She had to shake her head to stop the thoughts spiraling on top of each other. Her new life would be better, she told herself. No matter how uncertain, no matter what happened, she had to face it. Then she thought about Constantine.
She had a pain in her stomach then, as if she'd eaten something rotten. And later, she dreamt he spoke to her, though he had ashes in his hair.
The following evening, they sheltered by a massive headland that the Syrian said was part of the island of Delos, sanctuary and birthplace of Apollo.
“This island was chained to the seabed by Zeus himself,” he said. “It is a quiet place these days, but 10,000 slaves were sold a day here at one time, before Rome moved the trade away. Did you notice how dark the sea is around here?”
She shook her head.
He moved closer to her. “The captain said you’re to take an early turn on watch tonight. One of the crew is ill. It's either you or someone else will have to do a double. The captain said to ask you. He said you act like a boy, anyway.”
“Tell the captain I’ll do it.” She turned away from him.
The sky turned cloudless that night. The stars shone like the lamps of a vast and distant city. The glistening band of the spheres glistened from horizon to horizon. Perhaps this is what Rome looks like at night, she thought as she nestled by the steer board, listening to the sigh of the waves.
Juliana hugged herself, remembering how Constantine had looked at her that day, as if noticing her for the first time. She knew what happened to slave girls who caught the master’s eye. She’d seen it again and again over the last few years.
Usually there were a few days where they went around looking as if they’d found a bag of gold coins. And then a few days after that they were crying, either scared that they were pregnant or disappointed that they’d been set aside by the master.
Masters had enough women of their own level, the other slave girls always said to each other, when these things happened. And if the one who’d had a brief period between his sheets complained too much, she’d be beaten or sold off. It wouldn’t do to have the mistress of the house hear her wailing.
Under her the timbers of the ship creaked, as if it too was preparing to sleep. She sat up straight, pulled her woolen blanket tight around herself. The reek of the seaweed, encrusted on some nearby rocks, was so strong now she could taste the salt in it. She breathed in deep, the scent of the fish they’d eaten that night and the hum from the unwashed bodies around the deck almost masked if she held her breath in fully.
She wondered if the smells meant the wind was changing. The strong Borean winds had served them well by taking them down quickly through the islands, but the captain hoped for a warmer Levant wind to carry them across the open sea to the Straits of Messina. They’d already been blown too far south, he’d said that evening, and he'd warned her to rouse him if any whisper of a new wind sprung up.
A scuffling noise disturbed the silence. She looked up. A huge shadow loomed. She stared open mouthed, and almost screamed.
“How is your first watch,” a voice said. Constantine’s voice. She gripped the edge of the rail behind her.
What did he want?
She swallowed hard. She wasn't even allowed speak to him without being spoken to first, and she'd never yet been alone with him. Yes, he spoke to her every day, but that was always when he asked her to do things, like fetch water or a knife. He’d never engaged her in conversation.
Her mind raced. Had she done something wrong? She looked up to see if she'd missed her watch call but the star Al Ghoul, the daemon eye of Perseus, still dipped slowly toward the horizon.
“Good,” she said.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’m not checking on you.” He released her shoulder and sat on a low bench an arm’s length away. He looked around, as if enjoying the night air. Then he leaned toward her.
“You know, the Captain expected you’d cry off from this task. He also said you’d cause problems on the journey, that you’d fall in with one of his men, but you haven’t. You’re tougher than you look, Juliana.”
She bit her lip, wondering where this was all leading. What would happen if she said no to the son of an emperor?
His voice lowered as he went on. “Tell me about this dream reading talent Lucius says you’ve been gifted with.” The note of diffidence in his voice grew stronger, as if he half expected her to throw herself at him and wanted to distance himself from her.
She shifted a little away from him. Lucius had only asked once about her dream reading. Why had he told Constantine?
“It’s nothing master, a childish game.” She should never have told Tiny about the dream reading skills her mother had taught her. She looked out to sea. He shifted closer, rocked.
Impatience radiated from him, like the feeling in an orchard as the trees waited for rain. She held the rail tight.
“Don't worry, I'll not report you to the temple priests,” he said. “Lucius suggested I ask you about a dream I've been having ever since Nicomedia.” He paused.
She stared at him. Was he really asking her to read his dream? She kept her face still. No way would she appear eager, like the slaves whose tongues hung out for their master’s approval.
“But I need to know what you do with the dreams people tell you about.”
“I keep them secret,” she said. “I never reveal the dreams people tell me. This is what my birth mother taught me. I’d never betray dreams, not even if they threatened to cut my tongue out.”
“But you know the meaning of dreams, the messages from the gods?”
“I say what I’ve been taught that a dream may mean, that is all,” Juliana replied softly, matching his tone.
They sat in silence for a while until Juliana reckoned he'd decided against confiding in her. It was probably a good thing.
XXV
Treveris, 306 A.D.
The Pictish elder bowed as he entered Crocus’ tent. “Brave chief of our Alemanni brothers, I come to beg your help.”
Crocus shifted on the rush mat. He waved the man forward, then reached behind his back to make sure that his knives were ready, should there be any need for them.
“You are welcome, Nechtan. We are all brothers. Sit, let my slaves serve you. You must be hungry.”
“I have no need of food or any other sustenance, brother Crocus. There is too much at stake for me to soften my words with such things.”
The man sat opposite Crocus. His woolen cloak had a crisscross pattern. He pushed it behind him as he settled down. The man’s sword or axe and any knives he’d had with him when he arrived in Treveris had been taken from him.
“What is at stake?” Crocus looked the man in his one good eye. The other held a black pit. Someone had plucked his right eye out. There were many who wouldn’t survive such a punishment.
“Our world is under threat. You know what your Caesar plans for us Picts, don’t you?”
“My master is a Roman emperor now, do not forget that. He has the power of the Roman gods in him.”
“I do not doubt it.” The Pictish elder touched his forehead, then made a gesture as if throwing something in the air. “But it is his plans for salting all our fields beyond their wall that I have come about.”
“I don’t expect he will succeed in salting all the fields.”
“We do not want him to salt any.”
Crocus sniffed. The reek of death coming from Nechtan grew stronger. He took a sip from a large cup of beer at his side. It had taken him a few years to grow used to the beer they made in these parts, but now he enjoyed it all day.
He put the beer cup in front of him. “You should have thought of this, when you were raiding along the coast of Britannia. I heard you people even raided farms outside Eboracum last summer.”
Nechtan grew louder as he replied. “Not us. I swear on the name of the goddess. Are we to suffer for someone else’s crimes?”
“It is a time of evil for man
y, my friend. These days the storms are stronger, and the snows kill. The water is poisoned in many wells. Do not tell me what I already know.”
“But there must be something we can do to keep these evil things away. Perhaps the mighty Crocus would like to see the gifts we have brought.” Nechtan stood, went to the tent flap and threw it open. In the dirt outside, between the lines of tents, a row of wooden crates stood. Between two crates stood a blond-haired boy in a thin tunic.
XXVI
West of Delos, 306 A.D.
Constantine spoke again, in an even lower voice, as if he thought someone was listening.
“Do you believe dreams show us the future, Juliana?”
She shivered. Talking to him reminded her of when she’d been a child, before she’d been made a slave, when she could talk to anyone freely.
“Some of them are messages about what may come, others are visions from the past. That is what I was taught, that they mean something.”
He stared at her, as if he was working out if he could trust her.
“Before I tell you, Juliana, you must swear on your life never to reveal to anyone what I say tonight. Do you so swear?”
“I swear on my life,” said Juliana.
After a long pause he spoke. “This is my dream. I wake looking toward the walls of a great city.” He hunched closer to Juliana. They gazed out at the shimmering, oily blackness. The smell of salt and seaweed tickled her nostrils.
“An army is spread out before me, and beyond it a river flows in full flood. A terrible wailing rises from beyond the river. But I cannot move. My arms and legs are rooted to the ground. A giant, in a purple toga, is striding toward me. The wailing becomes louder. I see a horse, a cloaked figure riding it and I awake, sweating, as if I have a fever. This dream has come to me every night since we started our voyage. What does it mean?” His tone was agitated.
“I can unravel parts of this, my lord, that is all. Is there any more you have not told me?”
Constantine shook his head,
She knew she had to be careful. You could lose your life for predicting the wrong thing to a master. They sat side by side watching the sea and the stars. He pulled his cloak tight. Finally, she spoke.
“A river means things are changing, my lord. But you face dangers. That army. The rider means a message you are waiting for will arrive. This should give you hope. What you have been waiting for will come to pass.” She paused. She had grown to hate telling people what their dreams might mean. Some, when they heard what she had to say, got angry. Others dismissed her words with a wave.
She took another deep breath and told him the final part of the reading. “I have heard it said that it is fear that roots us to the ground in our dreams, though I cannot tell for sure in your case.”
“I'm not afraid.” He snorted. “I can stand in the front line of any battle. I will trade blows with any man. What am I afraid of?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “The brave do not always win, so I heard.”
“You are right.”
The silence returned. Had she gone too far?
“Have you been told where we're going, dream reader?” he said. His tone had softened.
“To Rome, my lord. To the center of the world.” She brushed her hair from her face.
“Yes, and after that to Gaul, to Treveris, the capital of my father’s provinces. Perhaps he is the purple-robed giant.”
She dared to look into his eyes. He didn’t frown and look away as some did when a slave dared look at someone from a class above them.
“He’s planning a campaign against the Picts. Lucius said your father came from Britannia. We may even go there.”
The hairs down her back stood up. Not only was he telling her where they were going, as if he trusted her, his gaze had locked with hers, and he’d almost promised to take her to Britannia.
A scratching noise from further along the deck disturbed them. It was Lucius.
“Does she give a good reading?” Lucius sounded amused, half asleep.
Constantine squeezed her arm lightly, in a gesture of gratitude and stood up. The ship swayed gently.
“The usual tales,” he said, dismissively.
Something bubbled up fast inside her. “Don’t blame the reader if the message displeases.”
She stared down at her hands for a moment, then, a moment later, she dared a look.
Constantine and Lucius were staring at her. Both of them looked surprised, not angry. She’d gotten away with it. Lucius patted her head.
She wanted to push his hand away, but she scowled at him instead. Lucius shook his head and withdrew his hand. Constantine put his hand on Lucius' shoulder, as if to restrain him, and they moved away toward the prow of the ship, leaving Juliana alone.
Juliana knew why they had gone. To them she was a slave, a servant, a person of a low and unlucky order, best not to mix with, a creature to be pitied and forgotten quickly. But she knew deep down she was more than a slave. And if she could, she would prove it to them.
The ship moved almost imperceptibly as a light breeze skimmed the sea. A rope slapped. She sniffed. Was there a new breeze?
The rough wood of the ship trembled slightly under her bare feet. She heard voices. Raised voices.
“I have to show respect. It’s the way I am.” Constantine’s tone was loud, and angry. Did he not care who could hear him?
The first part of what he said next was lost in the breeze, but the rest carried clearly to her. “I’ll be posted back within a year, two at most. That’s what my father said. I remember it clearly. He said he'd send for me. And he has. He's kept his word.”
Relief grew inside her. They weren't talking about her.
“You know I’ll never speak ill of him, Constantine, but you must agree it took a hell of a long time for him to send for you.”
“Do not say anything against him, Lucius.” They fell silent.
Inside, she felt like a strung bow, knotted, waiting. She knew the value of eavesdropping and its dangers. The house slaves on the estate had prided themselves on their skill at it.
“Maybe he really needs you. Maybe you’ll be appointed his successor once again. Why else would Galerius release you?” Every word Lucius spoke was clear now.
“It’ll be twenty years or more before he is gone, Lucius. I’ll have plenty of time to prove what I'm worth. I must win a lot more battle honors first. And I will.” The wind rattled a loose rope, echoing his words.
She sniffed again. A new wind. Definitely. A warmer wind. She stood and padded quickly down the deck. When she got near the prow she called softly to Lucius, telling him she would wake the captain. She heard no more of what was being said between them.
The captain quickly had the ship ready for a night sailing. Several of the men, those who were new to his command, grumbled as they woke from where they slept under the rowing benches in the shadow of the sails. But when they saw the full moon, their grumbling ceased. It was a good night for sailing.
Soon after, the ship moved like a stallion released into a summer meadow.
As the island disappeared behind them, Juliana saw a twinkling light on the top of a headland. Her first watch had still not ended.
“The priests of Apollo light that fire, girl. It signals the change in wind. The coming of the Levants,” said the captain, when he saw Juliana gazing back at the light.
She didn’t reply. She was thinking about what Constantine had said. They might go to Britannia. Perhaps he might help her find her father. Could it be true?
She sat looking at the wake as it streamed behind them. Her life was changing in ways she’d never imagined were possible and she was changing too. Her early morning prayers were being answered.
The new wind drove them steadily all that night, and the next day. The Syrian had stories about every islet and headland they passed. They were the isles of the Cyclades, he told her.
They spent the following night anchored by an island called Cythera, and ear
ly the next day they were beyond it, and into the Ionian Sea. The wind still held good and the sky stayed almost cloudless for this, the most dangerous part of their journey, out of sight of land, across the sea to the Straits of Messina.
The sky seemed paler here, a more whitish blue, as if a permanent haze had descended.
“These are the Halcyon days.” The Syrian stood by her while they watched fishes leaping high in the air. “Zeus' birds will keep the storms away, while their kind builds nests onshore. We should have an easy journey all the way to the Straits.”
She noticed he was rubbing at his crotch with one of his hands while he spoke to her. She knew what he was doing, stood up quickly, and walked to the other end of the ship. A few of the male slaves at the estate used to take their cocks out in front of her and stroke them, if they ever caught her on her own. She knew better than to complain, but also knew their next step would be to force themselves on her. Only fear of the master finding out and turning them into eunuchs had deterred most of them.
But the Syrian had been right. They arrived at the Straits of Messina on a calm evening after two days out of sight of land. It wasn't until they'd passed through though, that Juliana understood why the crew dreaded this part of the journey.
The first taste she got of what lay ahead came when a thin column of gray smoke loomed on the horizon, spreading out high up in the air. It was some time before the island of Sicilia could be seen below it, but all laughter and chatter stopped on the ship as the column loomed nearer. Before the island itself appeared, a mountain came into view at the base of the column of smoke. It had a pale ring around its cone. When the sun set behind it, wispy trails of clouds with flickers of fire attracted all eyes to a display of the powers of the gods, which made anyone who saw it want to pray for deliverance and regret they had ever come this way.
“That is Aetna, the forge of Vulcan. The home of the Cyclops. They are awake, as you can see, but sometimes we can hear them as well,” one of the other crew members told her in a whisper as they watched, mesmerized.
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