Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (4 page)

Felicity nodded.

“I know my husband is a busy man, with much business to
conduct. And I know he has little time for the affairs of a woman, but I can’t
help wondering. Does he often have guests, um, overnight?” And not wanting to
sound suspicious that her husband was involved in illicit affairs, she quickly
added, “for business, I mean?”

Felicity dropped her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“Often?” Helena said, her voice hushed also.

Felicity nodded.

“Nightly?”

Again, without looking her mistress in the eyes, Felicity
nodded.

“I see.”

So that was it. She was to produce heirs and not love. She and
Vincentius would never know the love that was to grow between a man and his
wife. And truthfully, this would be fine by her.

When the cycle of the moon indicated an impending visit from her
husband, Helena paced in her room, deeply repulsed by this fraudulent act of
marriage. She prayed earnestly to Liber and to the great goddess Juno that this
time, this night, she would conceive, and the sham of their lovemaking would
end.

She scoffed. What love making? He simply mounted her and
performed his duty. At least he was quick about it.

And he had become bolder with his lifestyle in his own home.
Claudius, a thin man, thinner than Vincentius if that were possible, with a
prominent effeminate manner, now joined Vincentius and Helena at meal times.
They engaged in a thin veneer of feigned, friendship-only conversation—out of
respect for her position, she imagined. She wondered how long it would last
until Claudius took over her place in the household, and she was totally
shamed.

She had put her foot down adamantly when Vincentius brought
home a catamite. The little boy, nude except for several heavy gold chains hanging
from his brown neck, was purchased to entertain Vincentius and Claudius. He was
no more than five, and reminded her of her dead brother, Marcellus. She
threatened to tell all to Brutus if he did not get rid of him immediately.
Vincentius must have counted the loss of business and relationship with Brutus
as considerable, for the boy was removed the next day.

She shuddered when the knock came, but breathed deeply. She
threw her shoulders back, and smiled when Vincentius entered her chambers. If
nothing else, she still had her dignity.

One month later, she danced and poured libations out at the
feet of Liber and Juno. She no longer had to endure those hideous encounters
with Vincentius. Finally she was with child.

Chapter Seven

LUCIUS

There was slim satisfaction in watching the wall grow. It was
mindless labor—scooping up the mortar with the trowel, slapping it on the
latest layer of bricks, applying the new row.

Mortar was permanently imbedded under Lucius’s fingernails and
in the dry creases of his hands. On the upside, his arms and chest muscles had
grown and hardened from the difficult labor. He stopped briefly to stretch and
flex his biceps, the sun reflecting off the sweat and muscular curves. Almost
like Hercules, he mused. No one would pick a fight with him in the streets
without regrets.

Hermus had contracted this small job in a dark alley. His
customer wanted a wall built around his house, to keep the undesirables out.

At the end of the day, when the setting sun stole the necessary
light needed to do the work, Lucius cleaned up his supplies and headed back to
the brickyard.

He walked the filthy narrow alleyways with his head held high.
He was no longer just the son of a freedman, he was free. He worked hard for
honest wages and today was payday.

This thought caused his lips to pull down in a frown. Hermus
had been late to pay him every time since he’d arrived several weeks earlier.
Lucius saw an unwelcomed pattern forming and he had discovered the reason why,
despite Hermus’s apparent abundance of work, he was repeatedly short of funds.

A few nights before, to escape Gaia’s constant unwanted
attention, Lucius left the brickyard to wander the Forum. He’d spotted Hermus
entering a gambling establishment, a place reported to operate cock fights and
broker gladiator bets.

That was the reason Hermus failed to pay on time and Lucius
considered his stint at the brickyard might be short-lived.

After storing his supplies in the shed, he stopped at the well
to wash up. He filled a bucket and headed to his quarters in the barn. He no
longer noticed the stench of hogs and chickens that scrambled to get out of his
path as he climbed the ladder to his loft.

It was a small space with sloped ceilings; he had to duck his
head, except at the narrow line in the center of the room. On one side was a
straw mattress on the floor with a stained but clean feather blanket. On the
opposite side was a table and chair under a small window. It was here that he
could drink tea or eat bread in peace, away from the nerve-fraying giggling of
his female hosts.

Lucius changed into cleaner clothes, compliments of Marca, and
headed back down the ladder towards the farm-house and the column of smoke
coming from the chimney that meant some farm fowl was nicely cooked and
waiting.

The home of Hermus and his family was a modest, plain brick
structure sparsely furnished, but it was larger than any of the homes in the
servant’s village on Brutus’s property.

The kitchen had a large fireplace and a stone cooking oven. A
wooden table with four chairs sat near the window overlooking the yard.

Gaia had just finished setting the table as Marca brought the
roasted chicken and set it down in the middle. Lucius couldn’t help salivating.

Hermus entered and Lucius moved to take his usual position,
across from the women and next to Hermus. At his first meal with the family
Hermus had pointedly directed Gaia away from their guest, so he was surprised
when Hermus announced that he’d prefer if his wife sat beside him instead.

Lucius hesitated. This meant his new seat positioned him next
to Gaia.

Not wanting to insult his boss he said, “Of course,” and took
his newly assigned chair.

He gave Gaia an obligatory smile and dug in, focusing for the
next several minutes on filling his stomach.

“I have something for you, Lucius,” Hermus said after the meal,
as Gaia cleared the dirty dishes away. He pulled out a short, stiff sheet of
papyrus.

“What is it?” Lucius said.

“A ticket to next week’s games,” Hermus said proudly. “I’m sure
you’ve been wanting to go?”

“Yes! I’ve been dying to go.” Lucius fingered the ticket,
wondering at Hermus’s generosity. Then it dawned on him. This was Hermus’s way
of making his week’s wage. “Short on denarii again?”

Hermus shrugged. “There are good weeks and there are bad. For
once someone owed me something. He paid me with this ticket, and now I’m paying
you.”

Lucius chuckled. “Okay, Hermus. This time only. Okay?”

Hermus shrugged.

Lucius felt light-hearted as he made his way back to the barn.
He didn’t have coin, but he’d already purchased the new tunic he’d needed and he’d
recently been to the barber. He could wait another week to bolster his denarii
count. Finally, he’d get to go inside the Coliseum and not just admire it from
afar. He hoped the famed gladiator Urbico would still be alive by then.
Imagine, seeing real gladiators fighting in real life!

Once in the loft he crawled onto his straw mattress and fell
immediately asleep.

And promptly dreamed of Helena.

He awoke to his own gasping breath and racing heart. It was a
recurring dream. Helena would appear to him in his room, and he’d stroke her
skin and kiss her mouth. He felt intensely happy and relieved to finally have
her again but then like steam, her image grew wispy and thin. He struggled to
keep her in his arms, grabbing the air wildly until she whispered goodbye and
disappeared.

Chapter Eight

HELENA

Helena tugged at a loose thread on her toga. She twiddled her
fingers. She considered sending Felicity to fetch her something to eat, but her
stomach was off—probably due to the baby she carried, so she decided against
that.

She walked without purpose through the atrium of her new home,
catching a glimpse of Vincentius. He was with Claudius in the tabulium,
laughing over some matter that didn’t include her.

Out on the patio, she sat on a bench beside a sleeping cat. She
stroked it.

“Oh, to the gods,” she said to the cat. “I’m so lonely.”

Sure, she had Felicity, but she couldn’t very well make a
friend out of her slave, could she? Back at her childhood home, she’d had many
diversions. Even though her family was often out or pre-occupied, there was
activity in the home from the slaves and servants, there were childhood haunts,
there was her father’s library.

And for many months there had been Lucius. Helena let out a
deep sigh. She recognized that those months with Lucius had been the happiest
of her life.

These months with Vincentius, her worst.

A tear rolled slowly down her cheek.

“My lady?”

Helena quickly wiped the tell-tale sign of her sorrow away.
“Yes, Felicity, what is it?”

“I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but perhaps a visit to your
father’s house would uplift your spirits?”

Felicity was right. It had been many days since she’d visited
the villa, and maybe, if the gods smiled on her, Brutus would be home.

“Yes, Felicity, I think you are right. Please prepare for our
trip.”

Once Felicity had packed a few things and called for the
driver, Helena sent her to inform Vincentius of their plans. He wouldn’t
object. He cared not what she did with her time.

Upon entering the grounds of the villa, Helena felt the
heaviness in her heart lift.

She bounded through the front door into the atrium like a
little girl, giddy to get away from the emptiness she felt at Vincentius’s
house.

Brutus was in his office just like she’d hoped. His eyes lit up
when he saw her and it was like no time had passed between them at all. She
entered his embrace and breathed in sharply of his lingering scent of olives
and musk.

“How is the new mother-to-be?” Brutus said. Helena was glad
that her father looked forward to being a grandfather.

“The child is fine, Father.”

“And you?”

Helena’s nose grew red as a rush of tears surprised her. Brutus
handed her a handkerchief.

“What is wrong?” he said.

Helena debated—should she tell her father the truth about
Vincentius? Would the gods consider that a betrayal to her husband?

Then she had a terrible thought. Did Brutus know? Had he known
the truth about Vincentius—that there was no way she could ever be happy with
him—and gone forward, just to make a good business deal?

She took a step back.

“How much do you know about Vincentius?”

Brutus’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “To what end is this line of
questioning?”

“Vincentius has a male friend,” Helena ventured. When Brutus
failed to recognize her intent she added, “Who spends the night in his
chamber.”

Understanding crossed Brutus’s face. “That dishonest, deceiving
scoundrel!” He slammed his fist on the table, shocking Helena to her senses. Of
course he hadn’t known. How awful of her to suspect him.

“It’s okay, Father, really. I’ve succumbed to irrational
emotionalism. I don’t know why. Really, if the truth were told, I’m quite
relieved. I never loved him nor obviously, he me. You know that. And now all
expectations to achieve that end are lifted.”

“But what will everyone think?” Brutus said as he slipped into
his office chair. “Surely we will be laughed at and mocked when word of this
gets out.”

“The mockery, Father,” Helena said, now well in control of her
tears, “is that all of Carthage already knew what we alone were kept in the
quiet about. We must lift our heads, walk stately, and thank the gods that an
heir has been granted. That should stop some of the tongues from wagging, I
should think.”

“Indeed, you are right,” Brutus said. “We must not look the
victim in this situation. However, I do insist as the pater familias, that you
return here to live and raise that child.”

“Do you mean it, Father?” Helena shouted, overcome with relief.
Her heart had longed for this more than anything else.

“Yes, starting immediately. I will go to Vincentius myself, and
we will have a serious discussion. We both have much to lose if ties are
completely severed, I’m afraid. But Vincentius has more to lose than I. I think
we can come to an arrangement that will suit us all, without it resulting in
divorce.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Have Felicity collect your things.”

Helena moved about the villa restlessly. Her return was
uncelebrated and life went on as if she had never left. She sat at her desk
with parchment rolled open across the surface, the light of the candle
flickering across the page, the stylus in her hand and poised to write.

Nothing.

The words wouldn’t come. Her emotions and pain ran too deep for
her to access here. She quickly rolled up the parchment and blew out the
candle. Perhaps a change of scenery would help.

In the atrium she nearly bumped into Gordian, who was home for
a couple days as the army passed through Carthage. Was it just her, or did the
entire household become agitated by his presence?

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he said as she backed
away.

“There is nowhere that I go in a hurry, brother.”

“Ah, I hear you’re a permanent resident here once again.
Couldn’t hang onto a man for half a year?” He laughed. “I should have put a
wager on you.”

“Shut up, Gordian! You know nothing!”

“I know more than you think.” Gordian studied her, his eyes
settling on the soft round of her belly. “Well, it’s obvious you consummated
the marriage at any rate. Unless this event happen before? In the bushes?”