by Bryan Litfin
Still wearing a mischievous smile, Rex rose to his feet. He stretched his long arms and yawned. “It’s gotten late,” he said, glancing up at the moon. “I want to get moving at first light tomorrow. We’d better get some sleep.” He bent to the ground and pitched one of the woolen cloaks to Flavia. “Our cozy campsite has warmed up now, but you’re going to want that when the coals die down.”
Flavia wrapped herself in the cloak and curled up in the sand beside the campfire. The boulders at her back reflected some of its heat; but more importantly, the rocks gave her a sense of shelter from whatever might be lurking in the woods. She stared at the flames for a long time, glancing across them occasionally at Rex, who had rolled the other way. Bundled there in his gray cloak, he looked like one of the boulders that made up the circle—except this boulder was breathing steadily and even snoring a little. Flavia stared at Rex’s broad shoulders as they rose and fell. Who is this protector of mine? she wondered. And why did he risk his life to save me?
The campfire popped, sending up a pair of swirling sparks.
Maybe he really is my barbarian lover come down from the wild north.
The fleeting speculation was, Flavia had to admit, an exciting thought. She was still imagining its possibilities when sleep claimed her beneath a Roman moon.
Frost was on Rex’s shoulders when he awoke in the gray light of dawn. A heavy overcast had rolled in, the kind of October sky that might spit rain all day or could just as easily give way to sunshine. Regardless, the air was noticeably chillier than yesterday, and Rex silently thanked the honorable smugglers for the hooded cloaks.
After stirring and blowing on the embers, he was able to rouse the campfire without waking Flavia. He pushed the little vial of olive oil into the coals, then cut the loaf of bread and began broiling the pieces on a stick. By the time Flavia awoke, he had prepared enough toast slathered in hot oil to make a suitable breakfast, which the pair washed down with cold, clear water from the stream.
“Do we have a full day’s ride?” Flavia asked as they mounted the horse, one behind the other, both clad in their cloaks to ward off the chill.
Rex kicked his heels against his mount’s flanks and moved out. “If we could go straight to Tibur, it wouldn’t take all day. But we’re outlaws. We have some complications. Last night we rode north from the Aqua Marcia to intercept the Tiburtinian Way. I think it’s just ahead of us now. We could turn right when we hit it and be in Tibur by noon, even with two of us in the saddle.”
“I don’t like the idea of being seen on a busy road.”
“Yes, that’s the complication I was talking about. We’re not actually very far from the Tiburtina Gate where we were running around yesterday, evading soldiers and making a big scene. Some of the people who saw us could be on the road. The Praetorians will certainly be on the lookout. We’re pretty conspicuous—a long-haired barbarian and an Italian girl riding double on a horse. So our real problem is avoiding recognition. Underneath our cloaks, we’re still wearing the same garments we had on yesterday.”
“I never had time to buy that tunic,” Flavia said sheepishly. “I was too busy staying out of the brothel! But at least I didn’t spend your argenteus. Remind me to give it back to you when we dismount. It’s hidden in the hem of my dress.”
“Good. That silver coin is all we have left. I spent a month’s salary when I put that solidus in the greedy hand of the Businessman.”
There was a pause, then Rex felt Flavia’s arms tighten around his chest as she gave him an affectionate squeeze from behind. “Thank you for doing that, Rex. When something needs doing, you just do it without hesitation. My father will certainly pay you back for that noble deed.”
“I hope he does. It was a lot of money. But even if not, I still would have done it.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Rex chuckled and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t be too impressed. A month’s salary is a small price to pay for saving my neck and escaping those Praetorians.”
“Hey! Your neck? What about mine? How much is my life worth?” Flavia teased.
“At least a nummus or two,” Rex replied good-naturedly.
Flavia tsked at the mention of the common bronze coin and gave Rex a swat on the shoulder. He laughed along with her playful rebuke.
The pair lapsed into silence as they followed a muddy trail, its footing made even sloppier by the hooves of some wild boar that had been foraging in the night. After rounding a bend, Rex spotted a cottage off to one side in the forest. “This could be an opportunity,” he said.
“Or trouble.”
“That’s true. Let’s go find out which it is.”
The travelers dismounted and approached the home through the dense shrubbery. Rex left Flavia in a thicket and snuck to the henhouse. After opening the door, he went around back and gave the flimsy structure a hard shake. The chickens burst from their roosts and began to flutter and cluck around the cottage’s yard. Rex and Flavia hunched low in the bushes as they heard cursing from inside the home.
A man came out, and Rex could see immediately that he was harmless. He was an older fellow, gaunt and wiry like so many peasants who work hard but still manage to eat only a little. Though he hurried around as best he could, trying to corral his chickens and get them back into the coop, the birds weren’t having any of it.
“Call out to him,” Rex whispered. “A woman will be less threatening than a tall stranger appearing out of the forest.”
Flavia hailed the man, who immediately straightened from his chicken chase and scanned the underbrush. “Show yourself,” he ordered.
After stepping forward, Flavia approached slowly. “My friend and I need help,” she said. “We could use a little food, and maybe some clothing. We can pay.”
“Who’s your friend?” the old man asked warily.
“A German from the north, come to Rome to seek his fortune in the army. He’s gentle with friends and doesn’t want any trouble.”
The man sighed. “I’ll never have it be said that I didn’t feed a guest who showed up at my doorstep. Come in, and I’ll pour some hot wine. As for clothes, my wife died a year ago, and I sold whatever she had. But maybe I can find something for your friend.”
However, when Rex emerged from the trees, the man burst into laughter. “I’m not going to have any clothes that size,” he exclaimed, casting down his eyes at his own average frame, then gesturing toward Rex. “He’s twice my height!”
Inside the cottage, the man introduced himself as Uranio, a former shoemaker who now lived a solitary life of retirement. Rex returned his host’s introduction without using his full name, and he also made sure to use the simple cognomen “Flavia” instead of “Lady Junia,” which would have indicated her noble status. It helps that she doesn’t look like a rich girl right now, he thought, studying Flavia as she chatted with Uranio. A strange question suddenly occurred to him: I wonder if makeup and perfumes and aristocratic finery would make her prettier? Rex had never seen Flavia dressed up, yet he didn’t think it would matter too much. Though she was as unkempt as any commoner right now, she possessed such natural beauty that even when she was grubby, she wasn’t unattractive. It only gave her a different sort of allure—wilder and more primal. She even had a certain smell that he found enthralling. Rex decided he liked her just fine the way she was.
Uranio turned to the big stone hearth and swung an iron kettle from the flames. Holding it in a cloth, he poured three cups of spiced wine. “That should stoke your inner fires,” he said with a wink.
Rex reached for one of the cups and raised it. “Health to you,” he said. The others returned the toast, then the three drinkers carefully put their hot cups to their lips. As Rex sipped his wine, a plan began to form in his mind. He decided to tell Uranio he was on his way to Rome with his “girlfriend” from Verona, but they were low on funds. That last part was true enough. The main thing they needed now was money—enough cash to buy food for a few days—and some new clot
hes, and lodging in Tibur until the situation at Flavia’s family estate could be determined. Once she was safely hidden there and her father was notified, Rex would take his leave and make his way back to Rome. Of course, that would mean facing his centurion’s wrath; but since that was a dilemma for another day, he pushed it from his mind. Rex’s main problem now was how to get some spendable funds without revealing the real situation.
It was Uranio who suggested the deal that Rex had already been considering. “That’s a mighty nice mare you got out there,” the old man said, tossing his head toward the cottage door. “She’s good for riding and could pull a cart too. Where’d you get her?”
Rex waved his hand nonchalantly. “You interested in buying?” he asked, deflecting the delicate question of ownership with a question of his own.
“Could be, if the price was right.”
“I might make you a good deal. We need some coins for buying clothes, since you have nothing like that to sell.”
“Ha! I truly don’t. My tunic would be much too short on you, German. You’d be revealing more than you should to your cute little girlfriend!” Uranio punctuated his bawdy assertion with a booming laugh.
“Oh my,” Flavia murmured. She glanced away and raised her hand to cover the embarrassed smile that turned up the corners of her lips.
Rex ignored the joke and stroked his beard as if he were mulling a sale, though in truth he had already decided to go through with it. “Well,” he reasoned, “the price of a horse would certainly buy us all the clothing we need, with plenty left over for other necessities.”
“Such as a bath,” Uranio added forcefully. “You two are a mess.”
Rex turned to Flavia and subtly winked at her so she would know to play along. “The man thinks we’re dirty, sweetheart. It looks like we’re in for a good scraping, a haircut, and some new clothes. It sounds like a refreshing kind of day.”
“That’s very nice, my turtledove,” Flavia replied, assuming her role. “But we’d be on foot from now on.”
“Not a problem, dear. It’s a nice day for a walk.”
Flavia shrugged and nodded to indicate her agreement. Turning back to Uranio, Rex offered him a broad grin. “Give us a hundred large silver pieces and you’ve got yourself a deal, my friend.”
“Agreed! I’ll get my moneybag while you put the horse in my barn.”
“How far of a walk is it to Tibur?” Flavia asked.
Rex spoke up before Uranio could answer. “Remember, sweet honeybee, we changed our plans. We’re headed into the city for our bath and shopping.”
“Oh, that’s right, lovebird,” Flavia said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry.”
“How far is it to the Tiburtina Gate?” Rex inquired of his host, though he knew it was about five miles away, and it was the last place he wanted to go.
“Five miles,” Uranio said. “Turn left when you hit the road. You’ll be in the caldarium before the sun has reached the top of the sky.”
Flavia sighed deeply. “That sounds lovely! I’ve always wanted to visit Rome. I can’t wait to see it.”
Uranio gave the couple a look of stern, fatherly wisdom. “Listen, you kids should watch your step there. You’re inexperienced. Rome can be a rough place.”
The remark caused Rex and Flavia to exchange another quick glance, each suppressing a smile as they communicated solely with their eyes. Flavia reached across the table and grasped Rex’s hand, interlocking her fingers with his. “My boyfriend is a strong protector,” she said in a shy voice. “We’ll be fine in the big city.”
“Above all, make sure you steer clear of the Praetorians,” Uranio advised. “Maxentius is turning into a real dictator, and those soldiers of his are running loose in the streets.”
Rex grimaced and nodded. “So we’ve heard. Something definitely needs to be done about that.”
“Don’t count on it, young fellow. Nothing ever changes in Rome.”
“Sometimes it does,” Rex said. “Just wait and see.”
The home of Bishop Miltiades was a refuge that Sophronia had been seeking often in the days since Flavia had been taken away to prison. At first it was desperate worry that had driven her to the comforting words of the godliest man she knew. Sophronia had prayed with him not only on the day of the arrest but many times subsequently, right here in the atrium that served as his reception room. The skylight let in the sunshine of the Creator, a bubbling fountain added a tranquil reminder of the Spirit’s outpouring, and a niche in the wall held the books of the Old Testament, beautifully written on fine vellum. The atrium was the perfect place to lift holy hands in prayer.
And prayer is what I need most, Sophronia reminded herself as she awaited the bishop’s arrival.
Strange rumors about Flavia’s whereabouts were flying among the Christians, rumors that ran from morbid despair to euphoric hope of a miraculous escape. What seemed certain was that some kind of trial had been conducted. A highly placed witness had seen her hauled into the Senate House for a bogus inquisition. From there, the reports conflicted. Some people spoke in hushed tones of prolonged tortures in the dungeon, followed by the relief of strangulation. A more hopeful group was saying Flavia had been spirited out of prison like Saint Peter in the Acts of the Apostles. Still others believed she had escaped into the House of the Vestals, where the virgins were hiding her because they respected her Christian devotion to chastity. There was even a rumor that Flavia had been thrown to the wild animals in the amphitheater, and as a fierce dragon was about to devour her, a golden angel of God had descended to whisk her away. Many were calling Flavia a new Saint Thecla—a beautiful virgin rescued from the jaws of the beasts just when her doom seemed certain. It all made for exciting gossip and thrilling stories. But what the protagonist’s mother wanted most were some cold, hard facts.
When the bishop finally entered the atrium, he immediately came to Sophronia and greeted her with the holy kiss. The pair took seats next to the fountain, where she began to press him for any new information that the Roman Christians might have heard about Flavia. Unfortunately, Pope Miltiades had nothing substantial to disclose. A certain believer at the House of Byzans on the Scaurus Rise had reported a commotion yesterday that some were saying involved Flavia, but the report was doubtful because it also involved a strange Germanic warrior with flaxen hair and shoulders like an ox. Separating fact from fiction was proving extremely difficult.
“I know your fears for your daughter’s safety are taking a great toll on you,” Miltiades said, his deep voice resonant and soothing. “In many ways, the burden is greater on parents who have to watch their children suffer than on the children themselves. How is our brother Neratius holding up?”
Neratius. Lord God . . . where do I begin?
Sophronia took a deep breath and collected her thoughts before speaking. “My husband is—well, how should I say it? He is extremely preoccupied with the politics of all this. He knows the Praetorian prefect is behind the arrest, and he believes that man is somehow making a direct assault on him. Neratius feels that if he does not defend himself against Pompeianus at all times, his enemy will sweep him away like a wave of the sea. And now is no time to get on Maxentius’s bad side! People are saying the emperor is starting to descend into madness. One wrong move, and Neratius will find himself cast from office, maybe even executed. Needless to say, my husband has been so busy fighting for his career, he has had little time to mourn his daughter’s absence.”
“Yet surely he cares for Lady Junia—his only child?”
“Oh, yes, he does care,” Sophronia agreed with a sigh. “But you know how senators can be about their daughters. Sometimes girls are a hindrance to a wealthy family. Their big dowries dilute the estate, and they don’t go on to form prestigious careers that enhance the clan’s name. Daughters are useful for making alliances through marriage, but not much else. At least that’s how many upper-class fathers see things.”
Miltiades stared at the g
round, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend the strange family dynamics. At last he said, “I’ve heard that sort of thing, but as a Christian, I would imagine Neratius’s outlook would differ from unbelievers. Have you found him to be lax in his duty to protect his daughter from harm?”
The bishop’s simple question, intended only to clarify matters, hit Sophronia like a wagonload of bricks.
Yes, she realized with a wrenching pain in her gut. Yes, that is exactly right! I’ve been trying to deny it—but it’s true. My husband is standing by idly as he lets our daughter die!
Now that the awful truth had become apparent, Sophronia found she could no longer hold back the deep waters of her sorrow. Like a dam finally breaking, the hidden ache of her heart came spilling out, and she burst into tears.
The kindly bishop signaled for a deacon to fetch a kerchief. The man returned quickly and gave it to Miltiades, who handed it to Sophronia. She took it gratefully, embarrassed that her tears had grown so abundant. She could feel them trickle down her cheeks, each one a bitter reminder that Flavia was gone—who knew where?—and the one man who should be defending her was more concerned about his political aspirations than fighting for his family. It was too much to bear. Sophronia’s shoulders began to shake as she finally acknowledged her grief. For a long time she wept in the quiet atrium, a woman vulnerable and unprotected in a world full of malice.
The bishop did not attempt to intervene, nor did he admonish Sophronia for crying. He simply waited until she had collected herself and was ready to speak again. She started to apologize for the outburst, but when she looked into her pastor’s face, she realized it would be wrong to express such remorse. Miltiades’s eyes were glistening too, for he was grieving along with her. Clearly, he didn’t consider Sophronia’s sorrow a thing for which she must beg pardon. It was what people did in moments of great pain. This long-time shepherd of souls knew it well and accepted it as deeply human.