The Roman's Revenge

by Caroline Storer

  Apart from that, there was nothing else, and her gaze shifted beyond the camp, taking in the long sandy beach which seemed to stretch for miles and miles in both directions from where she lay.

  In any other situation she would have relished the chance to be on such a beautiful beach, taking in the iridescent blue of the sea and sky around her. But this was different. Could they – she didn’t know how many of course – be the only ones inhabiting this vast expanse of emptiness? If they were, then they would have a difficult time surviving. An uninhabited island meant only one thing – there would be no water.

  Metellus! Instantly her brain assimilated the fact that he wasn’t here, and a panic filled her, and heedless of the pain in her head, she shot upwards into a sitting position, fighting back the nausea threatening to engulf her, as her eyes scanned the vast stretches of sand before her.

  Where was he? She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, shocked to feel sweat pouring off her brow, and as she moved her fingers trying to sooth the pain in her head she felt a large lump. It was obvious she was still suffering from the effects of whatever had knocked her out, and she should really lie back down and rest, but her mind was racing.

  What if Metellus was injured? Dead even. And, ignoring everything her brain was screaming at her to lay still and rest, instead she sat up, forcing herself up on her knees. The world spun for a moment, and she took a deep calming breath before she stood up. Her legs trembled with the exertion, threatening to buckle under her as she took a tentative step forward. But determination, and an inbuilt desire to survive, propelled her forward. She stumbled, and had to reach out a hand to hold onto one of the wooden barrels to prevent herself falling, before she felt stable enough to try again.

  She had to find him. She needed to find him, as a feeling of dread came over her at the thought of being the only person alive on the island. Looking down towards the shoreline, at the vast expanse of sandy beach, she could see he hadn’t walked on it as there were no footprints in the sand. That left only one other option – he must have gone into the forest behind her. Turning, she fought the nausea welling up inside her, and walked towards the relative darkness of the forest in front of her.

  Metellus paused to wipe the torrent of sweat off his brow, his chest heaving with exertion. For a few moments he stood unmoving, his head bowed, before he lifted up his makeshift wooden spade and continued digging. The “spade” was the same piece of wood which had crashed out of the darkness on the night of the storm, and had knocked Livia out. It was also the same piece of wood which had saved their lives as it had afforded them the much needed buoyancy to stay afloat during the raging storm on that fateful night.

  But now, it was being put to a more practical task, helping Metellus dig the holes he needed to bury the dead bodies. Dead bodies, which had been washed up on the shore in ever increasing numbers over the past five days since he had been attending to Livia…

  For a moment he hesitated in his digging, leaning his forearms on the plank of wood, as he remembered how close to death she had been. The bump on her head had been the size of a duck egg, and he wondered if she would ever wake up from the unconscious state she had fallen into.

  The days had seemed endless as he’d tended to her, wiping away the fever which had consumed her, and when this morning, she had awoken and asked him his name he had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was a turning point he hoped, one which would mean they could leave this part of the island and try to find food and water. As each day passed, their small reserve of fresh water diminished, and now there was only a quarter of a barrel of water left. But at least they had some water, and he had thanked the gods when the one barrel had been washed ashore intact.

  Because of Livia’s incapacity, he hadn’t been able to explore any further than the periphery of the forest, as he couldn’t leave her alone just in case she woke up to find him gone. But the time was approaching when they would have to leave, and Metellus had even considered making a wooden sleigh of some sort so he could drag her along.

  But, with the gods on his side, he prayed he wouldn’t have to resort to that just yet; the lump on her temple had decreased substantially and he was praying she would soon be well enough to walk. Hopefully, with one more day of rest, they might be able to leave.

  A grim look came over his face. Before he could return to Livia, and their makeshift camp, he needed to get this grave dug and bury the two bodies which had been washed ashore that morning. So with a renewed sense of urgency, he carried on digging the grave, and once he had finished burying the men, he offered a prayer to Pluto the god of the underworld, and headed back to the camp.

  But his steps faltered when he saw the empty space on the red woollen cloak he’d used as a bed for Livia. Frowning in frustration, he glanced down the wide expanse of beach, but there was no sign of her. That left only the forest, and his fists clenched in anger, when he realised how much danger she had put herself into.

  He threw the plank of wood onto the ground with a muttered curse; and with a grim expression on his face he charged into the undergrowth.

  Livia realised she had made a monumental mistake going into the forest. For a start she hadn’t a clue where she was going, and secondly, she may well now be lost, although she was sure the beach was behind her - somewhere.

  She’d lost track of how long she had been here – perhaps no more than an hour – but it was soon becoming the longest hour of her life. She realised she had no choice but to abandon her search for Metellus and try to find the beach, and their camp. So she stopped walking and turned round to make her way back.

  A sudden gust of wind came in off the sea, causing the trees behind her to sway and groan as if in protest. The noise was eerie as it blew through the trees, and Livia shivered in fright, afraid of the forest, and what could be lurking deep within its dark depths. She immediately thought of wolves. Would the island have wolves? Again she shivered, and then, as if she wasn’t already scared enough, a disembodied voice came from behind her causing her to squeal in fright.

  “What in the name of Hades do you think you’re doing, woman?”

  “Metellus!” Relief flooded through her, and Livia spun around, but not before a sudden wave of dizziness came over her causing her to stumble. She would have fallen into a tree trunk if it hadn’t been for Metellus reaching out and catching her, and Livia couldn’t help the shudder of awareness that assailed her when she felt the warmth of his hands on her arms. He was so near, she could feel his breath on the side of her neck, and heat curled in the pit of her stomach, as warmth spread through her whole body. She became aware of his strength, his raw power, a power which seemed to overwhelm her, causing her heart to pound, as much as the pounding in her head.

  She had never been aware of a man as much as this one in her whole life, and for some reason it unsettled her, unnerved her, and with a blush of mortification she straightened and pushed him away.

  “I am well now. Thank you,” she said, trying to control herself, before she saw Metellus frown down at her and his hands dropped away as he took a step backwards, breaking the contact between them.

  “I asked what you were doing in the forest, Livia.”

  Stiffening at the harshness of his voice, she looked him square in the face, her tone cool, “I was looking for you, I…I thought you may be hurt or something.” Her words trailed off when she saw him raise an eyebrow in disbelief; and now she’d said the words aloud, she realised how stupid they sounded. Here he was, the most physically perfect specimen of manhood she had ever seen, and one who looked none the worse for wear after their ordeal, and she was concerned about him!

  She realised she must look, and appear such a fool, but thankfully he didn’t say any more on the subject.

  Instead he said, “The camp is back this way. Shall we?” Not waiting for an answer he took her arm and guided her back through the dense forest, and back to their temporary home.

  For a few minutes they walked in silence, t
heir pace slow, so Livia didn’t exert herself too much. Trying to break the tense silence between them she asked, “Where had you been before…before you found me?”

  For a long time he didn’t answer her, and she wondered if he had heard her question. She glanced up at him, about to repeat her question but the words died in her throat when she saw the dark brooding look on his stern face. He was staring down at her, watching her with an intensity that was unsettling.

  “I was burying the dead,” he answered eventually.

  “Who?” She whispered, stopping dead in her tracks, her breathing laboured as his words sank in. Her hand reached up to her throat in trepidation. “Magia?”

  He shook his head, his mouth twisting, “No, not Magia. Some of the sailors, and soldiers who had been on-board.”

  She turned away from him, lest he see her tears, as she thought of her tire-woman. Poor Magia. How she had hated every moment she had been on-board the ship. If Livia could go back in time she would have; if only to persuade her brother to leave Magia behind. She should have protested harder, insisted the older woman remain in Rome, but Flavius had been adamant. She was to accompany Livia and nothing would dissuade him. And even though she had tried so desperately to get him to change his mind it still didn’t stop the powerful upwelling of guilt assailing her none the less. For several minutes she said nothing, just carried on walking thinking of Magia.

  But realising she had to be strong - this island demanded it - she wiped away the salty tears, and when she had composed herself, she asked, “Are there any other survivors?”

  She saw the shake of his head, and her stomach dropped. Swallowing hard she whispered, “How…how many men have you buried?”

  “Thirty so far. They have, unfortunately, been washed up on the shore these past five days.”

  Livia gasped, her eyes widening, “Thirty! Oh those poor men.” Then the full implication of his words sank in, “We’ve been here five days?” At his slight nod she turned to stare with sightless eyes out towards the sea, as they had now come to the edge of the forest and she could see their camp in the distance. She whispered, almost to herself, “I hadn’t realised I had been so ill.”

  Then the ramifications of what he just told her slammed into her, and a wave of heat suffused her whole body. If she had been ill for five days then he must have tended to all her needs. A shiver went through her as she realised what that involved. He’d been responsible for seeing to all her bodily functions. The thought of him touching her, washing her, tending to her was too much to bear, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds as she tried to deal with the enormity of what had happened to her since the shipwreck.

  When she had composed herself to some degree, she risked opening her eyes and relief replaced embarrassment. Metellus had left her standing there, and was walking towards the camp. Whether walking away from her was a deliberate action on his part she wasn’t sure, but she was relieved that he’d given her a few minutes to compose herself, and thankfully he’d said nothing about tending to her for the past five days.

  It was only later as she sat on her woollen cloak, sipping a much needed bowl of water, that Livia realised Metellus knew her name. She frowned, trying to remember if she had told him who she was, but after several moments of quick thinking she was convinced she hadn’t. She lowered her bowl to the sandy ground, and glanced over to where he sat leaning against a fallen tree trunk, one knee bent, his arm draped over it in an attitude of maleness that seemed unique to him somehow.

  “How do you know my name?” She asked hesitantly.

  “I asked the captain who you were,” he said, looking across at her with a closed expression on his face, his grey eyes giving nothing away. “You are Livia Drusus. Daughter of Senator Augustus Drusus. Sister to Flavius Augustus-”

  “Half-sister in actual fact.” Livia said interrupting him, her chin lifting in defiance as she heard the scorn in his voice. “You know my family?”

  She saw Metellus hesitate, his eyes narrowing, before he answered her question, “All of Rome knows of your family.”

  Again Livia heard the veiled sarcasm in his voice but said nothing, keeping her thoughts to herself for the moment.

  “The mighty Senator Drusus’s reputation goes before him. How is he by the way?”

  Again the sarcasm, and Livia stiffened before she answered, her tone curt, “He has been ill recently-” She stopped short, realising her mistake, when she saw Metellus frown as he seized on that piece of information like a lion pouncing in the arena.

  “Ill? I have heard nothing. What ails him?” He demanded, his body stiffening as he stared intently at her.

  Livia shrugged, knowing she had been caught out. She had been sworn to secrecy by Flavius to say nothing about her father’s illness; and now here, hundreds of miles from Rome, on a deserted island she had given the secret away! She released a deep sigh, and finally answered his question, “He has had a seizure of sorts. The whole of the left hand side of his body is paralysed.”

  Metellus’s eyes narrowed further, as he assimilated her words, and an ominous silence fell between the two of them. She wondered what he was thinking, but his face was a tight, closed, mask giving nothing away, and she couldn’t help the shiver of unease which coursed through her. Why was he so interested in her family? It made no sense…

  “Your brother-” he paused, a small smile twisting the corner of his mouth, before he continued, “Or rather your half-brother, is I presume, taking over your father’s business interests?”

  Livia hesitated, unsure whether to answer his question. She could plead ignorance of her brother’s affairs, but the way in which he was watching her, with an intensity that was frightening, made her tell the truth. She nodded slowly, “Yes.”

  Her one word answer made his mouth twist in derision, “I thought so,” he said more to himself than her.

  Livia stiffened, “You seem to know a lot about my family. Have you been to our villa to do business with my father and brother?” She asked, knowing in an instant, that if she had seen him at their villa, she would have definitely remembered him!

  “Visit your villa?” Metellus barked, his grey eyes boring into hers, “The affluent, and extremely well connected Drusii consorting with the likes of me? I don’t think so, Livia.”

  The words were meant to hurt, to put each of them firmly in their social places, and they were was not lost on her.

  Livia knew her father, and now, most probably her brother, had more enemies than friends; as everything they did, and had done over the years, had been for political, and financial gain.

  And for what? So her father could lay on a bed paralysed, unable to walk and talk? Dribbling like a baby as he was fed by the slaves. Had it been worth the hatred he had accrued for himself over the years? And now, her half-brother was treading the same path, emulating their father, as he too became obsessed in his quest to become one of Rome’s elite, to become one day, one of the most powerful and influential Senators of Rome.

  And as the only female offspring from her father’s loins, she had been nothing but a pawn to be used and bartered in the political arena. It had been that way ever since she had come into womanhood, and why she had been on her way to Alexandria, to an arranged marriage with a man she detested.

  Then, as if he had the power to read her thoughts, Metellus interrupted them by asking, “So why were you on the ship? Have you displeased your family so much they were compelled to send you half way across the Empire?”

  Livia stiffened even more, and she looked up into his closed face, his fathomless grey eyes as cold as a dark winter’s night as he watched her. For some reason a sense of foreboding came over her, making her feel vulnerable, and she lifted her chin, unwilling to tell him her reason for going to Alexandria. “Is it any concern of yours?” She asked, the words acting as a shield to protect her fragile ego.

  She saw his eyes narrow, “Not really. You are right. You are no concern of mine.” Then he stood up and walked awa
y, dismissing her.

  CHAPTER 4

  At his words Livia sat up, feeling cut to the bone, dismissed like she always had been by the men of her family. Piqued by his blatant disregard for her, she snapped, “Well, if I am no concern of yours, why did you rescue me in the first place? You should have left me to drown, along with all the others.”

  Her words had the desired effect, as he stopped mid-stride and turned to face her once again, his eyes hooded as he stared down at her for a long moment. Then he smiled - a wolf’s smile – and the knife Livia hadn’t been aware of him holding, tapped against his thigh.

  “A good question. One I’m not sure if I have an answer for,” he shrugged, before his eyes narrowing and he said, “Maybe you aroused my curiosity? Maybe it was greed? The promise of a fat reward if I saved the precious daughter of one of Rome’s finest perhaps? Let’s hope your brother has enough money to pay me. My price is very high as he – and you – will find out.”

  Livia gasped as a sharp pain pierced right through her. Is that all she really meant to him? Monetary gain?

  Pain, was replaced by anger, and in her iciest tone she said, “And what will you do if he refuses to pay anything for me? Take me back out to sea and drown me? You have made a big mistake if you think my father, and brother, care one jot about me.”

  And with those final words, she stood up and walked over to the farthest part of their makeshift camp. She sat down on the hot sand, her knees bent as she stared out to sea, wishing she were anywhere else but here, on a deserted island, with a man who detested everything about her, and her family.

  As Metellus watched her walk away, he cursed himself. He had gone too far he realised, but there was no going back. She didn’t know it of course, but he had blatantly lied to her. He hadn’t saved her for any monetary reward. Far from it – he was richer than them by far.

  It was common knowledge that the Drusii fortune had been virtually wiped out last year, when Mount Vesuvius had erupted, destroying all their vast areas of farm land in, and around, Pompeii and Herculaneum. Land, which had once been used to grow grapes for wine, and olives for the much coveted olive oil, and which now laid buried beneath tons of solidified lava and mud. The eruption had even destroyed the two small ships they had moored in the port area of Pompeii which were used to convey their goods to Rome. And if there was no money coming into the Drusii coffers it would mean they were at risk of failing to meet the 100,000 denarii threshold that Senators were obliged to have in order to keep their seats in the Senate.