Wayward Son

by Tom Pollack

  Cain ordered his crew to take as many citizens as the Nostos could safely handle. However, his ship couldn’t possibly accept the hundreds who clamored on the dock, and the crew, with swords drawn, was forced to form a human cordon guarding the gangway from being swamped by panicked refugees. Cain asked Felix to summon all the available cargo vessels in his fleet as quickly as possible to take on additional passengers.

  “How much shall we charge them for their passage, sir?” asked Felix.

  “We will not collect any money. Life will be hard enough for them when they reach Naples.”

  That evening, the Nostos set sail. As Cain strode the deck mourning the loss of Quintus and his family, the tearful laments of many of his passengers reminded him that they, too, had lost loved ones in the fire. He wondered as well how many Christians would fall as scapegoats into Nero’s slanderous net of vengeance. He highly doubted that the emerging Christian movement would resort to setting the city ablaze and thereby attract the hatred of its other citizens. After all, they too enjoyed Rome’s protective embrace.

  Late that evening, as he sat at the ship’s stern sipping a beaker of Chinese tea, Cain heard a strange, rustling noise coming from a stack of wooden cargo boxes piled on the starboard side. The crew had directed all the refugees to remain amidships, so Cain supposed that the rustling sound was the work of an animal—perhaps one of the ship’s cats.

  Then a pair of large blue eyes peered at him through the cracks between the boxes. He reckoned that one of his young crewmen had burrowed amidst the cargo, most likely to sleep off a drinking binge. Cain reached over the top row of boxes to grab the ne’er-do-well, but promptly withdrew his hand. Whatever it was had bitten him!

  His assailant stood up—neither a cat nor a crewman, but a tall, beautiful, red-haired woman presented herself to his gaze. She was perhaps in her early thirties. Her tawny locks rippled down to the small of her back, and her wet, ragged clothing was stained dark with soot.

  “You need not try to rip the hair from my head! I am only fetching a ride out of Rome on this ship, good sir!”

  Cain was astonished at her directness, but met it with his own. “You mean you are stealing a ride on my ship, good lady!” he rejoined. “How did you get aboard past my guards?”

  “Very simply,” the woman replied casually. “I swam from the dock to the far side and crawled up one of your dangling anchor lines. Your guards had told me the ship was full, but I needed to get away from Rome.”

  Cain stared at the young woman for a few moments. Then he asked sympathetically, “You lost your home in the fire?”

  The woman looked down, her hands trembling. “Not only my home, sir. My family is missing as well. The first night of the fire, I awoke to the acrid smell of smoke. The house was burning. I grabbed whatever clothes I could and ran for my life.”

  “There is no word about your family since that night?” he inquired gently.

  “There was pandemonium in the city. I learned that my husband was found dead. He was a military officer. I pray that my sister made it out in time, but I shall probably never know. Meanwhile, I have led the life of a beggar these past few days. I have lost everything.” She broke down in sobs.

  His heart went out to her. But he didn’t tell her about Quintus. Somehow the moment wasn’t right.

  “I admire your tenacity in getting aboard my ship,” he told her. “We are sailing to Herculaneum, and you are welcome to travel with us,” Cain said, holding her trembling hands. “Try to calm down now. The worst is over. I will have my crew help you to clean up and then get you some food.”

  The woman looked up into his eyes. “Thank you for your generosity, kind sir,” she said. “My name is Rina.”

  “And mine is Marcus,” Cain said to her softly. “Welcome to the Nostos.”

  Two hours later, they met again at the ship’s stern, while the Nostos was making good time before a moderate northwest wind. At this rate, they would be home the following day about noon. A thorough cleaning and a new robe had transformed the stowaway. Whatever her origins, her long red hair and blue eyes were thoroughly distinctive. Cain decided he would ask her tomorrow about her family roots. In the meantime, they bid each other goodnight. Rina slept on deck under a tarpaulin, while he retired to his stateroom directly below. As he settled into his comfortable bed, he could hear her crying herself to sleep.

  ***

  The following day dawned cloudy, and the wind had dropped during the night. With this change in the weather, they would not arrive until sunset. Cain felt compassion for all the refugees aboard, but he sympathized especially with Rina.

  “Your Latin is accented, but I can’t place it,” he told her as they sat near the spot where they had first met. “Have you always lived in Rome?”

  “Oh, no,” she smiled. “My husband was in the army and we lived wherever he was stationed abroad. His most recent posting was in Britannia. We were there for five years.”

  “I remember the white, chalky cliffs in southeastern Britannia from a visit long ago,” Cain said. “Many Romans find the country cold and damp, but I thought the landscapes were beautiful.”

  “You lived in Britannia, too?” Rina asked.

  “No, I was just a merchant traveler. I went there before the Roman invasion of twenty years ago.”

  “Yes, before the Romans,” she echoed with a faraway look in her aquamarine eyes.

  Rina told him she had been born in northwestern Gaul. Like her husband, her father had also been a military officer. She had never stayed in one town long enough to call it home. Cain thought she handled her rootlessness, though, with a certain charm and elegance.

  “When we arrive in Herculaneum,” he said on an impulse, “you must make your home at my villa, at least on a temporary basis. I think you will find it comfortable,” he assured her.

  Rina hesitated. “I have heard from the crew that you are in mourning as well,” she said. “You have my sympathy for your loss, and surely you would prefer to be alone in the coming days?”

  “I appreciate your condolences. Please accept mine as well,” Cain replied. He reflected for a moment and then continued, “Actually, Rina, I should very much enjoy your company.”

  And that is the way they left the matter, as the Nostos coasted the region of Campania, heading for the Bay of Naples.

  ***

  Two days after their arrival, Cain buried Quintus, his wife, and their two children in a simple ceremony. After he said an emotional farewell prayer, he noticed that Rina, who was present at the side of the burial plot, was looking on dry-eyed, presumably because she was so drained by her own loss.

  Over the next few weeks, they frequently walked the estate together, commiserating over their losses, and learning more about one another. Rina, it turned out, was given to firm opinions, especially on the topic of slavery.

  “The idea that one person should belong to another as property is inhuman!” she exclaimed one day on their walk.

  Privately, Cain agreed, but he decided to plumb the depth of Rina’s conviction.

  “Throughout history, slavery has been the rule, not the exception,” he pointed out. “Why should the Romans be any different from all other civilizations that we know of? Look at Egypt and Persia. Even the Greeks, for all their democratic talk, had slaves.”

  “You speak of the past, but we should be living now in an age of greater enlightenment,” she countered.

  Cain thought sourly of Nero but refrained from interrupting her.

  “You must know that some of the Stoic philosophers, Marcus, have begun to question the ethics of slavery. You are familiar with Musonius Rufus? He teaches care for the soul and love for one’s neighbor. And he believes that slaves ought to be treated as equal to free men.”

  No Roman woman he had ever met had either considered slavery as a debatable custom or had invoked the philosophy of Stoicism. Cain noted that Rina was unusually well educated. And she was audacious. Anyone in Rome who called for the freeing
of slaves could be accused of inciting them to rebellion. He decided to meet her frankness with a candor of his own.

  “I have allowed my slaves here at the villa to purchase their freedom,” he told her. “They have all become paid servants, and all have chosen to remain on the property in my employ.”

  “Really? Perhaps you could use an extra employee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t just stay here under your roof without earning my keep,” she told him. “I’ve spent much of my time here admiring the magnificent stable where you keep your prize parade stallions. Many in my family were great riders and trainers, and I have a good deal of experience myself. I would like to help train and groom the horses.”

  Cain grinned. “Do you have your eye on a permanent position?” he asked teasingly.

  “Oh, no,” she arched her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Just for a few months. Then I’ll be moving along.”

  Those few months soon became many more. Cain found himself absorbed as he watched her exercising the horses with unusual skill and grace, but their relationship soon transcended the equestrian domain. More and more, they enjoyed each other’s company. When he told stories about his travels at the dinner table, Rina embarked on those journeys vicariously, as if she were there. Her anti-slavery diatribes had evolved into more expansive critiques of Rome’s subjugation of its conquered peoples. Not fully forthcoming with his own views on the subject, Cain nevertheless rejoiced in her idealism. They discovered many mutual interests besides their passion for horses.

  A year after the Great Fire, at the annual birthday party for Felix, they danced to the music of the best musicians in Naples. Although Cain was several decades her senior, Rina admired his vigor and youthful spirit, while he thought that she surpassed all the Roman women he had ever met. Aside from her stunning beauty, she was highly intelligent and poised. Rina had quickly gained favor with everyone on his staff, not least Felix, who had signaled his encouragement numerous times during the past year.

  Freed from the misgivings that haunted all of his past relationships, Cain found himself falling quickly and easily in love.

  The two were married at the villa later that summer. Cain had wanted to invite his extensive circle of friends from Herculaneum and Rome. However, Rina insisted on a small but elaborate ceremony. They decided to defer a wedding trip until the beginning of the next sailing season.

  ***

  In midautumn, however, a travel opportunity presented itself.

  “Rome beckons, my love,” Cain told her as they finished breakfast. “The other owners of the Greens have been requesting a meeting for months, and I don’t believe I can put them off any longer.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have been keeping you too much to myself,” Rina admitted, eyeing him playfully across the table.

  “Besides,” Cain said, “your introduction to my friends there is overdue, and reconstruction of the Palatine estate is now complete. I can’t wait to show you the new buildings. We set sail tomorrow.”

  Rina hesitated, briefly looking out at the stunning view of the bay of Naples. Then, recapturing her husband’s gaze, she told him, “But you are forgetting, my darling. The prize mare you gave me on our wedding day is ready to foal. Believe me, I am anxious to join your social circle in Rome, but I really must attend the birth.” Matching the look of disappointment on her husband’s face, she added, “I promise to accompany you on your next trip.”

  Unable to contend with his wife’s logic, Cain instead rose and led his new bride to their bedchamber upstairs.

  “Then, if we must be apart for these two long weeks, let us be certain we will both remember this day fondly!”

  CHAPTER 70

  Rome, AD 65

  “THAT WAS MY FINAL chariot festival parade. After that, I let you fellows have all the fun!” Cain jested with the other wealthy owners of the Green faction. His associates still marveled at the way he had survived the appalling crash at the Circus three decades prior. Although Cain had visibly aged, his vigorous looks and obviously impressive fitness provoked envy in his large circle of friends and business contacts in Rome.

  “And then you went off on that crazy voyage to Judaea still bleeding from your injuries. You were so young and foolish,” chided Lacerta, the gray-haired champion of the Circus who had won his freedom from slavery nearly thirty years ago. “Marcus, you never did say why you went on that trip,” he added.

  “No, I didn’t,” smiled Cain. “But I found what I was looking for!”

  He had never shared with anyone his encounter with Jesus. After all, how could he possibly explain the transformation of his life from immortal to mortal? Happily for him, the other owners in the room knew better than to question Cain further on private matters, as one did not become one of Rome’s wealthiest citizens without having secrets.

  On the final day of their meetings, Cain suggested that the group adjourn to the newly opened Neronian Baths near the Campus Martius. This sumptuous facility had become one of the city’s most popular destinations for the relaxation of both rich and poor during the past few years. They arrived at the Baths shortly after noon. Cain had definite views on the sequence of pools he favored: first the lukewarm water, then the hot, and then the cold for a final plunge. His associates, though, all favored starting with the cold and then ramping up the temperature, finally basking in the hot-air sauna. So the group split apart for several hours, pledging to reconvene in the sauna toward the end of the visit.

  As he entered the tepidarium for his warm bath, Cain admired the ornamentation. Elaborately decorated recesses along the marble walls served as storage lockers for the visitors’ garments. The floor of the main chamber featured a gaudy medley of mosaics, while the ceiling was intricately arched and decorated with garden scenes in red and blue stucco. He sent a servant for a large flagon of beer and a plate of dried olives. After a relaxing soak, he sat down next to two middle-aged gentlemen who were engaged in an animated conversation. From their scars, Cain guessed that they were career soldiers.

  “Paulinus was right to show them no mercy, Fronto,” rumbled one of the men to his friend. “His successor was a patsy.”

  “I completely agree, Gallus,” replied Fronto, nodding his head vigorously. “But the war was so unnecessary to begin with. To think that thousands of Romans were killed by these savages before the revolt against us could be tamed. And all because of the greed and stupidity of one man, that idiot Catus Decianus.”

  “He should never have been appointed procurator by the imperial administration. Donkeys have more sense,” concurred Gallus.

  The men broke off their talk to greet Cain, introducing themselves as legionary commanders, the equivalent of generals, on leave from Britannia.

  “We were just speaking of the revolt that began five years ago,” explained Gallus. “My colleague feels strongly it should never have happened.”

  Cain smiled encouragingly. “What provoked the Britons to rebel?” he asked. “Were they not treated well?”

  Fronto waved his hand dismissively. “If the emperor’s agent had listened to reason, seventy thousand Romans would still be alive today and three of the largest towns in the province would still be standing,” he growled. “You have heard of King Prasutagus?” he asked Cain.

  Recognizing the name of the former tribal king of the Iceni in southeast Britannia, Cain quizzed the general. “He made a treaty with us, didn’t he?” His curiosity was motivated, at least in part, by what Rina had told him of life in Britannia.

  “Correct, sir. And you are looking at the man who negotiated that treaty. Before he died, Prasutagus bequeathed his kingdom jointly to Rome and to his daughters. Afterward, though, things started to go wrong when his greedy widow, Queen Boudica, claimed the royal lands of the Iceni for herself. Still, we might have kept the peace if Catus, our procurator, had behaved sensibly. Instead, he enraged local opinion by having Boudica publicly flogged. And, if you please, he arranged for her teenage daught
ers to be violated in front of the people.”

  “What a fool. I had no idea!” exclaimed Cain. “The Iceni must have been outraged.”

  “That, sir, is an understatement!” Fronto replied. “Catus gave the Iceni a rallying cry. Boudica had no difficulty raising an army three times bigger than Rome’s. With the governor and most of our troops miles away on the other side of Britannia, we were caught shorthanded. Governor Paulinus returned in the very nick of time to put down the revolt. But not until Boudica had burned London to the ground.”

  “What happened to Boudica after her defeat?” Cain inquired.

  “It’s generally thought she took poison to avoid capture. Like Cleopatra in Egypt, you know.”

  Gallus now joined in. “Foreign queens have been a millstone around the neck of Rome, my friend,” he said darkly to Cain.

  “But Boudica is dead, presumably,” Cain answered. “And order is now restored in Britannia, is it not?”

  “We have kept the peace, at a price,” agreed Gallus. “But the evil of that red-haired witch lives on. Her younger sister, a stunning princess named Rhiannon, helped Fronto here negotiate the inheritance treaty by serving as his interpreter. After the revolt was suppressed, I took Rhiannon captive and sent her as a slave to my house here in Rome. Interpreters are not supposed to have red hair down to the waist and turquoise eyes,” he remarked, a bit wistfully.

  “A feisty sort,” commented Fronto with a chuckle. “As I recall, you couldn’t control her, Gallus. Especially in bed!”

  Gallus poked his colleague sharply in the ribs. Then, lowering his voice, he leaned over to Cain. “As you doubtless know, sir, the emperor continues to blame the Christians for the Great Fire,” he imparted. “But the truth lies elsewhere, my friend.”