The Raven and the Rose (5 page)

“Not just some slave, Larthia. Verrix, a prince of the Arverni.”

“The who?”

“The Arverni, the Celtic tribe which led the Gallic rebellion against Rome eight years ago. This man was captured near Vienne on the Rhone River when their leader, Vercingetorix, was defeated. Verrix escaped soon after by killing the officer guarding the captives and was at large until last autumn, when the centurion who had first captured him recognized him working on a construction gang in the Quirinal. He was taken into custody and condemned to death, but escaped again only to find himself betrayed to the authorities by a companion. He was scheduled for crucifixion when I found him.”

“Why did you buy him? He sounds like a criminal,” Larthia said with distaste.

“I bought him because he’s obviously tough and smart and nothing is more important to him than his freedom.”

“How much did you pay for him?” Larthia asked, playing along with the game.

“Five hundred denarii.”

Larthia stared at him. He had paid a fortune for a condemned man. He really MUST be losing his mind.

“And what do you imagine will keep him from bolting again?” Larthia asked logically.

“The promise of his freedom.”

“I think he must know the value of Roman promises by now,” Larthia said cynically.

“I have already drawn up the papers and filed them with the Vestals.”

Larthia looked at him.

“It’s true,” he said. “They specify that if he guards you for three years, and you are alive and well at that end of that time, he is to be freed. The emancipation papers will survive as part of my will if I die in the interim.”

“Grandfather, this is nonsense! I am not taking this man into my household under any conditions, and that’s final.”

“Yes, you are, Larthia. If you refuse I will disinherit you and any children you might have.”

“I don’t need your money, old man. I have the fortune Sejanus left me.”

“What about your male children? They will not be citizens if I refuse to recognize them, either in person through the acceptance rite or through my will.”

Larthia eyed him levelly. That was the law, of course, another device for keeping Roman women in line.

“Why is this so important to you?” she demanded.

“I want something of my family to survive, Larthia. Julia will not have children, but you will.”

So she was right. His motive was self interest, after all. “You haven’t succeeded in getting me married again, have you?” she pointed out to him.

“You’ll marry again after I’m dead.”

“You seem certain of that.”
 

“I’m certain that you plan to hold out until I’m gone just to spite me.”

Larthia looked away from him.

“You seem to think that your resentment of the arrangements I made for you and your sister has been lost on me. It has not. But I did what I thought was necessary at the time. I am asking you to grant me this indulgence so I can rest easy knowing that your life is not in danger and my dynasty will endure.”

“You obviously have great faith in this barbarian.”

“I have great faith in his desire to be free. He’ll guard you or the Greek Medusa if he knows that his slavery will be over at the end of it. He was a leader of his tribe, you know, fought us like an Nubian tiger from what I hear. The yoke of slavery sits very heavily on his shoulders.”

“And he is just taking your word for it that you’ve already filed his emancipation papers with the Vestals?” Larthia inquired dubiously.

“He went with me when I did.”

“He reads Latin?” Larthia asked, surprised.

“He does now. He had eight years to learn.”

Larthia shook her head obstinately. “I know I shall dislike giving up my privacy,” she said.

“He’s a slave, my dear. He’ll be at your command, but I beg you to take him with you when you go abroad in the city. I did not want to tell you this, but I see you need convincing. There have been two attempts on my life, and I fear you may be next.”

“Attempts on your life?” Larthia whispered, listening closely now.

“Yes. And it is well known that you are the sole survivor of the Casca house likely to bear children and carry on the name. My sons are dead, my grandson, your cousin Gaius, was killed in Gaul, and Julia is a Vestal. Please do this for me.”

Larthia was silent; she was stubborn enough, and angry enough at his past manipulations, to oppose the idea, but if her life really WAS in danger...She wasn’t ready to cross the River Styx with the ferryman just yet.
 

“Well?” Casca said.

“You can send him to me.”

“He’s here, waiting in the atrium.”
 

“Already?”

“I felt certain I could convince you. I have the ownership papers ready to transfer him to you right now.”

Larthia shook her head in amazement. The old man was always one step ahead of her.

“I suppose you should bring him in, then,” she said wearily, with a gesture of defeat.

Casca stepped into the hall and signaled, and shortly thereafter a blond giant entered the room. He was followed nervously by Nestor, who as Larthia’s master of slaves was clearly taken aback by this new addition to his staff.
 

Larthia waved Nestor into the corner of the room abruptly. She would deal with him later.

“Verrix, this is your new mistress, my granddaughter, Larthia Casca Sejana,” Casca said to the giant in Latin. “You will protect her with your life, as we have discussed. Your
fides
, loyalty, will be only to her now.”

Verrix inclined his head, but Larthia had the uneasy feeling that she should be bowing to him. He carried himself regally, as if he were the master and she the slave. He was the most physically imposing human being she had ever seen, even though he was dressed in the long barbarian trousers Romans disdained, with a homespun tunic belted at the waist. He was tall, taller than the average Roman to be sure, but it was the breadth of his shoulders and the solidity of his frame that made him seem bigger than he actually was. His hair was the color of ripe wheat, wavy and long, with brows and lashes a shade darker. They emphasized the brilliant blue of his eyes, the shade of rosemary,
ros marinus
, the dew of the sea.
 

Larthia stared at him openly. She had often heard that the Celts of Gaul and Britain had beautiful eyes, and now she saw that it was true.

“Verrix,” Larthia said finally, clearing her throat, aware that she should say something. “What does that name mean in your language?”

“High king,” he replied, and somehow, even though he was barefoot and dressed in rags, the reply was appropriate.

“I understand that my grandfather saved you from imminent execution by paying an exorbitant amount as your life price,” Larthia added.

“I would have taken my own life before suffering crucifixion,” Verris replied in excellent Latin, albeit with a slight guttural accent. “I heard what happened to my uncle Vercingetorix when he was led through the Roman streets in chains during Caesar’s Gallic triumph, put on display like a Carthaginian elephant, and then murdered. I will determine the manner of my own death.”

“Vercingetorix was your uncle?” Larthia asked, glancing at Casca. Both remembered the rebel chieftain who had led the Gallic tribes in revolt against Rome almost a decade earlier, posing the most significant threat to colonial rule the Republic had ever experienced. One of Larthia’s most vivid childhood memories was of watching the parade of the conquered Gauls, their pale haired leader in leg and foot irons, but proud still, staring back defiantly at the jeering Roman crowds rather than gazing at the ground in resignation like the rest of his people.

“I was given the short version of his name to honor him,” Verrix replied.

“But you were able to escape when he was taken captive?” Larthia asked.

“He remained with the survivors in order to bargain for their lives. He instructed me to flee and return to the home camp in Gaul for reinforcements to launch a counterattack. By the time I got there it had been destroyed by the Aedui, Roman allies, who burned it to the ground.”

“But surely it was unwise for you to return to Rome as a wanted man.”

“My family was dead, my tribe destroyed. I had to live but had no wish to remain where there were so many painful memories. I came here because it would have been unexpected. People generally fail to see what is right under their noses. There were so many Gauls in Rome after the war that I blended in with the crowd.”

Larthia could not imagine him blending into any crowd. “And you were at large until a short time ago? How did you live?” Larthia asked.

“By my wits. I have a strong back, I was taken on as a day laborer by a builder from Ostia. I learned to read and write your language and was prospering until a centurion recognized me and had me arrested for the murder of your Roman officer.”

“The builder is Ammianus Paulinus,” Casca said dryly. “He is notorious for hiring runaway slaves at cut wages, he never checks for freedman’s papers. He is fined for it each time a new
aedile
takes office, but Paulinus gives the lowest bids for public structures so he stays in business.”

“How were you caught?” Larthia asked Verrix.

“By chance. I was placing a cornerstone and Paulinus called the centurion, who is an acquaintance of his, over to see the quality of the workmanship. The officer had been one of those in charge of the prisoners in Gaul during the rebellion, he was friends with the man I killed. The centurion recognized me.”

“By your size?” Larthia asked.

“And this,” Verrix replied, touching the thin twisted band of bronze which encircled his muscular neck, the rounded ends of which stopped just short of meeting at the base of his throat. Larthia could see a pulse beating there, steadily, strongly.

“What is that?” she said.

“My torque. It denotes my tribe and clan. The Roman soldier recalled it from our last meeting.”

“Does it come off?” she asked.

“Never.”

“Who betrayed you back to the authorities after you escaped the second time?”

“A woman,” he said shortly.

Larthia exchanged a glance with Casca. “Is she still alive?” Larthia asked Verrix dryly.

“As far as I know,” he replied coolly.

Verrix and Larthia were eyeing each other warily, like two sparring partners.

“Do you have any further questions?” Casca asked his granddaughter impatiently.

“Very well,” Larthia said to the slave suddenly, ignoring the older man. “Your job will be to accompany me when I go abroad and protect me, and also whatever duties Nestor assigns to you within the house. Understood?”

Verrix inclined his head.
 

“Where have you been living?”

“In the insulae behind the Via Sacra.”

“Nestor will send someone over there to pack your things,” Larthia said.

“That will not be necessary, mistress,” Nestor said, speaking for the first time. “He brought a bundle with him.”

Verrix suddenly looked at Casca, as one equal might gaze at another.

“When does my term of three years begin to run?” he asked the older man.

“Today,” Casca replied.

“Three years of me may be more than you can stand,” Larthia said slyly.

“I can stand three years of anyone to be free. If I run again, you will only look for me, especially since your father’s father paid such a high price for me. If I stay the term I need never look over my shoulder again.”

“Three years is a long time,” Casca said.

“More so to you than to me, Consular Casca. I am young yet. I
have
time.”

Larthia waved her hand dismissively, ending the exchange. “Nestor, take Verrix back to the slave quarters and give him the single room nearest the kitchen. See that Helena gets him something else to wear and some food to eat. I expect to go shopping near the forum in the morning. You may begin your duties then, Verrix.”

Nestor looked dubious, but did as he was told. Once the two slaves had left Larthia said to her grandfather sharply, “He’s arrogant, that Celt.”

“So much the better. A cowed slave would flinch at every shadow. This one is bold.”

“I’m sure he’s dangerous too. He was wanted for murder, wasn’t he?”

“He killed his captor to escape during wartime. Any Roman soldier would have done the same.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I was not defending, merely explaining.” Casca adjusted the shoulder drape of his toga fussily. “Well, I must be off to the baths to refresh myself for the evening. I am dining with Marcus Junius Brutus tonight.”

Larthia nodded expressionlessly. Her grandfather’s influential friends had never impressed her.

“I hope you will be satisfied with my gift,” he said, and bent to press his cool lips to her forehead.

Larthia accepted the kiss without moving and then watched as Casca left the room.

What did the old man mean by placing this giant in her household? Her grandfather was so devious that she couldn’t take his word for the coming sunrise. Was he telling the truth when he said that he merely wanted to protect her?