Tullio’s head and neck pounded from the earlier beating as he tried to concentrate on the implications. He had to get this right. The Republic could not afford a mistake.
The vestibule became quiet except for the breathing of his men. He regarded the slender woman standing in front of him. The time had come to start pleading Rome’s cause.
‘Thank you.’ Tullio bowed low. ‘The temple’s hospitality is unparallelled. Rome will be grateful.’
‘You are here as guests, soldier, and welcome on the sibyl’s wishes, not mine.’ Her pearl-drop earrings swayed as she lifted her chin higher. ‘Leave your armour here. To be returned when you depart.’
Tullio heard the low murmur of his men. He refused to repeat the folly of the pirate and anger the woman. But armour held almost sacred significance to his men. Even the pirates had not attempted to take it.
‘We have no weapons. Our armour reminds us of who we are.’
‘Armour offends the goddess. You will do as I request.’
Tullio took off his helmet and placed it at her sandal-shod feet. He motioned to the men. The last one to take off his armour, throwing it down with a loud clang, was Quintus. Tullio glared at him. Although Quintus was an experienced centurion and invaluable in the defence of the trireme, this was the second time he had defied orders in the space of an hour.
‘I believe your guardianship will be more considerate than that of the good captain,’ he said, hoping to draw Helena’s attention away from the belligerent centurion.
‘Captain Androceles and his house are well known to this temple.’
Tullio curled his fingers about his belt, tried to read the woman’s expression and the unspoken meaning in her words. Was she saying that she didn’t trust the pirate captain? He tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace as his wounds protested.
‘On my sacred word as a Roman citizen, I promise you that my men and I will behave like guests as long as we are in this place, waiting for the tribute.’
‘Spoken like a true Roman—a promise with conditions.’ Helena crossed her arms. Her expression became more remote, her voice chilled. ‘The price Rome exacts is often great.’
Tullio cursed the pounding in his head. He had behaved like the worst diplomat. Quintus had more finesse.
‘Rome always treats its friends well,’ he said.
‘I have seen how Rome treats its friends. We are extending the same courtesy we would extend to any stranger who requests Kybele’s protection. You used the ritual words, I believe.’
A jolt ran through Tullio. Her intonation echoed the sibyl’s too closely. However, if they were one and the same, he failed to understand why she chose to hide her identity. Surely her word would have carried more weight with the pirates if she appeared as the sibyl?
‘Your humble servant.’ He paused for dramatic effect, caught her hand and raised it to his lips briefly before letting go. As his lips brushed her palm, he felt a faint trembling. ‘Sibyl.’
Helena stared at Tullio, icy fear gripping her insides. It took all her powers of concentration not to snatch her hand out of his warm grip, but to move away with a fluid and easy motion.
How much had the Roman tribune guessed?
Her mind raced back over the conversation. Nothing she said had given any clue to her charade of this morning. He had to be guessing. She had to stop seeing shadows where there were none. It was one of her worst faults, according to Aunt Flavia, always trying to react rather than letting the goddess take charge.
‘I am the sibyl’s assistant, her niece. The sibyl is busy…busy with other matters,’ she said quickly before she lost her nerve. But the excuse sounded feeble.
‘My mistake.’ His words were too smooth. ‘You sound and look very much like her.’
‘Look? How would you know? The sibyl only ever appears dressed in her robes and mask.’
‘Your eyes are the same.’
Helena’s heart sank. Such a simple thing. Hopefully no one else had noticed. Aunt Flavia’s eyes were deep emerald green, not her much paler shade. She gazed over his head at the frieze of Kybele’s life and attempted to draw strength from that. ‘We are very alike. People have commented on that before.’
‘Many apologies.’ A small dimple appeared in his right cheek. ‘Beautiful eyes must run in your family.’
A tiny flutter in her stomach caused Helena to swallow hard. She tried to damp down the tiny bubble of happiness by calling his words flattery, but they did please her.
‘The sibyl does not take kindly to such mistakes,’ she said, making her voice sound stern. She kept her eyes carefully trained on the frieze. ‘Please refrain from making them in the future.’
‘Will I be able to meet her and express my gratitude properly?’ His voice was smooth like polished wood or the touch of silk.
Helena blinked and regained control of her wayward thoughts.
‘If it can be arranged…’ Helena allowed her voice to trail away. ‘But for now she has given me authority to house you and is busy with other things.’
‘It appears we are to be here for some time. I sincerely hope the sibyl might find time in her busy schedule at some point. I believe we have much to discuss.’
He knows.
Helena cleared her throat, unsure of what exactly to say, when Tullio took a half-step forward and swayed in front of her.
Her hands came up to catch him, to break his fall. His shoulder knocked into a statue of Kybele and caused it to rock. Helena held her breath. If the statue fell, it would be an omen of Kybele’s disapproval. The statue stayed upright on its plinth.
Tullio’s strong fingers gripped her forearms for an instant before he stood up straight. His masculine scent enveloped her and she felt the fluttering begin again in her stomach. Two of his men rushed to grab him. He waved them away.
‘Forgive me, it has been a long day and we have not been fed at all.’
Helena tilted her head and eyed the tribune. Was this a ploy to make her feel sorry for him? Then she caught sight of the jagged wound running down his leg.
She clapped her hands and motioned to one of the guards.
‘Show the Romans to the pilgrimage rooms and provide them with any medicine they require.’ She turned to go before she made a bigger fool of herself. ‘There is lentil and barley soup with cheese bread. We eat simply at the temple, but you should have sufficient.’
‘Helena, wait,’ Tullio called.
‘Is there some further problem?’ she asked and tried to ignore her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and, despite the marks from the beating, Helena could see that he was a handsome man, possibly the most handsome she had seen. Not in a pretty sort of way, but rugged. A man who could fight battles. But whose?
‘Shall we meet again?’ he asked in a low voice as his eyes seemed to deepen.
Helena hesitated, confused.
He was her enemy. Rome had always been the temple’s and the seafarers common enemy. It was Rome who had driven them to this remote island and forced them to live off the seas. She had to remember that. She had no business thinking he was handsome. Her hand trembled as she tucked a stray lock of hair back into place.
‘I doubt that very much. The temple guards are well versed in solving pilgrims’ problems.’
Chapter Three
Helena shut the door to her aunt’s apartments with a decisive click, closing it against the world and the Roman tribune with the piercing gaze.
He unnerved her. She’d admit that. First at the quayside and then just now, when he had nearly guessed…That was all it was: a guess, a ploy, a Roman trick. He wanted her off balance.
Worse, her treacherous body reacted to him. A Roman. The last sort of man she wanted to be attracted to.
She’d ignore it and it would disappear. Her passions would not rule her as they had ruled her mother. She knew what she wanted in this world and why she would never have a life like an ordinary woman. She had her
duties and responsibilities. Her path was clearly laid out before her.
She breathed deeply, enjoying the mixture of incense, pine and cinnamon scents that filled the room. When she was a child, she had been frightened of the ornately decorated apartments, with their strange friezes and heavy smell of incense, and more frightened of the imperious woman who inhabited them. Now, she found them a pleasant refuge from the day to day concerns of the temple. It was here she could relax and learn.
She peeped through the doorway.
Aunt Flavia looked small and pale against the white linen pillows. So different from the woman who had dominated Helena’s life with her no-nonsense ways and determination to promote the interests of Kybele. Her aunt always exuded energy. Now she was an empty husk whose every breath was laboured.
‘Did she wake?’ Helena asked Galla, the maid she shared with her aunt. She had hoped that somehow, when she returned, the sibyl would be better. That Helena’s assumption of her role would have jolted Aunt Flavia back to the land of the living.
Galla shook her head. Helena hurried over and touched the sibyl’s cool hand—no response. She resisted the temptation to hold the tiny bronze mirror in front of her aunt’s lips.
Aunt Flavia had to get better.
With each passing day, the danger that her affliction would be discovered grew. Without her aunt, there would be no orderly passing of the sibyl’s mask. Uncle Lichas and the other seafaring houses would demand a say in who became the next sibyl, would require greater control over the temple. Aunt Flavia, through a combination of her own personality and the accuracy of her predictions, had managed to keep the temple away from the seafarers’ clutches. The islanders led a better life. Helena tried to count how many lives her aunt had saved—at least twenty, including Niobe, the temple’s goose-girl who could not talk.
The scene on the quayside, and just now with the Romans, would surely have never happened if her aunt had been in control. Helena knew that. She stilled as she noticed the bronze hands that the sibyl used in the highest of ceremonies. She had thought about wearing them to the quayside, but it would have made the lions difficult to control. A mistake? Had anyone noticed? She had to believe she had escaped…this time.
Lately, Kybele ignored all her prayers. The goddess certainly had not sent any help—no dreams, no premonitions, nothing. And all the while, the problems kept multiplying.
Helena ran a hand along a carved box, her fingers tracing the strange carvings and ancient runes. She had expected some guidance from Kybele, who always guided her aunt’s actions.
‘Did Aunt Flavia say anything? Make any noise at all?’
‘The sibyl remains as you found her,’ Galla replied. ‘When she stirs, I will send word immediately.’
Helena shut her eyes, willing her aunt to improve. They had a few more days at most before her uncle returned from his own fishing expedition, loaded with spoils and expectant of the sibyl’s blessing. If the Roman tribune had noticed the similarities between hers and the sibyl’s eyes, how long would it take Uncle Lichas? Even if she wore the bronze hands? He could surely tell the difference between his niece and his sister. And then what would happen? Would he demand an immediate passing of the mask…to his niece to keep the balance of power within the family?
She knew instinctively that she could never command the same sort of respect as her aunt. The Lady Zenobia, her uncle’s Cilician wife, took every opportunity to make waspish comments about how like her disgraced mother Helena was, pointing out each and every mistake. Part of the reason Aunt Flavia had not let her make her final vows was down to Zenobia’s interference.
‘How did the performance at the quayside go?’ Galla asked, laying a friendly hand on Helena’s shoulder. ‘Did anyone guess?’
Helena slowly traced one of the runes with her forefinger—piety. There was no need to worry Galla about the possibility of her hands being noticed.
‘Luckily, the trireme belonged to Captain Androceles,’ she said. ‘He only uses this port occasionally and I don’t think he noticed. We agreed the normal terms. You’ve made itrion? They’re my favourite sweet.’
‘I’ve heard that somewhere before.’ Galla gave a laugh.
Helena walked over and popped one of the biscuits made of sesame seed and honey into her mouth, savouring the taste.
‘I made them for you. You need something after your performance, but don’t try to change the subject with your flattery.’ The salt-and-pepper-haired woman shook her forefinger at Helena. ‘There is something wrong. I can see it in your face. There have been movements in the temple. The guards have been hurrying everywhere. You might be able to fool the others, but I have known you since the hour you were born. This was a mistake, you know it was. You should have informed the palace of your aunt’s illness.’
Helena pressed the tips of her fingers together, then tapped her forefingers against her mouth before replying. Galla had been against the charade from the beginning, arguing that they should announce the sibyl was ill, indisposed. What had happened was the sort of disaster she had predicted. ‘We have visitors…guests, courtesy of Androceles. Roman soldiers.’
‘Romans? Here?’ Galla gave a wild look at the bed. ‘What will the sibyl say? After what they did to your family! Why did you allow them to disembark? Your aunt would never have allowed that. They are inhuman, the Romans.’
‘I had no choice, Galla.’ Helena stared at the floor mosaics rather than meet her maid’s eye. She didn’t dare admit the stab of attraction she felt for the Roman. He was human, she knew that. His concern for his men showed. It took a brave man to offer to take another’s punishment. She wondered how many of the islanders, let alone a seafarer, would do such a thing. Then she dismissed the idea as unworthy. ‘After the last time when Androceles’s son cheated us with mouldy corn, I thought it best for him to reveal his cargo. He unloaded the Romans first.’
‘The sibyl would have stopped him. Or she would have forced him to reload the Romans.’ Galla shook her head. ‘If you had listened to me—’
‘If I had listened to you, all the seafarers from the Pillars of Hercules to the shores of the Black Sea would have known the sibyl was ill and would have set sail to conquer this island.’
‘And what will happen when the Romans learn of her illness? Rome is a good deal closer than those two places you named.’
Helena’s headache began to pound in earnest. She knew what Galla said was true, but there had to be a way. She refused to surrender everything her aunt had worked for over these past twenty years. Aunt Flavia would recover, as she always did. It was simply taking longer this time, that was all.
‘Your aunt—’
‘The tribune asked for help. He used the proper words, the correct ritual. He invoked Kybele.’ Helena leant forward and grabbed Galla’s forearms. ‘In the name of Kybele, I could hardly refuse. Aunt Flavia has never refused anyone using the ritual.’
‘You didn’t lock them in the warehouse and throw away the key?’ Galla’s shawl quivered and her eyes grew as round as the wheels on the chariot. ‘We shall be murdered in our beds!’
‘Our guests have arrived. Anyone who invokes Kybele’s protection with proper ritual words is a guest.’ Helena drew on her training to remain calm. She needed Galla’s help. ‘Some of them were injured and need medical attention, if they are to remain this side of Hades.’
‘They won’t be getting any from me.’ Galla crossed her arms and glared at Helena, looking for all the world like a ruffled hen. ‘You should have told those soldiers to swim for it and to take their chances with Neptune. That’s what I would have said.’
Suddenly, Helena had a picture of Galla confronting the tall tribune. It would be an unequal match. Helena’s lips curved upwards, but she pressed them into a stern line. ‘Are you refusing to help me, Galla?’
‘This is another one of your crazy schemes, Helena. We need to inform the palace. The Lady Zenobia will know what to do. They can throw the Romans in the palace’s pr
ison and we will be rid of them.’
‘If I did that, Aunt Zenobia would demand to see Aunt Flavia. Can you imagine what would happen when she found out?’
Galla’s face sobered. Her hands plucked at her gown’s folds. ‘I know what Zenobia is capable of,’ she whispered. ‘I used to be her slave until the sibyl rescued me. But please, I beg you, don’t ask me to wait on the Romans. I have heard the stories of how they behave. They are worse than the seafarers.’
‘You must help, Galla.’ Helena placed an arm about Galla’s waist and rested her head briefly on the older woman’s shoulder as she used to do when she was a child. ‘How many of the guards are loyal to me? There is no one else I can trust or turn to. Will you do this for me?’
The maid walked over to the bed and straightened the cover. ‘This is one mess you will have to clean up yourself, Helena.’
Tullio stretched and ignored the aches and pains in his body. What more could be done for his men? The severely injured lay on pallets with their cloaks rolled as pillows. All had feasted on a simple bowl of barley and lentil stew.
The next problem he faced was how to arrange another meeting with Helena. The way she had kept her head despite the pirate’s best efforts. Beauty and brains together were a rare combination. There was much more to her than met the eye. Despite her denials, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling she was the sibyl from the harbour. But it made no logical sense.
‘You wanted to speak with me, Livius Tullio?’
Tullio regarded the burly centurion. How best to approach the reprimand? Back on the trireme when the pirates had boarded, Quintus’s bellows had saved his and half his men’s lives. The number of brasses he wore on his belt and the vine cane he carried attested to his courage and devotion to Rome.
‘My life is not so cheap, Quintus, I would have you throw it away on mere words.’
‘It was them pirates, sir and that priestess of theirs.’ The centurion hung his grey-flecked head. ‘Standing there as if they owned the whole world. Them’s our amphorae, our grain. My tongue got the better of me. Hercules’s club, I never expected them to hear.’
A Noble Captive Page 3
