A Villa Far From Rome

by Sheila Finch

  “You know my name,” she said.

  He knew that he did.

  She walked lightly out of the circle in a dazzle of morning sunlight. Her figure dwindled slowly, the wolf trotting at her heels, until he could no longer make her out from the frost-spangled grass on the plain. High overhead, a hawk circled.

  In spite of the fitful night’s sleep, there were no stabs of headache waiting to ambush him. Surely it had been a very strange dream!

  He knew better.

  He pulled on his tunic and laced his boots. His gladius was not with them. He looked around and catching the glint of the sword’s blade at the foot of the altar. He bent to pick it up. About to secure the gladius in his belt, he stopped, gazing at the nicks and scratches on the blade, the dark bloodstains.

  Not by the sword.

  He turned back to the altar stone and laid the sword on it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Valentinus had told her he planned to leave for Eburacum as soon as possible, taking a supply ship that would sail north up the coast of Britannia while the weather was still reasonable. He’d go straight from his visit to the garrison in Noviomagus to the port to make arrangements. Niko had taken the children into Noviomagus.

  Antonia was restless, full of half-imagined plans and desperate hopes. What if she didn’t go back to Rome, but sought her mother’s home on the coast in Herculaneum? The path to her future wasn’t clear.

  This late in the year the garden had no flowers, and the bramble hedges had no more berries. She would decorate the rooms the Celtic way, with holly. The blood red berries would glow in the lamplight this evening. She threw a cloak over her tunic and went back to the shed to find the old pugio she’d used before. The weather was cold, threatening snow. The holly branches were tough and hurt her hands as she held them; she should have looked for gloves. The blade was too dull for the task and heavy enough to tire her hand. She considered giving up on the idea.

  “Let me help you.”

  Startled, she turned to see Aron wearing woolen leggings and a heavy quilted jacket, Celtic in design. “Thank you. But I can do this by myself.”

  She spoke more sharply than she’d intended. But she didn’t need the complication of allowing him into her life any further.

  “I don’t wish to intrude,” he said. “I only offer out of friendship.”

  The clumsy jacket enhanced his awkwardness. And how odd his thin face was made by the contrite expression he wore! Yet there was something about him more real than she’d found in most other people around her, and a kindness in his eyes if only she’d allow herself to accept it. She’d needed a friend since Gracila went away.

  She didn’t need something else to complicate her life.

  “I don’t need your friendship!”

  “My apology for any misunderstanding.” He gazed at her for a moment, as if reading her deepest thoughts. “I have work to do. Good day to you, Lady. I won’t bother you again.”

  Immediately, she regretted her words. “Aron – I –”

  He was out of hearing, his long legs taking him quickly across the frozen ground. Whatever her difficulties, she would face them on her own.

  Ivy grew on one side of the old part of the house. It would add a splash of color to liven the darkness of the season, but it lacked the pretty berries she wanted to brighten the winter-dark rooms. Further from the villa, the holly trees were younger, their boughs not so tough.

  The solitude of the barren garden soothed her; she put Aron out of her mind and thought only of the plants she was seeking. She went deeper among the little trees. The sound of the architect scolding his workers and the banging and crashing of the work faded behind her. Severus was particularly bad tempered today because he feared winter would shut down all outside work for several weeks.

  Aron will be kept busy today– She closed the thought of him out of her treacherous mind. She wasn’t a silly girl anymore, yearning after every young man she saw. She’d turn her mind to other things.

  Thoughts troubled her. She was glad to have her brother here, but his treatment of Lucia had been a shock and a disappointment. Once the reunion was over they’d had little left in common. It bothered her that there was still no news of Tiberius or when he would return. Her brother thought the campaign to subdue the rebellious Britanni would stop for the winter soon. But when?

  The trees here might be a newer growth, but their green limbs were almost as hard to cut as the older branches. Fatigued, her hand sore from gripping the knife’s hilt, she sat down to rest on fallen log, out of sight and sound of the builders. The stream ran too fast to ice over in all but the most fierce winter; the water was thick with watercress. She could harvest some for Old Nev to use. She set the holly branches and the dagger on the ground beside her.

  Something scuffled the dead leaves, drawing her attention. A long-eared hare stared back at her, then vanished. How good it would be to run away from the thorns and knots of life, like the hare bolting to its hole! The tales Valentinus told last night about the emperor’s growing madness, the orgies, the assassinations, confirmed what Tiberius and Niko had always believed but she’d resisted. The emperor had never been capable of loving his child. In her deepest heart, she’d always known that truth, but it had been too hard to accept.

  Something cold and damp touched her arm. The dog that followed Tiberius’s son around looked up at her as if asking a question, its tail swinging to and fro.

  “The children went into town with their tutor. I don’t know when they’ll be back.” How stupid she felt to talk to a dog! “Shoo. Go away!”

  The animal lowered its tail and went away.

  A chill gust of wind made her shiver, and she pulled the woolen wrap closer. Which was worse? If she did ignore her brother’s warnings and went back to warm Italia, how would that affect Lucia? The child was Roman, growing up like a barbarian in this island. Yet she had been much too young when they left to remember anything. Going back would be difficult for her. And Tiberius? He was a good man, but they were much too different in birth and character to ever make a real husband and wife. Besides, in his heart Tiberius had only one wife. She could only guess at what his obligation was to Nero, but surely the emperor’s death had now set him free. Nothing to worry about there.

  And for herself? What would she be going back to? She had no home to return to. The country villa with is vineyards in Pyrgi was gone No family – It was a fantasy that her mother would welcome her back with a young child to reduced circumstances in Herculaneum. And her only friend Gracila, who’d been forced back into her old life in Pompeii. How could Gracila be expected to help when she couldn’t help herself?

  She was a woman on her own.

  A cluster of crows on the branches over her head started an argument, cawing noisily and jabbing at each other, wings flapping. Dead leaves fluttered down, landing on her lap, with them a dusting of frost. She stood up, gazing into the distance where the road wound up from the port past a few outlying Regni houses. Smoke rose lazily from the chimney of the hypocaust of a newly built Roman villa.

  It was so hard to decide what to do.

  Two figures, Regni, by the look of their heavy clothes. carrying sacks over their shoulders and leading a donkey cart headed up the road to Noviomagus. Another, a Roman on horseback, came south. The light had changed, the clouds were lower, the wind dropped and the air took on the sharp-edged smell of snow.

  Italia would seem as strange now as Britannia had when she first arrived. Was it resignation to fate, or growing wisdom, or just aching tiredness after the years in exile that made her hesitate to make this decision? She was coming to respect this island with its wild moods and dark woods, its animals and birds, even the quarrelsome crows. Was respect enough?

  A few flakes of snow drifted down, settling on her cloak. Time to go back to the villa. She stood up and adjusted the wrap to cover her head.

  “Not so fast!”

  A hand grasped her arm, holding her in plac
e. She gasped at the violence of that touch. The tribune Didius had come up behind her.

  “We missed your company at the Saturnalia celebrations in town.” He smiled at her, all teeth and sour breath. “I thought you might be lonely without your barbarian here.”

  “Tribune. Please remove your hand from my arm.” The man might be the son of a senator, but his manners were lacking.

  Didius stopped smiling. “When I’m ready to, girl.”

  “I order you to!” How dare he take such a liberty? He must be drunk.

  His eyes glittered. “You order me? Emperor’s whore. Concubine of a barbarian king. You think you can order me?”

  Ice flooded through her veins and her knees went weak. “Let me go at once – or I’ll summon help!”

  “And who will come?” He stroked her cheek with one finger as if they were lovers.

  Who would hear if she cried for help? She was out of sight of the villa and her voice wouldn’t carry far. Why had she been so quick to send Aron away? She jerked, trying to get free.

  He hit her across the mouth, sending her stumbling. Pain flamed across her jaw. This couldn’t be happening to her again! She would’ve fallen except for his tight grip on her arm.

  “Keep your mouth shut, whore. I’ll tell you when I want it open.”

  He twisted her arm, forcing her down. She screamed for help. He slapped her again. He knelt over her, his other hand pulling her tunic, out of his way.

  The crows had fallen silent. Somewhere a dog barked.

  Memories she’d long-forgotten flashed through her mind – the emperor’s peppermint breath, his weight on her body. Surely this was a nightmare. Warm taste of iron blood at the corner of her mouth where he’d struck her told her it wasn’t. His breath was hot and rancid on her cheek. She squirmed under him. Kicked her feet, trying to dislodge him. He was too heavy.

  He hit her a third time. Her head snapped back against the icy ground. For a moment, the world went dark. Pain blazed through her.

  The dog barked again.

  No – I can’t – I won’t –

  “No!”

  He forced her legs apart with his knees. He clamped his mouth over hers, silencing her. She struggled – got her mouth free – sank her teeth into his lips.

  “Bitch!” He hit her again.

  She turned her face away from him as she could. He was much too strong for her. She felt as if she were going to die. Snow fell on her face.

  No! She wasn’t twelve years old this time. She wasn’t going to give up without a struggle. There must be something she could do.

  Memory flooded in. “Not like that, silly!” Valentinus said. She was eight and he was ten. They were rolling around on the grass in the hills above Pyrgi , a wrestling game. “You can’t beat me by resisting me. I’m a boy. I’m too strong for you.”

  The memory of her brother’s voice gave strength. She worked one hand free from where it was trapped under him. Didius grabbed her hair and forced her to face him again. Her scalp burned as clumps of hair came out in his hand, but her hand was free. She scrabbled fingers in the dirt and leaf mold, searching the ground under the trees. It must be somewhere here! She felt the prickle of holly leaves. Gracious Minerva – help me! His rancid body smell nauseated her – sweat and stale wine. He was heavy as a sack of lead. It was starting to snow. Despair rose in her chest.

  There. The pugio –

  She touched the sharp tip. Just out of reach.

  “Stop struggling or I’ll kill you, whore!”

  Somehow she managed to shift her body under him, enough for her free hand to touch the old knife’s blade this time, her fingers rasping along the rusted edge toward the hilt. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t get a purchase on the knife. The snow fell faster now.

  She felt the warmth of his manhood on her thigh, wet, sticky, snaking its way. She’d sooner die than let this happen again!

  She gathered her saliva and spit into the tribune’s face.

  He pulled back to hit her again and that took some of his heavy weight off. She managed to reach the knife. Fingers suddenly slippery, she turned it to point up. She felt a sharp prick on her palm and adjusted her grip. He lunged again. The blade slipped sideways, nicking his skin but not entering. He grunted but was not put off. Now he was struggling to enter her. She clenched her fingers on the knife’s hilt, bracing it against the hard dirt under her, straightening it to point upward. Waiting. She forced herself not to resist.

  This time when he lunged, she felt the sudden giving way as the blade entered his abdomen. He screamed – arching away from her, She clenched her teeth and put all her strength into twisting the knife in his flesh. He slid off. The knife tore out of her hands. Hot blood spurted over her thighs, her exposed hips.

  He floundered, gasping on the ground beside her, then went still. Sickened, she closed her eyes against the thought of what had happened.

  “Lady! Lady! Do you hear me? Are you all right?”

  It took effort to open her eyes. Gallus leaned over her, holding out his hand to help her sit up. The dog was beside him, stiff, panting. She trembled so hard it was difficult to see. She looked down at the tribune’s body –

  The knife – Scarlet blood against white ground – Blood on her own hands and legs.

  She doubled over, retching, but nothing came.

  “Are you all right?” the old legionary asked again.

  Her voice caught in her bruised throat and came out in a whispery croak. “He would’ve taken me.”

  “Did he – ” Gallus began.

  “No! He tried....” The thought was too raw to finish.

  The old man looked at the bloody pugio still in the tribune’s stomach. He leaned over and pulled it out. He stared at it for a moment, frowning, then threw it deep into the thorns under the trees. He knelt beside her and tenderly wiped blood and saliva off her face and hands with a corner of his cloak.

  “Gallus – I killed him.”

  “Hush. He shouldn’t have laid hands on Little Fox’s woman! I should’ve been here to protect you. I should’ve been the one who killed him!”

  She tugged her tunic over her exposed knees. Tears flooded now, and the old man wiped those away too. She was shaking violently. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. He pulled her to him and rocked her as if she’d been a little child.

  “What’re you doing here?” Her voice came out as a whisper.

  “I met Niko and the children in town. He wanted to visit his young legionary friend. I offered to bring the children back – ”

  “Surely they’re not here?” The children mustn’t see her like this!

  “No. It’s all right! They’re inside. Delamira’s getting supper. I heard the boy’s dog barking like the beast had gone crazy and came over to see what was happening.”

  The dog barked once as if it agreed with this.

  Realization set in. “Gallus – what have I done? What will happen to me now?”

  “I’ll say I did it. He over-powered you – and then I came along –”

  “I can’t let you take the blame!”

  “ A tribune – a senator his father! They’ll exile you, Lady, if they think you did it! It won’t matter he was trying to rape you. You’re just a woman. How would you survive if they send you away?”

  The snow came down steadily; she couldn’t stop shivering. She looked at the tribune – already half-covered in a white pall. He deserved his death. But Gallus would be in terrible danger if they ever suspected him.

  “Marcus Favonius will have you killed,” she said.

  “I’ll pull the body under the trees. The snow will hide it. That’ll give me some time to make a better plan.”

  “Go away at once, Gallus. You must!”

  The old warrior smiled at her. “Don’t think about it any more.”

  Hearing the sound of voices, she turned. Several men were running towards her.

  One of them was her brother.

  CHAPTE
R FORTY-FOUR

  Catu put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. They were hiding among the branches of an old yew tree on the far side of the garden, high enough to watch the confusion but hidden. A light snowfall made a gauzy curtain between them and the figures at the end of the garden. Nobody would be looking for them, even though it was now way past the time for the evening meal.

  “You’re trembling,” Catu said.

  “I’m not.”

  “I can feel it. But it’s all right to be scared.”

  “I’m not scared.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks with the edge of her tunic. “I’m just cold. And this branch is scratchy.”

  “Well, I’m scared of what they’re going to do to Gallus.”

  They’d returned from their visit to Noviomagus about an hour ago, with Gallus instead of Niko because their tutor wanted to stay in town and visit a friend. When they reached the villa, nobody was home, but they’d heard Beech barking wildly – and Gallus told them to stay indoors while he went to see what it was. She’d wanted to see what was the matter. She went straight outside after Gallus. Catu followed her.

  They’d been in time to see something dreadful – her mother fighting with a man on the ground in the snow. Then Gallus arrived and they couldn’t tell what happened because he had his back to them. But when he turned, he was holding a dagger and there was blood on the old legionary’s clothes. She didn’t understand what had happened.

  She sniffed back tears and snuggled closer. “What are they doing, Catu?”

  Catu shook his head.

  A lot of things had happened next, so close to each other that she was confused. Catu had insisted they needed to hide up in the tree. He’d given her a boost up, climbed above her and pulled her the rest of the way up into a fork of the tree, as far as the branches allowed without breaking under their weight.. He said they could see and hear from up in the tree, but unless people were looking for them, no one would see them.

  What did it all mean? Even from a distance she could see that her mother was crying and her clothes were dirty and bloody too. Then Uncle Valentinus came striding across the snow from the direction of the sea where she and Catu had gone that day to hunt shellfish. He was very angry – yelling and waving his arms – Servants ran from the villa to see what was wrong, Delamira with them. Gallus was standing there in his bloody tunic. It was snowing hard. More people came and Uncle Valentinus looked as if he was giving orders. Two men grabbed Gallus by the arms. A third ran off and came back a moment later with a length of rope. They tied Gallus’s arms behind his back.