Justina: Daughter of Spartacus (Justina Saga Book 1)

by Ryan Lew

  MARCH 8, 55 BC

  There was no chance of sleeping. The day’s events would give him no peace, for they had made no sense. All he and Lucilius had spoken of the day before was the chance to avenge the death of Lucilius’ parents, to hasten the two murderers’ trip to Tartarus. Atilius had looked forward to it, was eager for it to happen. But it hadn’t. In his mind, the scene played out over and over again; Lucilius walked up to the slave and then passed him without casting a stone. There was no reason Atilius could conceive that would account for Lucilius’ reaction, for his refusal to act, for his cowardice. For most of the night, he had been staring at the ceiling, but now he was staring directly at Lucilius who slept in the bed next to him, willing him to wake.

  Whether it was Atilius’ will or the light of day, Lucilius awoke, and clearing his eyes, saw his friend in the next bed. “My brother,” he said resting himself on his elbow. “Why do you stare with such intent?”

  Atilius didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled on his back and returned his gaze to the ceiling.

  “Am I that easy on your eyes this early in the morning?” Atilius remained silent staring at the ceiling.

  “Speak, brother.”

  Atilius stayed silent a bit longer, but eventually spoke. “I have yet to find rest from yesterday’s proceedings.”

  “What has kept your eyes from slumber?” Lucilius asked. “Was my snoring too loud? Do I have a smell I am unaware of?”

  It was obvious Lucilius was trying to lighten the mood, but Atilius would have none of it. “I do not know how to approach this subject without insult.”

  “Speak your mind, brother. Tell me what vexes you at this early hour.”

  Atilius took a deep breath, paused, and then spoke. “We had but one goal yesterday and that was to punish the people responsible for killing your parents, two innocent Romans, good people,” Atilius said, still on his back. “And yet, when the opportunity arrived, you walk away before the mission is complete.”

  Lucilius sat up in his bed, and Atilius turned to him.

  “You got up close to the whore on the cross. I saw her lips move. What could have spewed forth from that demon to make your hatred take a turn? What lies could she have mumbled to spare another rock being thrown with intent? You are my brother, Lucilius. You are a Roman soldier.”

  Lucilius grew stern. “I need not you to remind me of my place,” he barked. It was not the response Atilius had expected. “I know I am a Roman solider. And yes, those on the cross played a role in my parent’s death.” Lucilius looked down and softened his tone. “Yet I knew this slave, Camilla, for almost my entire life. Slaves are dogs, yet this one was always fair to me. I don’t believe she deserved such punishment.” He hesitated. “There is no way her hand delivered the final blow to either of my parents. It was not her nature.”

  “Nature?” Atilius yelled out, suddenly sitting upright. “Slaves are indeed dogs, and all dogs have it in their nature to do evil. You do not know who delivered the final blow to your parents. All you can do is celebrate the knowledge that they are in the afterlife, serving your parents now, hopefully chained and beaten.”

  “It only matters that justice has been served and Rome is better off for it,” Lucilius said dismissively. “I must ready myself for leave. I have patrol today.”

  Atilius watched as Lucilius stood and dressed for the day’s duties. This was not the Lucilius he had come to know, not the Lucilius bent on revenge. He still did not understand what had caused yesterday’s change in attitude, but he was determined to get to the root of it.

  “You have suffered a great tragedy,” Atilius said. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, then stood. “You have the opportunity to avenge such a tragedy. I saw how easily you beat a slave in this house without thought or remorse. Yet when faced with the slave responsible, whether directly or not, you pause your actions.” Atilius moved across the room to Lucilius and stood before him, confident in his bravado. “Why the moment of weakness?”

  Lucilius shoved the younger, lighter Atilius backward, causing him to stumble. Before Atilius could gain his footing, Lucilius pressed forward. “You think I showed mercy to the woman?” he yelled. “Killing her with a stone and sending her off to the afterlife would be more merciful than to let her suffer on the cross. Who are you to judge me, boy? You are not even in the military.”

  Atilius was caught off-guard and was now almost cowering as Lucilius hovered over him. “I am a Roman solider, don’t you ever forget that,” he bellowed, spit flying from the corners of his mouth. “If I choose to beat a slave, I will do so!” Lucilius looked down at his wide-eyed young friend, the fear evident. He took a step back and allowed Atilius to stand.

  “We are Romans,” he continued in softer tones. “We do not question our way of life. We do as we are told. The few things in this life that we control on our own, will be ours to choose. Whether I want to throw a stone or not, is my choice, not yours, not Rome’s.” He took hold of his gladius and armor and headed to the door. He paused with his back to the room, lowered his head, and then left without another word.

  It didn’t matter, Atilius had already turned away. He didn’t want Lucilius to see the tears beginning to well.

  Chapter 15

  Brutus was sitting by himself, nursing a glass of wine, when Servilia entered the dining area. She was wearing a bright red silk robe that was, for the most part, transparent. Brutus did not smile or look up when his mother passed. That meant only one thing—he was brooding. Her only son enjoyed brooding, and he was good at it. If a living could be had by brooding, her son would have more coin than he knew what to do with. He came by it naturally though; his father was a brooder as well. Not quite as good as his son, but a contender nonetheless.

  “Good morning,” Servilia said with a smile. She walked over and kissed her son on the forehead.

  Brutus finally looked up at his mother. “Good morning?” he questioned. “The sun is nearly completely above us. What causes such a late awakening?”

  Though Servilia loved her son, he worried a little too much about his mother’s activities for her taste. But she knew how to handle that. “Well, son, if you must know, playing with Caesar last eve tired me greatly. He had the energy of a tiger and the evening lasted much longer than expected. Seeing him twice this week was a treat for your mother. I needed a few extra hours to find slumber.” Servilia lifted a glass toward the female slave who entered the room. “I’m not sure how this is any of your concern or business for that matter.”

  Brutus returned to his brooding, concentrating on the contents of his own glass.

  The slave poured Servilia the calda she had just made—a mixture of warm water, seasonings, and wine. The spices filled the room like a satchel of potpourri. Servilia took the time to breathe in the scents before taking a sip. “Now, this is how my son should be greeting his mother. Not with questions about my sleeping habits.” She motioned for the slave to put down the ewer and leave, then walked over to the chair adjacent to Brutus and sat, crossing her legs.

  She looked over at her son. He was the greatest—perhaps the only great thing—she had accomplished in her life. He had grown to be a fine young man. Servilia was immensely proud of him.

  Even so, it was hard sometimes for Servilia to see him as a man. He would always be her little boy, her little chubby man. After Brutus the Elder was killed, he was all she had. Those were rough times. Society was not always accepting of single mothers. If your husband died in battle, you were simply expected to find another. It’s not that she didn’t have offers, they just weren’t the right offers from the right men…or man.

  “I have much to discuss with you,” Brutus said.

  “Yes. That would seem obvious.”

  Brutus let the comment pass. “After all these many moons at Caesar’s side,” he continued, “Do you trust him? Do you believe the words that spew from his mouth?”

  “I’m barely awake and these are the questions I start my day with?” Serv
ilia took another sip of calda, purposely taking her time. Brutus had made his opinions of her current relationship clear on many occasions, and, quite frankly, she wasn’t in the mood to hear them again this day. Brutus would have to wait for her response. “Why would I not have trust in him?” she finally said. “Regardless of how you view my arrangement with Caesar, there isn’t anyone I could bed with higher title.”

  “Yes mother, you make a son proud,” Brutus said. “Truth be told, Crassus would be a better title. And someone more your speed.”

  “That old brute?” Servilia said with a chuckle. “Sure, his money would be a fun ride, but I do not believe his cock would provide the same pleasure.”

  Brutus sent his mother a disgusted glare. She smiled.

  “Why are you suddenly worried about my relationship with Caesar?” she asked, sitting back in her chair. “He makes sure I do not go without,” she paused and brought the glass to her lips. “Thus, you do not go without.” She looked over the rim at her son, then took a sip. “He also gives you assignment on occasion.”

  Brutus sat forward in his chair. “You would be wise not to mistake his scraps for generosity. And as far as my well-being, he is barely responsible for such.”

  “Do you prefer I find someone who cannot afford us this nice house, a few slaves, and all the food and wine we can consume?”

  “I prefer you weigh your trust in the man, and his trust in you.”

  Servilia paused for reflection. Brutus could be surly, but he did always have her best interests at heart. He loved his mother, and she loved him. She took another sip. “Caesar does not share important military secrets with me, if that is your concern. He shares only his bed. I believe our relationship, or whatever people may refer to it as, has a bond of trust. So, yes, dear son, I do trust the man.”

  The two remained silent, sipping wine, looking at everything but each other. After several glasses, Brutus finally spoke. “Do you remember the promise you made to me when I was a young boy? I had just seen eight birthdays when my father, the man you loved, was taken from us and sent to the afterlife. You do recall him? Do you recall what you swore to me?”

  Servilia knew the promise of which her son spoke. His father, Marcus Junius Brutus the Elder was a soldier, a descendent of Lucius Junius Brutus, the man who overthrew Tarquin the Proud and established the Roman Republic. He challenged Pompey in the great battle following the death of the dictator Lucius Cornelius Sulla. While he fought bravely against Pompey and his army, his own forces turned against him and he was left with no choice but to surrender. Pompey’s legion of horsemen escorted him to Regium Lepidi, a small town upon the Po, where he was granted retirement. Exile was the better word for it. Servilia and Brutus were to join him, but her husband was there for but one day when he was murdered by a henchman sent by Pompey.

  Servilia evaded the answer. “Over the years, many foolish words have spewed out of my own mouth. Please son, enlighten me.”

  “You said one day we would have our vengeance. We would make the man responsible for taking my father, your husband, pay for his betrayal.”

  “I remember,” Servilia said. Her eyes hardened, and she grew suddenly stiff.

  “Now you are in prime position to make this happen. Your word, your influence, your actions, can end that man’s life. I need you to follow through on your promise.”

  It was Servilia’s turn to examine the inside of her glass. She swilled the liquid, then took another sip. “If that is what keeps my son up at night and tears away at him some twenty-plus years later,” she said lightly, “then, my sweet son, I will do what I can to fulfill that promise.” She stood, crossed over to Brutus, and kissed him on the forehead. “Now, can we eat?”

  “One other thing,” Brutus said. Servilia rolled her eyes, but not so he could see. “Caesar mentioned that a soldier friend of mine, while on patrol, didn’t kill a rebel slave but was given credit for it. I trust this soldier. Would Caesar speak falsely about this incident?”

  “To what gain?” Servilia asked, doing little to conceal her annoyance. “Caesar takes credit for many things he may have little or nothing to do with, but a simple soldier killing or not killing a slave, he would not make up. There are far more important things to lie about in his life. Now come, let’s eat.”

  Brutus massaged his chin and looked down to the floor. Eventually he spoke, “I go to see my friend Herminius today.” He looked up at his mother. “We are meeting in the town square. I hope you will be fine laying around here, eating, drinking,” with a pause, “sleeping.”

  Just then, a knock came on the front door. Moments later, a slave arrived with a message he handed to Servilia. She opened the note, and a slow smile formed on her face. Brutus watched her the entire time. “What is it?” he finally asked.

  “Oh great Jupiter, I thought today was going to be a bore,” Servilia said, waving the note. “Looks like the great Caesar misses me already. He’s requesting my company this very afternoon.” She folded the note and tucked it into her robe. Then she kissed Brutus a third time on the forehead. “I best ready myself,” she said and left Brutus sitting in his chair.

  Chapter 16

  She couldn’t get the image of the woman out of her head, or the name she had spoken. It played in her mind over and over again. “Justina. Justina! JUSTINA!” Cato had a justification for the woman yelling out the name Spartacus, but he was unable to explain this one away. And that was not all. “You made it,” the woman had said, and she was looking directly at Cato. At the time, Justina had written it off as the delirium of a dying woman, but now she was not so sure. There was no way the slave could have known her name, unless she had known Cato, but why would he lie about that?

  Lost in her thoughts, Justina didn’t notice Atilius enter the dining room. He took the chair across from her and sat quietly. Antonia also entered the room with plates of food.

  “How’s the back?” Atilius asked with a smile looking at Antonia.

  It was only then that Justina realized she was not alone. She glared at Atilius, then turned to Antonia. There was sadness in her eyes. Her hand shook as she placed the dish on the table before Atilius. She was not wearing her usual tunic, the one that left exposed a portion of her back and chest. On this day, she was wearing a fuller piece, one that covered her bruises. She placed the other plate in front of Justina without looking at her.

  Cato was standing in the back of the room as well. He stepped forward to the dining table. Antonia glanced up at him, then quickly lowered her head. His eyes narrowed. “Will there be anything else, Domina?”

  Justina looked at Cato for several seconds before answering. He did not move his gaze from her, did not flinch. His eyes gave nothing away. “No,” she finally said. “This will be fine.”

  Cato nodded, then motioned for Antonia to follow as he left the room. Once the two were gone, Justina addressed Atilius, “So brother, what happened to your boyfriend yesterday? He’s quick to hit innocent slaves yet won’t throw rocks at the ones who killed his parents?”

  “Watch your tongue, Justina,” Atilius snapped. Her words had struck a chord. “You know not of what you speak. Lucilius threw a rock, and his aim was true.”

  “Yes,” Justina said. “At one who had already passed from this life. But the one who yet lived, at that one, he threw no stone. This is your idol?”

  Atilius’ eyes hardened. “Because you are a woman, I would not expect you to understand. You know nothing about the ways of men. Why would Lucilius bring an end so quickly to the suffering of the damned? Better to let her linger on the cross than find a quick demise.”

  Justina chuckled as she took a bite of food. “That may be what you choose to believe, but I saw his face as he walked away. Your mighty hero was just shy of crying for that slave. And yet, he will beat Antonia just to have audience watch his sorrow?”

  “Lucilius does as he chooses. It would be wise for you to remember that.”

  A knock came on the front door. Cato left the
dining room to answer it. At the same moment, Alba entered the room and awaited Cato’s return. When he came back, he had a note. “Domina,” he said as he handed it to her. She took the parchment, then dismissed him.

  The note bore the unmistakable seal of Caesar. Alba called to Livius as she walked toward the dining table. “You have a note,” she said. When Livius entered the room, Alba handed him the note.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “Something from Caesar,” she said. “You’d better open it.”

  Atilius turned in his seat to face his father. Livius took the note from his wife and broke the seal. He read the parchment but was visibly confused by its contents.

  “What is it?” Alba asked.

  “A request to meet Caesar. For this afternoon.”

  “What could Caesar possibly want from us?” Alba asked.

  “Perhaps he has heard of the great meats I put out and wants an event catered,” Livius said with a smile.

  “That would be amazing!” Alba replied with a huge smile on her face. “We would be the talk of the town. All of our hard work and now this reward.”

  “There is but one way to discover the meaning of this request,” Livius said. “I must ready myself. It would not be wise to be late for this meeting.”

  Livius left the room. Alba rushed to follow.

  Atilius turned to face Justina. “You see, my father is finally getting the recognition he deserves.”

  “Your father?” Justina repeated. “I live in this house too, yet all my life you have refused to call me sister, refused to acknowledge my part in this family.”

  “I will call you sister when you act as a sister should,” Atilius said.

  It was all Justina could do not to throw her plate of food at Atilius. “Now that Lucilius is on patrol for the day, why don’t you and I finish what you started in my room? Meet me in the sparring area later today. Then you can start calling me master instead of Justina.”