Justina: Daughter of Spartacus (Justina Saga Book 1)

by Ryan Lew

  Atilius laughed. “Your little friend took a nice beating the other night. Now, you want the same done to you?” he said with a smile. “I welcome the chance, Justina. And when you cry again, like you did the other night, you will finally understand that you are a girl. There is no place for you in battle. Your place is behind your husband, pregnant, fulfilling his every need.” Atilius stood and shoved the plate of food across the table. “Have your slave girlfriend tend to my plate. My appetite has left me.”

  Chapter 17

  Antonia was still cleaning the dishes when Cato walked into the preparation room. He dumped the food from Atilius’ plate and motioned for the other slaves to leave. “Show me your back,” he said to Antonia when they were alone. When she hesitated, he barked. “Now!”

  Antonia turned her back to Cato and removed the top of her tunic. The welts from the wooden sword were still present. Correction of slaves was common in any house, but no one in house Livius had ever resorted to violence. Cato clenched his fist at the sight.

  “Who did this?” he demanded, arms crossed.

  “Does it matter?” Antonia asked and pulled up her tunic to cover her back.

  “This family does not believe in violence toward slaves,” Cato said, urgency in his voice. “I need to know who did this. Not just for you, but for all the slaves in this house.”

  Antonia looked down. “I have been warned not to speak of it,” she said weakly. “I do not wish a repeat of the incident.”

  Cato pressed. “Was it Dominus?”

  “Of course not,” Antonia said forcefully. “He has never laid hand to me.”

  Cato knew the culprit. There was only one person who had managed to bring unease into this household. Things were progressing just as he feared. “Everyone under Dominus’ roof is responsible to Dominus. If he was not the source of this punishment, or did not allow it to be, then the person responsible must be identified and reported. Now speak! I cannot protect you if you do not tell me how this happened.”

  Antonia looked up abruptly. “Protect me? It is clear you cannot protect me. No one can.” She returned to her chores.

  “Then you condemn us all.” He allowed his words to weigh on Antonia. She was obviously afraid, but she needed to understand the risk of not reporting this incident. If Lucilius was allowed to act unfettered, the attitude of the whole family could change.

  “It was the new boy in the house,” she finally offered. “The one whose parents were killed. He was drunk, and he came into Justina’s room late two nights past.”

  Cato was not surprised. “What were you doing in Justina’s room that late?” he questioned. “You know better. I have warned you.”

  Antonia turned and faced Cato. “We were just talking.”

  Cato stepped closer to Antonia “How many times must I tell you?” His voice rose. “You must be mindful of your role in this house. You are not Justina’s sister. You are a slave! We are all slaves!”

  Antonia dropped her head “I know,” she said softy. “I know.”

  Cato took a deep breath. This was the first time Antonia showed an understanding of her station. He was sorry it had come to this, but she had been warned. His tone softened. “I will speak to Livius,” he said and placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t!” Antonia pleaded. “That boy is crazy, and he hates slaves. I’m sure he will go away shortly and then we need not see him again. Please, Cato, I beg you. Say nothing.”

  Cato folded his arms once again. “I will decide what is best for all of us. Your evening liaisons with Justina have put us all in peril. Now finish your duties.”

  Danger had entered house Livius, and it was a danger that demanded thought before action. But before Cato could give the matter too much attention, he heard Alba calling from the dining room.

  Chapter 18

  When Alba returned, Justina was still sitting at the table. There was a time when the young woman in front of her was just a baby. Brought to her, accompanied by two slaves. Alba had her own baby at the time. A beautiful boy, her third. She had given Livius three boys and her reward was a young child forced upon her. A young child she was told to love, to bond with, and to care for.

  What she was not given was a choice. Livius had not asked for, nor was she allowed to grant consent to this addition to the family. She was expected to simply accept the offering, without protest. Accept that her husband had brought into the house what she, herself, had been unable to give him. She had done what was expected of her and now this child, this young woman, seemed bent on disrupting house Livius.

  Alba took a chair across from Justina and called Cato to bring her food. Justina bristled when Alba took a seat, even her smile was awkward.

  “Where did your brother go?” Alba asked.

  “You mean Atilius?”

  “Who else would I mean?”

  “Atilius,” Justina repeated. “Lucilius’ pawn?”

  The comment fell hard on Alba. “You have a way with words that is destined to cause you great grief, Justina. A proper Roman woman does not dare say half the things that come from your mouth. I can’t decide if you just do not care or if you are simply not smart enough to realize this.”

  Justina concentrated on the dish in front of her.

  “I can tell you this,” Alba continued, “You are turning eighteen in a few months, and I do not expect to see you under this roof much past that time.” She took hold of her daughter’s wrist and squeezed it hard. Justina glared at her mother, her eyes filled with both shock and anger. Alba met Justina’s eyes. “I suggest you heed my warning and hasten your preparations for life under another’s roof. How does someone who comes from such noble loins become so troublesome? I know it is not our raising of you. We have done all we can and more, and this is our reward?”

  Justina kept Alba’s gaze, defiant to the end. When she tried to pull her hand away, Alba tightened her grip. She had no intention of letting go. When Cato entered the room, Alba smiled, then made a grand display of releasing Justina’s arm as Cato placed the plate of food in front of her. If he noticed the conflict, he made no indication of it. Instead, he stepped back slightly and waited.

  “Excuse me, mother,” Justina said standing. “My chores await.”

  Alba waived her daughter off.

  “I’ll take wine,” she said to Cato as Justina left the room.

  “As you wish, Domina,” Cato replied and brought over the canter. “That is all for now,” Alba said as her cup filled. “Return to your duties.”

  Cato bowed slightly and stepped backward. He walked over to the other side of the table and went to pick up Justina’s plate. Alba stopped him.

  “Leave it,” she ordered.

  “Domina,” Cato said and left the room. Alba sat quietly and ate.

  Chapter 19

  Livius had never been in a consul’s house before, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t stop the sweat from bathing his palms. The dining room he had been led to was enormous. Frescos of great battles adorned the walls, reaching from floor to ceiling. The white marble floor was filled with streaks of quartz that ran through the rock like streams of water. One such streak led to a dark spot near the entrance.

  There was little furniture in the room other than several large tables constructed of African Padauk. Pear wood chairs surrounded the tables, which each held a wood bowl filled with a type of fruit Livius could not identify. He was having a hard time holding the drink given him when he arrived and rested it on the edge of one of the tables.

  He took a seat and began doing the breathing exercises he had done before each battle. A man needed his head clear when he took sword in hand. Killing another was nothing to take lightly. Livius never did. In the heat of battle, it was easy to lose one’s head. Deep breaths helped him to concentrate. Although he wasn’t going to battle, he still needed his wits about him.

  He had been sitting there for only minutes when Servilia entered the room, followed by the same legionnaire who had previou
sly been his escort. Her presence, unexpected as it was, startled Livius. So much so that he let out an audible gasp. His expression quickly changed from shock to a knowing smile when she barked at the legionnaire, “I can get my own drink. I know where it is.”

  It was clear Servilia had not seen him. Her back was to him, and she was busy pouring wine from a decanter that was resting on a small table across the room. How many years had it been, he thought to himself, and here she was, dressed in flowing robes that revealed more than they should. Typical. She looked good in red. She always looked good in red. He followed her curves across her shoulders and down her backside. She had not seemed to gain an ounce in all this time. He was still smiling when she turned.

  Servilia had taken only a few steps when she finally saw him. Wide-eyed, the vision stopped her in her tracks. “Well,” she said with a smile, “this is only my second cup of the day, so I cannot be without wits so early. Am I seeing who I think I am seeing?”

  “Hello, Servilia,” Livius said standing.

  “Are you the Livius of whom my son speaks so fondly?” She walked over the table where Livius was standing and set down her drink.

  “The very one,” Livius said and hugged Servilia. “It has been too many moons since we last saw one another.”

  “That it has,” Servilia said, returning the hug.

  After a moment, Livius pulled back, but Servilia stayed close enough to keep her hands in his. “You have raised a fine boy,” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, he speaks of you frequently.”

  “Our friendship has been one that I cherish. And you should be quite impressed with the man you have raised, as he now works for the great Caesar.”

  Servilia flashed Livius a sly smile, then pulled him in close for another hug. The two embraced then took seats across the table.

  “I am very pleased with the results,” she said, grinning as she sipped her wine. “I have raised him almost completely on my own, his father taken from us at a young age.” The comment brought a solemn tone. “How is house Livius?” she quickly asked, “I hear Alba continues to sink her tentacles into you as she did so many years ago.”

  The comment brought Livius to laughter. “She has been a good wife and a good mother to our four children. She keeps a good house and allows for my business to flourish. She longs for little other than my love, something that can’t be said of most women I courted as a young man.”

  Seeing an old lover was more pleasant than Livius had expected. While he had thought of her many times during Brutus’ visits, the emotions recalled in one’s mind often pale compared to seeing that person in the flesh. Old ghosts were doing their dances, stripping away the layers of time. In his eyes, Servilia was once again young.

  “And what of your children? What have they become?”

  “My oldest is a centurion in Caesar’s army,” he explained. “My middle son took an advisory role last week with Pompey. My youngest is destined to become a soldier in the weeks to come. And my daughter,” he paused. “Well, she dreams of armor and battle, but will be in need of taming soon enough, as her eighteenth birthday quickly approaches.”

  “A girl?” Servilia asked. “It would warm my soul to hear her name the same as mine. I imagine she and I have much in common.” She took another sip of wine, slowly, purposefully, and continued, “As I recall, I myself needed taming many years ago, and yet, here I am, still wild as the wind.”

  The couple enjoyed a laugh, their eyes locked on each other. Livius took in Servilia as she brought the glass once again to her full, red lips. He recalled how much she enjoyed wine. He also recalled how much she enjoyed other things as she was drinking wine. Her perfume drifted across the table, and Livius found himself once again in his youth, gladius in hand. He was young when he saw Servilia for the first time.

  She too was young. Vibrant and full of life. She was a tornado. Wild. Spinning, almost out of control. He had never seen anything like her. She was intoxicating. He pursued her. He the hunter, she the prey. She wasn’t hard to catch, but she had made him think she was just the same. Servilia always had a certain aroma about her—roses and some kind of exotic spice. Strength and softness. When they made love, it was powerful. It was as if they were one person. In sync, moving together like a wave on the beach. Her breasts, her thighs, her lips. It was all coming back to him.

  That is, until the deep voice brought him back. “Welcome Livius,” Caesar said as he entered the room.

  Livius was visibly jarred. It pleased Caesar. He glanced quickly at Servilia. She seemed a bit befuddled, but he knew it wouldn’t take her long to recover. It was one of the things he loved about her.

  “It is an honor to meet you, consul,” Livius said, standing hastily.

  “Yes, great Caesar, it is an honor to meet you,” Servilia said sarcastically and took another sip of wine, without standing. She had recovered.

  “The pleasure is mine, Livius.” Caesar ignored his concubine and extended a hand to his guest. “I hear you are one of the finest butchers in all of the Republic.”

  Livius smiled.

  “I also hear you and I have more in common than a desire for a good piece of pig.” He looked specifically at Servilia. She lifted her glass as if to toast.

  Livius’s smile was replaced by a mouth agape.

  It’s not that Caesar truly thought Servilia would cheat on him, it’s just that he didn’t trust coincidences and the name Livius had been coming up far too frequently as of late. He had been able to watch the pair unseen from his position in the alcove, but he mainly wanted a look at Livius. The butcher was taller than Caesar expected. Taller than he’d have liked him to be, by at least three inches. Caesar had hoped him to be a portly man, but it wasn’t the case. He was a fit man with a robust chest and solid arms, peeking out from his plumb cloak. It was probably his best cloak. Caesar smiled. The butcher made nowhere near the money it would take to please a woman such as Servilia.

  “Seems we have both favored Servilia at one point in our lives,” Caesar said releasing Livius’ hand. “She is quite the catch, would you not say?”

  Caesar didn’t wait for Livius’ answer. Instead, he turned and walked over to the wine and poured himself a glass. He eyed Livius in the reflection of the ewer. Livius looked at Servilia for guidance but received none.

  “I have not had opportunity to speak with her in many years,” Livius finally offered. “But if she is the woman she was back then, you find yourself fortunate to be in her company.”

  “And yet, you let her go?” Caesar said over his shoulder. He took his time filling his glass, then turned to face Livius. “Was she not worthy of your loins?”

  The man was befuddled. Caesar relished in Livius’ discomfort. He just looked at the man, forcing an answer. Livius remained silent for a moment, then spoke, “Her desires back then, and as they appear now, were that of a higher station than butcher’s wife. I have never had want to do more than make an honest living and raise my children. Servilia would have found her death in the boredom of my lifestyle.”

  Caesar laughed heartily. “Apparently the years have not changed her spirit then,” he said and took a drink.

  “You two speak as if I am not in the room,” Servilia said, sharply. “That may work for your wives, but this Roman chooses to be seen and heard.”

  Caesar looked at Livius as if the two of them were in trouble, then laughed again. “It is an impossibility for your voice to not be heard, Servilia. No one would dare argue that point.” He turned to Livius and continued, “I pray you have been more successful at taming your wife than I have been taming this mare, Livius.” He walked closer to the table. “I hope too that your influence on your children is equal to the strength Servilia commands over fair Brutus.”

  “My children respect their father and all still live under my roof,” Livius said.

  “Then what I am about to ask must stay confidential between the three of us. Are we in agreement?” Caesar waited until both Livius and
Servilia agreed before continuing. “I am led to believe your son took employment under Pompey.”

  “It is so,” Livius confirmed.

  “You, yourself served under the man, didn’t you? Or am I mistaken?”

  “You are not mistaken. My service to Pompey was many years past.”

  “Good,” Caesar said. “I would like to be kept informed on any rash movements that come from his camp. I know that Brutus and your family are quite close, so any knowledge can be passed onto Brutus and thus, to my waiting ears.”

  “You want my son to spy on Pompey?” Livius asked quickly. Caesar did not respond. “Is that wise?” Livius asked. “Aren’t you and Pompey on the same side?”

  “We all want what’s best for Rome,” Caesar explained. “Sometimes getting to that point puts us in conflict. Your son is respected enough to gain employment close to Pompey. That can be quite useful,” Caesar turned his attention to Servilia. “I know that Brutus will have no problem relaying much needed information to me.”

  Caesar stepped closer to Livius and continued, “I hope that won’t be a problem for your son.” He paused, allowing Livius to weigh his options. But there weren’t any. When the leader of Rome asks you to complete a task, it isn’t as much a request as a command. Perhaps the butcher needed some encouragement. “You have another son, do you not?” Caesar asked. “A centurion in my army, if I recall. A noble man. He has climbed the ranks quickly. Good for him.” Caesar put his hand across Livius’ back. “I would hate for your loyalties to past commanders stall your son’s further progression in my ranks.”

  The shock on Livius’ face was obvious.

  Caesar allowed his hand to slowly drift across Livius’ back, as he walked toward Servilia. He touched her bare shoulder, took a seat next to her, and then turned to Livius. The trap had been set and the snare complete. There was little the man could do.