by Ryan Lew
Livius placed his hands on Justina’s shoulders. She looked up at him. Tears were streaming down her face. He was about to kneel next to her when Alba spoke again. “The slave takes the easy way out.”
Livius turned sharply and moved purposefully to Alba. He did not stop until he was inches from her face. “You think this funny?” Alba did not answer. She was trying to keep a stone face, but Livius was beginning to breathe heavily. The veins in his neck were bulging and he had that look, the same one she saw the night of the slave’s demise. Livius raised a clenched fist. Despite herself, Alba leaned back slightly. “Now it is my turn to show you the results of your actions,” he said, and with that, he walked out of the room, so forcefully that had Alba not moved out of his way, he would have knocked her over.
Alba took a deep breath, then, composing herself, looked back at Justina. She was covered in blood. “She is gone, Justina,” Alba said. “See yourself cleaned and then to your chores.”
Chapter 40
He was not sure what he had meant when he threatened Alba, but he knew he had to leave the house right then. What had his wife turned into? Where was that woman he had once found himself attracted to so many years ago? Sure, the years hadn’t all been great, but they hadn’t all been that bad either. As Livius walked the streets of Rome, he thought back to that day when he had decided to tell her that it was over. That he was in love with Servilia and wanted to be with her.
“I have something to tell you,” he said to her, unable to look her directly in the eye.
“And I you,” she said. He had not expected that. Nor had he expected what she told him next. His heart leapt when he heard he was to be a father again, leapt at the possibility of a daughter, then fell when he realized what exactly that meant. His conversation with Servilia went about as well. But he had learned to love Alba over the years. At least, he thought he had. If that were true, then why was he standing in front of Servilia’s house about to knock on the door.
Servilia was more than a little surprised when the slave announced Livius at her door. A little surprised and, truth be told, a bit leery. Had she not just been ordered by Caesar to speak with Livius about his son’s lack of useful information, she would have been more inclined to believe it a coincidence.
“Livius, what a pleasant surprise,” Servilia said as her old love entered the room. “Would you care for a drink?” She was lying on the couch in a house robe, sandals off. Her legs bare to the upper thigh. She did not stand.
“I may need the entire jug,” Livius said, “but a cup would be a nice starter.”
Livius hardly noticed her. He was a man preoccupied. Lost in thought. It was all over his face. She had seen it more often than she cared to remember. Powerful men facing life or death decisions. Average men facing life-altering consequences. The look was the same.
A slave brought in two cups and filled them with wine. Servilia motioned for the slave to place the decanter on the table and leave the room.
“To what do I owe this surprise appearance?”
Livius drank the entire cup of wine before speaking. Whatever was weighing his mind had nothing to do with Caesar. No, this was a personal issue.
“My wife has taken me to the brink of hostility,” he said with heavy breath. “I have not been this mad since my military days. She thinks she now runs my household.”
“And why would she think such a thing?”
Livius filled his cup a second time, then took a seat in the chair next to the couch. “My daughter held one of our slaves in great esteem. The two girls grew up together, almost as sisters. Against my wishes, Alba gave this slave to my youngest son as gift for his amusement and just now she takes her own life.”
“This is what has you so flustered?” Servilia said lightly. “A slave killing herself? Slaves are but property to do as we command. If your slave has killed herself, go to the square and buy another. You certainly are of means to do so.”
“It is not the death of the slave that weighs on me. It is the heartbreak my young daughter must now feel. It is the fact that none of this was necessary, that the only reason the incident even occurred was due to Alba’s jealousy.”
“I’m confused,” Servilia said. “Your wife was jealous of a slave?”
“My wife is jealous of my daughter.”
Servilia laughed in spite of herself. “Oh good, Livius, your wife is jealous, but it is not of your daughter. The day you attended the arena, she made excuse of illness to make a surprise visit to my house. Much like you do today.”
“She came to see you?”
The surprise on Livius’ face was genuine. “She has not told you,” Servilia said with a smile. She wondered, was it the tigress protecting her territory, or the cat making a desperate attempt to appear brave?
“She has not,” Livius admitted.
“She wanted to be sure I was not to put my claws back into you.”
Servilia gave Livius time for the revelation to sink in, and as he contemplated his situation, she filled his glass. He drank it mindlessly. She sat back down on the couch and pulled her robe back to expose her legs.
After several soulful minutes he spoke, “Sometimes, I feel jealousy for your position in life. No responsibility to a significant other. You come and go as you please. You are free like the wind.”
“Ironic how the people we hold dearest do us both harm in recent times.”
“What do you mean?”
“Caesar is not happy with information being supplied from your son to mine. He threatened to sever our deal and make life difficult for both families. My arrangement in jeopardy.” She took a slow drink. “Would life not have been easier if I had become pregnant by you instead of Alba holding second child?”
Livius chuckled. “I do not know if I could have kept up with you and your ambitions back then. I do not think I can keep up with them now.”
This time it was Servilia who chuckled. “I cannot be paraded in public. I share bed and time behind closed doors. There is not much to keep up with.” She took another drink and continued, “I long to be seen in public as more than a whore to the great Caesar.”
“We all do what we must in this world. Although some of your choices may not be ideal, you are a wonderful woman and mother.” For the first time since he entered the room, Livius really looked at Servilia. She watched as his eyes moved up her legs to her soft, full breasts. When their eyes met, she smiled. Livius blushed.
“Brutus loves you and you are still as sexy and desirable as the day I met you,” he said.
Servilia moved her leg to reveal even more skin. “Has good Livius had too much to drink already?”
Livius left his chair in favor of the couch. Servilia sat upright. “We cannot turn back the years, nor would I want to. But we are here now. In this moment, free to do as we choose.”
Livius put his cup down and slid even closer. He took her cup and placed it on the table as well. He kissed her. Timidly at first, then forcefully. She kissed him back. His lips were just as she remembered, soft, yet firm. Livius had always kissed her as a man freed from decades in the desert and she a flagon of cool, fresh water. With each kiss the years slipped away, until Livius was once again a soldier and she a maiden. Then, just as he had done so many years before, he made love to her.
When they finished, he lay holding her on the couch. She folded into him, allowing his strength to engulf her. She was comforted in a way she had not known for many years. Not since the last time she had been in his arms. The day he told her he was staying with Alba, she knew she would never feel it again. She spoke to push the memory away.
“I do not recall you of such skills in the bedroom,” she said. “Had I known.”
They both laughed.
“A lot has changed over the years,” Livius said. “But your own skills in that area, I have never forgotten.”
They laid there for the longest time. Livius running his hand along Servilia’s body, caressing her back, her bottom, and her th
ighs, every so often kissing her shoulders and neck. This is how her life should have been. Here with this man, in his arms. This is how she should have felt, but it wasn’t. Livius wasn’t her man, and this wasn’t her life.
Servilia became suddenly solemn. She sat up and pulled over her robe. “So what is next for our saga?” she asked. “Was this a one-time deal to get back at our partners?”
“I am done with Alba,” Livius said. “She goes too far, and I must move on. All of my children are old enough to accept the consequences of her actions.”
Servilia stood. She walked to the table and took a drink from her cup. “You never said what she had over you to cause such injury.”
Livius sat up and pulled his clothes to him. “What do you mean?”
“I would assume she knew something about you that caused you to allow the gifting of the slave.”
Livius stood and dressed. “She knows a secret or two. None of worth anymore. She has no more power in house Livius.”
Servilia smiled. There was more to it than what Livius was willing to reveal. “Does that mean you are free for a proper Roman woman to court? Even one of questionable past?”
Livius took Servilia in his arms. “I would not have it any other way,” he said and kissed her fully. “Let us have a few days to clear head. Then we shall approach subject again.”
He gave Servilia another kiss, then left.
As he walked out of the room, Servilia recalled the conversation they had oh so many years ago. She wondered if this time, she’d finally get the man she once loved.
Chapter 41
The cot used by the Medicus for the sick now held Antonia’s motionless body. Why hadn’t she listened to Cato? Why hadn’t she taken his advice? Had she listened, all of this could have been avoided. Drawing attention to one’s self was a dangerous move as a slave. It was better to blend in, to go unnoticed, to almost seem invisible. It is never good to stand out, to invite contention. Maybe it was his fault. After all, he was the head slave. If anything happened in the house, it was ultimately his responsibility. He had let this girl down.
And now she lay there before him. Her trip to the afterlife secured. The Medicus had removed the dagger, cleaned the blood, and even placed an ointment on the wound to hide it as best he could. Now preparations were needed to dispose of the body.
“What will happen to her?” Cato asked. He sat on the cot next to Antonia, unable to take his eyes off her. The instrument of death at her side.
“I’m afraid she is destined for potter’s field,” the Medicus said from behind his table. “Unless Livius will pay for her cremation.”
It was the fate that awaited all slaves. Still, the thought of Antonia’s body being dumped into an open pit turned his stomach. It was not deserved. But Livius was not a man who would pay for the burial of a slave, especially one who took her own life.
“It is unlikely,” he said.
Cato was so intent on Antonia that he didn’t even see Justina enter the room until she was already kneeling by Antonia’s side, her cheeks painted with tears. Cato placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Why would she do this?” Justina asked. “It was supposed to be us together under my roof in our future. My brother has not the brains of a sleeping two-year-old. He is certainly not worthy of taking one’s own life.”
So much had changed in this house lately. While there had always been a bit of contention, it remained between family members and only once migrated to the slaves. But that was not the case anymore. A cancer was infecting house Livius. What started in Cato as a concern was quickly turning into a fear.
“Your brother follows the example of his father,” Cato said. “The Medicus and I thought we brought you to a good family so many years ago. For the most part, we were correct. But there is more to this family than we have known. Your father confesses of the killing of slaves. Your oldest brother does it for sport in the arena. And now the youngest forces hand of Antonia.”
Justina turned to face Cato. “What do you mean?”
“Caution Cato,” the Medicus said.
Cato did not heed the caution. “When Antonia returned to our quarters last evening, she had been crying,” he continued, “After some prodding, she confessed your brother had raped her at the convincing of Lucilius.”
“My brother is not capable of such a thing,” she said.
“The Medicus has verified the wound,” Cato explained.
Justina looked at him, mouth agape. “Last night?” she asked. “Why would she not tell me?”
Cato cut her off. “She did stop at your room, Domina but did not confide.”
“I don’t know what to make of this,” Justina said, her gaze fixed on nothing. “I don’t understand.”
“All in your family, from your parents to your brothers, are capable and willing to kill slaves. They are Roman, make no mistake of it.”
Justina focused on Cato. “I am not capable of harming a slave. It is not in my heart. I do not care that my natural parents were Roman.”
The Medicus spoke up. “You have noble blood running through you, Justina. You are of good heart and mind. Much like your natural parents.”
No, Cato thought to himself. Now is not the time. He sent the Medicus a disapproving glare and shook his head. The Medicus remained quiet. Justina seemed lost in thought, and Cato was happy to let the situation slowly pass. Then, out of nowhere, Justina asked, “Who was I named after?”
Cato almost laughed. “Your birth parents named you,” he said. “They were expecting a boy, and when cock didn’t appear, they made change to awaiting name.”
“What was I to have been named?”
“Your father wanted to name you Justus,” the Medicus said.
“That is a strange name.”
“He believed the world was not right and that his son would make sure things were just in his life,” the Medicus continued, “He felt the name would be a constant reminder.”
“What Roman does not feel the world just?” Justina asked.
The Medicus had said too much. While the time might eventually come when the truth could be revealed, doing so now, with atmosphere as it was in house Livius, was reckless. No good could come of it. He was about to change the subject when the Medicus began coughing violently. So much so that he had to take hold of his table to prevent collapsing. Justina stood. Cato rushed to him and poured a cup of water.
“Is all well?” Justina asked.
The Medicus took a drink from the cup. “I have been under the weather of late,” he said. “It is something that will pass in a few moons.” After several minutes, he regained his composure. Cato patted his old friend on the back. He didn’t like the sound of that cough and liked the Medicus’ dismissal of it even less.
Justina turned to Antonia and kissed her on the forehead. She would be cold by now, her skin having lost its soft shine. “Apologies,” she whispered. She stood and turned to Cato and the Medicus. “Gratitude for all that you have done for me over the years. You two have been angels in my life, helping guide and watch over me. I know I can confide in either of you with my true feelings and I will get honest response. Father is a good man, please try and remember that. So are Fabricius and Herminius. We shall get through this tragedy together.”
Cato walked over to Justina and placed a hand on her arm. “I will never place my trust in a Roman. It lies with you and what you do,” he said.
Justina looked at Cato strangely, then turned to the Medicus. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away.
After Justina left the room, Cato turned once again to Antonia. How sad it was when a life is taken from this world. Sadder still when the life taken is but a child. He bent down and, just as Justina did, he kissed Antonia on the forehead. It was at that moment he noticed the dagger was missing.
Chapter 42
“Greetings Alba,” Livius said as he walked into the bedroom. She was lying on the bed in her bedclothes reading.
Alba looked up. “No
honey or wife as greeting?”
“No, I think the best greeting for us now is by first name,” he said as he started to undress. “Not to worry, it will not be for long.”
“What do you speak about? Are you ill?”
“Never better. In fact, Servilia thinks the same.”
Livius waited until she was struck by the realization of what he had done.
“So now the great butcher of Rome takes side whore like Caesar?” she said placing the book down. “I do not think so. I will allow for one last visit between the two of you. That visit will consist of you telling her you will never see her again, in this life or the next.”
Livius enjoyed Alba’s anger. “You hold nothing over me now. Justina knows everything. You cannot damage that relationship as you have tried. In fact, we will be stronger for it. You and she will never be close.”
Alba stood and walked over to Livius. She stood right in front of him, face to face, just as he had done to her earlier. “I do not care for other people’s children, only my own. Justina is one step above slave in my eyes. She was your gift to yourself having nothing to do with my feelings or me. I showed no reservations because she came with a slave and the Medicus as package.
“You have selective memory,” Alba continued, “but are blessed that your wife remembers all she is told. If you choose to see Servilia again for other than reason I just permitted, I will be forced to sit down with her and beloved son and let them know of your actions so many years ago. Senators and politicians like taking credit for a great many things. Some of those things they had nothing to do with.
“Pompey takes credit for death of Brutus The Elder back some twenty plus years ago. A death that still haunts poor Brutus, his son. A death that changed Servilia from the talk of the town, to the whore in the streets. What might they think if they knew the truth? That you were solely responsible for that death. You alone planned it so that you and she could be as one. Only to find that I was pregnant with our second child. Your best laid plans gone sour. You were lucky that Pompey was willing to take credit for your actions back then.”