But if he found out, he might well want no more to do with her. She'd heard about men like that. She closed her eyes, a surge of dread almost overwhelming her. No, she wouldn't tell him, she couldn’t. Not yet. It was too risky. She had to know if he’d be true, treat her right, protect her.
A great clattering of hooves resounded on the cobbles beyond the door. She looked up. A voice issued an order. She knew his hard Danubian accent, though it sounded strange, cold. Her heart jumped. She stood, straightened herself, her hands clasped in front of her, her arms trembling, as if she'd gone mad. Through the arch of the doorway he came, far more handsome than she'd remembered, his black curls gleaming, tightly cut, clean shaven, wide-eyed, broad, so powerful, like a bull. His mouth opened when he saw her.
He rushed to her, lifted her high in the air. She laughed and hugged him tight, as if by pressing him to her he'd never be able to leave her again.
“It is you, Juliana. I was sure there'd been a mistake. I didn't expect to see you for months. My, you are as beautiful as ever.” He stroked her hair.
“This place was getting boring and dull. Legal papers are all they let me play with. But now you’re here the music has started.” He leant forward, closed his eyes as if listening to some rhapsody.
Juliana sighed with relief. “I’m so happy to see you,” was all she managed to say. Then she hugged him again, inhaling smells of leather and sweat, feeling his body against hers. Feeling his affection for her. A flood of desire almost overcame her. She groaned.
He laughed, swung her high in the air again. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he put her down, placed a finger to his lips, and looked around. A guardsman waited beyond the doorway casting occasional glances in their direction. Constantine turned from him, raised an eyebrow, and cocked his head to one side as if to warn her. She stepped away from him and became once more the demure slave girl. He motioned her to follow him.
They walked at a brisk pace through the palace, looking to the entire world like favored slave and master. Her short brown tunic and rough woolen belt indicated her status. His soft purple tunic with its gold embroidered shoulder patches and his finger-thin belt fashioned from gold mesh indicated his. She listened as he complained about the empress' misuse of his father's treasury.
“The things I could tell him,” he whispered indignantly.
She didn't care. The pleasure of being near him was enough. It felt unreal to be here, like a dream.
He apologized in advance for the state of his rooms. “The old witch likes us as far away from her as possible,” he said. He reached toward her. Her fingers touched his.
A delicious prickling sensation passed right through her. She wanted to tell him everything in a rush, but her instincts stopped her. She had to be sure of him first.
He led the way along a corridor lined with aged stone pillars and lit by widely spaced oil lamps. Soot stains from the lamps marred the walls. At the end, double doors opened onto a small courtyard. It looked abandoned. Its wall frescoes were flaking, and its mosaic floor had been patched many times.
He crossed the courtyard and led her on through another set of doors into a spacious but gloomy room whose walls and high ceiling were also stained from generations of oil lamps. This was a forgotten part of the palace. She looked around. No slaves or guards waited on him. If he'd led her to a cave she'd have been happy, as long as they were alone. A flutter of anticipation ran through her.
But instead of falling into his arms, she paced up and down and described the difficulties she'd had getting here, then she sat on the edge of a long backless couch. She played with a ringlet of her hair while watching him intently. She told him Lucius had wondered why he hadn't responded to his letter. She tried to make it sound as if his answer was of little importance, but as soon as she finished speaking, she felt stupid. The way she’d put it was all wrong. She bit her lip and looked at the floor.
“But I got no letter. I'm still waiting for his stupid papers,” Constantine shouted.
She looked up at him. Was he telling the truth?
“I've no way to prove this, Juliana, but I blame all such things on the empress. If anyone could interfere with the imperial post it's her, because if Lucius said he sent the papers, he must have. He's one man I trust completely.”
She felt warm inside, and so glad to be with him.
He began pacing. “My mother warned me about plots against my life. You should be aware that you are in danger even being with me.”
“I don’t care.” She reached toward him.
He stood in front of her, took her proffered hand, pulled her up to him, then stared at her for a very long time, his hands on hers, as if by holding on the moment might last.
She could smell him now. All polished leather, man sweat, warmth and power. They kissed. A terrible urgency grew inside her. She could barely control herself. Feelings, dammed for far too long, were bursting forth. Every moment of her journey she’d been nurturing daydreams of this moment, anticipating her desire. And now he was here she felt clumsy, as if afraid that she might make some terrible mistake, displease him. She pressed her body to him, as if she thought they might fall over.
And what about the life growing within her? That thought damped her desire fast.
“What is it?” he asked softly. Had he noticed? Panicking, she kissed him harder, but felt hollow, as if someone else was doing the kissing and she was only observing. She was right. She could not tell him she was pregnant. Not yet, anyway. She would please him first. And a great part of her yearned for him too. The part that needed someone. The part that’d do anything to have this be true and not taken away, ever.
Their bodies intertwined. She took a rasping breath, felt the hard thrust of his manhood against her tunic. She wanted him now, reached down, held it. Its firmness teased her. She’d dreamt many times of how hard it had been. Her tunic was up around her waist.
“I love you, Juliana. Never leave me.” He sounded happy. His joy was infectious, a fierce brightness lifting her gloom. It was what she'd wanted and had prayed for. She kissed his lips, more softly this time. Their tongues touched. She felt his hands moving deliciously over her. He lifted her in the air and her legs curled instinctively round his waist.
Standing upright in the center of the room, he entered her. A rush of pain almost made her shout. But she stifled it, groaned and they stumbled to the bed.
He kept going until she was satisfied, and his own pleasure seemed heightened as he did so.
After they'd sated themselves, they lay quietly on his bed, like cubs curled together on top of the rough woolen blanket. It scratched, but it felt wonderful, a tingling sensation against her skin, reminding her that this was all real, not a dream. The air was warm too, and glittering shafts of sunlight from a window grille stirred in it. Distant sounds came to her from a broken part of the window, where there should have been a small square of glass; a horse neighing, and far off laughter, stopping abruptly. The smell of leather polish and pine scented oil from a cluster of oil lamps hanging on a stand nearby filled her nostrils. She'd been so long on the road the sounds and smells of a villa, which she used to take for granted, seemed odd.
Then she told him about finding her father and her family.
“He must come and visit,” he said. She looked at him quizzically. He squeezed her hand. “To swear to your lineage, that you’re a descendant of Brigantian royalty. Then you can become my wife. Our stupid succession rules cannot part us after that. You'll not be my slave girl concubine then. You will be my wife.” He tickled her.
It was going to happen. He meant what he said. She could feel his certainty, the unsaid words of total commitment. A tingling of excitement and anticipation passed through her. Everything she hadn’t dare dream about was coming to pass. Every risk she’d taken had been worth it.
“Well, concubine, are you hungry?”
She nodded.
He went off to the kitchens, leaving her in the room alone. She
closed her eyes, tried to calm herself. She could not show too much joy. She had to be measured. She could sense no evil in Constantine’s intentions, but there were others who were involved in this situation who would take his decision badly.
Constantine returned with two elderly male slaves. They carried a pot of steaming stew and bowls. They didn't appear to notice her. She knew the slaves would tell about her, but she didn't care, she was famished. The stew was lamb flavored with apricots and masses of tiny onions.
Constantine waved them away and served her a bowl of stew. She devoured it, as well as a good number of the thick bread squares the slaves had brought.
“Lovemaking is good for your appetite, I see,” he said.
She glanced up at him, then back at the floor. She'd become anxious again, wondering what he would say when he found out she was pregnant. She'd heard that most men discard slave women soon after they heard such news.
“That'll auger well for our children, if we ever have any.”
She stopped eating.
He laughed, as if that was some distant prospect.
She didn't dare look at him. Did he know? She waited until he spoke of something else, then set aside the remainder of her food.
What would it really mean to be his wife? All she had was a vague idea. She should have thought about it. There would be much more to being with him than she’d imagined. All she’d done was dream about being with him, being free, getting up whenever she desired and, especially, eating whenever she felt like it.
It felt as if she was at the edge of a dark forest. Her future would be very different. It was so much more than she’d hoped for even weeks before. But there were still things that could stop it all happening. First, she had to tell him about Sybellina. She put her goblet down.
“Sybellina tried to murder me.”
Constantine sat up in his chair opposite her. “What happened?” His face was a picture of wide-eyed concern.
“It started when she asked me to tell her about your dreams. Do you remember, I read a dream of yours once? She didn't like it when I refused. She blames me for other things too.” Her voice trailed away.
“What things?”
Juliana hesitated, but knowing it could all come out in a letter from Sybellina, she pressed on. “She believes I stole her magic charm.”
“You didn't steal it, did you?” He looked intently at her.
She opened her mouth. No words came out. She was aware her hesitation had already answered his question. His expression was changing to concern. She had to tell him everything quickly. She brushed away a strand of hair at the side of her face. She had a sinking feeling that all she'd gained could now be lost.
She shrugged. “I threw away a stinking lump of flesh I found in a casket in her room.” She curled her lip in a mockery of disgust. “It had been doused in perfumes and it stank. I went to the river in Londinium, and threw it in. It was horrible. I vomited afterwards. It was a heart. A human heart given to her by the governor of Massilia, I think. His slaves told me awful tales of young girls going missing there, of human sacrifices, virgin's entrails being studied to foretell the future, hearts being used as love charms. It sounds too awful to repeat, but when I found that thing in her room, I knew those tales had been true. If you'd seen it, you'd have done the same. Such charms are abominations.” She stuck her chin out.
“I agree,” said Constantine. He held a hand toward her.
She ignored it.
“How did she try to harm you?”
“She poisoned me. She was going to sacrifice me, I'm sure. At dawn, most likely. My heart would replace her love charm.”
A look of horror appeared on his face.
“She's well capable of it, you know. It was she who suggested Tiny castrate himself. She drank his blood too, before he did it. And she's having secret trysts with your father.”
“I should have guessed she has strange appetites. I’ve heard stories about priestesses in Rome drinking the blood of young men to rejuvenate themselves.” He made a growling noise, like an angry bear. “How did you get away from her?”
She told him about waking, listening to Sybellina's ranting, making her escape. She said nothing about Tiresias.
“You’re brave.” They hugged. It felt good to be in his arms. She could feel the muscles across his shoulders shifting as he held her tight. “You’ll be safe now, Juliana.”
“There’s something else I must tell you,” she said quickly, stepping back. “But first, I have a small gift for you.” She took the two snakeskin bracelets from her pocket. She wound one around his wrist, the other round her own. She muttered a prayer. “Please, for me, wear this always.”
“Now you’re the one weaving a spell,” he said playfully.
“All it means is that I'm close to you, wherever you are. Please promise me you'll wear it always.”
He looked at her solemnly then nodded, kissed her on the cheek.
“So, what’s this other thing?”
She told him that the emperor had agreed that Fausta would marry Delmatius, Constantine’s half-brother, as soon as the boy came of age, to prepare him for becoming Caesar after his father.
“That makes our empress a two-faced bitch!” he said, vehemently. “She told me Sybellina would go back to Rome empty handed. She's gone too far with her scheming. She's trying to cut me from the succession, I know it. Soon she'll measure the cord to fit around my neck.” He raised a fist.
“She'll not do it to me, Juliana. I’ll be emperor long before her son. It's been foretold. She will not take what’s mine.” He slammed his fist forward, as if he wanted to punch someone.
That was when she told him that Lucius would meet him in Eboracum if he decided to confront his father.
“Lucius said you should demand your rights, appeal your father’s decision.”
He looked weary, his face grim. He stared straight past her.
“Delmatius is ten years old, Juliana. I can hear the sneers of her courtiers already.” She didn't know what to say.
“I will tell Helena, my mother, about your news. Wait here. I'll be back soon.”
LXIII
Treveris, Northern Gaul, 306 A.D.
When he told Helena what had happened she was furious. All her hopes, her position, and her livelihood were bound to his fate. Without him she could be cut off from the imperial household at a moment’s notice. But there was more than bed and board at stake, whole families had lost their lives because they were close relatives of a losing contender for the imperial succession.
“Your father knows what will happen if he dies with multiple successors,” said Helena, turning away from Constantine and returning to the embroidery she was working on. “Civil war is what will happen. Why should you stand aside while that ugly brat takes what belongs to you, what belongs to us? I'll not wait for favors from that ice-veined monster. You must fight for your place.” She took a breath.
“She knows you are the rightful heir, the eldest, but she won't accept that your rule has been prophesized. She only thinks of her runt. This is the struggle that was foreseen. You must win. You must find a way to defeat her. Otherwise we are all doomed, believe me. Come, come with me.” Helena spoke softly now, looking around like an animal in fear of the baying hunt just within earshot.
She led him out into the tiny walled courtyard of her villa, and spoke in a whisper, one hand entwined like ivy through his arm.
“You will confront him with justice on your side. If you are weak, as soon as your half-brother comes of age, they will destroy us all. We must destroy them first.” She trembled with impotent rage and looked at him from the corner of her eye, as if searching for some sign that her frustration would be assuaged.
He'd heard her like this before, although her conviction had a note of intensity this time that he’d never previously seen. It made him uncomfortable to see his mother this way. He should have known how she'd react to the news.
They sat side by side on
a marble bench in the garden. The air was scented from the roses that clung to the brick wall behind them. The roses clung in pink drifts around his mother's head as she stared at him.
“Your little slave girl came with the news, didn't she?” she said, as if she'd suddenly remembered Juliana.
“Juliana should never have been a slave, Mother. She's a descendant of Queen Arell, from royal lineage, from Britannia.”
His mother sniffed incredulously.
“Her father's a free man. As a spoil of war, her freedom can be granted with no stain on her character. I want her as my wife, and I need your permission.”
Her eyebrows rose further. “You want my blessing.” She spat out the word, then turned away from him.
“You know if you take this girl as your wife, you'll be placing her life in danger too?” She looked at him. He nodded.
She began to smooth out some invisible creases in the pale blue wool robe that went all the way to her ankles. Her tone grew softer when she spoke again.
“If you succeed in changing your father's stupid decision about Delmatius, I'll bless your union with this slave girl, otherwise…” Her smile broadened. “No, I will not.” She stood and looked down at him.
“I'd assumed the reason your father publicly adopted another as his successor was because you were a hostage at the time. I assumed he'd reinstate you to your rightful place as soon as you were released. Now, I see Theodora will not allow him to do this. Well, she must be stopped. She fights nature itself. The one god trusted his first born to do his work here on earth, didn't he?”
Constantine nodded.
“Why shouldn't you be emperor? You’ve earned it by your birthright and by surviving all that has been thrown at you.” She looked stern, like sculpted marble. “I pray you're strong enough to do what is necessary, Constantine, that's all, otherwise we'll all end up in a sack in the river.” A shudder ran through her.
Constantine stood.
“It'll not come to that, Mother. I'm sure I can persuade Father to change his mind.” He sounded more confident than he felt, but he had no choice now. This was his road.
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