There was a pause before Phaedo softly said, ‘It’s already more prosperous than in your father’s day, master.’
Vivius bent his head, concentrating on snapping the twig into pieces with short sharp movements while he wondered why, in the name of all the gods, he was thinking about his father? He hadn’t given the man a thought in years.
He stood up slowly, allowing his gaze to drift up the hill towards the old stone farmhouse. The building was half concealed behind the sizeable extension taking place to his own modest villa. The roof of the old farmhouse was sagging, the timber beams rotting, and the shutters were hanging off, leaving it with a neglected and decayed appearance. That was why his father had come to mind, he thought irritably. It was having to make a decision about demolishing a building that had been in the Marcianus family for four generations.
‘Should I demolish it or use it for storage?’
‘The old family farmhouse?’ Phaedo asked, and when Vivius didn’t respond added, ‘You never liked it, did you?’ He paused a beat. ‘Why don’t you demolish it and extend the long shed. If we’re extending the olive grove it makes sense to extend our existing storage facilities.’
Vivius’s gaze drifted over the landscape to the long shed which was exactly one hundred and twenty-six child’s paces from the old farmhouse. He knew that for a fact; he’d paced it often enough when he’d wanted to escape a beating from his father. Inside stood the massive stone wheels that crushed the olives to pulp, the heavy wooden presses, the winter fire which kept the olives at the right temperature and the big clay pots for storing oil. His face softened into a half smile when he remembered how Phaedo used to scold him for hiding in the empty clay pots when he was small in case he got stuck, yet had been quick enough to hide him inside one when his father was drunk and looking to beat him up. His eyes drifted back to the farmhouse.
Strangely enough, it was the smell of the dank earth as he had crouched under the olive trees that came to mind first; the squeaky noise the roof of his mouth had made as he had sucked his thumb; Fabiana, their house slave, standing at the door, her curls blowing in the breeze, her hand provocatively rubbing his father’s thigh; his father bending down from his horse to whisper into her ear; the cold air on his white and flat thumb as he had pulled it out of his mouth.
His father had urged his mount forward. He had leapt from his hiding place. ‘Father! Wait! Wait!’
Reining in his horse his father had waited, the nerve in his jaw twitching impatiently.
‘Don’t go, please don’t go father. Please stay. Fabiana…she beats me when you leave.’
His father had glowered down at him. ‘Nonsense! If Fabiana beats you, you must have done something wrong.’
‘No, no, no. I’m good.’ Vivius had grabbed the horse’s mane. ‘If you go Brutus will leave the slaves quarters and come into the house. He drinks your wine and siphons off your olive oil.’
His heart had sank when he saw the disbelief written all over his father’s face. But then Vivius was used to it. There’d never been any expression of kindness there; at least not since his mother died. Things had changed when she died.
‘Please, Father! Please! Brutus and Fabiana make grunting noises like animals in your bed when you’re away. I’ve seen them…and…and Fabiana says she’ll thrash me if I tell you.’
His father had leant forward, and for one wild moment, Vivius had thought he was going to be swung up on to the horse like when he was little and his mother was alive. But the action was simply to unclench Vivius’s fingers clutching the animal’s mane.
Then he had unhooked his whip.
Even now, as an adult, Vivius winced at the sight of the whip. It had stung his back, flaying his child’s skin but he hadn’t cried out. His father saw crying as a weakness and weakness wasn’t allowed, not in the Marcianus household. His father was a strict disciplinarian to the point of cruelty. He was a soldier and that was his way, Phaedo had once said.
‘Now, move boy.’ His father had turned the whip on his horse’s rump, and the startled animal had lurched sideways knocking Vivius to the ground. His father had ridden off and never even looked back.
Briskly rubbing the bark off his hands, Vivius cleared his throat. ‘Right Phaedo, so extending the long shed, finishing the extension to my villa and demolishing the old farmhouse; those are the building projects. As for the olive grove, you’ll need to clear those rocks from the hillside before you can plant the new trees.’ He looked anxiously at his manager. ‘I hadn’t anticipated being away right now.’
‘I can manage, master. I know what you want.’
‘I should only be away a few weeks but don’t hesitate to hire more slaves if you need them.’
‘And your wedding, master?’
Vivius rubbed his chin, struggling with the image of his betrothed’s hazel eyes brimming with tears, and her pert little chin jutting out as she bore the disappointment of having her wedding postponed.
‘I’ve no option. It’ll have to be postponed,’ he said uneasily. But realising he was bound by the emperor’s demands for secrecy set him another problem. What possible story could he give this woman whom he had known since childhood, and who had an uncanny knack of being able to tell when he was lying. He had loved Aurelia all his life, but she appeared to have grown tired of waiting for him while he furthered his career in the army and travelled the provinces of Rome, and to his astonishment, he had returned to find she had married someone else. A disastrous marriage as he had found out later. Despite coming from a wealthy family in the south, her husband, Julius, had turned out to be a rogue and embezzler, and Vivius wasn’t sorry when he died in Mamertine Prison, even though he left his wife homeless and penniless. This was one reason why he didn’t want to have to lie to Aurelia. or keep her in the dark as that was what her husband had done. Aurelia, he decided as he headed towards his villa, should be protected at all costs – and it was his job to do just that.
* * *
Aurelia knew that if she walked to the end of the street there was the possibility she could catch Vivius on his regular visit to his bookkeeper. A smile crossed her lips at the thought of his surprised expression when he saw her waiting. On the other hand…She grazed her even white teeth over her lower lip, wondering how long she would have to stand in the cold; not too long she hoped, she didn’t want to catch another chill, not on her first trip outside. Rising slowly to her feet she called, ‘Ruth, bring me my cloak.’
Her tall, shapeless slave with a thick black shining plait reaching to her waist, blue-grey eyes the colour of gull’s eggs and a creamy brown complexion drifted gracefully into the living quarters like a swan. She carried two cloaks over her arm.
‘There’s no need for you to accompany me, Ruth.’
‘Are you sure, mistress? You know how poorly…’ Her comments faded as Aurelia firmly took the heavy winter cloak out of her hands.
‘I shall be quite all right,’ she said wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘My chill has almost gone,’ She focused on fastening the clasp to avoid eye contact with the girl, but was annoyed with herself for being so feeble minded that she felt she needed to explain herself to her slave.
Ruth made no comment but Aurelia was aware of her disapproval as, with her usual stiff solemn air, she glided out of the room.
Aurelia crossed the courtyard, and leaning back against the stone wall, closed her eyes and soaked in the lukewarm rays of the sun. It was purely imagination, she knew that, but it seemed to be promising the early arrival of spring—and then…summer. Summer, and her wedding. A smile played across her lips as she listened to the rumble of traffic from the main highway; the clatter of wheels, braying of donkeys and the friendly banter of drivers. She took a deep breath, realising she didn’t even mind the raw stench from the River Tiber today. She loved everything about the city of Rome, everything…except…Her smile wavered. Living in Campus Martius did have it drawbacks. Over a hundred years ago, before the civil war, this marshy stretch
of Rome alongside the river had once been a military training ground and pasture for grazing her great-grandfather’s horses. Now, since the ruling of the Caesars, the marshland had been drained and impressive new buildings were towering above the decrepit, old stone town house. At least she had a roof over her head, she reassured herself. For that at least she should be grateful. But it was the same every winter; the chills, the colds, and the cough that tied her to the four grey walls of the old Suranus town house. It had deprived her of a social life and friends; not that she had much of either these days, she thought sadly. Not since the money had dried up. She had no callers, no one wrote or…
Opening her eyes, she clenched her teeth and took a firm grip on her depressive thoughts. Once she was married to Vivius and living in the fresh clean air of the hills these winter chills would stop, she told herself. As the wife of a well-respected senator she would make new friends, and this awful sense of isolation would be a thing of the past. Married! She could feel her spirits lifting as she meandered down the street. She even found herself having to resist the urge of breaking into a skip. It was being outside again, she thought. It was giving her a sense of belonging to a wider world, making her feel like a normal person again. She lifted her head, trying to recapture some of the former elegance and poise she used to have.
She’d never been beautiful, she knew that, at least not on the outside. Her ears were too high and her eyes spaced too close together, giving her a lively impish look that made people respond with a smile when they met her. Yet she knew she wasn’t unattractive. She was conscious of possessing a warm and ready smile that put people at their ease, and an inner quality that made them feel they were being listened to. And that, she knew, had a magnetic pull of its own, bringing her admiring glances from those who looked beyond the surface.
When she reached the main highway she leant against one of the baker’s warm domed clay ovens on the corner, enjoying the warmth on her body and the smell of baking bread.
She covered her mouth with her kerchief as four slow-moving camels trudged gracefully by leaving an exotic aroma of spices behind them. They were closely followed by two rattling wagons piled high with wool and colourful Spanish cloth. She felt a quiver of excitement at the thought of new dresses for the weeks following her wedding. Money was not to be an issue, Dorio had told her before he had left with the Roman Army cavalry. She must get what she wanted. She gave a half smile. Her brother was a dear, always so generous, letting her live in his house, giving her an allowance and even though he and Vivius had never cared for each other, Dorio would never show it, at least not in front of her.
A line of uncomplaining bowlegged donkeys laden with honey trudged by. On their heels was a wagon containing casks of wine. Aurelia watched the wagon pass with a greater interest. The best Syrian wine; isn’t that what Vivius said he’d had ordered for their wedding celebrations?
Feeling mentally more alive than she had all winter, she lost herself in the bustle of traffic heading for the warehouses or the parking bays alongside the River Tiber. Being familiar with the movement of the city she knew they would be waiting there until the lifting of the curfew at dusk allowed them to deliver their goods into the city.
And then she saw him and her face lit up. He was weaving his way towards her through the heavy volume of traffic. Unnoticed, her eyes lingered lovingly on him as they had done ever since they were children; ever since that dreadful day his father had…her smile wavered but only momentarily. Shocking though that experience had been she always found herself looking back on it with a strange sense of affection because that was the day she had first known she had loved Vivius. She saw a handsome, serious, deep-thinking man who preferred his own company or the company of a few select friends to a gathering of many people.
He spotted her and his face brightened without actually smiling. When he reached her, he took her hands in his and lifting them to his lips briefly kissed them.
‘How are you, my love?’
The stiff and formal greeting was done in a manner he might use to any woman of his acquaintance. She wasn’t offended; she was used to his ways. But for once, just this once after her long and lonely winter, she wished she could simply drift into him, feel the warmth of him, the smell of him, the firmness of his body, but she knew him well enough to realise that such an outward display of affection in public would be an embarrassment to him so all she said was, ‘I’m well, Vivius.’
She didn’t miss his sceptical expression as he ran his eyes over her slim figure making her wish she hadn’t piled her hair on top of her head in the fashionable style of the day. Since her long winter chill, it had lost its lustrous brown sheen, and she was conscious that this particular style might have accentuated the hollows in her cheeks.
‘In fact,’ she continued, slipping her fingers through the crook of his arm. ‘My physician tells me I shall be blooming for our wedding ceremony.’
Vivius patted her hand in an abstract manner as though his thoughts were elsewhere.
‘You will stay for lunch, won’t you?’ She asked as they walked casually back to the Suranus town house.
Vivius shook his head. ‘I’d love to, my dear, but I have something I must discuss with you first and then I, er…must see my bookkeeper and…I have things to do.’
She glanced up curiously at this unusual indecisiveness but decided to wait until they had reached the Suranus town house before enquiring further. When they stepped inside, she handed her cloak to her slave.
‘Bring us drinks, would you, Ruth?’
The warmth from the iron brazier wrapped itself around her like a musty blanket as she led the way into her living quarters. She avoided glancing towards the colourful tapestries on the walls hoping not to draw attention to the spreading patches of mould beneath them. But she could smell the dampness and knew such things would not go unnoticed by Vivius.
‘It’s getting worse,’ he said pulling down the corner of his mouth.
Aurelia waved her hand dismissively at him. ‘It’s the winter flooding that causes the damage; my brother can fix it when he returns to Rome. It’s his house, let him sort it out. We’ll be married by then.’
It was the strained silence that she found most unnerving.
Vivius cleared his throat. ‘How is Dorio? Any news of him?’
Drifting across the raffia mats Aurelia sank down on a low couch worn with age. ‘Not since the report from Galilee saying his injuries were serious.’
She waited until he had settled on the couch opposite and Ruth had brought in a jug of grape juice before asking, ‘So what did you wish to discuss with me, Vivius? Was it the wedding?’ Although concentrating on pouring grape juice into the goblets, she could sense the awkwardness in him, and found she was mentally preparing herself for bad news.
‘The thing is…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I may have to postpone the…wedding…’ He threw her a fleeting, almost apologetic glance, but a glance was all it was. ‘I have to go away, for a few weeks.’
She handed him a goblet, then picking up her own sank back on her couch and tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she asked, ‘Where to?’
He cleared his throat again. ‘It’s, er…confidential, my love. Nothing to concern you. Besides, the less you know the safer you’ll be.’
‘Safe?’ Aurelia lingered over the word before nodding her head knowledgeably. ‘Ah! Then I assume it has something to do with your visit to the emperor.’ And she would have burst out laughing at Vivius’s surprise—if she hadn’t been so disappointed over the postponement of her wedding. She toyed with the idea of telling him Ruth had seen him getting out of a small boat at the Port of Ostia yesterday when she had been visiting her sick sister, and that knowing there was only one person in the world who could persuade Vivius on to the seas, it wasn’t hard to guess he had been to see the emperor. But irritated at being treat like a woman of no consequence, a fragile ornament incapable of handling reality, she found herself relucta
nt to give him the satisfaction of knowing where she had acquired her information. She waited for him to take her hand, apologise for the postponement, reassure her, even throw her a look of intimacy, but he didn’t.
‘Will the Senate give you leave to go?’
‘Hopefully.’
‘And when do I expect you back?’ she asked trying to keep the ice out of her voice.
‘Before the summer festival.’ He leant forward, rubbing his chin the way he usually did when he was pondering over an idea. ‘This physician that’s been treating you over the winter months Aurelia, is he an army physician?’
‘Yes. I’m one of his private patients.’
‘Is he influential? I mean, what are the chances of him having Dorio transferred from Galilee to the infirmary in Jerusalem? Fort Antonia is far better equipped than anything they’ve got in Galilee.’
She frowned at him. ‘Why would he do that? Besides, my physician tells me that if Dorio’s able to travel the army could send him home.’
‘They could, but I guess…I guess I was thinking that, er…if Dorio can be transferred to Jerusalem, then I can bring him back to Rome in time for the wedding. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Why was he talking to her as though she was eight years old, she thought irritably. ‘Of course I’d like that, Vivius. But my initial response is to ask what you’re doing in Jerusalem in the first place. I don’t believe for a second that you’d travel all the way to Palestine for Dorio. Besides, Dorio’s under army orders. I can’t see the military allowing you bring him back to Rome because you want to?’
‘It depends how far my influence stretches in Palestine,’ Vivius said cautiously, ‘And, I suppose, on the severity of his wounds.’ And he seemed to be speaking to himself when he added, ‘But the trip might look feasible if your army physician were to accompany me.’ He looked up at her. ‘Has he seen action?’
‘Yes, but to go anywhere he would have to get permission from the army,’ she reminded him. She paused. ‘I assume then that the emperor needs you to go to Palestine, Vivius.’ She waited for him to enlighten her, but when he didn’t, she continued, ‘I confess it would be lovely to have Dorio home for our wedding, but who in their right mind is going to believe a senator from Rome would travel all the way to Jerusalem for a wounded Decurion? I certainly don’t.’
The Senator's Assignment Page 3