Page 7 of Sea of Love

Once the Templars left Elettra bought a basket from a wicker-weaver’s stand and hooked it over her arm.

“I will search the other side of the market, and make as if I am shopping,” she told Summer. “We can cover more streets in this manner. You and your men try to find this temple everyone thinks is so funny.” With that she strode off.

“Let her go,” Troy said as Summer started to follow her. “She’s in her element here.” He guided Summer around a merchant who stood casually urinating into a pot outside a fabric shop. “We’re not.”

Near one of the city gates Summer noticed a garden filled with medicinal herbs next to a large house. An elderly man knelt by a cluster of mint as he plucked weeds from the bed and shooed away a curious raven.

“Your garden is lovely,” Summer said when he squinted up at her. “Do you use the hyssop for coughs?”

“It is a purge for the lungs, yes,” the old man said and inspected the three of them. “Do you trade in herbs?”

“No, sir,” Troy said before Summer could reply. “My lady wife doctors us when we are traveling. Do you know the Temple of Neptune?”

“I am a physician, not a procurer,” the gardener said as his curious expression turned to contempt. “Have a care for your lady’s ears, you cretin.” He grabbed his weeding basket and stalked back into the house.

“I’m guessing that was a no,” Troy said, frowning.

They went almost as far as the gate, which led out to a road that ran northeast of the city. Small marble structures had been built along each side. A group of men carrying a rough wooden casket walked through the gate and stopped at one of the small buildings.

“That is where they bury their dead,” Michael murmured to Troy. “Perhaps Kember hid the crystal in the tomb of a sailor, and that is why we offend when we ask about it.”

“We need to go talk to that doctor again,” Troy said.

But behind them a black mare being led out of a stable screeched and reared up, jerking her primitive bridle free from the grip of her handler. Michael strode forward and shoved the shouting man aside, catching the mare’s bridle as she dropped down. For a moment it looked as if the horse might drag him, and then he began speaking in a low voice, and she whinnied in response.

“I know there are too many people, but you do not wish to hurt anyone,” the big man murmured as he stroked her slick neck. “Gently, gently, yes. That is better. You are a beautiful lady, and have the sweetest manners. I can tell.”

“Master, thank you,” the handler said.

He backed away and darted inside the stable. Seconds later he emerged with a much larger man with silver-streaked brown hair. He glared at the handler before joining Michael.

“I told that idiot that this one was all nettles today,” the man said as he also began stroking the mare. “I am Otho, the stable master, and now in your debt, sir.”

Michael nodded at the mare’s tail, which arched high above her flanks.

“She begins her estrus. She will not be workable until she is bred or finishes the cycle. She should be pastured or stalled.” Michael paused and eyed the man. “Will you repay the debt by answering a question without laughing or cursing me?”

“An interesting coin,” Otho said, looking intrigued. “If you will wait a moment while I see to her, I shall return and render payment.”

“Notice I’m not saying anything about how dangerous that was,” Summer said cheerfully. “But if you ever do that again, I might trample you.”

Michael gave her one of his slow, sexy smiles. “You can try, my lady.”

Otho came out of the stables and insisted on buying them a drink at the tavern across the way.

“The barkeep buys his wine from Herculaneum, so it does not make you wake in your own sick.” He winked at Summer. “Something that I think is always appreciated by the ladies of the house.”

They sat at a small table in a back room where raucous paintings of arguing drunkards covered the walls. The wine served to them was so strong Summer had to smother a gasp, but Michael and Troy seemed to enjoy it.

“Now you must ask me your question,” Otho said with a sigh. “And I vow I shall not answer with a laugh or an oath.”

Michael leaned forward. “Where is the Temple of Neptune? We wish to make an offering, and worship there.”

Otho pressed his lips together, looked up at the plastered ceiling, and then took in a deep breath. “You are sincere?” When Michael nodded he took another moment to compose himself. “I am persuaded that you are not Roman.”

“We are not,” Troy said, “but we wish to be respectful.”

The stable master studied his face. “Then you have the greatest of respect for our Gods. If you mean to worship at the temple of the great Neptune, you must take a boat out to the center of the bay. Then jump into the waters, but do not swim. Sink to the bottom, and die.” He scanned their faces. “Here in Pompeii the sea is Neptune’s temple, and his worshippers are every soul that has drowned in it.”