A Villa Far From Rome

by Sheila Finch

  Catuarus touched her arm, and Lucia knew he was trying to comfort her.

  She wasn’t going to be distracted. “This is our home, Ma!”

  “But your family in Rome,” Catu’s mother said. “I thought your father –”

  Ma had been looking hard at her. Now she turned back to Catu’s mother. “I’ll find my mother and my younger brother. Valentinus told me where they are.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Tiber said. “This house is yours. For as long as you want it. I’ll give orders that a separate wing be built for you, if that would please you.”

  Ma shook her head. But did that mean No, we won’t leave or No, we’re not staying?

  Catu’s mother said, “Hush, Togi. Let her make her decision.”

  She saw the little smile that came on her mother’s face, a pretend smile really.

  “I don’t want to go to Rome!” she said in a loud voice.

  The grown-ups were getting too far away from the real problem. This was home. They didn’t need to go anywhere. Everybody ignored her. Catu pushed some of his uneaten bread and cheese over to her. Food wasn’t going to make her feel better. It was very quiet in the kitchen for awhile. She liked the kitchen. It was warm and comfortable, and she could still smell the rich, sharp smell of the blackberry wine Ma had made. It smelled better than it tasted.

  “I’m not going to change my mind. Tiberius – Togidubnus – you’ve been fair to me. I haven’t always been fair in return. I free you from all obligations Nero imposed on you. Take your true wife back.”

  She didn’t understand all the words Ma used, but she did understand that Ma’s mind was made up. They were going back to Rome – a city she didn’t remember and didn’t want to see!

  Catu stood up, his face all wrinkled up as if he were going to cry. “You can’t go away!”

  “I don’t want to go, Catu!”

  “Little one,” Ma said – and she was astonished. Ma had never called her little one before! “I can’t stay here, and I can’t leave you behind.”

  “Won’t Rome be dangerous for the child?” Tiber asked softly.

  “Please,” Catu said, “Don’t take Lucia. Beech will miss her if she goes!”

  “So will you, Catu!” she said indignantly. “You’ll miss me too.” But that’s the way boys were and she forgave him immediately.

  Ma looked as if she were ready to cry.

  Catu’s mother put her arms around Ma. “You could leave her with us for a while. Till you see how things are. We’d take care of her like our own.”

  Now Ma really was crying! But she needed to think about what Catu’s mother had said. She could stay here – like one of their own. “Yes,” she said. “Oh yes! Please!”

  And Catu said it too, “Please!”

  “I don’t like to think of you returning to Rome all alone,” Tiber said. “It’s not safe.”

  Everyone was quiet at that.

  “Not alone,” Ma said, her voice sounding shaky. “I’ll take Delamira with me. She wants to go back to Carthage.”

  “Not alone,” another voice said.

  She spun on her toes and saw who was standing in the doorway. The funny-looking man who’d been Severus’s assistant. What was he doing here in their kitchen?

  “I came to take my leave,” the man said. “I’m going back to Rome. There’s no more work for me here. I couldn’t help overhearing. I’ll be honored to accompany them – if the Lady finds my offer acceptable.”

  She was getting very good at knowing grown-ups left some things unsaid. There was something here that the man hadn’t put into his words. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she caught a very odd look that passed between Ma and the man.

  “You’re very kind, Aron,” Ma said in a soft voice. “I accept your offer.”

  Everybody was hugging everybody else – she herself got squashed in Tiber’s arms – and just about everybody was crying. Well, not Tiber.

  Later, when Ma went off to pack her things for the journey, and Delamira took them out of the room, Catu whispered in her ear.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I’m staying here. Ma’s going back to Rome.”

  “I know that! I meant with that man who used to help Severus?”

  She whispered back. “I think Ma likes him, Catu.”

  “She didn’t look as if she liked him!”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know it yet.”

  Catu wrinkled up his face. Boys weren’t very good at understanding things.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Catuarus was playing a game with the younger children, leading them in a leaping dance around the blazing log. Togidubnus watched Colinus’s son making serious if clumsy efforts to copy him. It had been Breca’s idea to revive the old tradition of inviting his tenant farmers and craftsmen to observe the Yule. Not a Roman celebration such as the sad occasion Antonia had planned so long ago, but a feast for family and friends. A sudden flurry of snow caused the fire to spit a shower of sparks into the air like falling stars. The children squealed, as happy as piglets.

  The cattle herder, cup of beer in hand, sat to one side, watchful that his son not commit offense in his king’s house. Four sheep-herders and their wives, and one of the women potters stood in a loose line, waiting for Old Nev to fill their cups, firelight playing over their faces. The old woman had grumbled at being pressed into service as server as well as cook, but he knew she was well pleased.

  “Good to see you in good spirits for once.”

  He turned to see the man with long grey braids who had spoken. “Pudens Pudentinus, my only friend in Noviomagus, welcome.”

  “Hardly your only friend,” Pudens replied. “But I hope to be a good one.”

  “I’m going to need friends in the days to come.”

  “I came to bring you some news – though whether you will regard it as good or not remains to be seen.”

  They stepped back a few paces from the throng around the fire, strolling along the colonnade to where construction of the new wing of the villa ended and the ground was marked out for the next to rise – which now would probably not happen. At least, he thought, for as long as he had anything to say about it. Here, they stood a while in silence. The death of Nero and the resulting chaos over the throne, the growing rebellion of the tribes, the enemy he’d made in Marcus Flavonius all promised a difficult year to come. Maybe many years to come. But the decision he’d made to accept his role as leader and defender of his tribe above all else – including, especially, Rome’s ambitions in Britannia – gave him a sense of peace that he’d lacked for many years.

  “So, give me the news and I’ll weigh whether it’s good or bad.”

  “The Council is understandably cautious about what they see as your new-found Regni enthusiasm,” Pudens said. “But they’ll come around. Pilus isn’t eager to stir up more trouble after what happened to his nephews.”

  “I won’t take part in any more killing. I allowed myself to be used by Rome without knowing it. A tool in their expansion of empire. We were a free people. We will be so again, though not as we are now. The world is changing, Pudens.”

  Pudens nodded. “The Romans have a saying, I believe. ‘It took more than a day to build Rome.’ It won’t be defeated in a day either.”

  He laughed. “Rome’s power will vanish one day, but Britannia will prevail. I have it from a very good source. But none of that is news to either of us, Pudens.”

  Pudens nodded. “The Council seems to have forgiven you for ascending to kingship of the tribe – Yes, yes, I know! It wasn’t your idea. Now, wiser heads have suggested that it might not be such a strange idea to pursue uniting the neighboring tribes under a strong king. As you have certainly proved yourself to be.”

  “You are speaking of your own opinions here, of course.”

  “Others agree. We believe a time is coming when we will need a great king to make a stand.” Pudens ran his hand over a section of new wall, still rough and wai
ting for the plasterer’s art. “And a great king will need a suitable palace to receive ambassadors, a place to impress friends and enemies alike.”

  “What’re you saying?”

  “The council has agreed to supply the money to complete this villa on the plans the architect drew up for it.”

  Before he could answer, Breca came up to him and slipped her arm in his. The scent of wood-smoke was on her clothes, and her cheeks were pink from the fire. He put an arm around her shoulder.

  “My heart, will you be happy here in this Roman villa? What if it were to be the size the architect planned? If you aren’t happy, I’m not happy.”

  “I grant you it’s rather more elaborate than I would’ve asked for,” she said. “But I’ll accept it as the gift it is. We have a family to raise in it now.”

  “Well said!” Pudens nodded at Breca. “I think we see eye to eye on this. Our role is to preserve and advance the peace, and take care of the Regni entrusted into our stewardship, as difficult as that may turn out to be. For as long as it takes.”

  “And for as much money as you can make?”

  Pudens smiled. “I see no conflict between peace and commerce.”

  Shrieks of excitement drew their attention. Catuarus was now leading the old donkey with the small child of the cattle herder on her back.

  He thought again of Gallus; the old legionary was never far from his thoughts for long. Gallus was the example of what was best in Roman society, fighter, builder, loyal, brave –

  He turned his head so Pudens wouldn’t see his eyes fill with a woman’s tears. Yet there was no shame in admitting the loss of such a good friend. Nor of Niko either. He would let their memory be a lamp to him in whatever darkness he might find himself surrounded by in the years to come.

  * * *

  The Yule log burned down to embers, servants banked the small glitter of fire with ash, and Arto slanted a reed wind-break to shelter it from snow that would put it out too soon. Breca’s aunt and uncle would stay the night in one of the new bedrooms in the villa. The guests had gone home, and a servant had put the children to bed. As a special Yule treat, Beech was allowed to sleep inside by the bed they shared.

  The new house sighed as it settled into the night as an old house would, like a hen sheltering her chicks. He nodded at the comforting thought. He joined Breca in the bedroom where he’d slept alone for so long. In the soft amber light of the one oil lamp, he watched her unpin her long hair, admiring the thickness of it and the sheen as it tumbled down over her slim shoulders. She fumbled with the clasp on her dress.

  “Let me do it.”

  She turned to him, smiling. The room was warm in the rich shadows, and his fingers thrilled at the feel of her bare skin. Her scent was the familiar lavender under smoke from the Yule log. He put his arms around her, wanting to prolong this moment.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Catuarus so full of joy,” she said.

  “Yes. He’s happy to have his companion here.”

  “Antonia made the right decision. Though I don’t doubt it broke her heart.”

  “I just hope –”

  She put a finger on his lips. “We shall raise her as our own.”

  He was silent, thinking of the words Arto had spoken when he pulled the Roman child from the sea, words he hadn’t wanted to hear. And you will nourish them, the Lady said in his memory. Even though his own name might vanish in Time’s river.

  “They were born for each other, Togi,” Breca said.

  She put out the lamp and drew him down onto the bed and curled herself into the shelter of his arms, pulling the fur covers over them. He could see stars through the unshuttered window. Or were they in his mind, his heart so full of joy? He heard the old owl hoot, once, twice – Sulis’s bird – and he smiled. The worries and vexations of the recent days settled. Yet one thought persisted, troubling him. He’d shared everything with Breca before and could do so again.

  “What is it?” she asked, sensitive to his mood before he even spoke.

  “Something bothers me about the luck of Gallus arriving just in time and saving Antonia.”

  “She saved herself, Togi. He took the blame for her.”

  “She told you this?”

  “She didn’t need to. I knew it the moment I saw her.”

  He kissed her brow, her cheeks, her lips. “You were always the wisest of us all.”

  “With the Lady’s help,” she said.

  He pushed himself up on his elbows and gazed into her dark, Druid eyes that he’d always believed saw beyond the veil. “I had a vision – a dream while I was away with the legion – an experience at the Stone Circles.”

  He felt her nod, waiting.

  “A lady. Old, but somehow young too.”

  “Sulis.”

  “Yes. I think so. She foretold my future. Our future as Regni.”

  Breca put a finger on his lips. He knew she didn’t need to hear more. It had been a long time, too long, without the comfort of this woman who knew him without being told..

  Her fingers caressed his chest, slowly, deliciously sliding down his body till he shuddered with pleasure. Kingdoms rose and fell. The gods were not always smiling. What mattered was a moment like this when a beloved woman’s heart beat close to her man’s.

  “Arto says the spring will come early this year,” she murmured.

  “Come closer and let me show you how spring is already causing something to grow.”

  She laughed and pressed her lips on his.

  He closed his eyes and entered her.

  “My heart,” he said. “My dearest heart.”

  EPILOGUE

  [The Villa, AD 130]

  The old woman paused, leaning on her cane, silently gazing at the mosaic the workmen had just finished laying on the floor of the big dining room in the north wing. Her eyelids drooped. She was so still, the young man who accompanied her wondered if she’d fallen asleep on her feet. Not surprising, given the warmth of the summer afternoon and her age.

  “Avi?” he said softly, using the pet name the children had always called her.

  The old woman stirred and widened her eyes. “I wish your grandfather could’ve seen that mosaic. He loved the dolphins too.”

  Relieved, the young man said, “If you’d like to sit down, Avi, I could find a chair.”

  She waved his concern away. “It was all because of dolphins that I first met his family, you know.”

  He’d heard that story many times; all the children had. How little Lucia, fresh from Rome, had almost drowned in the sea, only to be rescued by their grandfather’s uncle. And the dog. She never let them forget the part about the dog.

  “Yes, Avi,” he said. “A great pity he couldn’t have lived a little longer to see the dolphin mosaic. It’s very well done.”

  “I talk too much of the past,” she said suddenly. “I want to hear of your adventures. Tell me about Rome, and – where was it you went? Athens?”

  “Alexandria, “ he said. “I’ll fetch a chair first.”

  They went out into the garden, enclosed on three sides now by the completed wings of the villa, the fourth wing marked out and ready to rise someday. Gardeners were tending to the grape vines that grew on the trellises along one side that was sheltered from the wind. His father would send the fruit into Noviomagus where vintners would crush it and make wine. It was a good wine, though a little thin when compared to the wines of Rome or Alexandria. A flock of gulls flew overhead, arguing noisily, their plumage brilliantly white in the sun. The old woman watched them go.

  When she had settled herself in the chair, she sighed. “Alexandria. How Niko would’ve liked to go to the great library! He spoke of it often.”

  “It is indeed a very great library, Avi,” he agreed. It was easier to keep the talk on the library than on someone who had apparently once been her Greek tutor. She lived so much in the past these days. “Scholars come from all over to use it.”

  “We never saw him again,
you know. Nikolaos. We thought he must’ve gone back to Greece. But tell me about Alexandria.”

  “Thousands upon thousands of books there, on every subject you can imagine, Avi. And teachers and philosophers. Prophets on every corner of the city. Always a lecture or a speech somewhere.”

  “Prophets? I don’t wish to hear about prophets. Or the gods they boast about. The gods were never very kind to my family.”

  She dismissed the thought with another handwave, the bright gold ring that had been his grandfather’s flashing in the sunlight on her middle finger.

  “There’s a famous lighthouse in the harbor, too,” he said.

  But she was done with the news about Alexandria. “We never saw my mother again, either. My dearest father – Tiber, I called him – who adopted me after she left, traced her to a town on the coast near Pompeii where she had relatives. But a year or two later the mountain erupted and destroyed everything. Houses, people, all gone. My father couldn’t find out anything, not even whether she’d been there when the disaster happened.”

  Dismayed, he said, “But you were still very young when that happened!”

  “Oh yes, but I had Tiber and Breca, your great-grandparents. And my heart, my Catu.” She leaned forward and gazed at him. “You were named for him, you know.”

  “Catuarus.” He nodded. “He was a good man. I’m sorry he’s gone, Avi.”

  “You look like him when he was your age. So handsome! My proud Celt.” She sighed, as memory overtook her again. “Catu and I had a good life as children. Tiber was a great leader of the Regni. Togidubnus was his true name, of course. He defended them against the Romans. Not by the sword! He said he’d foresworn the sword. But he was strong in his will, and just, and after a while the Romans saw that too and made him governor.”

  The young man had heard most of it before. All the grandchildren took it in with their mothers’ milk. But he realized he hadn’t thought about it quite like this. How young she’d been when her mother had abandoned her here! He’d never understood why this had happened and hesitated to ask. His older sister, Julia, who liked to know everybody’s secrets, hinted there was a scandal involving an emperor, but he didn’t believe it.