A Villa Far From Rome

by Sheila Finch

  “You’re too conspicuous, Togidubnus. You can’t be seen wandering around a Roman fort after dark. I’m already known – cinaedus. Tonight that will be my disguise.”

  He didn’t recognize the Latin word at first, then it came back to him. A man who slept with other men.

  “I won’t come back here afterwards,” Niko said. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  No, probably not. Niko was known in Noviomagus. It wouldn’t take long for someone in authority to suspect his hand in the old man’s death. He held his arm out to the Greek who clasped it. He knew they would never see each other again. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  After a while, he heard the clatter of a horse’s hooves in the darkness.

  “May whatever gods you believe in go with you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Tiberius sprawled asleep in a chair in the anteroom where he’d spent the night, a sign, if Antonia had needed one, of the gravity of the situation. The fate of Gallus hung over everything. The villa was silent and deserted; the building itself seemed to be holding its breath, all normal household activities suspended. She too was finding it difficult to breathe, weighed down by so much pain. She took her cloak and went outside.

  Yesterday’s snowfall had coated the dead leaves still on the trees, giving them back a semblance of beauty the skeletal branches had lacked. The sky was clear of clouds but colorless too; the air had the bite of more snow to come.

  There was nothing anybody could do to help Gallus. Her stomach knotted at the thought. Her own brother was the key, but he was the one who’d been most bent on punishing the old man. Little that Tiberius could do in a legion matter. And even if Marcus were to return suddenly, she couldn’t imagine him in his mercy releasing Gallus. Marcus, the man who’d sent his faithful companion and his own daughter back to Rome because he’d wanted an heir.

  Her heart turned to stone and her body seemed not hers any more it moved so sluggishly. Who could help? Niko did his best with his potions, but nothing would ever remove these scars from her heart. She was surrounded by people but had never been more alone in her life. It was as if she walked in a daze through a desert, too dried up even to weep.

  Action would help, but even there she found nothing. The garden which she’d begun cultivating so carefully was deep under snow. She hadn’t discovered anything else to occupy her time since she’d been here. She should have tried harder. There must have been something she should have been doing as the wife of the king of the Regni, something that would serve to occupy her mind at this moment when she didn’t want to think. She might have been able to do well, helping Tiberius take care of his people, but she’d never accepted her life here as permanent. Now it was too late. What a waste!

  The architect saw her and waved for her to come over to where the first wall of the new wing was beginning to rise out of the heaped snow. The self-important little man, bundled up in cloak and scarves, was oblivious of the turmoil in the villa. And he apparently thought himself too grand to interrupt what he was doing and come over to meet her.

  As she approached, Septimus Severus rustled a sheaf of papers at her. “Contrary to my orders, my assistant sent to Rome for trees and plants for the gardens. They’ll be here in time for spring planting. None of them will thrive in this foul climate – especially the grape vines!”

  She watched his breath rise milkily on the cold air, loathing this fussy, overbearing man. “But you’ll plant them?”

  He glared at her. “I was commissioned by the emperor to build this villa on the same plans as the palace I built for him in Rome, and that is what I’ve been doing. If I had found anyone here with more knowledge of building than myself, the emperor’s chief architect, I would’ve been glad to listen to them. But that is all finished now.”

  The villa obviously was not finished. She waited for him to go on.

  He took a deep breath first.“The terrible news has reached me! How can anyone expect me to continue my work when my patron is dead?”

  “When there’s no one to pay for it, you mean?”

  His face went crimson. One of the workmen nearby, obviously overhearing her words, grabbed his tools and scuttled out of the battle zone. At the other end of the snowy garden, Aron bent to some work, ignoring her. Had he heard what had happened? Of course he had; gossip traveled as fast as lightning. Did he care? If only she hadn’t been so quick to send him away!

  “I am the emperor’s servant, Lady,” Severus said haughtily. “I shall work till the money I’ve been given is gone.”

  Who would pay for the villa’s construction now, she wondered. Would it ever be finished? Did it even matter after what had just happened? She felt like a jug that had been drained to the last drop, yet someone kept pouring, hoping.

  Fighting with Severus – annoying as he might be – was not what she needed to do. But what was it she needed to do? She must find something or she’d dry up and blow away in wind like a dead leaf. She turned her back on the architect and examined a pile of colored stone, waiting to be broken into chips for another mosaic floor. What patterns had he decided on? Yet another detail he hadn’t thought worth consulting her about. The depth of his scorn for a woman’s opinion was obvious. That was the way she’d been raised; men scorned to listen to women’s opinions.

  “What design will these stones make?”

  “What design?” He rustled the plans ostentatiously. “Ah. A cupid. And a gorgon head – very popular floor designs this year in Rome! Another geometric design with strong perspective built in. Very fine! And – ah – Pegasus.”

  The thought occurred suddenly, and she knew instantly it was right. “I’d prefer a dolphin in one of the rooms.”

  “Dolphins are not in the plans.”

  She turned to face him. “Put one in.”

  “I will not be treated like this!” Severus threw the plans down, sputtering with outrage. “I shall return to Rome immediately!”

  “As you please.” She walked away. It felt good to get her own way for once; the pain of recent events that burdened her heart lifted, if only for a moment or two. In any case, it had only been a matter of time, once the money disappeared, before Severus left Britannia.

  At the far end of the garden, Severus had indicated there would one day be a triclinium like the one her father had caused to be built for her mother, where she and her guests could dine outdoors in summer under an arbor of vines. The ground had been cleared to mark its position, it showed dark against the thin snow here under the shadow of tall trees, but no structure had been started. She sat down on a stone bench under the colonnade’s roof. The memory of the triclinium provoked nostalgia, but this time she wasn’t overwhelmed by homesickness.

  Aron had disappeared. High overhead, a flock of birds made their way south – so much later than the rest of the migrating flocks. Their calls drifted down to her. Would they be safe? Perhaps they’d land for a while in Pyrgi. She wanted to believe that.

  She needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t think she was going crazy, someone who’d understand without the need for her to put it all in words. Another woman. But there was no one since Gracila had gone back to Pompeii.

  Drawing her cloak about her shoulders to fend off the cold wind that had suddenly sprung up, she went back into the villa. Her bones craved warmth; her heart, she thought, would never be warm again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  “It’s my fault,” Catuarus said. “If I hadn’t kept wishing she’d go away so my mother and father could be together again, none of this would’ve happened.”

  They were throwing sticks for Beech to retrieve. It was something to do so they wouldn’t have to think about what was happening around them. It wasn’t working.

  The dog bounded through the snow like a hare. The late afternoon sun was shining, but it was still cold, and she was glad she’d grabbed up her cloak for once. They were lucky Niko hadn’t been around to see them go outside to play. She wondered for a moment where
he was.

  “That doesn’t make sense, Catu.”

  “I must’ve angered the gods.”

  “Why didn’t they punish you instead of Mater?”

  “I shouldn’t have let Gallus come back with us when Niko wanted to stay in town.”

  “That’s silly!”

  “I feel so guilty.”

  She put her hand in his. “Don’t. It isn’t your fault.”

  “I don’t know what to do to make it right.”

  She was learning something: Men and boys always wanted to do something. As if they could move the world! She didn’t share this way of thinking. She fingered the shell necklace he’d made for her; she wore it every day. The pretty blue shells, so smooth under her touch, soothed her.

  “I know someone who could make Ma feel better,” she said.

  He threw the stick again for the panting dog. “Who’s that?”

  “Your mother.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Ma liked to talk to Gracila. I think she’d like to talk to your mother.”

  He gazed at her for a moment, thinking. She knew it was because he didn’t want her to think he followed her ideas just like that. She waited patiently.

  “It might be worth trying. I don’t know if she’ll come here.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  They’d make the journey to the island faster on horseback. But inside the dim stable they found Snowmark gone. Tiberius’s new horse, Warrior, was so big he towered over them both, and that scared her. The other horses were either too old or not used for riding.

  “It’s either Warrior or walk,” he said.

  “Can you handle him?”

  “Of course I can!”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Catu’s mother was outside the roundhouse on the island, stirring something in a large pot over a fire. She looked up as the big horse came down the path. She had a cloth tied round her head to keep her hair out of the steam, and her cheeks were pink in the heat of the fire. A big grey and black cat wound its body around her ankles, hoping to catch a drop of liquid from her big spoon.

  “Lucia’s mother needs you,” Catu said, dismounting from Warrior. He helped Lucia down.

  Breca gazed at them in turn, saying nothing, and returned to stirring the pot.

  “She’s very sad,” Lucia said. “Something bad happened to her.”

  “Did she send you?” Breca asked.

  “Oh no! We just thought – Well, I thought – ”

  “I think it’s a good idea, too,” Catu said.

  Breca didn’t ask them anything they would’ve had a difficult time answering. She moved the pot off the fire. “I’ll get my cloak.”

  They waited. Lucia would’ve liked to go inside the roundhouse to see what it was like, but she thought it might be rude to ask Catu to take her. Breca came back out, a brown and red plaid cloak over her shoulders. She’d taken the cloth off her head, and her braids hung free down her back.

  “Warrior is strong enough to carry us all,” Catu said.

  “Wait,” his mother told him.

  She took a small pot with a cover over to the fire and ladled something out of the larger pot into the smaller one, and covered it. There was a handle attached to the pot for carrying.

  When she was ready, all three climbed onto Warrior and began the journey back to the villa. The tide was coming in when they reached the ford, and water splashed around the horse’s hooves but didn’t slow him. The sky was filling up with clouds; Lucia knew enough about the weather by now to know that meant there’d be more snow by nightfall. She heard Catu whispering to his mother, telling her what had happened. There were things she would’ve liked to say or ask, but she thought it best to keep them to herself.

  They got back as the sun, mostly hidden behind clouds, slipped below the hump of the Downs behind the villa. Delamira came out at the sound of the horse’s hooves. The Master Tiberius had gone up to Noviomagus, she told them as she helped them dismount, and Niko was still not back. The Lady Antonia had moped about all day, not even bothering to eat.

  Breca looked at the villa where no lights burned. “Set out lamps,” she said to the girl. “And fetch bowls from the kitchen.”

  Delamira ran to do as she was told. They went inside to the warm room Tiber used to receive visitors, because there were more chairs and benches for sitting in this room than any other. Breca set the covered pot on Tiber’s big table where he wrote his orders, took off her cloak then helped Lucia with hers because it had caught on her shell necklace.

  After a while, Ma came into the room. Lucia went to her and put her arms around her. Nobody spoke. Catu helped Ma sit in one of the chairs, and Delamira brought bowls and a ladle and served the stew Breca had made.

  Ma waved the bowl away when Delamira offered it to her.

  “You must eat,” Breca said. “It will restore your strength.”

  Lucia sniffed at the steam rising from her own bowl – fish and garlic, she could tell those two smells. Different kinds of fish. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

  “Oysters and mussels, crab meat. And white flatfish too that Arto brought home this morning. Onions and mushrooms, cabbage and white beans,” Breca said, naming the most delicious things Lucia liked to eat..

  “It’s very good, Ma!” Liquid dripped off her spoon to run down her chin.

  Ma allowed herself to be persuaded to eat a few spoonfuls. After they’d eaten, Breca told Delamira to help Lucia and Catu go to bed, Lucia in her own room and Catu in one of the new rooms built for guests where he often slept.

  But Lucia knew she would never sleep. After Delamira left her room, she clutched a blanket around her and crept back to the candle-lit audience room where Ma and Breca were talking in soft voices. She didn’t know where Tiber was.

  “... bring trouble to whatever family I live in,” Ma said. “My own in Pyrgi, yours –”

  “Hush, child. We don’t control our fate.”

  “The gods hate me.”

  “I doubt that. You’ve been the victim of terrible men with power.”

  “And I’ve hurt the only men I’ve met who weren’t terrible and powerful – Gallus and Tiberius!”

  Lucia thought Ma’s arguments were hardly much different from the one Catu had made earlier today, it’s all my fault, and probably not much truer. She wanted to hug Ma and comfort her, but sensed Ma would not be happy to know she was hearing any of this.

  She huddled in the dark by the doorway and tried to concentrate on what they were saying. She hoped that she’d learn something that she and Catu could do to help. The villa was very quiet, Delamira and the Regni servants who lived there had gone to bed. It was colder now since the fire that kept the hypocaust going was allowed to die down at night and she was very glad for the blanket. She didn’t understand a lot of the things Ma and Breca said, and her eyelids were getting heavy.

  Clasping her precious shell necklace, she fell asleep by the door.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  He didn’t wait for the Nubian guard to announce him into the planning room. The Second Augusta’s quarters in Noviomagus were nowhere near as large and well-equipped as the legion’s permanent camp in Isca Dumnoniorum, but even here the atmosphere was redolent of the military power of Imperial Rome. He strode past the Nubian and stood in front of the long table where two centurions were studying a map. Marcus Favonius had returned; the other centurion must be Antonia’s brother, Valentinus Plautinus. Behind them, the banners and vexillums bearing the legion’s emblems, Capricorn its birth sign and Pegasus, were displayed against the wall. The room was over-heated and stuffy.

  Both centurions were in full uniform – red tunics with leather greaves, armored cuirass over padded vest – and both wore their swords. Favonius wore ceremonial wrist bracelets, signifying recognition of his bravery in battle. Their distinctive helmets with tall horsehair crests sat on the table as if waiting for their owners to pick them up and ride
out to do battle. A ray of sunlight from the high, narrow window fell on them, striking sparks.

  He knew it was a display of power, all for his benefit. He was supposed to feel intimidated. The legionary who’d brought the summons at dawn had told him Favonius was back. Now he wondered briefly how the change of command from Plautinus who’d held it temporarily had gone. Judging by the two scowling faces in front of him, not to either’s satisfaction, and they hungered to take it out on him.

  He too had dressed carefully for this confrontation. Over a blue tunic, embroidered by Breca long ago with clan symbols in silvery thread, he wore a green and blue plaid cloak, fastened on one shoulder with a large gold brooch decorated with coral, and his finest dark wool breeches. He’d put a gold and silver torque around his neck, and on his wrists silver cuffs that rivaled Marcus’s own. Coming in before the sun had risen, Old Nev had painted the ceremonial blue circles and swirls on his bare arms. His own Celtic sword rode at his hip in place of the Roman one he’d given up in the Stone Circles. If what had happened to him there had been a dream, it had been a wise one.

  The scowl on Favonius’s face deepened. “You’ve gone tribal.”

  “I have never been otherwise.”

  “You were pleased enough before this to be Roman!”

  “And now I’m pleased to remember I’m King of the Regni.” Time to claim his rightful title.

  Valentinus Plautinus broke in impatiently. “Get to the reason you were summoned!”

  “I wait to hear the reason.” He kept his tone courteous.

  The centurions glanced at each other, and he wondered if they’d argued previously over who would deal with this matter. He could guess what this was about and wasn’t going to help them.

  Favonius cleared his throat. “I was sorry to learn of the attack on your wife.”

  He inclined his head, acknowledging the centurion’s “sorrow,” feigned though he knew it was. Favonius had never shown any sign of caring about the status or well-being of women.