“Aphrodite?” Valerie shook her head, confused by what Hekate had said and confused even more by the woman’s very presence. None of it made any sense at all.
What if this old woman actually was one of the ancient ones Fiorelli had spoken of during his tales the night before? She pushed down the panic creeping up from her stomach.
For heaven’s sake, it was only a ghost story.
Hekate started to shuffle past when Valerie touched the old woman’s arm and was shocked at the feathery light, almost ethereal, texture of her skin. “Wait. Can you tell me more?”
She waved a gnarled hand behind her and kept walking as Valerie let her hand drop. “You know soon enough,” she repeated. “Soon enough.” Her voice trailed off into a cackle as she disappeared in a sudden gust of windy dust.
Chapter 14
What’s wrong with me?
Valerie had pondered for a moment that the old gypsy was actually from another time. One of the ancient ones, indeed. Her imagination was definitely running away from her. It must have been the recent upheaval from the journey and her experience with Thomas.
Sitting on a flat rock, Valerie pulled a small leather-bound notebook out of her skirt pocket and began to sketch the tomb in front of her. Rolling a gum eraser into a small ball, she dabbed at the charcoal until the image of the column had just the right amount of shading to look like the light was reflecting off the marble. Valerie smiled as she put the finishing touches on the drawing.
As she blew on the page to scatter the excess charcoal dust, a deep rumble shook the ground where she sat. Valerie stuffed the book back into her pocket, gripped her cane, and stood as the earth shivered around her. The ground began to shift and roll, like waves in the sea. Thick clouds of dust swirled around her, obstructing her sight.
The quake was much stronger than the one from the night before. Frantic, she whipped her head around searching for a safe place to wait it out. Spying a small grotto next to one of the tombs she walked as fast as she could and climbed inside, praying it would provide a refuge from the quake.
Another vibration erupted from the very bowels of the earth pushing up toward the surface. The grotto shook violently, and remnants of volcanic ash lodged in cracks and crevices scattered over her, choking her. Covering her head with her hands, the ground continued to move and shift, listing and rolling like the ocean she had just crossed. A column a few feet away toppled to the ground with a loud thud.
“Stop!” she screamed as the ash continued to fall, covering everything in a layer of gray dust. Then she heard it. A heavy cracking sound. Looking up she saw the roof beginning to splinter.
Oh, my God. I’ve got to get out of here.
Valerie got up just as a heavy stone came tumbling down from the roof. She ducked and it missed her, bouncing off the side of a nearby tomb. But another stone immediately followed and this time it bounced against the wall of the grotto and before she could duck, hit her hard on the head. She screamed and fell to the ground, plunging into darkness and then nothing more…
Christos Campanius Marcellus lay abed, scanning the new frescos that covered the walls of his room. The muted colorations and touches of gold were pleasing to him as his gaze moved from one erotic scene to the next. The deep red background was truly a passionate color. A brilliant idea the artist had, painting the progression of the seduction of a young virgin by Zeus.
And what better place to paint it than my bedchamber?
He chuckled, turning onto his stomach. It was getting late in the morning and he should be seeing about his business affairs, but the warmth of the woman next to him was too soft, too alluring to leave behind just yet. Her naked flesh curved around him and he felt his need grow again.
He nuzzled her neck and she giggled “Christos, it is time I left. You know as well as I that the slaves will talk at the market.”
“Damn the slaves,” he murmured. “Eros has led me down this path, and I will see it fulfilled, Gravia.”
The woman arched against him, wrapping her legs about his buttocks as he moved within her. “Oh, Christos,” she sighed, “when will you make an honest woman of me?”
“You know as well as I that there’s no room for honesty in our relationship,” he growled against her lips. Would he ever grow tired of her soft and yielding form? He could lose himself too easily in her welcoming embrace, but he knew that was exactly what Gravia had hoped to accomplish.
He moaned with one final thrust. She panted, calling out his name over and over again. “Christos, my love…”
With a shudder, he tucked her into his embrace, settling a soft kiss on her rosy lips. Spent from their lovemaking, he rolled over and stretched.
Gravia patted him on the arm, then rose and pulled her creamy white stola over her head. The fine wool garment fell into soft folds over her well-rounded figure. She cinched the waist with a belt made of heavy links of gold, a gift fashioned by Christos’s own hand. “Will I see you tonight?” she asked as she finger combed her dark-blonde hair.
Christos propped himself up against the soft feather pillows. “No, I don’t think so.”
“And why not?” she pouted. “I will miss not having you by my side in the morning.”
“I’ve warned you before, Gravia. Don’t get used to having me around.” He ran his free hand through the thick tousle of black curls covering his head, his full lips set in a firm line.
Gravia opened her mouth to protest but was cut short by a loud cry from the street. She hurried to the open window and looked below. “Christos, come see,” she called.
“What is it?” he asked, rising wearily. “Another goat loose in the forum?”
“No, I do not think so. Ah, I see the cause.” She pointed to the center of the crowd. “There. It is a woman.” She leaned over, straining to get a closer look. “What are those ridiculous clothes she is wearing? The top is so tight and the skirt so full. Look how the material drags on the ground behind her. How can she move about? I have never seen one dressed so.”
Christos nudged Gravia out of the way. He scanned the crowd until he saw the object of their attention. Just then, the woman in the street looked up and their gazes locked.
Those deep green orbs seared straight through to the depths of his soul.
By the gods, it is she.
The woman from his dreams, the ghostly beauty come to life.
He could place no name to the apparition-turned flesh-and-blood woman. Her skin was the color of apricots, and her chestnut locks glinted with burnished gold strands in the sun.
“I am yours,” she had said. Looking up at him now, her emerald eyes were wide with panic.
“Go home, Gravia,” he whispered, his voice strained.
“What?”
“I said ‘Go home’,” he spoke louder this time.
“I will go. But do not expect me to be waiting for you this evening. I believe I will go to Felix’s dinner party. You may be interested in knowing he sent me an exclusive invitation…”
He shrugged, and the subsequent door slam barely registered as he continued to watch the young woman in the street below.
Christos’s concentration was broken when the crowd grabbed the woman by the shoulders and pushed her on. She stumbled, then got back up. They shouted, “Witch! Witch!”
A witch, eh? Had she enchanted his dreams? Cast a spell in the night while he slept? Is that why he had seen her in spirit before seeing her in the flesh? Christos yelled down to one of the bystanders. “Where are they taking her?”
“To the jail, I think,” the man answered.
“Jail?”
“Yes. At least, that’s what I heard someone say.”
Christos grabbed a short white tunic and tossed it on. He should wear his toga out on the streets, but there was no time to wait for the servants to position the folds just so.
He had t
o get to her.
Quickly lacing on a pair of brown leather sandals, he rushed down the stairs, through the central atrium of the house, and out the front door. Once on the street, he knocked down a small child in his haste. He stopped and helped the girl to her feet, taking a moment to wipe away her tears. Then he continued on, following the crowd to the jail.
The last thing Valerie could remember was the violent earthquake. She remembered it shaking the grotto where she had sought refuge. She remembered the ceiling cracking and the rocks falling from above. She recalled being hit on the head. But that’s all she could remember…
How did I get here?
When she woke up the ceiling was still intact, and when she climbed down from the grotto, the street around it was neat and tidy, not overgrown with vegetation as it had been when she’d started out that morning. Even odder, the tombs all had fresh flowers.
As she left the tomb, she became even more confused. And more than a little frightened. There were a few people standing nearby, dressed in flowing robes and togas of cream-colored linen and cotton. They immediately stopped talking when she emerged and looked at her strangely, making that odd forked symbol with their fingers Signore Fiorelli had shown Reggie and her last night.
When Valerie tried to speak to them, they hurried away. One of them began to shout in Latin. She’d thought that odd as well. Could they have been actors researching an upcoming play?
She began to walk along the street, hoping to catch up with them, wanting to ask for help. When she turned along a bend in the road, she stopped dead in her tracks. She gasped, her eyes wide, her mouth open.
Pompeii!
The city in all its glory lay before her. Gone were the crumbling ruins with chipped and faded colors. Every building stood erect, the stucco finish pristine, the paint, bright and colorful. Even the iron gate was free of rust and looked to have a fresh coat of black lacquer over the metal. More surprising yet, a group of children clustered around a fountain situated in the fork in the road. They giggled as they splashed in the cool, flowing water.
Am I dreaming?
She placed a hand to her head, wondering if the blow from the falling rock had somehow altered her perception. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. Well, she couldn’t stand here all day. She had to find Papa. He’d know what to do. She returned to the grotto, retrieved her cane, and retraced her steps through the city gates.
“Venefica! Witch!” a woman shouted. “Look at the strange clothing she wears!”
“We saw her climb out of the tomb,” another woman yelled out. Valerie recognized both women from the grotto. She had asked them for help, but they had run off. A curious crowd had begun to gather around Valerie, keeping their distance as they did so.
“She was trying to raise the dead!” a man declared. Somewhere in the midst of the mob, a small child began to cry.
“No!” Valerie screamed as a man grabbed her. “I’m not a witch! Stop! Please!” she pleaded with him. He kicked her legs out from under her. She fell hard to the ground, her breath whooshing out.
“Did not the senate of Rome counsel we should turn from the menace of witches and sorcerers? Did they not say we should protect the State from their evil influences and magical spells?” He jabbed at Valerie with his toe before turning to face the crowd. “I say we put her in jail.”
Valerie rolled to her knees and, planting her cane firmly on the ground, pulled herself up. She didn’t understand what was happening or why these people were accusing her of witchcraft, but there was absolutely no way she was going to jail.
Her eyes scanned around, hoping to find a way through the crowd. She had to get away and hide for a while, until she could figure out what had really happened to her.
The man turned to face her again. With a sneer, he took a step closer. Valerie held her cane out in front of her and swung it in a wide arc. It came down hard on the man’s shoulder and he stumbled backward.
“Obsecro. Please. Let me go!”
His eyes narrowed and he rushed toward her again, this time ripping the cane from her grasp. He slammed it down over his thigh, breaking it in half.
“Now let’s see you do your magic without this.” He flung the broken pieces to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Valerie screamed. She fell to her knees and retrieved the fragments. Struggling to her feet, she covered her ears at the cruel insults and accusations. Recalling the disturbing images from her dream the night before, she began to tremble.
My nightmare has come true!
Another man came at her, brandishing a pair of shackles. Balancing on her good leg, Valerie kicked at him with her other foot. With little effort, he knocked her to the stone-paved street. She cried out as a sharp rock ripped through her blouse and gouged her skin. Two women held her head down while the men clamped the chains into place around her ankles.
“Why are you doing this?” Valerie cried.
The men yanked Valerie to her feet and dragged her along. Without a cane, she stumbled, and almost fell. Someone laughed and threw a rotten pomegranate at her back, striking her squarely between the shoulders. Valerie spun around, scanning the crowd following her. Everyone jeering, shouting obscenities at her. There was no assistance to be found among them.
Her eyes landed on the statue of Dionysus she’d seen only yesterday, but the building next to it was completely intact.
Realization dawned on her. Unbelievable. Inconceivable. Her head swam as the crowd closed in around her…
My God, how did I come to be in ancient Pompeii?
The people circled Valerie as if she were a wild animal. She stumbled again, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Two men grabbed her by the arms just before she hit the ground, forcing her to move along or be trampled. Frantically, she looked about. Was there no one who could help?
And then she saw him.
The man in the window.
Do I know him?
He seemed disturbingly familiar to her in this strange place. Perhaps it was only because his features resembled the patrician busts she’d seen at the museum in London. Straight nose, full lips, heavy-lidded eyes. She’d studied and sketched them for hours on end, every time she’d visited the museum.
But there was something else. The way he watched her. The expression in his deep, ebony eyes. Compassion? Recognition? Would he be the one to stop this madness? She gazed back at him, hoping to convey her need to him.
Just as she was about to call out to him, the crowd pushed her along, breaking the mesmerizing connection. She closed her eyes, praying he would find her.
Help me! Help me, please!
Chapter 15
Valerie fought back the panic threatening to undo her. The crowd was growing in size, shoving and pressing in upon her, people joining in the march along the streets of Pompeii.
Shouts of ‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’ echoed around Valerie as the men dragged her along by the shackles.
Above the din, snatches of conversation floated to her from onlookers following the procession.
“She defied the law!” a man declared.
“What law?” a woman asked.
“The senate passed the decree,” he went on. “Anyone who partakes in evil rituals will either be driven away or sold into slavery…”
Two small boys ran up behind Valerie and hit her with a long stick. The thin reed snapped against her skin like a stinging whip. Valerie cried out in pain, struggling to break free, searching her memory for references to witches and sorcerers from that era, desperate to recall any bit of information she could use to release her from this hell.
She tripped over the length of her skirt and the men jerked her back to her feet. Her gaze scanned the horde, anxious for a glimpse of her family or someone she might know. Valerie flung her head back, tossing her long hair away from her face. She tried to lift her hands to
wipe the sweat and tears from her eyes so she might see more clearly, but they pulled down on the shackles.
Finally, the procession came to a halt and Valerie realized they had reached the jail. The two men released their hold on her. She took several deep breaths and wiped her sleeve over her face.
Directly in front of her was the squat building that served as a jail. The thick stone walls were covered in all manner of graffiti. It reminded her of the bordello she’d seen when Fiorelli had taken her and Reggie on the tour.
Scanning the various messages, she realized they weren’t scandalous but motivated by justice and politics. Free Honoria, Tiberius is innocent, and I’m voting for Salerno. If she had read them in her time, she would have had a hundred questions for Fiorelli, but her fear was uppermost in her mind.
One of the men shouted at her to get moving and gave her a shove to make his point. Her exhaustion made her stumble and she tripped over the threshold, falling flat on her face inside the jail.
“What have you brought me now, Lucius?” the jailer asked as he rose lazily from his couch. “Runaway slave?”
“A witch, Maurus,” Lucius whispered.
Maurus rolled his eyes and sighed. “Not another one. I wish the damned senate had left well enough alone. We’ve always had soothsayers and we always will, law or no law.”
He poked his head out the door where the surly crowd had begun to chant ‘witch, witch, witch’ once more.
“These fools need another gladiator competition in the coliseum to whet their appetites.” He shook his head. “Go home, all of you. Don’t you have anything better to do with your day?” he called to the gathering.
“Banish her!” a man shouted.
“Kill her!” another man yelled.
Maurus pushed Valerie behind him and planted his meaty hands on his hips. “You superstitious old fools. What makes you think she’s a witch?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Why, she looks like a waif. Probably an escaped slave from Oplontis. I’ll see to it she’s dealt with properly. Now, go home before I arrest the lot of you.” Maurus grunted with satisfaction as the mob began to disperse, their shouts reduced to a few murmurs and grumbles.
ThroughTheMistsOfTime_TBarnett-eBook Page 8
