The Raven and the Rose (21 page)

“An incident?” Larthia said. She did not like the way Nestor was avoiding her eyes.

“He refused to obey a direct order I gave him,” Nestor replied uneasily.

“What was that?”

“I wished to enter your room because it had begun to rain again. I had left the windows open and I was sure the floor would be flooded.”

“I told you not to go in there for any reason,” Larthia said sharply, beginning to see where this was leading.

“Yes, but...” the servant began.

“No buts,” Larthia cut him off. “The bedroom floor is my concern, not yours. Now what happened with Verrix?”

“He tried to prevent me from going into your bedchamber, I have no idea why. I knew you were not in there and could not understand his behavior, except to say that he always seems to take great pleasure in thwarting my objectives. When he would not stand aside I ordered Cammius and Menander to lay hold of him and force him back to his room. He resisted violently and fought with the men, injuring Cammius and breaking the valuable Etruscan vase that stands in the hallway outside your room. He made so much noise that I was afraid Consular Casca was going to hear it at the other end of the house.”

He was creating a disturbance to warn Julia and Marcus, Larthia thought.

“And what happened then?” she asked fearfully, holding her breath.

“Nothing. I went into the bedroom and closed all of the windows.”

“Was anything wrong in there?”

“No, mistress, what could have been wrong? The bed was disturbed, but I straightened it.”

“I took a nap earlier. So where is Verrix?” Larthia asked, relieved.

“Well, naturally I had to punish him,” Nestor replied.

“Punish him?” Larthia said softly.

“Yes, of course. How can I possibly maintain discipline among the slaves if they see Verrix refusing to take direction? There must be consequences for such behavior.” Nestor paused. “In my opinion, he should be sold.”

“What ‘consequences’ did you arrange?” Larthia said impatiently, ignoring the advice.

“I had him flogged,” Nestor replied. “Ten strokes.”

Larthia stared at the old man, stunned, unable to find her voice.

He looked back at her unblinkingly.
 

“What?” she finally managed to whisper.

“It’s the usual punishment for...”

“It’s not the usual punishment in this house, and well you know it!” Larthia said in a deadly tone. “How dare you take such a step without consulting me?”

“You said not to disturb you...” Nestor replied, his voice beginning to quaver.

“Don’t try to use my words to defend yourself!” Larthia shouted, livid with rage. “You seized the opportunity when I was preoccupied to do something you’ve wanted to do since Verrix first arrived here! Where is he?”

“In his room,” Nestor answered in a subdued tone.

“Send Menander to fetch Paris immediately. I don’t care what that doctor is doing, tell him I’ll pay him whatever he requires to come here right now and tend to Verrix.”
 

“His wounds are not serious,” Nestor started to say. “He is just...”

“I will be the judge of that!” Larthia shouted, cutting him off. “And take yourself out of my sight. If I deal with you now I may regret my actions, I’m too angry to make any decisions. I’ll summon you later.”

Nestor bowed and withdrew without a word. As soon as he left Larthia ran down the corridor to the servants’ quarters, her skirts gathered into her hands. The slaves who had heard her voice raised in the tablinum scurried out of her way, anxious not to be the next victim of her wrath.

Larthia burst into the cell next to the kitchen, raising her hand to her mouth when she saw Verrix sprawled face down on the bed. His tunic had been ripped open to the waist to expose his broad back, which was now striped with ugly red welts, the skin flayed open and oozing blood. The tunic still hung down in shreds over his homespun trousers, which he insisted on wearing in spite of the fact that they marked him as an outsider, a non Roman, as much as his torque. His blond hair was dark with perspiration, the valley between his shoulder blades damp and glistening. His eyes were closed and his breathing labored.
 

Larthia went over to his bed and sat on its edge next to him, putting her hand gently on the back of his neck.

How often she had longed to touch him like this, longed to see him stripped to the waist, his beautiful torso bare, but it took this awful accident to make her wishes reality. He had suffered this painful punishment, and said nothing to stop it, because he wanted to keep close the secret she had entrusted to him.

Larthia felt her throat constrict with tears but forced them back. Crying now would not help Verrix; she had to be strong in this situation. She dug her fingers into the golden curls at the nape of his neck and then caressed his arms, the well developed biceps, the tanned skin covering them warm and dry. She tried not to look lower, but eventually had to see each individual stroke of the lash, the skin ripped at the edge of the welt indicating that the flogger had used the metal tipped
flagellum
, the leather whip, not the less abrasive rope favored for servants.
 

Nestor had not done this himself, she thought, he didn’t have the strength to cut so deep. He must have assigned one of the younger men the job.

“Oh, my poor darling,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault. I was so flustered at my grandfather’s sudden arrival that I didn’t think..” She broke off despairingly. “I told Nestor not to go in my room, but he just wanders the house at will, no matter what I say to him. He seems to think the place is his, he’s old and getting senile but I can’t put him out on the street, he was with my family before my father was born.” She stopped, realizing that her distress was making her ramble. “What does it matter now how it happened? It did, and I am so sorry.”

Verrix stirred and she withdrew her hand as if she had been burned. He rolled to one side, wincing as the edge of his back came into contact with the bedding, and looked up at her.

“Larthia,” he said hoarsely, reaching out with one hand as he propped himself up with the other.

“Yes,” she said soothingly. “Yes, it’s me. Just lie still, don’t try to get up. The doctor is on his way.”

“Don’t need...doctor.”

“Yes, you do.” She pushed him firmly back into position, face down on the bed, as he murmured, “Nestor...going...your room...had to...stop...”

“Shh, shh, no talking. Don’t waste your strength. I know all about it. He saw nothing, they must have gotten away safely. I will deal with Nestor in my own good time.”

His eyes drifted closed, but as she slipped her hand into his open one on the bed his fingers coiled around hers.

“I am so sorry,” Larthia whispered again, biting her lip to stem the tears that threatened once more. “This should never have happened. I shouldn’t have drawn you into my sister’s intrigue, just look at the price you’ve paid.”

His breathing slowed, became deep and even. He was either sleeping or unconscious; in either event the doctor would be with him soon.

Larthia crawled up onto the bed and put her head on his bare shoulder, taking care not to touch the abraded skin below it.

She would stay with him until the doctor came.

* * *

The Gracchus house was dark except for the torchlight blazing in the tablinum windows. Marcus hoped that the Senator and Septimus were sitting up talking (fighting), which meant he could slip Julia into his friend’s bedroom unnoticed. He carried her across the portico and then set her down, barefoot, on the flagstones outside Septimus’ window. When he tried the shutters he found that they were locked. Quietly, carefully, he removed his knife from the sheath at his waist and sliced through the latch, then removed the bar from the inside. He lifted Julia over the sill and then vaulted into the darkened room after her.
 

“Just wait right here,” he said softly. “I’ll go and get Septimus.”

“What if someone comes in here while you’re gone?” Julia whispered. She was pale, damp, terrified; he felt like a brute, hauling her around in the night like a sack of grain. He knew she was humiliated; they had fled the Sejanus house like a pair of thieves when they heard Verrix making a commotion in the hall, and now they were entering the Gracchus house in the same surreptitious manner, through a window.

“Get into the bed. Any servant who comes in will think you’re Septimus’...companion. He often brings women home, his parents prefer that to his risking his life in the Suburra.”

He could see from the expression on her face that the whole episode was distasteful; their romantic interlude had deteriorated into a farce by Plautus. But he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He had to find Septimus and get Julia back to the Atrium before Livia Versalia began to wonder where her charge was.

He kissed her forehead. She was shivering uncontrollably, even while wearing his heavy cloak. He put his arms around her and held her tightly until her tremors subsided.
 

“Better?” he said.

She nodded.

“I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

He left her standing in the middle of the room, a dim outline of light clothing as he vaulted back over the sill and onto the portico. He raced through the garden and sprinted around to the front of the house, pausing to smooth his hair with his palms and straighten his clothes. Then he knocked on the door, hoping nobody would notice that he was missing his cloak.

A servant admitted him and went to summon Septimus. When the latter appeared it was immediately apparent to Marcus that he was drunk.

“Marcus! Did you decide to take us up on our offer anyway? Better late than absent is my motto. Come into the parlor and have a drink.”

Marcus waited until the servant had left and then grabbed his friend’s arm.

“Septimus, sober up. I need your help.”

Septimus tried to focus on him.

“What is it?”

“I had to get Julia out of her sister’s house in a hurry and I brought her here. She’s in your bedroom.”

That seemed to get through; Septimus blinked rapidly several times and said, “Here?” as his father walked into the atrium behind them.

“We came in through your window,” Marcus added in a low tone, then looked up and smiled warmly at Senator Gracchus. “Good evening again, sir.”

“Come to us for a nightcap, son? Why don’t you join me inside?”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t. There was just something I forgot to tell Septimus. I’ll be brief.”

The Senator nodded and left the hall. Septimus shot Marcus a look which indicated that he was fully sober now.

“Are you telling me she’s in my bedroom?” Septimus hissed, drawing Marcus to one side.

“Yes.”

Septimus closed his eyes. “If my father knew he would have apoplexy.”

“Would he recognize her?”

“Let’s not test his memory. Even when dead drunk he has an eye for a pretty girl. Come on.” The two men hurried down the side passage which led to Septimus’ bedroom as he said, “I can’t believe you brought her here, Marcus. Do you want to get us all arrested for
sacreligium
?”

“What else was I supposed to do? That old servant at the Sejanus house was about to barge into the bedroom when we were in there. I had to get her out and your house was next door.”

“What do you plan to do with her?”

“Julia’s litter is waiting in the street by the Sejanus estate. I have to get her down there and make it look like she just left her sister’s house.”

“Why didn’t you just bring her to the litter when you left Larthia’s house?”

“She has no shoes.”

Septimus stopped short in front of his bedroom door. “What did you say?”

“We left in a hurry, there wasn’t time to get her sandals. They’re under the bed in her sister’s room.”

“So now I have to find her shoes too?”

“The Vestals are closely watched, Septimus. Someone will notice if she returns to the Atrium barefoot. Livia Versalia doesn’t miss anything.”
 

Septimus opened the door to his room, and his expression changed from annoyance to compassion when he saw the small form huddled on his bed. Julia started up in alarm, then relaxed as she recognized her visitors.
 

Septimus went to the table near the window and got a candle, lighting it from a torch on the portico. He came back in and sat by Julia on the bed and said, “So how are you, little lady?”

Julia smiled wanly. “All right.”

Septimus looked at Marcus, standing next to them. “I’ll have to give this friend of mine some lessons concerning how to treat a lady. Dragging you around barefoot in the rain doesn’t seem very gentlemanly to me.”

“It wasn’t Marcus’ fault.”

“
Dulcetta
, you must be in love,” Septimus said dryly, patting her hand with his free one. “Now let me see what I can do about lifting a pair of sandals from my mother’s room.”

Marcus embraced Julia as Septimus left. “Are you really all right?” he asked. She felt so chilled, as if the close call had penetrated to her very bones.