‘You are a soldier, not an orator, Quintus. I shall need you by my side when the fighting does begin, but any repeat…’ Tullio allowed his voice to trail off.
‘If you’d like, I’ll fall on my sword. I don’t know any other tribune who’d have put his life on the line for me. Think about what a mess young Julius Caesar would have made of it. The gods were with me this time.’
Tullio lifted his eyes heavenwards. He had enough troubles without being reminded of the mercurial tribune. Although Caesar possessed a great deal of charm, Tullio privately doubted that he would progress far if he did not learn to control his arrogance. Caesar might claim descent from Venus, but when was the last time any of his family were elected consul?
‘We have enough troubles, Centurion, without adding your death to them. Against the odds, your outburst worked. These quarters are more comfortable than the trireme.’
‘And the woman who greeted us is much better looking than the pirate captain!’ one of the legionaries cried.
‘That wouldn’t be hard!’ Another shouted to howls of laughter.
‘Remember we are here as guests, not as legionaries.’ Tullio held up a hand and the laughter stopped. ‘I have no wish to alienate the sibyl or her assistant.’
‘What do you mean, sir? They’re allies of the pirates. Followers of Kybele, and you know what those women do to men.’
A sharp rap on the door prevented Tullio from replying.
The door swung open to reveal not one of the loin-clothed guards, but Helena. She had discarded her cap of red and white ribbons for a rose bandeau. He had no doubt some artist would have enjoyed using her profile for one of those red and black vases that the Greeks specialised in. In her hands, she carried a bowl and a large bag hung from her wrist.
Why had she appeared?
‘Helena, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, giving a deep bow, but keeping his eyes on her face, searching for any hint. ‘Is there something we can do for you? The food you sent filled a hungry man’s belly. I don’t think lentil and barley soup ever tasted so good.’
‘I promised you medicine,’ she said. Her chin tilted upwards and he received the full force of her green eyes. ‘You and your men are guests in the temple.’
‘Was there no one else to bring it? I thought you were busy with your temple duties.’
‘The other healers had rituals to attend to.’ Helena shifted on her feet. ‘We have no desire to lose any of you. If you would please tell me your injuries? Exactly what did this storm do to your men? I was surprised. The sea around here has been exceptionally calm of late.’
Her look implied that she considered Romans to be very poor sailors.
Tullio rapidly listed all the injuries his men had suffered, sparing Helena no detail. He watched her face carefully to see if she felt some sort of compassion for his men. He wanted her to acknowledge what the pirates had done, to see their barbarity. ‘They attacked at night, Captain Androceles and his men.’
Her face changed. A crease appeared between her eyebrows. Her eyes blazed green fire. Inwardly Tullio cursed. He had allowed his anger to get the better of him.
‘I am here to speak of your men’s injuries, not what caused them. Captain Androceles assures me that he rescued you. You invoked the goddess to aid your men.’ Helena’s head raised another notch. No matron in the Forum could have had an icier chill to her voice.
‘I apologise, my lady.’ Tullio had to keep control or risk losing any sort of support. Now was not the time. ‘My concern for my men is such that I wanted you to understand how the injuries occurred.’
‘Let me worry about the healing and you can worry about how it happened.’ She turned her head and Tullio found himself staring into her eyes, which were deep unfathomable pools of green. ‘We don’t throw away lives here.’
Without saying another word, he led the way to the pallet of his most injured man, his optio, Rufus. Rufus with his laughing eyes and quick wit, everyone’s friend as well as being a useful solider. He had saved Tullio’s life several times with his fast thinking, using his shield to deflect the pirate whose knife had stabbed Tullio in the leg. Now he lay muttering and thrashing about on the pallet with eyes that were far too bright.
‘He has a fever.’ She knelt down by the pallet and poured some liquid into Rufus’s mouth. The optio gurgled slightly and lay still. Quintus started forward, but Tullio held him back. He wanted to see what this woman was going to do. ‘He should sleep for a while and give the goddess a chance to work her miracles. My guards will move him to the hospital.’
There was a murmur of protest behind Tullio and he knew Quintus’s reminder about the strange practices of female followers of Kybele had struck home. He did not need the men rioting from fear. They had to save their strength.
‘Will I be able to see him? Will someone be able to be with him?’
The murmurs behind him quieted.
‘You are free to move around the compound during the day as long as you don’t interfere with the work of the temple. If you desire it, one person may stay with your wounded comrade.’
‘Thank you.’ The intense pain in Tullio’s shoulders and neck eased at her words.
‘It is not in the interests of the temple to let any of your men die, Tribune.’
‘The name is Tullio. Marcus Livius Tullio.’ He waited to see what her response would be. She raised an eyebrow. ‘If we are to be guests here.’
He detected a slight easing around her mouth.
‘Very well, Tullio, we attempt to keep people on this side of the River Styx. Kybele is a healer on this island, not a destroyer—whatever her critics might say. She makes no judgement on whether or not you belong to this island, or are a Roman. The goddess only sees the living person.’
A small victory, but an important one. He felt sure of that. She had used his name. Was it to distinguish between him and Rome? It did not matter. He had to take what was offered.
‘Will you be taking any of my men to the sibyl?’
‘I will present a list of your requirements to the sibyl and she will consult the goddess who will decide the best way to proceed.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Several days. The goddess operates on her own time, Tullio.’
Tullio drew in his breath then took another before he trusted himself to speak. He wanted to know all his men would survive. He intended to leave no man behind when they departed from this island. ‘But you say that he will live.’
‘The goddess moves in mysterious ways, Tullio. He is in good hands.’ She placed the herbs and bowl down. ‘If you make a paste with these and apply them to your wounds, you will discover that the wounds heal more quickly. It is what I use when any of the villagers injure themselves.’
Tullio could see the questions in his men’s eyes. No one moved towards the herbs. They were frightened, scared to trust. The last thing he needed was Quintus muttering more curses. ‘We will trust in the goddess then.’
‘You are welcome. Please ask if you need more herbs.’ She spun on her heel and half-stumbled on the uneven flooring in the room.
He put his hand under her elbow to steady her and felt the warmth of her body rise up his arm. Her face was but a few inches from his own. He could count the lashes that fringed her green eyes. He fought the urge to pull her more fully into his arms.
She moved away from him and he let her go.
‘In due course, you may visit your comrade in the hospital. I will send a guard when he is awake again. There is a small yard two doors down. Pilgrims use it for exercising and contemplation. Your meals will be delivered to this room. We are a humble establishment…Tullio. Now I bid you farewell.’
With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving only the faintest scent of jasmine in her wake.
The hospital wing was cool and dark by the time Helena reached it. She had intended to check on the Roman earlier, but every time her sandals turned towards the hospital, someone else app
roached with a difficulty. Not only did she have the usual problems of making sure the temple was running smoothly, but the sibyl’s audience with the villagers was much larger than she anticipated. The first petitioner had been the local goatherder, Pius. When Helena, wearing the gold mask and this time the bronze hands, inclined her head, he had approached, twisting the end of his cloak in his hand.
Would Kybele really know where Pius’s goat was? Or if the sailor on the third trireme from the left fancied Pius’s sister? And, if so, would he pay the proper dowry? Helena provided what help she could. The goat was easy—she had seen it chomping away in the sweet grass on the other side of the temple. The other, she gave what she hoped was a reasonable answer. It appeared to satisfy Pius. He smiled, bowed and left. Helena released a breath.
Normally, the villagers attended to their own lives and only went to the temple during the high days. But the curiosity about the Romans had brought the villagers to the temple in a way she had not seen since just after the great storm had destroyed half the village and the women worried about the men on the sea. Helena gained a bit of confidence as the audience wore on. Common sense, that was all. At the end of the session, she thought she saw the porter from her uncle’s palace, but her attention was distracted.
Thinking back on it now as she walked through the deserted corridors, she was certain it had been the porter—the jagged pink scar on his right cheek and all.
Her feet tumbled into each other when she saw the man sitting by the Roman’s bed, his head rested on his hands. The golden light from the single oil lamp made his hair appear as black as the stones that edged Kybele’s pool in the innermost grotto.
Helena stopped.
Her heart began to pound slightly faster. She arranged the folds of her cloak more tightly about her body. She should have taken time to change out of the sibyl’s gown, but she had not expected to find him here. She had assumed his words were mere bravado, intended to make certain that his man was looked after, rather than the intention of actually carrying out the vigil himself.
She had only thought to stop for a brief time to check that the injured man’s breathing was easy and that the opium held him in its painless sleep before retiring for the night.
At the movement, Tullio lifted his head. Large dark rings encircled his eyes as if sheer strength of will was keeping him awake. Helena tore her gaze away. She refused to think what he had been through. But the sneaking thought that none of the heads of the trading houses, from her uncle to Androceles, had ever been to see any of their sick men crept in and refused to leave.
She pulled the cloak tighter and tore her gaze from the line of his shoulders. She had to think about the tribute she would receive for him and his companions.
‘The sibyl’s audience lasted longer than expected,’ she said to fill the silence. She had to say something. It would be impossible to walk by without saying a word after the time she had spent looking at him. ‘I wanted to be here sooner.’
He lifted an eyebrow, but his eyes held a certain measure of kindness. It surprised her—she had always considered Romans to be without human feelings. ‘Is the sibyl giving audiences? I wish I had known. I greatly desire the chance to speak with her.’
‘Her audiences are finished. She needs time to recover.’ Helena’s mind raced. She had to find a more solid excuse, but her mind refused to co-operate. ‘It will have to be tomorrow at the earliest. I’m not sure of her schedule.’
He stood up gingerly, reminding Helena of the injuries he had suffered. Most men would have looked to their own needs first, rather than sitting by the side of a fallen comrade. A grudging admiration filled her. The man bore all the hallmarks of a great leader, but that made him all the more dangerous.
He was the true enemy.
‘There is a salve in the medicines I left that will ease the pain,’ she said to draw attention away from his desired meeting with the sibyl.
‘Aches and pains are nothing for a soldier.’ He rotated his right arm and a flash of discomfort crossed over his features. ‘My man was more important. I had to make sure he received proper treatment.’
‘Are you questioning his care?’ Helena released a breath and felt her lungs fill with more air. She walked over and felt the soldier’s forehead with her right hand. Cool to the touch.
‘Not at all.’ Tullio passed a hand through his black locks, making them stand straight up. ‘He became calmer after one of your guards gave him something to drink.’
‘He has had opium mixed with wine. He will sleep until the morning. We are used to such things here. All the seafarers from across the Mediterranean bring their sick here to be cured. He should recover.’ She nodded towards the door. ‘You ought to go and rest. One of the guards will call you if his condition changes.’
‘One brought me here when I asked. Your words explain why the hospital is so large.’ Tullio gestured to the airy but nearly empty hospital room. Most of the pallets lay neatly stacked in the corner and had obviously not been used for some time. His smile reached his eyes and caused them to twinkle in the lamp light. ‘I had wondered. There are whispers about the rites of Kybele in Rome.’
‘Is that how you knew the ritual words?’ Helena leant forward and waited for his answer.
‘I took a gamble with my memory. Something I heard as a child.’
His long fingers stroked the line of his jaw while his eyes assessed her. A trembling filled her stomach. Was he looking at her in the same way a man looks at a woman? The Lady Zenobia had told her enough times that no man would do such a thing to a creature like her, especially since Helena had seen more than twenty summers.
‘Your mother was an adherent of Kybele?’ Helena asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. Only she could have such a Roman land here.
‘My mother sought help wherever she could.’
‘You did well to remember such a thing. Without the exact words, the sibyl would not have been obliged to help.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly and his dark eyes caught hers. Helena looked down at her hands.
‘I can remember very little about my mother,’ she said to cover her confusion. ‘A smile here, a laugh there and always her white robe.’
‘Your mother was involved with the temple?’
‘Before my aunt, she was the sibyl. Her healing powers were renowned throughout the eastern Mediterranean.’ Helena kept her voice neutral. She had no wish to relive her mother’s disgrace or the fact that she was living proof of that disgrace.
‘Are sibyls always related by blood?’
Helena knew she should cut the conversation short, that there were too many pitfalls. But it had been so many years since she had talked to anyone about such things. There was something in his voice that lured her on and made her want to linger. But for how long?
‘Sibyls are traditionally related to the king of this island.’
Tullio inclined his head. He moved away from the pallet where the man lay sleeping soundly. He was so close that she could nearly touch his tunic. All she had to do was to reach out her hand. Helena shivered. Was this how it happened with her mother?
‘And your father is king?’
‘My uncle, Lichas, is the current king. He assumed the throne after my grandfather…died.’ Helena’s hand plucked at her cloak, aware she had strayed too near old wounds for her liking. She regarded the man on the pallet again as he gave a loud snore. ‘We should go. Leave this man in peace.’
He made no move from beside the bed.
‘I made a promise to Rufus’s woman that I would bring him back safe. He is from my father’s estate. I will stay by his side if I can.’
She opted for the bland words she had recited a thousand times since childhood. ‘It is in the goddess’s hands.’
‘Thank you for taking care of all of us.’
‘Your friend will wake in the morning. You should try to get some sleep.’
‘As should you.’ His eyes deepened in the torchlight.
&
nbsp; She bit the inside of her cheek and refused to think about what he must look like asleep and how intimate this hospital wing had become with just the two of them, alone. Had she ever been alone with a man before like this?
Her eyes lifted. Once again their gazes locked. His hand caught hers and very deliberately brought it to his lips. All the while his steady gaze seemed to devour her soul. A tingling jolt ran up her arm and she moved a step closer. His other hand reached out and touched her shoulder.
A butterfly touch, nothing more. Helena felt the breath stop in her mouth. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to know what his lips tasted like. She ached to find out. She took a step closer and his tunic brushed her gown. The dark bristles of his stubble contrasted with the golden olive of his skin.
What would the bristles feel like against the pads of her fingers? Sharp or smooth? Her hand came up, hovered in mid-air.
‘My lady, the sibyl desires a word.’ One of the guards broke the spell.
Helena jumped back, allowing her hand to fall to her side. What had she been about to do? She had never behaved like that with any man before. She refused to look at Tullio. He was supposed to be her enemy, however attractive he might be. She had to remember that.
She hurriedly straightened her cloak, and ignored the man standing next to her. She had to concentrate on the guard’s words. Something had happened, some change in Aunt Flavia’s condition. ‘Now?’
‘That is what Galla said when she found me.’
‘What were her exact words?’
‘Find Helena and tell her the sibyl wishes to see her.’
Helena forced breath through her mouth. For a wild instant, she had hoped Aunt Flavia had spoken, that her prayers had been answered. But Galla’s coded message meant there were signs of improvement, a flicker of life. ‘Yes, I will go now. Please make sure the Roman stays here tonight. The lions are out and I have no desire to lose such an important tribute.’
A Noble Captive Page 4
