The Roman Lady's Illicit Affair

by Greta Gilbert

  He rushed around the burn, nearly sightless with despair. There was no sign of her demise, thank the gods. Glancing towards the forest, he noticed a pile of furs beneath a tree. He rushed towards them, fearing the worst, but when he lifted them he discovered nearly all his belongings.

  He searched through the pile for her sewing. He knew that if she had left on her own volition, she would have taken her sewing with her. His heart clenched as he sifted through his things, praying he would not catch sight of the thick green fabric attached to a silvery needle. After searching for a long while, he collapsed into the mud and wept.

  She was alive.

  For some reason, she had left him. He thought back to the last thing she had said to him before he had ridden away: I love you.

  He did not understand. Why did she leave? What terrible circumstances had compelled her to abandon the man she loved? He could not waste his time thinking about it now. He would soon find out because he would soon find her.

  He searched the site for her footprints, but they had been washed away by the rain. Surely she had headed towards the road. Once there, there were only two directions in which she could have turned: north or south. If north, she would have headed for Caledonia, her mother’s homeland. If south, she would have either headed for the Roman fort at Coria, where Lepidus was stationed, or the closer Roman fort of Vindolanda. Both places were less than a day’s travel south on horseback.

  Ven returned to his mare, his heart beating. He had to find Vita before she reached one of the two forts. Brigantes were not welcome inside such places—especially ones concealing former Roman slave tattoos.

  Ven did not wish to consider the other possibility: that she had headed even further south. It was a five-day carriage ride south to the Roman fort at Eboracum, the largest Roman fort in the province, and five days more to Londinium, its greatest city. If she sought sanctuary in either of those cities, she would be much more difficult to discover.

  Ven gathered his breath and tried to stay calm. He would find her—that was all that mattered. He was a hunter, after all. Sooner or later he would catch the woman he loved.

  He gathered his furs, mounted his mare and made his way south towards Coria, searching behind every tree and stone.

  * * *

  He had reached Coria’s sprawling fort at nightfall and slept fitfully beneath a waning moon. The next morning, he asked discreetly after Lepidus’s residence and waited outside its walls. Eventually a tall young man emerged wearing fresh bruises on his cheeks. Ven described Vita and asked the young man if he had seen her.

  ‘I have not seen her,’ he vowed. ‘I am sorry, sir.’ He would not meet Ven’s gaze.

  ‘If you tell me the truth, I will give you a fur,’ Ven promised, but the young man only shook his head. ‘I am begging you,’ said Ven. He lifted his leather cap and revealed his slave’s tattoo. ‘You may trust me. I was a slave for your master for many years.’

  Finally, the young man looked Ven in the eye and Ven spotted the wetness of recent tears. ‘I know who you are,’ he whispered back.

  ‘You know me?’ asked Ven.

  ‘You are all my dominus speaks of: a tall man with green eyes and a forehead tattoo. He beats me because I am not you. He has set a large reward for your return.’

  Ven stepped backwards, stunned. ‘Will you betray me, then?’ Ven asked. ‘Collect the reward for yourself?’ He gave the young man a glance. His legs were nearly as long as Ven’s.

  ‘I am a Parisi,’ the young man stated.

  ‘Our tribes are enemies, then,’ said Ven.

  The young man shook his head. ‘Do not fear, I will not betray you.’

  Ven nearly embraced him. He placed his finest fur in the young man’s arms and gave him a grateful bow. ‘Sell this fur and when the time is right, leave him,’ he said. ‘Promise me.’

  Then Ven disappeared from the vicus of Coria like a shadow in the midday sun.

  * * *

  He arrived in Vindolanda before midday. He sneaked into the settlement without detection and discreetly asked after Vita, but none had seen her. He considered waiting for the local tavern to open, then thought better of it. He had a terrible suspicion that she had headed south to the much larger fort of Eboracum. If he left now, he might still be able to apprehend her on the road.

  * * *

  On his way south, Ven peered into the windows of every carriage he passed, and when he arrived at the sprawling settlement of Eboracum, he did not even stop to eat.

  For days he canvased the streets outside the fort, searching the eyes of pedestrians. He spoke to every shop owner and carriage driver he could find. He lingered outside the bath house, watching the legionaries come and go. Sometimes, he would stop them. ‘Excuse me, but I am looking for a woman,’ he would say.

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ they would reply with a laugh.

  * * *

  Soon it was on to Londinium. There he lingered outside the public latrines and lurked around the marketplaces. ‘Have you seen a short, round woman with brown-green eyes speaking the accent of Rome? She sells capes.’ He repeated the query perhaps a hundred times a day and always the answer was the same.

  He bribed every tavern owner he could find, growing desperate. ‘There is another denarius for you if you can lead me to her,’ he promised. He waited and waited for news to surface until all his furs and his denarii were gone.

  * * *

  He made his way back north into the forest outside Eboracum. He did not wish to linger in Londinium, but nor did he wish to return to his people in the north. He could not face his kinsmen, whom he now felt certain had driven Vita away. He knew that if he returned to the hill fort, he would be quickly consumed by his duty to his tribe.

  He was standing in the middle of the island of Britannia, caught between duty and despair. He was neither here nor there. He could not decide where to search for Vita next.

  * * *

  ‘Where did you say you came from?’ the young woman asked Vita. She could not have been older than fifteen, though the scar on her face suggested those years had been long.

  ‘Rome,’ Vita said.

  ‘You do not look like you are from Rome.’ The young woman glanced at the fur around Vita’s shoulders. ‘What is that?’

  Vita blinked, feeling the stir of emotion. ‘It is all I have left of him.’

  The young woman frowned. ‘Avidia!’ she shouted. ‘There is a woman here looking for work. Seems a bit mad. Says she is from Rome.’

  ‘Can she cook?’ a familiar voice called back.

  ‘Hardly at all,’ Vita shouted in return.

  There was a gasp, then the sound of a crashing pot. A woman rushed out from behind the wall wearing a grin as wide as she was tall. ‘Vita!’

  ‘Avidia!’

  The two embraced, paused to behold one another, then embraced again. ‘The gods are great,’ Vita said.

  ‘They are indeed, for they have delivered you to my doorstep,’ replied Avidia. ‘I have hoped for this day for a long while, never believing it would actually come to pass.’

  ‘Nor can I believe it!’ Vita gazed into her friend’s eyes, which were clearer than she had ever seen them. Her cheeks seemed rosier, as well, and there was an uncharacteristic lightness to her voice.

  ‘But how do you find yourself here, dear Avidia, at this grassy edge of the world?’

  Avidia turned to the young woman. ‘Gislinde, put out the closed sign and lock the door, then see yourself out. You have the day off today and the tavern will be closed. I need to catch up with an old friend.’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ said Gislinde, shooting Vita an apologetic nod. Avidia produced two cups from behind the bar and set them out.

  ‘It is like not time has passed,’ Vita remarked—except that Avidia did not produce an amphora of wine. Instead she filled each cup with milk from a goatskin bag. S
he held her own cup high. ‘A toast to two poor women from the Aventine who got themselves free! Hear, hear!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Vita echoed, and drank down her cup. It tasted almost as good as the goat’s milk that Ven had warmed for her just days ago. Almost.

  ‘Sit down now, Vita,’ Avidia said, beckoning to the bar stool. Vita gazed at the high-legged obstacle as if it were an un-mountable horse. ‘Go ahead,’ urged Avidia, laughing. Giving herself a running start, Vita jumped up on to the high stool.

  Avidia laughed riotously. ‘You have not changed, dear Vita.’ She pulled up a stool. ‘Now tell me how you landed in my tavern on this lovely day of spring.’

  ‘A priest!’ said Vita.

  ‘Is it not always a priest?’

  ‘On the road to Eboracum. He stopped his cart for me and told me that Eboracum was in danger of a raid. He offered to bring me north to Vindolanda instead.’

  ‘I know the man,’ Avidia proclaimed. ‘Drinks here regularly. He was coming to make a sacrifice to Ceres, yes? To protect the new granaries for the fort?’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Vita. ‘He mentioned a woman from the Aventine had recently opened a tavern here. I hardly dared to hope.’

  ‘So the benevolent gods did indeed guide your path.’

  ‘I had not thought of it that way,’ said Vita. ‘Since when did you believe in the benevolence of the gods?’

  ‘Since I opened my own tavern and paid off all my debts,’ Avidia said with a twinkle.

  ‘But why open a tavern here, outside a military fort?’ asked Vita. ‘Why not one of those busy tourist towns in southern Gaul?’

  ‘A wise woman once reminded me that not everyone can cook—and especially not soldiers.’ She shot Vita a significant look, then gazed into her cup. ‘I do not even remember your visit on the day of the Vulcanalia. When I finally awoke, the owner of the tavern told me that you had come in need of aid. I could not forgive myself for failing you, so I vowed to pay my debts and try to find you.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘It was the Massilian wine you gave me. I did not drink another drop of it. Instead I sold it slowly to deep-pocketed clients. It took me a month, but I was able to pay what I owed the tavern owner and pocket enough for my travel.’

  ‘But how did you know where to look for me?’ asked Vita.

  ‘I went to your home. A rather pregnant young woman answered the door.’

  ‘Lollia,’ Vita said. ‘My husband’s lover.’

  ‘I thought so,’ said Vita. ‘I asked her where you had gone and she said she did not know—only that your husband Magnus had requested your departure.’

  ‘That is one way of putting it,’ said Vita.

  ‘I tried to depart myself, but she would not let me go. She said that she had not been to the baths for days and that she dearly wished to gossip, so I stayed and listened while she unburdened herself to me.’

  Vita grinned. ‘About what exactly?’

  ‘Men!’ laughed Avidia. ‘She said that they were wretched creatures and not worth the leather of their sandals. She described her husband, Lepidus, who had recently left her for the Roman fort of Coria.’

  ‘But what did you do when you did not find me in Coria?’

  ‘I decided to look for work. Someone told me that there was another fort a day’s journey away from Coria that dearly needed a tavern. I suppose the rest is history.’

  Vita looked around at the small timber building. ‘How did you find coin to rent such a place?’

  ‘My cooking, of course! The prefect who oversees the fort was in need of a proper Roman cook. I sold my services to his family and was able to save enough to pay my first month. I still cook for them sometimes and he keeps quiet about the tavern, drinking being forbidden to soldiers,’ she said with a wink.

  ‘You kept yourself free,’ said Vita wistfully.

  ‘You speak as if you did not.’

  ‘It has been a bit of a challenge for me,’ Vita said, then told her tale of hardship and woe. By the end of it Avidia was near to tears.

  ‘You were enslaved.’

  ‘It was not for long. The Brigantes treat their slaves better than the Romans do. I was not beaten or humiliated. I always had enough to eat and a blanket to keep warm.’

  ‘Did you escape?’

  ‘I was rescued by a man.’

  Avidia grinned. ‘A certain tall, strong barbarian-warrior type who goes by the name of Ven?’

  Vita nodded.

  ‘You are welcome to tell me that I am a genius,’ said Avidia.

  ‘You are a genius,’ said Vita, raising her glass.

  ‘But where is the man? Let us pour him a drink, by the gods!’

  Vita felt her stomach twist into a knot. She forced a resolute grin. ‘I had to leave him. His tribe would not accept me, you see. My life was in danger.’ Vita stared at the wooden beams of the roof, imagining them ablaze. ‘I fear I have nowhere to go,’ she whispered.

  Avidia tossed her curls. ‘Well it just so happens that we are in need of a new waitress. You would not happen to speak any Tungrian, would you?’

  Gratitude flooded into Vita’s heart. ‘I am afraid I was ill the day my grammaticus taught Tungrian,’ she said. ‘But what I lack in Tungrian I make up for in dumplings.’

  Avidia leaned against the bar, as if to prevent herself from fainting.

  ‘I have triumphed over them, Avidia! I have also conquered stew and mastered bread. And biscuits! Just a few days ago, I made Ven an excellent batch of biscuits...’

  An unwanted memory pulsed into her mind and she could not blink back her tears. Moments slipped past, then Vita felt the assurance of Avidia’s hand squeezing her own.

  ‘I do not know why I am crying,’ said Vita. ‘I have secured employment at the edge of the Roman empire. I should be dancing across the floor.’

  ‘A rather difficult proposition when one’s feet do not even reach it.’

  Vita laughed and wiped her cheeks.

  ‘This pain will pass,’ Avidia said. ‘It will just take time.’

  ‘I fear as if I have broken my own heart,’ said Vita.

  ‘I may be something of an expert in that particular phenomenon,’ said Avidia with a sign.

  ‘Well, at least I am in the hands of a true professional.’

  Avidia held out her hand. ‘You once saved me from despair. Now I shall save you.’

  Vita jumped down from the stool and the two women embraced. ‘Come, let me show you the tavern,’ said Avidia. ‘We will make you some porridge and I can tell you all the vicus gossip.’

  ‘Porridge flavoured with gossip—a delicious combination.’

  ‘Ack!’ shouted Avidia. ‘The story I told you about Lollia—it is not complete. I forgot to tell you the most scandalous part. When she was telling me about her troubles with men, she confessed that she was planning to divorce Lepidus.’

  ‘That is rather scandalous, though I must say it does not surprise me.’

  ‘Would it surprise you to know that she was planning on leaving Magnus, as well?’

  ‘Really? So soon? I heard that she was in love with him.’

  ‘I do not think so. Her baby is certainly not his.’

  ‘What?’ Vita gasped.

  ‘She let the truth slip without meaning to,’ said Avidia, lowering her voice. ‘Then she swore me to secrecy. The father of the child she carries was not sired by Magnus or by Lepidus. It belongs to some mercenary bodyguard—a man she called the Scythian.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vita found she enjoyed working at the tavern for it kept her busy day and night. She did her best to contribute what she could, which included making new aprons for Gislinde and Avidia, and new cushions for the stools and chairs.

  ‘Cushions!’ Avidia had shrieked when Vita surprised her with the gift. ‘Sure
ly our sales will go up, for now our customers will want to stay and drink all night.’

  The words had been prophetic. The cushions really did seem to increase the tavern’s business, though that was not the only reason for its success. Every day more soldiers were coming to live and work at the fort. The construction on the wall across Britannia—Hadrian’s Wall, as the soldiers called it—had begun and Vindolanda was going to be one of the major supply forts along its route.

  Thus Roman infantry soldiers travelled north from Eboracum and Londinium, and other parts of Britannia, joining the Tungrian and Batavian auxiliary troops already stationed at Vindolanda and filling the tavern every night with their revelry.

  Nor was it only men who frequented the tavern. Women visited, too, and were especially appreciative of Avidia’s ability to manage the unruly soldiers. They came from all parts of the empire, often in tandem with a father or brother, and made their lives in industries that supported the military men.

  Some of the women were soldiers’ wives, for although Roman soldiers were not allowed to marry, they often did so in secret. Despite the army’s insistence on abstinence, it seemed that the soldiers were particularly good at finding mates. This far away from Rome, most pater familias could not exert their right to choose wives for their sons. Men and women chose freely whom they wished to marry, with little concern for status or culture.

  There was one exception to this custom of tolerance: Brigante men. The Brigantes were considered a dangerous threat and even small parties of Brigante men were intercepted when trying to enter the vicus. Tensions were high throughout Brigante territory and there were constant rumours of skirmishes and raids on Roman settlements. Vita knew that if Ven tried to look for her here, he would not be allowed to find her.

  And that was well. It was best that she remain far away from him. By staying with him she was undermining his authority within his own tribe—an authority he needed in order to prevent them from suffering more deaths.