Antonius was helpless with laughter. When he dried his eyes, he said, “Mother, you don’t care about the damned thing. You’re only trying to get your own way. Forget art and leave a little to nature.”
Lucilla turned her back in a huff, and Regeane departed victorious on Antonius’ arm.
“I will conduct you to the meeting,” he said. “I am, after all, your chamberlain.”
“What’s a chamberlain?” Elfgifa asked.
“I don’t know,” Regeane replied soberly, “but I’m sure Antonius will be a very good one.”
Now that the extended interview was over, Regeane sat trembling a little, carefully smoothing the costly fabric. “Antonius,” she said softly. “Do you know you were the first to tell me I was beautiful?”
“Was I?” he asked. “Well, beauty is another weapon. Learn how to use it.”
Regeane sighed. “I had something else in mind.”
“I know,” Antonius said. “Forget it. Even a mild flirtation would be dangerous for us both. I’ll go call Rufus.”
“No,” Regeane said, rising. “Today at least I want to be out in the open air. Take me to where he’s waiting.”
Antonius grinned and offered her his arm. “Come then. It’s a little bit of a walk.”
REGEANE WAS PERSPIRING WHEN THEY FOUND Rufus. It had been, as Antonius promised, a long walk. Down a flight of crooked marble steps, through a plowed field in the sun, and then up another stair. This one led into a grove of ancient cypresses. Their cool shade was welcome. Finally, they reached a maze of ruins bigger than the Forum.
Rufus was sitting on a bench in front of a stack of marble slabs piled on top of one another until they formed a small cliff. A faint trickle of water from the top created a tiny falls that emptied into a broken fountain at the base.
Rufus was, as his name implied, red-haired, but the fiery thatch was threaded with gray, and gray wings swept back from both sides of his ears. Regeane’s first impression was one of ugliness. He had a big nose that was hooked and humped as though it had been broken several times. The white, thin scar of a sword cut marred his forehead. He had a wide, generous mouth. High cheekbones and hollow cheeks accompanied by the almost delicate pale skin that goes with such fair coloring.
All in all, she thought he did not look like the romantic lover who could have commanded Cecelia’s devotion. Until he smiled. The smile had the same effect as kindling a bright lamp in a darkened room. Seeing it, Regeane thought, Why, anyone would love him.
He rose quickly, setting aside a paper he’d been reading, and bowed deeply over Regeane’s hand. “My lady,” he exclaimed, “you shouldn’t have walked so far. I was perfectly prepared to come to you.”
“I know,” Regeane replied, “but I wanted an outing.” Then she turned slowly around, gazing at the shattered piles of masonry around her. They were thickly overgrown with looping creepers, low bushes, and here and there, full-grown pines strove for a foothold, pushing their tops above dusty scrub oak. “What is this place?” she asked, awed.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Rufus grinned. “This, lovely lady, is said to be all that remains of Nero’s golden house. Once the most famous and beautiful palace in the entire world. I love to come and walk here. I think on the Roman world, olden times, and our new kingdoms that replace it.”
“ ‘So passes away the glory of the world,’ ” Antonius quoted. “My ancestors donned the purple and were crowned with golden laurel. They ruled the world, but we, their descendants, must humbly use—” He bowed to Rufus. “—bold, brave barbarians to be our protectors in time of trouble.”
“You’re being facetious,” Rufus said with another one of his infectious grins. “Your personal ancestors likely knew more about homespun than the purple, were better acquainted with ox goads than golden laurels. And, as for ruling the world, they more likely spent their lives serving humbly in the legions or following a plow. The present disordered state of the world, while to be deeply deplored, offered us both our opportunities. So, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Antonius’ lips twitched with amusement. “I’m glad to see you again, Rufus.”
“Yes,” Rufus replied, “and I, you. I don’t know what happened or why it happened, my boy, but I’m very glad you’re well again.”
Then, the two men clasped each other’s hands cordially. Rufus turned to Regeane. “Tell me, how is my dear Cecelia?”
“Oh!” The word was a gasp. Regeane didn’t know what to say and tried to buy time. She pulled at the neck of the dress to let a little air at her moist skin. “Please,” she said. “If I might sit down in the shade for a few moments.”
“Of course, my dear,” Rufus said. As he conducted her to the bench, he asked, “Will you have a cup of wine? I always take care to pack an ample lunch when I come here.”
Regeane accepted the cup of wine, some bread, and an excellent, creamy white cheese. The wine was delicate. The cheese spread on the bread like soft butter. Regeane sat eating, drinking, and dreading what she would have to say to Rufus.
Until he leaned over from his seat beside her and gently lifted her chin with one finger. “Is it really so difficult, my dear?”
“Yes,” Regeane mumbled shamefaced through a mouthful of bread and cheese.
Rufus’ hand dropped from her chin and he sat back with his hands clasped at his knees. “Charming,” he said to Antonius who was leaning quietly against the trunk of a small cypress nearby. “Is she always so forthright?”
“Usually,” Antonius replied. “I haven’t yet had time to instruct her in the art of seeming to promise everything without making any commitments at all.”
“Well then, Regeane,” Rufus continued. “At least tell me, is my darling Cecelia at least enjoying her little tantrum?”
“Tantrum?” Regeane and Antonius chorused.
“Yes, tantrum,” Rufus said. “She’s always been very given to them. Cecelia’s high-strung.”
“My God, Rufus,” Antonius exclaimed. “Do you call a ten-year retreat into a convent a little snit? Besides, she cut—”
“I know what she did,” Rufus interrupted, his face suddenly bleak. “I don’t need to be reminded. Yet, I’ve always believed if that fool Maximus, her husband, had shown a little tact, a little ordinary human feeling, she’d have been back in my arms within a fortnight. But, fool that he was, he couldn’t resist taunting her, enraging her. The rest was sheer folly.”
Regeane shuddered as she gulped some of the wine. The perspiration was dry on her skin and, in the lengthening shadows of evening, the hollow among the ruins was cold. “If he was cruel, he paid the price,” she said. “I’ll never forget Cecelia’s description of him dying destitute in the street, the rain falling into his open eyes.”
To her surprise, Rufus howled with laughter. “Is that what she said? Oh, my. Oh, me. I hadn’t heard that one before.”
“Isn’t it true?” Regeane asked shocked. “You don’t mean to say she lied?”
“Not quite,” Rufus said. “True, Maximus was never again as wealthy as he was before our little, shall we say, partnership ended, but he died at home in bed. I believe his liver got him. He turned the color of a ripe lemon shortly before he passed on, or so they say. We weren’t on speaking terms by then. Yes, I do believe a bit too much overindulgence in the fruit of the vine killed him. However, whatever got him, it certainly wasn’t Cecelia. But I’m not at all surprised she thinks so. She always tended to overdramatize things … a bit.”
“What about the roses?” Regeane asked.
“The roses?” Rufus asked. “Oh, yes, the roses. Tell me, do they make her happy? Is she pleased with them?”
“Ha!” Regeane said. “I think if you stopped sending them, she might come out.”
Rufus shook his head. “No, I’d never stop sending them. I couldn’t. You see, my dear, I can’t bear the thought of publicly humiliating her, or making her believe her lover has forgotten her and ceased suffering. Too many Roman matrons have s
hed tears over our unhappiness, mooned over our private misery for me to stop sending them now. How could she remain a heroine, a figure of tragedy, without them? I’ll tell you a secret, Regeane. Even when I die, the roses will continue to come. I’ve made a provision for them in my will. Until the final breath passes her lips, the fragrance of roses will surround her … in my name.”
Regeane set down the wine cup carefully and deliberately on the bench, got to her feet, and turned to face Rufus. “You are as bad as she is.”
“Regeane!” Antonius exclaimed in reproof.
“No,” Rufus said. “She’s right, God help me. The girl is right. I am, lies, roses, folly, and all, but …” He got to his feet and faced Regeane. He looked down at her, “Regeane, I’m a happy man. As men go, I’ve had more than my share of the good things life has to offer. Wealth, leisure, good health, and pleasure. And I can’t say Cecelia has ruined any of these things for me.” He raised one finger. “But there is one thing that would make me happier still.”
“Cecelia,” Regeane said.
“If,” Rufus said, “she would come down the path now.” He turned away from Regeane and looked up the footpath as though seeing something there Regeane couldn’t. “We would sit together. She would read to me from Suetonius and Tacitus. Together we would weave a magnificent fantasy about Rome in a time when the legions marched. When Nero lived here in his golden house with the beautiful, doomed Empress Poppaea at his side. We would titillate ourselves with tales of dark, ancient crimes, tortures, intrigues, and the final inexorable retribution that came to these gilded, fascinating sinners. And when our journey through time ended, we would wander away, hand in hand, to a glade I know where the moon is bright, the grass is long and soft. There were nights when I had my men spread a banquet in a meadow and warm the air with braziers so that we could lie clasped in each other’s arms under an open sky. I would do so tonight for her, and for as many thereafter as she wished. And we would never know parting again.”
“I hadn’t thought love eternal,” Regeane said. “Sometimes I hadn’t thought it even possible.” Her own words filled with surprise and even a little fear.
Rufus turned away from her and walked toward a stand of browning goldenrod illuminated by the afternoon sun. “Of course,” he said. “You’re still young. I’ve forgotten how young you are. Love is eternal. That is its terror and its final beauty. Love never ends. The joy may go out of it, and, in time, even the pain may end. But it lingers like a living thing and follows you every moment of your life. A day doesn’t go by without my thinking ‘I wish Cecelia were here to share this moment with me.’ Tell me a joke, make me laugh, and I will wish I could hear her laughter. I think of her in the breathless hush of morning before the sun brushes the hilltops with golden light, and in the evening when, for a perfect moment, the sunset fills the sky with the myriad hues of purple, violet, red, and gold.”
Rufus paused in the sunlight and idly broke the dusty flower heads. The dying sun burned his red hair into fire. “I walk with her in the springtime when my orchards bloom. On brief, hot summer nights, I dream of her in my arms. In the autumn, amidst the dust of the haying, she stands beside me. When my tenants carry the first sheaf to the altar, she walks crowned with wheat and autumn leaves through the shimmering, stubbled fields. She is both Demeter and Aphrodite. On cold winter nights, when the stars are brittle lights in a midnight black sky, and the wind shrieks around the eaves, I wake, reach for her, and know she is, perhaps, forever gone. Because, you see, Regeane, I know that if love is eternal, so also are folly, lies, and roses. And she may never return.”
Regeane stood with her fists clenched; tears blurred her vision. Rufus walked back from the sunlight and into the shade of the cypress.
“I can’t promise she will listen to me,” Regeane said, “but I will go to her and I will plead your case as best I can.”
Rufus grinned. He took her clenched fists in his hand and spread the fingers carefully. “Don’t worry about success or failure, my dear. I’m a sensible man and I know Cecelia well. I only want you to give her an excuse.”
“Of course,” Antonius said. “An excuse. Something to save what’s left of her face.”
Rufus flinched.
“For God’s sake, Antonius,” Regeane pleaded.
To her surprise, Rufus regained his composure and laughed. “Antonius, how many men really fall in love with a woman’s face? Was that all Adraste meant to you? A pretty face?”
“I must remember not to cross swords with you in the future,” Antonius said. “You scored a hit there. Avery palpable hit.”
“I’m glad you felt it,” Rufus said.
“I hope Cecelia takes the excuse I’m going to offer,” Regeane said. “Perhaps she wants to come back, but isn’t sure … of her welcome.”
Rufus lifted one of Regeane’s hands to his lips and kissed it. “Reassure her,” he said.
“Come, Regeane,” Antonius said. “It’s late and the shadows cast by the cypresses are very long. You will need to dress for the feast tonight.”
“My men are within earshot,” Rufus said. “These ruins aren’t safe at night. Some of them will give you both an escort back to Lucilla’s villa.”
XXIX
LUCILLA WAS WAITING NEAR A GATE IN THE BACK wall of the villa when they returned. “Gundabald and Hugo are here. Where do you want them? In the reception room or the atrium garden?”
Regeane’s mouth was dry, and she could feel her heart hammering. She straightened her dress and appealed to Lucilla. “How do I look?”
Lucilla fussed with her hair for a moment. “Not too bad,” she said. “You’re a bit flushed from your long walk, but luckily, you don’t wear cosmetics and you haven’t perspired too freely. Given the new clothes and jewels, I feel the effect is satisfactorily intimidating.”
“Good,” Regeane said.
“Now, don’t be submissive,” Lucilla cautioned. “That would only make them suspicious. Make it plain you intend to be mistress in your own house, but be conciliatory. Pretend that when you return to your own country, you feel you will need their help establishing yourself politically.”
Regeane nodded absently.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Antonius asked.
“No,” Regeane said. “He’d be surprised if I didn’t come alone. He might not speak freely.” With that she moved away from Lucilla and toward the curtains separating the darkened room from the atrium.
Gundabald and Hugo were cooling their heels near the villa entrance. They were seated on a stone bench. Gundabald stared gloomily out over the reflecting pool. Hugo was glancing around nervously, obviously overawed by his luxurious surroundings. He was the first to see Regeane approaching. He jumped to his feet. Gundabald rose more slowly. Both men turned to face her.
Regeane stopped, keeping about ten feet between herself and the nearest of the two men. She had expected to be frightened, instead she was surprised by her own observations.
God, they were a shabby pair. Hugo’s mantle and shirt were threadbare and there were obvious sweat stains at his armpits. Gundabald’s gold-embroidered mantle which had once seemed so fine to her eyes was dirty and his linen stockings were baggy at the knees. They both wore mud-stained scuffed boots that showed signs of hard usage. And, before God, they smelled foul. She had scented them often before and her wolf nose would have known them in the dark, but she realized for the first time that the rank stench she associated with them was the result of rarely washed bodies and unclean hair and beards. Gundabald stared at her with sullen eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot with sleeplessness and drink.
For a moment, she wondered that Lucilla would bother to contemplate killing either one of them. They weren’t worth the trouble. Then, Gundabald smiled. And the sight of his blunt, yellow teeth brought a shadow of the old terror returned.
“What?” he asked. “No kiss on the cheek for your uncle?”
The wolf’s lip curled. Regeane could have sworn it was the wolf
until she saw the spasm of rage cross Gundabald’s face and the fear in Hugo’s.
“You dare sneer at me, you stupid little twat?” He continued in a low voice. “I know you think you’ve found some strong new friends. Friends who will stand by you and so they will until you’re safely married and off to your new lord’s mountain fastness. But what will you do then when you’re alone with him?”
“Don’t try to frighten me, Gundabald,” Regeane said.
He took a step toward her.
She said very softly, “Don’t come near me.”
Gundabald hesitated and stepped back. Hugo looked as though he wanted to flee. He made a little whimpering sound in his throat.
“Don’t be a fool,” Gundabald snapped at him. “It’s broad daylight.”
“Gundabald,” Regeane said, “you aren’t safe near me by day.” She shook her head slowly. “Not anymore. I’ve changed.”
Hugo went behind Gundabald.
“Yes,” Gundabald said, “but then you always did that.”
“Yes,” she said, “but now I do it more often and a lot more easily. So, I warn you, don’t depend on the sun.” Deep inside Regeane, the wolf rose. Her jaws opened in a wide doglike smile, the long, red tongue curled at the powerful fangs. The look on her face was pure laughter. The laughter of the victor in a deadly contest of wills. And Regeane knew the words she’d spoken to Gundabald, only meaning to bluff him, were the simple truth.
Somewhere in the darkness of the Campagna, in the world between life and death, in the struggle to save Antonius’ life, the wolf had come into her own. Regeane could call on her by day or night, and the magnificent killer beast would rise to serve her. She’d won.
“Father …” Hugo half sobbed.
“Shut up, you fool,” Gundabald said.
“Yes,” Regeane said. “Shut him up. I’ve no mind to listen to his whining. Dogs whine, and he is a dog. Now, what do you want? Or rather, I know what you want. Let me show it to you.”
Regeane turned and swept aside the curtains to the triclinium. Some of Maeniel’s treasure lay on the table, a careless scattering of gold coins, loose gems, rings, and brooches.
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