The Roman's Revenge

by Caroline Storer

  As he flicked through the sheaf of papyrus papers laid out before him, he had to acknowledge Spurius Proba had been remarkably thorough. He had obtained written testimony from many people – influential people - who had been around at the time of the conspiracy against Nero, and it was abundantly clear that his father had had nothing to do with it. He had only been implicated because of well-placed lies given to Nero by Verenus.

  How could he have been so stupid? So blind for all these years not to have seen through his uncle? And what of his mother? She had been invited to stay on permanently at the villa after his father's death. Distraught after the execution of her husband, and having nowhere else to go, Antonia had accepted his invitation to stay. Had she not suspected? He doubted it. Verenus had been nothing but welcoming.

  It would appear they had both been duped by the one person they never thought would be capable of doing such a thing. But one thing puzzled him, and he lifted his head and asked, “Do you know how Verenus managed to keep this a secret for so long?”

  Spurius Proba nodded, “Money. It would seem he bribed his way to keeping people quiet. I understand he paid enormous sums of money for doing so. And don’t forget of course, once he had implicated Senator Drusus, the focus of attention was shifted onto him and not your uncle.”

  “Thank you, Spurius Proba,” Metellus said a few moments later, after he had taken in the enormity of what he had learned, “You have been most thorough. I can, of course, rely on your discretion regarding this matter?”

  “Of course.”

  Metellus knew he was telling the truth, and he nodded his thanks before reaching into a small chest which stood on his desk, taking out a small cloth bag he handed it over to the young man. “Here is the agreed fee, and something extra in recognition of all your hard work.”

  Spurius Proba took the cloth bag and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.” As Spurius Proba turned to leave the office he hesitated and turned back to face Metellus, a frown on his face, “Forgive me asking, but what do you intend to do next? As a lawyer, I have to strongly advise you against seeking any sort of retaliation.”

  Metellus laughed, the tone harsh, his face an impassive mask. “Rest assured, I will not take the law into my own hands, it is not worth it. I have a young wife and daughter to consider. But thank you for your concern. It is most appreciated.”

  Spurius Proba flushed at the hard tone of Metellus's voice, but he didn't take offence. After all, Metellus had every reason to be angry.

  Once Spurius Proba had left, Metellus sat at his table for a long time taking in everything he’d discovered this morning.

  Livia had been right. Her father had been innocent all along. With a suddenness that shocked him, he felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders as what had just been revealed to him, hit home. Livia had told the truth after all.

  He’d been blinded by his past. He had taken everything she had to offer, giving her nothing in return. He had been ruthless, uncaring, and he definitely didn’t deserve her love. She’d never asked for anything. All she’d yearned for were the things that couldn’t be bought. For love. For family. For happiness.

  When had it become more than just the taking her body? Always, his mind screamed at him. She was the only woman who had consumed his every waking moment, and the only woman he’d ever wanted…and the only woman he’d ever loved…

  He’d only been fooling himself. For months now he’d refused to acknowledge what had blatantly been staring him in the face. What they shared together went deeper than just lust, just desire.

  It was love. He was in love with Livia. He’d fallen in love with her compassion, her gentleness, her kindness – all he’d seen on the island. What other woman would have taken in the baby of a leper? And she had also been honest with him from the start.

  She hadn’t tried to hide her love for him. Instead she had been open, honest, challenging him to love her. Defying him to stop his revenge against her father. But he had refused to accept it, too blinded by his past, and had carried on regardless, hurting her, treating her abominably. The thirst for revenge too strong to slake.

  “Fool,” he ground out through clenched teeth. Anger surged through him and he thumped his clenched fist down onto the hard wood of his desk, relishing the small amount of pain it brought. He had to put things right. Now. He just hoped he hadn’t left it too late…

  With resolution firming his spine, he stood up and shuffled up the papers Spurius Proba had left for him. As he walked past his scribe, who worked in the adjoining room, he said, “I am leaving early, Grasus. I have important things to attend to at my villa. I need to undo the past. I just hope I’m not too late…”

  “Mother? I hadn’t expected to see you here. Where is Livia?”

  Antonia frowned, “She has gone to Verenus's villa. I came here at her request. She asked me to sit with Elisha as she has something to discuss with him. I thought it had something to do with the villa-” She stopped speaking when she saw a look of anguish pass over his face. Rushing forward she placed her hand on his arm, “Why, what is wrong?”

  A black look crossed Metellus’s face, “When did she leave?” He asked, ignoring his mother’s question, “How long ago?”

  Antonia gasped when she heard the anger in her son's voice. “An…an hour ago at the most. Metellus tell me what is wrong?”

  Metellus shook off his mother’s hand, “Verenus is up to no good-”

  Antonia’s face paled, “What are you talking about, Metellus? Have you gone mad? Verenus has been so good-”

  “Verenus killed father,” he interrupted forcibly, “Not Livia’s father. She was telling the truth, but I refused to believe her.”

  Antonia lost all colour from her face, and sat down before her legs gave way, raising a shaking hand to her temple. “I…I don’t understand, Metellus. What are you saying?”

  Metellus realised the shock was too much for his mother, and he cursed himself for being so blunt. He should have explained everything to her later, when he had the time. “I don't have time to explain now, mother. But believe me it is true.”

  “But-”

  “Not now, mother. I’m sorry, but I need to go now! Livia might be in danger.”

  Antonia's cry of distress was the last thing Metellus heard as he ran out of the room.

  “Would you like a drink? Some honey water perhaps? It is very hot today and you look a little piqued.”

  Livia bristled at the supercilious tone of Verenus's voice. He really was a horrible man she thought. It just amazed her that neither Antonia nor Metellus were able to see through him. But then why should they, when he had only ever shown them nothing but kindness? It was only with her he’d revealed his true colours. Right from the very first moment since they were first introduced. Sometimes it took an outsider to discover the truth; to expose the underbelly of a serpent lurking inside a family.

  “Thank you, some refreshment would be most welcome,” she was amazed at how cordial they were being, considering what was going to happen soon. Wisely, she said nothing about the nausea she was experiencing, the less he knew of her condition the better, and accepting the goblet of honey water he handed her with a small nod, she moved away from him and sat on one of the silk covered couches before taking a sip of her drink.

  As the minutes passed, the tension in the room grew more palpable as they waited, and Livia prayed Metellus was in his offices, and not down on the dockside, when the message was delivered. As she sat there waiting for him to arrive she laid back on the couch, content to close her eyes for a moment. She hadn't realised how tired she was. Obviously, her recent lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a moment…

  Livia woke up slowly, her hand lifting to her forehead as an intense pain shot through her temple. She felt so tired, so lethargic. What was the matter with her? She needed-

  Groaning, she forced her eyes open. As she focussed on her surroundings she realised she was in a darkened roo
m lying on a bed. Had she returned to their villa? If so, she hadn’t been aware of it. The last thing she remembered was sitting with Verenus, waiting for Metellus-

  She gasped and sat up, the pain in her head making her feel nauseous. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realised she wasn’t in her own bedroom. The room was very small, the bed no more than a cot with a straw filled mattress, bare of any other furniture. If she wasn’t mistaken, it very much appeared as if she were in one of the slave's quarters. But why? She tried to get her whirling thoughts into some sort of order, to piece together exactly what was going on.

  She remembered being in Verenus’s villa in the triclinium, drinking his wine waiting for Metellus.

  Then what? Nothing. That was the last she remembered. What on earth was going on? Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she stood up gingerly, unsure if she had the strength to stand. For a moment the room swam before her eyes, and she had to steady herself by resting a hand on the stone wall. Once the room had stopped spinning, she made her way to the door. Had she become ill, and Verenus had taken her to rest in one of the rooms? But why a room belonging to a slave? Did she mean so little to him?

  When she got to the door she turned the handle. Only it didn't move.

  The door was locked. Livia frowned, trying to think logically, but her head felt heavy, as if mud, instead of blood, was flowing through it, and for a second she thought she had made a stupid mistake. So she tried the door again. But the door didn’t move. It was definitely locked.

  Lifting her fist she banged on the door and shouted, “Verenus! Verenus! Let me out at once. This is madness.”

  Nothing. Not a sound could be heard from the other side of the door. Livia stood there, her head resting against the thickness of the wooden planks trying to collect her thoughts.

  Verenus, she realised, was up to no good. It was obvious he had put something in her drink, a drug of some sort to make her sleepy.

  Lifting her head away, she once again banged on the door. But as she did so she realised it was pointless - no-one was there. Glancing behind her to the back wall she spotted a small window; its wooden shutters closed, but she knew that with a small push they should open easily. She should be able to climb onto the window ledge and jump out. The slave quarters were at the back of the villa she knew, and not too far from the atrium.

  With a renewed sense of relief, she walked over to the window and pushed the shutters open.

  Only they didn't move. Livia shook them again, but it was no use they were closed tight. Leaning forward, she squinted through the small slats, and saw that a large plank of wood had been nailed across the shutters sealing them shut.

  She was trapped with no way out. Her breath caught in her throat as she bit back a sob of panic, and the pain in her head returned with renewed vigour. Swallowing hard she fought back the waves of nausea that threatened.

  Rushing back to the bed, she laid back down on the mattress and took in several large breaths to calm herself, her hand moving to rest on her still flat stomach, in an unconscious gesture of protection.

  She needed to collect herself, steady her thoughts. She needed to be strong, not succumb to panic, and for a few minutes she lay on the bed, the silence of the room helping to soothe her nerves. But then she heard a noise from outside the door, and with lightening reflexes, and ignoring the protests of her body, she flew off the bed and ran to the door, her small fists pounding on the door.

  “Verenus! Verenus! Open this door at once. If you don't I'll-” I’ll what? She thought. There wasn't anything she could do about the situation she currently found herself in. She was trapped, and at the total mercy of a madman!

  The smell of acrid smoke hit her senses, and glancing down, she watched in horror as thick black smoke seeped through the small gap under the door. For a moment disbelief held her immobile at what she was witnessing, but then her survival instincts kicked in, and she rushed over to the bed, and pulled the straw mattress off the wooden frame. Dragging it across the floor she pushed it against the door, praying the makeshift barrier would prevent the smoke from filling the room too quickly.

  But she knew it was only a stalling tactic. It would be only a matter of time until-

  Livia bit back a hysterical sob. “No.” She moaned, unable to believe what was happening; unable to comprehend that Verenus wanted her dead. The pounding in her head intensified, along with the terror which was threatening to consume her. Feeling nauseous once more, she rushed back to the bed and sat down on the bare wooden boards, trying desperately to calm herself, as she watched the smoke starting to fill the small room. With a feeling of helplessness and dread she knew there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

  Tears fell unheeded down her face. “I'm sorry Metellus. I tried. I really tried.” Her hands fell across her stomach as if to say sorry to her unborn child. Closing her eyes she blanked out what was happening. She needed to sleep. She needed to block out this living nightmare…she needed to take herself to a better place.

  So with a small smile on her face, she remembered the time she’d spent on the island with Metellus…and the night she had made love with him…

  CHAPTER 23

  “Where is he? Where is Verenus? And where is my wife?”

  The slave stepped backwards, recoiling at the ferocious tone, before stammering, “I do not know, Master.”

  Metellus hissed, his eyes frantic as he searched the empty courtyard looking for any evidence as to where they could be. He’d already searched every room in the villa, but there had been no sign of them. The only evidence of Verenus and Livia having been there, were two empty goblets of wine and the remains of a small meal.

  “Have they left? Where did they go?”

  “No…nowhere, Master. I swear. I have not left my post here at the gate. If they’d left, then I would have seen them.”

  Metellus frowned, thinking quickly. “What about the slave quarters? Isn’t there a gate that leads out the-?”

  He stopped speaking, when he heard a shout coming from the rear of the villa. With every instinct on alert he started to run towards the raised voices. But as he ran he heard the words “fire” being shouted, and his heart beat accelerated as a feeling of dread came over him. It was only when he rounded the corner of the villa, and came to the single storey building which comprised the slave quarters, that he saw the evidence for himself. Thick black smoke and huge flames of fire emanating from the furthest of the slave quarters. In an instant he realised what was happening. What Verenus had planned…

  “Livia,” he shouted. “Livia…”

  Metellus ran towards the scene of destruction as if all the gods of the Underworld were after him. Slaves were frantically trying to put out the fire, forming a human chain as they threw endless buckets of water over the inferno.

  At that moment a total sense of helplessness washed over him. Was he too late? Could Livia survive such a fire – or more importantly the deadly smoke - which was engulfing the small room?

  Refusing to be defeated he rushed to the front of the human chain of slaves, and immediately took charge.

  “We need to get the door down. The smoke will be too intense.” He yelled the words at one of the slaves – Isis – he recalled, Verenus’s overseer.

  “But…but the door is too thick, Master. We have tried. That is why we are using the water from the pond in the atrium.”

  Metellus thought rapidly. They had to get the door open. It was the only way to save her from the smoke. Twisting his head, he searched frantically around the courtyard that led from the main villa to the slave quarters before he spotted a marble bench which sat along one of the back walls of the villa.

  Running toward it he shouted over his shoulder, “Isis! Get some of the male slaves over here now to help me lift this bench! We will use it as a battering ram!”

  Isis, thankfully, comprehended what Metellus was planning, and ordered five of the other slaves to break the line and help him. Once they had lifted the
marble bench, Metellus shouted at the other slaves to move away from the door, and with a clear path the six men rushed towards the door, hitting it with all their strength. At first the door didn’t move, and Metellus shouted, “Again! Hit it again.”

  This time the door burst open, the hinges flying as the marble bench obliterated the wood. “Thank the gods,” Metellus whispered, before he rushed into the smoke filled room…

  The sight of Livia lying there was the worst moment of Metellus's life. Worse, he realised, than watching his father being arrested by the Praetorian Guard and dragged away from their villa never to return.

  Blood rushed in his ears, thundered through every vein of his body as he ran over to where Livia lay on the bed. With gentle movements he lifted her, noticing how so slight, so slender she was, barely weighing anything as he carried her out of the smoke filled room. Her head lolled as he carried her, her arms dangling as they hung lifelessly from her body, and Metellus couldn’t hold back his moan of anguish.

  “Please.” It was all he could whisper, his brain refusing to let him utter the words ‘don’t die’, and it wasn’t until he’d lowered her onto a marble bench in the atrium, bent his head to her chest, that relief surged through him when he felt the flutter of her heartbeat against her ribs.

  “Thank the gods,” he breathed, before he lifted his head and looked at the group of slaves who all stood there watching in varying states of shock. “Run,” he barked at one of the slaves, “Get me some water, and some wet cloths.”

  As he waited for the slave to return, he tapped Livia’s cheek, trying to stimulate a response from her. “Livia. Livia wake up. It is I, Metellus.”

  He kept his tone gentle, even though his heart was hammering, threatening to burst out of his ribs as anger clamoured inside him, and every instinct he possessed urged him to go after his uncle. Verenus was responsible for this. Verenus had nearly killed Livia!

  He leaned forward, stroking the smooth skin of her cheek, noticing how much his hands shook as he pushed back the dishevelled hair from her face. She looked so beautiful, so vulnerable. And he’d never loved her more.