by White, Gwynn
“No, the poison will kill you too.” With every word, she found it harder and harder to speak as a painful numbness spreading throughout her jawline and limbs turned into stabbing pains. “I murdered that poor woman and her baby, Lucipor. Let me die as I deserve.”
Lucipor seemed not to hear her. He glanced over at Clarius, who had fallen back against the stone steps of the pool, his neck gaping wide and gushing blood down into the pool. “Clarius is dead. You, at least, have that comforting thought to carry you into death.”
“Go now,” she pleaded, hiding her eyes from Clarius’s hideous body. “Live for me.”
“There is no life in me without you.”
“I need you to live on, Lucipor. This was my choice. My revenge. You should have stayed away.”
She wanted to push him from her, but her arms were restrained, and she felt them weakening as the moments passed. It wouldn’t be long now. She didn’t know if she was afraid to die. Everything was happening so fast. The pain was forcing all coherent thought from her mind.
Tears filled his eyes and he shook his head. “I cannot bear this.” Lucipor forced her mouth to his and began to drink the blood and poison from her mouth. When he pulled back from her, she saw defeat in his eyes. He knew as well as she that he was too late. He pressed one hand to her heart and his other braced her back as her body shook uncontrollably against the column. They locked eyes, then, and no words came between them. His now-bloodied mouth touched hers again but this time it was a gentle kiss salted with his tears.
“I feel a strangeness in my jaws and arms. I will release you from your bonds while I have the strength.”
In the corner, she saw a familiar form. “I see my mother now, over in the corner where the shadows are deep,” Petra whispered, as her racing heart began to slow. “She is smiling.”
“She awaits you. We will go together to meet her in the afterlife.” He strode back through the water after he had released her, and she fell into his arms. They clung to each other as the death throes took them. Her other senses took over as she held to him. The smell of the torch smoke. The warmth of the water as it swirled gently between them. The musk of Lucipor’s fear as it came in waves off his body. When her vision clouded, she whispered to him one last time.
“Come to me now and loosen me from blunt agony.”
“Labor and fill my heart with fire,” he answered in a breaking voice.
“Stand by me and be my ally—” Her arms lost all strength, and she fell against him.
“Always.” Lucipor spoke no more as his forehead touched hers.
The last thing Petra saw was her mother’s face in a flash of white light, and then the world faded into a final darkness.
* * *
Strange lights permeated the darkness of Petra’s vision. She felt as though she were wrapped in a warm blanket. All was quiet, save for the sound of water rushing somewhere nearby. The river Acheron? But she had no payment for the boatman.
Petra lowered her arm and felt the swirl of water against her tingling skin. She felt arms surrounding her, and the closeness of an unmoving body clinging to hers.
Lucipor! Her eyelids flew open, and she realized she was still in the pool clinging to him. The torches burned low, and they were alone. No, not alone. The master lay unmoving against the steps as before, his blood sticking to the stones and dispersed through the water.
How could this be? How could she be alive? She had consumed the poison. She had felt her life passing into nothingness. Had the goddess answered her cries for mercy and raised her from the dead? And what of Lucipor?
She gently pulled away from him and examined his face. His head lolled against his neck and his body was pliable. Was the water keeping him warm and giving color to his skin?
She kissed his cheek and shook him with the gentlest of touches. “Wake, my love. Wake with me, and we will escape this madness.” But he floated motionless in the pool, so she pulled him along toward the edge, dangerously near to Clarius.
The master was clearly dead. His skin had a sickly pallor, and his face lay frozen in the horror of his moment of death. Petra turned away in disgust, attempting in vain to pull him free of the water.
“Lucipor, please wake. Don’t leave me here.” Petra glanced around at the gloom. She thought it strange no slaves had come in. Then she remembered the master had commanded Silvipor not to disturb him. She realized Lucipor must have killed the servants guarding the door and dragged them inside the bathhouse to ensure no one would see their bodies. The light must be fading fast outside for him to have done that without being seen.
She shook her head as she pulled the wet strands of hair from his face. What madness it had been for him to try to save her. Yet somehow, he had, against all reason or explanation. She lived, and now she wondered if she could breathe life back into Lucipor.
A clatter right behind her made her jump to her feet. She held her hands up to defend herself but there was no one there. She risked a glance at the master again and discovered the dagger secured to his belt had shifted in the rippling water.
If Clarius somehow awoke as she did, he would come after them both. Of that she was certain. Petra stared at the dagger and thought about all the ways she could ensure he would not wake from the dead. The images flashed in a succession through her mind, and this alone made her heart beat faster and her hands sweat. She had already killed his wife and son. What was one more body to cross the river Acheron?
With careful hands, Petra slowly lifted the dagger from its elaborate sheath, her eyes ever on the master’s face. Only the water moved his body. His eyes remained unchanged as they gaped up at the stone ceiling. Petra knelt at his side and held the dagger over his heart. She had seen a slave owner kill one of his slaves this way. It was in the market, in front of the entire crowd. The slave screamed for mercy, but no one in the open-mouthed throng moved to her defense. That was the day last winter when Petra had accompanied her mother to fetch herbs for a sick woman at the villa. The owner stabbed the woman in the heart over and over, and her screams echoed across the stones of the street and through the marketplace. Most watched in fascination. Petra had looked away in horror, but not before she saw blood pour from the woman’s chest, spraying across the man’s already red face.
Would the master’s blood mark her face too? Would he awaken in a rage? She had to do it. She had to be sure. She raised the dagger higher, turning her face away at the last moment so as not to have the vision of his second death as etched into her mind as the first.
“Petra.”
The dagger clattered to the stones, and without thinking, Petra spun around to the lower steps to witness Lucipor’s heavy-lidded eyes peering at her as if he did not know her. And yet he had said her name.
“Lucipor. Thank the goddess, you’re alive.”
He ran a hand over his face, and looked about him. “How…? I felt you die in my arms.” He reached up to her, then, and she bent to kiss him and touch his face. He froze and pulled away.
“The master—?”
“He is dead. I thought we were too.” She pointed at Clarius and was relieved to see he had not moved.
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen this poison kill all manner of vermin. It killed the master’s wife and child too.”
“It makes no matter,” he said, as he swiftly sat up and pulled her into an embrace. “You’re alive. Nothing else in the world matters to me now.”
“We won’t last long if we don’t flee the villa.”
“We will make for Rome,” he whispered.
“How will we make it past the slaves and servants loyal to the master?”
“Leave it to me. Where did you get that dagger?”
“I took it from him.”
Lucipor picked it up and bade her to silence as he listened to the noises beyond the bathhouse.
“It is quiet out there. Dusk has fallen, if not night itself. Stay close behind me. We will keep to the shadows and run tow
ard the fields.”
“And from there the old road toward Rome?” she asked. The master’s villa was far out into the fields and forests, far removed from the nearest village of Tibur on the outskirts of Rome. They had a long way to go.
He nodded as he got to his feet.
“Wait.” She waded into the pool, hooked her bare toe around the chain holding the empty bottle of mortanine, and put it back into her sodden pouch. As she made her way back toward him, she caught his attention. “You remember the island in the master’s lake?”
“Where Decimus’s boy drowned last year.”
“Yes, we must pass by there.”
“The lake is out of our way. We need to put as much space between here and—”
“It’s for our safety. Trust me.”
Lucipor glanced down at the master. He hesitated for only a moment, and then shook his head. “We need to go before suspicion at the master’s absence makes the house slaves come to investigate.”
He took up her hand and pulled her away from Clarius’s body, and they made their way silently on bare feet across the mosaic floor leading out of the bathhouse. Near the entrance, Petra gasped at the bodies of the master’s most loyal slaves, Silvipor and Otho.
“Are they dead?”
“Only unconscious, I think. I caught them unawares but I didn’t deliver killing blows,” he replied, avoiding looking at them.
Petra held back as Lucipor scouted outside the door.
“There are two slaves loyal to the master at the far end of the courtyard and another two across from the entrance. Those two men are Eryx and Tros.”
“Do you think they would let us pass? They are not known to favor Clarius.”
“I think we should assume not, but they are not looking toward the bathhouse entrance, so we may be able to slip by them and hide behind the donkey cart.”
He took hold of her hand and led her out into the shadows. Petra felt naked, exposed. Her tunic grew cold as the brisk night air touched its damp edges. A shiver of fear shook her as they crouched behind the horse cart. Dawn was approaching and the night was still mired in profound darkness.
“Now where?” Petra asked.
Lucipor glanced toward every corner of the courtyard, looking for their escape route.
“Stay away from the torch lights. They will expose you. We will run straight across and into the vineyard. If we get separated, meet by the old olive tree where we had our first kiss.”
At first she thought him mad to suggest they run through the open courtyard, but then she realized the torches edging it were even less safe.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her chest.
“Never, my love.” He kissed her forehead, pulled her to her feet, and they were off running as silently and swiftly as they dared.
Shouts immediately resounded around them, but Petra couldn’t gauge their origin. She did not stop, only focused on keeping up with Lucipor, whose strength and speed exceeded her own. She was amazed to discover that despite her death and resurrection, she could run faster than she ever had in her life. She was surprised she suffered no ill effects from the poison. She had all her faculties and her mind was clear.
“Faster, Petra. They are following.”
She glanced back, then, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Eryx and Tros were much too close. Lucipor dragged her deeper through the vineyard, and when they made it to the grove, darkness mercifully cloaked them. He halted their progress and bade her to crouch down behind an olive tree. They tried to steady their breathing as Tros passed close by, followed by Eryx who brandished a dagger similar to the master’s thin blade.
“Do you see them?” Eryx called out.
“Silence, you fool,” came Tros’s reply as the men moved further into the grove.
In the weak light of a waning moon, Petra pointed south toward the lake. Lucipor nodded, steering them toward the open darkness of the furthest fields on the master’s land. They continued for more than a mile in silence, until the fields turned into a forest and the ink-black lake lay directly ahead.
When he finally spoke, it startled her. “Why have we come here?”
“For the poison.”
He stepped back from her, and even in the low light she saw the shock written in his eyes. “Why?”
“I told you. For our protection. If they try to search for us, we may be able to use it as a weapon.”
“Knives and spears are better,” he said, clearly frustrated at the lost time.
“There is another reason. I want to understand the mortanine flower’s properties better. It both killed us and raised us from the dead. It must be the flower of the gods. We have to learn more.”
He shook his head but did not protest further. “Tell me where it is and I will fetch it.”
“On the island. The flower is a blood red, though you will not see that in the dark. It’s a large flower and its leaves are tightly coiled and rising out around the center of each bloom like springs. We need the flower itself, I think, but bring the whole plant just in case. Gather three of them, but do not let the leaves or petals touch your mouth.”
As Lucipor hurriedly stripped off his tunic and swam out to the island, Petra listened to the wind in the trees and the frogs talking among the reeds along the bank. If the day hadn’t been filled with such horrors, she might have found this moment peaceful.
“Petra?” he called out.
“Did you find the flowers?”
“Yes, I have them.” He came out of the water, shivering.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him into an embrace, his wet skin dampening her nearly dry clothing. It felt strange to her, as if they hadn’t just gone through death and resurrection together.
He pulled away to dress and began to tell her of his plan. “We will travel by night and sleep during the day. It will keep us warmer and help us move unseen along the roads and paths.”
“I will follow your lead.”
He glanced up at her and gave her a reassuring smile.
She stopped him before he made his way down the path leading away from the lake and toward Rome far to the southwest.
“Lucipor—” she hesitated, biting her lip.
“Yes?”
“Do you think the master still lives?”
This time his smile was laced with sadness. “If he is, he will never stop hunting us.”
4
The Draw
July 14, 2 BC
Do you feel it too?” Petra asked Lucipor as they settled close together by the fire he had built for them at dawn. They had walked all night and found a hiding place deep in a quiet wood. Petra felt no pain or exhaustion; she wasn’t even chilled in the cool morning air. This seemed strange given what they had been through.
He glanced up sharply, as if he knew exactly what she meant. Then he looked away, toward the new dawn. “I feel a ravenous hunger even as I have no desire for food.”
“What do you hunger for?” She was almost afraid to ask because she felt the same but had no words for it.
Lucipor opened his mouth to speak but bit his lip and stoked the fire instead. She waited until he glanced up at her again out of the corner of his eye. He almost looked nervous. At the encouragement in her eyes, he finally spoke.
“I hunger for you. More than I ever have before. Before my desire was a pleasure. Now it is a pain I cannot control.”
“I feel it too,” she whispered, heat rising in her cheeks. “Do you think… it has something to do with the mortanine?”
“It must.” He picked up one of the flowers by the stem and twirled it between his fingers. “I feel as strong and powerful as a god.”
“You cannot say such things, Lucipor. The gods will strike you down.”
“Don’t you feel it too? As though nothing can harm you? I feel as if I could take on ten men and still be ready for more.”
She touched his arm, feeling for the muscles to see if they had grown.
He did feel stronger. She pulled back to study him. He seemed more beautiful than he had ever been somehow—this despite all their walking and lack of sleep. The brown of his eyes was clearer, the curls of his hair were kissed by the rising sun, and his skin seemed to glow from within. He had never been more beautiful to her, despite the dirt smudging his skin and tunic.
“The only man I want to kill is the master—”
Lucipor grasped her arm. “No, you must never call him that again. He is no longer our master. We are free.”
“Then you are no longer Lucipor. I will call you by his father’s name, Lucius, because now you are your own master.”
He smiled and nodded.
Petra touched the slave collar at his neck. He touched it, too, remembering it yet remained, a testament to what they had been but were no longer. She frowned, wondering if she could remove it. She knelt and examined the welded bronze of the thin band. She grabbed hold and yanked as hard as she could. The metal cracked in half, the collar slipping from his chafed and raw neck. He glanced back at her, shock widening his eyes as his fingers curled over the symbol of his imprisonment.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
“I’m strong now, Lucius,” she said, loving the sound of his new name on her lips. “You help me.” When he wrested the collar from her, she let it drop without another thought.
He reached out to her, his shaking fingers touching her cheek.
“How is it you are still so fair? You have gone through death and back, and yet you look as if you have slept for days.”
“You have the look of a god about you too,” she whispered.
“I am alive and free because of you, Petra. I owe you everything I am or will ever be.”
When his lips touched hers, the madness of desire she had felt growing inside of her since they left the villa burst open, as if she were hurtling into the center of the sun, which even now warmed her face as it shifted through the trees.
“I need you.” He held both sides of her face with trembling fingers. “Can you—will you have me?”