by Jack Whyte
As the lad’s voice rose and fell, weaving a spell of beauty around us all, I sat and drank in the flame-washed beauty of the woman who sat across the fire from me. The emotion that was writhing in my breast here was a marvel beyond my experience. No woman, not the Cassie of my youth, not even Phoebe in my hour of greatest need, had ever affected me like this. I had never seen anything to compare with the sweep of those cheekbones, or the perfection of that mouth, or with the mysticism of that face, dappled as it was with firelight.
Eventually, the young man exhausted his fund of songs and was permitted to leave, rewarded with a coin from Quintus and another from me. His departure was the signal for all the other servants to leave, and soon there were only the four of us — Quintus, Veronica, Luceiia and myself— left in the courtyard.
For a few minutes after they had all gone, there was a warm silence broken only by the guttering of the fire. I raised. my eyes to look again at Luceiia, only to find her looking at me. Abashed, I returned my gaze immediately to the fire. When I dared look up again, her eyes were still on me, and she smiled a small, secret smile.
Quintus cleared his throat. “Publius, I cannot remember having spent such an enjoyable evening in many years, but now I am tired and must sleep. You will be leaving in the morning, and before that I want to have my day’s work allocated and well in hand. Good night, my friend. Come, Veronica.”
I started to rise, but he waved me back to my seat. “No, no! There’s no need for you to leave. Stay here and enjoy the fire with Luceiia. Luceiia, you know well enough by this time where your room is. Good night to both of you. Sleep well. We’ll see you in the morning, before you leave.”
After they had gone, I sat tongue-tied, not daring to look across at Luceiia. It was she who broke the silence.
“Poor Quintus is not very subtle, is he?”
I looked at her then, drinking enough beauty in one look to sustain me until I dared look again. “Subtle? What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” Her laughter was like the sound of the boy’s lyre. “I mean he’s being outrageous in his matchmaking.”
“Matchmaking?” I heard stridency in my voice and dropped it to a whisper instantly, so that I sounded merely foolish. “Oh. Is he?”
“Well, isn’t he? I cannot imagine him leaving me alone with any other man at night under any circumstances.”
I swallowed, feeling highly uncomfortable. “I see. Would you rather go to sleep now? I mean, rather than stay here? With me, I mean?” I cursed myself for being a fool, providing her with opportunities to flee.
“No, thank you. I am quite comfortable. This has been a lovely evening. I have no wish to end it yet.”
That made me feel better, but the silence fell again, leaden and unbreakable by any effort of mine.
“My name is Luceiia.”
I blinked in surprise. “I know.” She was smiling strangely. I felt I had missed something. “Why would you say that?”
“What? That my name is Luceiia? Because it is, and I like it, and you have not said it once since we met. Although it seems to me that you called me at first by another name. What was it?”
I cleared my throat nervously. “Cassie,” I croaked, then I cleared my throat again. The name sounded strange on my tongue, like one from an ancient tale. Cassie might have been a figure from some dream, a ghostly presage of the woman I saw before me now. “When I first saw you, there in the atrium with your back to me, you reminded me of her. She was someone I knew a very long time ago, when I was just a boy.”
“She must have been important to you.”
“Yes, and no. I only met her once, one afternoon.”
“But you remember her still.”
I was growing more confident, coming to terms with the long-held memories of a boy, and gauging them beside the current evaluations of a man. I shook my head, dismissing Luceiia’s comment.
“Not really. I recall the feelings she stirred in me, the mood she created. But in my mind she is still fifteen. She’s a memory, no more. She had your kind of beauty, dark hair like yours, and she wore blue.”
“Were you sorry when you saw I was not she?” This time her eyes were not lifted to meet mine, and I smiled at the top of her head.
“No. Not at all. How could I be? Cassie was a child, and so was I.”
There was silence for the space of a few heartbeats, then she said, “It’s an unusual name. Cassie.”
“Short for Cassiopeiia. I don’t even know if that was her real name.”
“Cassiopeiia…. It’s a beautiful name.”
“No more than Luceiia. That is a beautiful name.”
She looked up and smiled. “Say it again.”
“Luceiia.”
She was grinning now. “That’s much better. Twice better. Now I feel as if we have been properly introduced.” I found myself grinning back at her. “You are a fascinating man, Publius Varrus,” she continued. “I feel as if I have known you all my life, and now that we have really met, the feeling has not changed. The only thing I did not know was what you really look like.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“ Do I look anything like the person you had imagined?”
She smiled, and there was a teasing mischief there. “Well, now. How should I answer that?” I waited. “I could tell you that I had imagined you to be so handsome that the reality was bound to fall short of my expectations….”
I was not used to playing games of words with women, and my face must have shown some of the insecurity I was feeling, because suddenly the mockery was gone from her smile and her expression was one of total sincerity as she continued.
“Caius talked incessantly of you. It was ‘Varrus this’ and ‘Varrus that’ and ‘Varrus would have…’ from morning to night, and my brother talks that way of no one else. It is not his way. Naturally, being curious about this paragon of military virtue and solid, straight-thinking values, I used to ask him things about you that might give me some idea of what you looked like. The picture I finally formed of you was almost perfect. I knew that you were tall, broad-shouldered and immensely strong in the arms and body. I knew that your hair was dark brown and cut short in the army style, and that you wore a short beard and moustache. I knew that there was enough grey in your beard and on your head to give you a silvery look from a distance. I knew that you had all of your teeth and that you laughed easily and often. And I knew that you had received a terrible wound in my brother’s service that left you crippled, or at least with a permanent limp.”
I felt a head-splitting rush of mortification at her casual reference to my crippled state, and then it was replaced by a growing wonder that she was not embarrassed in any way to mention it. She did not even find it worthy of further comment. She accepted it as being part of me and kept right on talking.
“The only thing I did not know, could not know, was the balance of your features, the shape of them, the expressions you would have. So your face was always a blank to me. Until today. Until now.”
I got up and placed another log on the dwindling fire, not wishing to lose the sight of her face to the gathering darkness that was crowding in on the dying flames. I had not felt so foolishly juvenile since I had stopped being foolishly juvenile, and I did not want her to stop talking. Her voice was low and pleasantly husky in a way that I had never heard before in a woman. A fountain of sparks jetted up from the fire-pit and I felt several burning pinpricks on my hand. I sat down again across from her, waiting for her to resume speaking, but she was waiting for me. I wanted very badly to ask her if she was pleased with the filled-in blanks, but I would have sat there all night before the courage came to me to voice the words.
She laughed that lovely laugh again. “And now you sit there wondering if I like what I see, but too unsure of yourself to ask me. Am I correct?” She raised one eyebrow exactly the way her brother would have done, and I had to smile and nod my head. “Well, sir, you may wonder and wonder. There are som
e things a Roman lady does not do, and one of them is to flatter strange men.”
I had to chew on that one for a few seconds before I was able to see that it was a compliment.
“There now!” she said. “Having dealt with you, I think we should talk about me next. Don’t you think that would be a delightful topic?”
I had to laugh, feeling better and more relaxed by the minute with this marvellous woman. “Completely,” I said. “What do you think I should know about you, since I have not had the benefit of your brother’s constant descriptions to prepare me for you?”
Her eyebrows went up. “You mean Caius failed to warn you of my beauty? My wit? My brilliance?”
“I was aware of nothing more than your name.” I grinned, now feeling almost miraculously at ease. She pretended to be upset, pouting her full lower lip slightly and frowning. “But I’m grateful to him,” I went on.
“Had I known the truth, I would never have been able to endure waiting to meet you. He did, however, tell me that you are his favourite sister.”
“Well, at least that’s something, I suppose. Never mind that I am his only sister.”
“Seriously,” I said, smiling in sheer pleasure. “What should I know about you?”
“I wonder,” she said, and paused, frowning in mock concentration. “What should you know about me?” She pursed her lips, giving me lots of time to admire the contours and the softness of them. “First of all, you should know that I am really delighted that you are here. I really have wanted to meet you for years. I think, too, you should know that I am regarded as something of an oddity because I refuse to behave like a woman, in that I am unwilling to do nothing except have babies. I have a mind, and I enjoy learning. I can hardly wait to have you tell me about your skystone.” She paused, thinking her next words over, and then went on. “You should also know that I am extremely unlucky when it comes to husbands. I have lost two so far, which explains why I am here, a twenty-five-year-old widow in the home of my brother, when I should be happy in a home of my own rearing large numbers of small Britannici.”
Startled by this information, I stood up, then moved to sit on the bench by her side. “Two?”
She nodded. “Two.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know. Carelessness? No, forgive me. That was flippant. Perhaps I was guilty of hubris, punishable pride. I do not know.”
“Two! I knew of one.”
“How? Did Quintus tell you? Silly question, of course he did. Veronica is Julius’ sister.” She was quiet for a few seconds, staring into the fire. Her stola had started to slip from her shoulders and I reached out and pulled it closer around her, marvelling at my sudden bravery. She was very close. I wanted to draw her closer. A tiny smile touched her face in acknowledgement of my attempt to preserve her from the cold.
“I hardly knew my first husband. He was a boy of seventeen when he was killed by a wild boar during a hunting party. I was fifteen at the time. It seems like centuries ago, and I remember him as I would a beloved brother. His family and mine had been close for generations, although we lived here in Britain and they had moved to Constantinople with the imperial court. We were married less than three months.” I said nothing, knowing she was not finished. “And then there was Julius, Veronica’s brother. A very fine, upstanding man. Again, my father arranged the match. We lived quite happily together for one year, discovering ourselves, and then unhappily for three years, having discovered each other too well. He died four years ago and I mourned him only slightly, although he was far from being a wicked man. But I love his sister more than I ever loved Julius.” She glanced up at me, a look of inquiry on her face. “Do you find it shocking that I should say these things to you?”
I shook my head in a negative and she went on.
“I feel very strongly about things like that, and I suppose that is unfitting for a Roman woman. But I have done my duty as a faithful daughter. My father is dead now, and from now on, I arrange my own life. I am no longer a little girl. I am a woman, and a wealthy one. A wealthy young woman! Twenty-five is not so old, and I flatter myself that I could still attract a husband of my own choice, if the idea appealed to me.” She paused. “I really have shocked you, haven’t I?” She had, but I shook my head again in a lie.
She chose to believe me. “Good,” she said, approvingly. “I had an aunt, Aunt Liga. A remarkable woman. She was firmly convinced that men rule in this world simply by default, because women are content not to challenge their supremacy. She went into commerce. She bought real estate and amassed a fortune. She was quite scandalous in her youth, even in Rome, which was a scandal in itself, but by the time she died she had achieved a kind of respectability through sheer notoriety and ridiculous wealth. She left all of it, her money and her lands and buildings, to me.” She stopped, looking me straight in the eye again over the two feet or so that separated us.
“I am a very wealthy woman, Publius. I own a very large amount of the city of Rome itself, and a fair-sized portion of Constantinople, in the form of land and buildings.” She paused again and looked at me seriously before going on. “I love my brother dearly, but now that I have my own wealth, I find I also have the courage to indulge myself in my own ideas. I suppose what I really mean is I have come to agree with my Aunt Liga’s ideas about life and the way one lives it. When I marry again, I shall choose my husband, much as it may distress Caius. I will not be treated like disposable property simply because I happen to have been born in a female body. I have a good mind. I read, I write, I think, and I conduct my own enterprises through my own lawyers.”
By this time I was truly confused about her motives in telling me all of this. “Have you said any of this to Caius?” In her company, strangely enough, I could no longer think of him as “the General.”
“No. I haven’t had the opportunity.” She laughed. “I’m practising on you. Caius can be formidable when his sensibilities are outraged. He’s so traditional. I know he disapproved of Aunt Liga very strongly. He will have an apoplectic fit when he finds out she has left all of her ill-acquired fortune to me. She died just a year after he left for Africa, and it was about a year after that I found out she had named me as her heir. Since then, I have been learning to run my affairs with the help of my lawyers — two here and five in Rome. I have been to Rome and met all of them, and I have spent much time since then studying my circumstances. I know they are all robbing me outrageously, but one of these fine days I shall deal with that. They’re all going to get a nasty surprise. In the meantime, I have not had a chance to tell Caius anything about it.”
She looked away again, back into the heart of the fire, and again a silence fell. This time, however, there was no discomfort, for we were both thinking about what she had told me. A pocket of resin in one of the logs snapped loudly and the entire body of the fire settled inward; a million fireflies seemed to swarm on the burning logs signalling that they were starting to change from fuel to embers. I was wondering idly whether to add some more fuel when she decided for me.
“Put some more wood on and tell me about your skystone.”
This time it was easy to smile at her. “What would you like to know about it?”
“Everything. It fascinates me. Before he left for Africa, Caius told me about the sword of Theodosius, about how it was made originally by your grandfather for your father from the metal of a stone he believed to have fallen from the heavens. Now I would like to hear the story from you. You believe the stone did fall from the sky, do you not?”
I stood upright. “Yes, I do,” I said, “but the sword of Theodosius is nothing. Look at this.” I reached behind my back and unsheathed the dagger from where it nestled in its familiar place at the base of my spine. “Be careful,” I said as I handed it to her. “It is far sharper than any other blade you have ever known.”
When I had finished adding more logs to the fire, I turned back to find her engrossed in looking at the blade.
“What makes the blade
so silvery?” She held up the knife so that its blade reflected the flames of the fire.
I sat beside her and held out my hand and she reversed the dagger, slapping its heavy hilt into my open palm. Extending my arm towards the fire, I could plainly see the tiny print of her thumb on the shining blade. I moved the point from side to side, watching the reflection of the light as it ran up and down the blade.
“I don’t know, Luceiia, but I think there’s another metal in there besides iron.”
“Mmm, Caius told me. But tell me about iron. He also told me you said it was a new study.”
“That’s correct,” I said, my surprise showing in my voice. “But I said it is comparatively new. Why would you want to know about iron?”
“I told you, I have a mind. I want to know all I can about everything that interests me, and I know nothing about iron. Not a thing.”
“Very well,” I said, “I accept that. Where would you like me to begin?”
“At the beginning. But please talk to me as you would to Caius. Try not to think of me as a woman.”
I resisted the temptation to look at her breasts or at the way the material of her gown clung to the sweep of her thigh. I tried desperately not to see her hair or the arc of her cheekbone. I fought to ignore the fullness of her lips. I attempted, deliberately and positively, to ignore everything about her that was unignorable and to consider what I would have said to a man in response to the same request.