rich wife.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to be Emperor.” Pedanius said it as a fact. “My grandmother was Emperor Hadrian’s sister, so I’m his great-nephew.” He gave her a long superior blink. “You should be honored. Ugly girl like you—”
Annia just stuck her tongue out, but Marcus burst into speech. “Don’t say that.” He’d been standing there framed between two scaffolded columns, his gaze turning back and forth between them, and his face was flushed with indignation. “She’s not ugly!”
Pedanius Fuscus laughed, and he swung himself up to sit on the lowest level of scaffolding. “I can say whatever I want. I’m the next Emperor. My grandfather tells me that every day.”
“‘A mouse does not rely on just one hole,’” Marcus said, looking triumphant.
Annia and Pedanius both stared at him. “What’s that mean?” Pedanius asked, suspicious.
“It means, have another
plan
.”
Pedanius looked at him, feet swinging, eyes narrowed, already looking big and broad in his boy’s tunic. His sandaled foot lashed out and caught Marcus square in the chest, sending him stumbling.
“Apologize,” Pedanius said. “Or I’ll have you exiled someday.”
Marcus straightened. He looked down at his tunic and brushed at the muddy sandal print. He said nothing.
“Go on.” Pedanius grinned. “Apologize. Or maybe I’ll
execute
you once I’m Emperor.”
Marcus’s flush deepened. Annia started looking around. Her father and old Servianus were still inside the temple. All she could hear was the flap of drop cloths in the cold wind.
Pedanius hopped down from the scaffold and rested both hands on the column behind Marcus’s head, trapping him. “It’s treason to disobey the Emperor.”
Annia glanced down at the scattering of workman’s tools that had been left behind by some careless builder, and her eyes found a small wooden mallet.
“It’s astounding what a good craftsman can accomplish with just a mallet,”
her father had said once. She picked it up, hefted it, then brought it down in a sharp clip on Pedanius Fuscus’s hand where it rested on the column.
He yowled, snatching his hand back. Marcus let out a yelp too, probably from the yell right next to his ear. A few red drops landed bright in the pale stone dust under their feet as Pedanius danced up and down clutching his hand, and Annia saw that she’d broken his thumbnail in half.
Father had been right. It really
was
astounding, what you could accomplish with just a mallet. She tossed it to the floor at Pedanius’s feet. Marcus stared at her, wide-eyed, and so did her prospective husband. He was trying to stare daggers at her, but his eyes were too bright and wet to glare. He looked like he was about to start blubbering.
Annia reached out and grabbed Marcus’s hand. “You’re not Emperor yet,” she told the Emperor’s great-nephew. “And Marcus is my cousin, not yours. So you can’t tease him.”
She turned and towed Marcus back toward the temple’s entrance, but she heard Pedanius’s voice rise behind her. “I’m telling my grandfather.”
“Tell him a girl made you cry,” she said, turning back to see the tears of rage spill over his lashes. Probably no one had ever hit him before, just stood around telling him he’d one day be master of Rome. “Now you really are a Brine-Face,” she added for good measure, looking at the salty tracks on his cheeks, and dragged Marcus back into the temple.
Old Servianus was looking peevish. “—most definitely a matter to be considered in the future,” her father was saying graciously. “Your grandson is a fine boy, most worthy of consideration. Ah, Annia, did you forget to bring young Pedanius Fuscus with you?”
“He’s coming,” she said. “He hit his hand with a mallet.”
“That’s a lie,” Marcus whispered under his breath.
“Is not,” Annia whispered back. Brine-Face
did
hit his hand with a mallet. She just hadn’t mentioned that she’d been the one
“Why?”
“I’m going to be Emperor.” Pedanius said it as a fact. “My grandmother was Emperor Hadrian’s sister, so I’m his great-nephew.” He gave her a long superior blink. “You should be honored. Ugly girl like you—”
Annia just stuck her tongue out, but Marcus burst into speech. “Don’t say that.” He’d been standing there framed between two scaffolded columns, his gaze turning back and forth between them, and his face was flushed with indignation. “She’s not ugly!”
Pedanius Fuscus laughed, and he swung himself up to sit on the lowest level of scaffolding. “I can say whatever I want. I’m the next Emperor. My grandfather tells me that every day.”
“‘A mouse does not rely on just one hole,’” Marcus said, looking triumphant.
Annia and Pedanius both stared at him. “What’s that mean?” Pedanius asked, suspicious.
“It means, have another
plan
.”
Pedanius looked at him, feet swinging, eyes narrowed, already looking big and broad in his boy’s tunic. His sandaled foot lashed out and caught Marcus square in the chest, sending him stumbling.
“Apologize,” Pedanius said. “Or I’ll have you exiled someday.”
Marcus straightened. He looked down at his tunic and brushed at the muddy sandal print. He said nothing.
“Go on.” Pedanius grinned. “Apologize. Or maybe I’ll
execute
you once I’m Emperor.”
Marcus’s flush deepened. Annia started looking around. Her father and old Servianus were still inside the temple. All she could hear was the flap of drop cloths in the cold wind.
Pedanius hopped down from the scaffold and rested both hands on the column behind Marcus’s head, trapping him. “It’s treason to disobey the Emperor.”
Annia glanced down at the scattering of workman’s tools that had been left behind by some careless builder, and her eyes found a small wooden mallet.
“It’s astounding what a good craftsman can accomplish with just a mallet,”
her father had said once. She picked it up, hefted it, then brought it down in a sharp clip on Pedanius Fuscus’s hand where it rested on the column.
He yowled, snatching his hand back. Marcus let out a yelp too, probably from the yell right next to his ear. A few red drops landed bright in the pale stone dust under their feet as Pedanius danced up and down clutching his hand, and Annia saw that she’d broken his thumbnail in half.
Father had been right. It really
was
astounding, what you could accomplish with just a mallet. She tossed it to the floor at Pedanius’s feet. Marcus stared at her, wide-eyed, and so did her prospective husband. He was trying to stare daggers at her, but his eyes were too bright and wet to glare. He looked like he was about to start blubbering.
Annia reached out and grabbed Marcus’s hand. “You’re not Emperor yet,” she told the Emperor’s great-nephew. “And Marcus is my cousin, not yours. So you can’t tease him.”
She turned and towed Marcus back toward the temple’s entrance, but she heard Pedanius’s voice rise behind her. “I’m telling my grandfather.”
“Tell him a girl made you cry,” she said, turning back to see the tears of rage spill over his lashes. Probably no one had ever hit him before, just stood around telling him he’d one day be master of Rome. “Now you really are a Brine-Face,” she added for good measure, looking at the salty tracks on his cheeks, and dragged Marcus back into the temple.
Old Servianus was looking peevish. “—most definitely a matter to be considered in the future,” her father was saying graciously. “Your grandson is a fine boy, most worthy of consideration. Ah, Annia, did you forget to bring young Pedanius Fuscus with you?”
“He’s coming,” she said. “He hit his hand with a mallet.”
“That’s a lie,” Marcus whispered under his breath.
“Is not,” Annia whispered back. Brine-Face
did
hit his hand with a mallet. She just hadn’t mentioned that she’d been the one
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