Vita reminded herself to breathe as he arrived at her lower back and paused, then returned to the top of her spine for another pass.
She felt like a piece of clay. He was gathering her up and pressing her into a newer, better form. He made several successive passes up and down her spine, each time varying his movement slightly so as to reach some new cache of muscles.
She wondered how long Lollia would allow the massage to go on. She prayed the young woman would go for a dip in the pool and forget about Vita entirely. For her part, Vita felt dangerously close to forgetting herself. She closed her eyes.
‘Hardd,’ Ven muttered.
Her heart nearly stopped beating. It was a word from the ancient tongue—her mother’s beloved Celtic. Or had she only imagined he had said it?
‘Did you just speak in the tongue of the north?’ Vita asked.
He gave no reply, but she sensed his silent affirmation. Yes, I did.
He was from Britannia for certain. She had suspected as much from the moment she had heard him speak. His Latin was too laboured to be native and too lilting to be German. It sounded just like her own mother’s Latin—like a ribbon being tied into a loop.
Still, that was not what had stopped her heart. It was what he had called her in her mother’s tongue: hardd. It meant beautiful.
‘Pa lwyth?’ she repeated in their shared tongue. What tribe?
His breathing ceased. ‘The Brigantes,’ he said at length. His fingers were only barely touching her now. It was as if her body were a lute he was unsure of what to play next. ‘And you?’ he whispered. ‘A chi?’
‘My mother was of the Caledonii,’ Vita admitted in their shared tongue. ‘In the far north.’
‘The Brigantes and the Caledonii are ancient enemies,’ he observed.
‘Does that make us enemies?’ she asked.
She could not feel his fingers at all any more. She feared she had said too much.
In her youth, her mother had often spoken of the people of Britannia. They were separated into many different tribes that often fought. Their best men were raised to be warriors who placed honour above all else. Vita sensed that Ven was such a man. She had no idea what his honour might compel him to think of her now.
‘You are very good at massage,’ Vita offered in Latin, trying to change the subject.
‘You say that, yet you have no idea,’ he whispered.
She could not read his tone. Had she offended him somehow? Did his enmity for her mother’s tribe spill over on to her? Or did he mean something else entirely? She was utterly confused. Her throat felt dry.
She sensed him stepping away from her and turned to find him disappearing from her line of sight. She had offended him, then. She had stirred an ancient hatred that compelled him to distance himself. She should never have mentioned her Caledonii blood.
She nearly shrieked when she felt the cool trickle of oil drops once again upon her back. She turned her head in the other direction and saw him standing at eye level, his strong, bulging thighs filling her vision.
He lay his hands on her shoulders. Slick with oil, they plunged downwards in a grand sweeping motion that seemed fuelled by something beyond duty. The gesture continued into the small of her back, then followed the swerve of her waist to its conclusion at her hips. He brushed the top of her loincloth.
She felt the heat of yet another blush threatening as she envisioned what he was seeing. Now there was not even the pretension of modesty. He was staring down the length of her, the bump of her backside surely occupying most of his view.
She might have been mortified. The size of her backside was larger than other women’s and she had always felt ashamed of it. But there was something in the way that he was touching her that made her feel uninhibited. It was as if he were trying to communicate something to her.
He certainly seemed more enthusiastic, though she would not flatter herself by thinking that he was enjoying himself. He was a slave, after all. Whatever enjoyment she perceived in him was certainly a projection of her own hopes. To him, this was an obligation, nothing more.
And yet there was nothing obliging about the way he was touching her. He seemed to be using all the weight of his body against the flanks of her back. Each stroke brought with it an immense relief. It was as if he were pressing all his goodwill into her.
He repeated the motion several times—long, energetic swooping motions down the length of her back—and she felt another wave of gratitude cresting inside her.
He gave her shoulders one last squeeze and paused. ‘We are not enemies,’ he whispered.
In that moment, Lollia yawned and opened her eyes.
‘Ven, why have you ceased?’ She turned to Vita. ‘Has he done your legs yet?’
‘No, but that will not be necessary,’ said Vita. ‘You have already been so generous with his time.’
She already felt another embarrassing blush creeping up her neck.
‘Have I at least convinced you to purchase a few slaves of your own?’ asked Lollia.
Just as Vita was opening her mouth to reply, a woman’s voice echoed through the marbled chamber. ‘Lollia, darling, is that you?’
A well-coiffed patrician woman was stepping into the other end of the pool amid a bevy of female slaves.
‘Domitia Publia, what a lovely surprise!’ squealed Lollia. She turned to Vita in a panic. ‘Do you know who that is? It is the Emperor’s wife’s sister’s mother-in-law! Gods, how is my hair?’
Not waiting for an answer, Lollia turned and waved at the woman a second time, then nearly dived into the pool, and in seconds Vita and Ven were on their own.
‘What are you doing to me?’ Vita whispered in Celtic.
‘What are you doing to me?’ Ven returned in the same tongue.
‘I am just lying here. I am doing nothing to you.’
‘You are trying to bewitch me,’ he said.
She boosted herself up on her elbows and twisted to face him. ‘What in Hades do you mean?’
He shook his head and silently went to work massaging her feet.
‘Why will you not answer me?’ she whispered.
Her lips had grown redder in the course of the massage, as had her blush. He observed that her eyes appeared more green than brown against that ruddy canvas, which was framed by the sandy brown of her hair. She was as lovely as a rainbow, yet she seemed to have no notion of her own beauty.
‘Ven?’ she asked in a voice made of silk.
He avoided her gaze as he worried each of her tiny toes between his fingers.
‘Oh, sweet Juno,’ she moaned. ‘Why does that feel so good?’
‘Do not moan like that.’
‘Then do not rub my toes.’
‘Then do not look at me’
‘Do not look at you?’
‘Return to your stomach, please,’ he said. ‘I will not succumb to the sorcery of your gaze.’
She tugged her foot away. ‘And I will not succumb to your endlessly pleasurable touch!’
Finally, their eyes met and Ven watched a smile begin to split her lips.
This was truly a problem. He glanced across the pool. Thankfully, his domina remained deep in conversation.
Ven shook his head and tried to beat back his alarming good humour. ‘You must not look at me that way. Now return to your stomach.’
‘I will do no such thing,’ she said.
‘My domina will be gossiping about you soon. Eventually, she will turn to point you out. We cannot be gazing into each other’s eyes in that moment, do you understand? I must be performing a task.’
Vita sighed. ‘I understand. Just, please, do not rub my feet.’
‘Your legs, then?’
‘That will be even worse.’
Ven smiled to himself. ‘You mean better.’ He watched a blush creep up
her neck and felt his own lust stir. This was no good at all. ‘Where, then?’ he demanded.
‘My lower back.’
‘Not your lower back.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because that creates a problem for me.’
She frowned at him and her eyes slid down his chest. ‘Stop that,’ he said.
She returned to her stomach with a huff. ‘This is all highly unusual,’ she grumbled.
‘I do not disagree.’
‘Rub my ankles,’ she said after some thought. ‘And the backs of my knees.’
He stroked the knob of her ankle with his thumb. ‘Were you able to sleep last night?’ he asked.
‘Just a little. You?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Perhaps we suffer from the same affliction,’ she whispered.
He said nothing. Her ankles were small and shapely. His hands could fit around them. ‘Who are you?’ he murmured.
‘I am Vita of gens Sabinius, daughter of Senovara of the Caledonii.’
‘And your father?’ he asked.
‘My father disowned me at the time of my marriage,’ she replied. ‘He has since deceased.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She died just before I was married.’
‘Ah, so your mother—’ Ven stopped himself. ‘Apologies, I speak without thinking.’
‘You may speak freely with me,’ she said. ‘Go on.’
Ven hesitated. How many times had a Roman woman urged such familiarity, only to scold him later for lack of respect? Still, this woman seemed less Roman every minute.
‘So your mother was a slave. That is why your father married you off so soon after she died. You were not a legitimate child.’
She frowned and gazed at the floor.
‘Apologies, I did not mean to give offence.’
She shook her head. ‘How could you give offence by stating the truth? You have guessed my secret and rather quickly, I fear. My father was a high-ranking patrician and my illegitimacy harmed his reputation. I was fortunate that he endowed me well before giving me to Magnus.’
‘That is well. A healthy dowry will sustain you until you are able to marry again.’
‘I do not plan to marry again. And I will not be retaining any of my dowry.’
Ven moved to her other ankle. ‘I do not understand. Do you have other kin, then? A brother or sister who has offered you a place?’
‘I am afraid I have no one.’
‘Savings? Money you have put away for this eventuality?’
Vita exhaled. ‘You are working wonders on my ankles.’
‘I see,’ Ven said.
Gods, she had nothing at all. He envisioned Vita alone in a room inside one of Rome’s crumbling high rises, scraping her meal from a pot. Rome’s wretched insulae were notorious for fires and fevers and terrible crime. The vision sent an unwelcome ache into his heart.
‘Why will you not retain your dowry?’ he asked, instantly regretting his words, for there was only one reason. ‘I see,’ he whispered.
She twisted around once again and caught his gaze. ‘I have never betrayed my husband! On the contrary, he has betrayed me. For many years. He betrayed me even last night—with a married woman, no less!’
She returned to her stomach, visibly upset, and he pictured the terrible scene. A memory struck. ‘That woman did not happen to be Lollia Flamma?’
Vita gasped. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because she sneaked away from our home late last night and then returned without a sound.’ Ven moved to the back of one of her knees and gently began to rub.
‘She left her loincloth on Magnus’s desk,’ Vita confessed. ‘Her initials are woven into the cloth.’
‘She is careless even in her cheating.’
‘She is young,’ said Vita. ‘She does not know what it means to suffer or to cause suffering in others.’
But Ven did not wish to discuss his spoiled domina. ‘Your husband owes you the full value of your dowry,’ he stated. ‘You must seek its return.’
‘Our marriage contract gives Magnus full potestas over me, I am afraid. He will never return it.’
‘Not even a portion?’
‘That would be impossible, for my dowry is our house itself.’
The house itself. Now it all made sense. When Magnus had married Vita, he had acquired the kind of home that would impress his superiors and help him rise through the ranks. A man like that would never give up such a symbol of status.
Ven’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘If you can prove your husband’s adultery before a magistrate, your husband will have no choice but to return your dowry. That is the law. The loincloth is your evidence.’
‘I would not dream of doing that.’
‘Why not?’
‘It would destroy Lollia’s marriage and her reputation. She would never be able to marry again. She would be ruined.’
Ven paused. ‘You would sacrifice your own dowry to protect Lollia?’
‘I would never wish to be the cause of another’s ruin.’
Who was this strange woman? In his twenty years in Rome, he had never encountered such an honourable heart. Ven wondered who would protect her in the bleak future that lay ahead of her. She was obviously too gentle and good for Rome’s wicked streets.
‘Tell me, was an aestimatio included as part of the marriage contract?’ he asked.
‘I believe that it was. My father was always keen on calculating the value of things.’
‘If you can get hold of the marriage contract and the attached aestimatio and take it to a magistrate, it is possible he will rule in your favour, even without evidence of Magnus’s betrayal.’ He moved his hand to her arm, kneading it in such a way as to coax her bravery.
‘How do you know all this?’ she asked.
‘I have served as Lepidus’s legal clerk for many years and have read a great deal on such matters. The law is on your side in this. You must not be afraid to use it.’
There was a long pause. Ven thought he heard the sound of sniffling. He saw her hand move to her eyes, as if to wipe away tears. ‘I would never dream of it.’
‘Why not? It is your dowry. It belongs to you.’
Vita waved her hand in the air, as if swatting the idea away. ‘You are very kind to offer your advice. Tell me, sir, why do you help me?’
Ven ceased his rubbing. Really, he had no idea why he was trying to help her. He should not have been speaking with her at all.
Nor should he have been admiring her curves, or considering her qualities, or enjoying how her skin felt beneath his touch.
Perhaps he was being tested by the gods. They were tempting him once again, showing him something beautiful and true, trying to see if they could goad him into doing something foolish. But he was not a fool. ‘I am not trying to help you,’ he replied to Vita at last. ‘I am just trying to pass the time.’
He finished rubbing her other arm. There was nothing left for him to massage, so he stepped away from her and started towards his place at the corner of the bath.
Still, he could not stop thinking about that word. She had said it once again and it resounded in his head like the call of a siren.
Sir.
Chapter Four
After the baths that morning, Vita returned to her bedchamber and counted her savings. Twenty-two sesterces. It was not much, but she felt certain it would buy her a month of time in an apartment somewhere in the city.
She ventured out on to the streets, determined to find that somewhere, and walked all the way to the Caelian Hill before realising that she was not thinking about shelter at all. She was thinking about Ven: his probing eyes, his sharp words and all the ways that he had touched her.
The massage. She could still feel its effects resounding through her
body, making her feel lighter on her feet somehow. Her strides were longer, her breaths deeper, and she did not try to conceal the movement of her hips as she usually did. Her muscles tingled with awareness as she traversed the city streets, delighting in every step. It was as if she had become more comfortable in her skin.
She had never been touched in such a way by a man. In the early days of their marriage, Magnus had touched her as part of their coupling, but it was a rough, clumsy kind of contact that seemed to betray his uninterest. And though she had felt rejected when Magnus had finally stopped visiting her bed, she had also been relieved. She had always felt rather nameless beneath his groping hands.
Ven’s touch, on the other hand, seemed to convey a kind of worship. She had felt instantly becalmed by his fingers’ gentle probing against her back, which had grown stronger and more assured with each of her encouraging sighs.
He had played her like a lute, adjusting to her vibrations, anticipating her needs, increasing his intensity until his swooping, well-oiled strokes had transformed her placid calm into something more like amazement.
She was still amazed, though not just by his hands. She had also been touched by his words. His lilting Celtic had awakened a part of her that she had long ago laid to rest. Hardd, he had said, and it was as if he were channelling her mother’s very spirit. A flood of reassurance had inundated her heart.
Still, there was nothing reassuring about what he had said to her next. He had advised her to seek the return of her dowry—dangerous advice that could lead to perilous acts.
He had no reason to help her in truth. He was a slave; his life was not his own. Indeed, he risked his own safety by speaking to her in such a way, a sad truth that he had seemed to remember when he had told her he was just passing the time.
His words had stung, but she was glad for them. If he had pressed her any further, she might have become convinced of his argument, which might have compelled her to do something foolish.
Magnus would kill her before giving up the house and she did not wish to consider the matter further. Her dowry was of no consequence. It was more important to make a clean, safe break with Magnus. As long as she could find a safe place to live and do her sewing, she would be able to survive.
The Roman Lady's Illicit Affair Page 5