Jars of Clay (5 page)

“If you are saying I don’t like boys, well, that’s just not true. I know well enough that my time as a single woman will pass fast enough. I’m choosing to enjoy my freedom while I can.”

Tatiana burst out laughing. “Is that how you view marriage? Bondage? I for one can’t wait to get out of my father’s house. He doesn’t let me do anything. His answers to my requests are always no. This is bondage.”

“Even so, you don’t get to pick your husband. It could be worse.”

“I suppose,” Tatiana said. “But it could be better.”

She waved her hand and Nesta ran to clear the table.

“Another turn in the garden, Helena?”

Chapter Twelve

HELENA’S JOURNAL

My brother Marcellus is ill unto death. The sore on his face has grown large like an open lemon; with small fusions of white lumps dripping blood. He suffers terribly.

The whole house is in an uproar; my poor mother is like a worn cloth rung out in the river, her tears never drying, her anguish raised above the house like a flag.

Daily we make sacrifices to the gods that guard over our house, and all the servants and slaves are gathered to pray and weep with us. Every afternoon we make the mournful journey to the temples of Carna, the protector of people’s health, and to the temples of Jupiter, the mightiest god of all. Father pleads and rips his beard.

We take the carriages, four in all, to carry as many of the household of Vibius as possible. We are like a parade of sadness. All of Carthage is watching.

My mind is a flurry of thoughts, and I muster the courage to hold on to the happy ones, fearing the days of delight and celebration will die with Marcellus.

Just last summer, our family rode into Carthage center to see the general of the African Province, Septimius Severus, who marched through the city with his legions. I will never forget the excitement and thrill that coursed through my body, for the general was a sight to behold, surely a god in the flesh.

The way he sat so straight and proud in the saddle of his steed-the sunlight glistening off the overlapping plates of polished iron and bronze, made more than one lady gasp and faint. He had a wide, swarthy face, a strong determined jaw and sharp, intelligent eyes. When he spoke, first in Latin and then in his native Punic, it was with authority and passion, and secured the hearts of the people.

Even then Marcellus tired quickly. Father carried him on his back. I remembered how Father teased Marcellus that soon he would be too big to be lugged around like a sack of grain.

These days, Mother’s own consuming needs keep poor Annia at her beck and call, day and night, which brings me to the shadow in the corner, the slave girl called Felicity. The friend of Lucius.

Funny that he and I never spoken of her, in all the times we met together. She was two years my senior, and from the scraps of conversation I picked up over the past days, she was to be a gift to me on my next birthday. Instead, my father presented her to me yesterday without celebration.

She is as awkward as I in our new relationship. Gordian says I’m too independent for my own good, and it’s time I learn how to handle the slaves and give over the mundane duties I’ve taken on myself (due to my mother’s lapses, he all but said).

So she, I am not yet accustomed to saying her name out loud, waits patiently for my instructions, and I fret over what chore I should ask of her next.

Out of the corner of my eye I study her. If she should see me watching her forthright, she would step forward for my word, and I have none at the moment. She is taller than I, but darker in hair and eyes. Though not pretty, I imagine she could be with the right clothes and makeup, if she were not a slave.

I wonder how the gods divvy out the classes, why I would be chosen to be born to a wealthy respected family, and she to a slave couple purchased by my father.

Tatiana says she thinks me odd. She has no problem bossing her slave girl around and takes great delight in flaunting her authority over the girl in front of her friends. I pity the slave. My compassion makes me wonder if I am truly Roman.

This afternoon, I had an idea.

“Brush my hair,” I said.

She moved quickly, yet with grace, to the table where my brush lay, and came to me. I let her brush my hair, trying to enjoy the pleasure it brought to my scalp and pushing aside the awkwardness that accompanied her close proximity.

“That will do,” I said

With an expert hand, she twisted my hair into a fashionable knot, and clipped it with an ivory pin. She moved back into the shadows to wait for my next order.

She will follow me everywhere, like a dog. This was my father’s instruction. I suppose I will get used to it, but at present I find it rather annoying. My greatest difficulty now is in how to see Lucius again. I am not yet sure I can trust this slave girl. I have missed my appointments with Lucius for the past two weeks, though I catch a glimpse of him during the times of family prayer. He must know the reason I am not keeping our appointments. I hope he does. I must find a way to return to him.

Moments ago, without his usual protocol, Cassius burst through my door. He startled me, and I dropped my pen, marking the papyrus with a large blot of ink.

He was winded, and his features were twisted in a disturbing manner. I knew what his announcement would be.

Marcellus is dead.

Chapter Thirteen

HELENA

Marcellus’s tiny form lay on the floor of the atrium, feet towards the door, as crowds of people streamed into the Vibius’s villa to view his body. Professional mourners wailed in the midst of the people, their faces hidden behind wax masks of Vibius ancestors.

Musicians played in the corner, a priest chanted loudly, and Virina Vibius wept, crumpled on the tiles by Marcellus’s head.

It was a hot summer’s evening, and even with the incense burning it was impossible to escape the stench of human sweat.

Helena covered her mouth to keep from gagging. A sob caught in her throat, but she didn’t cry. She’d shed all her tears in the privacy of her chambers.

Finally it was time to carry her little brother’s body to the burial tombs outside the city gates. The funeral procession would provide fresh air without which she was liable to faint.

Vibius servants and slaves followed alongside waving large palms to create a breeze for the mourners. Lucius was there, along with his family. She’d made note of his position, then chastised herself for allowing a single thought to enter her mind that didn’t include Marcellus.

Felicity stayed closed to her side, and for once Helena was thankful. Annia propped Virina up as they walked, and Brutus and her brothers were in the front with the men. Without Felicity, Helena would be mourning alone.

The priest lit the funeral pyre and smoke billowed into the skies. Helena gasped as the body of her brother was set on top of the flames. The priest spoke a eulogy, but Helena couldn’t make out the words. Her heart beat loudly, pulsing in her ears. The world around her felt distant and muffled like she’d fallen into a rain barrel. She leaned heavily against Felicity.

“Are you okay?” Felicity said.

Helena blinked rapidly, forcing herself to awaken from her faint.

“I think so.”

The flame was extinguished and allowed to cool, then with shaking hands her mother scooped up the ashes of her youngest son, and poured them into the urn.

The urn was placed into the family tomb along with gifts for Marcellus to take with him into the afterlife–a blanket, a lantern, biscuits and water—things that a young boy might need to find his way in the underworld.

Helena brought a quill and ink so he might write to her somehow.

When it was over, Helena fell into her bed, certain she would sleep for a week with the exhaustion she felt.

So long as she could keep the nightmares at bay.

Chapter Fourteen

HELENA

Helena watched Felicity through her window, ensuring that the girl returned to the slave compound as instructed. The clouds on the horizon were an angry purple, and Helena saw a flash of lighting startle the slave. The air was musky with humidity, like the heaviness that settled on her over the long week since Marcellus’s death.

Perhaps she should not go today. The gods seemed displeased.

Yet, she couldn’t stop herself. Her need to see Lucius, to be comforted by his presence, was as strong as her need to breathe.

She stepped softly from her bedchamber and past her mother’s door, taking a moment to peer inside to confirm that her mother lay on her bed. She continued quietly down the steps to her father’s office, checking that he had left to inspect the pruning of his vineyards. Sneaking about inside, she grabbed the objects she desired.

Gordian had yet to return to the army since Marcellus died, but it appeared he had gone with their father. She made one final scan of the
peristyle
and
atrium
in search of Cassius. He left most mornings to study at the senate or to work for their father, but Helena was unsure of his whereabouts now. He’d seemed quiet lately, thoughtful, and she wondered if Cassius had his own secret.

Once certain she had escaped the compound unnoticed, she furtively circled the gardens, a small blanket hidden under her toga. She carried study materials in her arms, and if she were questioned, her guise was that she was looking for an undisturbed place to write in her journal. She didn’t understand the nervousness that flitted in her chest on this day, and she believed the extra caution she’d taken was prudent.

At least the storm had moved farther north.

When she arrived at the alcove, she took a moment to regain her composure. Lucius was there when she entered. He was always there first, waiting for her.

“Hello, Lucius.”

“Hello.” He took the blanket from her outstretched hand and flattened it out on the ground. “Thank you for coming again.”

He said it so formally, as if he, too, had been shaken by their accidental touch. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she found she could barely look at him without quivering.

“It is my pleasure,” she said in a controlled voice.

“Your brother Marcellus– ” he began.

“Please don’t,” Helena said more bravely than she felt. “It was the will of the gods to take him. We must not speak of it.”

“As you wish.”

“I’ve brought scrolls from my father’s study. Here is the detailed map charting the way to the city of Rome, as you requested.”

“Wonderful,” he said, but the way he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, made her knees quake. She dropped to her place on the blanket.

“Lucius,” she began tentatively, “is there a special reason you care about Rome?”

His eyes darkened. “I anticipate a day when I will leave here. When I will leave Carthage.”

“Why?” she said too quickly, but by his look she knew. He would leave once she was betrothed. Oh to the gods that that day would not come quickly.

Lucius feigned a smile and sat beside her. “I would like to travel and see the world.”

Helena remained silent.

“I am not a slave. I am free, and with my freedom I can aspire to more than service to a wealthy master. No offense to you, my lady.”

Helena frowned. His words sounded formal and rehearsed. He’d been planning this for awhile.

“You have no comment?” he prodded.

“I understand.”

“Do you, Helena?”

She shouldn’t have come today. She should’ve known by the dark sky. It was an omen, a warning.

“Is this something you intend to do soon?” She picked at the grass beside her. “Does my father know?”

Lucius leaned back. “Perhaps I have spoken out of turn. My own father does not know that I entertain such ideals. I only meant to share them with you, as my friend. If and when the day of my departure draws near, I will be the first to inform the master.”

“Fair enough.”

She handed him the map and waited as he unfolded the scroll. He examined the image closely, running his finger along the shipping lanes and then over the roads to Rome. His expression was so earnest, his eyebrows pinched together and his lips pursed in thought. She loved his face, and swallowed hard as she imagined the day when she could no longer gaze at him. His hair fell across his forehead and she fought the urge to reach out and draw it back.

“As you can see, you need to take a ship from Carthage across the sea to one of the ports along the coast of Italia,” she said, hating how the thought of losing him made her voice catch. “See how it is shaped like a boot? Then it is many hours by carriage or horseback to the capital city of Rome.”

“Indeed.”

“It would be a dreadfully long and unpleasant trip. One I would never aspire to myself.”

“It is certain to be a long trip, but an adventure, no?” His eyes widened, hopeful. “Is adventure not something you’ve dreamed of?”

“Adventures are not permissible to me, I’m afraid. And how dare I complain? I have a privileged life. I’ve never begged for bread.”

“My apologies. You are right. You are a refined young woman, and deserving of the best comforts and greatest security. I forget myself.”

Helena’s emotions warred against each other. She wanted Lucius to have a better life, one that offered him adventure, and a family of his own one day. It was something she could never give to him. And yet she raged against a strong desire for him to always be here with her. She was ashamed of her own selfishness.

“Maybe I should go,” Helena said. “I must get back before Felicity finds me out.”

“She knows,” he said, brushing her face with his hand as he moved wayward hair behind her ear.

This time his touch wasn’t accidental. It was purposeful and intimate, and she couldn’t hide the shiver that traced down her spine.

“What do you mean?”she asked.

She thought of how she repeatedly tried to deceive her slave, begging midday fatigue, and telling Felicity quite sharply that she did not want to be watched while she slept.