She lowered her head. “If you opened your heart.” If your heart was not so hardened. She wanted to weep again.
“He would speak even to a Roman?” he said mockingly. “More likely this god of yours would want my heart on his altar,” he said dryly. “Especially after what I was about to do to one of his most devoted followers.” He stood in the open doorway to the terrace, his back to her. “Is it your god I must blame, then, for this desire I have for you? Is it his doing?” He turned to face her again.
“Shades of Apollo and Daphne,” he said bitterly. “Do you know of them, Hadassah? Apollo wanted Daphne, but she was a virgin and wouldn’t surrender. He pursued her madly and she fled from him, crying out to the gods to save her.” He gave a harsh laugh. “And they did. Do you know how? They turned her into a bush with sweetly scented flowers. That’s why you’ll see statues of Apollo with a wreath of daphne crowning his head.”
Marcus’ mouth twisted wryly. “Will this god of yours turn you into a bush or a tree to protect your virginity from me?”
“No.”
A long stillness hung between them. The only sound in Marcus’ ears was his own heartbeat. “You were fighting yourself more than you were fighting me.”
She blushed and lowered her eyes again, but she made no denial. “It’s true you make me feel things I’ve never felt before,” she said softly and looked at him again. “But God gave me free will and he warned of the consequences of immorality—”
“Immorality?” Marcus said through his teeth, the word like a slap across his face. “Is it immoral for two people who love one another to take pleasure together?”
“As you loved Bithia?”
Her softly spoken question was like a dash of cold water and further roused his anger. “Bithia has nothing to do with my feelings for you! I never loved Bithia.”
“But you made love to her,” she said very softly, embarrassed to speak so plainly.
He looked into her eyes and his anger evaporated. He felt a sense of shame and couldn’t fathom why. There was nothing wrong with what he had done with Bithia. Was there? She had come to him freely. After the first few times, Bithia had come to him in the night even when he hadn’t summoned her.
“I would have to command you, wouldn’t I?” he said with a rueful smile. “And if I did demand your surrender, you’d feel compelled to throw yourself off the terrace.”
“You won’t command me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You’re an honorable man.”
“Honorable,” he said with a bitter laugh. “How easily a single word can wash away a man’s ardor. And hope. Your intention, no doubt.” He looked at her. “I’m a Roman, Hadassah. Above all else, I am that. Don’t count too heavily on my restraint.”
The silence hung between them. Marcus knew nothing could destroy his love for her, and he felt a moment of despair. If not for this belief she held so tightly, he could claim her for his own. If not for her god . . .
Hadassah rose. “May I go, my lord?” she said very softly, once more a servant.
“Yes,” he said without inflection and watched her walk to the door and open it. “Hadassah,” he said, his love for her tearing at him. The only way he could have her was to shatter this stubborn faith of hers. In doing so, would he shatter her? “What has this god of yours ever really done for you?”
She stood very still for a long moment, her back to him. “Everything,” she said softly and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Marcus told his father that evening that he intended to look into buying a place of his own. “Our sudden relocation to Ephesus has raised some speculation concerning the security of our assets,” he said. “An outlay of gold talents for a second villa and some lavish entertaining of important Roman officials will dispel the speculations quickly enough.”
Decimus looked at him, well aware that Marcus’ true reasons for leaving had nothing to do with “outside speculation.”
“I understand, Marcus.” And, indeed, he did.
Chapter 29
“Hadassah!” Julia called as she entered the house. Lifting the hem of her palus, she hurried up the stairs. “Hadassah!”
“Yes, my lady,” she said, hastening to her.
“Come, come, come, quickly!” Julia said and closed the door of her room behind her. She laughed and spun around happily, stripping off the thin veil that covered her hair. “Mother and I went to the Artemision this morning, and I almost fainted when he came in.”
“Who, my lady?”
“Atretes! He’s even more beautiful than I remember. Like a god come down from Olympus. Everyone was staring at him. He was within a few feet of me. Two guards were with him while he worshiped. I thought I’d die, my heart beat so fast.” She put her hand against her chest as though to still it for a moment and then began rummaging through her things. “Mother said we should leave him in private to worship,” she said glumly.
“What are you looking for, my lady? Let me help you find it.”
“The red carnelian. Remember it? Not the simple one, but the big one with the heavy gold claw. Look for it. Hurry! Chakras said it enhances the imagination, and I’m going to need all the imagination I can get if I’m going to figure a way to meet Atretes.”
Hadassah found the pendant and held it out to her. For all the pure natural beauty of the carnelian itself, the gruesome claw made it a loathsome piece of jewelry, a talisman meant to perform magic. “Don’t put faith in a stone, my lady,” she said, obediently handing it to her mistress.
Julia laughed at her and put it on. She clutched the carnelian. “Why not? If it’s worked for others, why not for me?” She held the carnelian tightly in both hands between her breasts and closed her eyes. “I must center my thoughts and meditate. Leave me until I call for you.”
The carnelian seemed to work for Julia. Within an hour, she knew exactly how she would meet Atretes. It wasn’t an idea she could share with Hadassah, nor with anyone else in the household. Even Marcus would make objection to her methods, but she didn’t care. Her eyes glittered with excitement. No, she didn’t care what anyone thought. Besides, no one had to know . . . it would be a secret known only to herself—and Atretes.
Hadassah had said not to put her faith in a stone, but the carnelian had worked! Julia knew she’d never have been able to imagine an idea so outrageous and so thrilling without it. Tomorrow she would make all the necessary preparations.
And the following day, she’d meet Atretes at the temple of Artemis.
Atretes remembered his mother’s prophecy the moment he saw Julia Valerian amidst the scented haze of incense smoke within the inner sanctuary of the Artemision. He had been waiting for her to come back into his life, and now she stood before him like a conjured vision, even more beautiful than he remembered her. Wearing a gauzy red palus that was trimmed with gold embroidery and floated about her slender body, she walked toward him. He heard the soft tinkle of bells and saw the anklets she wore.
He frowned slightly as he watched her. How had the shy girl who had blushed at the ludus come to be a temple prostitute in Ephesus? Surely it was the work of the goddess, preparing the way to bring her to him. But then, what did he know of Julia Valerian but what he had been told? He had only seen her once above him in the balcony at the ludus. Now she stood so close to him that he could see the soft flush of her skin as it heated beneath his scrutiny. And he saw her eyes, dark and hungry.
She hadn’t the coldness of a prostitute’s feigned ardor. Her desire for him was real, so real that Atretes wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman. But something within him made him wait and hold his silence.
Standing beneath his enigmatic regard, Julia felt nervous and uncertain. She moistened her lips and tried desperately to remember the words she had practiced.
She’d been waiting for him at the temple for hours, warding off the propositions of a dozen others, wondering if he would come at all. And then he had appeared. Heavily gua
rded, he had placed his offering in the hands of the priest and prostrated himself before the image of Artemis. When he rose, she moved into his line of vision, feeling a wave of heat as he turned and saw her.
Now he cocked his head slightly, his mouth tipping in mock amusement, challenging her. She spoke in a nervous rush. “Join me in celebration, so that we may delight the Most High Goddess.” She knew she sounded breathless, and she blushed.
“At what price?” he said, his voice deep and heavily accented.
“At whatever price you’re willing to pay.”
Atretes let his gaze move from the top of her head down to her sandaled feet. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but he felt a vague disquiet. Was this the woman of whom his mother had prophesied? A woman who dressed up and sold herself as a harlot? Desire made him disregard his misgivings. He nodded.
She led him to an inn that catered to wealthy foreign visitors rather than to one of the brothels close by the temple. Once inside, she turned eagerly into his arms.
When it was over, Atretes felt a disquieting repugnance at what had passed between them. He stood and moved a few feet away. Startled by his abandonment, she blinked up at him. The handsome lines of his godlike face were hard and cold. What was he thinking as he looked down at her? She tried to judge his expression and couldn’t.
“What game are you playing, Julia Valerian?”
Her eyes went wide, her cheeks hot. “How do you know my name?”
“You came once to the Roman ludus. With that Roman whore, Octavia. I asked. Bato told me you were married.”
“My husband died,” she said, embarrassed.
His brow lifted in mockery. “How did the daughter of one of the richest merchants in the Roman Empire become a temple prostitute?”
She stood shakily, feeling better able on her feet to face his sardonic manner. “I’m not a prostitute.”
He smiled coldly and reached out to touch her hair. “No?”
“No,” she said, trembling. “It was the only way I could think to meet you.”
Atretes was shaken again by the desire that stirred within him when he touched her. “All this subterfuge to be with a gladiator?” he said coldly.
“No,” she replied breathlessly, her hands spreading worshipfully against his chest. “No. I wanted to be with you. Only with you, Atretes. I’ve wanted to be with you since the first day I saw you running on the road near Capua.”
“I remember. You had a little Jewess with you.”
“You remember? I didn’t think you noticed me,” she said, searching his face with hungry eyes. “Then it’s destiny. . . .” With surprising strength, she pulled his head down.
Atretes fed her hunger. He savored it, wanting to stretch it out and make it last. Julia Valerian wasn’t a slave sent to his cell in the ludus as a reward, nor was she a prostitute he had paid on the temple steps. She came to him of her own free will, the daughter of a powerful Roman citizen, a captive of her own passions.
And Atretes used her as balm for the scars inflicted on his soul. Or he thought he did.
Finally, replete, Atretes dressed to leave, keeping his back to her. Part of him wanted to walk out the door and forget what had happened between them.
“When can I see you again?” she said poignantly, and he turned to regard her. She was beautiful, so beautiful she made him catch his breath. His flesh was weak, and her hungry eyes fed a deeper hunger of his own.
He smiled coldly. “Whenever you find a way.” He removed the money pouch from his belt, tossed it into her lap, then left her sitting on the floor.
Marcus entertained frequently at his new villa, widening his circle of newly established Ephesian friends. He also cultivated the friendship of the proconsul and other Roman officials, several of whom he had previously known in Rome. His father readily agreed when he suggested having Julia act as hostess at formal feasts and gatherings. Thus Marcus accomplished two ends with the arrangement: he gave his sister some of the freedom she had lost with Caius’ death, and he saw Hadassah.
This evening, as on so many others, Marcus’ villa was filled with guests and activity. He glanced at Julia as she lay stretched out on a cushioned couch beside him watching the African dancers with only lukewarm interest. Her eyes met his and she smiled.
“The proconsul’s daughter was asking all manner of questions about you this evening, Marcus,” she said, leaning closer to him. “I think she’s in love with you.”
“Eunice is a sweet child.”
“That sweet child you dismiss so easily has her father’s ear, and her father has the ear of the emperor.”
He grinned condescendingly. “If I ever marry, Julia, it will be for reasons other than gaining political influence.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” Julia said with a mischievous smile.
“You’re suggesting I corrupt the daughter of the proconsul of Rome,” Marcus said, selecting a delicacy from a tray set before him.
“Corrupt?” Julia said with a slight rise of her brows. “A curious term for an epicurean. I always thought you took your pleasure where you found it.” She selected a ripe plum. “Eunice is ripe for the plucking.” Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement as she took a bite of the succulent purple fruit. She rose from the couch. “Wasn’t your reason for leaving Father’s villa so you could entertain and gain influence among the elite? So, garner it where it comes.” With that, she rose and moved into the crowd.
Marcus watched Julia thoughtfully. Her year with Caius had changed her. She worked a room, talking with various men, laughing, lightly touching, moving away with a teasing glance over her shoulder. It disturbed him. He had always thought of her as his naive, lovely little sister, whom he pampered and adored.
He remembered Arria as he watched his sister turn heads and leave broken hearts in her wake. She was hunting, and no one in the room seemed to be the breed of animal she wanted.
She beckoned Hadassah, and they went out onto the terrace alone. Marcus frowned slightly. Whatever command Julia had given, Hadassah had had something to say about it. Julia was agitated and spoke again, intently. She slipped a gold bracelet from her wrist and gave it to Hadassah before coming back inside. At Julia’s curt nod of dismissal, Hadassah left the banquet hall.
Marcus rose to follow her and find out what was going on. Eunice stepped gracefully into his path, bumping him slightly in a coy attempt to gain his attention. “Oh, I’m sorry, Marcus. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said and gazed up at him with such adoration that he cringed.
“My fault entirely,” he said, aware that her expression fell with disappointment as he stepped by her. By the time he reached the corridor, Hadassah was gone.
Moonlight reflected off of the white marble streets and fana as Hadassah found her way to the ludus. She knocked at the heavy main gate and waited. When a guard opened it, she asked to speak with Sertes. She was taken across the courtyard and down a darkened corridor to Sertes’ office. He was expecting her. When he held out his hand, she gave him the gold bracelet. He weighed it critically and looked at the work, then nodded, locking it in a strongbox inside his desk. “This way,” he said and led Hadassah down the stone steps into the cold, granite corridor lit by torches.
Stopping at a heavy door, he found the right key. As he opened the door, Hadassah glimpsed a man sitting on a stone bench. She recognized him from the one time she had seen him on the road to Capua, for he was powerfully built and breath-catchingly handsome. When he rose and turned to face them, she thought of the statue in her mistress’s possession. The sculptor had captured the gladiator’s arrogance and physical splendor, but had missed the bleakness in his eyes, the despair hidden beneath a mask of cold, restrained power.
“Your lady has sent her maid for you,” Sertes said. “Be at the delivery door at dawn.” He left them.
Atretes’ mouth tightened, and his eyes moved and narrowed on the small, slender slave girl looking at him. She wore a fine, cream-colored tunic that r
eached her ankles and was belted with a striped cloth that matched the shawl covering her hair and shoulders. He looked directly into her eyes, expecting to see what he usually did: adoration or fear. Instead, he saw a quiet calm.
“I will show you the way,” she said. Her voice was low and gentle. He swung his cloak about his shoulders and covered his blond hair. The only sound he heard was the soft pad of her sandaled feet as he followed her. The guard opened the door for her without a word and watched her pass by, barely taking note of Atretes. The heavy gate of the ludus slammed behind him, and Atretes breathed more easily.
“You’re a Jew,” he said, coming to walk beside the girl.
“I was born in Judea.”
“How long have you been a slave?”
“Since the destruction of Jerusalem.”
“I knew a Jew once. Caleb, from the tribe of Judah. He had thirty-seven kills to his credit.” She said nothing. “Did you know him?”
“No, I didn’t,” she said, although she had overheard Octavia and Julia talking about him. “The strongest and most handsome men of Jerusalem were taken to Alexandria with Titus and transported to Rome for the games. I was among the last captives who marched north.”
“He died well.”
Something in the flat emotionlessness of his voice made Hadassah look up at him. His handsome face was hard, but she sensed something deeper, something buried beneath the cold, ruthless face of a trained killer: beneath it all lurked a sorrow that tortured him.
The slave girl stopped. He was surprised when she took one of his hands between both of hers. “May God turn his face to you and give you peace,” she said with such compassion that he could only stare down at her.
She resumed walking, and Atretes didn’t speak to her again. He slowed his pace to match hers, following whatever course she took.
He knew he was in the richest section of Ephesus. Finally, Julia’s strange little maid turned up a marble stairway. At the end of it was a door that opened into a passageway, most probably used by delivery men. When they reached the end of it, the girl opened another door into a storage room. “Please wait here,” she said and left him.
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