She did not follow his gaze but stared into his eyes.
“What is it?” he said.
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
She looked away.
“Flavia . . . .”
She turned back to him. “Your sister.”
“Why?”
“A young woman has a special tie with her older brother. Especially when the parents are gone.”
He smiled indulgently. “You're being childish now.”
“I’m not a child! And don’t say it!”
He took her hands in his. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m an intruder. I’ve come between the two of you. I’m afraid she’ll hate me.”
“How could the sister I love hate the woman I adore?”
Flavia slipped her arms around him and pressed the side of her face against his chest. “I’m so scared.”
Rufio and Flavia stood in the shadow of the colonnaded portico forming the perimeter of the garden. Street noises drifted in faintly over the roof, but all was cool and quiet in this central refuge.
Flavia’s eyes were fixed on the woman sitting on the edge of the gurgling fountain. She was gathering a bunch of flowers of every imaginable color plucked from the shrubs around her. The sun coming in over the roof just caught her chestnut hair and ignited its auburn highlights, but one of the two Italian cypresses at the far end of the garden dropped its shadow across her face, so Flavia could not make out her features.
“Who was at the door, Demetrius?” the woman said without looking up.
Rufio strode out of the shadow of the portico. “Hello, Puppy.”
The woman snapped her head around. Her sharp intake of breath made her sound as if she were choking. She stood up and stepped into the sun, the stems crushed in her hand.
Now it was Flavia’s turn to gasp. This had to be the most striking woman in Rome.
The woman came toward Rufio with a look of such longing it seemed to Flavia almost an expression of anguish. Her lower lip trembled like a child’s, and the blossoms slipped from her grasp. Almost as tall as her brother, she reached out and ran the tips of all ten fingers over his face, as if she were blind and this were the only way to sense his presence.
He curled his arm around her and pulled her in. She kissed both of his cheeks repeatedly and then went limp, resting her face on his shoulder and moaning with the sweet release of answered prayers.
Flavia was more frightened than ever.
The woman spoke softly to Rufio, and Flavia heard him say, “She’s here.”
He turned to her in the shadows. “Flavia, meet Flavia.”
She stepped out into the sunshine.
Rufio’s sister released him reluctantly and approached her. She stopped six feet away.
“By the love of Venus,” she said to her brother as she gazed at his stunning Sequani huntress. “You didn’t exaggerate.”
Flavia remained silent.
“Come here,” his sister commanded.
Flavia obeyed and the woman gripped her hands.
“My name is Flavia, too, but my friends like to call me Rosa”—she swept her arm around the garden—“because of all the flowers.”
“Yes,” Flavia whispered.
“Thank you for bringing my brother back to me.” She released Flavia’s hands but slid her arms around her shoulders and drew her close. Her slate blue eyes, so like Rufio’s, were just inches away. “Thank you.”
Flavia nodded.
“I know why you’re afraid,” she said so softly only Flavia could hear. Her eyes were as wise as Rufio’s own. “You need not be. We’re sisters now.”
Flavia burst out crying and pressed her face against Rosa’s breasts and soaked her pale blue stola with her tears.
“I know, I know,” Rosa said, caressing Flavia’s hair and rocking her gently. “It’s all right.”
“I was so scared,” Flavia managed to say at last.
Rosa smiled and brushed Flavia’s tears away with her fingers. “I know. But we’re not competitors. Don’t ever think that.”
“I’ve never been in love before,” Flavia said so low that Rufio could not hear. “Sometimes it frightens me.”
“Then I’ll show you how to tame this rogue,” Rosa said with a mischievous smile. “I did it long ago.”
Flavia laughed through her tears.
“And that’s something a wife should know how to do.”
Flavia gave her a puzzled look. Surely she knew that soldiers were not permitted to marry?
“Oh, don’t concern yourself with that,” Rosa said in an uncanny reading of her thoughts. “Forget Augustus’s nonsense. In Rufio’s letters to me, he has always called you his wife.”
Flavia’s lips parted and she looked over at Rufio, but failed to produce any words.
Rosa smiled and tenderly brushed one of Flavia’s cheeks with her thumb, as Rufio himself was in the habit of doing. “The gods alone choose what unions to bless. And Victoria has always loved her Rufio.”
“Optio Marcellus, stand straight and report!”
The thirteen-year-old boy smiled at his uncle. “All is well on the Aventinus, centurion.”
Rufio laughed and hooked an arm around the boy.
Two female servants were laying out a feast on the travertine table in the garden, and Demetrius was lighting lanterns against the dusk.
Rosa supervised everything with the hawk-like eye of the Roman matron.
“Have you met Flavia?” Rufio asked his nephew.
Marcellus turned around.
Flavia was coming out from the house into the failing light of the garden. She had washed her face and combed her hair and the sight of her almost killed the boy at the door of manhood.
Rufio’s eyes smiled. Flavia’s barbarously clad figure probably presented Marcellus’s imagination with more forbidden beauty than he had ever seen in his life. Rufio could actually hear him swallow as she approached.
“Marcellus, this is my wife, Flavia.”
Marcellus nodded and managed to mumble something.
“Dinner,” Rosa said and the reunited family indulged in the most joyous of Italian rituals, the communal consumption of food.
The travelers were ravenous, but Marcellus seemed to have misplaced his appetite, though not his ability to sneak glances at the woman with pink skin set off by hair as black as a raven’s wing.
Rosa and Rufio smiled at each other when they caught Marcellus staring.
After all were sated, Rufio and Rosa left the table and walked arm-in-arm across the garden. They drifted to the edge of the lantern light, and Rosa rested against her brother.
“I’ve missed you so,” she said.
Rufio kissed the top of her head.
“You’re not going to retire now, are you?” she asked.
“No.”
“I’m glad. Civilian life is not the life for you. I was worried when you told me you were leaving the army.”
“After what happened in Spain, I almost did.”
“Augustus needs you out there at the edge. What changed your mind?”
“Neko.”
Rosa smiled. “Is he well? I like him so much.”
“Very well. He stabilizes my life.”
“And Flavia?”
“She inflames it.”
“You rogue! How many hearts have you broken across the Empire?”
“Not one. You know that.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I was just teasing.”
“I’ve always had an impossible standard for women. They had to be at least half as grand as you.”
“I’m so happy you found Flavia. Your wild woman is far more formidable than I could hope to be.”
“Every woman has her own unique grandeur.” Without warning, he grabbed her and squeezed her tightly. “By the gods, Puppy, I’m so lucky. Just knowing you were here held me together in Spain.”
“I’m always with you, no matter how far away you are.”
> He pressed his lips into her hair. After a few moments, he released her and said, “You’ve done wonderfully with Marcellus.”
“He’s a fine boy.”
“Is Demetrius an adequate tutor?”
“He’s excellent. They get along well together. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But . . . ?”
“Marcellus is lonely. He wishes you were closer.”
“So do I.”
“He has friends—good ones. But he’s smarter than they are and more sensitive.” She smiled. “As his uncle was at that age. He wants so much to be the head of the household, but he can barely walk across the room without bumping into things.”
“That’ll soon pass.”
“The girls are already eyeing him.”
“He has his mother’s looks.”
“But girls just dazzle him. He told me once how much he wished Julia had lived.”
“Julia? Why did he say that?”
“He wishes she were here to guide him. To explain all those mysterious female ways. A boy his age certainly cannot speak with his mother.”
Rufio looked across the garden. Flavia and Marcellus were deep in conversation. His stare of adolescent hunger had vanished. Replacing it was a look of awe rare in a male of thirteen, or of twenty-five, or of fifty.
They were too far away for Rufio to make out Flavia's words, but her tone was clear. It was gentle but serious, as if she were speaking not to a child but to an adult who could understand adult realities.
“She certainly has the way about her,” Rosa said.
“Oh, yes,” Rufio said with a smile. “She has the way.”
“Do you understand now?” Flavia asked. “Staring flatters a woman, but it also troubles her.”
“I understand,” Marcellus said, averting his eyes.
“Admire her, but do it gently. Your gaze should be like a ray of sun across a beautiful lake. Not burning through her but glancing off her and making her even more beautiful by the light from your eyes.”
Marcellus violated her rule at once and stared at her in worship. Finally, he said, “I wish you could stay longer.”
“I wish that, too.”
“I don’t have anyone to tell me about these things. My father died when I was a baby and my mother . . .”
“Is your mother.”
He nodded.
Flavia placed her right hand on his left one. “I know.” She could feel him tremble.
He looked around and saw his mother and Rufio going into the house.
“May I tell you a secret?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I miss my sister very much.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“She died when she was a baby. Five years before I was born.”
“Before? Then how can you miss her?”
“I think about her. When I’m confused. I wish I had her here to teach me.”
“What about your friends?”
He laughed. “They’re as confused as I am.”
“Then why don’t you ask me?”
He pulled his hand out from under hers. He looked terrified.
“Are you afraid of me?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
Even in the dim light his blush was obvious.
“Why, Marcellus?”
“My friends and I . . . we talk about you.”
“About me?”
“Yes. About Flavia of the Sequani.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We read about you in Diocles’ book. We’ve tried to imagine what you were like.”
Flavia could see his guilt torturing him. Clearly “what you were like” meant more than fantasizing about the color of her hair.
“Stay here!” she said and grabbed his wrist and pulled him back as he tried to leave.
Embarrassment filled his eyes, but Flavia struggled to keep from smiling. Some imaginings those must have been!
“My friends are tired of hearing me boast about how great my uncle is. I know they envy me. They’d rather talk. . .”
“About girls?”
“You. They said that no woman could ever do the things Diocles said Flavia had done. Or be as beautiful as he said you were.”
“Obviously I am not.”
“Oh, yes you are,” he said without shame.
“When Rufio and I return from Judaea, we’re going to stay with you for a while.” She smiled at him with the mischievous eyes of a forest sprite. “You can introduce me to your friends. We’ll let them decide what’s true.”
“I will!” he said.
“Until then I want you to think about something.” Her tone was serious now. “I could never be your sister, but I can be your friend. Write to me in Gaul. Send your letters to the Twenty-fifth Legion. I’ll get them. We can discuss the dark forests where women keep their secrets. And no one else on earth need know.”
Marcellus seemed incapable of speech.
“Two things more. Continue to boast about your uncle to your friends. If they object, do it twice as much. They’ll respect you more if you defy them than if you give in.”
“I promise I will.”
Flavia extinguished the lamp on the table next to them. Now they were graced only by moonlight.
“What’s the second thing?” Marcellus asked.
Flavia gazed at him with the womanly compassion all adolescent boys deserve. Like a Gallic goddess, she knew she could exalt him or shatter him in an instant. With eyelids half-lowered and concealing her mystery, she leaned forward and pressed her lips sensuously to his cheek. She lingered there for an endless delicious moment and then whispered, “Tell your envious friends that you have shared a kiss with Flavia of the Sequani.”
She stood up and stared down at him.
Intoxicated, he seemed barely able to breathe.
Flavia smiled and laid her right hand on his head in a special blessing. Then she turned and strode off into the darkness.
14
WE WILL NEVER CONQUER DANGER WITHOUT DANGER.
PUBLILIUS SYRUS
“I’ve never liked traveling by sea,” Rufio said, staring at the vast blue expanse. “But I like being near it. Looking at it, smelling it. Listening to the shore birds.”
Crus smiled but said nothing as they stood together at the dock.
“On the way down from the city, Flavia told me how much she enjoyed Rome. But I know where her heart is. It’s here, in Ostia. She’s captivated by it. Who wouldn’t be?”
“You could retire here someday. It has the sea, as well as those exotic flavors you’ve developed a taste for.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“You should.”
Rufio’s eyes bored into those of the tribune. “You wouldn’t have another motive, would you?”
“What could that be?”
“Well, by then you’ll be a politician in the city. Perhaps you’ll want a battle-scarred old soldier on hand to steady your judgment. To tame the wilder flights of folly favored by young politicians.”
“Never entered my mind.”
“Now how are you going to be an office seeker when you still haven’t learned how to lie?”
Crus burst out laughing. “I can never deceive you, even when I really try.”
“Only beautiful women have done that. And very few of those.”
“Yes, I’d like you near. I want Lucia to know you. And my children and grandchildren.”
Rufio gazed out across the water. “There are many wars to fight before that.” The humor in his eyes had vanished like an ocean mist.
“I know.”
“Barbarians clawing at the edge. I won’t sheath my sword until the last of them sinks into the blackest waters of Acheron.”
Crus turned and stared out to the horizon. “I told Lucia I might not return.”
“That was very brave.”
“Not as brave as she. Tears filled her eyes, but she wouldn’t weep. She�
��s a true Roman. Not a decadent Neapolitan like I.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“Do you know why I didn’t ask you to?” He turned back to Rufio. “Because I knew you’d look into her eyes and promise to bring me back safely. No man—not even you—should have to make that pledge.”
Rufio remained silent.
“I want us to go back to her together when this is done. We’ll shake the dust of Judaea off our feet and I’ll place her hand in yours and she can thank you.”
“How do you know I’ll survive?”
“You?” Crus said with a laugh. “You always survive.”
“The Fates can be malignant.”
“Yes, but you needn’t worry. Victoria guards you with a lover’s passion. She’d storm the halls of Jupiter himself if he dared even to consider letting you fall. She’ll never leave your side.”
Rufio’s left thumb idly caressed the cornelian stone of his signet ring.
“That’s why I plan to stand beside you in battle. Not because you’re so tough, but because I know that in her eagerness to protect you, Victoria will also shield the finest cohort in the Roman army.”
Rufio laughed.
“And,” Crus went on, “to answer the question you’re too kind to ask—no, I’m not afraid.” He placed his right hand on Rufio’s left shoulder. “How could I be, with men such as these under my command?”
Rufio turned toward the clatter of wagons coming down toward the dock. The earliest arrivals were approaching.
“Your men are always the first risers,” Crus said.
“People waste too much of their lives in bed. I’ve trained my century not to.”
“I saw Salario at dawn. He wants to leave on the evening tide.”
“We’ll be ready.”
By late afternoon, most of the equipment and supplies had been ferried to the big corbita anchored far off. Salario prowled the dock and shouted orders with the authority of a battlefield commander. A wide-brimmed straw hat shaded the taut ox hide of his face, but no one needed to see his eyes. His sharp voice startled even the gulls, birds accustomed to commotion.
Rufio sat on a coil of rope and watched Metellus rattle toward him in a heavily laden wagon. The signifer sported the bemused look that had so often infuriated Diocles, but that Rufio found as reassuring as Valerius’s unselfconscious valor.
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