From the Dark to the Dawn

by Alicia A Willis

  The mansion of Aeneas appeared in the near-distance, colossal and beautiful.

  Involuntarily, Marcus’s steps slowed. He was unafraid, but also uncertain. His future had changed so rapidly in the last few days. Would life as the son of Senator Cleotas Aeneas be the promising one he desired?

  Laughter fell clearly on his ears, issuing from the domus. The guests of Cleotas had arrived in good season.

  Marcus inhaled deeply. Drawing his toga more firmly about his shoulders, he quickly alighted the steps.

  A slave answered his knock. He admitted them, offering a deep bow. “Do I have the honor of receiving my young lord, Marcus Virginius?”

  “Yes.”

  “My master Cleotas awaits you in the library, my lord. Shall I announce you?”

  “Yes.” Marcus gestured to Philip, who silently took the pallium from his shoulders and draped it over his arm. “Take me to him.”

  Acknowledging his order with a low bow, the slave briskly led the way across the spacious atrium and threw open the doors of the library. “My lord Marcus Virginius Aeneas.”

  Marcus stood a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene at a glance.

  The room was filled with toga-clad men. Nearly half of them bore the purple stripe of a senator’s office upon their toga and tunic. Obviously, Cleotas Aeneas had no mean acquaintances among his friends. Perhaps that was how he had settled the adoption so quickly. Normally, the process was long and arduous, particularly as Marcus was unrepresented by his biological father.

  Clearly, his position in high places had served Cleotas well.

  Cleotas came swiftly across the room, raising his hand in greeting. “Hail, Marcus.” Lightly, he grasped Marcus by the shoulders, embracing him.

  Marcus returned the gesture. The warmth of Cleotas’s greeting pleased him. His adoption was not merely the formality of producing an heir, then. Inwardly, he vowed to maintain the warmth between them. His new relationship with Cleotas would be an affectionate one.

  “Greetings, senator.”

  “Cleotas, if you will, Marcus.” Cleotas rested his almond-colored eyes on Marcus’s face, searching him. “You are ready for this final step in becoming my son?”

  “With all my heart, Cleotas.”

  “Good.” The warmth deepened on Cleotas’s features, easing them into their usual lightheartedness. “Let us then finish up the business.”

  Maintaining his arm across Marcus’s stalwart shoulders, Cleotas turned to his guests, silencing their murmuring conversation and laughter with a slight uplifting of his hand. Every eye turned to him, expectant.

  “My friends, you are gathered here to witness the adoption of this young man as my son and heir. I have already told you how he saved my life and of the affection I now hold for him. For those of you who do not recognize him, I present Marcus Virginius.”

  Several hearty, murmuring greetings sounded from various points across the library. Marcus lifted his arm in silent acknowledgment, bending his head to their polite nods.

  Cleotas again lifted his finger. “You know I despise formality, my friends. For my sake, I know you will acknowledge Marcus as my son and heir, honoring him as you would me. That is all I would say, except,” and Cleotas turned lightly to Marcus, “I now present to you my son, the young Marcus Virginius Aeneas!”

  An echoing chorus of handclapping and cheers followed Cleotas’s unaffected speech. Their acclamation continued as, before them all, Cleotas took an ornate signet ring from his finger and slid it onto Marcus’s.

  Marcus sensed a thrill as he felt the clasp of the ring around his finger. It symbolized so much. More than his future, his career, it portrayed the generosity of the man who was now his father. He again grasped Cleotas by the shoulders.

  “You will never be ashamed of this day, Cleotas. On my oath, I’ll never dishonor you or this symbol of your affection.”

  Cleotas laughed. “That is just what I like so much about you. Always sincere, always grateful. Jove! What a thing it is to have an upright son. The contrast between us will soon be made evident.”

  He rubbed his forehead ruefully, shook back his head, and again laughed. “But, come! My friends are eager to greet you.” He raised his hand over the company, summoning them nearer. They moved forward, grasping Marcus by the shoulders, welcoming him.

  Marcus accepted their attentions with easy graciousness. His whole body was warm from their touches, their masculine embraces. Respect for Cleotas was evident in their hearty welcomes, fueling his own estimation of his new father.

  The line of well-wishers gradually cleared; the room again became noisy with jesting laughter and conversation.

  Of the two men still waiting to greet Marcus, one was a statesman. Grave, placid, and corpulent, Marcus at once recognized him as Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Emperor Nero’s personal advisor.

  “The gods favor you, young Aeneas. You have made an excellent connection in your new father.”

  “Your honor me, Seneca.” Marcus recalled Rowland reading Seneca’s works, delving deep into Hellenistic Stoic philosophies. Like others believing in Stoicism, Seneca considered virtue sufficient for happiness. “It is my great joy to stand before our emperor’s advisor.”

  “The feeling is mutual, my young friend. Our excellent senator is highly honored, and his son must be no less so.” Seneca nodded amiably. “The gods grant you success, Aeneas.”

  He moved away. Marcus turned to greet his final well-wisher. Instant shock rolled through him.

  Saturius.

  Marcus felt the color washing up in his face. He had not seen Saturius earlier. Odd that his former father-in-law to-be was among the guests.

  Saturius approached. He raised his arm, making no motion to embrace Marcus as had the others.

  “All hail, Saturius.” Marcus made no effort to relax his rigidity. God forgive me. He could not yet forget the dishonor Saturius had done him.

  “Hail, young Aeneas.”

  An awkward pause followed. Marcus felt a wave of irritation. Could not Saturius make his greeting and depart?

  Saturius cleared his throat. “The gods favor you. Senator Cleotas is a well-respected man.”

  “Truth. I am grateful to have won his good favor.” Would Saturius never go? Marcus felt a well of aching resentment rise in his chest. His dishonor had hurt him more deeply than he cared to admit. True, he did not love Delicia. But he had been prepared to take her as his wife honorably.

  Saturius shifted, apparently ill-at-ease. “My daughter was, of course, grieved.” He avoided meeting Marcus’s eye. “With this change in your circumstances, you are to free to visit her again. Delicia would be pleased–”

  “No.”

  Saturius looked up at him.

  Marcus met his eye, firmly quiet. “No, Saturius. We are done, she and I. It is better that she finds a man of similar passions. I am not that man now and never can become him again. Besides,” he lowered his voice in emphasis, “you would not want a foreigner for your son-in-law.”

  Saturius stiffened. Marcus knew he understood him. He had not meant to bring up his intended humiliation, but perhaps it was just as well. Saturius now knew where they stood.

  Most of the guests were filing from the library towards the banqueting chamber, and Marcus saw Cleotas waiting expectantly for him at the door.

  “Good day, Saturius.”

  Marcus strode across the room towards Cleotas, suppressing the dull ache of resignation in his chest. It was officially over between him and Delicia. Not now by the command of Saturius, but in his own heart.

  It was for the best.

  “The feast begins, Marcus.” Cleotas clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “Take your couch so that we all may eat.”

  “As you say.” A smile curled around Marcus’s lips. Swallowing, he freed his mind from everything but the present moment. It was his new life with Cleotas that mattered, not the broken dreams of his past.

  In the banquet chamber, Marcus stretched himself out on th
e low couch at the head table. Cleotas seated himself on the couch nearest to his, and the guests followed suit.

  With a clap of Cleotas’s hands, the slaves entered the room. The hands of the guests were washed, officially commencing the meal.

  The murmuring sounds of laughter, masculine voices, and music filled the room. The slaves mingled around them, offering trays of olives, various delicacies, and meats.

  Marcus served himself from a platter of roasted peacock. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, eager for the familiar food.

  His wine glass stood empty on the table before him. Marcus glanced about. Philip stood alone in a corner, waiting for his master to notice him.

  Marcus summoned him nearer. Inwardly, he was grateful to see a familiar face. Philip’s service was the only comfort he lacked. No other slave had ever sensed his needs as well. He smiled dryly to himself.

  Nor had any other slave provoked him as much or as often.

  A soft hand brushed Marcus’s shoulder. An instant thrill ran through his body, tingling down his spine. He tensed, momentarily paralyzed.

  Glancing to his right, Marcus saw Cleotas grinning openly at him. What… He slowly raised his eyes, resting them on a young Greek slave.

  The woman was very beautiful. She was dressed according to her race, clad in a violet tunic. A soft cape fell from her shoulders, fastened with ornate brooches. She was slim and shapely, her hair soft and coiled in the attractive Greek fashion. A luring smile parted her scarlet lips.

  Marcus felt another thrill run down his spine. Her hand again brushed him.

  “Do you need wine, my lord?”

  Marcus’s heart pounded. He felt himself growing hot and cold by turns. Her question implied more than all appearances.

  No. I won’t go back to that lifestyle. I cannot.

  From the corner of his eye, Marcus saw Cleotas lean forward, keenly intent upon him. Amusement played about his mouth, his eyes holding a smile.

  The full reality struck Marcus. Cleotas had studied Christianity. He knew fornication was forbidden to Christians. And he was certainly watching to see his new son’s response to temptation.

  You are not your own.

  “My lord?”

  “No, no.” Marcus did not dare look at her again. The temptation was too strong. His chest pounding, he raised a steely hand of dismissal. “You may go.”

  Disappointment was evident in the way the young woman drew herself up. She moved away, her look confused and disdaining.

  Marcus refused to follow her with his eyes. He averted his gaze until he was certain she had moved from the room. When he did look up, it was to meet the laughing eyes of Cleotas.

  Marcus felt the color tingling in his cheeks. Cleotas’s amusement stung. His hand clenched his cup. Apprehensive he would shatter the goblet with the force of his own frustration, he beckoned to Philip. “Fill my glass.”

  Philip bent over him, pouring out the ruby liquid. Though silent and subservient, he looked sidelong at Marcus. Perception was evident in his face, and Marcus knew he was fully aware of his master’s inner struggle.

  Marcus waved him back.

  On one hand, it irritated him that a slave had seen his moment of weakness. On the other, he was grateful there was one individual present who respected what he was standing for.

  Unlike Cleotas.

  Still amused, Cleotas leaned forward. “I do not envy you, Marcus. Do not touch, do not look. Are you no longer a man that you do not desire pleasure?”

  “God knows I do.” Marcus raised his eyes. Groaning discouragement threatened to overcome him. He was so weak, so ready to yield. God help me. “But what I want does not matter, Cleotas.”

  “And does your God allow no exceptions for special occasions such as this?”

  “No.”

  Cleotas leaned back. The smile continued to hover over his mouth, dancing in his eyes. “You are standing by your fanatical beliefs better than I thought.”

  Marcus fingered an olive. If only Cleotas knew he was still distrusted and considered carnal by his fellow Christians. What would he think of their spirituality?

  “I am a Christian, Cleotas. And, whether I stand or fall when tempted to sin, I shall always be one.”

  Cleotas seemed to soften. “Then be one, Marcus. I do not mock your virtue. I merely disagree with it.” He raised a portion of roasted dormouse to his mouth. “The meaning of life is pleasure. For myself, I will satisfy as many of my desires as I may before Pluto claims me.”

  Marcus said nothing. For the first time, the sound of the sambucca and flute grated on his ears. Their music reminded him of many things he wished he could forget; things he knew he would still be tempted with.

  On the balcony adjoining his bedchamber, Marcus stood looking out over Rome. Dusk was falling. The sky was a masterful blend of scarlet, gold, and blue hues, melting into a soothing canopy of darkness at the horizon.

  Most of the guests had departed, but a few still lingered in the library with Cleotas.

  Marcus had excused himself on the grounds of a headache. Cleotas had laughingly accused him of being too long at the wine, but, thankfully, the charge was untrue.

  However difficult, he was curtailing his old habits.

  His eyes roved over the city, resting on the Temple of Mars. The colossal images of the gods perched on its column-enclosed doors and casements were a striking reminder to his former beliefs. Mars was his namesake, his patron.

  Somehow, he sensed that sphere of thinking had not entirely changed. If all went well, he intended to become a soldier. He would be a valiant warrior for Rome. It was the safest profession he could settle on as a Christian. He would be actively employed.

  Still, temptation would follow him. He would never be safe from its allures.

  A quiet step sounded behind him.

  Without turning, Marcus knew who it was. His thoughts formed themselves into soft words. “Pray for me.”

  “I do so every day, master.”

  Marcus turned. He felt weary, discouraged. New realization was beginning to sink in. “Cleotas is more tolerant of my faith than my father was. But, I fear he is also more given to pleasures.”

  “Your father had a family.” Philip stepped forward. “I think virtue is best found in men who have children.”

  Marcus saw hesitance linger on the countenance of Philip. He gestured slightly. “What is it?”

  “It was my Lord Cleotas who summoned the young woman to your side.”

  Marcus was silent a moment. He wasn’t surprised. Still, Cleotas was too good-natured to have done it maliciously. “My new father is a kind and generous man, Philip. I’m certain my comfort was the only thought uppermost in his mind.”

  Philip said nothing, but his expression revealed a contrary opinion.

  Marcus felt frustration well up within. And what if Cleotas had meant to try him? It was only natural for him to test the validity of his son’s claims. A slave like Philip could not begin to understand. His words came out sharply.

  “Do you think it was easy for me to turn her away? You are still little more than a boy, Philip. What can you know of these things?”

  “I know you considered me enough of a man to tempt me with them once.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Marcus averted his burning eyes, his hands clenching into hard fists. How dare Philip speak so to him, reminding him? His cocky slave would never remember his place. But, it was still the truth. He had tempted Philip with pleasures, even as he himself was tempted that afternoon. If Cleotas’s motives had been to test him, it was only just.

  He could not bring himself to speak. His pride was sorely wounded, but his conscience would not allow him to rebuke Philip. He is your brother as much as he is your slave. Don’t be angry because he has told you the truth.

  Philip raised his eyes. He seemed suddenly ashamed. “My apologies, Marcus. I…” He paused, apparently faltering to find the right words. “I did not mean to remind you of the past.
I only meant that I do know what it is you are tempted with. You are not alone.”

  Marcus softened. Philip still had a talent for riling him. But, somehow, the meek apology melted his irritation. “I understand, Philip.”

  Philip seemed to hesitate.

  Marcus felt a slight laugh rising in his throat. “You may as well speak freely with me, Philip, now that you’ve already begun.”

  Philip looked down. “I sense it will be difficult for you here. I do not disrespect your new father; I only comprehend the temptations you are going to be faced with.”

  Marcus’s gaze drifted once more over the city. “I will be faced with temptation wherever I go, Philip. It is not only here.” He shifted his gaze to look fully at him. “But I do understand.”

  “I will pray for you.”

  “As I will pray for you.” Marcus refused to allow his pride free rein. Slave though he was, Philip was his fellow-believer and the one who had brought him to Christ. He forced himself on. “I-I was wrong a moment ago. You have many temptations also. As surely as you pray for my strength, I will pray for yours.”

  “I thank you.” Philip paused, a hint of a smile deepening around the corners of his mouth. “You are changing, Marcus.”

  Marcus’s mouth twitched. “If you knew how much I wanted to hit you a moment ago, you would not think so.”

  “I’m grateful you didn’t.”

  Marcus smiled a little, easing his gravity. “I do mean to treat you more as a brother than a slave, Philip. I do not say it will be easy; Romans do not break habits overnight. But, God helping me, I will not put off my obligation to you as the one I owe so much any longer.”

  “You owe me nothing, Marcus.”

  Marcus shook his head. “You have suffered much at my hands. Even had you not been the one who brought me to Christ, that fact still remains. It is my resolve you shall never know the sorrows in this new household that you knew in the old.”

  “That means a great deal to me.” Philip looked abruptly away, but Marcus saw that his eyes glistened. His voice was choked. “My father would rejoice to see you dealing so kindly with me.”