by Kate Cotoner
She heard the scattering of applause as Fronto lifted his bride over the threshold, listened to Lucilla’s calm voice as she claimed control over the fire and water of her household, and then the wedding party dispersed. Alypia crept through the courtyard, making her way to the front of the house. Fronto was introducing the slaves now, his nasal voice loud and echoing through the imposing rooms.
The fountain in the centre of the peristyle garden drew her attention. Alypia stared at it, wondering if that was where Fronto’s fourth wife had met her fatal accident. To her right was the tablinium, the private study of the master of the house. At the sound of footsteps, Alypia slipped inside and flattened herself against the wall.
The slaves, chattering quietly, went past. Alypia straightened, her gaze moving around the room. A number of papers lay in plain sight upon the desk. She went closer, scanning their contents, and drew in a breath. One was the marriage contract between Lucilla’s father and Fronto; the others were reports from Fronto’s clients who owned land outside Rome. Alypia frowned, pursing her lips as she began to piece together the real reason why Fronto had been so eager to marry Lucilla.
More footsteps. Alypia peeped out of the shuttered window and saw two slaves carrying lighted torches. They paced ahead of an elderly crone who was escorting Lucilla to the bedroom.
She had to move fast. Alypia had no plan in mind, just a desire for vengeance. Keeping to the darkening shadows, she followed the escort and waited until the old woman and the slaves retired from the room, pulling the door closed behind them.
As soon as the light of the torches faded, Alypia hurried to the door and pressed it open. She entered a small antechamber, divided from the bedroom by a thick woollen curtain. On silent feet, she went over to the curtain and drew back a fold to look into the main chamber.
Lucilla sat on the bed, her knees drawn up and her hands clasped as she waited for her husband. The flame-coloured veil had come askew, and her golden hair gleamed in the lamplight. She’d kicked off the red slippers, and her bare feet dug into the woollen coverlet.
Before Alypia could call out and reassure her, a side door opened from an adjoining room and Fronto entered. Sixty-four years old, the veins broken in his face from too much easy living, with a sagging paunch and beefy arms, he was no maiden’s dream. Lucilla watched in silence as he approached the bed and shrugged off the heavy folds of his toga.
He sat to unlace his sandals then turned to Lucilla, tugging off her veil and pinching at her slender arms. “Skinny wench, aren’t you? Not that it matters. All fillies are the same once you mount them.”
Lucilla stared at him, her contempt obvious. “You should know, husband. I am your fifth wife, after all.”
Fronto let out a crack of laughter. “Does that bother you? It should, wife. You should learn from their examples. Fine women, all of them. Rich. Pleasing to the eye. Good for my dignitas. But after a while, they got ideas in their heads about how things should be. A woman shouldn’t have ideas. A woman should concern herself only with her husband’s pleasure and the rearing of sons.”
“I disagree.” Lucilla’s chin came up and her eyes sparked. “A true marriage in the patrician ideal is one of equality, the husband in the public sphere, the wife in the private sphere. My parents enjoy such a marriage.”
“Patrician ideal!” Fronto snorted. “What a stupid notion. Listen to me, wife. I don’t need your patrician ideals. All I want from you is your body in my bed. You don’t even have to be willing, though it will hurt you less if you submit. Please me, and I’ll let you live.”
Lucilla sat very still. “So it’s true. You killed your other wives.”
Fronto chuckled. “They were barren, all of them. They deserved to die.”
“Divorce would have been easier.”
“But less profitable... and much less enjoyable.” He leered at her. “Well, wife, let’s get on with it. You’d better pray my seed takes root in your womb. If you don’t give me a son within the year, I’ll kill you, too.”
Behind the curtain, Alypia narrowed her gaze, her body tensing as she prepared to make her move. She waited a moment longer, calculating how best to attack him. Fronto tore at Lucilla’s saffron gown, exposing her small breasts. When she cried out in disgust, he laughed and hauled her down onto the bed. He pulled up her skirts and ripped off her undergarment, then heaved himself on top of her. Lucilla lay frozen as he fumbled beneath his tunic. She stared at the ceiling, a passive doll.
Alypia sprang. She was on the bed before the curtain fell back into place, her fangs lengthening with a crack. Her skirts tangled around her legs as she dragged Fronto off Lucilla. Alypia used the momentum of her loss of balance to drop down hard onto his back. Seizing a handful of his thinning grey hair, she yanked back his head and plunged her fangs into his neck.
He fought, thrashing on the bed like a boar transfixed by a spear. Lucilla brought her knee up between Fronto’s legs, catching his balls hard enough that he yowled and gasped for breath. Alypia hung onto him, her mouth full of sour-tasting blood, as he went into a series of final spasms that rocked the bed. Then he slumped into stillness, facedown on the coverlet.
Alypia lifted her head enough to lick over the puncture marks. The body could heal itself within a few moments of death, and soon the wounds had closed over to leave a faint bruise. Satisfied with her work, Alypia sat back and wiped her mouth on a corner of her mantle. Fronto’s taste lingered on her tongue, a congealed unpleasantness she’d need to wash away with wine. But for now, her job was done. Fronto’s women were avenged, and Lucilla was free.
Warily, Alypia looked at Lucilla, afraid of seeing disgust or horror in her eyes, but Lucilla was smiling—a warm, genuine smile of pure happiness.
“I was waiting for you,” she said. “I knew you’d come.”
Alypia wiped her mouth again, this time with the back of her hand. She glanced at Fronto’s body. “You were right, Lucilla. He’s a murderer and a thief.”
Lucilla slid towards her across the bed. “You saved me.”
“You helped me.” Alypia welcomed her into an embrace. They held one another tight, both of them trembling with reaction. Alypia nuzzled into Lucilla’s golden hair, kissed her forehead then pulled away slightly to look at her. “I found papers in his study regarding your dowry.”
Lucilla frowned. “But my dowry is meagre.”
“Your dowry is your great-grandfather’s farm on Lake Sabatinus.”
“It was all my father could spare. The farm is ruinous and the land has no tenants because it’s so poor. It’s good only for grazing goats.”
“That’s not why Fronto wanted it.” Alypia held her shoulders, caressing her pale skin. “Lucilla, beneath the earth of your dowry lands is an ancient cemetery. My people are buried there, in a vast Etruscan necropolis. But these are not the tombs you see rising above the ground elsewhere—they’re box graves, stone-lined and small, filled with gold and silver treasure.”
“Treasure,” Lucilla repeated, understanding lighting her eyes. “Fronto wanted to rob the dead.”
“Alongside your marriage contract I found reports from your husband’s agents. He had the land investigated and dug over, and one of his men found a tomb. Its contents were rich enough to ensure Fronto’s interest in you.”
“Bastard.” Lucilla nudged Fronto’s corpse with her foot. “Tombs are sacrosanct.”
“As are wives.” Alypia let go and folded her hands in her lap. “I couldn’t let him desecrate the graves of my people.”
They looked at one another for a long moment, then, in a hesitant voice, Lucilla asked, “So this was all for them?”
A smile curled Alypia’s mouth. “Not entirely. I wanted to see you again.”
Lucilla laughed. “And now you see me with a dead husband in the marriage-bed.”
“An unpleasant situation,” agreed Alypia, “but one you can turn to your advantage. We’ll lift him into a clothes-chest until morning. The slaves won’t disturb you until yo
u summon them. They’ll have heard the sounds he made as he died, and they’ll assume they were the noises of lust. All you need to do tomorrow is wake up next to a corpse. As long as you can produce a bloodied sheet, everyone will know your marriage was consummated. The doctors will declare that Fronto died of exertion. You’re his fifth wife, after all, and him an old man. It won’t be a surprise.”
Alypia smiled and felt the pricking of her fangs in her lower lip. “Marriage consummated, husband dead... It leaves you a very wealthy young widow.”
Lucilla shook her head. “I don’t want his filthy money. He stole it from those poor women. Maybe I can give it back to their families.”
“Or,” Alypia said thoughtfully, “you could buy a few insulae in the Subura and offer accommodation to women in need of shelter.”
“Yes. I like that idea.” Lucilla flicked a glance at Fronto. “It’s good to know that from so much hate could come something wonderful.” She lifted her gaze to Alypia. “Will you help me with this project? You have gifts and skills that I don’t share. I would enjoy working with you.”
Alypia raised an eyebrow. “Only working?”
Lucilla blushed. “I didn’t want to assume...”
With a laugh, Alypia brought Lucilla back into her arms. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you, Lucilla. You’ve helped restore my faith in human nature—and, perhaps, my own.”
Lucilla cuddled closer, smiling, and then she drew back, a look of dismay on her face. “Ecastor, I forgot—the bloodied sheet! But how can I consummate my marriage without a man?”
Alypia smiled and pulled her closer. “There are ways and means, my dear Lucilla. Ways and means.”
