‘You can speak. This is marvellous news, Aunt.’
‘Hush, child, control yourself.’ Her aunt’s voice, although weak, held some of its old command. ‘Dignity.’
Helena swallowed hard and stood up straighter. Her aunt gave a small nod. ‘Tell me everything. Galla tells me less than nothing.’
Helena hesitated, wondering how best to approach the problem. ‘Aunt—’
‘We had visitors,’ Aunt Flavia said, cutting off Helena’s words.
‘The Lady Zenobia and Captain Androceles, but I answered their questions.’ Helena forced her voice to sound light, as if it were a problem with fish sauce. A twinge of guilt passed through her. She knew she should say something about Androceles’s request for a prophecy, but her aunt was too weak. She could barely sit up, let alone lift her arms for long. Helena had six days. When her aunt was stronger, maybe tomorrow, she would tell her and then they could decide together the best course of action. For now, her aunt had to recover.
‘Together? Androceles and Zenobia? This is worrying, Helena.’ Aunt Flavia struggled to sit up. ‘Those two hate each other. Bad blood from childhood. Cilicians hang on to their grudges.’
‘Androceles was stirring up mischief.’ Helena rearranged the statues on the bedside table. She had to make her aunt understand the danger they faced. ‘He twisted the story about how the Romans came to be here.’
‘Typical. Sails close to the wind, that one.’
Aunt Flavia collapsed down on to the pillows and her head moved from side to side. Helena’s heart contracted. Her aunt was not supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be the strong one. Galla pointedly cleared her throat. The interview needed to end.
Helena squeezed Aunt Flavia’s hand. How much had she understood last night? Did her aunt know that someone else had worn the gold mask?
‘I need to go, Aunt. There are things that must be attended to.’
‘Should never have let the Romans land.’ Aunt Flavia’s fingers reached for Helena. ‘You should have woken me. You don’t have the knowledge.’
Helena leant forward and brushed her lips against her aunt’s forehead. Cool to the touch. No fever, thank the goddess for small mercies. She rocked back on her sandals and regarded the ornately carved bed. ‘It was all my fault. I know that. I am doing my best to make it right.’
‘It will be Kybele’s will. Listen to what she says. Follow Kybele.’
Helena’s throat constricted. She should confess now that Kybele did not speak to her. How could she trust the goddess, when she was given no clue as to how to proceed? All the hours she spent in prayer and ritual, but not a single sign, and with a mind that increasingly turned towards Tullio’s legs.
Her aunt made everything sound so simple. She should tell Flavia the truth, but now was not the time. She refused to cause more distress.
‘Sleep, Aunt Flavia. Get your strength back. The temple needs you.’
No response but a gentle snore.
Helena tiptoed out of the room.
Follow Kybele.
Helena was no clearer on what Aunt Flavia meant. She hugged her pile of tablets and scrolls to her chest. She had taken the long way round to avoid any possibility of encountering the Romans again. She’d ignore them, and the whole thing would begin to fade.
Helena stopped dead. Her mouth dropped open. Gradually she became aware she was staring, but she was powerless to do anything else.
Tullio’s arms gleamed bronze in the sunlight. He had discarded his cloak at some point, Helena noticed, and was working in only his tunic and sandals. The tunic was short enough to reveal the entire length of his leg from thigh to calf as he positioned the next rock in place. The angry red mark on the limb had subsided, and he moved with more grace than she thought possible for someone who had been wounded. His tunic strained to contain the broadness of his back as he placed yet another stone on top of the wall.
She had not expected the Romans to be repairing a wall, let alone Tullio to be leading them. What was worse was that she found she was watching him not as a disinterested person, but as a woman.
There was a certain lithe grace in the way he moved. She had expected a Roman to be flabby and soft, unaccustomed to hard work, but his arms and legs were knotted with muscles. She wondered what the muscles would feel like under the palms of her hands. She drew in her breath sharply.
As if he sensed her presence, Tullio paused in his work, turned and his eyes locked with hers. Time stopped. Sounds faded. Helena glanced away first, then recovered.
‘What are you doing?’ She gestured towards the stone.
‘Repairing tumbled-down walls.’ He jumped down off the wall, wiped his hands against his tunic and nodded towards his men to continue.
‘Who told you to repair it?’
‘No one, but the stones had fallen, and we have hands and strong backs. I asked you earlier and you did not expressly forbid it.’ He stared at her, his dark eyes meeting hers once again. ‘My men need to work, Helena. Idle hands cause mischief. We are keeping within the bounds you gave us.’
Helena tried to think. She could not fault his logic. She had wanted that particular wall repaired for months, but there always seemed to be something more pressing to do. But what did he expect in return?
‘You should have asked first.’
‘The guards had no objection. They seemed to be quite pleased with the idea.’
‘No doubt.’ Helena rested a hand on her hip. The wall had collapsed during storms from two winters ago. Some of the capping stones now sported moss and grass. It was one of those little jobs she was going to have someone do, some day, when there was time. And there was never enough time.
She was not sure who she should be more annoyed at—the guards for allowing this to happen or at Tullio for simply going ahead and fixing something. All she knew was that she did not feel in control, and she had to be in control not only for her own sake but also for Aunt Flavia’s. ‘You should have consulted me first.’
He crossed the distance between them in three steps and stood so near her that she could see where sweat had soaked his tunic, turning it darker and making it cling to his body. A curl of warmth wound around her insides.
‘I wanted to show you what we were capable of.’ His voice soothed and caressed. She could feel its silken lures being cast out, urging her to agree with him.
‘I know the destruction you are capable of,’ Helena said, forcing her mind back to the stories that were told at the end of banquets, and the stories women told their children in whispers to keep them safe and quiet at night. ‘I have heard tales of that.’
‘But have you ever seen any? Has Rome ever attacked these shores?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or have you ever seen the aftermath of a pirate raid?’
‘I told you before, none of the seafaring houses connected with this island make raids on Italy.’
His eyes seemed to probe deeply into her soul.
‘I have seen the destruction, Helena. Recently.’
‘Prove it was one of the five seafaring houses, and the sibyl will do something about it. We must have proof, not Roman rumours.’
Helena waited. He had to understand what sacrifices were made. If what he said was true, then it was all the more important that Aunt Flavia’s condition was not known. The risks to the community were too great. She held her breath and waited to see what proof he would offer.
‘Destruction is destruction whoever causes it.’ He gave an elaborate shrug. ‘The important thing is to build and to make the world a safer place for those who find it difficult to defend themselves.’
Helena heaved a sigh of relief. An open break with a seafaring house was not on the horizon. Her aunt would have time to recover before Tullio could find any concrete evidence.
‘Do you always repair walls before obtaining permission?’
‘The wall had fallen down.’ A smile tugged at his lips. ‘Walls, in my experience, are generally there for purpose. If you need them, they should
be sound. If not, you should demolish them.’
‘Your logic is flawless.’
‘And sometimes, you only think you need walls.’ He gestured towards the half-rebuilt wall with one hand. ‘Which is it with this one? Demolish or repair?’
His face had such an intent look that Helena wondered if he was speaking about something more than this stone. ‘This wall is supposed to help keep the sheep and goats out of the temple gardens.’
‘Then it should have been rebuilt at once.’
Helena shifted once more in her sandals, hating the feeling of inadequacy. The legionaries, along with a thousand other problems, plagued her mind. There was no one to ask and everyone wanted an answer. Until now, she hadn’t realised quite how much Aunt Flavia had done. Always there with a helpful word, or the correct ritual, Aunt Flavia had allowed Helena the illusion of control.
Repairing the temple benefits you as well, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind.
‘If you do work, you will not be paid for it. The amount of money you owe will still be the same. The seafarers took a great risk rescuing you.’
She watched his face. Only a muscle jumped briefly in his jaw. No other emotion was displayed.
‘We would go faster if we had some proper tools to build with, and a guarantee of proper rations.’
‘You eat what we eat. The temple makes no distinctions. Plain but enough to fill.’ She hesitated. This was a delicate matter. She was under no illusion what a few men could do armed with hammers and hoes. If the Romans attempted to escape, there was little her guards could do to hold them. She had to trust that the display of strength had convinced the Romans and the seafarers alike. ‘As for tools…’
‘You can trust us. We have given our word as soldiers, as Romans.’ His voice was low and intense. ‘You need this work doing, why not put your faith in us?’
‘As you have started, you might as well finish.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
Tullio returned to his men. Helena watched for a little while. To make sure they were fixing the wall properly, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the man directing them, or the temptation he presented.
Tullio kept an eye out for Helena the rest of that day, and the whole of the next, but she did not reappear. The only sign she might be softening towards them was a pile of tools and a wooden tablet listing the jobs she wanted doing. This temple and its list of repairs was worse than Hercules’s encounter with the Augean stables.
Most of the men were glad to use their muscles during something other than training. Quintus, however, grumbled and moaned that they were being treated no better than slaves. But he had not disobeyed the direct order to work.
As Tullio and his men laboured in the sweltering heat, a crowd of villagers would often gather round. Most stood silently with hostile faces. One, a young girl dressed in a ragged tunic, held out a jug of water, which Tullio and his men took with grateful thanks. She gave a shy smile and then ran away. Tullio watched her go. A small start, but still a start.
After that, the faces appeared to be less hostile, the crowds not as large. The villagers were letting them get about their business. Not helping, but not hindering. With each passing hour, the faces grew watchful rather than suspicious.
Tullio put the final stone on the second boundary wall they had rebuilt that morning.
‘You and your men work with admirable speed,’ Helena said behind him.
Tullio wiped his hand on his tunic before he risked turning around and facing her. Who would he see this time? The woman or the administrator? He hated the way his blood jumped at the sound of her voice. He had to remember the stakes. Keep in mind his oath to Rome and his obligations. Quintus was correct. A dalliance could do more harm than good. But his breath quickened as he saw the way her gown hinted at her curves and the way her pearl-drop earrings drew attention to her long neck.
‘My men and I are unafraid of hard work.’
‘I can see that.’ She paused, started to say something, but changed her mind. There was speculation, even admiration in her eyes. The tension eased slightly in Tullio’s shoulders. It bothered him that he wanted her respect. ‘I hope you’ve had little trouble from the villagers. They are not used to seeing Romans. Many have come with prayer requests for the sibyl, simply to get a better view of the legionaries.’
‘They have been most kind. One in particular—a girl with big brown eyes and a ragged dress—brought a jug of cool water. She has become quite a favourite with the men and me.’
‘When was this?’
‘Earlier.’ Tullio ran his hand through his hair. Was he now about be reprimanded for accepting a jug of water? ‘She held out the jug. It seemed churlish not to accept. She then refilled it twice from the well, but would not speak. The sun is quite fierce and, while not as refreshing as the vinegar we normally drink, the water was welcome. Hopefully you have not received any bad reports.’
‘No one has complained. I’ve heard nothing but praise.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He leant forward slightly. ‘I should like to thank the girl. It was an unexpected kindness. My men were parched. But she vanished before I had a chance to say anything.’
Helena’s teeth caught her bottom lip for a heartbeat. Then she shrugged. ‘Yes, that would be an idea. If you would follow me.’
Tullio motioned for Quintus to keep the men working on rebuilding the wall. Quintus grimaced, but moved to obey the order.
Helena led the way to a small pasture of rough grass where the young girl sat, stick in hand, tending geese. Catching sight of them, the girl gave a cry which sounded more birdlike than human. ‘Is that the girl?’
‘Yes, that is the girl. What is her name?’
‘Niobe.’ Helena made large gestures to the girl who started towards them. ‘She lost the power of speech. She was a happy baby, toddling about, chatting to everyone and everybody. Then she caught a fever and fell silent. The villagers whispered that demons had stolen her soul and left a changeling. In desperation, her mother came to the sibyl. The sibyl decreed Kybele had touched Niobe. Her speech will return when the goddess decides. Since then we have provided a home for her, doing what we can. Her brother is our goatherd, Pius.’
The girl stopped, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Her eyes grew round.
Without waiting for Helena to make any more introductions, Tullio knelt down. He hoped he could reassure the child that he came in peace. Having seen the pirates in action, he knew they would not be kind to the child. He held out his hands and kept his voice gentle and that his lips clearly formed each word.
‘Greetings, Niobe. Do you look after the geese? They are very healthy and well fed. I wanted to thank you for the water you brought me and my men earlier. It was you, wasn’t it?’
She returned his smile and nodded enthusiastically. She gave the imitation of a goose. Tullio attempted a honk and the girl burst out in a fit of giggles. She bowed several times and then raced off to rejoin her flock.
‘You have made a friend.’ The pinched look on Helena’s face was gone. Her eyes held a new expression—as if he were some backward pupil who had just completed a difficult conjugation of a Greek verb.
‘A little kindness never did anyone any harm.’ Tullio concentrated on readjusting his cloak. Here was no heartless statue. Her concern for Niobe was real.
‘The sibyl is of a similar mind.’
‘The sibyl exercises great power.’ Tullio stared after the now distant figure of Niobe, rather than at Helena’s lips. The memories of the fights he had fought to protect his sister crowded in. ‘No doubt there were many in the village who argued for the girl’s destruction.’
‘My aunt believes that the gods made each one of us. She has been a great force for good on this island and I intend to keep it that way.’
‘But for how much longer?’
She gave him a panicked look and Tullio knew he had hit a raw nerve. She was less sure about the temple’s positi
on than she pretended. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘The pirates grow stronger in this region of the Mediterranean.’ He leant forward and dropped his voice. ‘How much longer until they decide they don’t need your aunt or her portents? How long until they take what they need with force?’
Tullio watched her face intently to see if there was any sign that she was listening, that she understood. All he could hear was the distant honks of the geese.
‘It is certainly something to consider.’ She pointed back down the track. ‘I believe your men will be waiting for you.’
Tullio started back. When he turned slightly she was standing there, the breeze whipping her gown about slim legs, a thoughtful expression on her face.
Could she trust him?
The question reverberated through Helena’s mind as she walked back towards the sibyl’s chambers.
Niobe, who hid when any strange man approached her, was not afraid of him.
His assessment of the situation was much the same as hers. As the seafarers grew bolder, their respect for the temple grew less.
How much longer before they decided to challenge the sibyl’s authority with an attack on the mainland?
Or, worse, stopped paying tribute altogether?
The minor insults were clear to anyone who had eyes. Androceles was determined to challenge the sibyl’s authority. Why Aunt Flavia had not chastised him when he first tried to deliver the mouldy grain, Helena had no idea. But each time, the house of Androceles dared that little bit further.
She hated the fact that Tullio had wakened these fears. She also hated the fact that she kept finding reasons to seek him out. She told herself that it was to make sure he and his men behaved properly but each time she saw them, it only served to show her how wrong she had been.
Lying on the table was another scroll from Androceles. Helena rapidly scanned it. Like the three that preceded it, Androceles respectfully reminded her of her promise. This time, he asked after the sibyl’s health. A subtle hint that, like Tullio, he had realised Aunt Flavia was not well?
A Noble Captive Page 8
