The Sign of the Eagle

by Jess Steven Hughes

  “We will know soon enough,” Senator Bassus said. He sat down on a cedarwood chair next to a black-striated marble table, running his fingers along one of its elaborate arms carved into images of lion legs. “Antonia wouldn’t call us together here if it wasn’t important.”

  A loud clatter of footsteps echoed from the entryway. The steward, Vasili, rushed into the atrium and announced Antonia's arrival. He disappeared just as quickly.

  A pocked-faced lictor, carrying a long slim bundle of tied birch rods on his shoulder, the fasces, entered first. He tramped into the greeting room at the head of Antonia’s escort. Twenty African and German female slaves crowded the reception room behind the minor magistrate.

  “In the Emperor’s name, I command all to rise in the Virgo Maxima's presence!” the lictor ordered.

  Antonia glided into the room, dressed in a long snow-white stola. A mantle covering the pleated white band, the holy infula, crowned her head. Macha, Titus, and Bassus bowed and greeted her with salutations. She received them with the formality appropriate to her new position.

  With a wave of her hand, Antonia commanded the lictor and escorts to leave the room. Once they were gone, a smile graced her refined features. She stepped to Macha and gave her a warm hug. They took seats next to one another on cushions along the edge of the impluvium.

  Titus and Bassus sat across from the women. Bassus ordered a slave, standing at one end of the room, to bring a good Messanian wine.

  Macha spoke, clasping her hands in her lap. “Please don’t keep us in suspense, Antonia. What is your news?”

  The Vestal nodded to the atrium entrance where one of her slaves hovered by the Lares, the little household shrine. The woman drew back but reappeared a few seconds later. She moved aside, as young Titus stepped from behind her and raced straight to Macha.

  “Mama!” he shouted. “Papa!”

  Macha leaped up and ran toward Young Titus, his father close behind. “Titus!” she gasped. For the space of a few seconds, Macha's surroundings fell away. Was she in a daze? She didn't see or hear anyone except her beloved little boy running silently toward her. Thank you, Mother Goddess, for returning him!

  “Son!” her husband boomed.

  Titus's voice snapped Macha out of her reverie. She scooped Young Titus into her arms and held him tightly. “My son! My little Titus!” she cried. Tears welled in her eyes and she wept unashamedly. Rubbing the back of the boy’s shoulder, her husband fought back tears.

  Young Titus beamed. “I’ve been with Sister Antonia. She was real nice to me.”

  Macha’s eyes widened. “What! Antonia?”

  “Yes.”

  Macha said no more. She needed to question Antonia about this. Where did she find him? In the meantime, she was grateful her son was alive. And he seemed to be taller. At least the kidnappers had fed him. He wore a neat long-sleeved tunic and new pair of sandals. Only his red hair needed trimming.

  “Why are you crying, Mama?” her son asked, “I’m all right.”

  “I’m so happy you’re safe—look at you, you’ve grown!” She released little Titus from her grip and wiped the tears staining her face. His father lifted him up to his shoulder and swung him around. Young Titus laughed gleefully before his father lowered him to the floor.

  Macha returned to her seat, and young Titus jumped onto her lap. His weight caught her by surprise. She pulled him close and held him silently as he nestled against her chest.

  She eyed her friend, puzzled. Why was her son with Antonia? Gods forbid she was involved in his kidnapping? Even as she held Young Titus, one of her hands balled into a fist. “Where did you find Young Titus, Antonia?”

  “He has been safely tucked away all this time in the House of Vesta,” Antonia replied.

  "No!" Macha's un-balled her fist. She pulled the boy tighter the fingers of both hands gouging his sides. Bassus and Titus, who had returned to their seats, glanced to one another and glared at Antonia.

  Young Titus squirmed. “Mama, you’re hurting me!”

  Startled, Macha released her grip. “Why did you hide my boy from me?” She demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I had no choice, and he was quite safe, Macha,” Antonia said evenly. “The priestesses doted on him.”

  “The ladies liked me,” Young Titus said.

  “How can that be, Antonia?” Macha questioned. “I received threats that his life was in danger. I received the thumb of some poor child who was murdered.”

  Young Titus glanced at his thumb, his face troubled. “I have my thumb.”

  Macha forced a smile. “Yes, darling, and I’m so happy you do.”

  “I assure you, Macha," Antonia said, "he was never in any real danger—not even from Licinia. However, we dared not say a word. Licinia threatened to kill us.” She turned to Bassus and added in a pleading voice. “You must believe me, Marcus.”

  Bassus face darkened. Quickly, he recovered and an impassive expression blanked his face. “I do, but I had no idea you were hiding the boy.”

  A rush of heat flushed Macha’s cheeks. She shook her head. “I can’t believe you did this, Antonia. You knew how worried I was. You, my best friend, should have told me in spite of Licinia’s threats. We’re talking about my son!” No explanation could erase the pain she had endured.

  Macha stirred from her seat, took her son by the hand, and approached Titus. Taking her husband by the other hand, she faced Bassus. “I wish to speak to Antonia, alone.”

  Before Titus could protest Bassus interceded. “It’s all right, Titus. Leave them be. I’ll speak with Antonia when you’re finished, Macha.”

  “Titus, go to Papa. I will see you soon, I promise.” Macha stooped and hugged her son, letting go of his hand.

  Titus hefted the boy onto his shoulder, who squealed and laughed. “We’ll see Mama in a while, Little Wolf.” He kissed Macha on her lips, then jogged from the room like a frisky mount followed by Bassus.

  Antonia motioned to her female servant, who departed the atrium as well.

  Macha stood over Antonia and looked into her pleading eyes. “Now, I want the real reason why you kept my son from me.”

  Antonia’s finely chiseled alabaster face tightened. “Do you have so little regard for me that you believe I would lie?”

  “I don’t know what to expect from you, Antonia.”

  The Vestal sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry you’re angry with me. I suppose that’s what I deserve. Truly, I wanted to tell you about little Titus.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Had I told you that it was Pollia who had threatened to expose Bassus and me, I was afraid you wouldn’t have waited for Pollia’s arrest. I envisioned you demanding his immediate release at the jeopardy of everyone’s safety.”

  Macha stared icily at her friend. Now Antonia questioned her integrity.

  “You must hate me for not telling you, but I had to remain alive to help your son.” Antonia touched Macha’s hand who instantly pulled hers away. “Can you ever forgive me? I’m asking you for the sake of our friendship—something I hold very dear.”

  “I’ve longed treasured it,” Macha answered softly. “It…,” she shook her head, “it just did not occur to me that you would know where my son was hidden. You deceived me.”

  “That was never what I wanted, Macha, but it was the only choice I had.”

  “So you say.”

  Silence.

  “Why didn't Licinia kill my son?” Macha finally asked.

  Antonia studied Macha as if looking into her soul. “That’s where Licinia took a stand. Pollia intended to murder him. When she demanded Licinia hand over little Titus, Licinia refused. Kidnapping was one matter, but murdering a child was out of the question.”

  “Thank Mother Goddess for that.” Macha turned from Antonia and stepped to the opposite side of the impluvium. She sat down and gazed into the aqua pool across from Antonia. A small ripple fanned across its peaceful waters.

  “Yes,
” the Vestal said softly. She shifted her body, her eyes watching Macha. “Fortunately, the arrest of the conspirators and deaths of Licinia, Pollia, and Falco changed everything. As acting Virgo Maxima, I immediately ordered your son’s release.”

  Macha stared back at Antonia. “But who kidnapped little Titus? When was he brought to the temple?”

  “The ex-gladiator, Pugnax, and his thugs snatched him from your sister-in-law’s home. They arrived in Rome several days behind you. It was late in the evening. One of the brutes banged loudly at the front door of the sacred house waking everyone. Licinia opened the door and admitted the lot at once, including your son."

  Macha took a deep breath. She glanced to the opening in the roof above the impluvium and back to Antonia. "What about my son? Was he all right?"

  The Vestal smiled. "Oh, he was dirty, frightened, and definitely hungry, but otherwise not hurt. We fed and bathed him right away. The young novices took him under their wings and treated him like a little brother. He lost any fear he might have had of us."

  For a split second Macha covered her face with the palm of her hand. "Praise Great Mother Vesta," she said in a voice little more than a whisper.

  "Your son came to the Sacred House after an agreement was reached between Pollia and Licinia," Antonia said. "The boy would be safe and no one would think of looking for him there."

  “Did all the priestesses know?”

  “Yes, but we were sworn to secrecy, and the slaves were threatened with death.” Antonia exhaled. “I am so sorry. Believe me I couldn’t tell anyone about your boy without exposing myself." She shook her head. "I swear I would never have allowed any harm to fall upon him even if it meant killing Pollia or Licinia myself.”

  Macha strode back toward Antonia and sank down heavily in the chair. She searched the priestess’ face for signs of deceit. Her answers had been direct and sincere. Macha found no deception in the Vestal’s eyes and had heard none in her voice. Had not Antonia been a victim as much as her son? This was a time for joy and forgiveness. She took a few deep breaths, the last of the tension drained from her body. Gods, it felt so good.

  Antonia stared at the mosaic-tiled floor for a few seconds. Then she met Macha’s eyes again. “I’m very sorry, Macha,” she repeated. “Please forgive me.”

  Macha inhaled deeply, shook her head, and reached over to take Antonia’s hands and squeeze them in hers. “Yes, Antonia, my dear friend, I do forgive you.”

  Together they wept.

  * * * * *

  Late in the afternoon, Titus returned from the Praetorian Barracks to Bassus' house where he and Macha were still living. Since his release the week before, Emperor Vespasian had promoted him commander of one of the Guard's cohorts. Once he had pulled off his helmet, Macha greeted him with a hug and a kiss in the atrium. She lightly fingered the old scar that ran diagonally down his forehead and across his nose. "Dinner is nearly ready," she said. "Why don't you meet me in the triclinium after you have cleaned up and changed your clothing?" Titus wore the scarlet and white uniform of the Emperor's household troops.

  "I will, but I have news to tell you that can't wait," he grumbled.

  This doesn't sound good, Macha thought. "And what is your news?" she asked cautiously.

  "The Emperor is sending me on special assignment to Britannia."

  "Britannia! Home of my people?" Macha stiffened. "But why? We haven't yet moved into our new home?"

  "Vespasian says I have proven my loyalty to him and will trust no one else." Titus cleared his throat and huffed. "Rumor has it, one of the local governors, an ex-chieftain, has embezzled large amounts of money from the local treasury. Supposedly, his henchmen murdered several lesser officials to cover his tracks. However, there is no proof, and he wants me to investigate." He looked away, frowning.

  Faded images of Macha's childhood from that distant island flooded her mind. She remembered fleeing a huge hillfort during a battle fought by her father, Caratacus. Clouded pictures of the forest and ocean surfaced but little else. Only the capture of her family and coming to Rome in chains remained vividly in her mind.

  "When do we leave?" Macha asked, swallowing first to keep her voice steady.

  "I leave next week," Titus answered. He tilted his head downward looking upon Macha's lightly freckled face. "You'll stay here with our son and get the new house in order. I shouldn't be gone more than six to twelve months."

  Macha reached up and placed both hands on her husband's broad shoulders. She gazed candidly into his deep-blue eyes. "No, darling. I nearly lost you once, but I'll not lose you again. If you're leaving, I'm going with you."

  "What makes you believe you and Young Titus are fit to accompany me on this assignment?" Titus asked.

  "After all the danger I have been through, to set you free, I'm surprised you have to ask," Macha replied evenly. "Over the past weeks, haven't I proved that I am capable of defending myself and others with a weapon? Didn't I question witnesses, travel long distances in harsh weather, and develop a logical plan under a time constraint?" She ticked her reasons pressing each point into his shoulder with a finger. "Surely I'm a fine asset. Plus, I won't take 'no' for an answer."

  Titus stepped away from his wife, crossed his arms, and for a time remained silent. Macha was certain this meant he'd refuse her request. Nevertheless, she held his gaze with a level stare. Finally, Titus let his arms drop to his side in defeat.

  "I suppose two more companions wouldn't be that much of a burden," he admitted. With that, Macha and Titus embraced, and Macha smiled. Her eyes twinkled with just a touch of subtlety.

  The Sign of the Eagle

  Jess Steven Hughes is a retired police detective sergeant with twenty-five years experience in criminal investigation and a former U.S. Marine. He holds a Masters Degree in Public Administration and a minor in Ancient Mediterranean Civilizations from the University of Southern California. He has traveled and studied extensively in the areas forming the background of this novel, which brings vivid authenticity to the unique setting in The Sign of the Eagle. He currently lives with his wife, Liz, and their four horses in Eastern Washington. He is currently working on another historical novel from the First Century A.D.