by Debra Diaz
“And the elusive Alysia at that. Quite a triumph for you, I’m sure!”
“What,” Paulus said, his posture relaxed but with an unpleasant glint in his eyes, “are you doing here?”
“I’ve been visiting my father, if it’s any of your business, and as I was leaving I heard voices, not to mention other strangely muffled sounds. And being the stalwart soul that I am, came to investigate. For all I knew it could have been—” he paused and grinned wickedly “—a slave rebellion.”
He stepped into the room and sat down casually on a chair. “But Alysia doesn’t seem very inclined toward rebellion tonight, does she, Paulus?”
“What do you want, Lucius?”
“Alysia, my poor innocent.” Lucius ignored his stepbrother and leaned back in the chair, laughing softly. “It really wouldn’t be wise to give yourself to Paulus. He has a certain reputation with women, or haven’t you heard? It’s hardly one of lasting commitment. What will you do when you’re as fat as Calista and he begins to look elsewhere for his pleasure? Well, I suppose you are too young to be wise.”
Alysia felt her temper rising with his baiting words. She had long carried in her head a tidy speech for Lucius, and ignoring Paulus’ warning look, she unburdened herself of it.
“Here is a word of wisdom for you, Tribune,” she said, her voice low but fierce, her chin held high. “You are a vain and cowardly man, accepting a title you don’t deserve and doing nothing to make yourself worthy. You are envious of your stepbrother, because even your own father has more respect for him than for you.”
Lucius came slowly to his feet, his face white. “You will regret, Paulus, that you have allowed this slave to speak in this manner.”
Paulus took a step forward. “Take heed, Lucius. I’ve told you before you’re never to take matters concerning Alysia into your own hands.”
Lucius replied, without looking at Alysia. “Guard her well, then, and keep her from my sight. This is no idle threat. She will pay for what she has done.”
“And this is no idle warning. Her master alone has the authority to punish her.”
“You are not her master—yet.” Lucius turned on his heel and stalked out. They heard the front door open and close with a bang.
Paulus looked at Alysia with exasperation. “I wish you hadn’t made an open enemy of Lucius. He’ll never forgive you for that, or forget it.”
“I couldn’t help it. He is insufferable!”
“You must control your temper, Alysia. This is no game of wits. He will find a way to avenge himself, mark my words.”
“What can he do, when you are my protector?”
“You have too much faith in me, and too little experience with a mind like his.” He seemed to think for a moment. “I’m sailing for Cyprus on a business matter tomorrow afternoon. I have a farm there. I think you’d better come with me—that is, if you wish to. Even if you haven’t yet made your decision.”
Taken by surprise, she didn’t know what to say. Instead of answering, she asked, “What about Megara?”
“Ours was an arranged marriage, Alysia. If it were otherwise…” He shrugged a little and said, “I can assure you, she doesn’t care.”
Another moment of silence went by, and she made up her mind. Better a mistress than a slave, she thought. She felt strangely detached, as though this scene in a dimly lit room had merged into the dream her life had become.
“I will go with you to Cyprus, my lord.”
“My name,” he said, “is Paulus.”
“Paulus,” she repeated, and smiled at him. “Paulus Maximus.”
He looked into her eyes and slowly returned the smile. “I’ll come for you in the morning. I’ll explain things to Selena.”
“Yes.”
“Goodnight, Alysia.”
He walked past her, pausing to look quizzically into her eyes, but he didn’t speak or try to touch her, and left the house. Alysia sat down abruptly, her legs weak.
What had she done? She, the pampered daughter, the proud Athenian, who had never met a man she wished to marry…to be a kept woman! Free, but not really free. It was still slavery, wasn’t it, of a different kind. Slavery to a man who stirred her emotions as no one else ever had, a man she should hate and despise simply because he was a Roman. But, she reasoned, his had not been the hand that slew her father. Nor had his been the command to order her father’s slaying.
Slowly she pulled herself up to walk to her tiny room. What would tomorrow hold, she wondered. Tomorrow night? The only thing she was sure of was that she would no longer be bored.
* * * *
“I don’t know how you could have embarrassed me so!”
Selena pouted as Alysia painstakingly combed and pinned her owner’s golden hair. Despite the lessons she had had from one of the best hairdressers in the city, Alysia had not become quite proficient. Selena went on, “I waited for you, and when you never came I had to tell everyone I sent you home because you were ill.”
Alysia said nothing, increasing her owner’s vexation. Her mind was on other matters; she’d spent some time before Selena woke packing her clothes into a drawstring bag she’d found in a storage closet, and every time she heard a door open somewhere she thought it might be Paulus. She had dressed carefully in a lavender gown, and her raven black braid fell smoothly to her hips. She didn’t know that her cheeks were rosy with excitement and that her eyes shone like crystals.
“What’s the matter with you?” Selena asked. “What did Paulus say to you last night?”
Alysia hesitated. “He—I— he said he wanted to tell you about it.”
“He wants to make you his mistress, doesn’t he?”
Alysia dropped a comb with a clatter and bent quickly to retrieve it. “Yes.”
“Yes,” Selena repeated, stretching out her arm and looking at her fingernails. “He’ll find someone else for me, of course. It’s just as well. I don’t think you and I were going to be friends. Oh, do brush that out, Alysia, and start over.”
Alysia felt a twinge of resentment, but she knew Selena was right. She had rebuffed any overtures of friendship; she wondered if she would ever be able to open herself to friendship again.
“Megara will hate you. I’ve never understood Megara; she doesn’t care a whit for anyone but she’s terribly jealous. And you are very fortunate, Alysia. Many women have desired to be in your place. Paulus has always been quite discreet—and discriminating. People talk, though. There are no secrets in Rome, not really. You will do well to remember that.”
Alysia stared at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“You have no idea what all this means, have you? You will not only be his lover but his confidant—he may tell you things that you must never repeat to others. You may get to know a large circle of people, but you cannot ever be one of them. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“That I mustn’t forget that I’m nothing but a freed slave?” Alysia’s teeth clamped together and she slammed a drawer with unnecessary vehemence.
Selena shrugged. “Still, you are fortunate, and don’t seem to know it. We’ve given you everything—every opportunity to make something of yourself—”
“Given me everything! You have taken everything!” Alysia felt tears of rage stinging her eyes and she flung the brush she was holding onto the dressing table, causing Selena to jump and stare at her in astonishment; a stray tendril of blonde hair fell from the mass piled on top of her head and dangled over her face.
Alysia flounced from the room, the hot tears blinding her. Why couldn’t people leave her alone and stop telling her how grateful she ought to be? Complacent in their wealth and secure in Paulus’ high position, they could have no conception of what she had endured!
She ran down the hallway to the stairs, then to the portico seeking the peaceful, symmetrical beauty of the courtyard, seeking solitude and fresh air—and ran directly into the presence of Lucius and Magnus.
CHAPTER VI
Bo
th saw her at the same time.
Obviously having just returned from some late-night revelry, Lucius lounged unsteadily against a marble bench, a large cup swinging from his hand. Magnus crouched on the ground in illustration of a ribald story; they were laughing uproariously. Magnus, with surprising dexterity, leaped up and grabbed her arm, preventing her retreat.
“Look who has come to greet me,” he called out to Lucius. “She seems in a great hurry—I believe she’s missed me.”
Alysia looked hastily behind her to see who might come to her aid, but saw only Nerva’s head poking out of the kitchen; it withdraw at once.
Magnus flung her toward Lucius, who rose and caught her against his hard body and stared into her eyes with a look of hatred. He pushed her back at Magnus. Her attempts to flee were constantly thwarted, and their roughness was leaving red streaks on her arms. She tried to call for help but each push knocked the breath from her lungs and she couldn’t find her voice.
Then Magnus’ face changed, became mean and lustful, intent on a single purpose. He tried to force her away from the courtyard and toward the stable. Alysia braced her arms against him in an attempt to hold him back, but in spite of his thin frame he was strong and agile.
Desperate, her fleeting gaze fell on Lucius’ sword, where he had carelessly dropped it on the pavement. At the same moment, Magnus got one leg behind her and caused her to fall to the ground. She managed to wriggle far enough away to grasp the sword, only to find it too heavy to lift from her prone position. In a slurred voice Lucius called out a warning, and when Magnus turned to glance at him Alysia pushed him away and scrambled to her feet. She lifted the sword with both hands and held it out before her.
“I’ll kill you!” she cried, struggling to catch her breath. “If you don’t stop, I swear I will kill you!”
Magnus laughed and lunged toward her. He must have expected her to either drop the sword or back away; when she did neither it was too late to halt the impetus with which he’d launched himself. Alysia felt a strange, grinding sensation as the blade pierced Magnus’ chest and, sickened, she released it at once. The heavy end pulled downward and the sword clattered to the pavement.
Her attacker made an odd, groaning sound and slowly dropped to his knees. He swayed back and forth, then fell with a fearful thud, his head twisted to the side. “She’s slain me,” he said, with a look of great astonishment. All at once his eyes became staring and empty and he did not move again.
“Now you’ve done it!” Lucius shouted. Somehow he’d held onto his cup during the entire spectacle and now he hurled it in fury across the courtyard. “Murderer!”
Alysia heard running footsteps and whirled, half expecting to be killed on the spot. Paulus stood there, taking in the scene with one sweeping look…her disheveled appearance, Magnus staring upward with a fixed expression of stunned disbelief.
“Your slave killed him!” Lucius roared, but underneath his rage there was something very like smugness. “She murdered him!”
Alysia, panting, looked up to see Paulus’ cold gaze full upon her.
“This time you have gone too far,” he said, in a tone that sent a shiver through her body. “Punishment is out of my hands.”
He took her arm, leading her back into the house, almost lifting her with his strength. Once inside, Alysia wrenched away and faced him. “You must believe me! He was going to—”
Paulus’ manner had changed abruptly; she had never seen him with his brow furrowed this way and his eyes filled with a deep anxiety. “Do you realize what you’ve done? They’ll tear you to pieces—Lucius was a witness and he’ll never let this go. You must leave Rome at once.”
“Leave—but where—how—”
Pushing her toward the front of the house, he said swiftly, “The ship I chartered is waiting in port. I’ll send a letter bidding them leave at once. Omari will take you to the ship.”
“Please, I must explain—”
“I know what he was about to do. I don’t blame you for killing him. Now go and get your clothes. Hurry!”
She flew down the hall and up the stairs, thankful to find that Selena had left the room…probably to complain to her mother about Alysia’s behavior. She grabbed the bag she had already packed, thrust a few more things into it, and when she emerged from the room Paulus stood waiting for her, holding a purse tight with coins. He led her toward one of the side doors of the house. A horrified scream came from the courtyard, followed by Lucius’ loud proclamation of Alysia’s guilt. His voice drew nearer as he sought them. They heard a door opening and Selena’s anxious voice questioning him.
“Here is some money,” Paulus said, pressing the bag of coins into her free hand. “Find an inn and stay there. I’ll come for you.”
The silent Egyptian appeared and stood waiting.
“Go now. He knows where the ship is docked. Here’s the letter for the captain—Omari will explain to him. I’ll come as soon as this can be settled.”
“They’ll blame you, I can’t go—” she began.
“You’re as good as dead if you stay.” He gave her a none too gentle push. “Go!”
He watched them until they had rounded the corner of the long drive and disappeared. Then he went inside to confront Lucius and to prevent him, bodily if necessary, from following.
* * * *
The shores of Italy were miles behind them and the island of Crete had been sighted. Alysia sat alone in the cramped cabin reserved for Paulus, her thoughts going round and round as if they were horses on a track from which there was no exit. In all her exhausted reasoning she could feel no remorse for killing Magnus. It was all a blur in her mind, in spite of the fact that each moment had, at the time, held acute clarity so that the very sharpness of images and impressions had seemed to slow time. But looking back, it seemed that everything happened all at once and she only vaguely remembered it. Her concern now was for Paulus and how he was to explain the fact that his slave had killed a man and mysteriously disappeared under his very nose.
Omari had whisked her to a wharf on the Tiber in a two-passenger van he had rented in the forum, complete with a gaunt but very fast horse. He had stayed with her among the warehouses and dock workers until the captain of the ship could be found. The captain read Paulus’ letter and looked Alysia over with a frown.
“This is rather unusual,” he muttered. “Although this is the legate’s seal.”
“If you will permit me to speak,” Omari said, “I am the servant of the legate’s mother. This young woman is going to his estate as a guest of his mother.”
“Ah.” The captain’s eyes took on a faint gleam. “I see.” He all but snorted with what he considered a worldly understanding of the situation.
Omari seemed apologetic as he bade her goodbye, adding in his deep, accented voice, “May the gods grant you good fortune.”
“Thank you, Omari,” she said, almost in tears of gratitude as she boarded the ship.
She stayed to herself in the cabin, rarely venturing onto the deck. She had plenty of time to think. What would her life be like once Paulus came for her? What if he didn’t come for her? She hadn’t committed murder when he made his proposal! And if he did still want her, he’d have to keep her in hiding, wouldn’t he?
Everything was different now. Even with all his authority, Paulus couldn’t change or deny the fact that she, a slave, had killed a Roman citizen, an aristocrat, the son of a senator. No one would care why she had done it, and Lucius would no doubt lie…he could say that Alysia had deliberately and maliciously attacked Magnus while he was sitting there minding his own business.
Yes, Paulus would have to hide her away. And what would happen as she grew older and he grew tired of hiding her…would he then desert her and find someone else? What if she had a baby? Would he welcome a child? The child would be in danger, too.
What was to become of her?
Round and round, round and round…At first the exit was glimpsed as from a great distance. The close
r she drew to it the more she recoiled, but it was the only way off this mental track that went nowhere. She must not go to Cyprus. Even if she felt assured that their life together would be happy (which she didn’t) she could not put Paulus in danger. And if he were found with her the authorities would know that he had helped her escape.
She thought, with a strange sadness, that any relationship they might have had was doomed from the beginning: she hated Rome; he was a Roman. He was an aristocrat; she was a slave. His feelings for her were based on physical desire; hers were…what? She didn’t understand her feelings. She only knew that they were deep and powerful and she had no control over them.
I must not go to Cyprus.
Paulus had been generous; he had given her enough money to live on for months. She would go somewhere and hire herself out as a servant, or even as a laborer in the fields. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered, except that Paulus must never find her.
The thought of freedom should fill her with relief, shouldn’t it? She should be happy that she need never see him again…need never have her heart quicken and her hands tremble in his presence. But she was neither relieved nor happy; she felt as if a large rock had settled in the pit of her stomach.
After another night spent in sleepless twisting and turning, the need for fresh air sent her onto the deck. The sea was dark and stretched far and away until somewhere, indiscernibly, it touched an equally dark sky. Black clouds boiled overhead, split by streaks of lightning and racked by reverberating peals of thunder. A strong, steady wind arose, making the whitecaps rise in the air and lap ominously against the side of the ship. Alysia clung to the wooden railing as men rushed to and fro around her, heaving ropes and shouting at one another. She looked over the side at the tumultuous waves. The wind snatched at her gown and hair, taking her breath away.
The water would do that, she thought, would take her breath away just so, and in a moment she would never have to think of Paulus again, never have to worry or think of anything again…