Jars of Clay (8 page)

“It is reported that he had a sudden stroke.”

The news of their foolish emperor’s death did not bring the joy one would expect, for despite his antics, Commodus was relatively harmless to the average Roman citizen. There had been worse emperors, and quite possibly, “worse” was to come again.

“I must return,” said Helena, knowing her house would be buzzing with the news. “We will meet here tomorrow.”

Chapter Twenty

LUCIUS

The men in the shearing pen were pensive when Lucius returned. The news about the emperor weighed heavily on them. Big changes always came when the purple changed hands, and often the changes weren’t good.

His father, Quintus, wrestled down a heavy, fat sheep. It squirmed and baa-ed in protest, its black eyes wide with fear.

“Now, now,” Quintus said, holding tight. “This won’t hurt.”

Lucius grabbed the flailing back legs so his father could gain purchase with the metal shears.

“Where’d you run off to?” Quintus huffed between breaths.

Lucius avoided his father’s eyes. “I was summoned by the master.”

Quintus’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not Brutus,” Lucius clarified.

“Who then?”

Lucius had managed to keep his clandestine meetings with Helena from his family, because he had dictated the times. He and Helena had found a pattern that worked for both of them, and with Felicity’s help they both had been able to keep their secret. Until now.

“The master’s daughter.”

Quintus dropped his shears. The sheep bolted out of their arms and back into the pen, leaving half its coat lying at Quintus’s feet. The other men in the pen laughed, but kept their shears in hand, snipping steadily.

Lucius wiped the sweat from his brow and frowned at his own stench. He smelled like farm animals and manure and sweat. He was embarrassed that he’d been called to Helena with short notice and he’d had no time to wash up at the well.

“Why would the master’s daughter summon you?” his father asked.

Was it his imagination or did the pen grow quieter? Lucius glanced around as the men averted their eyes, but he knew their ears were waiting for his answer.

His sister Teria entered the pen before it could be given. Her twiggy arms wobbled, weighted down by a tray holding a clay pitcher of water and several clay mugs. She’d taken one too many. Her left arm twitched, and Lucius saw the clay jug slip along its sweaty sheen. In his mind, he saw the pottery fall to the ground, clay pieces shattering and water dampening the earth.

He sprang into action, and in an instant Lucius was at Teria’s side, taking the tray from her trembling arms. He set it on the bench.

“Thank you, Lucius,” Teria said, rubbing her arms. “That was close.”

“Next time make two trips. The men can’t lap water off the ground like the sheep can.”

When Teria excused herself to go back to their mother, Lucius spoke quietly to his father. “Can you accompany me to the pasture?”

At the fence line, Quintus examined the sturdiness of the posts while he waited for his son’s words. Lucius pulled on a few as well, ensuring they were still secure and not in need of replacement. The dust under their feet stirred with the wind causing Lucius to cough.

“I’m a busy man,” Quintus said.

“Sorry, Father,” Lucius answered. “In the summer past, I found myself acquainted with the master’s daughter, quite by accident. At the time I thought it was an answer from the gods, an opportunity to learn. Helena agreed to teach me.”

Quintus jerked back sharply. His jaw dropped, but no sound came out.

“She has been my tutor these many months.”

“Why did she suddenly summon you?”

Lucius closed his eyes in the hot sun. “I never meant to dishonor you. I only wanted to learn of the world around me.”

“I admire your will to learn,” Quintus said. “But I’m sure the master would be very unhappy to discover his daughter had been spending time with you, a servant. And unchaperoned at that. It must stop. Immediately.”

“I can’t stop unless she requests it.”

“And she refuses to stop?”

Two crows fought each other overhead, screeching as if they knew Lucius was about to lie. She would stop if he asked her to. And he should have, but he couldn’t make himself. His desire to see her again was stronger than his will.

“Yes.”

“Why? I don’t understand. What’s in it for her?”

Good question. It was clear to him she didn’t love him. Lucius shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You do know that if you are found out, the master wouldn’t take it lightly. You could bring trouble to us all.”

“I know. It’s why I’ve been thinking about leaving.”

“Leaving? Where would you go?”

“I would like to go to Rome.”

Quintus slumped, leaning his weight on the fence. He suddenly appeared older to Lucius. “Rome is a long way away,” his father finally said.

“It’s the capital of the empire,” Lucius said. “I can find work. And the games there are the best around.”

“Could you not just go elsewhere in Carthage? You are a free man.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

Quintus studied him. The feelings Lucius had for Helena were impossible to hide. He knew his father could read them on his face.

“It’s a great torment for a man to want something he can never have,” his father said.

Lucius nodded. He wished his life had turned out like Quintus’s. His father had resigned himself to a simple life with a wife of Brutus’s choosing and small wages.

Again, his father answered intuitively. “Even though I have little, I have found contentment. I have the satisfaction of knowing my family does not hunger. Can you not find love with another?”

Lucius stood tall, facing his father. “This is why I must leave. I trust not my own will.”

“But soon she will be betrothed,” Quintus said, as if that solved Lucius’s problem.

Helena’s impending betrothal was Lucius’s constant torment, and he only knew of one way to escape it. He shook his head in reply.

“I see,” Quintus said. “Must you leave soon?”

“I’ll let you know.”

That evening upon retiring, Lucius stared at the brick walls of his small room. A cool breeze blew through the window, cooling his sunburned skin, but sleep escaped him.

He had long ago given up praying to the gods. Prayers never amounted to anything. Let another man waste his time. Even if the gods pooled their strength together, they were impotent to help him.

He desperately wanted something he could never have, and his grief burned and twisted in his soul. His only relief would come in fleeing Carthage, in getting as far away from Helena as possible.

Chapter Twenty-One

HELENA

Annia informed Helena that Brutus was entertaining a guest and had requested that she come to greet him. She had been preparing for her secret meeting with Lucius, and her father’s insistence forced her to send a message with Felicity that she would be late.

Being with Lucius made her heart beat wildly, even as she worked to hide her emotions. He made her feel intelligent and beautiful, and their sessions gave her purpose and reason. His nearness made her feel alive.

She couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him again, despite Gordian’s lingering threats. If Lucius had requested the parting, she would’ve granted it, but it seemed he couldn’t bare the separation either.

They’d only met three times since Gordian had left, and each had been awkward and stilted. They pretended to forget Lucius’s admission of love and the sizzling kiss they had shared.

Even though it must never happen again, Helena couldn’t stop reliving it. Oh, to the gods, if only Lucius was the son of a Senator or a wealthy merchant, then her father would possibly allow a coupling.

But as it stood, there was no possible way she and Lucius could ever act on their feelings.

She had to be stern if they were to continue Lucius’s studies. He was the student, and she was the teacher. Nothing more. This was the message she had communicated by her behavior and her words. She cringed when she recalled how she’d blurted out that it wasn’t a crime for her to teach a servant and the hurt that had flashed across his face. She couldn’t blame him for being standoffish.

Helena arrived at Brutus’s office door and hesitated. It was not uncommon for her father to summon her to greet his guests, and for him to boast of his offspring, so she remained blissfully unaware of his intentions. Until, like a thread twisting around her finger, the truth dawned unpleasantly, first with a pinch then a burn.

“My dear Helena, please come.” Brutus met her at the doorway of his office and with wide strides guided her toward the man lounging near a table well-supplied with food and drink.

Helena entered and nodded toward the visitor.

“May I introduce to you to Vincentius Ignatius.”

“Hello,” she said, politely before averting her eyes.

“H-how do y-you do?” he said. His small white face shone with sweat, and Helena felt he should spend more time in the sun.

“Fine, thank you.”

“Please come and join us, Helena. Vincentius has just returned from Greece. He’s a writer.” Brutus said this in a manner that seemed to say,
which explains certain things about him.

“I see,” she said. There descended an uncomfortable silence that Helena felt compelled to break. “So, um, what do you write, sir?”

“Oh, v-v-various things,” Vincentius said, blinking bulbous eyes rapidly and scrubbing his thin, dry lips with his tongue. “Dialogues, l-letters, stories.”

“He also writes speeches for the Senate and has even been called upon in the past to write for the Emperor,” Brutus boasted.

“Really?”

“W-well, once.” Vincentius paused to blink and lick. He reminded Helena of a reptile. “F-for his aid, actually.”

Yes, a lizard. Vincentius also had the unfortunate trait of loose, scaly skin. Perhaps he originated from Britannia. However, she cared not about his origins. She suddenly desperately desired to find Lucius and resume their studies.

“Well, Father, Vincentius, if you will excuse me.”

“Helena, dear, there is no hurry. We are pleased by your company.”

“But, my studies…”

“They can wait. Surely you are educated enough for a woman.”

For a woman?
Under other circumstances she would have blundered into a debate about the value of education for women but he had always called her a girl, his little girl, never a
woman
before.

Her eyes darted back to the little man lounging before her. He smiled a dry, thin-lipped smile, and she snapped her head away.

“Father…”

“Dear, have I mentioned Vincentius originates from Gaul, from a very well-to-do family of noble descent?”

“Is that so,” she said stiffly.

“S-s-so, I hear you like to read?”

“Yes.”

“That’s g-great. I love to read also. I admire a woman who can r-read and understand the fine literary w-works of Rome.”

“I have never read you.”

“Helena.” Her father spoke softly, but his eyes warned her to watch herself. She must not embarrass him in front of a guest. “We will rectify that at once.”

“Yes, Father. May I leave now?”

“If you wish.”

“Good day, sir,” she said to Vincentius.

“Good day.”

Brutus walked with her to the
atrium
.

“Father, you don’t mean…”

“He is a good man of means. And he’s promised to take up residence here in Carthage.”

“But I don’t love him. I don’t even like him! He’s… unpleasant.”

“You will learn to love him, even like him. Helena, he will take care of you.”

“You take care of me, Father.”

“Under Roman law, you must marry.”

“But not until I’m nineteen!”

“It’s not always good to wait.”

“Father, please. I will not shame you. Don’t do this, please.”

“I must. We have entered negotiations. But I can insist that he wait for your hand, perhaps a year or two.”

“A year or two? Father, surely you can do better for me than…” she flipped her hands toward the office, “than
that
?”

“Should I rather choose a harsh army man, who would beat a wife he is displeased with? Or a Senator who takes pleasure in many women? Would that be better?”

“He will bore me to death!”

“Then death by boredom is your destiny. You could do worse. I have made up my mind, Helena. You will not change it.”

Helena dropped her hands to her sides, defeated. At least for now. The head of a Roman family had legal rights in the lives of all in his household. She was bound to obedience. Perhaps in time, in one or two year’s time, he would soften and change his mind.

As for Cassius? She was going to kill him!

Retreating to the privacy of her room, where she intended to throw herself onto her pillows and weep, she passed her mother’s door, which was jarred opened.

Impulsively, she went in. The room was dark, the window covered with a gray satin cloth. Virina lounged on her bed, eyes closed. She shifted, and propped herself up when her daughter entered.

“Helena?” She seemed surprised, and not at all angry, as Helena had feared.

“Mother?”

Virina was thin and her hair hung limply over her shoulders. Helena dimly recalled the mother of her childhood, how she dominated a room when she entered it, and how Annia slaved to please her, choosing her clothing and styling her hair. Where had that woman gone?

“What is it? Helena, is something wrong?”

“Father wishes for me to marry.”

“I see. It was bound to happen.”

“I can’t, not to,
him
.”

“Who?”

“Vincentius… I don’t remember his name, and I don’t care to.”

“This is every woman’s lot, Helena. You must marry.”

“Yes, Mother, but just any man, for any reason? Is there no room for love?”

Virina let a humorless chuckle escape. “Love is a mythical belief.”

“Didn’t you love, Father?”

“Helena, you are a woman now and must accept adult realities. I barely knew Brutus.”

Helena thought of Lucius and her pulse jumped. Lucius she could love, Lucius she
did
love, but Vincentius, never.