The Raven and the Rose (16 page)

“There will be another way,” he said firmly.

“How?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find it.” He led her back to the bed, his passion cooled. His only thought was to allay her fears.

“What do you mean?” she said, facing him as they sat down together.

“We could leave Rome, go somewhere else.”

“But you know nothing but the army, Marcus! How would we live?”

“I’m not helpless, Julia. I could hire out as a mercenary, for one thing.”

“Where?”

“Brittania, maybe. The tribes there are always fighting one another, the petty kings squabble over territory daily. With my knowledge of sophisticated warfare I’m sure that I would be in demand.”

“But Marcus, you are celebrated here, an honored soldier with triumphs in your past. Could you give that up for me?”

He smoothed the golden red hair back from her face gently. “It doesn’t mean as much to me as it once did,” he said softly.

“Will you be able to bear the disgrace if we are discovered before we can get away?” Julia asked softly. “I know that a Roman soldier cannot endure shame.”

“I can endure anything for you,” he said.

There was another knock at the door and a woman’s voice said, “It’s me, Larthia.”

“Come in,” Julia called.

Marcus stood as Larthia entered.

“Was Nestor here?” she asked anxiously.

Julia nodded.

“Did he see...” she began, but Julia said, “No. Marcus slipped outside before I answered the door.”

Larthia closed her eyes in relief. “I am so sorry. I asked him for the linens thinking that he would bring them in the morning. His efficiency almost undid all our planning. When he told me he came here and found you I was afraid of what might have happened.”

Marcus bent to kiss Julia’s cheek. “I must go, Julia. I want to be back in the barracks before the watch changes. I’ll arrange to stay longer next time.”

Julia nodded.

“Lady Sejana, thank you,” Marcus said, and then looked at Julia. “Until next market day,” he said, and went through the door.

Julia watched him go and then looked at her sister.

“A close call,” Larthia said.

“Yes.”

“I should take steps to make sure such a thing does not happen again.”

Julia sighed. “What can you do?”

“I can put a guard on this room when you’re in here.”

Julia stared at her. “You would have to take that person into your confidence. Who can you trust that much?”

“My bodyguard.”

“Larthia, what are you saying?” Julia gasped. “He’s a Gaul! And a slave!”

“A slave who doesn’t get his freedom papers unless he sticks out this job for three whole years. He’ll do it, and he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“I don’t know, Larthia, I think it’s risky.”

“I don’t. Nothing is more important to him than his emancipation. He won’t care if you’re sleeping with a soldier or a street cleaner or Pompey the Great, he’ll make sure you have privacy if I tell him to do that. It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone at the moment,” Julia said morosely.

Larthia looked at her.

“Nestor interrupted us at a very critical point,” Julia went on unhappily.

“I see.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. When I think about it... making love, I mean...” She shuddered delicately. “I’m so hungry for him, yet afraid at the same time.”

“But you weren’t afraid when you were with him,” Larthia said.

Julia reddened. “No,” she admitted. “Not at all.”

“Have you talked about it?”

Julia’s blush deepened. “We haven’t wasted much time with talking.”

Larthia studied her sister for a moment and then sighed. “You don’t know how lucky you are- to feel that way. And to be able to act on it.”

“Have you ever felt that way?” Julia asked. “About your husband?”

“Of course not, Julia. How can you ask such a question? You know what the situation was there.”

“Not really. I was a child when you got married, and later it never seemed proper to come right out and ask you. I know that you... appeared to be unhappy.”

“I was.”

“If you were not in love with him when you married, what about later, when you were pregnant...”

“I was never in love with him at any time, Julia,” Larthia snapped.

“Or with anyone else?”

Larthia didn’t answer.

“Larthia?” Julia persisted.

“We’re wasting time,” Larthia said briskly. “You should leave too, your litter is waiting. You don’t want to make Livia Versalia suspicious.”

“Larthia, are you sure it’s all right for us to continue to meet here?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll take care of the privacy problem. You’re happy with Marcus, and that’s all that counts,” Larthia answered. “I’ll talk to Verrix tonight, and all will be well. You’ll see.”

Julia embraced her sister. “You always make me feel so much better.”

Larthia patted her shoulder. “That’s my mission in life. Now let’s go, I’ll see you to the door.”

Once Julia had left Larthia walked back into the house and encountered Nestor walking through the hall with a brass planter in his hand.

“Mistress, let me apologize again for intruding on your sister...” he began.

Larthia waved him away. “Never mind, it’s forgotten. Please send Verrix to me in the tablinum immediately.” She walked on briskly, planning what she would say.

 
A short time later Verrix came into the room where she was waiting for him and said, “Nestor told me that you wanted to speak to me.”

“Yes,” Larthia replied. “Close the door.”

Verrix did so and returned to her.

 
“Sit down.”

He sat across from her uneasily, a puzzled expression on his face. Why had she invited him to sit? Servants were generally kept standing at all times.

“I have something to say to you,” Larthia began.

Verrix felt his throat closing. She was selling him. He would never see her again. It was over.

Larthia was silent, as if thinking about what to say. Verrix studied her. Why would she bother to call him in here to tell him that she was selling him? He would just wake up one morning and find that he now belonged to someone else, his deal with her grandfather nullified. As a slave he did not deserve an explanation.
 

“I find that I must take you into my confidence about something,” she said slowly.

Verrix began to breathe again. He waited.

“My sister is having a...relationship...with a centurion,” she said baldly.

Verrix had long schooled his features to conceal emotion, but it was clear this piece of information startled even him.

“Your sister the Vestal?” he said, in a tone which did not quite conceal his incredulity.
 

“That’s right. She will be meeting him in this house every market day.”
 

Verrix said nothing.

“I am trusting you with this information because I need someone to help me. Your unique position among the slaves makes you the most qualified to do so.”

“Does Nestor know about this?”

“No one knows but you.”
 

Verrix digested that and then said, “What do you want me to do?”

“It is imperative that this relationship be concealed at all costs. I think you can understand why. Do you know Roman law concerning the Vestals?”
 

“I know that the penalty for breaking their vows is death,” Verrix replied.

“Exactly. And I cannot be everywhere at once. Although I will be taking every precaution to conceal their meetings, I want you to stand guard outside my room when Julia’s visitor is here, and I want you to intercede if anything happens that might reveal their relationship. Is that clear?”
 

Verrix nodded. “What’s the penalty for your collaboration with this scheme?” he asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Larthia said darkly. “But there is something I should add.”

Verrix looked at her.

“The centurion is Demeter.”

Verrix showed no response.

“I trust that you remember him, he wanted to impale you on his sword when he saw you here at Livia’s reception,” Larthia said dryly.

“I am always mindful of the contract for my freedom,” Verrix replied evenly. “I will do as you say.”

“Fine. Demeter will be back here next nundina. I will notify you when he arrives.”

Verrix rose.

“And there’s something else,” Larthia said.

Verrix halted.

“Nestor has been complaining to me that you’re arguing with him. I know he is old and set on his path, but just do what he says and do it his way, please. I don’t have time to soothe his ruffled feathers every time he gives you an order.”

Verrix inclined his head.

“That will be all.”

Verrix left.

* * *

When Marcus returned to the barracks he found Lisander, the slave attached to his cohort, waiting for him.

“A message came for you while you were gone,” Lisander said soberly, handing him a tightly wound scroll. The seal on the parchment was the “SPQR” of the Roman Republic (
Senatus Populusque Romanus ,
“the Senate and the people of Rome.”) Marcus noted that this legend was surmounted by the
fasces
, the bundle of rods which symbolized the unity of the Roman people, and that it was shown with an axe, which only the dictator was allowed to include in the symbol.

The message was from Caesar.

Lisander, who had also noted the origin of the letter, was watching his face.

“Who brought this?” Marcus asked.

“Tiberius Junius Germanicus,” Lisander replied.

Marcus considered that. Germanicus was the
hastus prior
, or premier swordsman, of the first cohort, also a close confidante of Caesar’s.

This must be important.

“Leave me,” Marcus said brusquely to the slave.

As soon as Lisander was gone he looked around the deserted barracks to make sure he was alone before he split the wax seal and unrolled the parchment.

As always, Caesar was brief and to the point. “Come to the southern guardhouse at the turn of the watch,” the message said. “Let no one see you.” That was all.

Marcus glanced outside at the night sky and determined from the position of
Polaris
, the north star, that the turn of the watch was not far away. The fact that this message had passed from Tiberius to Lisander to him, and they were all three trusted allies of the dictator, told him that Caesar was taking no chances on discovery.

Marcus walked out of the barracks, past the dormitory where many of the soldiers were sleeping, and into the Campus. The marshy earth gave beneath his sandaled feet as he crossed the archery ground, where the circular targets loomed like ghosts. When he heard voices he ducked into an alley filled with dummies, canvas bags with stitched on limbs stuffed with straw, used in Greek wrestling instruction. He waited there until the conversants had passed.
 

Romans rose with the sun and retired early, so the only personnel he encountered when he walked on again were soldiers changing the watch. Marcus saw no one else for the rest of the journey. When he reached the guardhouse it was dark, and he hesitated, wondering if he had mistaken the message and the call was for another night. Then a figure emerged from the shadows and gestured for him to come forward.

“We were waiting for you,” Tiberius said, and opened the door, following Marcus into the small, roughcast room, which contained about a dozen men. They were crowded around a brazier on the floor, shielding its light with their bodies so that from the exterior the guardhouse would appear to be unoccupied.

Marcus joined the group, squatting next to Tiberius and nodding to the men whose faces he saw around the circle, dappled with firelight. Mark Antony, Caesar’s nephew Octavian, Lepidus, Artemidorus, others that Marcus recognized as Caesar’s most trusted friends and advisors. All eyes were focused on the dictator as he stood and addressed them.

“ I have called you all here because an incident in the Senate today has confirmed to me that the cause of my enemies is very much alive,” he said wearily.

The men waited. This was not news.

“You may recall that on the festival of the Lupercal, having just accepted the post of dictator for life, I was seated on the
Rostra
when the
Luperci
came running into the forum. Antony, who as priest of the
Juliani
was one of them, attempted to place a crown upon my head. I rejected the crown and said, ‘Jupiter alone is king of the Romans,’ and sent the diadem to Jupiter on the Capitol. I thought at the time that this gesture would be sufficient to finally dispel the notion that I lusted for the title of
rex
to add to the others already conferred upon me.”