Curses and Smoke

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  Gods, he hated how Quintus talked to him. How he seemed to be mocking him all the time. He was a rich patrician. Why did he have to mock a slave?

  “I am running up Vesuvius,” he said.

  Quintus raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should join you —”

  “You despise running.”

  “Yes, I do. But I might reconsider.”

  “But I am also going to collect spiderwebs for wound dressings, and that is sticky, boring work.” Tag tightened his fist around the clay wing. The buzzing in his muscles was turning into a roar. He cleared his throat. “So, if there is nothing else …”

  Quintus hesitated, then shrugged his assent. Tag turned and began trotting out of the gate. He could feel Quintus’s gaze on his back like a weight. But he had to act natural. Not like he wanted to scream until all the tendons in his neck snapped. Not like he wanted to pull a tree up at its base and throw it over the top of the mountain. And definitely not like a slave in love with the man’s future wife.

  Once out in the woods, he began to sprint. He pushed himself until his lungs burned, until his whole body felt as if it would break apart. Without even realizing it, he veered off his usual path and found himself crashing through the underbrush toward the Mephistis altar. Fire crisped his lungs and shot daggers through his legs. But he could not stop, or else the thoughts that hammered through his mind would overwhelm him: I’ve lost her. It’s over. I’m trapped forever.

  He drove himself forward until he could see the broken columns. Then he collapsed to his knees, wheezing, near the crumbling altar and reburied curse tablet. His lungs heaved as he curled over himself, holding his middle as if someone had slammed him in the stomach with a shield. Finally, his gasps for air tore through the tightness in his throat, and he wept with frustration at the foot of the altar of the forgotten goddess.

  Metrodona was snoring well and hard when Lucia swiped the small oil lamp and snuck out into the night. It was risky going to see Tag like this, she knew, but they could not wait any longer to act. Besides, with her father spending the night in the temple, the watch slaves were likely to be more relaxed than usual. Tonight, in fact, was the best night to run. She hoped he was ready. Silently, she changed into one of her graying tunicas and grabbed her hoard of goods.

  As she stepped over Metrodona, she said a prayer of well-being for her elderly nurse.

  Minos was so excited by this late-night surprise, she couldn’t get him to stop whining with excitement as she unchained him. He would serve as good protection when they ran.

  To her great relief, she spied Tag standing outside their enclosure, staring up at the stars. Her heart soared. “Tag,” she called. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried you couldn’t come.”

  She raced toward him, put the small terra-cotta lamp and her treasure on a stone, and threw her arms around his neck while Minos bounced around them. She expected him to embrace her, to sink his face into her neck and swing her around as he usually did, but he didn’t move. “Tag? Is everything all right?”

  His coldness was like icy needles pricking her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “I understand you’ve been betrothed to Quintus,” he said.

  She waved her hand as if dismissing Quintus and everything else that had taken place earlier that day. “It just means that we must run away this very night. Do you have your things ready?”

  He made a strange sound in his throat. “Lucia. We can’t. We need to stop.”

  She lost her breath. “I don’t understand.”

  “Lucia, we’ve been fooling ourselves. You’re going to get married and not even remember me in a few months. This is nothing but torture for me.” His voice sounded as raw as if he had swallowed jagged pieces of glass.

  “But …” She didn’t know what to say. She took a strangled breath. “But I love you,” she managed. “We’re going to get away. Together. Tonight.”

  Tag released a small, strangled groan.

  Lucia’s airway felt even tighter. “What’s happened?”

  He made another strange sound in his throat. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Her own throat clogged with tears of fear and frustration. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what she prayed wasn’t true — if he had changed his mind about running away with her. Instead, she asked, “You got my message, though, yes? That is why you are here?”

  He opened his palm and held out the wing votive. The pointed edge of one end had scraped the flesh under his thumb almost raw, as if he’d been gripping it for a long time.

  “Quintus thought it meant we were treating chickens now,” he said dully.

  She grabbed his hand with both of hers. “The wing means freedom,” she said quietly. “For both of us.” When he didn’t respond, she repeated, “Which is why we have to act this very night.”

  He closed his eyes as if he was in pain. She wanted to smooth his furrowed brow, to make everything go away. “Look at me,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes. They looked dark and haunted. “Loving you … is destroying me,” he whispered. “We are fooling ourselves about this. It’s better to end this now. To spare ourselves the torture.”

  “Why are you saying this? Do you not understand what I’m telling you — that we must run —”

  “I can’t run away, Lucia,” he said.

  She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?” she finally managed.

  “It was a beautiful fantasy, but I can’t do it. I can’t leave my father to be murdered for my actions. I can’t abandon him to your father’s wrath.”

  Gods, she’d never even thought about Damocles. “Well then, we’ll just take him with us.”

  He laughed humorlessly. “He’d never come. And if we forced him, he’d give us away in his confusion, or we’d be caught because we wouldn’t be able to run quickly enough with him. Do you see? I’m trapped.”

  “But my father wouldn’t kill him! I know it.”

  Tag closed his eyes again. “He would beat him, which would kill him, Lucia. Especially once he discovered that we ran off together and I’d stolen medical supplies.”

  Was he right? Was her father capable of killing Damocles? There was a time when she would have deemed it impossible, but that was before she learned about the exposures. When she imagined his rage at losing Quintus’s financial backing, she could see him ordering the old man to be beaten. And that would kill him.

  “Tag, please,” she whispered as the impossibility of the situation became clear. How could she ask him to deliver his own aged father to a brutal death? She loved him for his essential goodness; she would never forgive herself — he would never forgive her — if she insisted he act against it. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Her mind whirred with ways around the situation. They couldn’t give up now, could they? But no matter how she turned it over, there was nothing either of them could do. It would ruin them to do this thing with the knowledge of the consequence to his father.

  It was done, then. They were both trapped. He would continue as a slave, and she would marry Quintus, a man she barely knew and could hardly tolerate. She closed her eyes against the bleakness of it.

  “I’m sorry,” Tag said, his voice breaking a little.

  “I am too,” she said. Through the tightness in her throat, she added, “I love you, Tag. I always will.”

  He took her in his arms then, and they held each other in silence. After a time, he bent and kissed her forehead, her cheek, the wetness under her lashes. When he reached her mouth, his kisses were soft and gentle, the tip of his tongue tasting the edges of her lips as if they had been dipped in honey crystals.

  “I love you,” he breathed into her. She swallowed the words into herself and breathed them back into him so that they could share the sweetness of it together.

  For the last time.

  Something woke him up. Another tremor? He did not know, but the sky looked different, as if someone had lit a large fire and then just as quickly put it out. H
e had finally fallen asleep, alone, outside the enclosure after Lucia left — long after she should have, but neither one seemed to have the strength to release the other. She’d taken her hoard and the small lamp, leaving him in the inky black. It suited his mood.

  He rubbed his face, grateful that she hadn’t insisted — or even asked — that he consider abandoning his father for her. Because if she had, he would have said yes. He would have done it. He would have run away with her, and then never forgiven himself for it. She’d saved him from himself.

  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still considering it. The idea of never seeing her again hollowed him out. It left him wondering if maybe his father could manage whatever happened if they ran. Tag had been away in Rome for three years, and he’d handled everything then, hadn’t he?

  Yet deep down, he knew Titurius’s rage at losing Quintus’s coin would be lethal. And he couldn’t take that risk with his father’s life.

  The light on the mountain changed yet again, and Tag wondered if it was closer to dawn than he thought. Either way, he figured he might as well go back to the compound.

  When he reached the broken city wall, he was stunned to see Lucia and Minos climbing through it toward him. With her hair flowing down her back, she looked so beautiful and lost, his heart lurched.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “It’s almost dawn. People will be getting up.”

  “I don’t think I can do it, Tag,” she said, almost desperately. “I don’t think I can just walk away and pretend I don’t love you.”

  Gods, he hated to see her so miserable. “Did you sleep at all, deliciae meae?”

  She shook her head, her eyes filling. He moved to her and scooped her into his arms. “What if … what if we …” she began.

  “Shhhhh,” he said, trying to soothe her. He could feel her heart racing.

  “What if … what if I could convince Quintus to bring you and your father into his household? What if —”

  He froze and held her out from him. “What? Are you suggesting that Quintus ‘buy’ me and my father?” It felt as if she had punched him hard in the chest.

  “Then, when we run, we could be sure he would not be killed. Quintus said patricians treat their slaves better than people like my father.”

  “And you believe him? You would leave my father with that man? Who would then sell him or throw him out into the street? No.”

  Her eyes looked wild. “Tag, I just don’t want to lose you.”

  He blinked, trying to understand. She hadn’t slept all night. She was not thinking straight. “Lucia, you cannot possibly think that this would be all right. I would rather run away and abandon my father to Titurius than be owned by Quintus. And to have to watch you go to his bed? Impossible.” Too late, he thought about lowering his voice.

  She dropped her head into her hands and began to cry again. “I know. I shouldn’t have thought — It’s just that I don’t think I can do this, Tag. I would rather die than —”

  Rustling came from behind her, and she stopped talking.

  “You would rather die than what, my dear?” came a lazy voice that brought a chill to the deepest center of Tag’s bones. “Please, do tell.” Quintus emerged from the shrubbery.

  Tag stared at the patrician, unable to move, unable to think, unable to speak. Minos bared his teeth and growled, but Quintus seemed not to notice. His gaze traveled over both of them. “Well, this explains so much. So, the lovesick act for me, it was all a lie, Lucia? Is that right?”

  “It is not what you think, Quintus,” Lucia said in a rush. “We were just talking —”

  “A lovers’ spat?”

  “No —” Lucia began.

  He flicked his eyes over to Tag. “I was right, then, wasn’t I? You are in love with your mistress. Only it never occurred to me that she loved you back. Well, hopefully you will fall for your new master soon.”

  Silence. Tag clenched his fists and swallowed. He had no idea what Quintus was talking about. The bigger question was, what would the patrician do? Would he insist Titurius torture and kill Tag for this?

  “How did you find us?” Lucia managed.

  “A strange light woke me up, so I went outside. I saw you release your dog and hurry away. I was curious, so I followed.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Quintus mused. “I am hurt, of course. I thought you loved me. I found a surprising amount of solace in that. But this could work out to everyone’s benefit.”

  “How is that?” she asked cautiously.

  “Your father refuses to give me the young medicus as part of the marriage deal until he finds a replacement, but now he will have to give him to me in order to avoid an outrageous scandal. I am sure I am not the first to stumble upon this secret affair.”

  “There is no affair,” Lucia said. “We have not —”

  “I was to be part of the marriage deal?” Tag interrupted. “Why?”

  Quintus turned to him. “Because I insisted.”

  Tag exchanged a confused look with Lucia.

  “Look, I know that you don’t care for me much, but over time, I believe that you will learn to like me,” Quintus said to him. “Maybe even love me. That you both will.”

  Tag shook his head, hearing the words, but not understanding them.

  “Don’t you see?” Quintus said, a pleading note creeping into his voice. “I don’t care if you love her as long as you’re with me. You’ll come to care for me. I know you will.”

  Tag took a step back, confused. “But —”

  “My feelings for you … They are a surprise?” Quintus asked, his face flushing. “Since the day you saved me from the other gladiators, I felt …” He swallowed. “I thought you knew. I thought you were only pretending not to notice or respond to me. But once you are part of my household, you will see. I will take care of you. Of both of you. You will come to care for me. I know it.”

  “Quintus,” Lucia said. “If it’s not me you want, then why marry me?”

  The patrician’s face flushed even more. “I was not lying. I do — did — find your love for me a balm. And I appreciate your beauty and intelligence. I thought this was a good solution for everyone. With this arrangement, you do not have to marry old man Vitulus. My father is pleased that I agreed to marry at all. I will have children, and I will finally have the chance to show you, Tag, that I am worthy of your affection,” he said, turning to him and putting his hands out in supplication.

  Minos growled again.

  Tag looked at Lucia. Her eyes were wide, one hand at her throat.

  Quintus released a shaky breath. “I will give you some time to think about this,” he said. “You will see that it’s the best possible outcome for all three of us.” Nervously, he extended a hand to Tag’s shoulder.

  This time Minos lunged. Quintus screamed as the dog’s teeth pierced the flesh of his forearm. Lucia yelled, “No, Minos. Down! No!” Tag tried to grab the dog’s collar.

  In the commotion, they did not notice the two people rushing toward them from the compound.

  “What in Jupiter’s name is going on here?” roared Pontius. He grabbed a stick and began smashing it against the dog’s back.

  “Stop!” Lucia screamed as the overseer landed a blow on the dog’s spine. Minos released Quintus and yelped in pain.

  “Minos, NO!” roared another voice, and the dog cowered on his belly, ears back in fear.

  It was Titurius.

  At the sight of her father, Lucia shrank back. “Father, what are you doing here? I thought you had to stay at the temple.”

  “The goddess accepted my predawn sacrifice — and then I come back to find this?” He turned to Tag. “Why were you attacking this patrician, boy? A guest of this household?”

  Tag blanched. “I wasn’t attacking him. I was trying to get the dog off of him.”

  “That is not what it looked like,” Titurius said.

  Lucia glanced at Quintus. Pontius was
helping him wrap his bleeding arm. Gods, how would she explain this? And then it came to her. “I was with Quintus, and Minos thought Quintus was hurting me, so he attacked,” she cried quickly. “The dog was only protecting me. And … and the medicus rushed out to see if he could help Quintus.”

  It seemed to take her father a minute to register her presence. “What are you saying?”

  “I was with Quintus and the dog got upset. Tag was merely trying to pull Minos off of him.”

  Titurius looked at Quintus. “Is this true?”

  She begged Quintus with her eyes to go along with her story. He seemed to understand, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Yes, it is true,” he said. “The dog attacked me, and the boy was only trying to help.”

  Lucia had barely let her breath out when she felt the crack of her father’s backhand across her face.

  “You whore,” he growled.

  “But … but we are to be married in days,” she stammered, flicking her eyes to Quintus. “There is no harm done.”

  “That is correct. I believe I am allowed to sample the merchandise before the final event,” Quintus said.

  Titurius glared at the young patrician. Lucia saw Tag clenching his fists just behind him and shook her head at him in warning.

  Holding his injured arm, Quintus nodded toward all of the servants and slaves who had heard the disturbance and come running. “Given how this looks, the rumors are probably already spreading about your daughter. I believe I can make this … er, scandalous situation go away.”

  Titurius frowned. “How?”

  “Send the medicus to me right away. Problem solved.”

  “I told you, I’m not releasing him until I have a replacement on hand.”

  “You have the elder slave until then,” Quintus said.

  “Not for much longer,” Titurius retorted.

  Tag released a breath in almost a hiss.

  “What do you mean, Father? Is Damocles all right? What are you planning to do?” Lucia asked on Tag’s behalf.