A Villa Far From Rome

by Sheila Finch

  “It was a criminal act, and one that should have been dealt with under Roman law,” Favonius said.

  “I heard that the man who was arrested was hot-headed and didn’t wait for Roman justice to take its course.”

  The centurion’s face darkened with anger at that reply, but before he could reply, Plautinus spoke.

  “The wretch would’ve been dealt with in his turn, according to the law. But we’ve received word from the guards this morning that he was found dead in his cell.”

  “Ah. The gods like to surprise us. But why should this be important to me?”

  “He was your friend,” Favonius said.

  He didn’t intend to let them intimidate him, but this was treacherous territory.“We fought together with the Fourteenth Gemina when I was hardly more than a boy.”

  “You brought him with you from Rome to be the overseer of the temple building.”

  “Legionaries are skilled builders. Gallus had put in his time building roads, walls and bridges with the legion. A temple was a small assignment for him to oversee.”

  “What do you know of his suspicious death?” Plautinus demanded. “No wounds on him, no weapons found.”

  “The cell’s locks weren’t breached,” Favonius added. “Yet somehow, someone must’ve found a way in to the prisoner. Or will you expect me to believe in sorcery?”

  Niko had done what he’d planned. He prayed the gods would recognize this act of mercy and help the Greek get away. He studied Antonia’s brother. Young, full of his own importance, eager to make a name for himself and advance in the legion. Much like Marcus Favonius. Both of them felt cheated out of a prize. He could imagine the terrible death they would’ve planned for Gallus, a bloody spectacle in the new arena in Noviomagus.

  “If the legionary was locked in a cell, and properly guarded, isn’t it possible the gods were kind to an old man and took him in his fright?”

  Plautinus pounded his fist on the table. “You know that’s not what happened!”

  “He was a prisoner in your custody. The responsibility for his safe-keeping lay with you.”

  He watched both centurions process the implications of this. Rome was not kind to officials – especially military ones – who didn’t live up to their responsibility. Technically, Favonius was in charge here, but he’d been away and Antonia’s brother had taken over. Neither would want to admit they’d allowed something to happen on their watch to a prisoner who’d killed a tribune – one who probably had an influential family behind him in Rome.

  He was taking a risk by reminding them of their own jeopardy here.

  “I intend to investigate this to the fullest,” Favonius said. “You can be certain of that!”

  Favonius gestured to the guard who’d been lurking in the doorway and the man went away. Plautinus looked down at his helmet on the table, his fingers fussing with the plumes, suddenly anxious to be done with the matter. A slave entered with a tray and three goblets of wine.

  “We won’t speak further of this now,” Favonius said. “Valentinus Plautinus must leave to join his command in the north while the weather holds.”

  The centurions each took a goblet. Togidubnus left the third on the tray untouched.

  He saw that Favonius took note of this breach of customary manners, but the centurion made no comment. Instead, he walked round the table where the intimidating helmets sat and laid a hand on Togidubnus’s shoulder.

  “We’re going to stay close to our base here, my friend,” he said. “Commander’s orders, till we see what happens with the situation in Rome. Besides, the weather’s turning foul – no hope of the men riding out again until the year turns. One day, I believe this land of Britannia will be more Roman than Rome itself! But in the meantime, I want you to continue your persuasion of the citizens to pay their taxes. There’s still too much complaining and resistance. It must stop!”

  He controlled his rising anger and gazed steadily at the centurion’s hand until the man flushed and removed it.

  “Collecting coins from poor farmers and sheep-herders is not a king’s concern. I suggest you find a Roman soldier to do Roman work.”

  Favonius looked as if Togidubnus had struck him. “Is this a declaration of war against Rome?”

  He allowed himself a small smile. “I’m no fool, Favonius.” But the pretense of friendship between himself and the Roman command would never be the same after this. He couldn’t predict the effect of that change, only knew it had been inevitable.

  “It’s insurrection –”

  “Name it as you will.” He left the room without waiting for their reaction.

  * * *

  The early night of winter had fallen and owls were calling as he left the town, sheltering behind walls built by Roman legionaries like Gallus. Snow dusted the path, not enough to slow him. The winter patterns glittered overhead, Cernunnos always a personal encouragement.

  He wasn’t too worried that his rejection of the role Rome would like him to play – submissive client king – would lead to excessive oppression of his people. The garrison here wasn’t strong enough to flex its muscles at his tribe’s expense. Too much depended on Regni cooperation and Regni supplies. There’d be minor retaliations, Favonius wouldn’t be able to resist venting his frustration. A few malcontents like the sons of the sheep-herder had been would be rounded up and flogged. But Rome had better things to spend its gold on than making an example of one tiny Regni kingdom so far away from Imperial power. He was no Boudicca, to his shame, but that might save his kingdom. Especially now, with a succession battle for the throne in Rome. Britannia had long been the stepchild of the empire, the site of bloody battles from time to time, but not in as much danger from Roman power as kingdoms closer to Rome that offered greater rewards.

  Yet he walked the dark path back to his villa by the sea with a heavy heart. The dream of the bright years to come when the best of Celtic and Roman traditions, knowledge and laws would meld into one glorious nation had been destroyed. The future was not bright, it was dark.

  In his dream-time inside the Stone Circles, the Lady had prophesied, The Celts will vanish from the land along with their Roman masters. She hadn’t told him he would be an agent of that downfall. His heart filled up with darkness.

  She had anointed him, and that must suffice.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The two women stood under the colonnade watching the pale sun struggling against the cloud wrack in the east. Antonia breathed in the cold, salt breath of the sea. Tiberius had still been gone when she rose this morning.

  A sudden beating of wings overhead, and she looked up to see a flock of white gannets, wintering on the island, heading out to sea to fish. An owl flew silently past, going home to rest from a night hunting. Such little things, but they were large in meaning. She remembered a time when she’d been scornful of Tiberius’s great knowledge of all the plants and the beasts in this country, or even Niko’s desire to learn about everything around him.

  The road from the port to the town was empty at this hour. In the distance, a trickle of smoke rose from a house where one of the villa’s farmers lived, a woman rising early to light the fire and prepare the first meal of the day. A cock crowed.

  Something was growing in her heart, like a small sapling just planted that would someday grow into a tall vine and bear fruit. At its root was the knowledge that she had killed a man. Granted, a man who would’ve killed her if she hadn’t been quicker than he. And Gallus had given up his own life to protect her. The gods would demand a reckoning, just as they had of Nero who’d taken away her childhood. But that was a long time ago, and she was stronger now; she’d face whatever the Fates sent.

  “Togi is well,” Breca said after a long silence. “I would know it in my heart if he weren’t.”

  She glanced at the tall woman, marking the strong profile, the determined set of her mouth, the proud gaze. She should have made a friend of her long ago. But of course, that would never have been possible until n
ow when shared sorrow brought them together.

  A new thought occurred. How well these people spoke Latin, even accented. And Lucia spoke their language as if it were her birth tongue. Could she have done the same if she’d tried? She’d been taught to read and write as a girl. Beyond that, she could spin and weave – though she suspected not as well as Breca’s people. She’d learned about grapes and making wine at her father’s side, though she hadn’t had the chance to use that knowledge with her own grapes. How much more of her life was she going to waste in clinging uselessly to a past that hadn’t treated her very well?

  “I think I might have done better here, if I’d put my heart into it.”

  Breca turned to her, her expression showing surprise, but she didn’t comment.

  “I should have made an effort to see Tiberius’s side of the situation – and yours. I saw only my own exile, a place I didn’t want to be. I should have tried harder.”

  Yet as a woman, who would’ve honored her choices? Who would’ve let her make decisions?

  Breca touched her arm. “Don’t waste your time on such thoughts. Togi and I are old enough to know how fate gives none of us a choice. You had so much taken away from you.”

  “You did too. And you lost a son.”

  “The fault is not on you. The emperor was an evil man.”

  They were both silent for a moment, the villa behind them and its occupants still. The architect had packed his belongings and gone down to the port to take passage back to Rome on the evening tide. Aron hadn’t been with him, but she didn’t know where he was. It was too late for that to matter now. Much too late.

  “I was unkind to Tiberius – arrogant – laying my unhappiness on him. And my being here has caused you great pain.”

  “We have a saying in my tribe,” Breca said. “The past cannot be unwoven, but the future’s patterns can be laid on the loom.”

  “I never tried to learn the Old Tongue. Even my daughter can speak it now.”

  Breca laughed. “Now you’re looking for ashes to cover yourself! Lucia is young, she learns easily.”

  “In my heart I’ll never be anything but Roman.”

  “You are a Roman-Britanni. One of the first.”

  More birds were awake now; she watched a flock of field sparrows wheeling overhead in search of breakfast. A robin perched on a heap of the builders’ stones and began to sing. The first tint of pale yellow stained the sky where the sun would appear. There was a stark beauty to the bare trees, the snow-covered land, the sky full of birds. It had taken her such a long time to recognize it.

  “Why don’t you hate me, Breca? You have cause.” She felt the hot tears rising and was too tired to control them.

  “And what good would that do? Would it erase that day when you lost your childhood? Would it bring back my son?”

  Breca’s arms enclosed her, and she felt the kindness and warmth of the woman.

  In the distance, a dog barked.

  “That’s Beech,” Breca said, releasing her. “Shee must’ve seen Togi on the road.”

  Clutching their skirts, they both ran up the road where a figure trudged toward them. Tiberius wore Regni garments, fine ones at that. She’d never seen him dressed in anything but Roman tunic and toga. When they reached him, Breca threw out her arms as if she would embrace him, then hesitated, glancing sideways at Antonia. He took her hand in his.

  “Gallus has evaded Roman justice,” Tiberius said. He took Antonia’s hand too, not letting go of Breca.

  Her heart stopped. “What do you mean? Has he escaped?”

  He shook his head. “Not from his cell. But he’s free.”

  “I don’t understand....”

  Breca gazed at him. “Are you in danger because of this, Togi?”

  “No, my heart. But we’d do better not to speculate about it.”

  “We won’t speak of it ever again,” Breca said.

  Antonia didn’t doubt that however Gallus had cheated his fate, Tiberius had a hand in it. A few days ago she wouldn’t have thought this, wouldn’t have thought it necessary. Now, knowing her brother as she’d come to know him, she understood it was better to keep secrets from him. It was a bitter thought. She was full of them this morning.

  “We’ll go inside and I’ll make a meal for us,” Breca said. “Help me, Antonia.”

  Why not? The villa was a symbol of Nero’s tyranny and it had affected all of them. Two women who should be enemies preparing a meal together flew in the face of Nero’s malevolence.

  The children were awake when they went inside, both of them throwing themselves at Tiberius as if he’d been gone for weeks, not just a day. She followed Breca into the kitchen while the children entertained Tiberius with their chatter. Unused to the new kitchen, Breca needed help finding bowls and cooking pots.

  “I like it that the kitchen’s so spacious,” Breca said politely.

  “Severus had even grander plans for the rest of the villa,” she said. “Or should I say, the emperor had plans.”

  Maybe they’d never come into being, now that Nero was dead. Severus had told her he was building for the ages to come; perhaps the plans had a momentum of their own and would continue without Severus or Nero or herself.

  Together they made a boiled wheat porridge on the raised hearth, adding honey and raisins and a few dried berries the children had collected from the winter-blasted brambles around the villa. There was bread too, baked yesterday, and a little goat cheese, no meat or fish today – a sign, she thought of the darkness and confusion that had settled over the villa . They carried the plates and the steaming bowls in together and set them on the table. The sun’s rays hadn’t reached this room yet; golden light from the oil lamps pooled over the table and the family seated at it; even the shadows in the corners of the room were warm and comforting.

  “Ah! I almost forgot.”

  She went back to the cool cellar and retrieved the small earthenware jar she’d used for the crushed blackberries. “It hasn’t had time to ferment as much as it should, but this is the first wine made here.”

  The dark red liquid smelled of late autumnal sun on warm brambles, still more thick juice than wine. Eyes half-closed, she breathed it in, then poured each of them a small portion, the children too. There was just enough for each to have a mouthful. Lucia made a face but the others showed their pleasure.

  After they’d eaten, they sat comfortably in the warm room; the servant had lit the fires that ran the hypocaust.

  Tiberius’s boy asked suddenly, “Where’s Niko? Won’t we do lessons with him today?”

  When Tiberius didn’t immediately answer, she knew what her father’s former secretary had done. A physician clever enough to save lives as he’d saved hers and Tiberius’s could also take them if he wished.

  All her life, Niko had been there, slave, servant, companion along the way, tutor – but never friend. There had always been something hidden about him. What came clear to her now was that just as Gallus had put his life in danger for her, Niko had put his in danger for Gallus. And Tiberius had somehow done the same for Niko.

  Lucia climbed into Tiberius’s lap and snuggled against him. Antonia was about to scold her daughter when she caught his eye. He shook his head and she held her tongue.

  “Let’s say that I sent Niko away on business for me,” Tiberius said. “We may not see him for a very long time.”

  “What business, Father?” the boy wanted to know.

  Breca held a finger to her lips. “We won’t talk about this, my son. Not ever. You’ll have to study your lessons by yourselves for a while.”

  A shaft of sunlight had crept into the room while they were eating, washing it with light as creamy as the milk that arrived in the pail each morning. Country things, she thought, sometimes they were more lasting than the stones of a seaside villa that could fall into neglect, destroyed by the tides of politics. The boy left his seat to squat on the warm floor beside his father; he picked at a crust of bread in his hand.

>   “There’s something I must say,” she said.

  Until this moment, she hadn’t realized the decision had been made. It had been hers to make for a very long while now, but she hadn’t had the experience to know that. Now, she’d come into her power, even if her first action would be one of renunciation.

  The longer she put it off, the more chance her resolve would weaken. She looked at them, Breca sitting beside Tiberius, Lucia in his lap, Catuarus at his feet. A family.

  “I’ve made a decision.”

  Tiberius frowned as if he guessed what she would say. “Should the children hear this?”

  “Yes.”

  They waited to hear what she would say, the children’s eyes bright with happiness that they were all together. In that moment, she knew she loved them all and how hard it would be to give them up.

  “I’m going back to Italia.”

  She heard Breca’s sudden intake of breath and saw confusion on the faces of both children.

  “You mustn’t make this decision lightly, Antonia,” Tiberius said, his voice gentle.

  “I don’t make it lightly. I’ve given it much thought. I wanted to go home the day I first set foot off the boat! Even building a grand new villa didn’t help. What just happened to me –”

  She broke off. She knew if they sensed she was wavering in her decision, they’d try to talk her out of it. She couldn’t allow that. To give herself time, and to allow her heart to stop racing, she took a sip of the blackberry wine. There was only one drop left in the cup.

  She tried to find the right words so that they wouldn’t feel it necessary to argue against her. “Both of those things – the exile, this villa – were somebody else’s decisions. Nero’s. Even Gallus’s decision to take the blame for killing Didius. This one is mine.”

  “Antonia –” Breca said. “Why are you doing this?”

  “With the emperor who exiled me dead, there’s nothing to stop me going home.”

  “Ma,” Lucia said hesitantly. “Why isn’t this our home?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE