The Raven and the Rose

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Verrix rolled over and lay with his cheek pressed to the raw woolen blanket, his eyes closed. He had not expected these stirrings of sympathy for Larthia. At the bottom of everything, she WAS lonely, and he knew very well what that did to the human animus . And she was very pretty, very young, and alone in the male dominated Roman world. But he could not fall into the trap of harboring tender feelings for the lady of the estate. That would lead to disaster.

  As Larthia constantly reminded him, he was a slave in this house. In the patriarchal Roman society he had come to know, male citizens could sleep with whoever and whatever they wanted, with impunity. But Roman women were indoctrinated from birth with the necessity of chastity and fidelity, with the importance of upholding their place in society; the typical Roman matron would rather climb into the bath and open her veins than have it known she was indulging in a relationship with a slave.

  But of course Larthia was not the typical Roman matron, was she?

  Verrix sat up and crossed his arms on his upraised knees. What was he thinking? She had felt soft and yielding in his arms, she had smelled like gillyflowers and crushed verbena, she had clung to him as if he were a raft in a churning sea. None of that meant that she was responding to him as a man; he was transportation in a crisis, nothing more.

  He had to remember that.

  He lay back down and willed himself to go to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Marcus lingered in the gray dawn, watching the path along which Julia would come. A thin mist hovered over the spring; the Porta Capena loomed in the background. As the sun broke through the clouds the mist lifted and began to dissolve.

  He had prepared well for this moment. Through careful questioning he had learned that the Vestals performed this duty on foot and alone, except for a single guard. The litter used for city travel, and the lictor which preceded it, were absent during this most sacred and ancient rite, the drawing of water for the altar of Vesta. The ceremony harked back to the foundation of the colony of Alba Longa, and it was thought fitting to perform it in the most primitive way. The participant walked to the spring and back and hauled the water by hand. The trip presented a rare opportunity to find Julia outside the temple and well away from the city crowds, and Marcus planned to make the most of it.

  It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps on the path and he moved out of sight. He waited until Julia’s lighter tread had passed and then seized her companion, bringing his forearm across the man’s throat and pressing backward just enough to seal off his windpipe. The slave struggled like a gaffed fish and then passed out, slipping bonelessly to the grass.

  Julia turned, puzzled by the slight sounds behind her, then gasped in horror and dropped the container she was carrying when she saw her guard lying unconscious on the ground.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” Marcus said quickly. “He’ll come around in a short while and he’ll be fine. He might have a slight headache, that’s all.”

  Julia stared at him, unable to reply.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked.

  Her expression indicated that she did.

  “Please don’t be alarmed. I didn’t want to accost you, but I have to talk to you and this seemed the only way to do it.”

  “Why do you have to talk to me?” Her voice was low, sweet, well modulated.

  “Because I haven’t been able to think about anything else but you since the day we met,” he said simply.

  He saw the impact of that statement on her face, and took a step closer to her. She stiffened.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly.

  She didn’t move.

  “ARE you afraid of me?” he asked.

  “No.” Then, as he moved closer still, “Yes.”

  “I don’t mean you any harm.”

  She held up her hand. “This is forbidden.”

  “It’s forbidden for us to have a conversation?”

  She looked away from him in dismay. “You know very well what I mean.”

  He reached for her shoulder gently, turned her to him and drew her veil back from her face. “You are so lovely,” he said, and touched her cheek with the side of his hand.

  She closed her eyes. “Please,” she murmured.

  He stared down at her, marveling at the perfection of her poreless skin, the soft curve of her brow and lips. “Do you want me to go away and never see you again?” he asked.

  She did not respond.

  “Do you?” he insisted.

  “No.” It was the faintest of whispers, but his heart leapt at the sound.

  The guard stirred behind them and groaned.

  “When can we meet again?” he asked quickly. “When you draw the water next time?”

  “I am always accompanied,” she answered, staring up at him. He was even handsomer up close, his mouth wide and firm, his lashes lush and sweeping.

  “Then when?”

  She thought a moment. “My elder sister is the widow of Consul Sejanus, she has his estate on the Palatine. Do you know where it is?”

  He nodded. “Near the home of Senator Gracchus.”

  “Yes, that’s right. She is hosting a convivium for Livia Versalia in seven days. All the patrician families will be represented to celebrate the upcoming new year on the first of March, the Chief Vestal’s anniversary of investiture. Do you know anyone who can invite you as a guest?”

  “I’ll be there,” Marcus said firmly.

  The guard mumbled something and Marcus stepped back into the trees.

  “You know we both court death if we continue to meet,” Julia said softly, putting her hand on his arm to detain him and searching his face.

  “I don’t care. Do you?”

  She smiled for the first time. “At this moment, I confess that I don’t.”

  “I promise you that I will protect you with my life,” Marcus said softly. “No harm will come to you from seeing me.”

  Her smile became sad. “Can you take back my vows?” she whispered.

  “Your fate was forced on you,” he said roughly. “No one can make a true choice at such a tender age.”

  “You know the practice concerning Vestals?”

  “I have inquired,” he said shortly.

  The guard sat up groggily, his hand going slowly to his bruised throat.

  “How will I find you...?” Julia began, looking back anxiously at the slave, who was blinking and shaking his head.

  “I’ll find you,” Marcus replied, holding up his hand in farewell as he melted into the copse.

  The guard sat up and looked around him querulously.

  “What happened?” he said dazedly.

  “I think someone attacked you, but he’s gone,” Julia said calmly, and offered the man her hand.

  * * *

  “So it isn’t broken?” Larthia said.

  “No, madam. You certainly twisted it badly, and I’m sure it’s quite painful, but the bone is intact. Whoever advised you to immerse the ankle in cold water saved you a great deal of slling and discomfort.” The physician rose from a kneeling position and bowed deferentially.

  Larthia mentally rolled her eyes, glad that Verrix was not in the room to hear this.

  “You should not walk on it for four or five days. Other than that you will be unaffected once the bruise heals.”

  Larthia nodded. “Thank you. Please see Nestor for your payment.”

  Paris bowed again and left the room. Seconds later Nestor appeared and said, “Mistress, your sister, the honorable Julia Rosalba Casca, is awaiting an audience in the atrium.”

  “Julia?” Larthia said, surprised. She had just seen her sister, and Livia Versalia did not permit the Vestals out for socializing very often.

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Well, show her in, Nestor.”

  Julia entered seconds later and said, “I heard that you had met with an accident, Larthia. I came to see how you are faring.” She walked over to her sister and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “How kind,”
Larthia replied. “I seem to be faring very well. Would you like some refreshment?”

  Julia shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “Nestor, would you leave us alone, please? I’ll summon you if I need anything.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the servant Larthia said curiously, “What is going on, Julia? Livia Versalia is not one to permit gallivanting around town, and as you can see I am hardly on my deathbed.”

  “I’m afraid I exaggerated your injury to Livia in order to gain an audience with you,” Julia admitted.

  “How did you find out about my mishap?”

  “One of the temple slaves was walking by and witnessed it. He knew who you were by the crest on the litter.”

  “Come and sit here,” Larthia said, patting the spot next to her on the couch. When her sister was seated Larthia said in a low tone, “Is it something to do with that centurion?”

  Julia flushed and Larthia knew she was right.

  “What happened?” Larthia asked.

  Julia recounted her meeting with Marcus at the sacred spring, and when she had finished Larthia said in astonishment, “So you told him you would meet him HERE?”

  “It was the only thing I could think of at the time. The guard was waking up and I had to act fast.”

  “Have you given any consideration to the position you’re putting me in, Julia? For permitting the two of you to meet in my house I could be found guilty of a capital crime and have all my property confiscated. I might even be banished.”

  Julia closed her eyes. “I know. If you want I’ll plead illness and avoid the convivium. If I don’t show up here Marcus will know I changed my mind and you will be guilty of nothing.”

  Larthia thought for a moment. “How did you persuade Livia Versalia to permit this visit when she knew your guard had been attacked at the spring? I would think that would make her even more cautious than usual.”

  “She didn’t know about it,” Julia replied evenly. “I bribed the guard to keep him quiet.”

  “Bribed him how? You have no money of your own, Julia, it was all placed in a primogeniture trust when you entered the Vestal service.”

  “I gave him mother’s carnelian brooch.”

  Larthia stared at her sister, openmouthed, then pressed her lips together tightly. “It must be very important to you to see this soldier again,” she finally said.

  “I didn’t know how much the guard had observed, I was afraid he might be able to provide a description of his attacker if he were questioned about it. Marcus is...memorable. His height alone would pick him out as a suspect, and I’ve heard that people in the city often recognize him.”

  “So you parted with a family heirloom to protect your paramour,” Larthia said dryly.

  “He’s hardly that, Larthia. I’ve only exchanged a few words with him.”

  “Don’t minimize the situation. He’s made enough of an impression for you to risk your life to see him again.”

  Julia said nothing.

  Larthia settled herself more comfortably and rested her head against the back of the couch. “Perhaps you could tell me how you’re planning to conduct a tryst in this house while I’m hosting a gathering to celebrate Livia Versalia’s anniversary. It strikes me as a singularly poor time for a romantic rendezvous.”

  “I was hoping you would help me with that part of it,” Julia admitted.

  “Since I’m the one with the devious mind?” Larthia asked archly.

  “I have no experience with such things,” Julia said, shrugging helplessly.

  “Well, this may come as a great shock to you, but neither do I. You have never asked, but I was faithful to my husband, much good it ever did me, and since he died grandfather has watched over me as if I were Caesar’s wife. Even if I wanted to take a lover, which I haven’t, the combined weight of the Casca and Sejanus names has been enough to keep me chaste. I’m hardly the woman of the world you seem to think me, and I’m just as frightened by all of this intrigue as you are yourself.”

  Julia looked suitably chastened.

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t help you,” Larthia said hastily, squeezing Julia’s hand.

  Julia met her sister’s eyes hopefully.

  “It seems just that at least one of us should be lucky in love,” Larthia said, and Julia leaned forward to hug her.

  Larthia rang the little silver bell at her elbow.

  “I’ll order us a little taste of something, and then we’ll make our plans.”

  * * *

  “Livia Versalia’s anniversary?” Septimus said, frowning. “Why do you want to attend such a dull gathering? The politicians will be making tedious speeches, these religious observances are always deadly. I had other ideas for this evening.”

  “I’m not going to the temple service, just the convivium afterwards. I will be attending as Caesar’s representative, to present his compliments. He is very grateful to the Vestals for past favors and wants to show his respect, but he will be in Ostia tonight and unable to join the festivities.” Marcus tried to keep his tone casual; he was afraid his voice would reveal the anxious time he had spent waiting for this evening to come.

  “And he asked you to go in his place?” Septimus said, impressed.

  “Well, no. I offered to attend.”

  “Why?” Septimus studied his friend, puzzled, and then his expression cleared. “I see. The widow of Sejanus is hosting the event, and that little Vestal you’ve been trailing is a Casca too. The Sejana’s sister, if I’m not mistaken. Is that correct?”

  Marcus reached for an olive from the tray at his elbow but said nothing.

  Septimus shook his head, amazed, rising from the couch in his father’s tablinum. “She’ll be there, won’t she?” he insisted.

  “All the Vestals will be there.”

  “You’re playing with fire, Marcus.”

  “So you’ve said, and I don’t need to hear it again. Will you go with me or not?”

  “Why do you want me along? Lovemaking is for two, as I remember it.”

  Marcus said nothing, but Septimus read his expression accurately.

  “You want an ally near at hand if there’s trouble?” Septimus asked.

  “I’m not expecting any trouble.”

  “You might have some if you seduce a consecrated virgin in the Sejanus house,” Septimus said dryly.

  “I won’t be seducing anyone, Septimus, I’m not a complete fool.”

  “No?”

  “No,” Marcus replied firmly.

  “Then what are you planning?”

  “I’m not planning anything.”

  Septimus threw up his hands in exasperation. Marcus was like a sphinx of Egypt when he didn’t want to talk, and this was evidently one of those occasions.

  “Will you go with me or not?” Marcus demanded.

  “I’ll go with you,” Septimus said shortly. “My father was planning to attend but if I go in his place he will be able to spend the evening with his mistress, and that will certainly please him. Now can we change the subject before this leads to an argument?”

  “By all means.” Marcus reached over to a side table, picking up a flyer on the gladiator Senator Gracchus was backing in an upcoming contest. “Which man do you like in the games beginning on the Ides?” he asked. “The Samnite or the Thracian?”

  “The Samnite is a retarius . The net and the trident make a man clumsy, they’re no match for the Thracian’s fancy footwork. My money’s on the Thracian.”

  They went on to talk lightly of the sporting event, but his lingering concern was still plain on Septimus’ face.

  * * *

  “Good evening, Centurion,” Larthia said smoothly, taking Marcus’ arm as he entered the atrium of her house. “Although we have never met I, like all citizens of Rome, have heard of your many splendid deeds. I was dismayed to accept the Imperator’s regrets but comforted when he said you would be coming in his place.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said.

  “An
d of course the son of Senator Gracchus honors us with his presence. Welcome, Tribune.”

  “Good evening to you, Lady Sejana,” Septimus said, smiling. “An offering for the penates.” He placed a cake of incense on the altar of the gods of plenty in a recess of the frescoed wall.

  Larthia bowed her head. “Come inside and join the gathering.”

  As Septimus walked ahead she leaned forward to whisper in Marcus’ ear, “She is already in my bedchamber. She feigned a dizzy spell and has retired to have a rest.”

  Marcus looked startled, then nodded and squeezed Larthia’s elbow. He had not realized that Julia would enlist her sister in their conspiracy.

  “I will come for you when it is best for you to slip away,” she added in an undertone, leading them through the hall and into the large dining room.

  It was clear to Marcus at a glance that the cream of Roman society was present. Senators in their striped togas, great ladies glittering with jewels, celebrated artists and businessmen and theatrical performers filled the luxurious room. Censors in plain purple togas and retired generals in purple togas edged with gold mixed with the Vestals who dotted the crowd, standing out in their pale saffron formal robes. The usual attire for evening dinner parties was relaxed, colorful tunics and coats were the standard, but since this occasion was connected with Livia Versalia’s official function everyone was decked out in the robes of public office.

  Marcus saw Cytheris, on the arm of a fabulously wealthy Parthian rug and tapestry dealer, and she favored him with a dazzling smile.