Virginia Henley (25 page)

“Where are you wounded?” Marcus asked with deep concern.

The physician who attended him spoke up. “A fractured arm I am about to set. We thought his shoulder was broken also, but it was just dislocated. His head was drenched in blood, but when it was washed, it proved only a minor scalp wound.”

“What in Hades are you doing back here?” Marcus demanded.

Julius spoke up. “It’s an outrage. He was left for dead. When he regained consciousness, the army was long gone. Paullinus is a piss-poor leader of men!”

Marcus looked at Petrius with disbelief. Why hadn’t his own men tended him? At last Petrius spoke up. “Paullinus is a swine. He ordered the wounded legionaries put to the sword so it wouldn’t slow down his army.”

Marcus had served under Paullinus, and though he detested the man, he knew the things his brother said were untrue. Paullinus would only put a legionary to the sword to put him out of his misery, if naught could be done to save him, as Marcus himself would do. Paullinus brought his wounded back to Aquae Sulis. It was highly unlikely a soldier would be left for dead, especially a cohort centurion.
Marcus suspected his brother had deserted, but since the penalty for such cowardice was death, he kept his mouth shut.

As the physician set the broken bone in Petrius’ arm, Julius said, “Why don’t we take him to Rome with us? One more advocate for ridding Britannia of Paullinus can’t hurt our cause, and unfortunately your brother’s fighting days are over for a while.”

When he saw the wild look of hope on Petrius’ face, Marcus did not disclose that Petrius was left-handed.

“Rome? You’re going home?” Petrius asked joyfully.

“Since the procurator thinks you might aid his cause, I will sign you out of combat on sick leave. Get some rest. We sail tomorrow at dawn.”

The general visited his corps of engineers to make sure the bridge across the river would be built as planned in his absence. Once he was away from Petrius, he chided himself on his uncharitable suspicions. What was it about the handsome young devil that made him think his brother was less than honorable? He set aside his misgivings, thinking how happy their father would be to have them both beneath his roof at the same time.

In the late afternoon Marcus arrived at the villa with the ten legionary guards who would accompany them to Rome. They took the trunks and baggage to load on the barge that would take them to the coast, where they would board the ship for the voyage to Rome.

Marcus wanted to put off telling Diana about his brother’s return. Though she had never said anything to disparage Petrius, Marcus knew she had a dislike for him. The only alternative was to tell her tonight and that might ruin her evening and his as well, so he slipped his hand over hers and drew her out to the garden.

Thinking he wanted to be private so they could exchange kisses and love words, she warned, “One kiss only. You know that once we start, we cannot stop, and I still have a dozen things to do.”

He looked down at her tenderly, lifted her hand to his mouth, deposited a kiss within her palm, and closed her fingers about it. “Diana, my brother Petrius has returned with a broken arm. Since he cannot fight until it heals, Julius asked him to accompany us to Rome.”

Marcus saw the blood drain from her face. “Darling, I know he has treated you with disrespect in the past, but when I tell him you are to be my wife, I know he will treat you with every honor.” He smiled down at her. “I promise you he will be on his best behavior.” Silently he added,
If I have to strangle the young bastard!

Diana forced herself to smile back at Marcus, but the moment he returned to the fort, a wave of nausea engulfed her. She had thought she was well rid of Petrius. Surely this was not some sort of omen that her journey to Rome was fated to disaster before it had even begun? Perhaps she should have told Marcus what happened that day at the temple, but she had not wanted bad blood between the brothers then, and she did not want it now. Marcus was taking her to his father’s home, so it was doubly important there be no discord in the family because of her.

She thought of confiding in Kell, for she found him very easy to talk to, but telling Kell was probably the same as telling Marcus. The two men had few secrets. Finally she decided to have a word with Tor. Since it would be his job to protect her, she would have to confide in him. She found him with Kell, listening patiently to last-minute instructions regarding everything from strange drinking water to
mal de mare.

“I think it’s time for us to become better acquainted, Tor. Walk with me in the garden where we can be private.”

Tor looked uncertainly to Kell for approval. Kell rolled his eyes heavenward. “Dolt! The number one rule is to obey your lady before any other—even me!”

As Diana led the way into the garden, Tor’s eyes were no longer merry. “I fear I am a sad choice, lady.”

Diana was appalled. Tor had been stripped of his self-confidence
and she knew she must restore it at once. “Tor, you are the best possible choice. You are
my
choice. Please don’t be distant with me. I want us to be friends; I want to be able to confide in you. In fact, I want to be able to tell you anything.”

The frown disappeared from his brow. “You can, lady. I will serve you in any way you wish. Please correct me when I do things wrong, lady.”

“Call me Diana. Please don’t concern yourself with unimportant things like manners or dress, Tor. Come and sit by the pool so I can confide my fears.”

Tor seemed much relieved that she was not overly concerned with manners for he had never been trained as a house slave. “Tell me your fears, Lady Diana.”

She bent toward him confidentially. “I hate Romans and fear them.” She saw his look of astonishment. “Oh, I love Marcus with all my heart. He is seeking permission for us to marry, but I have this unnamed dread inside me that disaster will befall if I go to Rome.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you, Lady Diana,” Tor vowed.

“I am a Christian but I prefer to keep that hidden while I am in Rome. The Romans do terrible things to Christians. Marcus doesn’t want it known I was a slave in his household, either.”

“I am a Briton, like you, Lady Diana. Your secrets are sacred to me.”

“Thank you, Tor. There is a delicate matter I must confide to you that no one else knows. My husband’s brother, Petrius, was here recently for training. He left with Paullinus’ army, but he has returned and will accompany us to Rome.” Diana’s lashes swept her cheeks. “He tried to rape me in the temple.”

Tor’s hand flew to the handle of the gladius sword Marcus had given him. “I will protect you from Roman slime, lady,” he swore intensely. “I am strong. I can lift a horse. My muscles are iron—feel them!” He flexed
enormous biceps and Diana placed her hand upon one in amazement.

A sound made her look up at that moment, and there stood Petrius, watching her lay hands on the handsome, half-naked young man who was her personal body slave.

The two young men glared daggers at each other. “You overstep yourself, slave.”

“No, he does not, Petrius,” Diana said firmly. “He was chosen by Marcus and acts on his orders. He is sworn to protect me from any and all danger.”

Petrius changed his tune immediately. He adjusted the sling about his neck, setting his right arm in a more comfortable position, and gave her a disarming smile. “Marcus has shared the knowledge of his good fortune with me. Let me be the first to welcome you to our family.” He took her hand to his lips so gallantly, she could not believe this was the same man who had behaved like a drunken lout or a bestial ravisher.

“Thank you, Petrius. I am sorry you have been injured.”

“These things happen. Marcus told me to ask for Kell. I haven’t a stitch to my back other than my armor.”

“Of course. I’ll show you where you may find him.” She refrained from pointing out that Marcus was taller and broader than he was. She believed Petrius was well aware of his shortcomings when compared with Marcus. She turned to Tor with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll see you at dawn.”

“I will be ready, Lady Diana.”

* * *

The barge that left Aquae Sulis at dawn was overcrowded with people and baggage, but when they reached the Bristol Channel and boarded the Roman sailing ship, everything was stowed below and Marcus took Diana to the tiny cabin where they would sleep, which was sandwiched between a similar one for the procurator and a cubbyhole for Petrius. Marcus’ legionary guards and the two dozen who traveled with Julius slung hammocks belowdecks and Tor stationed himself outside Diana’s door, deciding instantly that was where he would sleep.

The wind was bitter cold and Diana was thankful for her fur-lined cloaks with their warm hoods. When the ship reached the Bay of Biscay, however, it was far too rough for her to be up on deck. Unfortunately, when she retreated below to the small cabin, she experienced seasickness.

Marcus tucked her into the bunk, cleansed her, and ministered to all her needs as tenderly as a mother would a babe. He held her and comforted her as well, and coaxed her gently to put something on her stomach each and every time she retched and emptied it.

She did not begin to feel better until they were well down the coast of Spain, but she managed to recover completely by the time they approached Gibraltar. She stood at the rail with Marcus’ arm about her as they sailed through the strait, basking beneath the warm Mediterranean sun. Though she had not thought it possible, she loved Marcus more every day.

Tor was at her side as she walked the decks whenever Marcus was absent. She was both surprised and thankful that Petrius treated her like a princess whenever they came into contact, but she noticed cynically that he spent most of his time cultivating the procurator, who had obviously taken a fatherly interest in the disabled young brother of Marcus Magnus.

One day when the blue sea was calm as a millpond and
the sun beat down gloriously, Diana decided to explore the Roman vessel. It was designed along the lines of Greek ships, except it had a long iron spike mounted on its prow. Tor told her the spike was used to ram into enemy ships, so they could let down a boarding plank for Roman soldiers to fight their way aboard. Diana shuddered, feeling thankful they had encountered no trouble.

She opened a heavy door and descended a flight of wooden steps. She stopped, aghast at what she saw. Rows of men, naked to the waist, sweat dripping from their well-muscled backs, were pulling on huge oars. Her hand covered her mouth in horror, her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Tor took her forcibly by the shoulders, turned her about, and pushed her back up the flight of steps.

On deck she took in great gasps of air, clinging to Tor as if he were a lifeline. Marcus strode along the deck, curious to know why Tor had his arms about Diana. When he was close enough to see that something was wrong with her, Marcus lifted her in his arms and felt her recoil from him.

“Galley slaves!” she gasped with loathing.

He carried her to their cabin and set her on the bunk before he answered her. She looked up at him with such accusing eyes, Marcus threw up his hands. “I cannot believe you are so naive. In the name of the gods, how did you expect our vessel to make the journey from Britannia to Rome? They are not all Britons,” he said defensively. “Some of them are Gauls, some Nubian—”

“They are
men,
Marcus, no matter their race. Dear God, how can Romans be so indifferent to human misery? How can you condemn men to a lifetime of slavery in the galleys?”

“It’s not a lifetime. It’s ten years. Men need to be in their prime to row a galley.” When he saw that made it no more acceptable to her, he went down on one knee and took her hand. “Beloved, if I could right the wrongs of the world for you, I would do so. Perhaps there is no slavery in your
time, but can you honestly say there is no suffering or injustice? In return for their labors our slaves are well fed and decently housed, and they are so numerous that none are overburdened.”

She thought of London, where the conditions of rich and poor were so disparate. The wealthy ton had an inexhaustible appetite for pleasure and luxury, while barefoot match girls quietly starved on street corners and children were sent down chimneys to sweep them, and often burned to death. Diana reasoned that Marcus could not be blamed for conditions of his time, any more than she could be blamed for the poverty and hunger of hers.

She touched his face. “By coming to Rome, you are striving to improve conditions for all Britons. I can ask no more of you.”

“We should arrive tomorrow,” he told her. “Come up on deck, where you can enjoy the sea and the sunshine.”

That last night aboard, as she lay in his arms, Diana told Marcus what history had recorded of Emperor Nero. “Avoid him if you can. He is a madman whose reign degenerates into cruelty and tyranny.”

“He murdered his own mother; I know all about Nero,” Marcus assured her.

“You don’t know that three years from now he will burn Rome so that he can build a vast new capital upon her ruins.”

“The City of Rome burns?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, but the new Rome will be magnificent and will last down through all the centuries. Nero will blame the fire on the Christians, but he will become so hated there’ll be a massive revolt against him and he’ll commit suicide before he is thirty-two.”

Marcus stared at the beams in the cabin ceiling and wondered if Diana really had lived in the future or if she simply had prophetic visions like many others claimed to
have. He drew her against his heart. So long as they were together today, the past—and the future—didn’t matter to him.

Though she had dreaded coming to Rome, now that she was so close, Diana decided to let go of her fear. She had made her decision to be with Marcus and she wanted neither of them to have regrets. She would embrace his city wholeheartedly, as she did all things. Half measures were simply not in her nature. She would look upon it as a gift from the gods. To be able to see and experience ancient Rome was like a miracle. She vowed not to waste one moment in fear or regret.

They disembarked at Ostia at the mouth of the Tiber. The famous river, which would take them to Rome by barge, was wide with turbid yellow water. Marcus stayed by Diana’s side so he could point out all the landmarks of the area.

As she had read, she saw that Rome was indeed built upon seven hills. All was a confusion of enormous buildings, gilded roofs, domes, stately phalanxes of marble columns, and private homes with red-tiled roofs. Some were built in the valleys, others on the summits, and still others clinging to the slopes of the hills. Marcus pointed out temples, forums, amphitheatres, and the long hollow that was the great Circus Maximus.

“My father’s olive groves lie to the south,” he said, pointing out the chain of Sabine hills that stretched in a golden haze toward the horizon. “Our quarries are to the north, in the Apennines, where the River Tiber begins.”

“Are they stone quarries as in Aquae Sulis?”

“No, we quarry marble. The marble trade is Rome’s greatest commercial enterprise, as you shall see,” Marcus said proudly.

“Is your father’s villa here in the city?”

“Yes, it is on the slopes of the Esquiline. By now my messenger will have informed him of our arrival. When our
river craft docks, horses will be awaiting us, and I requested a grand litter for you.”

“Oh, I thought we could walk through the city,” Diana said with disappointment.

“Darling, over a million people live here and most of them will be on the streets. Our progress will be so slow, you’ll see more than you care to from your litter. We have to pass through some squalid districts before we start to climb the Esquiline, where the patricians’ villas are located.” He looked into her eyes, his face set in serious lines. “Rome is the crucible for everything good and bad in the world. There is no other city where the divine and the bestial are in such evidence. Don’t let it overwhelm you.”

When she gave him a reassuring smile, he brushed his lips across her brow, then beckoned Tor. “Find her a seat in the shade on the quay. It will take some time to unload and locate my father’s slaves with our horses and litter. The Procurator will be going to his own home from here, so I must go and coordinate our plans before I bid him farewell.”

Though Marcus had warned her, Diana was unprepared for the throng of humanity that choked the streets as she gazed in fascination from her ornate silk litter, with its four sturdy litter bearers in pale yellow livery.

Hundreds of small shops were packed together, their counters jutting out onto the pavement to display what looked like their entire stock. Bakeries, vegetable stands, wine shops, and cheap restaurants vied with pottery stalls and clothing stores. At every crossroad were religious street shrines and fountains where water spouted from an eagle’s beak, the mouth of a calf, or the breasts of a goddess. The overflowing basins carried away the filthy rubbish, thrown out recklessly from the shops and upper windows.

It seemed that every inch of stuccoed wall was painted with messages and advertisements. Mercury, the god of gain, was painted on the wall of a money-changer, and crude serpents were painted everywhere as guardians. She
saw a
celer,
or notice writer, with a noisy crowd gathered about him as he wrote with a piece of red chalk about a gladiator fight in the Amphitheater of Taurus. Everything was written on the walls, from love notes to curses to rude verses. The walls were obviously the writing paper of the masses. If a slave was for sale, his name and attributes went up on the wall. If a garret over a store was for rent, it was also advertised on the wall.

The only thing that Diana found offensive was the incessant noise. People screamed at one another so they could be heard above the racket of corn grinders, builders’ hammers, costermongers’ cries, schoolmasters who gave their lessons on the streets, and dozens of would-be poets spouting endless diatribes.

Suddenly came the shouts of a dozen Praetorian guards in gilded helmets and breastplates. “Make way, make way,” they bawled, pushing slaves and hucksters aside with their spear butts. Even Marcus and his guards had to dismount while the Praetor, a magistrate of the people, passed by.

At the next street they met a procession of priests and priestesses banging drums, blaring trumpets, and waving hands holding castanets and bronze rattles. The women were dark-skinned Syrians, whirling in wild dances, hair flying, on their way to the Temple of Cybele to spend a day of orgy.

Suddenly, Diana’s litter came to a halt as another vast procession took precedence. Marcus rode back to her, cursing.

“It must be someone important,” she ventured.

A filthy epithet fell from Marcus’ lips. “She thinks she’s important. Her old husband is a millionaire. There should be a law against such vulgar ostentation.”

Diana watched in awe as a great concourse of handsome slaves marched past with boxes and packages on their shoulders. Next came a group of pretty Levantine slave girls in gaudy veils, then an Egyptian boy holding a pet
monkey, and a slave girl carrying a yapping lapdog in its basket. Next came the great lady’s troupe of musicians, followed by a hundred slaves and freedmen carrying caskets and trunks of valuables and costly garments.

Finally, “Her Magnificence” appeared in a litter borne by eight identical Nubians. She leaned back upon her cushions, bored with the world, indifferently fanning herself with a jewel-handled ostrich fan. Her dark hair was sprinkled with gold dust and Diana’s mouth fell open as she saw that the woman wore only a loin dress below her waist and pearls above.

“She’s likely moving from her palace to one of her country villas. Even the Praetor had his litter set down while he greeted her,” Marcus said with disgust, “which proves that even official rank must yield to the conquering flash of gold.”

Diana could feel his outrage at being kept waiting. She smiled up at him. “It gives me a chance to observe everything at my leisure. Look, there’s a dice game on the pavement!”