A Villa Far From Rome

by Sheila Finch

  She slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. The tiled floor was cold to her feet.

  “Niko!”

  The Greek appeared in the doorway immediately, as if he’d been awaiting her summons. “I hope you slept well? Do you think you could keep food down now?”

  “Yes, to both your questions. A little food,” she said. “But first I need to bathe. Ugh! I smell! This place – primitive though it is – must have a bath?”

  “Indeed.” Niko opened one of the wood chests that the emperor’s dwarf had sent with them on the voyage and took out a fresh tunic and undergarments for her. “Primitive, by the standards of Rome. But adequate.”

  She shuddered. “I can’t stay here, Niko. I must go back to Rome soon.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Yes! I know what the emperor said – but he didn’t mean that. He’s pleased to have a child – I’m certain he is! – but he can’t acknowledge her just yet.”

  “Forcing you to marry a barbarian and go into exile is a strange way to show his pleasure.”

  His scepticism made her angry. “You think I’m still a child, don’t you?”

  “Not a child, but the years in Pyrgi sheltered you from the evil in the world.”

  “Sheltered? After what happened to me – and my family! How can you say that?”

  “You’ve seen the face of evil, but you still don’t understand it.”

  “You may not be a slave now, Niko, but you’re still a servant. I won’t listen to any more.” But the dwarf’s words echoed in her mind. Going back wouldn’t be so simple.

  Niko led her out of the bedchamber along a short colonnade open to a simple garden, lacking the elaborate lawns and bushes, the groves of olive trees at her father’s villa. It was a very small house, Roman in design, but unattractive. This passage connected the rooms she’d glimpsed last night and where she’d slept, and those in another building a short distance away. Some of the walls were of simple wattle and daub construction, but she saw through an archway that at least one room had walls painted red and white.

  A female barbarian scurried past with an armload of woolen cloaks.

  “Wait!”

  The woman stared at her for moment, her expression slack.

  “Do you understand Latin? I need more covers for my bed. It was cold last night.”

  The woman shrugged, miming her lack of understanding.

  “You should try to learn their tongue,” Niko said.

  “I certainly will not! Here –” she snatched a cloak off the pile and thrust it at him. “Keep that for me.”

  The woman uttered a stream of words she didn’t understand, and ran away down the length of the colonnade.

  Another servant, an older man, crossing the garden, digging tools in hand, stopped to watch what was happening. Aware of Antonia’s eye on him, he made a gesture as if he were warding off evil and hurried out of sight.

  “Why don’t they like me? They know nothing about me.”

  “News travels fast,” the Greek observed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I expect we’ll find out.”

  “Barbarians!”

  “Keltoi,” he said. “A Greek word.”

  “Celt. Is that their name for themselves?”

  “This tribe call themselves Regni.”

  At some point there would have to be a discussion with the owner of this crude house – her husband! her gorge rose at the thought – about the behavior of the servants towards her. More than that, they needed to establish the rules of their cohabitation – the implications of that term terrified her – until she could return to Rome.

  The sky was clouding over, and raindrops pattered against the paving stones of the pathways, raising the scent of wet earth. At the far end of the colonnade – not far at all, the house was very small – Niko ushered her into the empty bath chamber. He clapped his hands twice and a young boy scrambled through the doorway.

  The facilities consisted of a tiny, cramped caldarium with a heated floor and a bench covered by towels where she lay while the boy anointed her with perfumed oils and scraped the soil from her body. To one side of the room was a modest pool of cold water to cool off after the slave was done. Adequate, as Niko had judged it, but a far cry from what most citizens had access to in Rome.

  Later, cleansed of the foul stickiness of the long days at sea and her own sickness, she let the boy dress her in the clean tunic and drape the palla over her shoulders. He fumbled with the lacing of her sandals, and growing impatient, she slapped his hands away. If only old Cassia had been here to help her! Her nurse would’ve dressed her quickly and efficiently –

  A wave of homesickness and grief crashed over her; memories of childhood flooded back. Her legs gave way and she had to sit down. She longed to feel her mother’s hands in the lamplight, brushing her hair at bedtime again – to see her father, singing as he saddled the horses in the sunny courtyard in Pyrgi – even to experience her brothers’ teasing, the backdrop of her childhood. If only she could go back to the time before this nightmare began!

  She recovered her composure and nodded at the boy. He opened the door to the garden. Niko was waiting outside under the colonnade’s tiled roof, holding Lucia’s hand. Behind them, grey rain sleeted down; she heard the sound of the run-off roaring along the drainage ditch that skirted the colonnade.

  She was an exile. She was a mother herself. She must make the best of it.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long to make a survey of the house. It was pitifully small and spare and had very few servants to take care of it. Just what she might’ve expected of barbarians, even if they were playing at being Roman like her new “husband.” She stood at the end of the building where the servant’s quarters were and the kitchen. Together, they weren’t even the size of the kitchen in her father’s villa. The rain had let up, but heavy clouds warned it could return at any minute, and water dripped from the eaves. Summer was obviously over. But somewhere, a bird was still singing. Like her, it was making the best of things.

  Lucia stomped her way through puddles in the garden, splashing herself and Niko who was trying to catch her. Children made themselves happy anywhere, especially with a servant as devoted as Niko to shield them from trouble.

  She thought about that. When her father freed his Greek secretary, Niko could have left. There was no reason why he should have stayed, let alone chosen to accompany her on her journey to Rome, or on this exile. She gazed at him as he chased her daughter through the puddles. He was almost as old as her father. What could have prevented him from returning to his native land once he was a free man?

  “Niko.”

  He looked over at her and the child promptly ran away through the puddles.

  “Why are you here? I want to know.”

  “Because you and the child need me.”

  “My father gave you your freedom. You can’t care that much about us.”

  “I cared for your father – he was an honorable man. And I swore an oath to stay with you as long as you and the little one needed me.”

  “And then?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll decide when the time comes.”

  A thought occurred to her. “Were you with him when he – Did you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t stop him.”

  “No.”

  She gazed at him but he didn’t elaborate. She tried another way. “You’re a handsome man, Niko. You should return to Greece and seek a wife.”

  He didn’t reply to that either. Just as well, she needed him as a tutor for Lucia, so the child wouldn’t forget her Roman heritage.

  Across the sodden turf, she saw the outbuildings that obviously housed the stables; rain dripped off the red tile roof. The woody scent of some herb she didn’t recognize reached her. No olive trees or vines, no fruit trees, nothing useful at all. And as for the house’s owner himself, she hadn’t seen him since their arrival last night.

 
; She needed a plan.

  Last night, the barbarian woman had looked about as happy to hear her husband had a new wife as the new wife herself had been. Might there be an opportunity in that? Could she be persuaded to become an ally, helping her go back to Rome? Unable to see for the moment how she might work that, she stored it away in her mind for later.

  At the far edge of the untidy garden, the land dropped off low cliffs into the sea. She stood under the shelter of a short colonnade from which the rainwater dripped. Behind her, the land rose slowly to a long line of hills, so tame, compared to her memory of wild rocky walls rising straight along the coast where the family’s villa stood, the waves crashing below it, the vineyards and olive orchards terraced above it. Even in rain, how beautiful, compared to this tame scene! How would she ever get used to it?

  Coming towards them from the direction of the stables was a figure she recognized, Gallus, the former legionary. Another one who came to this bleak place without being forced to. The only true Roman here, if she didn’t count Romanized barbarians like her new husband. Surely he would be an ally. Seeing her, Gallus raised his arm in greeting.

  “Plenty of room for improvement here,” the old man said, as if he’d been reading her mind.

  “Why did you choose to come here, Gallus?”

  He blinked at her blunt question. “Beats life on the streets of Rome.”

  “Couldn’t you – a Roman – have made a life in the countryside at home, instead of this barbaric place?”

  He turned abruptly in the direction of the servants’ quarters.

  “Wait. Please. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  At the edge of her gaze she saw Niko glance in her direction.

  Gallus stopped and faced her again. “Little Fox is my friend.”

  She stepped back from his barely controlled anger. A gust of wind blew a sheet of water off the overhanging roof, drenching her shoulder. She shivered at the cold touch and shrugged her mantle closer.

  “Are there any other –” She hesitated, afraid she might offend him again. “Are than any Romans anywhere near here?”

  “There’s a garrison up the way, just outside the town. A few women, camp followers. A couple of government officials and their wives. This isn’t the headquarters of the legion.”

  She was chilled by the coldness of his tone. “You don’t like me.”

  “I think you’re going to be trouble for Little Fox. And I’ll be very unhappy to see that.”

  A sudden gust of wind shook raindrops off the boughs of a nearby tree. Clouds scudded over the sky and the sun disappeared again. The last thing she needed was to make an enemy out of the man who might be her only link to Romans for miles around. The realization brought tears to her eyes.

  “I think we should all go in now.” Niko stood behind her. He hoisted Lucia onto his shoulders.

  “Ma!” the little girl said.

  Shaking, she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Mater,” Niko corrected as they walked back to the house.

  “Mater! I made a friend today! Two friends, because one is a doggie.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Togidubnus waited two days to give Breca the dignity of her anger. He deserved it. There should have been something he could do rather than bring another woman into Breca’s home – even if he’d been forced to do it. But his last sight of his son with Nero’s hand on his shoulder filled his mind again, and he almost broke apart with grief and rage. Until he had Amminus safely home, he was in a trap. So many rumors he’d heard about Nero while he was in Rome; some of them probably true. Better not think about them if he wanted to keep his wits. The thought of what might happen to his boy if Nero thought Togidubnus was disobedient buckled his knees. One year, just one year.

  Why did Nero want the girl so far away from Rome? Gallus had suggested the child was the emperor’s own, but the old legionary was full of gamey talk like that. He didn’t think it worth much. But what if it were true? More important, what difference did it make to himself and his plans? The effect on his union with Breca was devastating. That had to be resolved as soon as possible,

  One thing he would’ve sworn at Neptune’s altar if he’d still been a believer: He would not take the Roman girl to bed. He had one wife in his heart, no matter what the emperor said – and thank Neptune for the small mercy that Nero had been too drunk to insist the marriage be consummated on the first night as was customary! Even if he must be celibate for months. He had married Breca in a Druid ceremony when they were both only a year or two older than Amminus was now. Even though he no longer believed in the old gods and the old ways, he would never violate that oath of handfasting.

  Early on the second morning, he called the stable boy and ordered a horse be prepared for him. He wasn’t going so far that he couldn’t have walked, but riding would be quicker and he was impatient to talk to Breca. He stood in the colonnade under the small overhanging roof, watching a light rain patter on the garden. The flowers were almost all gone in the suddenly cold autumn weather, the leaves turning brown and gold. Breca always loved this time of year, the time of apples ripening and berries on the bushes along the winding paths, harvests being gathered in –

  He shook the melancholy thoughts away.

  Yawning, the boy led out a roan mare with a white mark on her face. The stallion, her stable mate, thought himself too good to be ridden on social calls, especially in the rain. The mare could be persuaded if he spoke kindly, and today she was content to go, she knew where they were going. One thing he knew, horses couldn’t be driven around like sheep or cattle; they had to be coaxed and persuaded. He mounted the mare and patted her neck.

  He knew where Breca would’ve gone. Knowing his wife, he was certain she wouldn’t have looked for shelter in town; the bustle and clutter of Noviomagus didn’t appeal to her. What would she have thought of Rome that could have swallowed ten of this town and not had a stomach ache? She had family west of here, ten miles as the Romans counted, on a marshy island in the channel where her uncle, Arto, a Druid, lived.

  He turned the mare’s head in that direction and became aware of the small figure in a bedraggled tunic, standing in the rain close to the horse’s head – almost under its hooves. The child stared up at him trustingly.

  “Be glad that Snowmark is a gentle horse,” he said sternly to the Roman girl’s daughter. “And a wise one.”

  “I like horses,” the little girl said. “My Uncle Valentinus let me ride with him when we lived at home.”

  Poor child, he thought, she too was at Nero’s mercy, whatever her parentage. Did no one pay attention to her? He’d seen her yesterday too, unaccompanied.

  “Will you let me ride with you sometime?”

  He wasn’t ready to answer her yet. He kicked Snowmark’s side lightly and rode away.

  * * *

  The autumn sun had reached its highest point in the cloudless sky before the track he followed turned to cross a shallow channel that separated the marshy island from the flat lands at the foot of the hills. The tide was running out, and he waited patiently till it was safe to ford the channel. Anxiety set his thoughts churning. What right had Breca to desert him like this? When had he ever broken his trust to her? Together, they could plan their way forward. Running away from him was the worst thing to do. But he could never hold his anger against her for very long.

  The ground beneath Snowmark’s hooves was spongy, covered in wild grasses, sweet-smelling marjoram and thyme, and bird’s foot trefoil, criss-crossed by streams as thin as one of Breca’s ribbons. Quail gathered a last meal or two from the grasses before flying south for the winter, and the shrike, hunter of small prey, took up residence in their stead. Ahead, a pipit flew straight up, squeaking its alarm at the horse’s approach. As he rode, a patter of rain moved in from the sea, then let up, and sun dappled the chalk hills behind him again, throwing into sharp relief the centuries old burial mounds high up on the slopes. The air was sharp as crystal; he could see all the way
across the bay to the island of Vectis, a bright line on the horizon. Below, and to the south, the breeze blew the incoming waves into froth as they curled over grey pebbles, mirroring the wind-torn clouds overhead.

  He watched a rabbit dash away from his horse’s hooves in a blur of brown body and white tail. This was his people’s land, and he loved it above everything except Breca and his sons. Somewhere nearby, he remembered, there was an ancient shrine to Sulis; no-one, not even Breca’s uncle, knew when it had been built.

  Now he could see several of his people’s timber-framed roundhouses scattered about, smoke curling lazily through the opening at the apex of the thatched roofs. Pigs and fowl rooted for food amongst them. In several doorways, faces peered out, their expressions a mixture of respect – he was their chief – and disapproval – he had wronged Breca. Nothing stayed secret in such a small community for long.

  A small figure draped in a fisherman’s grey and blue checkered wool cloak stood in the doorway of the largest house. Togidubnus dismounted and turned the mare loose; she wouldn’t go far. The boy avoided meeting his eyes.

  “Good day to you, my son,” he said. “I’ve come to talk with your mother.”

  The boy shook his head. “She may not want to talk with you.”

  Behind Catuarus, Breca appeared in the doorway, unsmiling. She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Seeing her there emptied his heart of all its anger. She wore no jewelry, her hair loose today, and he saw how it began to turn silver like leaves on a tree preparing for winter. Had it been that color before he left for Rome? He’d thought he knew his wife so well, but he couldn’t remember a detail like that.

  “My heart. Please let’s talk.”

  She spoke in a low voice to the boy, and Catuarus went back inside the roundhouse. He held his hand out to her and she took it. A shudder passed over him at the sudden familiar smell of her, and he felt the tears rise. But a warrior didn’t weep. They followed one of the paths away from the cluster of houses; the way wound between the sturdy grey trunks of a small stand of young oaks and beeches. Neither spoke.