Jars of Clay (2 page)

Tatiana was likable enough, though Helena’s father thought her a vain little girl. Her mother Eudoxia, by contrast, gave Helena the shivers. She was tall for a woman, and thin like the branches of a tree. Her dark eyes pressed in towards her nose, and when she looked at Helena, it was as if she were examining her very soul.

“Helena, dear,” Eudoxia said. “Please tell your mother I am here.”

“I’m sorry, but Mother is unwell.”

“Again? She will miss our– ”

“I will tell her that you stopped by.”

Eudoxia strained her neck, peering through the atrium as if she thought Helena was telling a falsehood.

“Are your brothers at home?” Tatiana whispered, her dark eyes darting across the atrium and up the stairs. She was tall like her mother with the voluptuous signs of womanhood evident under her tunic. Helena smelled a waft of strong perfume.

“They are with their tutor,” Helena said stiffly. She remembered a time when Tatiana used to come to see her, not her brothers.

When they were younger, they played with their dolls made of bones or a game of knucklebones, but now all Tatiana wanted to do was talk of boys. How anyone could like her brothers in that way made Helena shudder.

Her mind went to Lucius. What would Tatiana think of him? Nothing much, probably. She’d never look twice at a servant boy, though if Helena told her about their accidental meeting, Tatiana might insist on seeing him.

No, that would never do. Lucius would remain her own little secret.

Helena watched Tatiana and her mother bless the gods at the doorway of the house and again at the gate as they left. Then she hurried out the back entrance, hoping she wasn’t too late.

Chapter Four

LUCIUS

Everyone in the compound had chores, from the youngest to the oldest, with the exception of young babies. Girls learned how to cook and bake and do laundry, and also to tend to the gardens and help harvest olives and grapes. Boys cared for livestock, built outbuildings, made clay, crushed olives to make oil and crushed grapes to make wine. Some were recruited to work in the “big house” as cooks, cleaners and personal slaves. They were considered the fortunate ones because they got better quality clothes, and could partake of the kitchen scraps which were often better than regular fare in the compound.

Occasionally, the children would find a moment to play. Some of the younger boys had fashioned a ball out of twine, and kicked it around.

It tumbled toward Lucius as he walked by.

“Lucius! Here!” called one of the boys. Lucius gave it a playful kick back.

His sister, Teria accompanied him to the well. She was only in her twelfth year but still managed to carry a bucket of water back to their hut without spilling very much.

He wished she didn’t have to work so hard, but it was her place in this life, in this compound. It was the will of the gods. At least she wasn’t a slave, but he wondered what difference that detail made in her life.

Their hut was one of many tucked into a corner of the Vibius property, as far away from the big house as possible. After filling their two buckets, which hung from either end of a pole straddling his upper back, they returned to the compound.

“Do you ever wonder what’s
out there
?” Teria asked.

So he wasn’t the only one.

“Yes, I do,” Lucius answered. “I think about it almost non- stop.”

“Sometimes I think I’d like to leave the compound and see it,” she said, her face serious. “But at other times, the idea frightens me.”

“That’s only because you don’t know what it’s like,” Lucius said, grunting under the weight of his burden. “I imagine it’s very exciting. And that’s the great thing, about being free, Teria. We could leave this place one day if we wanted to.”

“Do you want to, Lucius?”

He nodded. “Some day.”

“But I’ll miss you if you go,” she said in a small voice.

If Lucius could’ve reached out and scrubbed her head with reassurance, he would have. “I’m not going now, so you’ll have to put up with me for a little longer yet.”

After delivering the water to their mother, Lucius tended the chickens, cleaned the coop, and gave them fresh food and water.

He rushed to complete the task. If he were going to meet with Helena, he had to get going. It wouldn’t do for him to arrive after her. He grabbed a small handcrafted stool, and headed out.

Would she show?

There was only one way to find out.

“Lucius?” a concerned voice called out.

Oh, to the gods. He needed to be more careful. No one could know about this meeting with the master’s daughter, or if he should be so fortunate, any additional meetings that might follow.

He spun on his heel. “Felicity?”

“Do you need help?”

“With what?”

“With whatever you’re doing with that stool.” She tossed a long, dark braid over her shoulder. “Way out here.”

“Were you following me?”

“I saw you walking,” she shrugged. “I was just curious.”

Felicity was a few years older than he. Though a slave, she saw herself as his keeper, since she’d watched over him often as a child.

Lucius forced himself to keep from staring at the alcove. He was so close now. He just had to get rid of Felicity.

“Quintus wanted me to gather a few more olive samples from the outer regions of the grove.”

“Without a bucket?”

“Yeah, I forgot a bucket.”

“Do you want me to get you one?”

“No, no. That’s okay. I just have to bring back a few. But first I’m checking the health of the trees. They’re getting on the old side.”

“And that’s why you brought a stool?”

He’d momentarily forgotten the object in his hand. “Right. In case I tire.”

Felicity gave him a questioning look. “Okay, Lucius. I’ll see you later.”

She left him walking in the direction of the compound. He made a show of examining a few trees, and when he was certain she was out of sight, he slipped into the grove, stool in hand.

Chapter Five

HELENA

Helena stopped at the knoll, hand over heart as she caught her breath. Lucius mustn’t catch her running. She slid behind an olive tree out of sight and spotted him in the distance. Then her eye caught another figure. A girl. She and Lucius spoke together, and after a few moments, the girl left. Lucius waited until she was gone before heading for the alcove.

Helena watched as he entered. He faced her direction as if to signal he knew she was there and to make clear the way in.

Would she really go?

Her legs started moving before her mind could talk her out of it.

She entered the alcove at the exact spot she’d seen Lucius go in. Inside was a bare grassy area the size of three carriages. She was surprised at how secluded and protected it was.

Lucius stood in the middle, hands hanging at his sides. He’d washed up, his face scrubbed clean of grime and sweat, and his hair brushed off his face.

Helena took an involuntary step back. She’d never been alone in a room with a man before, and Lucius was a man, not a boy as she’d first thought of him. Little moths of fear twitched in her stomach. She’d foolishly placed herself in a very compromising situation.

“I won’t hurt you,” Lucius said, as if reading her mind.

How could she know that for sure? What did she know of his character?

“Miss Helena, I may not be a nobleman, but I am a gentleman.” He motioned to a crudely built stool. “It’s not fine furniture, but…”

“It’s fine.” She quickly stepped to it and sat down.

Lucius sat on the grass at her feet and Helena’s face flushed red. Her hands shook slightly, and her heart beat like a rabbit’s. His effect on her was unexpected and aggravating.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

“It was a mistake.”

“Either way, you are here. How about my first lesson?”

Helena considered him. She had come, and so the least she could do was comply with his request. After all, she knew what it felt like to be denied a proper education.

“How old are you?” she asked in Latin.

He began to answer in Punic.

“In Latin. You said you knew a bit.”

Lucius shifted uncomfortably and started with careful, stiff Latin. “I am seventeen. I’m told I was born in the fall, so soon I’ll be eighteen.”

“You don’t know the date of your birth?” Helena was surprised.

“Not exactly. How old are you?”

Should she allow personal questions? Perhaps simple ones were okay.

“I am sixteen.”

Her heart rate had slowed, and Helena found she was enjoying the company of this servant. Suddenly she wanted to know more about him.

“How long have you lived on my father’s property?” she asked

“My whole life.”

Helena couldn’t keep the stunned look off her face. His whole life? That would be her whole life as well. All this time they lived minutes away from each other, and she never knew of him.

But he’d been clear he’d known of her.

“Siblings?” she asked

“A sister.”

“Was she that girl who was with you?”

Lucius studied her, his eyes sparkling with humor. “No, that was Felicity. Why, were you jealous?”

“That’s absurd!”

Lucius looked away. “Of course it is. My apologies.”

Helena suddenly felt the need to know about all the living and breathing that had been going on around her while she’d been consumed in her comfortable little world in the villa. She asked about his parents, what they did for her father, how many other workers lived on the land. She was envious to learn Lucius had grown up playing with a number of children.

“And this Felicity is a free servant as well?”

Lucius frowned. “No, Felicity is a slave.”

“But you two are friends?”

“Yes.”

How friendly? Helena found she didn’t want to know. And she had been at the alcove too long already. She couldn’t afford to be missed.

Not that anyone would actually miss her.

She stood. “I must go.”

Lucius stood as well. “Will you come again?”

“Lucius, you must know that what you ask is very dangerous.”

He held her gaze, then glanced to the ground appropriately. “I do. And I’d understand fully should you choose to decline.”

Helena had promised him a lesson, and yet she’d spent the whole time interrogating him. She owed him at least one meeting where she actually taught him something.

She smoothed out her tunic. “Maybe I can come once more. What is it that you would like to learn?”

Lucius’s lips tugged up crookedly. “Can you bring a map? I would like to know where I am in the world.”

Chapter Six

HELENA

Helena moved across the upper level of the
peristyle
towards her younger brother Marcellus, who was peering dreamily out of a window. He didn’t acknowledge his sister. His attention was captured by the entourage heading for their property.

“What is it, Marcellus?”

“It’s Gordian and Cassius. They have a table.”

“A table?” She peered out the window.

Her older brothers arrived in a carriage with someone from the city. Indeed, there was a table in the back.

“I wonder what that is for,” she said, turning to Marcellus.

She noticed dark semi-circles under her younger brother’s eyes. It didn’t seem normal that a young boy could tire so easily, and especially one who had so recently been full of energy and mischief, enough to drive the household to the grave.

When he turned to look at her, she saw a sore the size of a
denari
festering on his face.

“What happened there?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

She moved his chin with her finger. “Did you bang your cheek on something?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You must be more careful. That’s ghastly.”

It would heal, she told herself, as all the cuts and bruises acquired by young boys did. Surely it was nothing, but she must remember to point it out to Father.

They watched their brothers help the man lift the heavy object from the carriage. Their faces were strained and red, and their movements were cumbersome like a large ungraceful beast’s. Cassius opened the gate.

“They’re taking it to the courtyard,” she said.

So this was the gift she’d overheard them talking about. Something they’d hoped would help pull their mother out of her dark mood.

She turned toward the staircase. From the top one could see the entire mosaic of the
atrium
floor. The smooth surfaces of the broken bits of tile and glass, contrasted with the roughness of the putty that sealed them together. The particular slant of the sunbeams shone through the opening in the roof and bounced off the glass pieces, triggering an enchanting dance of light.

From the main level the mosaic was no more than a random scattering of multi-colored, multi-shaped tiles, but from higher ground, like the top of the long staircase where she and Marcellus were perched, one could see the whole picture. Wild beasts fighting to the death. For many years she was frightened by the scene, and would avert her eyes. But her father taught her to see the beauty in bloodshed.

Her brothers should be in the courtyard by now.

“I’ll race you there!” she said playfully to Marcellus, bounding down the stairs and through the back of the house to the garden patio. She plunked herself onto one of the couches and waited, but Marcellus didn’t jog in behind her.

“Where are you?” she shouted, then traced her steps back into the house. Marcellus remained on the staircase, leaning against the railing.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel well.”

He turned and with slow determined steps returned to his chamber.

Marcellus was ill. She would tell her father immediately, for he too had arrived to inspect the gift for his wife. Helena headed back to the courtyard but was swept up in the excitement of the moment along with her father, Gordian and Cassius. She forgot entirely about Marcellus’s ailment until much later.

The dining patio had a canopy above as a defense from the harsh, mid-afternoon sun. It opened onto the courtyard, where a life-sized statue of Jupiter was the center-piece of a water fountain. It spread a fine mist over the many palms and flora growing in large, clay pots. A number of house cats lounged in the shade.