Rome Burning
“He sounded surprised and uneasy. ‘You’re finally home.’ Marcus remained standing at the far end of the room, the shut doors behind him, and did not come forward. ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m glad to see you,’ Faustus said coolly. Marcus clenched his teeth against an involuntary little spurt of bitter laughter. Faustus’ face hardened, and then turned away. He muttered regretfully, ‘Perhaps this can wait until morning.’ ‘No. It cannot.’ Tiredness was ground into his skin like a layer of dirt, his clothes felt tra...vel-creased and stale. He had come straight from the landing field in the Palace grounds. Salvius, at least, had approved of his resistance of all protests or suggestions of rest. It was late evening, and Bianjing was five hours ahead. Three thousand miles away, Drusus was probably asleep. Marcus didn’t want him waking up before this was done.
‘What do you say, then?’ Marcus looked carefully at a detail of the mosaic at his feet. He said quietly, ‘You’re ill. I must make allowances for the fact that you’re ill.MoreLess
‘What do you say, then?’ Marcus looked carefully at a detail of the mosaic at his feet. He said quietly, ‘You’re ill. I must make allowances for the fact that you’re ill.MoreLess
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