by Carol Ashby
He’d been so kind to Drusilla on this voyage already. That had to be the main reason her daughter seemed so happy since they left Rome. She loved standing with him on the cabin top, watching everything the crew was doing.
Cornelia had never before met a man with such a kind heart toward a child that wasn’t even his own. A man like him would probably have a wife and children in his home port. Maybe even grandchildren from his oldest.
She sighed. To be a child in his household must be wonderful when he wasn’t out to sea.
They had almost finished the first game. Hector shifted in the chair and arched his back to relax his tight muscles. Even though she was losing, Drusilla had played well enough that he found himself having to concentrate on the game.
As he took her last piece, she grinned at him. “I like this game. It’s hard enough to be really fun.”
“You played well for your first time. You remind me of your aunt Claudia. She played many games of Conquest with Philip when she was going to Thracia on this ship. She’s very good at strategy games, too.”
“My aunt Claudia was on this ship? How funny that it has her name.”
“Your uncle Philip owns this ship. He and your aunt met and fell in love here eight years ago, and Philip renamed it in her honor.”
“Will I get to meet them soon after we get to Perinthus?”
“Maybe even the day you arrive, and you’ll get to meet their two boys, too.”
“I can hardly wait to get to know my cousins. I hope we get to be friends.”
“I expect you will. You’ll meet the rest of your cousins, too. Your Uncle Titus and his wife Miriam also live in Perinthus with their two boys and their daughter. She’s only a little younger than you.”
“A girl cousin? Maybe we can become best friends. Do you have any children, Captain?”
“My son is almost seventeen. He lives at our farm and works for Philip. I had a daughter your age, but she died.”
His throat began to tighten. He hadn’t expected that question from her, so he hadn’t braced for it. He fought to get the grief back behind the barrier that restrained it during the day.
Drusilla’s smile faded at the sudden sadness he couldn’t keep out of his eyes. She reached across the board to touch his hand. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
That small act of sympathy broke the barrier, and the pain came flooding in. Hector furrowed his brow, swallowed hard, and clenched his jaw, fighting to keep the tears from forming. He looked away from the board, away from her, out over the waves.
She rose to move over beside him. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek on the top of his head. He kept looking at the waves, but he raised one hand and rested it on her arm. She lifted her head to look down at him. When he finally took his eyes off the waves and looked up at her, she offered him a sympathetic smile.
The smile he returned was sad, but it was still a smile.
“Will you play another game with me now, Captain?”
He still couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat, but he nodded. She started to set the game up again and began talking as if nothing had just happened.
“I like Mercenaries. We should keep playing this until I can beat you at least half the time. I don’t want you to let me win just because I’m a child. I expect you to play to win.”
He found his voice, and it sounded almost normal. “There are still many days left in the voyage, so there will be plenty of time for all the games you want.”
She grinned at him. “You won, so I go first. I’ll try to win so you get to go first next time.”
Cornelia had been chatting with Anthusa while she stole frequent glances at the captain. Watching Hector had become one of her favorite pastimes, especially when he wasn’t aware of it. The last thing she expected to see was this strong man suddenly on the verge of tears. She focused her eyes on Anthusa during his silence so he wouldn’t feel she was intruding on his unintended display of grief.
When his attention was once more fixed on her daughter and their new game, she returned to watching him. What could possibly have happened to the daughter of this self-controlled man that could affect him like that?
She had to know. Malleolus should be able to get her the details. He had frequent conversations with Calamus, the cook, and Clitus, the first mate. If either of them knew, Malleolus could ferret out the information she desired.
Chapter 10: A Truly Good Man
The next morning, Malleolus saw his opportunity. Hector was talking with Clitus near the bow of the ship, and the cook was alone in the galley. He stepped inside for the conversation that should satisfy Cornelia’s curiosity.
“Calamus, I noticed something yesterday, and I hope you can explain it to me.”
Calamus set down his knife. “What?”
“The captain. When he was talking with Drusilla, he said he had a daughter who died. Then he stopped talking. What happened to her?”
Calamus shook his head. “Sad story, that. Captain’s wife and daughter used to meet us at the pier in Perinthus. He always lit up when he saw them. Charissa was the same age as Drusilla and so sweet and smart. The whole crew loved her. She and Damara, Captain’s wife, died ten days before we reached port on our final voyage last season. Ropes on a log wagon came loose when they were walking by. The falling logs killed them. Captain thought he was coming home to four months with his family. Instead, Master Philip met him at the pier with the news.”
The cook tightened his lips and shook his head again. “It’s been hard for him. Captain and Damara were so happy together, and suddenly she’s gone. Charissa, too. Captain loved that girl. He couldn’t stand being at his farm at night without them, so Master Philip had him over almost every evening to eat with his family and spend the night. He took Captain along on his trips away from Perinthus until we began sailing again this spring.”
He picked up the knife. “This is our last voyage until next spring, and I don’t know how Captain’s going to be when we get home. He used to be a joyful man, but his grief―it’s a cloud over him. Daytime doesn’t seem so bad, but some nights I see him standing at the rail in the moonlight, just staring at the waves. On this trip out from Perinthus, I saw that more often. I think he’s dreading another winter at the farm with only his son.”
He felt the knife’s sharp edge. “Having a girl the age of Charissa on this voyage―I was afraid Captain would find it too hard. But she seems to have lifted his spirits, so I guess I was wrong. Only God knows what’s best for each of us, and maybe He brought Drusilla to help Captain.”
As Malleolus left the cabin to return to the canopy, he weighed what he should and should not tell Cornelia. The captain was a private man, pleasant but reserved. He would not want the depth of his pain revealed to her.
Cornelia was watching the shore go by when she heard Malleolus returning. She turned to face him, a question in her eyes. He settled into the chair beside her.
“The captain’s wife and daughter died in an accident just before his return from his final voyage last year. He’s still grieving.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can imagine how hard that must be for him.”
She turned her eyes back on the shoreline, but her thoughts were on the intriguing man who captained the Claudia. Almost a year, and still torn up when he spoke of their death? For a man to love his wife so much that losing her was still that painful after so long―that was incredible. The contrast between their two marriages couldn’t be starker. Lucius would probably have welcomed her death since that would make her dowry his to keep and use however he wanted.
As for loving his daughter, Lucius hadn’t paid much attention to Drusilla even when he still lived at the eastern estate before he got Publius killed in the arena. Since he moved into the house in town, he hadn’t seen his daughter more than a dozen times in the last eight years, and he treated her as if she weren’t even in the room when he did see her. Drusilla didn’t exist as
far as he was concerned…until he could use her to help his friend. He didn’t care whether she lived or died.
The mere thought of Lucius made Cornelia’s jaw set as her eyebrows lowered. With his countless adulteries, he’d cheated her out of the affection a husband and wife should share. He was even willing to allow the murder of their daughter. Why couldn’t he have been like the captain?
Cornelia stood and walked to the rail. When she looked toward the bow of the ship, Hector was walking back toward the cabin. He saw her watching him and raised his hand in greeting before he turned to climb the ladder to the cabin top.
Funny how even his wave could make her breath catch. She’d never met another man like him. From the first day, he’d impressed her with his kindness to her daughter and his considerate treatment of her, of everyone. Without him doing anything in particular, just being close to him awakened the same excitement that simmered when she was a girl awaiting her wedding night. Why couldn’t she have had a husband like the captain instead of Lucius?
Cornelia rested her chin on her hands as she contemplated her image in the mirror. “It was a lovely day. I can see why a man would enjoy spending time at sea. The captain certainly does.”
Anthusa pulled out the pins that kept her braid coiled at the back of her head. “The shore we passed was very pretty, mistress. And the sky―I’ve never seen it so blue.”
Cornelia held her head still as Anthusa began the unbraiding. “Malleolus found out what happened to the captain’s family. An accident last fall just before he got home. He must have really loved them.”
Anthusa began brushing the loose tresses. “He did seem very sad when he spoke of it.”
“Just think. A whole year and he’s still mourning like that. I can’t say I know another man who would do that. Lucius certainly wouldn’t.”
“No, mistress, but the master never was wise enough to see what a wonderful wife you were.”
Cornelia turned in the chair to look at her faithful slave. “He’s so good to Drusilla. Can you imagine how wonderful he must have been to his own daughter? I bet he’d never have put her at risk just to make a friend happy, like that disgusting man I married.”
“I don’t think the captain would put anyone at risk if he could help it.”
Cornelia turned back to the mirror so Anthusa could resume brushing. “You’re probably right. Malleolus told me he was the one who got Claudia at the bath and led her through the city when she escaped from Lucius. That was very dangerous for him. Lucius would have had him crucified as a kidnapper if they’d been caught. He didn’t even know her. Why would he take such a risk for a stranger?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just a truly good man.”
Cornelia’s lips twitched. “A truly good man. Yes, I think he might be, and that’s a rare thing. The only men I would call truly good are Malleolus and Publius.” She sighed. “I still miss Publius. I never understood how Lucius could betray his own father like that.” She ran her hands into her hair and shook it before drawing her fingers through. “My life would have been so much happier if Lucius had been like his father...or like the captain.”
“Yes, mistress.” Anthusa finished brushing and laid the brush on the table. “There.”
Cornelia rose and turned to the bed. One step and she sat on the edge. “Such a tiny room, but it’s really not bad. I thought it ridiculous when the captain said I’d find the accommodations satisfactory, but I rather like this ship. Drusilla loves it. I have the captain to thank for that.”
“He is wonderful to her.”
Cornelia stretched out on the bunk, and Anthusa pulled the sheets up to her chin. “Good night, mistress.”
Cornelia closed her eyes. “Good night, Anthusa.”
Anthusa blew out the lamp and climbed into the upper bunk.
In the darkness, Cornelia was more aware of the gentle rocking of the ship. It was strangely soothing. It had been a good choice to take Drusilla away from Rome. Publius’s friend had chosen well in picking Captain Hector to be the one to take them to safety. It had been a little frightening to leave everything she knew behind, but it seemed less frightening with the captain escorting them to Titus. The captain truly was a good man.
It was the crack of dawn on Sunday. Hector crept through the galley and headed to the crew quarters at the bow of the ship. He always began the week with a worship service with his men. It was best when his passengers were believers, too. Then they could enjoy the luxury of worshiping on deck and for as long as the Spirit moved them.
Today’s worship would have to be quick and quiet since he had nonbelievers aboard. His passengers probably posed no real danger, but it was best to be careful until he knew for certain. He was more than willing to take Claudia’s relatives to Thracia, but it would make his Sundays less enjoyable this trip. He didn’t want to put his whole crew at risk of arrest and execution.
Chapter 11: Unwelcome Changes
Rome
Lucius had expected Malleolus in his office on dies solis with the weekly report of how much wealthier he’d become in the last seven days. When his steward failed to appear by noon and sent no explanation of his delay, that was surprising but not cause for alarm.
When the old man still hadn’t appeared by evening the next day, Lucius asked the doorkeeper and the slave in charge of the stable if either of them knew where Malleolus had gone. The doorkeeper knew nothing, but Malleolus had told the stableman he had some business to attend to at the eastern and northeastern estates. He’d driven off in the two-wheeled cisium shortly before sundown, when the city streets opened to carriage traffic.
That had been a week ago.
The third morning found Lucius sitting at his desk, drumming on the edge of a wax tablet with his stylus. Malleolus still hadn’t sent any message or returned.
Lucius had sent slaves to both estates to see if his steward was still at either of them. The eastern estate, where his wife and daughter usually stayed, was only a half-hour’s walk from the city gate. The other estate was half a day by carriage northeast of Rome.
It had been a little over an hour when the slave from the eastern estate appeared at the library door.
Lucius closed the tablet. “Well?
“Steward Malleolus was not there, master, but he was a week ago. Then he, Mistress Cornelia, your daughter, and her maid went to the northeastern estate.”
“Did he tell anyone why?”
“No, master, but Understeward Primus wondered why they didn’t take the estate raeda.”
Lucius’s head snapped back. “What did they take?”
“A raeda and freight wagon came for them the morning after Steward Malleolus came. Primus didn’t know who owned them. The drivers and guards only spoke with Malleolus. Then they loaded a dozen trunks and chests into the wagon and some very heavy small chests into the raeda.”
“Why so many trunks?”
“Primus didn’t say, but he did say Mistress Cornelia left a box in your library with orders that only you were to open it.”
“Anything else?”
“No, master.”
Lucius flicked his hand to dismiss him and began to pace.
If Cornelia was taking Drusilla to the northeastern estate, why wouldn’t she use the estate’s raeda? And what about the freight wagon? Why take that many trunks when she wouldn’t have needed more than two or three? And why not use his slaves as drivers and guards?
He strode through the atrium and peristyle to the stable.
The stableman’s jaw started to drop when he saw Lucius, who always sent a slave to tell him which horse or chariot he wanted before coming himself. The stableman snapped it shut and bowed. “Master, what shall I prepare for you?”
“I need the gray immediately.” Lucius spun and headed to his room to dress for the ride.
When he returned, his stallion stood saddled and ready. As he took the reins and mane in hand to mount, the slave he’d sent on
horseback to the northeastern estate trotted through the gate.
Lucius swung around on him. “Was Malleolus there?”
“No, master. They haven’t seen him since his regular visit three weeks ago.”
“Was my wife there?”
“No, master.”
Lucius uttered a string of curses and mounted. He kicked the horse into a trot as he headed out the gate. Whatever Cornelia had left for his eyes only, he wasn’t going to like it.
The Drusus estate east of Rome
When Lucius arrived at the eastern estate, he went immediately to his library. A small chest sat on the desk. In case it held a venomous snake, he jumped back as he flipped the lid open with a stylus.
Nothing moved. When he peered in, he found several wax writing tablets.
His mouth twitched. It was stupid to think Cornelia would booby-trap the box. She might wish he were dead, but she wouldn’t risk an innocent bystander’s life.
He lifted the first tablet from the stack and opened it.
It was Cornelia’s official certificate of divorce, signed and witnessed by five senators who disliked him. Below it was another tablet, signed by Malleolus and witnessed by the same men, describing what was returned to Cornelia as her dowry in a combination of gold and a few household items, including her favorite slave.
The curses he uttered would have done credit to a drunken sailor. The last thing he wanted was for those senators to know what Cornelia had done to him.
She would have heard the rumors about Marcus’s violent son and how no one wanted him to marry their daughter. She must have heard from one of her many friends that he was planning to let Gnaeus marry Drusilla. She had every right to her entire dowry, but she had no right to their daughter. By Roman law, she was his to do with as he pleased.