“Is there anything else you need, Marsallas?” The dryly spoken question jolted Marsallas out of his reverie, and he shook his head slightly, looking over to where Fabius stood watching him from the stable entrance.
“No Fabius. Thank you.” Fabius turned to leave, and Marsallas realised that he had to apologise to the younger man, “Fabius wait.” Seeing the frown of annoyance on his face, which he couldn't blame him for, he walked over to the younger man and laid a hand on his shoulder in apology. “I'm sorry. You are right. I have been a fool recently, if it is any consolation I have had a lot on my mind.”
“It is not for me to criticise-”
“Yes it is. I have been pushing myself. You. My horses, and all those around me too much recently, and for that I apologise.”
Marsallas saw Fabius relax slightly, as if he were pleased to hear that he had finally admitted the truth to himself.
“I plan to take a break for a week or so to allow my horses to recover. I would like you to take my place in the Circus in my absence.”
Fabius looked shocked at Marsallas's words, as they both knew that it was considered to be a high honour to be selected as chief charioteer. “Yes, you, Fabius,” he said when he saw the questioning look on his face. “Of all the men here, it is you I trust the most.”
“I … I don't know what to say?” Fabius stuttered, his face pale with shock.
“You don't have to say anything, Fabius. Just don't take on too many races, eh?”
“What like you?” Fabius said laughing, the tension between the two men disappearing.
“Especially like me!” Marsallas said dryly.
* * *
At last she had finished the last of the wax casts. Leaning back in her chair she stretched her back out, wincing in pain as she realised she had been working for hours without a break, bent over the wax as she finished off the last of the horses heads.
There was, she admitted, a desperation in her to finish the sculpture and leave the villa for good. But practically, she knew that would be months. Casting a bronze of this size was a long process, but she was determined not to waste any time.
For seven full days now she hadn't seen Marsallas. It was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth. Vanished from her life. She didn't even know if he still remained here at the villa, or had returned to Rome. And she had been too proud to ask any of his slaves, or even Olivia and Diogenes.
She pulled a grim face. It was as if she had served her purpose, her bargain honoured and fulfilled. She had given Marsallas what he wanted – her body for the one night he'd demanded. And although she should have realised that - prepared herself for it even - it was still a bitter potion to swallow.
Then, as if her dark thoughts had conjured him up, Justina suddenly became aware of his presence in the room. She looked up to see him watching her from the open doorway of her workroom. His blue eyes were impossibly intent as they studied her, and every emotion she had been struggling to forget came crashing back.
Still having the power to inflame her senses, she couldn’t control the rapid beat of her heart as she looked at him. But after a few moments her resolve hardened, and she stood up, chisel in her hand, lifting her head in a gesture of defiance designed to show him that she was strong, and that she hadn't fallen to pieces as soon as he'd left her.
“I've finished all the wax casts. I can now start on the clay moulds and then-”
“How do you fare?” he asked, interrupting her, as he moved away from the door and walked down the stairs towards her.
His question could only refer to one thing, and Justina felt the colour burn in her face, “I am well. Why shouldn't I be?”
Marsallas shrugged, walking up to her, standing so close that Justina was instantly aware of his scent, the enticing smell of him that set her pulses alight.
“No reason. Only that I took your virginity, and we had sex three times that night.”
“I honoured our bargain,” she said stiffly, unsure what he meant, wondering what he was thinking, planning. Was he toying with her again? Silently she mourned the wonderful lover of a week ago. The caring, gentle lover-.
“Yes, I know you did,” he said softly, breaking into her thoughts, “But has it occurred to you that you may be pregnant? I didn't withdraw from you. My seed was inside you.”
Heat seared her skin. Pregnant! The thought hadn't even occurred to her, not in the slightest, and rapidly she calculated when she’d last had her monthly flow. She very much doubted it but-
“I want you to stay here as my mistress.”
Marsallas's words stopped Justina's rapid thoughts dead, and she stare open-mouthed at him. “Why?” she blurted out, instantly regretting her stupid question.
He smiled slightly, “I would have thought that was obvious enough, Justina. We are good in bed together, so why not?” He hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “I want you Justina. Like no other woman I’ve ever wanted, and I find that a hard thing to admit to anyone.”
Justina was incapable of speech as Marsallas continued, “I told you the truth at Senator Apronius's gathering. I don't have a mistress at present. And you suit my needs.”
Justina felt herself go red, not in embarrassment this time, but in anger, and finally she found her voice as she spluttered, “'I suit your needs'. Well thank you very much. That, coupled with the fact that I might be pregnant, you make me sound like some sort of brood mare!”
* * *
Marsallas’s jaw snapped shut, a nerve working furiously. Hades! Everything he'd planned to say to her had just come out wrong! Frustration ate at him, “That isn't what I meant Justina, and you know it,” the words came out harshly, “I'm asking you to stay on here as my mistress.”
For a few tense moments they just stared at each other like two adversaries spoiling for a fight until he saw Justina's shoulders slump slightly, her anger dissipating.
“For how long?” the words were spoken quietly, her tone dignified, and Marsallas felt like a prize idiot.
Raking his hand through his hair he sighed, “I don't know Justina. Let us just take it a day at a time, shall we. See how it goes? I can’t give you anything more. I want no emotional entanglements. It’s the code I live by, Justina. Remember that. Always.”
Justina looked away, “No I can't Marsallas,” she whispered, hurt evident in her voice. Marsallas stiffened. “Can't, or won't, Justina? There are worse things than being my mistress you know,” he bit out, angrier with himself than with her. He stepped forward and lifted her chin with hard calloused fingers. “Think about it before you dismiss me out of hand. Like I said, we are good together; it would be a pity to throw it all away for the sake of misplaced pride.” And then he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips firm and determined as they pressed down on hers, demanding access to her mouth. He felt her resistance, then a heartbeat later as sense of triumph, when her mouth opened for him, letting his tongue slide in, mating with hers, a delicious parody of the intimate act they'd recently shared.
He felt a warm glow of satisfaction course through him when her arms crept up around his neck, her body pliant, as if her body had overruled the logic of her mind. His hands skimmed up over her shoulders, pulling her slowly into his body. Her hair tumbled down her slim back, and he wrapped his hand in it, exerting pressure so she had no choice but to tilt her head back, exposing her neck to his mouth. His teeth nipped the sensitive skin and he felt her shiver, knowing full well that he had left his mark on her.
He felt all her muscles melt like ice in a hot sun. Suddenly pliant she moulded to the hardness of his body, and he heard her groan as the softness of her breasts pressed into the hardness of his chest.
His mouth moved, downwards, until it suckled an erect nipple through the silk of her gown. This time it was he who groaned.
“Yes,” he whispered, “Yes.”
Then taking full advantage of the situation he pulled away, putting distance between them, watching as her eyelids fluttered open i
n surprise, then cloud with regret, at how brief their kiss had been.
“I told you we were good together, Justina,” he whispered, “Now think about what I've said,” he placed a finger on her lips when she went to open her mouth. He gave her a seductive smile that lit up his eyes. “Not now. Soon.”
He watched, as a myriad of expressions flitted across her face as she fought her own internal battles. Finally he said, “Desire is a strong emotion, Justina. And it’s the only emotion I’m prepared to give. Remember that.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Master a visitor has arrived.” Verus announced.
Marsallas frowned, raising his head from the paperwork he was working on. “Who is it?”
Verus shrugged his shoulders, “I do not know, Master. He has come to see Mistress Justina.”
Marsallas frown deepened when he heard Verus say “he”, and a sudden surge of jealousy coursed through him, his stomach clenching tightly with the unwelcome sensation.
Suddenly angry with himself for feeling such an emotion, he nodded at Verus and turned back to his paperwork effectively dismissing him. But when he heard the door close behind him he stopped what he was doing and frowned in annoyance.
Who in the name of Jupiter had come to see Justina?
Standing abruptly, he walked over to the door and opened it. “What did he look like?” He shouted down the corridor at Verus's retreating back.
Verus turned at his Master’s voice, “I do not know, sir. I was only passed the message that someone had arrived at the villa. I…I think he went straight to the-”
The slave never had the chance to finish his sentence, because Marsallas was already heading for the stables, his stride long and purposeful.
* * *
The man was quite a few years older than either Justina, or himself, but even from where he stood unseen in the darkness of the stables, he could make out that he was very handsome.
He was about the same height as him, and even though he must have been at least twenty years older him, the stranger was still muscular, still a powerful looking man, and once again the unwelcome sensation of jealousy surged through him.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the older man talking to Justina in what appeared to be a familiar manner. But whatever the man was telling her, Marsallas could see that it didn’t appear to be good news, as Justina looked deathly pale. His jaw clenched when he saw Justina sway slightly, the stranger taking her arm to steady her.
Having seen enough, he strode towards them. “Is there anything wrong, Justina? Who is this man?” he asked, his tone abrupt, as he took the measure of the other man, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“My name is Marcus, my wife Lydia, is a friend of Justina. I have come with grave news,” the older man said in response to Marsallas’s questions, when it became obvious that Justina was incapable of answering him.
At the man’s words Marsallas relaxed slightly once he realised that Marcus was no longer a threat to him. “What has happened?” he asked Marcus, as Justina seemed to be in a total state of shock, her body trembling. Marsallas walked over to her, and took her in his arms, his hands rubbing her back in a gesture of comfort.
“Mount Vesuvius has erupted. All of Herculaneum and Pompeii have been totally destroyed.”
“Destroyed, but how?” Marsallas asked, shock rendering him immobile. No wonder Justina looked so ill!
“Boiling mud, many feet thick has erupted out of the mountain entombing the entire area. There is nothing left. Everything has been destroyed. Many people are missing – presumed dead. Hundreds injured.”
“Lydia, and the rest of your family, they … they are safe?” Justina whispered, finally able to speak as she pulled out of Marsallas’s embrace.
Marcus smiled gently at the young woman, “Aye. They are safe. It was Lydia who asked me to come here to tell you.”
Justina lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, “Oh. Of course. I…I am being stupid.”
“You are not stupid, Justina,” Marsallas said quickly, his voice soothing, “It is the shock of what you have just heard that is confusing you.”
Justina looked up at Marsallas, and gave him a wan smile of thanks for understanding.
“We are all safe,” Marcus reiterated. “When the volcano erupted we were at our friend Anna Faustina’s villa, she lives near Cumae. It escaped the wrath of the eruption thank God.”
Once Marcus had finished speaking, a long silence fell as they all contemplated the enormity of what had happened. Eventually Marsallas said, “Come Marcus, I have been remiss, please take some refreshment. You must be exhausted after your journey.”
A few minutes later they all sat drinking some honey water in the coolness of the peristylium. “You are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you like. My home is open to you and your family.”
Marsallas saw the quick glance that Justina shot at him, and he turned slightly to capture her gaze. He felt a warm glow spread through him when she smiled at him, her eyes communicating her thanks to him.
Marcus nodded, “That is very kind of you, Marsallas. But some refreshment, that is all I ask. I must to get back to my family. They need me. Anna Faustina wants us to stay at her villa, and to be honest I think it would be best if we did for a while, until I can sort out what to do for my family.”
After an hour, Marcus stood up, and thanked Marsallas for his hospitality but said he had to leave now, and it was a subdued Justina, and Marsallas, who watched as Marcus mounted his horse a few minutes later. Marcus looked down at Justina who stood next to him and smiled slightly, “Remember our home is your home – wherever that may be.” And with that, he lifted a hand in farewell to them both, and rode out of the compound.
“Will you go?”
Justina sighed, her eyes staring sightlessly to where Marcus and his horse were now just a faint shadow in the distance. Shrugging slightly, she said, more to herself than to him, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
* * *
Later that night, when the villa was finally quiet, Justina sat on the windowsill her knees bent up to her chest in her nightly ritual. She shivered slightly, still hardly believing all that Marcus had told them.
For weeks before the eruption the whole of the area around Vesuvius had been suffering from earth tremors, and many people including Lydia, Marcus and their family had left, frightened that something terrible was going to happen. But amazingly, many people had remained, whether just plain foolhardy, or because they could not afford to leave, and unfortunately they had perished, when the ash and molten mud had covered the town within the space of twenty four hours.
According to Marcus, by the second day nothing remained of Herculaneum, the whole of the town buried in twenty feet of boiling mud. And those lucky refugees who had managed to escape had jammed the road to Neapolis, describing the horror of it all too shocked dignitaries that had rushed from Rome when news of the eruption had reached them.
Justina laid her head on her folded arms, tears falling unheeded down her cheeks as the emotions she had tried to suppress finally burst out. She realised she was crying for the dead, the injured, the dispossessed, and the sheer enormity of what had happened. And if she were brutally honest with herself, she was crying for herself – worried about her future. What was she going to do now? Now, that all her plans to open a business, and forge out a new life for herself, lay buried in the mud of Herculaneum?
* * *
Marsallas turned over in his bed, his ears picking up a slight noise from outside his window. Rising, he went over to the window, and heard the soft sound of someone weeping.
Justina! Grim faced he turned on his heel, strode over to his bed and picked up his discarded tunic. As soon as he opened the door to her cubicula he saw her instantly, silhouetted against the night sky sitting on the window ledge, her head resting on her knees totally oblivious to anyone, or anything, as heart rendering sobs racked her body.
Without conscious thought
he walked over to her, and wrapped his arms around her, needing, wanting, to offer her comfort. He felt her shiver at his touch, but she didn’t try to pull away, merely carried on weeping.
“Shh, Justina please. You will make yourself ill,” he whispered against her temple, his voice soothing, as he held her in his arms, pulling her close until he felt her tremors subside.
“I’m sorry.”
“Justina, there is no need to apologise, what has happened is enough to make the strongest of men weep.”
“I need to see it for myself, Marsallas,” she said looking up at him, her eyes bright with the tears she had shed, imploring him to understand. “I need to know.”
He nodded, his face grim as he stared down at her. “Yes, I can understand that.”
“I want to leave tomorrow. I…I’ll take Diogenes with me. If you could let me take two horses I would be grateful-”
“No!” He said forcibly, feeling her stiffen in his arms at the loudness of his voice. Deliberately he lowered his voice, “No. I’ll take you. We’ll leave tomorrow, as soon as I’ve organised everything we’ll need for the journey.”
“Thank you. You are very kind.”
Marsallas laugh was hollow. “You always call me kind Justina. I’m not kind,” he brushed a lock of her hair away from the curve of her cheek, his touch gentle, “You should know that by now.”
He heard her laugh slightly, a small hiccup of sound, before he said, “You need to rest now, get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”
“No!” This time it was Justina’s voice that was loud in the stillness of the bedchamber. Then he felt her arms curl up around his neck. “Please, Marsallas. Don’t leave me, I…I need-”
At her words he felt a sharp twist of longing shoot through him at what she was asking. With a swiftness of movement, he bent and lifted her into his arms striding across the room, managing to open the door with his foot before he walked down the corridor back to his bedchamber, all the while conscious of Justina nestled against his chest.
“Are you sure, Justina? Is this what you want?” he whispered as he lowered her onto his bed.
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