by Simon Rumney
The inevitable feelings of loss taught Julia to associate love with pain at a very early age, but it was remembering the loss of her only human companion that brought back vivid images of true suffering. Only when she revisited the death of her beloved baby brother did Julia truly understand the source of her total fear of commitment. Almost too painful to think about, Robertus was a robust little boy who smiled constantly and Julia had loved him completely from the moment of his difficult birth.
Spending all of her time caring for him, raw instinct compelled Julia to protect the boy from the mental persecution of her parents. They had absolutely no objection to her carrying the child in an old strip of calico sacking slung from her shoulder as she tended the olive trees. They simply did not care because they couldn’t be bothered to invest more time in another brat themselves. As they often said, “We have wasted enough of our time raising you!”
When the fever passed through the olive groves, it took Robertus and hope with it. Days of nursing the burning child could not prevent him from leaving, and as he passed away, Julia lost the ability to trust love. As far as her mother was concerned, this was just one more thing Julia could not do right. In a heartless attempt to end the “blubbering”, she told her distraught daughter to “toughen up” and "don’t be so sensitive”.
Her father said nothing as he looked on with contempt. He was simply angered by the loss of a potential workhorse and the thought of having to sire another with a woman he hated. For the sensitive and innocent Julia, it merely served to confirm her belief that she was incapable of achieving anything.
In an unfortunate case of very poor timing, the olive merchant with the rough hands came on his annual buying trip soon after Robertus’ passing. Julia tried to hide from him but, as always, he found her. Knowing how determined he was, she had even placed her threadbare picking blankets under a tree on the very boundary of their grove. She hoped it was far enough away from their mud, straw and dung-built storage shed. She hoped that he would not have the time to find her as she pulled the ripened olives to the ground, but that was false hope.
While still wracked with the pain of losing her baby brother, she tried to explain where the merchant had put his hands, but her parents simply told her not to tell lies. Unable to resist the chance of delivering one more negative slight, her father added: “Why on earth would a man of his standing want to touch an ugly Medusa like you?”
Although nothing could have been further from the truth, Julia believed him completely. Even though years of working in the olive groves had built her a beautifully-formed, strong sun-bronzed body. And even though that most feminine body supported a beautiful head with a clear-skinned face set with translucent blue eyes, long eyelashes, full pink lips, and high cheek bones. And even though all of that perfection was framed sweetly by strawberry blond hair which flowed with a natural wave over her shoulders, Julia’s mind was so distorted she simply could not see any of it.
A soft brown birthmark was her only real blemish, if it could be called a blemish. Her mother said the slightly darker band of skin, which looked like a broad shadow around her wrist, “was the place where the Medusa clung to you during those miserable hours of labor”. Out of pure spite, she told Julia: “The Gorgon had tried to stop me from spitting you out because you were just too stupid to be born.”
Along with the rest of her body and mind, Julia learned to despise her ugly birthmark. But the truth was, it was one more delicate facet which added to her overall charm. She was the kind of woman who, had she been born in a city, would have commanded the sort of attention that may have given her at least a chance of seeing herself as others saw her. But Julia’s mother and father simply had no use for a beautiful daughter with a healthy self-esteem. All they needed was a strong body to harvest olives; a boy would have been far more practical and her father never forgave Julia, or her mother, for denying him one.
Unfortunately for Julia, this deeply flawed vision of herself meant she had absolutely no expectation of finding love. ‘How could she?’ ‘Who would want someone like her?’ And, cloistered in her lonely olive grove, Julia would never learn to develop the feminine wiles that beautiful woman usually acquire.
Susceptible and exposed, this flawed vision was going to trick Julia into giving her heart, like a lamb to the slaughter, to the very first man who showed an interest in her. This same flawed thinking was going to lead her all the way to Rome where her inherent genius would lead to great wealth and power. It would also lead her to corrupt that power and, in time, it would lead her to bring the Roman Republic to its knees. But before all of these calamitous events could happen, she had to endure just a few more lonely years of suffering in the olive groves.
Sulla
The day was already warm as Julia left the hut at dawn. In her 16 years of collecting water she had never encountered another human being in the groves but on this day she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of a stranger sitting alone by the well. Much to Julia’s fascination he stared into a square of white material as though it held some magical meaning and she found the scene totally captivating. He was older than her but still beautiful to look at. She stood motionless drinking in his powerful presence with unknown parts of her mind coming to life. His hair was so soft and fine that it moved in the warm gusts of air like powder. His intelligent eyes were a very pale blue, his skin was also pale almost white and the emotion that this extraordinary being awoke within Julia was pure pleasure.
Moving his head slightly he caught her image in the corner of his eye and in a moment he was upon her. The fabric he held and the pail she carried were flung from their hands as his full bodyweight collided with hers. When her mind caught up with what was happening Julia found herself lying on the hard earth with a dagger at her throat.
Speechless with tears welling in her eyes she stared up at the Godlike being wondering if this would be her end. Until this moment Julia would have welcomed death as a means of escape from her misery but not now. She had glimpsed pleasure just for a second and she wanted more. It was hard to accept that the man who inspired her will to live may also be the means of her death. He stared deeply into her eyes with a wisdom she had never before witnessed. He could clearly see that Julia was no assassin — her eyes were pure, innocent, unable to kill. Releasing his grip he moved the blade away from her throat and while standing, he helped her up in one easy movement.
“Julia,” she babbled. “I live a short distance from here, I come here every day at this time to draw water for my family ...”
Touching her lips gently with his hand, he stopped her in mid-sentence with a wonderfully disarming smile. Retrieving the abandoned pail, he walked to the well and filled it effortlessly. Bunching the purple edge of his white toga in one hand, the stranger dipped it into the crystal clear water and gently wiped her face. It felt extraordinary. Julia had never been touched in such a tender fashion and when he spoke his voice seemed hypnotic. She was unable to understand his words but their rhythm inspired feelings of comfort, which continued even when he switched effortlessly to her local dialect and spoke again. “My name is Sulla,” he said. “Lucius Cornelius Sulla, at your service.” Then making a small gesture with his hand he pointed to a tree and added, “Sit with me.”
Julia walked willingly as he took her arm and led her gently towards a very old olive tree. Placing his dagger on the ground as he sat Sulla brushed against something sharp in the dust. Lifting a small flint arrowhead he ran his thumb gently along the jagged edge before tossing it away. Holding out his empty hand he beckoned for Julia to join him.
Although it was early in the morning the shade from the heavily laden branches was very welcome and Julia let herself be guided into the shadow by his side. Completely overcome by the importance of her newfound companion, Julia spoke hesitantly. “You are Sulla the great General. I have heard of your many campaigns and I even saw you once. You were riding with the army of Gaius Marius.”
Looking thoughtfully into
the distance Sulla paused before saying in a soft almost menacing voice, “Yes Gaius Marius.” Then changing the subject he asked, “But what of you? Tell me about you and your life, Julia?”
“I have no life to speak of,” replied Julia believing it absolutely, but he seemed genuinely interested so she went on to explain her existence in the groves anyway.
As Julia spoke she observed his interest and could not understand why. Here was the great Sulla a full Senator of Rome, the most powerful force in the world, talking to her a plain, unintelligent peasant girl with nothing to offer; but it felt wonderful to communicate with someone who showed an interest, so Julia simply sat without moving for many hours. Much of the time he spoke in a language which she could not understand, but Julia was happy to simply follow the pulse of his voice nonetheless. At the end of his monolog, Sulla crumpled the white thing he had been staring at earlier, into a ball; tossed it on the ground and offered Julia his hand.
It had not been difficult for Sulla to convince Julia to leave with him. She seemed somehow resigned to the fact that it was inevitable. Habit told Julia to return to her family but when he suggested they travel together she simply accepted his hand and wandered in the direction he dictated. Through the olive groves they walked until they reached the old Roman road and there, by the trees which lined the Via Aurelia stood a wonderfully ornate chariot with a giant black charioteer holding the reins. It was clear that both were possessions of great status and the horses champing at the bit were the finest she had ever seen. Behind the chariot stood ten mounted officers in full military regalia and the bright red horsehair plumage above their helmets reminded her of the army she watched in this very place all those years before.
Julia could see that Sulla was their hero and they loved him in the same way that Marius was loved by his men. She assumed that there must be a bond between fighting men something that only military men who make wars together can understand.
Sulla seemed to give up looking for whatever it was he had mislaid and helped her climb aboard. As Julia mounted the first vehicle she would ever travel in, she imagined her father coming to look for her. He would find the full pail of water standing in the spot where Sulla left it; he would have no idea what happened because there were signs of a struggle, but no dead body or blood trail. A search of the area would reveal no clues to her whereabouts and she believed her angry parents would view the mystery as a mere inconvenience, nothing more than the annoying loss of a hard worker.
Rome
The chariot was unaccustomed to carrying three people and Julia’s extra weight made the noise of the iron-rimmed wheels on cobblestones quite deafening. Unmoved by his challenge, the charioteer was magnificent and his concentration never wavered in the slightest. Standing holding the reins he seemed as a part of the vehicle itself, moving in unison with every small lurch or bump. Gleaming sweat covered the pitch black stallions and where the bridles rubbed on their well-muscled bodies, white foam formed to be blown away by the rushing wind. The ever-vigilant centurions rode ahead and behind at full pace, each horse frequently whipped to maintain their exhausting tempo.
Absorbing much of Julia’s involuntary movements Sulla grasped the front rail of the beautifully ornate metal embossed carapace. With powerful arms locking her sides, his mouth was in gently contact with her ear as he explained what she was seeing while they sped past villages, towns and villas. No one had ever given explanations before and his simple act of thoughtfulness encouraged her to place her trust in his hands. Julia was also very grateful for his attention, because with every pace she was being taken away from her family. She did not miss or feel for her parents, but as detrimental as they had always been, they were the only form of security she had ever known.
At the end of a hard day’s ride the flickering lights of a major city came into view. Hardly slowing, the procession flashed through the city gates and inconceivably Julia was in Rome. Unable to sit down at any time during the journey she was exhausted and every inch of her body ached from the battering inflicted by the unforgiving war machine. After rattling along the streets for some time the chariot stopped outside a very large and well-lit home situated somewhere in one of the many suburbs they had passed through since entering the city. Sulla silently dropped to the ground and the chariot, flanked by only two of the centurions, carried on into the Roman night. His sudden departure took Julia completely by surprise because she had not heard any orders or seen any apparent signals to indicate that this intricate maneuver was about to happen.
With feelings of panic growing within, Julia had no idea what was to become of her. The reason for her impulsive departure was no longer standing behind her and she felt hopelessly lost and deeply afraid. Sulla had explained nothing about her destination before dropping from the chariot and the driver showed no interest in his master’s newfound companion. His only concern was the navigation of his vehicle through extremely narrow streets in the black of night and even after stopping he said nothing.
The only sounds were those made by wheels and hooves as the horses rocked back and forth in an attempt to cool down. Everything was abnormal, even the city smells were unfamiliar and Julia felt completely disoriented. By the light of a full moon she saw one of the centurions drop to the cobblestoned street and bang loudly on a large wooden door situated in a high wall. The wall was one side of a house but in the darkness Julia could not see the rest of the building. She was not yet able to comprehend Rome’s large even multistory buildings. It was all too much for a girl raised in a hut.
After a long wait, the door was sheepishly opened and a pretty, motherly face illuminated by a flickering oil lamp appeared. The centurion conducted a brief conversation in the language Julia could not understand; then returned to the chariot to make gestures which seemed to indicate that she should step down. Walking to where the women held the door open, Julia was beckoned inside and as it closed behind her all external noise ended with the snap of a bolt.
The chariot, the centurions, and Sulla were all gone, almost as though they had never existed and the security they represented was now totally removed. The fear of being so completely on her own overwhelmed Julia and just a hair’s breadth from screaming in total panic she apprehensively followed the woman to a small silent chamber. The stranger made signs to indicate sleep and as her eyes adjusted to the light cast from the hand-held lamp Julia saw something that she assumed to be a structure made for sleeping on. Too tired to think about anything, even her hunger, Julia lay her head on the unfamiliar pillow and for no apparent reason, dreamed of herself standing next to a handsome young man on the deck of a ship crossing a deep blue ocean.
Learning
The next three years of this country girl’s life was spent growing up in the strange house without any kind of security. Every day Julia fought back the feelings of panic which began on the eve of her arrival. She had not seen Sulla since the chariot ride; not even a message had arrived and day after day, she longed for him to come back to her. The domestic slaves told her that Sulla’s sumptuous house was a secret place which he used only as an escape. He used to visit regularly but these days he was always away from Rome, “In the East,” they said, “teaching upstart kings and princes how painful rebellion against Rome could be.”
No one asked her to do anything and the house slaves kept her fed and clothed in fine garments made of brightly dyed wool and linen. It seemed that all she was expected to do was wait. As time slowly passed Julia became more convinced that she was unattractive, unintelligent and completely worthless. Even the man who maintained her upkeep couldn’t be bothered to contact her. Every day she brooded over the terrifying consequences of becoming homeless, never knowing how long she would be allowed to live in Sulla’s house. Her parents would never take her back; they must surely hate her for leaving during the harvest and with absolutely no friends or means of supporting herself, the only companions Julia could rely on were her terrible insecurities.
To pass the endless
hours and take her mind away from the constant fear Julia developed an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Every moment of her time became dedicated to education, and the senior house slave she now knew to be called Cecilia marveled at her ability to learn. Julia became fluent in Latin within months and because so much of her time was spent with a knowledgeable Greek house slave her learning was swift. The peaceful old man who the other house slaves nicknamed Homer, after the ancient Greek poet, had once been an educator and he enjoyed teaching such a keen mind. Within one year Julia had a grasp of many subjects and the ability to read even the work of the real Homer in both Greek and Latin but as always she could not give herself credit for what others saw as incredible achievements, because for her it was so easy, surely anyone could do it.
Over time Julia’s Homer explained the wonderful subtleties and meanings held within the scrolls which contained stories from antiquity, and she became captivated by the accounts of Jason and the Argonauts, the pharaohs and pyramids of Egypt, the Persian Empire and even Greek philosophers like Plato and Socrates. Books of all kinds were consumed at a fantastic rate but Julia was always particularly interested in the account of Alexander the Great’s conquest of the Persian Empire which caused the death of its ruler, King Darius. Julia was fascinated by accounts of the great man’s trusted General, Ptolemy, who was known as a conniving man who manipulated Alexander and his wife Roxane. Homer told her that the descendants of Ptolemy still ruled Egypt from the city of Alexandria and Julia longed to see the wonderful library that her teacher had visited many years before.
Of all the books Julia read her favorite was Homer’s Iliad, which told the 1200-year-old story of the conquest of an ancient city at the edge of the Aegean Sea by the name of Troy. It was a war that lasted ten years, cost thousands of lives, and destroyed the Trojan civilization. Her tutor explained that many Romans still believed that they are the descendants of the fleeing survivors of Troy and Julia was captivated by the heroic characters who had wonderful names like Agamemnon, Hector, Paris, Ajax and Achilles.