The Master's Wall

by Sandi Rog

  “She watched her father die by your hands. What do you expect?”

  Alethea shuddered and huddled farther into the curtain, wrapping it around her trembling body.

  “She wasn’t supposed to see that.” Grandfather’s voice calmed. He almost sounded concerned.

  “Give her time, Aloysius. She will come to you and be your little bird when she’s had enough time to get Galen out of her mind.”

  “Do not mention that traitor’s name again.” Grandfather’s voice was grave.

  “But he is, or was, her father—”

  Platters and goblets clattered to the floor. Alethea imagined her grandfather had knocked down one of the small tables of food with his fist, something she’d seen him do before.

  “You will not mention that name in this house again, Renata!”

  Grandmother cleared her throat. “I will do as you say, but this display of behavior is barbaric.”

  Grandfather’s rage even affected Vibia. Her cries, a high soprano, grew to a feverish pitch.

  “Oh, be quiet!” Grandfather shouted.

  Except for Vibia’s sniffles, silence followed. Alethea peeked around the curtain and towards the door of the dining chamber. A few slaves stood outside, their eyes wide.

  “Slave!” Grandfather shouted.

  The slave closest to the door jumped, and with one long stride, entered the chamber.

  “Clean this up and bring us more food. Orator!”

  Startled, the orator fumbled to gain control of his scrolls, but one landed on the floor. He left it and bounded into the dining chamber.

  “Recite something cheerful.”

  When the orator began, Alethea’s eyes wandered past the slaves standing outside the door. Two more slaves who held bowls with damp cloths entered the chamber. Another stood, holding his lyre. The rest of them held trembling fans, but one slave’s fan did not waver.

  David. And he looked right at her.

  Her heart stopped. He knew where she was. Would he tell? She slowly pulled the curtain back around her face and hid behind its massive folds.

  Nobody came to her after the meal, and she ignored their calls as their voices echoed off the vaulted ceilings. When familiar chatter filled the air, she peeked around the curtain and saw her cousins walking to the dining chamber after the adults had left. Marcus and Lucius wrestled as they made their way toward the door, and Vibia walked briskly with an air of confidence, her chin held high.

  The slaves clanked the trays when they brought her cousins their food, but Alethea stayed behind the curtain. Cousin Vibia laughed, and Alethea imagined everyone reclined around the tables, enjoying the meat and vegetables. Remembering the lamb she’d served, the wine rolls, and even the green beans spiced with pine nuts, made her mouth water. Her stomach growled, but she didn’t dare venture out.

  Her body warmed the curtain, and she grew sleepy, so she nestled into her little cocoon, passing the time with a silent song Mpampas used to sing.

  Cool air awoke Alethea, and she found herself in Grandmother’s arms. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Unable to cling to Grandmother, sleep and exhaustion weighed down her arms and legs.

  “All the other children are asleep by now. The rest of us are outside relaxing in the garden.”

  Grandmother Renata hummed a lullaby while she carried Alethea to her bedchamber, changed her clothes, and laid her on the bed.

  “Try not to let that burly old grandfather of yours frighten you. He loves you dearly,” she whispered as she brushed the curls from Alethea’s face.

  Grandmother glanced over to where Vibia slept. She then leaned in closer to Alethea. “Of all the grandchildren, you are his favorite. That’s why he wants you near him. You bring him great joy, Aucella. Don’t be so fearful.” Her grandmother sighed. “I dare say you are the only one in the household he seems to favor.” She winked and smiled. “Other than me, of course.”

  Grandmother Renata kissed her forehead. She stood and walked toward the door. “You will apologize to your grandfather first thing in the morning.”

  The fact that Alethea brought Grandfather so much pleasure relieved her, but only a little bit. Right now, she could only see the hateful man who ordered his slaves to tie Mpampas to the horse. His red angry face, his arm motioning the slaves to grab her father, his sharp finger pointing. She shivered. How could she ever sing and dance for that man again?

  “Grandmother?”

  Her grandmother turned.

  “Where is Mamma?”

  “I’ll send her to you.” Grandmother smiled. The kind of smile that used to warm Alethea to her toes, but now it left her cold and alone.

  Alethea waited into the wee hours of the night, too frightened and sleepy to leave her chamber. The night drew out like a long rope that had no end. Between the haziness of sleep and wakefulness, she finally sensed her mamma’s presence.

  Mamma whispered, her voice carrying over her like a small wind through her mind, weeping into her blankets. “My poor child. I’m to blame.”

  five

  “Alethea . . . .”

  A voice echoed in the darkness of her mind. A voice with a warm, motherly tone she’d heard before. But it no longer touched Alethea with the softness of a blanket she’d want to curl up in. Nothing touched her anymore.

  She opened her heavy eyelids and found Portia standing over her.

  “Time to wake up.”

  Alethea blinked the sleep from her eyes.

  Portia smiled, her blonde hair pulled back to the nape of her neck. Her light blue mantle fell gracefully over her shoulders, the folds of fabric shimmering in the light from the high window. No one in the household was as light and fair skinned as her nursemaid, and in the glow of the sunlight, she looked like a goddess. She was always a pleasant sight in the morning, or at any time of the day, but ever since that last night at home, Alethea felt a certain uneasiness about her, as though she could no longer be trusted.

  Portia eased the covers off and helped Alethea to her feet.

  What a long night, and yet it didn’t feel quite long enough. Sleep still pulled at Alethea’s body. By the brightness of the chamber she could tell she’d slept longer than usual. She yawned and stretched, willing her body to come alive.

  “It’s late.” Portia sorted through Alethea’s clothing. “I let you sleep longer than I should have. Obviously you needed it.” She held up a clean stola for Alethea to wear. Portia sighed and shook her head. “You poor child.”

  Portia took her by the hand and led her through the atrium. Alethea let her pull her along, her limbs heavy with sleepiness. Why was she so tired? Memories of the night before slammed into her and she came fully awake. She dreaded a meeting with Grandfather. Would he punish her for her naughty behavior? She’d heard rumors of his beatings, and she shivered at the thought of receiving one.

  Alethea glanced around the atrium. Would Grandfather be waiting for her? She didn’t see him, but it felt as if the walls had eyes and they would find a way to notify Grandfather of her presence.

  They passed through the east door and came out onto the long porch where she’d met the slave boy the day before. David. She wondered where he might be. He hadn’t snitched on her last night, something for which she was very grateful. She hoped to see him again that day. They walked along the porch toward the baths on the north side of the house. Would Grandfather be waiting for her in the plaza?

  They turned to the left, and Alethea closed her eyes, certain she felt Grandfather’s terrifying presence. She opened them just as they neared the steps, and to her relief he wasn’t there.

  Releasing a long breath, Alethea followed Portia through the empty plaza, which was sometimes used for fencing or disciplining slaves. Slaves would be tied to one of the large wooden stakes at the far end to be flogged. The stakes stood higher than Titus.

  Alethea wondered if Grandfather would have her scourged like his slaves. She’d never seen a slave scourged. Though her older
cousins, Lucius and Marcus, told her stories. Lucius always hid around the corner to watch when a slave got whipped; he was so cruel. She felt sorry for a slave if they got punished, especially if they were nice.

  Two wide steps on the other side of the stakes led to a path that circled around the house. From there, stairs led up to the slaves’ chambers above the south porch. Alethea looked toward the stairs, hoping to find David. He wasn’t to be seen, and before she knew it, they hurried through the doors, under the arches, past the changing chambers and cold bath chamber, and went straight to the hot bath chamber.

  “I had the slaves keep the ovens aflame, though it won’t be quite as hot as usual.” Portia lifted Alethea’s night stola over her head and helped her step down into the warm water.

  Alethea studied the mosaic in the pool. Usually the steam kept her from seeing the painted sea nymphs swimming along the pool’s bottom, both the sons and daughters of Triton the powerful sea god. Along the edges were various types of fish and colorful coral reefs. If only she were Triton. She could escape Grandfather’s wrath.

  Portia lifted her own tunic to her knees, sat on the bath’s edge, and scrubbed Alethea. Normally, Alethea would have used this time to ask questions. But nothing was normal anymore, especially after what she had done last night. She missed her own bath at home. It wasn’t as fancy as this, but it was home. And this was not.

  While Portia scrubbed her raw, Alethea imagined herself as the powerful sea god, fighting against her grandfather. She recalled how Mpampas had told her that the name Aloysius meant famous warrior. It was a name given to her great-grandfather, and now her grandfather had taken it as his own. But Alethea couldn’t help thinking the only people Grandfather warred against were members of his family.

  When she stepped out of the pool, the cold tiles chilled her feet. She shivered as Portia dried her off.

  “Sorry, there’s no time to apply any of your mother’s perfume and oils.” Usually Alethea would have been taken to a cold bath, then to a dressing chamber. There, she would be rubbed down with oils to keep her skin from becoming too dry and then scraped clean with a shell, but Portia, in her haste, dressed her right there.

  She tried not to frown. It was always a treat to wear her mamma’s perfume. It made her feel less alone, especially now with Mpampas gone.

  Portia then wrapped Alethea’s heavy, wet hair around the cloth and took her into the makeup chamber.

  Vibia was already sitting in her wicker chair. That told her again how late she was, but perhaps she need not worry, her mamma likely wouldn’t miss her. She wondered if her mamma ever missed her since they came to live with Grandfather.

  A nursemaid twisted Vibia’s auburn hair into braids and wound them into folds on top of her head. Alethea wished she could be as beautiful as Vibia. Her cheeks were always rosy. Or was that paint? Vibia’s mamma sometimes let her wear makeup. Vibia was nice and plump, a sign to all that she came from a rich family. Alethea ate all she could but remained as thin as a hairpin, as her grandmother would say, just like Marcus and Lucius. She mourned being shaped like a boy.

  Vibia glanced in Alethea’s direction. “What are you staring at?”

  Alethea stuck her tongue out at Vibia as she climbed onto a wicker chair.

  “I’m afraid we won’t be doing anything special with your hair today,” Portia said. “Don’t be too disappointed. You’re so beautiful with those natural curls. It’ll look lovely no matter what we do.”

  Alethea winced as Portia yanked a comb through the tangles in her long, dark hair. She stared at the cosmetics on the table and wondered if Mamma had thought of her that day. Her mamma had seemed like her old self back on the porch the day before, so why didn’t she come to her bedchamber last night? Or did she come? Maybe it was a dream?

  Portia handed Alethea her mamma’s mirror while she worked on her hair. Her face shone clear in the polished silver, but her puffy eyes still looked and felt tired. Portia tied Alethea’s hair into one long braid, letting wisps of curls fall around her face. She then wrapped the long braid into a bun and pinned it securely in place. “Good. This way you won’t have water dripping down your back.”

  Portia put her face down next to Alethea’s, and they looked into the mirror together. “There now. Don’t you look lovely?”

  Portia smiled down at her, a smile that seemed sincere. But could she be trusted? Alethea found it difficult to trust anyone after watching Grandfather snatch the most important person from her life.

  Portia and the other nursemaid led Vibia and Alethea toward the dining chamber. Vibia didn’t say a word, and Alethea would usually do all the talking while they were together, but not today. Vibia was always so prim and proper that next to her Alethea felt like a lopsided goat. They crossed the small plaza, passed the large wooden stakes, and entered the house. They walked down the narrow corridor that went right past Grandfather’s office chamber. Vibia took small dainty steps, while Alethea strode along, hoping Grandfather wouldn’t spot her.

  “Why are you in such a hurry, Alethea?” Vibia called out too loudly. “Don’t you want to greet Grandfather this morning?”

  Vibia had a look of exaggerated innocence on her face, and Alethea wondered if Vibia knew she would be in trouble. Besides that, since when did they greet Grandfather when walking past his office chamber? Usually, they would be reprimanded for disturbing him.

  “Aucella!”

  A cold, almost painful chill prickled down Alethea’s spine. Grandfather.

  “I’ll explain to your mother why you’re not with us.” Portia gave her a pat and a smile.

  Alethea wondered if her mamma would even notice, let alone care. But she still hoped Mamma would care enough to come and rescue her from Grandfather.

  Portia and Vibia’s nursemaid escorted her to the dining chamber, and Alethea watched their backs as they left her to stand alone in the hall. She couldn’t help but think they were running away by the quick pace of their steps, doing exactly what she felt like doing.

  Alethea twisted her clammy hands. With a constricting throat, she did an about-face and shuffled into Grandfather’s chamber.

  He stood before a slave who read from a small scroll. Grandfather motioned for him to leave.

  She took a deep breath, trying to remind herself of Grandmother’s words about her being his favorite. She hoped it was true and that it would benefit her now.

  Grandfather stood over her, his dark eyes surveying her.

  She looked down, unable to bear his unrelenting gaze.

  “Why did you run from me last night?”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I was afraid.” She didn’t think she would be able to talk because of the knot in her throat, but somehow the words made their way past the knot and spilled from her lips. So much for being the mighty Triton.

  Grandfather sighed long and hard. “You have no reason to be afraid.” He turned from her, holding his hands behind his back. “If you had done as you were told and remained in the house, you would not have seen what happened to your father.” He spoke in a firm tone, stepped toward the couch, and reclined on the cushions. “Your father was a rebel. A traitor to our gods and to the empire. Only men such as he need fear my wrath, and you’re not one of them. Your gods are my gods, and you’ll not worship the god of your father, so you will stop being afraid.” He leaned on his elbow. “Now, what do you have to say for your horrible behavior last night?”

  “I’m sorry, Grandfather.” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears, and she choked back a fearful wail.

  He smiled. “You’re forgiven, Aucella.” He held his arms out to her. “Come to me. Let me dry your tears.”

  Not wanting to cause more trouble for herself, she didn’t hesitate.

  He wrapped her in his arms and wiped her tears with his fingers. His touch sent a cold shudder down her back.

  “There’s no need to be afraid.” He waved his hand, and she noticed the rings she used to play with when she sat on his lap. “
I gave him a chance to choose between his family and his god.” He pulled her close. “You were there, you heard it. I said to him, ‘You may have your family returned to you this night if you simply deny this god of yours.’ But he refused.” Grandfather frowned. “He didn’t love you, Aucella.” He shook his head, and his eyes misted as he squeezed her close. “I’m so sorry.” He dabbed his eyes.

  “If he had just worshipped Rome’s deities and his god, there wouldn’t have been a problem.” He sighed and ran his hand over her hair. “He believed in a myth and rejected the true gods of Rome.”

  Alethea swallowed hard, choking down the words that contradicted everything her father had taught her.

  Grandfather hugged her, pressing his cheek against hers.

  She wanted to pull away, but didn’t dare, her body stiff against his.

  “I have missed my Aucella these last weeks. When your mother told me you had been singing on the porch, I thought you would be ready to sing during the evening meal. I was surprised when you didn’t come to me.”

  “I’ll come to you now, Grandfather.” She heard herself say the words, but a hollowness filled her heart; she feared he might hear it in her voice. She would never reveal her true self, not ever. She would pretend to love him, pretend to love his gods, but the secret place of her heart would never be his. It made her empty inside. Not only did she have no more Mpampas, but no more Grandfather—not the Grandfather she thought she knew anyway. Never had she felt so alone, and it amazed her that she could feel that way when surrounded by so many people, people who said they loved her.

  Her grandfather, Vibian Cornelius Aloysius, a man of power, caressed her cheek. “Dance for me, little bird, and let me hear you sing.”

  She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t yet eaten, but decided she had better do as he said. She sang a Greek song, in secret defiance, since her mpampas was Greek. She also danced and forced a smile. In the meantime, her stomach growled.

  By now, she knew she would not suffer his punishment. Whatever it might have been, she didn’t want to know. Relief sprang forth in her song. Still, it was all a farce, every move, and every sound, fake. She hated being this way. But if it meant staying alive, she was willing to pretend, and willing to deny the God of her father.