The Roman's Revenge

by Caroline Storer

  “…married tomorrow. Be ready at the Sixth hour.”

  Flavius’s words came out of nowhere, and hit her with such force she felt the earth shift under her feet. “What…what did you say?”

  Hot colour suffused her half-brothers face, causing it to mottle in an unbecoming way. “H…have you not listened to anything I’ve been saying, woman?” he stuttered, apoplectic with rage, “You are to be married in the morning. Make sure you are ready. At least you will be off my hands. The fool is prepared to marry you.”

  Bile roiled in her throat. All her nightmares had come true. Pullus still wanted to marry her. And even though she knew it would be futile, for Flavius had no heart, she still begged, “Please Flavius. Don’t allow this. What purpose would it serve?”

  Flavius stiffened, his face hard, immobile, “Serve? It serves my purpose, that’s what. Your hand in marriage in exchange for a large amount of money-”

  “But…but we don't need money. Father is rich-”

  “Was rich Livia. Was.” Flavius said, interrupting her halting words. “This family is burdened by debts you know nothing about, and I need money quickly, or we will be ruined. Your marriage will enable me to pay those debts, and keep my standing here in Rome.”

  “But I don't understand? Why-”

  “There is nothing for you to understand,” he shouted, cutting off her question, “You will do as I command. You will be married tomorrow. I will get much needed money, and you will be off my hands. It is that simple.”

  Livia felt her nerves scream out in protest, defeat overwhelming her with its intensity. She wanted to shout and scream at him at the injustice of it all. But what was the point? Her brother had never changed his mind about anything once he had decided upon a course of action.

  She dared to ask, “And Elisha? She can come with me?” Her words were neutral, giving nothing away of the inner turmoil she was experiencing about the possibility of having to give up the baby.

  “Yes. Although I don't know why.”

  At his words Livia’s shoulders sagged. Thank the gods! Relief surged through her. Even if she had to endure Pullus touching her – and she recoiled at the thought of him making love to her – at least she could keep the baby.

  “Now leave. I have work to do.”

  At Flavius’s clipped words Livia said nothing more. She was just about to leave the tablinum when Flavius’s words stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, one more thing, Livia. Once you leave this villa tomorrow you will never be welcome back here. You will make your bed and lie in it once you are married. You’ve made fools of us once too often. Firstly, with your sham of a marriage to Galvus, and now the trouble you’ve caused with the child. Father, and I, want nothing more to do with you. Do you understand?”

  “Oh, I understand fully, Flavius,” Livia said, her voice full of scorn, refusing to succumb to his hateful words. She stared at him in defiance, “But, tell me one thing before I leave this villa for good. Do you know if I’m to go back to Alexandria?”

  Flavius shrugged indifference in every line of his body, “I have no idea where you are going, Livia. And frankly I do not care.”

  It was the final humiliation. Flavius couldn't have made his feelings any plainer. Both she, and Elisha, meant nothing to him.

  The next morning seemed to pass in agonising slowness. Livia had arisen early, bone tired from having spent a sleepless night thinking of her impending marriage to Pullus, and how she would endure his touch, his kisses, his body covering hers when all she could think of was the passion, the pleasure, she had felt, and shared, with Metellus when they had made love.

  And now, with little over an hour before the wedding ceremony was due to begin, she was trying to quell the nerves that assailed her.

  Maude, her new tire-woman, was brushing her hair, the movement of the comb through her long hair rhythmic, and the silence in the bedroom going some way to soothing her frayed nerves.

  Portia's revelation yesterday about Pullus questioning her at Senator Crito’s gathering was now painfully obvious. He still wanted to marry her; and had lost no time in getting her brother to arrange the betrothal.

  She frowned in confusion. Nothing made sense. Surely he was aware of the gossip about her, and the fact she had returned with a baby? What on earth was Pullus playing at? What reason did he have for wanting to marry her? Especially now, when she was the current laughing stock of all Rome!

  Well you'll have a lifetime to find out why won’t you? She thought humourlessly.

  Once Maude had finished styling her hair, she passed her a mirror of polished copper to view the finished result. The face that stared back at her looked every inch the daughter of a rich Senator. Her hair had been pulled back off her face, secured by tortoise shell combs, before it cascaded down her back in a riot of curls.

  Her face had been made up, mainly at Maude’s insistence rather than Livia wanting it done, to emphasise the fullness of her lips and bring out the hazel of her eyes. Her cheekbones had been tinted a dusty pink, and as she stared at her reflection, she couldn’t help noticing that they had become more pronounced since her return to Rome.

  The weight loss was partly due to the anxiety about having to give up Elisha, and if she were truthful, partly due to Metellus. Because, no matter how hard she’d tried, she had been unable to get him out of her head ever since he’d turned up at the villa. His presence had robbed her of what little appetite she’d had.

  “It’s time, Mistress.”

  Maude’s words jolted her out of her dark musings, and she stood up, lifting her arms so the young girl could slip the silk stola over her head.

  She didn't have a wedding gown of course, there hadn’t been enough time to purchase one. Instead, she had picked out her best gown, a silk stola in the palest shade of jade green, the silk shot through with silver thread, so when she moved the dress shimmered in the summer sunlight.

  Although she didn't want to marry Pullus, she knew without a shadow of doubt that if she didn't dress well for this marriage, Flavius would be furious with her. And right now she didn't have the energy, or the inclination, to rile him, for if she did he might change his mind about letting her keep Elisha.

  Once Maude had finished dressing her, she made her way out into the atrium to gather her thoughts. She had sent a message to Portia earlier, begging her to come this morning, as she desperately needed her friend here for moral support. If nothing else, Portia’s displeasure at the wedding would be known to all, as her friend very much let her emotions rule her head! Thinking of her friend, she felt a small twinge of guilt. Should she have told her about Metellus? Somehow, telling Portia about what had happened on the leper island, and the feelings she still felt for Metellus was one step too far. Her feelings were too raw, too special, to even share with her best friend at this time.

  And Livia thought, with a wry twist of her lips, she was also a realist. She knew Portia wouldn't have been able to keep it secret. Her friend loved gossip – whether it was hearing it – or sharing it!

  A slight movement caught her eye as she saw her tire-woman coming towards her. “I will be but a few moments,” Livia said, before she walked over to a small stone statute which stood in the corner of the atrium.

  Closing her eyes she dedicated a prayer to her mother, wishing with all her heart she could have been here today. “Wish Elisha, and I well, mother,” she said, fighting back the tears that threatened, before she turned and followed Maude back into the villa to where Flavius stood waiting for her, his face expressionless. Without a word he turned, and Livia followed him into tablinum.

  As she entered the small room she saw that it was empty, with no sign of her husband-to-be and a small dart of annoyance shot through her. She was obviously not worth the effort of rushing for. But knowing Pullus, it didn't surprise her. Portia had been right in what she had said about him. He was the most odious of men, and keeping her waiting was just another attempt to assert his dominance over her.

  She had t
he sudden urge to flee. But deep down she knew the futility of doing so. Flavius would just drag her back – but more importantly – it could compromise Elisha’s safety. He had made it clear he didn't want her, or Elisha, anywhere near this villa ever again.

  So she tempered her emotions, and sat down in the wooden curule chair and waited, facing forward, refusing to glance behind her. After what seemed like an eternity, but could only have been a few minutes, a noise from outside the tablinum broke the silence in the room. Tension slammed through her, and she clasped her hands together, trying to calm her nerves.

  “Stand up and turn to face your betrothed,” Flavius hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her roughly out of the chair.

  With reluctance she did as he ordered, turning to face the open doorway. She saw the tall, thin figure of the priest dressed in his distinctive white robes come through first, followed by a taller figure who walked directly behind him. Confusion caused her to frown. Pullus was short and fat, and before she could assimilate anything further she saw who it was. The room tilted on its axis as she swayed, a feeling of faintness coming over her. She felt Flavius’s grip tighten on her arm and was thankful for it as she would otherwise have fallen to the floor.

  “Metellus!” she breathed, her heart beating so fast she thought it would leap out of her chest.

  Metellus was here. On her wedding day! Was this some sort of foul trick both Flavius, and Metellus, had agreed to when he had visited with her half-brother the other day? Did Metellus know Pullus, and he had asked him if he could attend the wedding? But it couldn’t be that! She remembered his scorn when she had mentioned who she was marrying on the island. By the gods, none of this made any sense. No sense whatsoever.

  Her eyes widened as they clashed with Metellus’s expressionless ones. Deliberately, she broke eye contact with him, her gaze taking in his silk tunic, the colour of rich claret. It clung and emphasised the width of his shoulders, and the outfit he wore today was in marked contrast to the rough woollen tunic he had worn on the ship.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she were dreaming, and when she opened her eyes she would discover it had been her mind playing tricks on her all along. But she picked up the scent of sandalwood on his skin as he came to stand next to her. It was so distinctively him that she knew without a doubt that Metellus wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

  With reluctance she opened her eyes. Metellus was definitely no apparition. He was a full blooded male who seemed to dominate the room. Not just his physical presence, but also the aura of power which seemed to ooze out of him.

  Even Flavius, in his silk robes paled into insignificance.

  Some sort of unseen force made her eyes rise to meet his once more. This time his grey eyes held hers, and she felt hot, sweet pleasure pierce her. Just one look made her insides quiver, turning them to hot molten lava.

  Still holding his gaze, she leaned closer to Flavius and whispered, “Where is Pullus?”

  Flavius frowned down at her, “What are you talking about woman?” he hissed out of clenched teeth, “You are marrying him. Now be quiet and do as you are bid.”

  Livia was thankful Flavius was still holding her, as she seriously doubted whether her legs would have been able to hold her upright as the realisation of what he’d said hit her.

  In the deafening silence following his words, a shrill voice broke the tension within the room, “Have I missed it? Tell me I'm not too late.”

  Portia! At last a voice of reason, in what was rapidly becoming a farce worthy of any a comedy performed in the playhouses' of Rome.

  “Who invited you?” Flavius burst out, frowning in annoyance as Portia pushed forward and came to stand next to Livia, her customary bracelets jangling in the sudden silence which pulsed through the room.

  “Livia did,” Portia said haughtily, “Do you have a problem with that, Flavius?”

  Flavius glared at both women before snapping out, “Jupiter’s cock, this past week is turning into a nightmare. Now let’s get this marriage ceremony over with. I have important business to attend to later this afternoon.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “I thought you were marrying Pullus?”

  Livia looked across to her friend, and shrugged, “So did I.”

  Portia's “O” of surprise, would have been amusing in other circumstances, if only for the fact it hadn't been so traumatic a day.

  “He’s very handsome.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? Is that all you have to say about your new husband?”

  Livia noticed her friend’s demeanour was one of annoyance, and concern for Livia, in equal measures.

  “How did you meet?” Portia asked, pushing on with her questioning.

  “On the ship to Alexandria.”

  This time Portia’s “O” made Livia smile, and she elaborated. “He was the one who rescued me.”

  Portia’s expression changed from concern to happiness in an instant, and she clapped her hands in glee. “So it is a love match! How lovely. I’m so pleased-”

  “No.” Livia interrupted, cutting off her friend’s exuberance, “No, it isn’t a love match, Portia. Far from it.”

  “But I don’t understand?”

  Livia sighed, glancing away from Portia, to where Metellus stood talking to her half-brother. By the grim expressions on both their faces, it didn’t appear to be the most cordial of conversations.

  Realising Portia deserved an explanation, she glanced back at her friend, meeting the concern evident in her eyes. “I have kept many things back from you, Portia, and for that I am sorry. But suffice to say, Metellus isn’t marrying me because he loves me. He is marrying me to avenge the death of his father. He hates my family, and I can only assume our marriage is based solely on his desire for revenge.”

  For a long time Portia said nothing, before she took Livia’s hand in hers. “Oh, Livia, I’m so sorry. I can’t profess to understand all that has happened, but he doesn’t look like a man who will harm you.” She bit her bottom lip in consternation, staring across the room at Metellus, “But you never know…”

  Livia smiled at her friend’s words. Typical Portia, she spoke before thinking. “I don’t think he will harm me. He hasn’t up until now.”

  “Well that’s good isn’t it? A start of sorts, if you like.” After a small silence fell between them, Portia asked. “Do you know what will happen to you? Where will you go, where you will live?”

  “She will live at my farm, and here in Rome once my – our - new villa is built.”

  Both women jumped at the words, neither of them having heard Metellus approach, where they sat in the coolness of the atrium.

  “I would like a word with you if I may be permitted. In private,” Portia said flatly, before she stood up and placed herself in front of Metellus.

  Livia looked up at Portia in surprise. What on earth was her friend up to? But before she could stop her, Portia walked away, and Metellus, not having much choice, followed her.

  Livia looked from under her eyelashes to where they stood at the other end of the atrium, Portia talking to him earnestly, her hands lifting and falling in equal measure as she gesticulated whatever she was trying to convey to Metellus. As she watched them both, she noticed Metellus’s face and body language gave nothing away as he listened to what Portia was telling him.

  Once Portia had finished what she wanted to convey, Livia watched in fascination, as instead of appearing angry at Portia’s words, he threw back his head and laughed.

  Portia obviously wasn’t expecting that response from Metellus, because she stiffened and her face turned grim, before she turned and flounced back to where Livia still sat on a marble bench watching them. She saw with some amusement that Portia’s face was flushed a brilliant red, either in embarrassment or vexation – or a combination of both.

  “Well, are you going to tell me what you said to him, or are you going to sulk here all night,” Livia teased, when after a full five minutes of
fuming Portia still hadn’t said anything.

  “That man is the most obnoxious man I have ever met! Without manners or deportment, and I-” Portia stopped her tirade, when she realised she was in actual fact insulting Livia’s new husband. She took a deep breath, and in a calmer voice said, “I merely asked that he be gentle with you, told him you are still untouched-”

  “Portia! You didn’t!” Livia gasped, her eyes flying to where Metellus stood watching them both, a goblet of wine in his hand. Her eyes met his, and she saw the dark humour shining in them, before he lifted the goblet up in a mocking salute to her. Hot colour suffused her whole body as she met the humour in his eyes before she turned away. Could the day get any worse?

  “Well someone had to tell him the truth,” Portia finally said, “I didn’t want him hurting you. Although you were married previously, we both know your dead husband didn’t do anything, that you remain untouched-.”

  “He wouldn’t have hurt me,” Livia said quietly, interrupting Portia’s impassioned speech.

  “Wouldn’t have hurt you? What are you talking about? You are still a-” Portia stopped talking, her hand slapping over her mouth, her eyes wide, as Livia’s words sunk in. Finally.

  “When?”

  Livia lifted her shoulders, knowing her friend deserved an explanation. Even so hot colour flood her face once more. “On the island.”

  “Oh!” Portia squeaked, her eyes darting back to Metellus. Livia’s gaze followed hers and she noticed that he still leaned against the marble column watching them both. Although this time there was no humour on his face, instead it was blank, devoid of emotion offering no inclination as to what he was thinking.

  “I had better get ready.” Livia finally said, breaking eye contact with Metellus before she stood up when it became clear her friend had nothing more to say. “We are to travel to Metellus’s farm this afternoon, and I’m not sure how far from Rome it is-”