She was no longer the innocent girl he remembered; after all she had been with his uncle. She was now a full grown woman, and he had vowed to himself, on those many nights he had lain tossing and turning with frustration when he had first run away from Herculaneum, that she would pay for all the pain and suffering he had gone through.
Claudetta’s words still rang in his ears. He had in turn, been outraged as well as hurt deeply by them. But then the truth always hurt didn’t it? He’d tried to hold onto his simmering emotions for weeks now. But every day they had built up until he had been consumed by them. And now he wanted justice, revenge, call it what you like, for himself. She would pay the price for his lost innocence – and for the bastard he had become…
His eyes narrowed as he watched her. But how? That was the question that had plagued him for days now. What could he possibly do to Justina that would hurt her half as much as she had hurt him?
The answer had come to him two nights ago whilst in Rome, as he lain awake long into the night at his quarters at the Circus. His plan. His revenge for all the torment she had put him through these past years was simplicity in itself.
He would toy with her emotions, as she had his, until she didn’t know if she was coming or going with madness – with desire for him. He would make her fall in love with him again. And then he would take her – the one night as he had promised. But it would be her that would instigate their love making. He could wait, he would wait. He had no choice – he was determined on this. And after they had made love? Well, he would walk out of her life without a backward glance, just as she had walked out of his…
* * *
It was only when she had finished her sketch that she became aware of a presence in the room, and belatedly looked up to see a man standing silently by the door. When she realised who it was, her face broke into a smile of welcome, “Marsallas! You have returned, I was wondering when you would turn up.”
Standing up, Justina walked over to where he stood, but stopped short when she saw the dark look on his face. Her stomach twisted. He looked in a foul mood, and she wondered why. Since his apology on the first day of her arrival she had hoped it would be a truce of sorts between them.
She watched as Marsallas walked down the small flight of steps towards her, until he was within touching distance. His gaze roamed around the room, taking in the many pieces of papyrus that were hanging on every available inch of the walls. All of them were of him – she had managed to draw him without him having to be present.
Then his eyes snapped back to hers, and still saying nothing he took the sketch she had been working on out of her hand.
“It is very good, as I knew it would be,” he finally said, breaking the long silence between them. His blue eyes were intense as they stared down at her. “You’ve always had talent haven’t you, Justina? I saw it when I was eighteen.”
The words should have been a compliment, but they weren’t, and her heart lurched. Could she ever get past the ice around his heart, and rediscover the warmth of the man she had once known? Would he give her a chance? Or had that part of him been lost forever, leaving nothing but the hard indomitable man who stood before her now?
“Is there something wrong, Marsallas?”
Marsallas smiled slightly, “Now what on earth could be wrong, Justina?”
He held his hand out in a silent command, and Justina without conscious thought, put her hand in his. The heat of his palm burned into hers as he tugged gently, pulling her towards him. They stood face to face, before Marsallas repeated, “There is nothing wrong Justina, nothing at all.”
He bent his head and she felt the heat of his breath on the side of her neck, his mouth tasting, nipping at the softness as if he were a starving man long denied sustenance.
The smell of him assaulted her senses, crisp tangy lemon combined with the smell of leather – totally him – and Justina’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentleness of his caress. Suddenly, she was catapulted back to when they were young, to when they had loved each other unreservedly.
His lips moved upwards, toward the fullness of her mouth and she couldn’t stop the involuntary gasp of pleasure that escaped when their lips finally touched. His hand moved up to her jawbone, squeezing slightly, communicating his silent demand, and she willingly opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, allowing, wanting, his tongue to enter. And when it did, it mated with hers in the parody of the love act, and Justina felt heat pool in the lower part of her belly at the sheer eroticism of it.
Then it was over. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, and looked up to see him staring down at her, his face once again a carefully concealed mask, his hooded gaze unfathomable.
The hand that had been cupping her jawbone lifted, and she felt his index finger trail upwards until it came to her cheek, and she felt him rub her sensitized skin.
“Charcoal,” he explained.
His touch was as soft as silk, lulling her into a false sense of security-
“Are you ready to honour our bargain?”
His words acted as a splash of cold water, and Justina gasped, eyes widening in shock.
“Shall I take your body now – here - on the floor?” His mouth twisted in derision, “I am more than ready I can assure you.”
His voice challenged her and Justina swallowed. He tempted her beyond reason. She wanted to do as he asked. Lay with him, strip him of his clothes. Run her hands over the width of his chest, to see if he was as strong as he looked. Oh yes. He was temptation in the flesh.
But the hardness she saw brought with it caution. It was obvious that he was angry and what to her had been a sweet kiss – an act of love – had meant nothing to him. She recoiled from him, shaking her head, wary of him once more. Her stomach roiled at the thought of spending time with him. How would she keep hold of her sanity? Her emotions? By the gods she had been a fool to have agreed to his proposition, she realised now.
But it was too late. She had given her word, and she would keep it. But it was obvious that their truce of the past few weeks was well and truly over.
What on earth had happened in Rome to make him so angry?
..*..*..*
Justina sat on the wide windowsill in her bedroom, knees drawn up to her chest, her hands hugging them as she gazed out into the inky blackness beyond. Every now and again the moon peeped out from the clouds and she could make out shifting shapes, a horse in the paddock below her, some cattle lowing in a nearby field, one of the slaves walking to the stables to tend the many horses that Marsallas owned.
The hour was late, and she was tired, bone tired, but still she could not sleep.
It had been over a week since the incident with Marsallas in her studio, one of the longest weeks of her life. Marsallas had left for Rome that very day, and she’d been left alone at the villa. She chewed her lip in frustration. What was the point of doing a sculpture of him if he wasn’t here, wouldn’t sit for her? She might as well leave.
Was that what he wanted? For her to leave, to concede defeat, to throw away all her dreams? Did he want her to fail?
“No,” she breathed, “I won’t let him win.” Then a flash of inspiration hit her. She had done all the preliminary drawings of him, and she roughly knew how the sculpture would turn out, so why not start the bronze without him? If he didn’t like it, then that was his problem – she couldn’t wait around here forever, in the vain hope that he might, or might not, turn up. She had to make a life for herself. A future.
A pang of longing assailed her when she realised that her future would not include Marsallas. As much as she wished for it, wanted it, dreamed of it, she knew deep in her heart that it would never happen. His treatment of her last week was testimony to that.
A loud shout from the entrance to the villa interrupted her sombre thoughts, and she saw several slaves enter the courtyard holding torches aloft as they waited for someone. Moments later a horse and rider came into view. She could make out the rider’s features in the flickering light, the h
arsh planes of his face cast into shadow, the unsmiling mouth, the firmness of his chin, the fluidity of his body as he dismounted his horse, before he handed the reins over to the waiting slave.
Marsallas had returned!
Justina's chin lifted in defiance. This time she was ready. This time she would fight her battles well…
* * *
The pale dawn arrived, bringing with it another day. She had lain in her bed for hours unable to sleep, her mind racing. Sighing, she rose from her bed and dressed in a lightweight gown. The weather had been unbearably hot, and humid, this past week and already the day promised to be the same.
Unwilling to summon Olivia, as it was still far too early, Justina brushed her long hair methodically, deep in thought. She was going to start on Marsallas’s sculpture today, regardless of his return and whether he gave his permission or not! She needed to make some of the wax moulds, before she could start on the clay moulds which would eventually become the final bronzes. She had enough drawings to do that. What she didn’t have, was accurate drawings of his chariot. The only option left to her was to rely on her memory of him, and his quadrigae, the day she had come to the Circus to see him race. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. She could do this! She would do this! Her bronze would be the best, a focal point when entering the Circus.
She finally stopped brushing her hair, noticing that her hands were trembling with emotion. She had never felt such passion for one of her pieces before. She needed to, had to do this. Taking up a leather strip, she bunched up her hair and tied it back. She had a lot of work to do today, and for the next few weeks. She needed no distractions
What about Marsallas? Her brain mocked. Wasn’t he a distraction now he was back? Her stomach clenched. What if Marsallas wanted her to honour their “bargain”? Was she prepared to do it? Did she want to do it?
She knew her capitulation was going be her punishment for breaking his heart all those years ago. Sighing, she stood up, annoyed with her wayward thoughts, and with a resolute tilt of her chin she left her bedchamber and headed towards the triclinium in search of some food.
But her resolve died the moment she entered the dining room. Marsallas was already there, eating some fruit from a platter that had been placed in front of him, looking totally fresh and totally at ease! He looked up, spearing her with his blue eyes. Was that fire she could see lurking in them? Then he smiled, beckoning her into the room with a wave of his hand, patting a couch to his left.
“Ah Justina, come in. You are just in time to join me for breakfast.”
Justina frowned at the light tone of his voice, totally at odds with how he had treated her last week. Tilting her head slightly, she came into the room, but pointedly ignored the couch next to him, instead taking one directly across from him, a low table separating them.
Her gesture, she noticed, was not lost on Marsallas, and she saw the wry smile flit across his mouth.
“Eat.” He commanded softly, gesturing to the table laden with food, all the while watching her with hooded eyes.
Justina leaned forward, and placed some bread and meat on a plate. She sat back and took a small bite, looking away from the intense look on his face, feeling soft pull of desire low in the pit of her stomach.
“How have you been getting on? Busy?” Marsallas asked a short while later, when the silence in the room threatened to overwhelm her.
Justina looked up from her plate and nodded, her tone slightly defensive, “Yes actually. I’ve done all the drawings I can, so I’ve decided to start the wax casts today.”
Marsallas’s eyebrows rose and he asked casually, “You have decided on a design then?”
Justina blushed, knowing that Marsallas could have added, without my approval? to his sentence. But refusing to be cowed by him, she leant back on her couch, and affected a casual pose, meeting his challenge, “Yes. I’ve done all the preliminary drawings, and saw no reason to wait.” Then as her eyes locked with the blue of his, she added defiantly, “You can change anything that I have already done, if you wish.”
Marsallas smiled fleetingly, “Put your claws away Justina, I’m sure it will be fine. After all, you are the expert, not me. I will be pleased to see what you have done in my absence.” He paused, his eyes challenging hers, “I have neglected you recently, and rest assured I intend to make up for that.”
Then with a clap of his hands he stood up abruptly, “And as they say, there’s no time like the present. So shall we?” he said, holding his hand out to her, the gesture giving her no choice but to place her small hand in his, as he pulled her gently up from the couch.
Justina didn’t know whether he could feel the trembling of her body as he guided her out of the room, his other hand on the small of her back. If he did, he didn’t say anything…
“You have done all this? Already?” Marsallas asked in amazement, once they were inside her studio.
Justina smiled, looking up at him. “I've not done as much as I would have liked, actually.”
“Really? Well you could have fooled me.” Marsallas said, as he picked up another drawing of himself. Remarkable drawings, totally lifelike, as if he were looking at his reflection in the stillness of a pond. “So what is outstanding?” he asked absently, still staring at the drawing.
For a moment Justina hesitated before answering, “I've had to draw your chariot and horses from memory. I don't think I've got the proportions quite right, but-”
“You’ve seen me at the Circus? When?” Marsallas demanded.
Justina blanched. Realising she had no choice but to answer, she shrugged her shoulders slightly, “I came to the Circus before my return to Herculaneum.” She hesitated momentarily, “You were very good by the way.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice. Years of practice. To be honest I’ve had my fill of the place.”
“But what will you do instead of racing? Isn't it your whole life?”
He shook his head, “I intend to spend more time here. I’ve got plans to expand my olive oil business. The Empire always has need for olive oil!” He broke off, deep in thought, “Funny really, I always hated the thought of being a merchant when I lived with Quintus. And now, here I am, considering being one myself!” Then he changed subject and asked, “So what happens next?”
Justina took one of the drawings she had done of Marsallas and explained, “From this drawing I will do a wax cast of your head and shoulders, mould it in clay and then I will cast it in bronze.”
“Show me how you do it.”
For a second Justina hesitated, unsure if Marsallas truly meant it, but seeing the earnest expression on his face she moved over to a table, where she took a large lump of wax and placed it on her turntable. Taking a knife she started to cut away at the wax using a nearby candle to swipe her knife through it, heating the metal of the knife to make cutting though the lump of wax easier. Steadily she worked away, totally immersed in her work until the wax started to resemble a head.
“Once I have finished this, I will then start the process of the lost wax method.”
“Lost wax? What do you mean by that?”
Justina smiled at the confused tone of his voice, and looked over to where he sat, “Once I have finished the wax model I clean the wax to remove air bubbles and any imperfections. I then fill in any final details and depending on how complex the piece is, it can take hours, or days, to do. If my sculpture is going to be large, like this one will be, they are joined together and cleaned. Once the wax is ready, I dip it in clay gradually building up layers as I go, to make a clay shell.”
Marsallas, she could see, was frowning in concentration, and realising that he was still interested in what she was saying, she carried on, “Before the clay dries I need to make holes and vents, using wax rods and wires to make channels for the flow of the molten bronze. When the clay shell is finally finished, it goes into the furnace where the wax is melted out – the lost wax method. Once the wax has been burnt out clean, molten bronze is poured int
o the now hollow shell, and after the bronze has cooled the shell is broken open to reveal the new bronze.”
“You make it all sound very simple,” he said wryly, "But I'm sure it's not. How did you learn to do it?”
Justina shrugged, “Through trial and error. Quintus let me go to Pompeii to see another sculptor who showed me the basics of what he did, but unfortunately for me, he was very pompous and wouldn't let me cast a bronze of my own.” Justina pulled a face, “He was of the opinion that that sculpturing was strictly for men only, and that I was only there at his workshop on a whim. A rich patrician, obviously bored, and in need of entertainment!
But thankfully, I was able to grasp the rudiments of what to do, and when I got back to the villa I was able to experiment. For about three month's I turned out bronze after bronze. At the beginning they were mostly rubbish, but I soon learned from my mistakes and got better. But, even now, after years of doing them, a bronze could turn out to be a disaster if you do not take the utmost care when you cast them. It is air you see. If you let air get in, it will ruin the bronze, and weeks, months even, of hard work can be ruined.”
Her voice quietened, “Working in bronze demands both an ability to let go, and a trust that everything will come out all right in the end. And the final result is a piece of art that, hopefully, will last a lifetime, or even eternity.”
Once Justina had finished speaking she carried on slicing away at the wax, and for a while a companionable silence fell in the room as she worked. Eventually, she finished what she needed to do for now, and lifted the wax mould to show Marsallas.
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