The Roman

by Caroline Storer

  As her eyes searched the faces, she saw with some relief, Lydia's familiar slim form leaning over the slumped figure of a woman, as she bandaged the woman's head. Even from where she sat on her horse, she could tell that her touch was gentle and soothing. Lydia seemed to exude a calming presence over all those that she healed, and Justina smiled as she remembered how she had helped her all those years ago …

  * * *

  “Oh, Justina, I am so glad to see you!” Lydia said, before embracing Justina, hugging her so hard, and with such intensity, that she felt tears spring to her eyes at the warmth of her welcome.

  Finally, they pulled away and Justina turned to where Marsallas stood next to her. Feeling slightly nervous, she introduced him, “Lydia, this is Marsallas, Quintus's nephew. Marsallas, this is my friend, Lydia.” She held her breath when Marsallas took Lydia's hand and lifted it to his mouth.

  “Your husband did not exaggerate your beauty, Lydia,” he murmured as he kissed the back of her hand, “I am honoured to meet you.”

  Lydia laughed, her green eyes twinkling at the compliment. “Marcus is incorrigible. If I weren't so old I would blush! But thank you for the compliment, and welcome, Marsallas.”

  Then her face sobered, “Did you have a good journey? What news can you bring?”

  But before either of them could answer her question they were joined by Marcus. Justina saw the look that passed between husband and wife, saw their love for each other, and momentarily she envied how their love transcended over everything.

  “Lydia, I’m sure Marsallas and Justina are too tired to answer your questions. They have had a long journey.”

  Lydia clapped her hands, exclaiming, “Oh, I’m so remiss. Come, come, both of you. There are refreshments inside.”

  * * *

  He leaned back against the smooth tiles of the bath, letting the heat warm his aching muscles.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes and imagined Justina joining him. Would the heat of the room bring about a rosy glow to her body? He rather imagined it would. The steam would cause her hair to curl, he was sure of that too. He licked his lower lips, as he imagined her walking naked towards him, the water lapping at her thighs, and hips, as she came towards him. He imagined his wet hands cupping the fullness of her breasts, the water making her nipples pebble in arousal. Heat pooled in his groin and he groaned in frustration. She was driving him mad! His body was so erect, so hard it was painful.

  But he was also exhausted. He couldn’t have slept for more than five hours in the three days they’d taken to reach the villa. He’d lain awake, hour after hour, in the darkness, ears tuned to each and every sound, totally alert to anything that might compromise his, or more importantly, Justina's safety, as they made their journey north.

  He had been shocked to the core at the scenes of desolation that had greeted them, as they travelled to Anna Faustina's villa. And although the majority of the people flooding the roads were to be pitied, he knew instinctively that evil always follows destruction, and there would be people unscrupulous enough to prey on the weak. And as long as he had a breath left in his body, he had silently vowed to protect Justina.

  * * *

  “Marsallas! May I beg a moment of your time?”

  Marsallas turned to see Justina hurrying down the corridor towards him, the light from the oil lamps that lit the darkness illuminating her silhouette. As she approached, he drank in her beauty, the slightly flushed face, the full rosy lips, slightly parted, the flush of youth on her skin, and the grey of her eyes darkened with emotion. To say she looked beautiful was an understatement, and his eyes fell from her face, taking in the silk stola of dark blue she wore, the fabric falling from the fullness of her breasts. It was as if the silk caressed her, and he had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms, to kiss her. His stomach clenched with reaction, with longing for her, with the need to bury himself deep inside-

  “Marsallas!” She repeated, “May I have a word in private?”

  Jolted out of his wicked thoughts, he looked over his shoulder seeing the peristylium nearby. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and guided her out into the darkness of the colonnaded garden, aware of her slight shiver when he touched her. Was the heat of his hand, burning through the gossamer silk of her stola, making her yearn for the feel of his hands on her bare flesh? He hoped so. Once they were seated on a bench under one of the trees, Marsallas asked, “Now tell me, what is wrong?”

  Justina shook her head slightly, “There is nothing wrong, really. I just wanted to speak to you about Lydia and Marcus … and the rest of their family.” He was slightly taken aback by the nervous tone in her voice and raised an eyebrow for her to continue.

  “Well … well there is no easy way to say what I am going to say so I'll just say it as it is.” Justina said, her words tumbling out, “Lydia and Marcus … and the rest of the family … well they are Christians … and I just wanted to … to let you know … so you know … ”

  She stopped speaking, her words trailing off disjointedly.

  Marsallas said nothing for a moment, his mind recalling all he knew of the new secret religious sect. Then he took her hands - trembling hands he noticed – and said quietly, “I'm not a bigot, Justina. It does not matter what faith your friends are. They have shown me – us – nothing but kindness ever since we arrived here, so as far as I am concerned they are my friends also.” Seeing the relief on her face, he continued, “I’m assuming Anna Faustina is one of these Christians too?”

  Justina nodded, “As are all in the villa. There are no slaves here. They have all been given their freedom.”

  Marsallas nodded slowly, “I wouldn't do anything to compromise your friend’s faith, and ultimately their safety. You can trust me.”

  Justina’s shoulders slumped in relief, the tension leaving her. “Thank you, Marsallas. It means a lot to me and … and I do trust you.”

  Her words were heartfelt, and he couldn’t stop himself when he leaned forward and gently kissed her. Her lips tasted so sweet. It seemed an age since he’d last kissed her, and unable to stop, he took hold of her upper arms and pulled her forward deepening the kiss.

  Marsallas gloried in the feel of her in his arms once again. The past three days had been torture, unable to hold her, to comfort her, to kiss her, to make love to her. Her arms creep up around his shoulders, her nails digging in. His own hands weren't idle either, and he caressed her curves through the thinness of her gown, finally finding the soft curves of her breasts. He stroked the hardened nipples, smiling to himself when he heard her groan of pleasure.

  It was only when he heard the faint sound of laughter coming from the triclinium that he realised that they had been gone far too long. It was obvious that the evening meal was underway, and reluctantly he pulled away from her, breaking the spell between them. His reaction to Justina frightened him.

  He’d blocked her from his memory for so long now that he’d grown used to living the life he lived. Alone. Hard. Without commitment. Now that he’d made love to her he had to acknowledge the truth – he’d never reacted to a woman like that. He had wanted to bring her pleasure. Wanted to impinge himself on her memory so that she would never forget him.

  But deep inside, he had to acknowledge the truth. He’d been lying to himself for years. He’d never forgotten her, no matter how hard he had tried. And that left him feeling vulnerable, an emotion he wasn’t happy with in the slightest.

  “We should go. The meal has started. Lydia and Marcus will be wondering where we are,” he said by way of explanation, his voice husky, testament to the arousal he was feeling, and before he could change his mind he slid an arm around her waist and guided her out of the darkness.

  * * *

  Justina was pleased to see that Anna Faustina was present at the meal. The older woman wasn't quite how Justina had imagined she would look like. She had expected a very old lady, but in reality she couldn't have been more than fifty, and a well preserved fifty at that, and as the
widow of a former Senator she was still incredibly beautiful.

  But the older woman's beauty wasn't only skin deep, she had shown nothing but kindness to her and Marsallas, and she had opened up her home to help tend to the many wounded people that they had seen on their travels. Anna Faustina also insisted on hearing all about Justina's work as a sculptress, taking great delight in hearing that a woman was making a mark in such a male dominated field. She also showed immense interest in Marsallas's career, and Justina marvelled at her wide ranging knowledge of the races held at the Circus.

  Once they had finished telling Anna Faustina about their lives, she went on to tell them about her late husband, who had been a powerful Senator but who had been executed by the Emperor Nero just after the Great Fire of Rome many years before, on the grounds of treason.

  “It was all lies of course,” Anna Faustina said, her tone sad, “My husband was always loyal to Nero, even though at times we all despaired for him. But when my husband was accused of being part of a plot to depose the Emperor, and there was nothing anyone could do, such was the madness that afflicted Nero at that time. ”

  “It must have been very hard for you.” Justina said in sympathy.

  Sadness stole over her face before she shook it off, smiling softly, “Yes it was. But I had the friendship of Marcus and Lydia to help me through it.”

  After the meal had finished, they all moved out into the atrium to take in the cooler evening air, and the topic of conversation changed to the more serious matters in hand, namely the treating of all the injured that packed the villa.

  “You look tired. Are you doing too much?” Justina asked Lydia, a short while later when the two women sat next to each other.

  “I am managing to cope at the moment,” Lydia replied, “Marcus has been very insistent about making sure that I do not bring in too many of the wounded. I wanted to bring in everybody of course,” she said with a small twist of her lips, “But Marcus overruled me, saying it would be futile to take on too much, insisting that it was better to give quality care to some, rather than poor care to many.” Lydia smiled sadly, before continuing, “He is right of course. But it doesn't make it any easier to bear.”

  “And your supplies? How are they holding out?”

  “Now that is something I am worried about,” Lydia sighed deeply, “My supplies of opium are rapidly diminishing, with so many burn patients I am having to use a lot of it for the pain.”

  “I could go to Rome and get some.”

  Both women turned to see Marsallas standing in the shadows, a frown of concern on his face, “I could go tomorrow morning, and I would be back in a few days. I know Senator Lucius Apronius, and I'm sure that if I explained what you were doing here, there would be no problem in securing more opium.”

  “Marsallas that is very kind of you. I knew Senator Lucius Apronius and he always comes across as a kindly man,” Anna Faustina said, overhearing the conversation, and seeking to reassure Lydia.

  “I … I … don't know,” Lydia hesitated, still unsure.

  “I would not compromise your position here, Lydia,” Marsallas said quietly.“You know we are Christians?” Lydia asked, her voice incredulous, immediately understanding what Marsallas was saying. At his slight nod, her shoulders slumped in relief.

  “It is very kind of you to offer, Marsallas,” Lydia finally said, “It would help enormously to have extra opium.”

  Marsallas smiled, “Good. I’ll leave in the morning.” He then turned to Justina, “By the way, once I get back from Rome I intend to hire a boat. I promised you that I would take you to see Herculaneum. Doing it by sea, is by far the safest way.”

  * * *

  Marsallas returned to the villa from Rome four days later, having ridden hard and fast to get back. The hour was late, and he was exhausted, but at the same time strangely buoyant at the thought of being back, and seeing Justina. But as he walked into the triclinium his mood changed. He could tell by the atmosphere there that something was amiss. Everyone looked emotionally drained and subdued.

  He hesitated, standing silently at the door, until Justina looked up, suddenly aware of his presence.

  “Marsallas. You're back!” She got up off her couch and rushed over to his side a smile of welcome on her face. Her words seemed to galvanise the others, and they stood up to welcome him. A few minutes later he found himself relaxing on one of the couches eating some food and telling them all that had happened in Rome.

  “ … So when I told Senator Apronius what you were doing, he was adamant that we should tell the Emperor, and sure enough the next morning, both the Senator, and I, were granted a private audience.”

  “The Emperor. Really!” they all chorused at once, and Marsallas smiled slightly at their reactions.

  “Yes. The Emperor has been most concerned to hear of the terrible eruption, and any news about what is happening, he is taking very seriously.”

  “Oh, that is good to hear, Marsallas. Sometimes we are so busy tending to the injured, it feels as if no one cares.” Lydia said quietly, echoing what they all thought.

  Marsallas nodded in sympathy, “I understand. But when I told him of your work here at the villa he promised to send opium, and other medicines to help, as soon as possible. I have come back with four saddlebags of opium for you to be going on with.”

  “Oh Marsallas, that is wonderful news! We are in very short supply at the moment, and were getting desperate.” Justina said eventually, when it was obvious that Lydia was too overwhelmed to speak.

  “That is not all,” Marsallas said, his voice earnest, before he turned to Anna Faustina who was sitting across from him, “The Emperor also said that he felt humbled by what you were doing to help the injured, and he has called your villa the 'Villa of Hope'.”

  * * *

  Once the evening meal had finished, Justina accompanied Marsallas to the stables to help him bring in the opium which were still in his saddlebags. Walking side by side across the courtyard, Justina couldn't help the quiver of awareness that assailed her at the closeness of his body. Although they had been incredibly busy at the villa tending to the sick, there wasn't an hour that had gone by when she hadn't thought of him.

  As they entered the stables, the dimness lit only by one oil lamp, Marsallas stopped and took hold of Justina's hand. The warmth of his strong hand holding hers caused her to shiver in need. Then with his other hand he tipped her chin upwards so he could gaze into her eyes, “Did you miss me, Justina? Because I missed you, desperately,” he whispered softly.

  She felt herself blush, but before she could answer his face grew serious, “You look tired, have you been pushing yourself too hard?”

  Justina swallowed past the lump of emotion that threatened to clog her throat before she shook her head slightly. “I'm fine Marsallas. It’s…it’s just that we lost a patient today, a young girl. The burns she suffered were too great for Lydia to heal. It hit us all hard.”

  Marsallas said nothing, but nodded his head in understanding, and Justina continued, “But your news tonight, helped cheer everyone up, as well as the amount of opium you were able to bring.”

  “I’m glad.” He came closer, his eyes dark with suppressed emotion, and her heart kicked against her chest when his head lowered towards hers and captured her mouth with his. Her bones turned molten, as liquid desire pulsed through her when he deepened the kiss coaxing her lips apart, and it was everything she needed to wipe out all the pain and desolation around them.

  It was only when they heard the muted shout of someone in the courtyard that he broke off the kiss, and for an age they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms until Marsallas pulled away to look down at her. He trailed one finger down the smoothness of her cheek before he murmured, “Have you thought about what you are going to do in the future?”

  The words were like a splash of cold water, and she stiffened, anger coursing through her. “I have been far too busy to think about being your mistress, Marsallas, there are-” she
broke off, breathing heavily, “…there are far more important things going on at the moment.”

  Hot colour surged along his cheekbones, and she saw his jaw clamp shut, “That is not what I meant. I-”

  “Didn’t you, Marsallas?” Justina interjected, too angry to listen. Neither spoke for a moment, and Justina saw that his face had closed, an implacable mask, impossible to read, and she took his silence as the proof she needed. All she was to him was a body, someone to assuage his needs. A mistress for as long as he needed her.

  Hurt pride made her words harsh as she lashed out, “You are so full of hate it has blinded you. You will turn out exactly like Quintus, bitter, resentful, never trusting, never letting go of the past. Hatred has festered inside you for so long.” She hesitated for a moment, “I…I can’t be with a man who is like that. I’ve lived for too long with a man like that.” She felt tears threaten, but ruthlessly stamped them down, “But that is Roman society isn’t it? Men rule. Women are nothing, merely there to satisfy your needs. But I want more than that. I can have more than that. I can sculpt, make a name for myself. Be free to do what I want for the first time in my life.”

  Exhausted, she stopped speaking. She had said enough. Finally, she had faced the truth of their relationship. He had made love to her with his body, but not with his heart.

  And that, she realised, was something she wasn’t prepared to put up with. She just couldn’t live like that, never knowing from one day to another if it was going to be their last. Living with the uncertainty, waiting for him to tell her that he’d tired of her, just as he had done with all his previous lovers.

  Was she mad to want it all? Shouldn’t she just take what he offered? But he had made it quite clear hadn’t he? No emotional involvement - ever.

  And she wanted so very much more. Pain lanced through her as she faced the truth of what she had to do. She loved him unequivocally, that refused to be squashed, but she couldn’t become his mistress and let her heart be broken a second time.

  A thunderous silence fell between them, before Marsallas said, “I’m not such an insensitive bastard, Justina, that I demand that you leave here and return to my villa to fulfil my needs.”