Eight for Eternity by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer Page A

see Julianna but he heard her.
    “If the rioters get into the palace grounds we can simply hide here,” she was saying. “They’ll never find—” Her sentence broke off, replaced by a series of oaths that would have made a charioteer blush.
    He turned toward the direction of her voice and plunged through a tangle of evergreens. He found her bent over, tunic hitched up too high, rubbing her knee. Her calves appeared exceedingly brown and muscular for a lady of the court.
    “Banged into a horse!” Straightening up, Julianna indicated a statue, about waist high, half concealed by brambles. Though eroded and partially covered by bluish lichens, it appeared to be a stone horse. “Look. There’s another one.”
    She broke off handfuls of dry weeds to reveal a better preserved steed, this one with a carved blanket draped across its back.
    “I understand the previous owner liked horses,” John said.
    In fact, he had been told that the official worshipped the Christians’ god and horses, but not necessarily in that order. The unfortunate man would have done better to confine himself to religion. He might not have disgraced himself with gambling debts.
    “I would have liked that owner.” Julianna wrinkled her nose at John.
    “You like horses?” That explained the muscular calves, John thought.
    “I adore horses. My family has more than I can count. At our country estates.” Her expression brightened abruptly. Like the sun emerging from behind one of the clouds he could see in the rectangle of blue overhead. John noticed she was little more than a girl. Her simple green robes hung loosely on her slim figure. Her black hair was drawn up, out of the way, and coiled tightly on either side of her head. There was a firm set to her jaw.
    He realized why he had thought her familiar. She reminded him of Cornelia.
    Cornelia whom he had met in Egypt, so many years ago after he had left Haik and the rest of the mercenaries outside Antioch. Cornelia had possessed the same dark hair, lithe figure, and strong calves, the latter a result of her bull leaping. She was part of a troupe. One of their acts recreated the ancient Cretan art of performing acrobatics with bulls. Julianna might be almost the same age as Cornelia had been back then.
    Not more than half his own age now, John reminded himself. Nor was he the same then as now. He was aware of a chilly breeze rattling dead leaves. The tall yews swayed slightly, sending their shadows flickering across the garden.
    “I enjoy the chariot races myself,” John said. “I did a lot of riding when I was in the military.”
    Julianna looked at him quizzically. “You? In the military? I wouldn’t have thought you were the sort.” Her tone hardened again. Her mouth tightened in the same pronounced way Cornelia’s used to when she got angry. Had John been so obviously staring at her?
    “I spent quite a few years with a sword at my side. Judging people too quickly can be dangerous.”
    The girl did not quite roll her eyes. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
    “I like to get some idea of who I have in my home.”
    “But you never have anybody in this dusty old place.”
    “How would you know?”
    She shrugged. “You can tell the rooms haven’t been lived in. There are cobwebs in all the corners. I wanted to stay at our house, with mother, but father insisted I come to the palace.”
    “You’ll be safer here, if there’s more trouble in the streets. Your mother should have come as well.”
    “She told me not to worry. They aren’t interested in her. Just in father, and maybe Uncle Pompeius. As if anyone would be interested in uncle.”
    “Interested?”
    Julianna laid a hand, delicate like Cornelia’s, on the back of the miniature horse and absently petted the narrow back. “Oh, they say the factions want father to be emperor or some foolish thing. It’s just silly. You know all that though. It’s why we’re here.”
    John nodded. “You don’t take the idea