‘What did I tell you I would do if I caught you in here again?’ His voice was like cool metal.
‘Kill me,’ she whispered.
‘What did you say?’
‘You said you would kill me,’ she cried. His eyes looked lifeless. His jaw was slack. She felt certain that he really did mean to kill her. She glanced behind her at the back doorway of the tablinium. It led into their enclosed garden.
‘If I do not kill you now, I will kill you later,’ Magnus said. ‘So you can run into the garden now and let me hunt you down, or you can stay and die with the shred of honour you have left.’
He was no longer enraged. His words were as calm as if he were describing a day at the chariot races. ‘The house is mine now and you can never take it back. I am a vigile of Rome, after all, and you are nothing.’
He lunged across the room towards Vita, slashing the gladius in the air, but instead of escaping into the garden, she dived underneath his swing. She slid out on to the floor of the atrium and jumped to her feet.
She ran towards the entrance to the house, catching sight of him out of the corner of her eye. He was closing the distance between them. She could practically feel his sharp blade pushing into her back.
She swung the door open just as he caught up to her. He grasped the skirt of her tunic as she moved through the doorway, tearing it. She turned to push the door closed, but his hand pushed back. It reached at her body, searching for something to grasp, and took hold of her coin purse, pulling it free.
She could hear the coins spilling upon the ground as she thrust the door hard against his hand. ‘Ow!’ he screamed and she dashed off across the plaza.
When she finally turned around, she saw him holding his injured hand against his chest, still chasing her. He was already halfway across the plaza, quickly closing the distance between them. She could not outrun him. She needed to confuse him somehow.
She turned in the direction of the tavern where Avidia worked, then thought better. She turned up one road and down another, tracing a circuitous route back to the table-lined storefront. By the time she reached the tavern, there was no sign of Magnus.
Vita stepped inside the tavern, immediately drawing looks from the half-dozen customers occupying the space. ‘Avidia the waitress?’ she asked.
A man pointed towards the back of the tavern and Vita rushed into the small kitchen where another man stood stirring a pot over a fire. He looked at Vita’s torn tunic and sweaty brow. ‘We do not serve your kind in here. Please leave.’
‘I am looking for a woman named Avidia. I am in danger and I need her help.’
The man frowned, then glanced at the floor.
There on the tiles lay Avidia, sprawled in a drunken slumber, the red of the Massillian staining her lips. ‘It is the second time in two days,’ he said.
Vita crouched by Avidia’s side, trying to wake her. ‘Avidia, please! I need your help. Wake up!’ Her friend only continued to snore.
‘She owes me nine sesterces!’ shouted the man. ‘Did you come to pay the debt?’
‘No, sir. I am afraid I have no money at all,’ Vita said. Not any more. ‘A wicked man is trying to find me. I am in fear for my life.’
‘Then get out of here and take this useless woman with you!’
Vita cringed. Useless woman.
‘She is not useless,’ Vita growled. ‘She is just...trapped.’
She placed her arms beneath Avidia’s arms and attempted to lift. ‘Come along, Avidia,’ she said. ‘Time to get going.’ Avidia let out a lavish snore.
Vita did not know what to do. Avidia was drunk, Ven was gone and Magnus was hunting her like a deer.
‘Get out!’ shouted the man. He lifted his spoon as if to punish her with it and she ran out of the tavern and back into the street.
She glanced around for Magnus. He was probably canvasing the neighbourhoods right now, advising his fellow vigiles to keep their eyes out for her: a short, round, green-eyed woman going somewhere in a hurry.
How could she possibly escape him?
Lepidus. If today was the Vulcanalia, then the old man would be setting out on his journey to Britannia tomorrow morning. If she could reach the port of Ostia by that time she could join him.
Him and Ven.
It was her only choice. She had lost all her coins and all the rest of her belongings. She had no family to turn to and nobody to help her. All she had was the will to survive and her own two feet. Slowly, they began to move on their own—in the direction of the river.
Soon she was running as fast as her legs could take her. River barges travelled regularly between the city and the port and she was certain she could sneak her way on to one.
She had to try to reach Lepidus. It was the only way she could survive. Without her sewing, she could not support herself. She would be alone on the dangerous streets, without any possibility for better. Meanwhile, Magnus and the other vigiles would be hunting her.
She did not even have her identity. She had packed all of her official documents in the sack she had left in the atrium, including the proof of her citizenship. Magnus would surely destroy those documents as soon as he could. He would have his own little Vulcanalia celebration that very night. First he would burn her clothes, then her documents, and finally her sewing. There would be nothing left of her.
It was what Magnus would want. If he could not find her himself, he would simply destroy her existence. Without her proof of citizenship, she could easily become enslaved.
At least with Lepidus she would be safe. She would have to endure more hard years and keep as far away from Ven as she possibly could, but in the end there would be coin...and freedom. There was no more to think about, she needed to get to Ostia.
Arriving at the Emporium warehouse area beside the river, she could hardly believe her eyes. The large river port was normally a hive of activity, but today it was all but empty.
She gazed out at the docks and saw a number of barges anchored, but no captain or crew member in sight. Vita jogged past the long line of offices, but they were all locked, and the oxen that pulled the barges were nowhere in sight.
She spied a dock worker coiling a rope near one of the smaller barges.
‘Excuse me, sir, will you be taking that barge back downriver soon?’
‘Sorry, madam, no barges today in or out of the city. The priests have forbidden it.’
She gazed out at the empty river. Not a single fishing boat was plying its quiet waters and, for the first time all day, she noticed the heat. The sun god beat down on the parched city without mercy and sweat poured down Vita’s neck.
The bonfires that had begun to burn on each of Rome’s seven hills seemed only to add to the heat, as did the ominous layer of black smoke that was already gathering in the sky. The god of fire expected his due, lest he burn all the harvest.
She should have guessed that the Emporium would be closed on this day: it was only the largest grain storage area in all of Rome. Still, she feared the fourteen-mile road to the Ostia port, which was regularly patrolled by vigiles.
She gazed out at the river once again. Her mother had taught Vita to swim in these waters when she was just a girl. They stayed remarkably cool in the summer—much cooler than the baths—or so her mother always told her father in order to justify their outings.
The truth was that her mother was happiest when she was near the river. ‘It is the wildest thing in Rome besides the cats,’ she always said. Other mothers would teach their children to swim at the baths, or in the comfort of their own villas, but Vita’s mother had preferred the river. As a result, Vita had quickly become the strongest swimmer she knew.
Now that Vita stood on its sacred banks once again she saw that nothing had changed. Its waters ran swift and true and they could deliver her to the sea in only a few short hours.
She took
several steps into the river, sensing the three Fates watching her from above, weaving their merciless threads. Her life had almost been hers. For a handful of days she had seized it, without the help of any man.
She had even made a friend. Her dear Avidia would have been a perfect companion, if only Vita could have woken her up. Like Vita, Avidia had unlocked the door to freedom, but had not been able to step through it.
Vita gazed down at the swirling water. She knew that if she took another step, she would belong to the current, the waters of which would either drown her or deliver her into another prison. Still, she could not see another way.
If only she had not been proud. If only she had walked out the door and never looked back. Freedom was more important than happiness and now she would have neither.
That was not entirely true. She would have Ven. She would not be able to kiss him or touch him or even speak with him, but he would be there none the less. Her quiet sentinel, ever vigilant, the only man she could trust. She took one final step and let the current sweep her up.
Chapter Eight
‘Well, there you are, Vita!’ gasped Lepidus. The bald, grey-bearded equestrian looked genuinely surprised as she hailed him the next morning. She started across the plaza towards him, hoping he would not notice her ragged tunic and tangled hair. When she stood before him, he frowned. ‘You look like Medusa herself.’
She bowed and forced a smile. ‘Apologies for my appearance and for my tardiness, Lepidus.’
‘Tardiness? I did not think you were coming at all. This is a happy development,’ he said, though still he frowned. He plucked an oak leaf from her hair.
‘I was just taking some shade,’ she lied. In truth, she had spent the night beneath a stand of trees outside the docks, curled against the chill. ‘Then your proposal still stands?’ she asked.
‘It does. Do you have the contract?’
‘I am afraid it was lost.’
‘And your baggage?’
‘Also lost.’ His expression was confused. ‘It was my ex-husband Magnus,’ she explained. ‘He was...upset when I left him.’
She held her breath, hoping Lepidus would not compel her to further explanation. Thankfully, he did not.
‘Well, in that case we will need to get you a new tunic. We cannot have my concubine looking like a tavern woman now, can we?’
Vita nodded gravely, reminding herself to be careful. Lepidus might have seemed cheerful and kind, but he was the same man who had delivered Ven his scars.
Ven. She had thought of him all night, despite herself. She knew that she would have to distance herself from him, for she certainly could not betray Lepidus. A contract was a contract and Vita was an honourable woman.
Still, she looked around the plaza, hoping to catch sight of Ven. Instead she caught the eye of the stone-faced Scythian standing several paces away. She nodded politely at the thick-chested man, but he did not nod back.
‘Is this our vessel?’ Vita asked Lepidus. She eyed the long, thin merchant ship roped to nearest dock. Its name was painted on the side of its bow in a waxy crimson hue: Europa.
‘It is the only vessel departing today, I am afraid.’ He glanced around the plaza with a look of mild disgust. ‘A throng of plebs and not a single cabin available to rent. I fear it will be a tiresome, crowded journey.’
Vita was relieved that there was no cabin, for it meant that Lepidus could not expect her to perform her contracted duties right away. He would expect her cooperation eventually, though, and she dreaded the day.
‘It will be a handful of days up the coast to Narbo in Gaul,’ Lepidus explained, ‘then overland by carriage to the port of Burdigala in Aquitania. From there we sail north to the mouth of the Tamesis and Londinium, then on to the fort at Coria.’
Vita opened her mouth to speak, but Lepidus continued. ‘If you are like my wife, you are probably wondering about accommodations for our journey. I assure you that everything will be of the highest standards. I carry a letter from the offices of the Emperor guaranteeing us a room in any government mansion we encounter. You will stay with me, of course, and the Dacian outside our door.’
‘The Dacian?’
He motioned to a small blonde-haired woman approaching them, her arms filled with provisions. ‘That is my Dacian slave,’ he said. ‘I purchased her over a year ago and have trained her well. She will teach you much about how to please me.’
Vita nodded, trying to keep up her good cheer. Lepidus had owned the woman for a year and had not even learned her name?
‘Hello, I am Vita,’ she said to the woman. ‘And you are?’
‘Zia, Domina.’
She had managed to place all the goods she had purchased in one hand so as to free her other hand to lift Lepidus’s massive travel bag.
‘I have chosen to travel light,’ Lepidus explained. ‘The army will provide for our needs at the fort and I shall purchase more slaves as well, but first we must get there!’
‘Let me help you with that,’ Vita told Zia and the two women were attempting to lift the bag together when Vita caught sight of Ven. He was striding across the plaza towards them, carrying a bagful of coal and the carcases of several plucked chickens.
She could not help but notice him. His gait was smooth, yet so different from other men’s. Because of his unusual height, his strides seemed to tread the very air. It was as if he were floating above the people he passed—a towering god wandering amid the mortals.
‘This is my bodyguard,’ Lepidus was saying. He gestured to the Scythian standing behind him. ‘And there is Ven whom you already know.’
Vita returned her attention to Ven, who was now only paces away from them. He wore his short tunic as usual, along with sandals whose straps wound up the twin pillars of his legs. Beyond them lay his narrow waist and the vast, hilly terrain of his chest. She remembered the moment when she had rested her head against it.
She gathered her courage and looked at his face. It struck her as so handsome it did not seem to be real. Did no one else notice his remarkable good looks? Or did his status as a slave somehow diminish them? His eyes alone were a marvel of the gods. Instead of reflecting the light from without, they seemed to be repressing it from within, with varying degrees of success.
Just then, for instance, they seemed bursting with intensity and, when they locked with her own eyes, she feared she might simply turn to dust.
In an effort to defend herself against his smouldering beauty, Vita closed her eyes. It was her only recourse, for she should not have been admiring Ven at all. She should not have even been thinking about him. She was a claimed woman now, a concubine, and there was only one man to whom she owed her attention.
She turned to Lepidus and smiled tightly, trying to erase what she had just seen. It was impossible. Ven’s image remained in her mind as if it had been branded there. Worse, her heart was filled to brimming.
‘Excuse me, Vita, but are you well?’ asked Lepidus. ‘You look very flushed.’ Vita nodded, then fixed her gaze upon the concrete beneath her feet.
‘It is just the sun,’ she told Lepidus. ‘Do you not find it rather warm?’
At that moment, the ship’s captain and crew appeared on the deck and all the passengers who had gathered on the dock went silent. The nine men stepped before a shrine of Jupiter and kneeled.
‘Bless our journey, mighty Jupiter,’ the captain entreated the icon, ‘and spirit us to the port of Narbo’s safe bosom.’ One of the crew handed him an amphora of wine, some of which he poured over the shrine. He tossed the rest into the sea. ‘All aboard!’
Soon the crew was at oars and the long, square-sailed phaselus began to glide northwards on a light breeze. Vita stood quietly at the stern, trying to find her bearings. There was something final about floating out to sea and, as she gazed out at the shore, it was as if she was not simply bidding farewell to the grou
nd, but to her old life.
She should have been relieved. She had managed to reach Lepidus—and just in time to join him. She had not been killed or injured, nor was she wandering the countryside searching for work among unscrupulous landowners.
Thanks to Lepidus’s offer, she would enjoy a comfortable life—a life of safety and good wine and fine accommodations. The years of her concubinage would pass quickly. All would be well.
She should have been grateful, but all she could think of was Ven. How would she manage to forget him now? She had tried and failed to swallow her heartbreak when they had said goodbye in Rome. What would she do now that she had to dismiss him every single day?
She had no choice but to forget him completely: her very survival depended on it. If Lepidus found out about her feelings for Ven, he would destroy her contract and leave her in the cold. Or worse.
Ignore him, she told herself. Erase him from your mind.
Perhaps she could make him into her enemy. She could offend him somehow, say something cruel, make him hate her enough to prevent him from looking at her in that way that turned her insides into porridge.
It would be perhaps the greatest test she would ever have to face. She feared she would have to destroy some vital part of herself, or bury it so deep that she would never be able to retrieve it again.
Several of the crew hoisted the sails while the others drew in the oars. Meanwhile, the passengers were laying down mats and settling on to the deck for the journey up the coast to the next port.
Lepidus was not among the deck dwellers, which meant he had gone below. The others had surely joined him there as well, having no choice in the matter.
It had always seemed strange to Vita that travellers would huddle inside the hull of a ship when the great wide world spread out before them. Still, she would need to join Lepidus soon, lest he think her already shirking her duty.
She gave the craggy shoreline one last look, then turned to leave, crashing face first into a familiar wall of flesh. Her joy leapt up, but she beat it back down. ‘You should not have come here,’ she said.
The Roman Lady's Illicit Affair Page 11