Chapter 43: What An Old Man Sees
Chapter 43: What An Old Man Sees
The study of House Porcius’s villa smelled of old books and dust, the way it always did.
A single oil lamp burned on the desk, casting long shadows across the walls, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to embers. Outside, the city was quiet. The kind of quiet that came late, when even the drunkards had found their beds.
Marcus Porcius sat hunched over a stack of parchments, his thin fingers tracing columns of numbers that refused to add up. The ledgers of a fading house. He had been at this for hours, and his eyes were tired, and his hands shook more than usual.
Then, the door swung open.
"You sent for me, Dominus."
Julia stood in the doorway, still in the modest blue stola she wore at the brothel. Her hair was pulled back, her face calm, her posture the careful deference of a servant addressing her master.
Porcius looked up and sighed. "Don’t be so formal, child. Your late father would haunt me in my sleep."
She laughed—a soft, genuine sound—and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "He’d haunt you anyway. You know how he was."
"I do. That’s why I’m afraid of him." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Sit. Before my knees give out just looking at you standing there."
Julia sat. The lamplight caught the grey of her eyes, the tiredness around them that she usually hid better than this.
"Is this about what happened at the brothel?" she asked. "The incident with the nobleman?"
Porcius chuckled. "That’s part of it, yes."
She let out a deep sigh, "I’m sorry. It won’t happen again."
"You always say that." He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. "And then it always does."
They exchanged a look—the kind of look that came from years of knowing each other, of arguments repeated and forgiveness given before it was even asked for.
Julia smiled. A small, sheepish smile.
Porcius shook his head.
"You know you wouldn’t have to keep having such experiences," he said, his voice softening, "if you would just listen to me. You don’t have to put yourself through all this."
"But I have to." Julia’s voice was quiet but steady. "How else do I repay you for everything you’ve done for me?"
"What nonsense." He waved a trembling hand. "You’re like my daughter. You don’t have to repay me for anything. I owe your father that much. More than that."
"But I want to. And this is the only way I know how."
"Then work here, at the villa. I’ll find something for you to do that doesn’t involve drunken nobles putting their hands where they don’t belong."
"No." Julia’s voice sharpened, just slightly. "You and I both know that’s too risky. You know what he’ll do if he finds out we’re still in touch. If he discovers you’ve been hiding me all this time..." She shook her head. "I shouldn’t even be here right now."
Porcius sighed. The sound of an old man who had been having this argument for months, and had never once won it.
"You’re right, child. I know you’re right." He rubbed his eyes. "But I worry about you."
"And I appreciate that. Truly." Julia leaned forward, her expression softening. "But you should also worry about yourself, old man Porcius."
He laughed; a dry, papery sound that turned into a cough and then back into a laugh. "I haven’t heard you call me that since you were little. Running through these halls, hiding behind columns, stealing figs from the kitchen."
"I never stole figs."
"You absolutely stole figs. The cook still mentions it."
"He’s still alive?"
"Barely. Like the rest of us."
They shared a smile—melancholic, warm, the smile of two people who had survived something together and were still surviving it, even now, even years later.
Porcius cleared his throat. "So. I heard the men of Ludus Ignatius paid us a visit at the establishment. Did you happen to see him?"
Julia’s expression didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flickered. "See who?"
"The boy I told you about. Albius, the one who defied Aurellia."
"Oh." She let out a short laugh. "You mean the stupid one."
"Stupid?"
"Yes, stupid. Who in their right mind rejects an offer from one of the most powerful women in Rome?"
"Someone with integrity," Porcius said quietly. "Someone with character."
"You don’t even know him well enough."
"I don’t need to. I watched him fight... twice." He leaned forward, his old eyes suddenly sharper. "I saw in his eyes, in that courtyard, what I saw in your father’s eyes the very first time I met him."
The room went very still.
"And what’s that?" Julia asked. Her voice was quieter now, less certain.
"A defying fire," Porcius said. "The kind that’ll change everything."
Silence.
Julia stared at him. Her face was unreadable, but something was moving behind her eyes—something she didn’t have a name for yet. She thought of the white-haired boy in the brothel. The way he’d laughed when the nobleman fell. The way he’d looked at her, just for a heartbeat, like she was the only real thing in the room.
"Anyway," she said, standing abruptly. "I should go. It’s late, and I have to be at the establishment before dawn."
"Julia."
She paused at the door.
"Be careful," Porcius said. "I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you."
She didn’t turn around. But her hand, resting on the door frame, tightened slightly.
"I always am," she said.
And then she was gone, leaving the old man alone with his ledgers and his shaking hands and the quiet crackle of dying embers in the hearth.