The Raven and the Rose (33 page)

Marcus had to smile in return.

“I fear I am too hard to ever lose my head over a woman that way,” Antony added.

“Maybe you haven’t met the right woman,” Marcus replied, and Antony laughed. He rose, almost banging his head on the low ceiling of the cave.

“Good luck, my friend,” he said. “Just nod your head at your hearing at the sentence you wish to have. I will try to avoid a life term and restrict it to banishment for a period of years.”

Marcus nodded. He didn’t care, but he knew Antony was well intentioned.

“
Vale
, Demeter,” Antony said, as he signaled for the guard. “Farewell.”

Marcus watched him bend to get through the gate and then straighten up on the other side, his figure black against the flaming sky.

Marcus went back to planning his escape.

* * *

Larthia looked out at the moonlit night, thinking that when the sun came up again, Julia would die. If Marcus couldn’t stop it, no one could, and his attempt had failed. Her sweet little sister, served up as a sacrifice to the Casca name, was now to be sacrificed again, to an ancient tradition revered more than the people whose culture it represented. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, and Larthia had never felt more powerless in her life.

She turned at a knock on her door.

“Come in,” she called.

Nestor entered, carrying a cup of wine.

“I thought you might like to have this, mistress,” he said, setting it on the table beside her bed.

“Thank you, Nestor,” Larthia said.

“We’re all extremely sorry about Julia Rosalba, mistress,” he added.

Larthia nodded.

“I hate to disturb you with a domestic matter at a time like this,” he said hesitantly, “but the two bearers have been absent from their duties all day.”

“Who?”

“Cato and Domitius.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Since you said you would not need the litter I sent them to the market this morning and they never returned.”

“Well, maybe they’ve gone off on a lark, you know boys that age,” Larthia said dismissively.

“They’re usually quite reliable, mistress,” Nestor said dubiously.

“All right, if they haven’t returned by morning we’ll do something about it,” Larthia replied shortly. Why is he bothering me with this now? she thought in irritation.

Nestor bowed his head and withdrew. When he left Larthia flung herself on her bed, face down.

It would be the sixth watch before Verrix came to her after everyone was in bed.

How would she last until then?

She felt the bed depress and turned, startled. Verrix was sitting next to her and she threw her arms around his neck.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she whispered, kissing his cheek, the side of his neck. “I was so lonely.”

“I took a chance and came early,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “I thought you might need me.”

“I need you, I need you.”

“I’m here.”

He lay back on the bed and she fit herself against his side. She lay her head on his chest and felt the comforting heat of his body spreading to hers.

“Larthia, we have to get out of this city” he said. “Look what these people are doing to your sister. No one is safe if such a thing can happen...”

She put her forefinger to his lips. “I know. As soon as I got back from Julia’s hearing I wrote a letter to Senator Gracchus, asking him to handle the transfer of my estate to the Sejanus cousins. Once they petition to declare me
nulla
he can step in and settle everything. I made provisions for the old slaves like Nestor to be freed with a bequest, enough to keep them comfortably until they die, and Gracchus will see that the Sejanus brats honor it. The rest of the slaves will transfer with the estate.”

“Can you trust this neighbor of yours?”

“Oh, he’s as crafty as any of them, but there’s no reason for him not to do what I ask. As long as his interests are not threatened, he’s honest.”

“Then let’s go now, tonight,” Verrix said.

Larthia was silent.

“What?” he said, looking down at her.

“I have to see Julia tomorrow morning before...” she stopped, biting her lip.

“You won’t be able to talk to her, Larthia,” Verrix pointed out quietly. “Or touch her, or say goodbye.”

“I know that, but I want a loving face to be the last thing she sees, can you understand that?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” he said soothingly, sorry that he had suggested leaving to her. “One day won’t matter, more or less. We can wait.”

“I can’t believe they’re actually going to kill her ,” Larthia said quietly. “It seems like a dream, some awful dream from which I’ll awaken and be thankful that the terrors in the night were merely of my own imagining.”

“You’ll forget it, Larthia. Some day you will hardly be able to recall this time.”

“Never.”

“It’s true. I’ve seen things in war, terrible things done to my people by the Romans, that I thought would haunt me forever and make me hate forever. But those memories have already receded, enough for me to fall in love with you.”

“That took eight years.”

“Then eight years from now you’ll be free of this. That’s not so long. You’ll still be young, and I’ll still be with you.”

“Will you?” she said, looking at him.

“I will.” He bent to kiss her, and was pulling her back down to him when they both heard a loud pounding in the distance, at the front of the house.

“What is that?” Larthia said, alarmed.

“I’ll see. Stay here.” He got up and walked outside to the portico, vanishing around the side of the house. Larthia put on her night robe and hurried out her bedroom door, running along the hall to the atrium.

Nestor was already there, the front door was open, and several soldiers were standing at attention in the hall.

Larthia recognized Drusus Vinicius and said to him, “What is the meaning of this outrage, tribune? I was in bed, how dare you intrude into my home in the middle of the night?”

Vinicius, already uncomfortable with his involvement in Julia’s hearing that morning, clearly wished he were somewhere else. He felt like he was persecuting the Casca family.

“I’m sorry, Lady Sejana,” Vinicius said, “but I have a warrant here for the arrest of one Verrix, a slave of this house, on charges of stuprum, illegal carnal relations with a noblewoman.”

Larthia, obviously the “noblewoman” in the case, stared Vinicius down until he looked away.

“What evidence do you have for the prosecution of these charges?” she demanded, stalling, hoping that Verrix would see what was happening and get away.

Vinicius gestured abruptly to one of his men, who handed him a scroll. He unrolled it and read aloud, “Charges are brought on the evidence of Paris, one freedman, a Greek physician, resident of the Via Sacra, and two Ligurian slaves of the house of Sejanus, Cato and Domitius by name...”

Larthia looked at Nestor.

Now they knew what had happened to the bearers.

“You know you must surrender this man to me, Lady Sejana,” Vinicius said, and at that moment Larthia saw Verrix appear behind the tribune.

She gestured for him to go back, and Vinicius saw it. Verrix turned to run, Larthia threw herself into the tribune’s path to block him, and Vinicius grabbed her. She screamed and Verrix looked around, saw Larthia being handled by the tribune, and dove for the officer, pulling him off Larthia and wrestling him to the ground. The other two soldiers fell on Verrix. In short order Vinicius was back on his feet and Verrix was restrained by the soldiers.

 
Larthia stared at the scene in horror.

“Are you all right?” Verrix panted, looking anxiously at Larthia.

She nodded mutely, unable to take her eyes off the sword held at his throat.

“We’ll have to add some new charges to this warrant, it seems,” Vinicius said, adjusting his cloak.

“Go right ahead,” Verrix snarled back at him. “Obviously a noble officer wouldn’t understand that I couldn’t watch him mistreat a lady.”

Vinicius flushed deeply with anger. “There’s no lady here,” he replied tightly, his compassion for Larthia’s plight vanishing in the face of her lover’s arrogance. “Roman ladies don’t sleep with their slaves.”

Verrix lunged for him again, and Larthia gasped as the sword point sank into the flesh of his neck just below his torque, drawing blood.

“Verrix, please!” she begged him, on the verge of hysteria. “Just go with them and don’t make any trouble. I’ll get you a lawyer, I won’t abandon you, but don’t give them an excuse to kill you. Do it for me.”

Verrix stopped struggling and the soldier holding the sword relaxed.

“Where are you taking him?” Larthia asked Vinicius. “Which prison?”

“That’s up to the magistrates,” Vinicius replied gruffly, not looking at her. “My orders are to bring him to the roundup tonight at the Capitol.”
 

Larthia looked at Verrix. “I love you,” she said tenderly, ignoring her audience. “I’ll find you.”

Vinicius gestured and the two soldiers yanked Verrix along with them as they departed. The tribune turned to face Larthia and said stiffly: “I’m sorry about all of this, Lady Sejana.”

“So am I. I’m sorry that my sister is going to die in the morning and I’m sorry that our laws proscribe a relationship that has made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Vinicius stared back at her stoically, his training preventing him from responding to her as he had to Verrix.

“Oh, go, Vinicius,” Larthia said wearily. “I know this was not your idea. Leave me alone.”

The tribune turned and marched down her walk, following his soldiers as they took Verrix off to jail.

Larthia went into the house, shut the door, and stood with her back to it, her hands over her face. She felt like screaming. When she was somewhat calmer she looked up and saw Nestor standing there, watching her.

“I was not responsible for this, mistress,” he said quietly, his dark eyes grave.

“I know that, Nestor. Now let’s not talk about it any more, I have things to do and I need you to help me.”

He bowed his head and followed her down the hall.

* * *

Marcus was watching the guard standing beyond the prison gate, his profile illuminated by the torch in a brass brace hammered into the rock. Prison guards were frequently ex-gladiators who had won a reprieve for valorous performances in the ring, and this man was a bruiser, about as tall as he was but quite a bit heavier. Marcus was evaluating his chances of taking him when a new prisoner arrived at the cave, escorted by a foot soldier and the tribune, Drusus Vinicius.

“Here’s a friend for you, Marcus,” Vinicius said, shoving the newcomer inside the gate and then stepping back as the guard clanged it shut. “I think you know him.”
 

When Marcus saw who it was he sighed and shook his head. What next?

“He likes women too, so you won’t have to worry about him getting next to you during the night,” Vinicius said, laughing, and Marcus shot him a rude gesture.

Verrix slumped across from Marcus and drew up his long legs to conserve space. Marcus waited until the soldiers had left and then said to him, “What are you doing here?”

“Larthia,” Verrix replied glumly.

“Stuprum?”

Verrix nodded wearily.

“Who turned you in?”

Verrix shrugged. “They must have evidence or Larthia would not have let them take me.”

“You can’t stay out of trouble, can you, boy?”

“You don’t look like you’re doing too well yourself,” Verrix replied dryly, and Marcus snorted.

“At least I won’t wind up in the arena,” Marcus said.

“I thought the sentence was crucifixion.”

“They won’t waste you on the cross, strong man. It will be the arena for you.”

“I’ve been sentenced to the cross before,” Verrix said.

“For killing Antoninus, yes, but Casca voided that sentence when he paid your death price. For stuprum you’ll be sent to gladiatorial school and forced to learn the use of the mask and the trident. You’ll wind up entertaining the masses on feast days, trying to stay alive against Thracians and Nubians in order to fight again another time.”

Verrix glanced up at the dripping ceiling of the cave, the running walls, the tattered pile of ne’er do wells sleeping in the depth of its musty squalor.

“Not if I get out of here,” he said.

“Oh, I forgot. You’re the escape artist.”

“And you could certainly use one. Your lady dies at dawn if you don’t bust loose tonight. Do you think you might profit from some help?”

Marcus could barely see his companion in the dim light of the torch outside; the cave was almost black. He knew he didn’t like him. The memory of Antoninus was still fresh. But Marcus also knew that the slave was an amazingly resourceful individual who seemed to survive, and even prosper, in any circumstances.