Furies Read Online Free

notice. “Well, well, I haven’t seen you in months. How’ve you been?”
    “Never better. What are you doing down here?”
    Varus gave a theatrical sigh. “Shopping for a new fountain of all things. My lovely young wife, Aelia, is anxious to decorate the new villa in the very latest fashion.”
    “You have a new villa?”
    “Oh yes, you know, Valentinus’ old place. I picked it up at auction earlier this year. And dirt cheap, too, I never thought … oh,” Varus said, putting a manicured hand to his mouth, looking mortified.
    Valentinus, Aculeo recalled, his stomach churning. Valentinus, Montaus, Protus, Bitucus, Gellius … and how many other of our friends lost their homes, their fortunes? He’d given up counting. He hadn’t been able to watch the auction of his own villa, though Xanthias had heard it had sold for just three hundred fifty thousand sesterces – a sickening plunge from what he’d paid only two years prior. That was what happened when too many fine homes went on auction all at once and the mortgage-holders were anxious to unload.
    Aculeo managed a tight smile. “Don’t worry. I’d likely have done the same given the chance. You and Aelia are happy there I trust?”
    “Oh yes, very. Still, I must do my utmost to keep her in the manner to which she is accustomed. You know women,” he said with a knowing wink. “What of Titiana and your son … Atellus isn’t it? How are they?”
    Will the torture never end? Aculeo thought, his head ringing with the man’s inane chatter. “Never better.”
    “Did I hear they were back in Rome?” Varus asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
    “Yes, actually, visiting family.” Aculeo’s mouth ached from holding his rictus smile. He’d heard word from mutual acquaintances that while the divorce was not yet final, there’d already been numerous inquiries to her father, Lucullus, from potential suitors. He glanced sideways at the other man. The rotten prick – he probably knows this already! Gossip spreads faster than thistles!
    “Family is important, but Rome’s so dreary this time of year. Ah well,” Varus sighed. “Shall we get something to eat perhaps? It will give us a chance to catch up properly.”
    “Thanks, but no,” Aculeo said. “I’m far too busy today. You know how it is.”
    “Oh, oh yes, of course,” Varus said, clearly disappointed.  “Too bad though. I was planning to head to the Hippodrome.”
    “Just as well, I’ve already dropped enough silver on the races this week, so…”
    “I know that feeling. Still I’ve a tip about one running today.” Varus gave a wink. “From a very reliable source.”
    Aculeo considered the man with renewed interest. “Oh? How reliable?”

     
    The street leading to the Hippodrome’s main entrance gates was lined with beggars and weary-looking pornes loitering in the shade of the palm and acacia groves, awaiting emerging patrons to help them either spend their winnings or drown their sorrows with whatever coins they might still possess. The building itself was a vast, oval-shaped structure, six stories high and the length of three stadia, elegant and lovely creamy limestone framed against the dusty blue Egyptian sky. Grandiose rose-veined marble gates marked the main entrance, wide enough to allow four chariots riding abreast to pass within, and twice again as tall.
    Outside the gates, three young Roman soldiers gave offering at the Shrine of Bucephalus, Alexander’s loyal mount during his successful twelve-year campaign to conquer the world four centuries ago. It was said that upon the beast’s death in battle, a grieving Alexander had spent a staggering fifty talents on his funeral in addition to establishing the namesake city of Bucephala on the banks of the Hydapses. The conqueror’s further plans to build a series of grandiose monuments throughout the empire commemorating his stallion, however, expired when he himself did on the battlefield in Babylon. This alabaster shrine – a