment around his waist with a brightly dyed cord.
    "Oh, thank you.” She gripped her hands together over the sheet. “When may I go?"
    "Why, as soon as you wish,” he said rather abstractedly. “I'm certain your family will understand, however, when I have your father imprisoned.” He looked back toward her, drinking in the horror in her eyes.
    "But...” She could find no words to say. Her eyes filled with tears that slid down her face, unnoticed by her.
    "I've explained it to you before,” Justus was saying with patient indulgence. “So long as you are with me, and obedient, your father, indeed, your whole family, is safe from me. My quarrel with him, after all, is financial. Your brothers will have their debts paid, your father may maintain his house and keep his estates, and indulge in a few harmless extravagances with my goodwill. But the day you leave me, my cherished wife, on that day your father will find all his obligations spelled out, your brothers will lose their rank and they will be fortunate to find a home with your sisters’ husbands.” His laughter was unpleasant, as he intended.
    "No!” she cried out, and gasped in fear as Arnax stirred in the corner.
    The secutor did not awaken.
    "Do be more careful,” Justus said as he raised an admonishing finger. “I want no rumors among the slaves. Let them all think that you are wanton. Otherwise they might not be so willing to come to you, and that would be a severe disappointment to me.” He reached out and raised her chin with his fingers. “Do you know what it is to need to watch you rut, wife? Can you imagine how humiliated I would be if it were known?"
    "Divus Claudius was like you,” she said, with every bit of defiance she could find in her fear.
    "Divus Claudius was Caesar!” His hand cracked against her jaw. “He made his wife a whore until my cousin found her. He made her drug herself with men. Gaius was a