by T. L. Higley
Maius turned drunken eyes on her, and she could see his confusion at her gladiator's costume. He looked at Micah. "Hmmm. A matched pair, it would seem."
Valerius cocked his head. "Yes, they are much alike, are they not? Let us hope she continues to give as much pleasure as her brother has."
At this, there was a first stir of awakening, and the hair at the nape of her neck prickled with dread. Micah's grip on her tightened and she felt the tension of his body.
Hashem, what has happened to him?
"Come, come." Maius beckoned the group to follow. "You have arrived perfectly. We are just beginning the Feast."
Valerius grinned. "And I expect a better celebration than I received in the home of Portius Cato."
Maius's face darkened. "Cato." It was not a question, but a statement of betrayal.
"Fret not, Gnaeus. Cato's desperation marks him as your inferior, even if there were nothing else to disparage him."
A smoldering anger sparked to life in Ariella's chest.
Maius bowed. "Then let us enjoy the evening as it should be enjoyed."
Valerius followed the larger man, then glanced backward at his other three slaves. "Bring the two."
They were herded through Maius's fantastic estate, past the courtyard garden, down a long hall, and through another smaller atrium. The home seemed to continue forever, as another hall bent and led toward the west. The sounds of celebration wafted on an odor of cooked flesh, and Ariella slowed, only to be prodded from behind by one of the slaves.
A small portico opened at this edge of the house, and they rounded the corner onto it, catching a breath of the night air. To her left, a large triclinium adjoined the portico, and the room was crowded with celebrants and lit by an abundance of flaming torches.
But it was not the many guests, nor the lavish spread of rich foods, that stopped Ariella and held her captive where she stood. It was the paintings.
The three walls of the room were painted from floor to ceiling with panels of plaster frescoes, each one its own scene, divulging a horrific story that was both the stuff of legend and the truth of her past.
Ariella's mouth went dry, then flooded as though she would be sick. Confronted so visually with the events of her life, her legs trembled and her stomach rebelled.
It was all there. The panicked female initiate, the god Bacchus sprawled naked, the priestess ushering the terrified girl toward her descent to the underworld. Satyrs, nymphs, the winged god Eros, the man-horse Silenus—all looked down on the proceedings with approval. Even the final scene of the now-wiser girl being whipped by the priestess. All of it, wrapped around the room in color and details so real, for a moment she felt again the trance-inducing effects of the Kykeon, the wine that brought on frenzied hallucinations.
Ariella became aware once again of her surroundings. The humiliation of her memories came to life before Micah. She looked to him, hoping he would not understand. But when he turned his face to her, she saw more than understanding. She saw the pain of a shared humiliation.
He knew. He knew too well.
Her anger flamed, building as though fanned by a hot wind. The stupor that had numbed her since leaving Cato's house began to lift, washed away with a wave of hatred.
They were pushed into the triclinium behind Valerius, and pulled to a couch on his left and right, his private pets chained to his side. The eyes of the guests barely registered the newcomers, so far gone were they with their drugged wine. The room smelled of body odor and a sickening sweetness—a smell Ariella could not identify that soured in her stomach.
Valerius was commenting on the paintings.
Maius laughed from his place across the room. "You were my inspiration, of course, Clovius. My time in Rome with you was most—enlightening."
Valerius reached across to the table in front of them and lifted a lump of sausage. He brought it to his mouth and bit off a chunk, then pushed it against Ariella's lips. She turned her face and leaned away, but he would smash it against her lips and so she at last opened her mouth, and considered biting off his fingers. Not yet. Her time would come. The sausage was vile in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed.
The Feast of Vulcan had given each of the guests reason enough to indulge in excess, if indeed any reason was necessary, and the night wore on with lively music played by flutes in the corner and half-dressed women brought in to dance in the center of the three tables. Knowing her brother watched, Ariella felt her face flush at their explicit display. But the night had only begun. The partygoers had barely begun to indulge their flesh, and her vision blurred at what was still to come.
Some of the guests still retained enough sobriety to speak of politics, and it was not long before Cato's name was mentioned. Valerius raised a cup to Maius. "He is young and eager, Maius. Are you assured of victory?"
Maius grinned and reached out to yank at the arm of one of the dancing girls and pull her down onto his couch. "I am making certain of it even as we enjoy the evening, Clovius." He pressed his full lips against the girl's mouth, then pushed her away and stuffed a date between his teeth. "I have spent the day writing letters and sending messages." He spoke around the date, chewing it with an open mouth. "It would seem that our Portius Cato has made some unfortunate allies. Christians."
Valerius's hold on her tightened. Could he feel her racing heart?
"Christians! Why would he do such a thing?"
Maius shrugged. "His foolishness is my gain. By the morning, everyone who matters in this town will know if it." He swallowed his mouthful. "If I can manage it, I will bring some charges against him, and toss him into a cell next to his sister. With the blessing of the gods, we will see him executed before the election even arrives."
Sweat dampened Ariella's tunic under her leather and her shoulders tightened.
Valerius indicated the paintings once more. "You are planning initiation rites soon, I expect?"
"Indeed." Maius waved the dancing girls away, clearing the space between himself and Valerius. "At the next new moon." He swept a hand around the room. "Everyone is in great anticipation."
"You will be Bacchus?"
Maius shrugged with false humility. "Of course."
"And your initiate?" Valerius leaned against her. "Who shall play the part of Ariadne?"
Maius smiled and rubbed his lips. The room quieted, as though his guests also wished to hear who would be the female initiate in the ritual marriage. "My daughter, Nigidia."
Ariella's body jerked. To use a slave in such a way was contemptible, but one's daughter? Incest was frowned upon, even in Rome's depraved society. The guests around the tables held their silence, and the moment seemed suspended on bated breath.
Valerius dipped his head toward Maius. "A bold decision. I applaud your courage."
Guests relaxed visibly.
But for Ariella, the declaration sickened her beyond tolerating. She pushed away from Valerius.
He seemed to anticipate her and snaked out a thin hand to clutch her arm in a vicious grip. He smiled at Maius. "Sadly, since I lost my favorite here, I have had to use a substitute." He pressed his lips against her arm. "But as you said, the two are a matched pair. So I have not suffered too greatly."
The truth of what Valerius had declared rained down on Ariella like a torrent of hot coals. She could not look at her brother. Could not breathe.
Oh, God. How could you allow such a thing?
But it was a question with no answer, a question she had asked too many times in the past nine years. She expected nothing in return. Nothing but the hollow burning where her soul had been.
Maius was laughing. "And I applaud your creativity."
Valerius rubbed her arm with his fingers, as if to erase the welts he had caused. "I must confess that I've grown quite fond of her replacement. Ah well, perhaps when we celebrate again, they can both participate." He lifted his eyebrows and winked in Maius's direction.
It was too much. Fearing she would vomit and suffocating with r
age, Ariella yanked herself away from Valerius and stood, unsteady and breathing hard.
Valerius sighed. "She is not as submissive as she once was, I fear. And I grow tired of her tonight, Gnaeus. Can you find somewhere to keep her for the night?"
"Of course." Maius signaled a slave at the doorway. "Put the girl in the cells and put a guard on her."
Ariella sought out her brother's eyes once more, even as the slave yanked both her arms behind her back. Micah turned to her, but there was a dullness there, a slackness about the mouth, that she had not noted before, and she trembled with fury to see it. Valerius reached out to stroke her leg, and she kicked his hand. He yelped with pain and anger, and she laughed.
It seemed only moments later that she sprawled on the mud floor of a tiny chamber under Maius's terrace. Little surprise that the man kept private cells in his house. At least Portia had not been chained here.
The thought of Portia brought memories of Cato on its heels, of Maius's threat to have him executed, of Cato's eyes on her as Valerius led her away.
She paced the cell, her wrath building to the breaking point.
It was all absurd, everything Jeremiah had taught her. There was no freedom of spirit without freedom of body. She belonged to Valerius once again, all of her. The Creator had forsaken her, as she had always believed.
Her heart pulsed with the desire to lash out, to hurt someone as she had been hurt, to destroy and to tear apart, and in the destruction to dull her own pain.
The searing hatred for Valerius, for the Romans who had razed her city and destroyed her family and annihilated her faith rose up inside her with a boiling heat, overwhelmed and set her screaming. Screaming out her rage and pain at the God who had allowed all of it, her fist raised to the low ceiling as though she could reach through it into the night sky, all the way to the heavens above.
No one came. No guard chastised. No God, either.
She was alone.
Spent, she dropped to the floor and lowered her head to her bent knees.
She would forget everything that Jeremiah had nearly made her believe. There was no contentment to be found in injustice and despair. There was no community here to help her. And most of all, there was no God who cared.
She would not give up fighting. Never. But she would fight alone. For herself and for her brother, she would do what must be done. In the darkness, she made a vow. And through the long, sleepless night, she repeated this vow until it hardened into solid rock within her soul.
Even if it brought about her own death, Clovius Valerius would not live to abuse them again.
CHAPTER 39
Late into the night, Cato paced the city streets, reliving the day and berating himself for his foolish pride. He should never have brought Valerius to Pompeii. What a stupid, arrogant thing to do. To think that he could control the situation, manipulate Maius's ally for his own ends.
He reached the southern edge of the city, his feet having taken him toward the arena of their own accord. The circular stone wall loomed gray and black against the night sky, its series of arches like hooded eyes, scowling down on him.
He would lose the election. Of this he was certain. He had made inroads into Maius's corruption, but it was not enough. The failure of it nagged at his pride, but it was pain over the fate of his sister that crushed him.
And Ariella.
Ariella.
Her face was before him in an instant. The way her eyes had rested on him as Valerius hauled her into the street with her newly found brother. Her lips parted, as though she would say farewell. But she did not.
He crossed the grassy field that led to the arena, ignoring his vineyard on the left. The amphitheater was silent, like a massive tomb awaiting its occupants. He walked down the darkened ramp that led to the arena floor and stepped into the soft sand.
The memory of ten thousand cheers seemed to echo from the hollow seats, as though a spectral audience wavered, ghostly and unreal, in the empty marble tiers. Cato moved on soundless feet to the center of the arena.
He turned a slow circle, remembering the day he had sworn that Ariella would not face another opponent. Self-reproach washed over him. What good had he done her? Taken her from one slavery to another, then brought an adversary more dangerous than any her net and trident had seen.
He saw her again, pleading with him not to summon Valerius. Why had he not understood?
Suddenly weary, Cato lowered himself to the sand, spreading out with his face to the cold sky and his back to the cold sand. It still smelled of blood and death here. Of the thousands of men and animals that had died to entertain.
What would happen to Portia? To Ariella?
He faced the truth that he had brought harm to both of these women whom he loved, and he was helpless to change anything.
Helpless.
A failure.
All the pain of Rome. He had been so cocky, so sure of his fight against the corrupt praetor, Maximus. Outspoken and arrogant and immature. In the end, he had failed to convince the consuls, and been trounced, even ridiculed for his position.
He had come to Pompeii to forget and had only caused more harm.
He tried to pray. Reached out to the God who had saved him from his sin, but not from himself. But there was only the black sky above, and the stars seemed to accuse with their brightness. Cato threw his arm over his eyes and lay there in the sand, defeat as sharp as if he had fallen by a gladiator's sword.
The despair swelled in his chest and overflowed, spilling tears from his eyes, down over his temples. The sand that had soaked up so much blood over the years drank in his tears as though they were nothing, and the sobs that wracked his chest bounced back at him from the stone surround.
Hours later, he lay on a bench in his courtyard, half-frozen but uncaring. The family and household had all gone to their beds, but sleep came only in fragments of uneasy dreams for Cato.
His mother found him nearly senseless in the morning, unwashed and cold. She roused him enough to swallow some cold porridge. Lucius arrived soon after, his face as white as marble.
"Have you heard?"
Cato pushed the porridge away. What else could there be?
"It is all over town this morning." Lucius's voice cracked with emotion.
Octavia gripped her son-in-law's arm with both hands. "Portia?"
Lucius eyed her as though he did not comprehend the question, then turned back to Cato. "Maius has sent letters throughout the town. Telling everyone that you have taken up with the sect of Christians, and are practicing their unnatural rites with them, defying the emperor. There are rumors of your arrest."
Octavia gasped and took an unsteady step backward. Lucius had the sense to catch her. Cato did not move.
Lucius spoke through pale lips. "What are we to do, Quintus? How can you free Portia—"
"I cannot!" He jumped to his feet. "I cannot free Portia, or Ariella, or anyone in this town! I told you. All of you. I told you not to force me to take a stand against this man. I failed in Rome, and I have failed here and I should never have expected anything but failure."
Octavia and Lucius said nothing, but their stricken faces accused, and Cato could bear it no longer. "I am going to work in my vineyard. When they come for me, they can find me there."
He left them both, open-mouthed and staring, in the atrium. Left behind the house and the election and his empty promises to find justice for anyone, and returned to his vineyard where he should have stayed months ago.
The vines had matured in the months since he had come to Pompeii, and they hung heavy now with ripened fruit. Cato spread a cluster across his palm and felt the weight of it, pleased.
Remus came up behind him, startling him. "The harvest is ready."
Cato nodded and surveyed the rows that remained healthy and strong even after Maius's fire. The vineyard seemed unnaturally silent today, perhaps feeling the emptiness of his own heart. Somewhere across the city, a dog howled, and then another. A chill shudde
red through Cato, like a portent of evil to come. He lifted his eyes to the protective mountain, purple and green against the blue sky, like a reflection of the grapes and vines. A wisp of cloud hovered above the Vesuvius's dome, almost as though it wafted from the mountain itself.
More dogs howled. Somehow, something was not right. But it was likely the disturbance lay within him. He shook off the feeling and turned to Remus, trying to smile. "Have you been taking a holiday, Remus? This soil looks as dry as an Arabian desert."
Remus straightened and scowled. "Not much I can do with no water, master."
Cato clapped his shoulder. "Easy, Remus. I was only joking with you. Who has stolen our water?"
His forced humor fell short with Remus. "Ask the gods, master. It's them that have dried out the city."
Cato frowned. "What nonsense are you talking?"
"Where have you been since yesterday? The water has slowed to a trickle through the aqueducts. The city is growing panicked."
As if in response, a small flock of black birds erupted from the vineyard, wings beating in unison.
The birds. That was the unnatural silence he had noticed. No birds sang this morning.
"What are you doing here, master?" Remus's question cut through his puzzlement.
"Did you forget I own this vineyard, Remus? I came to get my hands dirty."
The laborer scratched at his neck. "You do not belong here. Not any longer. You have more important work to do."
Cato looked away, focused again on that wisp of smoky cloud that hung over the mountain. "Not anymore."
Remus stepped in front of him, demanding his attention. "I do not know what has happened, but I will tell you this, Portius Cato. You are not this man anymore. No longer the carefree winemaker who arrived in Pompeii." He drew himself up, strangely assertive. "Go back and fight your fight, Cato."
His words were punctuated with another howl of a dog.
Cato ran his hand through his hair. "The whole city has gone mad, and you with it, Remus."
But the man was right. He did not belong here. No more than he belonged in the arena or in the magistrates' offices. He was neither winemaker nor politician. He belonged nowhere. So who was Portius Cato, in truth?