Jars of Clay (4 page)

The feelings he had for her had grown so sharply, he suddenly had to know.

“Has your father made arrangements for you?” His question was bold, and he prepared himself for a verbal lashing. But none came.

Helena hesitated before speaking softly. “I don’t know. If he has, he hasn’t told me of it.”

“Well, one never knows,” Lucius continued lightly. “The gods may even design that you and I one day marry.”

“Each other?” she said, shocked.

Now that the words had fled his mouth Lucius knew they were presumptuous, but he didn’t have a dignified way to back out. “Yes, why not? I mean if the gods desire it.”

“But, Lucius,” Helena said, her eyes softening, “even though you have become my good friend, I don’t think Father would ever permit me to marry you.”

“Of course. I’m merely the son of a freedman in your father’s service.”

“It would seem improper.”

So now Lucius knew. His heart and his mouth could betray him. He must take precautions. He must never let himself fall in love with the daughter of Brutus Vibius.

Unfortunately, he feared that might not be so easy.

Chapter Nine

HELENA

The empire celebrated
The Ambarvalia
, a festival dedicated to the gods of agriculture. It was Helena’s first time to attend, having convinced her Father that she was a woman now and admissible.

Her father walked quickly through the thick crowds, his long stride making it difficult for Helena to keep up, and more than once the toe of her sandal caught on the rocks that paved the city roads causing her to stumble.

In truth, the crowds intimidated her, and she reluctantly admitted to herself that she wished to go home, a desire she kept quiet while in the presence of the bright faces of her brothers.

“Festival days are so invigorating, aren’t they, Father?” said Gordian.

“Indeed.”

“How long until we reach the temple?” added Cassius.

“With the crowds, much longer than normal,” said Brutus, nodding toward the masked dancers that lined the way. “They are here to entertain us so time will pass more quickly.”

Warm sweaty bodies pushed Helena hard against her father. She could not see the procession of the beast being led to the temple. Her only view was the gray haze veiling the North African sky.

She lost her footing and the swell and surge of the crowd pulled her away. Panic formed a dry lump in her throat like a poorly chewed almond nut. She cried out, but her pleas evaporated. Disoriented, she fell, her knee scraping the rocks of the road.

“Helena?”

“Cassius!” She waved frantically. “Over here.”

Cassius pushed against the crowd, reaching her. He grabbed her by the hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice a barely controlled quiver.

They waded through the crowds, her heart not slowing until they found their father again.

“There you are,” Gordian said. “What’s the matter, can’t keep up?” He sneered as he stared down at her. “I told Father you were too young for the festival.”

“Shut up, Gordian,” Helena snapped. “I will always be too young for everything as far as you are concerned.”

They were almost at the temple now. The priests would be performing sacrifices at different points throughout Carthage. Indeed, sacrifices would be made through all of Rome.

Staying close to Cassius, Helena jostled for position, maintaining a steady view. They were at the foot of Byrsa Hill, upon which the white marble basilica dazzled the eyes. Finally, the priests and their custodians passed through the doorways onto the temple steps. One of the priests standing between the pillars of the temple thrust his hands to the sky. The crowd responded enthusiastically, with shouts and cheers to the gods of the fields. The priest with his custodians descended the steps and with the help of the whip, brought the sheep, goats and oxen up the cement stairs, to the altar.

Helena spotted a familiar flop of sun-bleached hair. Lucius stood tall among his family with the rest of the servants of the house of Vibius. He wore a rough sleeveless tunic, cinched with a leather belt above his hips. He looked raw and rugged, so un-like the sophistication of her brothers. Helena felt a small gasp leave her lips. It was strangely odd to see him in this setting, away from the privacy of their alcove.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned to her. She wouldn’t glance away; she was the master’s daughter. The corner of his lips lifted slightly. The only acceptable form of acknowledgement he could give her. No one even knew that they were acquainted. No one must ever know. He looked away.

If only he weren’t a servant boy
. Helena was surprised by her thoughts. Oh to the gods, if only he weren’t so appealing.

Refocusing on the procession, she watched the priests, who with much effort forced the first beast, a white unblemished ox, onto the platform by pulling its head. Then it was forced sharply backwards, onto its haunches.

The chief priest pulled his hood over his head. Helena had learned from her father that this was to guard himself against the sights and sounds of ill omens. He sprinkled wine and sacred cake onto the beast and murmured softly to the gods, the triad, Jupiter, Juno and Minerva, the premier gods to be honored on this day. Behind him a man played a flute. The music was soothing and prevented any sounds of ill omens from being heard.

“Oh, great gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva,” the chief priest shouted. “Because you have given to the kingdom and to its emperor prosperity and peace, we offer this sacrifice of thanks to you.”

A custodian stunned the animal with a pole-ax. The priest brought the knife swiftly across the animal’s throat, and blood spurted like the juice from a ripe pomegranate, spraying all those near it.

Helena pressed her eyes shut. When she dared to peek around with one eye opened, she was relieved to see no one was paying her a bit of notice. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Tatiana on a litter carried by her family’s Ethiopian slaves. Her eyes were wide with delight and she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

The priest managed to catch a modest amount of blood with a bowl, and poured it over the altar.

The entrails were yet to be removed. The priest worked swiftly with a few expert cuts, skinning and cutting the animal into pieces. He placed the entrails into a large platter and carried them to the alter fire to be burned. The remains would be studied for omens, whether good or bad.

The bones and fat would be burned on the altar fire for the gods, and the rest would be cooked and eaten by those so chosen.

The next beast was then brought to the altar.

After many demonstrations of blood and offerings to the many gods of the fields, and petitions for successful crops, the display of blood lost its distasteful effect on Helena. She no longer had to close her eyes, except to rest.

“Are you fatigued?” her father asked.

“I’m fine.”

“The festivities have a way of wearing out even the sturdiest of men, and there is still so much left to go. I will send you home with one of the slaves. You can check up on little Marcellus for me.”

Though her mouth continued to deny the obvious, she readily returned to the villa with one of the slaves. She couldn’t help but scout for another glimpse of Lucius, but he was not to be seen.

Chapter Ten

AD 200

HELENA

They met regularly all winter and into spring. Avoiding detection by her family had turned out to be amazingly simple, laughably so, in fact. Father was busy with his businesses and his senator friends, Cassius with his studies and his work alongside their father; and Gordian had joined the Army just as spring arrived. Mother preferred the dark quiet of her chambers, and Marcellus, still so sickly, stuck close to his nanny-slave.

As they sat together in the alcove, Helena considered how Lucius had changed over the last
few months–t
aller, stronger and bolder. They avoided the awkward subject of her inevitable nuptials, sticking with the safe topics of literature, history and geography.

She found herself confiding in him, revealing family matters as personal as how her mother suffered from depression and how her brother Gordian frightened her a little. Their relationship moved precariously close to a line of familiarity that was unacceptable. In fact, Helena was sure they had already crossed it, yet neither of them could or would retreat.

Now they discussed their emperor, and the rumors that had filtered south to Carthage.

Lucius reclined on the blanket and chewed a stalk of grass. “It’s outrageous, the goings on in Rome these days. A second attempt to assassinate Commodus in what, six months?”

“It certainly is frightful,” Helena answered, shaking her head. “It makes one wonder if the attempts will continue until one is successful.”

Lucius shrugged his square shoulders. “I have heard that Commodus went crazy after his sister’s betrayal.”

Helena cocked an eyebrow. “I would be careful in how you would speak of the emperor in public, Lucius.”

“Indeed. But this is not public, is it?”

Helena allowed a slight smile. “No.”

“And shouldn’t a student be free to ask and raise questions?”

“You are right. What we speak of together will stay between us. And I agree. Commodus is behaving most unbecomingly for a ruler of Rome.”

“I’ve also heard the stories, of reckless spending, carousing with women with no consideration to his wife, and indulging in wine until he blacks out.”

“My goodness, Lucius, where do you hear all these things?

“In the markets, on the steps of the senate. I overhear conversations while running errands–-in your father’s service, of course.”

“I don’t question that you work hard for my father.”

Lucius lowered his head.

“I hear things, too.” Helena continued. “My father speaks freely in my presence. He also fears for the life of our emperor. I offer prayers to the gods daily, for the well being of our impertinent emperor, and for Rome.”

“We had all hoped he would live up to the reputation of his father, Marcus Aurelius,” Lucius said. “I’m not alone when I say I’m disappointed.”

Helena shifted in her spot on the blanket. “Even in his extravagance, he has proven to be harmless.”

“Except that his citizens grow hungry due to his flagrant spending.”

“But if something were to happen to him….” Helena shuddered.

One only had to review the course of history and how life changed for all Roman citizens whenever the purple emperor’s robe was passed on to another.

“The time has flown by once again.” Helena stood and smoothed her skirt. “I promised Tatiana I would visit this afternoon.”

Lucius picked up the blanket, folded it and handed it to her, his hand brushing hers as he did. Like flint struck by an axe, the moment of contact sent heated shivers up Helena’s spine. Not since their accidental brushing of arms while picking olives last summer had they come in any kind of physical contact.

Their eyes locked until Lucius bowed his head.

Helena had fooled herself into thinking Lucius was merely a friend to her, like a brother. But her brothers didn’t have this kind of effect on her. She let out a long controlled breath. She must be more guarded with her heart.

She left without saying goodbye.

Chapter Eleven

HELENA

Tatiana’s family estate was as large as Helena’s. Vast vineyards blanketed the hillside, and the Mediterranean sunshine radiated warmth off the stone pathway that meandered through the gardens. Tatiana weaved her arm through Helena’s and led her towards the gazebo, past numerous statues of gods and goddesses and refreshing water fountains.

“Nesta!” Tatiana barked. “Prepare for us to dine and deliver it to the gazebo.”

Tatiana’s slave scurried away to do as commanded

“It’s so lovely here,” Helena said.

Tatiana played with the jewels around her neck. “The gods have blessed us.”

Upon arriving at the gazebo, Helena sat on a lounge chair overlooking the valley. She relished the shade and the soft perfume of the vines and fauna weaving through the trellises. Nesta soon returned with a tray of bread, goat cheese, grapes and tea. Having served Tatiana and Helena, she bowed and backed away silently.

“Is your house as quiet as mine?” Tatiana asked.

“With Father and my brothers at the games, yes, it’s like a tomb.”

“My father won’t let me go to the games, even though I beg him every time.” Tatiana dropped a grape into her mouth, and spoke again while chewing. “He says I can go when I’m married. Ha!”

“Has he discussed marriage with you? Do you think he has chosen someone?”

“This is a matter he will decide without me, I’m afraid. I’m hoping he’ll choose one of those handsome young senators or an army general would be good. Of course, our fathers may choose to join our families.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Tatiana said, smoothing her dark hair with her hands. “I think Cassius is handsome.”

“Cassius?” Helena set her tea cup down. “He’s just a youth!”

“Oh, I know. But still, it could be advantageous to join our families. Think how grand our estates would be together. And it’s not so uncommon for a man to marry young.”

Helena considered this. As much as she cared for Tatiana–she was the closest thing Helena had to a sister–she didn’t really want her to join the family as Cassius’s wife. Cassius was dear to her, and if she were honest, Helena desired someone better than Tatiana for him.

“But you’re still so young as well,” Helena said.

“I’m sixteen. Certainly old enough. And you well know that Roman girls are to be married by nineteen. That means you too, Helena. One day you will have to stop acting like a child.”

“I do not act like a child!”

“Oh, I mean no offense. It’s just you don’t seem to notice men, the way a potential bride would.”

Helena’s thoughts immediately went to Lucius and their clandestine meetings. And the
touch
. She knew what Tatiana meant. It was true her heart never chased boys the way Tatiana’s did. She was much too busy with reading and studying. And now Lucius.