Curses and Smoke

by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  “No, you don’t need to,” he interrupted. “I know you meant no insult. I should have seen that.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I was worried you were still angry.”

  He looked away and shook his head, smiling.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’ve just never even imagined that there existed a slave owner who could be worried about how a slave feels.”

  “I am not your owner.”

  “True. But you are still Domina.”

  “Again, out here, I am Lucia, your childhood friend.”

  “All right.” He nodded. “Why are you rereading Pliny?”

  “Because I’m hoping that I might meet him soon,” she said, her eyes shining. “My friend Cornelia is trying to arrange it.”

  “Admiral Pliny? Why? How?”

  “Pliny is her husband’s patron. I figured this might be my last chance to meet the man before I’m shipped off to Rome.”

  “Can I go with you?” he asked, only half joking. He had often used Pliny’s Natural Histories to check remedies and plants. “Perhaps he knows something about the nature of aging and memory that’s not in his scrolls — something that could help my father.” He sighed. “I need to start shielding him from the master somehow.”

  “Why does he have to be shielded from my father?” she asked, her brows knitting.

  “Because your father is liable to put him out on the street when he realizes my father might make a medical mistake with one of his precious fighters.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “My father would never do that!”

  “Of course he would.”

  “I wouldn’t let him!”

  “But soon you’ll be gone.”

  She looked out toward the hideout’s opening. “Well, I will … I will make sure he doesn’t! I’ll extract a promise.”

  Tag didn’t bother responding. Did she really think she could have any impact on her father when it came to how he managed his human property?

  Lucia stiffened. “Did you feel that?”

  “I didn’t feel anything. Did the earth shake again?”

  “No, this is different. See, this is the kind of thing I want to discuss with Pliny. I think the earth is trying to tell us something —”

  “That another big earthquake is coming?”

  “No, I think it’s something else. It seems to me the land is undergoing some kind of — transformation.”

  The earth vibrated ever so slightly, and this time he did feel it. She scuttled out of their hideout. “Come, let me show you something,” she called.

  He didn’t move, and she popped her head back in, twigs pulling strands of black silk from her braid to float around her face. “Come with me. You will enjoy this.”

  With a sigh, Tag crawled out of the enclosure after her. Even when they were little, her intensity for whatever captivated her — usually some creature or plant in the woods — was always stronger than whatever resistance he could offer up. Besides, he was curious now.

  It took him a few minutes to wonder if this hadn’t been a very bad idea, especially when he noticed that she’d grabbed the bottom of her long tunica and tucked the ends into her belt so that she could walk more freely. He could tell it was an unconscious act, a necessary maneuver if she was going to walk through the woods without ripping her dress to pieces.

  But watching her smooth legs move confidently through the brush was a reminder that they were no longer children. These were the shapely, beautiful legs of a young woman. Which, of course, led to him noticing the sway of her hips, and when she turned to say something — which he didn’t catch — the fullness of her breasts. Had she always been this lovely? Or had she just blossomed into a beauty in the last three years?

  He forced his gaze back to the bottoms of her feet, but that felt terrible as well, because it reminded him of his status as a slave. So he compromised and stared at the loose curls that had come undone from her pinned-up braid as they swung back and forth down her back.

  “Look,” she whispered, stopping suddenly.

  He almost ran into her. “What am I looking at?”

  “The web,” she whispered as she pointed again.

  A huge spiderweb spanned the length between a rotten log and the roots of an oleander bush. “That is one immense web! What kind of spider is it?” he whispered back. Then, “Why are we whispering?”

  She ignored him. “I don’t know what kind of spider it is, but that’s not what’s important. Be still and watch.”

  Nothing was happening with the web, but he quickly became aware that their arms were almost touching. He looked down at her hand and at the soft skin on the underside of her wrist. Did her skin feel as silky as it looked? Gods, why was he thinking this way?

  “There!” she said. “Did you see it?”

  He glanced back to the web. “See what?”

  “By Diana, you haven’t changed a bit! See how the web is vibrating?”

  “No, I don’t…. Oh, yes. I see it.” She was right. The iridescent threads trembled delicately. “It’s the wind. So what?”

  She turned to him. “Do you feel any wind? It’s another strangely hot and airless day. There is no wind.”

  The golden lights in her eyes made him think of sunlight glinting off bronze.

  “My point is,” she continued, “that the earth is constantly trembling. It’s not at a level where we can detect it, but I think many animals sense it.”

  “The gladiators all say that Vulcan is angry and that the giants are stirring.”

  “Yes, I know. And Metrodona says her seer in the market has visions of all the statues in Pompeii falling to the ground in positions of agony.”

  He smiled ruefully. “That is strange and unnerving.”

  Her face changed.

  “What?”

  “I like it when you do that,” she said softly.

  “Do what — say something is strange?”

  “No, smile. You’re always scowling these days.”

  “Oh. Thanks for reminding me.” He stopped smiling and exaggerated a scowl.

  She laughed. They gazed at each other for a long moment.

  “I missed you when you were in Rome,” she said.

  He’d thought of her often too, but only as the young friend he explored the woods with, as his fellow wood-cave builder. He would not have been able to conjure the creature that stood before him, this beautiful girl who left him with a strange hollow feeling in his chest. The hollowness grew when he looked into her eyes, so he forced himself to look away — his gaze lighting on her neck, at the way the fabric of her dress clung to her curves, at her mouth. He didn’t know where to look, but he didn’t want to stop looking either.

  “Tag,” she called softly.

  Gods, the way she said his name … Her voice vibrated within him, deep and low. Ever so slightly, she tilted her face up to his. Was she going to …? The warm scent of her body made him dizzy. He felt her soft breath against his mouth.

  He suppressed a groan and took a step back. This could not be happening. She was the master’s daughter. He could be put to death — crucified — for touching her. “We cannot,” he managed to get out. She stared up at him, her mouth still partly open, and she looked so beautiful, so inviting, this time he did groan.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because …” Breathing suddenly seemed very difficult. He swallowed. “Because I am a slave.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Because it is wrong.”

  She blinked. “Why?”

  He had no answer. He couldn’t think. His lungs seemed incapable of taking in air.

  “Lucia …”

  “Just once, before I’m married, I want to know what it is like to kiss someone I want to kiss,” she said. “Just once, I want to make my own choice about it.”

  For her it would be a kiss she stole from a slave on a whim; she’d just said as much. But for him … for him, he knew suddenly, one taste would be torture, t
o know that she would be forever out of reach afterward.

  Another sickening realization tightened his chest. Did he have a choice?

  He took another step away. “Are you going to order me to obey? Take away my choice too?”

  Her eyes widened. “Gods, no, Tag. I just thought … I only wanted to know what it would feel like. I thought maybe you might want …” She put a hand to her throat as her face flushed. “I’m sorry. Oh, Diana, this is so embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes began to fill. “I … I need to go,” she said, turning away.

  He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Wait. I’m sorry. I do want to —” What was he doing? He should let her go. But now that he was touching her …

  She stared up at him as he moved closer. He released her wrist and cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing soft, flushed skin. He paused to drink in her scent, her warmth, the way her breath hitched when he bent toward her. Yes, this was a very bad idea, but as he lowered his mouth onto hers, his fears melted away. Everything disappeared, in fact — the woods with its strangely vibrating spiderwebs, his status as slave, even the knowledge that he could be killed for touching her.

  There was only Lucia.

  She hadn’t planned on kissing him. It had seemed, in the moment, like a way to show defiance, a way to take control. Her first kiss would not be from the old man her father had chosen for her, but from a beautiful boy she selected.

  But when he touched her — when they kissed — all thought disappeared, leaving only sensation — warm, wet, soft, tingling all the way down her spine. He’d blotted out the sun as he leaned over her, and then he blotted everything else out too.

  He pulled away. She stared dumbfounded at his full mouth. Why had he stopped? She angled her mouth up to his again, but he stepped back. “Domina,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  “Don’t call me that,” she breathed.

  “What are we doing?”

  She blinked. “If you don’t know, then we must be doing it wrong.”

  The side of his mouth quirked, and he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it. Gods, he was so beautiful — a young flushed Apollo, god of light and beauty, with untamed curls, whose lips tasted like wine and honey. She wanted to press her face against his neck and drink him in — his scent of woods, herbs, and smoke.

  “Your father would crucify me….”

  “He never has to know.”

  He drew in a ragged breath as she pressed herself against him, her mouth soft on his throat. His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her even tighter, breathing her in too.

  Minos barked in sudden outrage, and they jumped away from each other. But the dog was turned away from them, hair up, tail stiff. Lucia recognized the bark — he was warning someone off.

  “I need to get back … in case Metrodona is wondering where I am,” she whispered. “In case she sent someone looking for me.”

  He nodded, swallowed. “I’ll stay out here to draw whoever it is away if they keep coming in this direction.”

  She turned, then hesitated, not wanting to leave. “Will you … get in trouble if you are discovered?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll say I was …” Looking around, he plucked a leaf and scooped the spider onto it. Then with one quick swipe, he destroyed the large web and rolled it together to form a small mass of threads. “I’ll say I was collecting spiderwebs. We never have enough to deal with all the cuts we see.”

  She remembered reading in Pliny that cobwebs moistened with oil and vinegar were useful in treating cranial fractures. Was it true? There was no time to ask.

  “Go,” he mouthed.

  She gave him a quick peck on his beautiful mouth and sprinted toward the opening in the wall.

  * * *

  The next morning, Lucia sat in the shade of Cornelia’s sumptuous gardens. Trees rustled in the breeze as water tinkled from the clamshell-shaped fountain beside them.

  She stared at the glimmering drops of water, thinking over and over again, I kissed him. I kissed Tag! Remembering the feel of him — reliving every moment — left her constantly wondering when she could touch him again.

  “Lucia, where are you?” Cornelia called in a singsong trill.

  Lucia flushed. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you really do not want children,” Cornelia repeated as they sorted through the pile of baby clothes between them on the marble bench. Antyllus’s mother had passed them on, and there was enough there to clothe an army of babies. Cornelia held up one stained but soft baby wrap. “Oh! Antyllus must have worn this!” She pressed it to her bosom.

  Lucia smiled at her friend. “That is adorable. And yes, I do want children eventually. But not with Vitulus.”

  Cornelia made a sympathetic noise. “Still, once you have a child, it will all be worth it.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Lucia muttered.

  “Flavia is our age and already on her second child,” Cornelia pointed out. “You should see how sweet her baby is. She seems very happy.”

  Lucia considered sharing her fears about her mother’s experiences with stillbirths. What if the shades that cursed her mother in the birthing chamber now followed her? But she didn’t want to remind Cornelia about the dangers she faced, so she shrugged instead. “I have a question for you,” she said, rubbing her palm over a soft blanket decorated with faded threads of ocean waves and wide-eyed fish.

  “Hmmm?”

  “What is the difference between physical attraction and … between lust and something … else?”

  Cornelia dropped the baby tunic she’d been holding and gaped at her friend. “What?” She laughed. “Are you in love with someone? Goddess, who with?”

  “I’m not in love with anyone,” Lucia said. Obsessed, however, was another matter. Either way, she would never tell her friend it was Tag. As children, Cornelia had often joined her and Tag in games in the woods when her parents visited. She couldn’t very well say she was longing for a slave, could she? “And that’s what I’m trying to figure out — how do you know when it’s just … you know, physical attraction rather than something deeper?”

  Cornelia gestured for her servants to leave the room. When they were alone, she leaned forward. “Tell me everything. You’re not actually … I mean, you are still a virgin, yes?”

  Lucia’s face flushed as she nodded. “All we’ve done is kiss.”

  “He must be an amazing kisser.”

  Lucia slapped her friend’s shoulder with the baby blanket. “It’s just that I find myself thinking about him all the time. I am constantly trying to figure out how to be alone with him again.”

  Cornelia grinned. “You little lasciva, you!” Then her eyes widened. “It’s not a gladiator, is it? Ugh, those men are such brutes. Though one can’t deny some of them are quite attractive — in a feral kind of way. But really, you would never stoop so low!”

  “He is not a gladiator.”

  “Good.”

  “How did you know you loved Antyllus?”

  Cornelia sighed and rubbed the sides of her belly. “Well, my heart raced every time I was near him. I dreamt about him, about his touch. I longed for his company and missed him terribly when I didn’t see him.”

  “How is that different than … than, you know, lust?” Lucia persisted.

  Cornelia giggled. “I don’t know! I’ve only ever loved Antyllus. But my guess is that it’s probably just lust, because you barely know him.”

  “No —” she began, then stopped herself. She did know Tag. They had their shared childhood and their wooded retreat. He wasn’t a stranger to her.

  “Even if you feel like you know him,” cautioned Cornelia, reading her expression, “you are betrothed to be married. You cannot take the risk of pursuing anything more with this man. You know that, right?”

  Lucia nodded miserably.

  Cornelia put a hand over hers. “But I unde
rstand how anyone would be better than old man Vitulus,” she continued. “Is this man of yours someone of means? Perhaps he can speak with your father about changing your betrothal —”

  Lucia laughed bitterly. “No. He is not a man of means. Vitulus’s wealth is what Father is after.” With a moan, she added, “And I only have a matter of weeks.”

  Cornelia huffed. “I’ve said this before, but I still don’t see why your father couldn’t find a rich man here in Pompeii. Why does he have to marry you to someone who lives all the way in Rome? I wish Antyllus had a brother so that we could live like sisters.”

  They both stared at the pile of soft baby clothing.

  “You’re really not going to tell me who your amazing kisser is? I’d tell you.”

  “You don’t know him,” Lucia repeated. “And it’s best I don’t mention his name.”

  “I’ll get it out of you eventually,” Cornelia said, returning to sorting. After a few moments of silence, she added, “Is it that patrician who is staying with you?”

  Lucia shook her head emphatically.

  “Still, he is an option, is he not? You told me yourself that he brags about his family’s wealth. Perhaps you can try to get him to fall in love with you.”

  “Quintus? I wouldn’t have any idea how to get a man to fall in love with me.”

  “Just flirt.”

  Lucia gave her a disbelieving look. “That may come naturally to you, but not to me. Besides, I think the arrangement Father has brokered with Vitulus makes it highly unlikely that anyone else could compete.”

  Cornelia’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Still, you should try. He’s got to be better than old Vitulus. Then you would be free of him and you could stay here in Pompeii —”

  “He lives in Herculaneum.”

  “Close enough. Our children would grow up together. Oh, please consider it!”

  Lucia shook her head. “Cornelia, are you not listening? A man of his patrician status would never marry someone like me.”

  “Not necessarily. It happens more and more these days. And since he is the fifth son, maybe his family won’t care whom he marries.”