Master and God (43 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘You were upset.’

‘No, I mean sorry about everything.’

Lucilla hugged him closer. Then she stretched up, turned his face towards her with one palm, and kissed him quietly. Gaius was welcoming, though seemed restrained.

Had he never recovered? Was he incapable? She feared the worst. He read her thoughts: ‘I don’t know. I never tried. I only wanted you.’

Despite years of hairdressing gossip, Lucilla realised she had no idea how to deal with this. One false move could be fatal, she guessed. She let him lead.

‘Too tired.’ Gaius shelved the issue. ‘Here is my plan: we will lie here like this, cosy and comforting. In due course we’ll sleep. When we wake, we’ll do it.’

Lucilla teased him: ‘Does everything in your life have to have an agenda?’

‘Nothing beats it,’ Gaius assured her gravely. He ticked off items: ‘Opening remarks. Snuggle. Sleep. Love you. Any other business . . .’

Lucilla accepted it, settling against him as if this had been her place for years. His hand struggled under the neck of her tunic, not exploring, not sensual, simply seeking her shoulder’s bare skin. She curled her own hand lightly around his wrist. It was the touch of ownership, on both sides. They lay together, relieved, relaxed, contented, resting.

Time passed. They did not sleep. Neither could bear to lose the intensity of this companionship.

Gaius moved. It seemed more than a readjustment for comfort, and at Lucilla’s small murmur, he gathered her so they could kiss again. His lips tasting hers were positive; some decision had been reached. Her heartbeats speeded. Still mouth to mouth, Gaius rolled them, so Lucilla was in the position that would always be her favourite, feeling his weight on her. He was tender, appreciative, leisurely but purposeful. She had no doubt where he was taking them.

As a master logistician, Gaius removed his clothes and hers, somehow without spoiling the moment. Taking his time, he positioned Lucilla and himself as he wanted them to be. ‘Never fear. The omens are promising.’

‘Omens?’ She kept it light. ‘You went to a
priest,
Gaius?’

She felt him shudder; he had had enough priests at the Campus Sceleratus to last him a lifetime. ‘You sent me to a doctor.’

‘
Sent
you?’

‘I’m obedient. Take the auguries yourself.’ He moved Lucilla’s hand down so she could see there was no problem now. She heard him gasp and felt him tense as she touched him. Neither could bear to wait.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

They gasped slightly, as they always would, at the moment they joined together. An exquisite welcome, which they would never take for granted.

On that first return to each other, they made love as their ancestors the old Romans must have done, when the man came in weary from ploughing and the woman who tended his hearth welcomed him in their rustic bed before they slept. Nothing fancy, nothing too drawn out. The straightforward unashamed pleasure of two people who would share life as long as they were allowed to do so.

There would be other times to be adventurous, for more extended passion, for raucousness and ribaldry. This was the uncomplicated, intimate communion of a couple who liked to end their day by expressing their love.

L
ight altered subtly throughout the apartment, although it was still dark. Outside, a bird began to trill a piercing and joyous soaraway song that suited Lucilla’s waking mood. The last few delivery carts trundled away into the distance, trying to beat the daylight curfew when wheeled vehicles had to leave the streets. The earliest workers were out in Plum Street, visiting the food shop on their way to menial jobs. Their voices came loud, seeming thoughtless, as if
they
had to be up and about, so why not others?

Inside, everywhere lay still.

Gaius, beside her, had curled on his side, facing away in such deep slumber that at one point Lucilla had wrapped herself around him, pressing against his back to listen to his lungs as if she needed to check he was still alive. She knew without asking, he had not slept so well for years; some long-held grief had slid away last night, to give place to healing.

He sensed she had woken. Dragging himself from unconsciousness just enough, he struggled over towards her, flung arms around her, hauled her into his embrace, then sank back into further sleep. His warm palm was spread against her head, his fingers had run into her hair.

Lucilla held him, shaking and overwhelmed with gratitude for what she now had. Gaius roused enough to make a small protest at her emotion, his fingertips stroking her temple until she too was soothed and began to sleep again.

He came awake soon afterwards. He lay on watch, as the morning sun grew in strength to flood through gaps in the shutters, while street-sweepers came and went in Plum Street, then shoppers and people on business occupied the neighbourhood. For half an hour schoolchildren clamoured uninhibitedly on their way to lessons. Then the voices were less shrill. After a while, Gaius drowsed gently, waiting until Lucilla awoke so they could spend their day together.

He was a happy man. It went beyond the morning bonhomie of any fellow who had screwed a girl he liked. He knew their lives had altered fundamentally. Still, he would have to exert himself to hang on to this – fight off all the other bastards, keep her permanently sweet – he was looking forward to the process. When she stirred, he greeted her with kisses, unable to stop smiling.

At first they lay in silence, foreheads together, blissfully lost in their reconciliation. As they gazed like soulful doves, Lucilla realised she rarely thought of Gaius as one-eyed. She knew him so well she would read his expression, tell his thoughts, just as if he had two eyes to communicate like anybody else. Whether he was handsome or hideous did not matter either. All she loved came from his character.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘Your action list got abandoned!’

‘Perfectly decent action list,’ declared Gaius. ‘I shall complete it.’ Lucilla smiled and Gaius enjoyed her benevolence like a dog lapping gravy. ‘Any agenda of mine,’ he offered, at his most cheerful, ‘always receives systematic treatment, item by item, as steered by a man who knows the lazy, incompetent bastards he is forced to deal with . . . Listen, sweetie, this is important stuff; stop tickling my balls for a moment –’

‘Can you not be fondled and talk nonsense at the same time?’

‘Can’t concentrate. I am not a demigod . . . So: in my office there is an agreed programme, but other activity may be authorised, if I decide it necessary. Loving you last night was a special exercise. The agenda remains active. I
will
work through the damned thing. Clear?’

‘Perfectly. When does it start?’

‘About two heartbeats from now.’

Then Gaius fulfilled his agenda in an orderly manner – with passion, inventiveness and the energy of a man who had had a thoroughly good night’s sleep.

Later, they let half a morning go by, talking and teasing and languidly exploiting their first real chance to spend time together, with no pressure to do anything.

While they were still in bed, Lucilla could not resist asking, ‘You said something outside the theatre that time, but you were angry – Was it true?’

‘This is what a grammarian would call “a question expecting the answer yes”. Let’s not play games. You know I love you.’

Thinking of his dogged pursuit, how could Lucilla doubt it? She lay gazing up at the old wooden ceiling. ‘And are you going to ask me?’

Gaius folded her hand into his, linking fingers. ‘You will tell me when you want to.’

‘That sounds as if you think you already know.’

‘So am I very conceited?’

‘Not really. Just a trained observer.’

Gaius had found the end of the blue ribbon; remarkably, its knot was still intact. Inevitably, he pulled it. He spread Lucilla’s shining hair, loosening it around her head, tenderly laying strands upon her shoulders.

‘Ironic,’ she concluded ruefully. ‘I devote my life to doing women’s hair, to make them attractive to their men – and all the time, what men really like best is hair worn long and loose, without adornment –’

‘On a pillow!’ exclaimed Gaius enthusiastically.

‘So what happens now?’

‘Breakfast.’ Gaius pulled himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching what he must know was an impressive torso. ‘I have to get up. Traditionally, the boy in a family goes out for breakfast rolls.’

Are we a family?
‘I meant—’

‘I know.’ Gaius stopped her. ‘I am not letting you get away this time.’ He rolled back and hung over her. He knew how uncertain Lucilla’s life had been, and how determined he himself was to avoid any more stupid mistakes. ‘Let’s get it over with. You need to know I am a permanent fixture; I need to know that if I nip off for a pee, you won’t disappear on me.’

‘Tell me what you want, Gaius.’

‘What do you think, love? I’ve been mooning after you so long, it’s all pretty obvious to me.’

‘No guesswork. Too many of my clients have come to grief through relying on presumption.’

‘You want a written agreement?’ Lucilla was amused to hear he sounded as if, had he had a waxed tablet here in the bed, he would have jotted contract notes. ‘Whatever you will agree to,’ Gaius said. ‘Whatever you choose to call it. I won’t push my luck; you made it clear, you think I’m a bad bet for marriage and I don’t blame you . . . Just be my girl, Lucilla. Be kind, and let me be loving to you. When work permits, we shall be together. One bed, one hearth, one table – one bloody dog, who already thinks he owns us both. One life, one set of dreams.’

Lucilla caressed his ruined cheek with her knuckle. ‘I notice you put the bed first.’

Gaius nibbled her finger affectionately. ‘No, the dreams come first. I am just frightened to admit that, in case you think I’m soft.’

‘So what are your dreams, Gaius?’

‘Who knows?’ He was completely honest. ‘Maybe I have to come to you to learn them . . . Give me a chance, girl. You know you want to.’

Lucilla smiled so sweetly her happiness was translucent. She shimmied to her knees and held him close, before despatching him to fetch their breakfast.

‘Shall I bring the dog up?’ They could hear Baby howling piteously in the salon downstairs. He knew he was missing something.

‘May as well. He has to get used to it.’

‘He either accepts it – or he goes!’

‘Gaius, as a pet-owner, you are ruthless . . . Do
I
have to do what you say, too?’

Gaius scoffed. ‘Oh no. I know my limits.’

The bakeries would be nearly sold out. He washed, pulled on his old tunic, and went out to find bread rolls. Lucilla heard him all the way down Plum Street, as he filled his lungs and, just like the blackbird earlier, sang his heart out.

Heads turned. Gaius Vinius knew it, and he did not care.

T
hey would have five years as lovers in Plum Street. More than most lovers could hope for. In their city’s political history those were dreadful times, but people could, if they were careful, find normal human happiness. The apartment Lucilla and Gaius shared had always seemed isolated from the world’s troubles. Even though Lucilla worked there, once customers left it was domestic and private; for Gaius it had long been his secret refuge.

They saw each other regularly now. When they did, everything seemed quite natural. As other people noticed them as a couple, Lucilla was surprised how little they commented.

‘They all think we’ve been sleeping and living together for years,’ explained Gaius.

Lucilla was indignant. ‘Who says so? Who thinks that?’

‘Anyone who has ever seen us in the same room together, precious.’

The first time he came back after spending time at the Camp, Lucilla heard him fuss the dog and ask, ‘Where is she then?’ in a familiar way that brought a lump to her throat. He only kissed her quickly on the forehead, taking himself off to dump a parcel of shellfish then wash his hands before he really gave attention to her. When he did, his affection was unforced.

Despite all he promised, she had been torn between belief in his return and doubt. ‘Hey! I’m a soldier – don’t cry on me; you’ll break my heart . . . You knew I would come back.’

‘Yes.’

‘Better like it then, because I can’t keep away from you.’

She would not cry next time.

This was good. Gaius was a householder coming home with their supper, which he had chosen and which, she guessed, he would insist on cooking, since frying up a batch of prawns with garlic had to be man’s work. Lucilla would edge around him in the tiny kitchen, preparing other things for the meal, sharing the tasks without needing to consult. Now they were lovers they could squeeze in together, the more intimate the better. They touched all the time. It was more than reassurance; they liked to be in continual contact.

This was how life would be. Lucilla realised with a thump in the chest that overnight they had become one unit. They were friends, lovers, partners, co-conspirators against everyone else. They would eat together this evening, drink a little wine, talk, complain about others, enjoy the evening twilight, then tidy the house, walk the dog, chat to neighbours, return home, conduct ablutions, go to bed cheerfully, and turn to one another between the sheets with wonderful excitement.

Lucilla had decided to avoid having children. They discussed it once, when she knew Gaius had seen what she was doing. She did believe he would look after her, and love any child they conceived together, yet there were uncertainties in his own profession and she still remembered his warning after Lara died about how children would affect her work. Besides, who wanted to bring a baby into Domitian’s Rome? It was no place for innocents.

Gaius seemed to accept her decision. At least he said so. Men could be sentimentalists. Men wanted heirs to continue their line. But he applied no pressure. The other thing about men was that, if they were honest about it which none of them were, they wanted their women to themselves. Lucilla had learned that wisdom from her customers.