He grunted.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It was only ten strokes.”
“But it must have been painful.”
“I think Menander took it easy on me. He huffed and puffed so it would sound like he was putting his back into it but he stiffened his wrist so the whip wouldn’t crack.”
“You must have been furious with me for putting you into that position.”
He was silent, stroking her slender arm.
“Were you?” Larthia asked.
“I knew you were just trying to help your sister. The rest of it was an accident,” he said shortly. He looked down at her soberly. “Larthia, we have to talk about what we’re going to do.”
Her face fell. “Do we have to, at this moment? I’m so happy,” she said.
“We have to.”
“All right.”
“We can’t stay here, you know that. I won’t live as your kept man, and we’d be discovered sooner or later anyway. Does old Sejanus have any children you could leave this place to if you went off with me?”
Larthia shook her head. “His son from his first wife died years ago. A large part of the reason he married me was to give him an heir, but I failed.”
“Maybe if he had paid a little more attention to you that could have gone better.”
Larthia shuddered. “I doubt it. I really hated for him to touch me.”
“So are there any relatives?” Verrix asked.
“Some cousins. The will provides that if anything happens to me they get the estate.”
“Good. Then we can just walk out.”
“And take nothing?”
“And take nothing,” Verrix confirmed.
“The magistrates will have to declare me nulla in absentia, legally dead as a result of desertion, for the cousins to inherit the lot. They’re an avaricious bunch, once it’s obvious that I’m gone they’ll be in the courts to settle the estate immediately.”
“How is that done?”
“They’ll hire someone to plead their case, probably Cicero, and he’ll bring in witnesses to swear before the public in the forum that I’m gone. It should be pretty obvious that I’ve taken off with you; if nothing else the doctor, Paris, and old Nestor will be certain to testify about my feelings for you.”
“Why the doctor?”
“It was clear to him from my concern about you that I was in love with you,” Larthia said.
“Was it?” He kissed the tip of her nose.
“Yes, and although he promised to be discreet about it once it’s clear that we’ve absconded I’m sure he will not be averse to taking a bribe to appear in the courts.”
“I think we should go in the middle of the night when we’re least likely to be spotted.”
“That seems to be when we do our best work,” she replied dryly, and he laughed.
“When?” he said.
“I’d go with you right now, but I’m worried about Julia. If I leave she has no place to meet Marcus, and that will certainly devastate her. I must talk to her first.”
“They’ll just have to make other arrangements, Larthia. And if they’re smart they’ll get out of Rome too.”
“Marcus is a centurion in the army!” Larthia said to him, shocked.
“So? That hasn’t stopped him from having an affair with a Vestal, not to mention that she’s hardly taking her vows very seriously either.”
“Julia never wanted to take those vows and she certainly doesn’t feel bound by them,” Larthia said quietly. “She was a political pawn. She regards her Vestal service in the same way you do your slavery, Verrix. It was forced upon her and it is preventing her from having a free life.”
Verrix shrugged. “Maybe so. But if your sister and her lover can break such cardinal rules there are few others that should intimidate them.” He took her hand. “We have to move fast, Larthia. Rumors fly. The doctor already knows about us, and you’re right, I’m sure Nestor suspects. Get to your sister Julia as soon as you can and tell her to make other plans.”
Larthia nodded unhappily. She felt like she was deserting Julia, but she knew that Verrix was right.
They could not afford to waste time.
“Should I try to free you?” she suggested. “Technically I own you now, I could emancipate you. Of course my grandfather might object, but...”
She stopped. Verrix was shaking his head.
“You can’t free me,” he said. “You didn’t read the document Casca filed with the Vestals. I did. Your grandfather transferred ownership to you but retained donatus libertas for himself. I can only be freed by him personally or through his will.”
Larthia called Casca a name under her breath. “You don’t think he foresaw...” she said slowly.
“No. I think he just wanted to maintain control of the situation.”
“So you knew this all along?” Larthia said.
“Yes.”
She sighed with a relief Verrix did not miss.
“Did you think I pursued you because you could free me?” he demanded, looking down at her.
“The thought had occurred to me,” she admitted.
“No wonder it was so hard for you to give in,” he said softly.
“I always knew that wasn’t possible, Larthia. I don’t want the mansion or the money or the title, or the Lady Sejana, whoever that is. I want you.”
Larthia snuggled into his shoulder. “The sky is getting light,” she said regretfully. “The servants will be up soon. You have to go and get back to your room.”
He sat up and retrieved his clothing from the foot of the bed, pulling on his trousers and yanking his tunic over his head. Then he stood upright and offered her his hand.
She took it, allowing him to pull her, naked, into his arms. She pressed herself to him when he kissed her, and soon he was dragging her back to the bed.
“No,” Larthia said, forcing herself to say it even as she responded hungrily. “You can’t stay, you’ll be discovered. Tonight. Come back to me tonight.”
He let her go reluctantly, with a final, lingering kiss.
“Tonight,” he said, and went out to the portico.
Larthia fell back on the bed and stretched like a cat, then ran her hands down her body, still singing from his touch.
They would get away together. Life, which had denied her so much, a careful father, a loving husband, a child, would surely not deny her this too.
She drew her blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.
* * *
Julia stood in a ring with the other Vestals and watched as Livia Versalia poured water on the sacred flame. It sputtered and died out, a cloud of steam rising from the altar as the Chief Vestal bowed and the onlookers sighed in unison. Then Livia held out her hand to Junia Distania. The latter gave her the mirror Caesar had sent to Livia at her anniversary party. Two other Vestals swept the hearth clean and Julia stepped forward with a bundle of kindling in her hands. Once the altar was ready Julia set it down and Livia held the mirror over it, waiting for the sun’s rays streaming through the window above the altar to ignite the pile. The audience in the temple watched breathlessly, looking for the thin trail of smoke that would indicate the wood had caught fire. When it became visible they shouted and broke into applause. Livia waited for the noise to die down before prostrating herself in front of the altar and beginning the prayers for the new year.
Julia scanned the crowd for Marcus; she saw him standing at the front of it with Caesar and Mark Antony, Septimus Gracchus and Tiberius Germanicus right behind them. Marcus was watching her. Every time she looked back at him his eyes were fixed on her face. It was almost a shock to Julia to see him in his official capacity, dressed in his full uniform and at Caesar’s right hand. She thought of Marcus as her lover, the man who came to her by stealth and took her with such passion that its force had transformed her lonely life. But he was also this man, the career soldier and companion of the powerful whose presence here confirmed his po
sition as a war hero and an idol of the people.
Livia finished her supplication to the goddess and rose, turning to face the crowd. She raised her arms and addressed the gathering in a carrying voice.
“Introibo ad altare Vestae...” she began, reciting a phrase familiar to her listeners: “I will go in to the altar of Vesta...” They listened to her pronounce the whole formula, some of them moving their lips along with her, waiting for her to conclude with the time honored phrase: “Semper vale et salve, pax et prosperitas per novum annum.”
“All best wishes for peace and happiness in the new year!” they shouted back at her, repeating it, and Livia smiled . They cheered wildly and then turned to go, flooding out the doors of the temple and down the steps. Julia watched them leave, Marcus among them; the thought that they had both participated in this ceremony the previous year, and had not known each other, was amazing to her.
When the temple had emptied the Vestals walked to the open doors and took their places at the top of the steps, where they could be seen by the people gathered below them. Caesar moved to the center of the speaker’s platform, assembled just that morning, and raised his arm to get the attention of the crowd. They fell silent immediately, gazing up at him raptly, their king in all but name.
“Good citizens of Rome,” he began, as he always did, addressing them in his familiar manner, using what Cicero sarcastically called his vox populi, or “voice of the people.” Julia listened distantly as he went on to describe all they had to celebrate, referring to the past triumphs which had led to this day and the future ones which would make Rome even greater. It was a skillful speech, reminding the listeners that their current prosperity was mainly his work and yet at the same time appealing to the civic pride which was the republic’s keystone. Caesar’s eloquence was lost on Julia, however; her mind drifted to other matters. She saw her grandfather, Marcus Brutus and Gaius Cassius standing together. The three of them were listening too, but not with admiration. The speaker was their bitter rival, and the obvious thrall in which he held his audience was a source of continuing dismay to them. Julia looked away from Casca, tired of the political intrigues which enmeshed these men in such a tangled web. Her world had recently become very small; it now contained only herself and Marcus.
Caesar finished his speech to enthusiastic cheering. Then he and Marcus and several of the other military leaders walked down the steps to the street as the crowd parted for them. Waiting in the temple square were the Salii, priests dressed as ancient warriors, symbolic of Rome’s attacking army. March first, in addition to being New Year’s Day, was also the Kalends, or beginning, of the month dedicated to Mars, the god of war. In celebration of this event, the Salii danced through the town brandishing shields purified by their chief priest. The ceremony officially began the war season and the shields would not be returned to the regia , or priest’s house, until October, when warfare ceased.
Caesar and his men fell into step behind the capering Salii, waving and gesturing to the crowd, forming a procession that wound through the city streets and would end at the regia. There the wife of the chief priest would sacrifice a sow to Juno, goddess of fortunate beginnings. Then the people would feast and relax for the rest of the day, since feast days were considered nefasti, unlucky for work. It was wise to take the time off and celebrate with the majority; if you did anything servile on such a day it would surely come back to haunt you. If you planted a tree it would later be struck by lightning and cave in the roof of your house. If you butchered a pig the meat would turn rancid and poison you. The gods demanded your attention during ceremonial times and if you turned your face away from them you paid the price for your impiety.
Livia Versalia gave the signal and the Vestals filed back into the Aedes. The sound of music and cheering diminished behind them as the parade moved out of the square.
* * *
Rome recovered from the New Year’s festivities and looked forward to the Ides, or middle, of March on the 15th. Then the city would celebrate the feast of Anna Perenna, goddess of the returning year, and the guild festival of Minerva. March was the most festive month in the calendar and usually by the time of the rustic nefasti in April, which celebrated the goddess of grain and the rites of spring, the citizens were already exhausted. Nothing stopped the Romans from observing these feast days, however; a deity ignored was one likely to exact revenge in the future.
The next market day fell in between the first of March and the Ides. As Marcus watched the Sejanus house, waiting for Paris to leave, he wondered how Caesar’s opposition would respond to the news that the Imperator was leaving for Parthia with the advance guard on the 18th. Casca and his cohorts would certainly sniff something in the change of plan, but Marcus could not anticipate what they would do. Because of Caesar’s popularity, open opposition was dangerous, but Marcus doubted they would let the dictator get away without trying something.
He sat up, peering at the Sejanus door as it was opened by a slave. The doctor emerged, followed closely by his own servant. Marcus waited until the men had departed before he walked up the hill, skirting the Gracchus estate and cutting through the back alleys until he could see the Sejanus garden and portico. His heart began to pound as he approached the house; it always did when he anticipated seeing Julia.
She had looked so beautiful at the kindling of the Vestal fire. For all the notice Marcus took of the other participants, he and Julia might have been alone.
He had to take her away with him.
Marcus was a practical man and wasted no time lamenting the bitter fate that had put them in such an impossible position. The situation was what it was. As Caesar himself had once said, ilea iacta est : the die is cast. Irreversible decisions had already been made. Marcus had to figure out a way to deal with the present circumstances, not wish that they were different.
Julia was waiting for him in Larthia’s room. When he saw her he didn’t indulge in preliminaries. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
He set her down gently and then dropped next to her, cradling her against him. Julia watched his hands as he untied her zona and pulled off her stola, moving immediately to kiss and caress her breasts. She sighed and closed her eyes.
When he could wait no longer, Marcus sat up and pulled off his clothes, then was back with her almost instantly. Julia held up her arms to welcome him.
Their movements were sure, purposeful, carrying them swiftly to an exhausted but satiated conclusion. It was only when Julia was lying in his arms afterward that she realized they hadn’t yet spoken a word.
“Marcus?” she said softly.
He looked down at her, the uncertain candlelight casting shadows along the planes of his face and emphasizing his high cheekbones. His black hair, longer now then when she first met him, curled over his forehead and down the nape of his neck. His dense eyelashes swept his lower lids, the same midnight color as the hair on his body. He was smiling slightly, and his teeth shone white against his dusky skin.
Julia swallowed, momentarily speechless.
She loved him so much.
“What is it?” he said.
She sat up a little, to face him. “We have to change our plans. I don’t think I can use seeing the doctor as an excuse any more.”
“Why not?”
“Livia Versalia is suspicious of the whole thing, and also...” she stopped.
He watched her curiously. She was blushing.
“I asked Larthia to interrupt us tonight before Paris could examine me too closely. I’m afraid that if I continue with him he will be able to tell that I’m no longer a virgin.”
Marcus considered that. She was right. “Did he check...?” Marcus began, but she interrupted him.
“No, I made sure he didn’t this time, but I don’t think I’ll be able to avoid it in the future. He thinks I have a female complaint, after all.”
Marcus shrugged. “That’s fine, it’s dangerous to keep meeting in the same place anyway. It would be wiser
to change.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
“Would Septimus help us?”
Marcus thought about it. “Maybe.”
“Is he a good friend?” Julia asked.
“Yes, he always has been, but...”
“But what?”
“We’re not asking him to lend us a plowing horse, Julia, the consequences for getting involved with this could be very serious for him.”
“He’s already involved with it. He hid me when I lost my shoes.”
“That’s not the same as acting as regular host to a pair of clandestine lovers.”
“That’s what Larthia is doing.”
“Septimus is not Larthia,” he replied dryly.
“What does that mean?” Julia said defensively.
Marcus squeezed her shoulder. “Relax, it’s a compliment. Your sister is a woman of rare courage. But then, so are you. I can’t believe that weasel Casca is your grandfather, and from what I’ve heard, his son was just as bad.”
“You never knew my mother,” Julia said quietly.
He smiled. “It would have been my privilege to know your mother. What was she like?”
“Like Larthia. She really stood up to my father. I think he would have divorced her for someone more compliant except that she was from a noble family too, and he had used her dowry to invest in his businesses. He would have had to repay the money to her father if he’d repudiated her. Also he wanted a son badly. She died giving birth to the boy.”
“And the baby?”
“He died too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I never would have been forced into the Vestals if she had been alive.”
“Really? She had that much influence?”
“Well, maybe I’m exaggerating. My father still would have made the decision, and Casca always ran him. But my mother would have had a lot to say on the subject, and my father might have listened. He sometimes did.”
“He loved her, then?”
“Yes, he loved her. I don’t think he realized how much until she was gone.”
They both heard a sound in the hall, and Marcus stiffened, sitting up quickly.
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