A Noble Captive (10 page)

‘Quintus, take the men back to the barracks. Immediately.’

‘Is there some reason, Livius Tullio?’

‘It is not the tribute ship. It is more than likely full of plunder.’ He watched the men’s faces sober. There was little
point in offering soft words of comfort. The memory of the hold was too raw. ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to make certain any Roman being held captive is brought here.’

‘How are you going to do that, Tribune? What are our orders?’

‘You men must be out of the way if the prisoners are brought here.’ A grim determination filled Tullio. He longed for his sword and a chance to prove himself again in battle. ‘I don’t want any excuse for the pirates to station more guards.’

‘What do you plan to do?’ Quintus asked in an undertone.

‘Wait,’ Tullio replied. ‘And hope.’

The late afternoon sun beat against Helena’s back as she hurried across the deserted courtyard where her aunt grew her precious bee orchids. Only one had bloomed this year. Its purple petals danced in the slight breeze.

Usually Helena’s mood lightened when she saw it, but now her skin crawled from her encounter with Androceles’s son, Kimon.

When she arrived at the quayside, one of the guards reported a disagreement about how many amphorae the temple was set to receive. A few words with Kimon, and, to her horror, he casually offered to have the man whipped. At her protest, he bowed low, and eyed her lips as if he saw Tullio’s kiss branded there.

She knew many of the village girls thought Kimon very handsome and admired his strong shoulders and athletic prowess. But Helena always saw the look of disdain he had for women and for the seafarers under his command. Such a difference from Tullio and the way he treated his men. His men followed him out of love rather than fear.

She knew which sort of man she’d rather choose.

Choose?

Helena shook her head. Where were her thoughts leading this afternoon? She was unlike other women. Her destiny was different, no matter how much she might long to be normal and have a husband and children. Her aunt had drilled that into her time and time again until her hand ached from copying the words out. Her first duty was to the temple and the people it served. There was no time left for the ordinary desires and passions of a woman.

My mother had the time.
A little voice nagged at the back of her mind.
She had a lover, then she had me and the temple thrived.

My mother died, brought down by the gods and her conceit.

Helena curled her fingers around her belt. The tiny emblem of Kybele dug into her palm. It reminded her of the lessons and her duties. With Kimon’s arrival, there was a gathering of Androceles’s clan. How many more triremes were drifting on the tide towards here?

She had run out of time.

With each day that passed, the whispering would grow and the temple’s authority would start to ebb away. She had to brave Kybele’s lair today. Her childish fears were unimportant beside the need to safeguard Aunt Flavia.

It was her only choice.

Something in the shadows shifted. Helena jumped. A gasp rose in her throat. Within a fraction of heartbeat, she knew without a word or sound, with the barest of outlines who it had to be. A bubble of excitement rose within her despite her resolutions of no more than thirty breaths ago.

Tullio stepped from the shadows into the light. The golden afternoon sun highlighted the planes of his face. The time he had spent working outside had coated his skin in a deep bronze, which the whiteness of his short tunic only highlighted.

‘I disturbed you.’

‘Disturbed me? No, no, I was thinking about…other things.’

Helena thought what a lie that was. Everything about him disturbed her, made her sense, feel alive. It bothered her that, in a few short days, he had succeeded in reconstructing this temple as it was when her mother was alive.

‘Tell me your thoughts. A problem shared is a problem halved.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners.

‘They would bore you, I’m sure.’ She forced a laugh from her throat. She had to do this alone. She had already confided more than was wise. ‘There are things I have to attend to. The temple is very busy.’

‘I wanted to ask…’ He paused. His eyes were unfathomable, the same colour as storm clouds ready to burst. ‘Did the pirates, the seafarers, have any more Roman guests?’

His mouth curled around the word guest as if it were more unsavoury than
infamis
or a hundred other insults.

‘Does it matter to you? Is it any of your concern?’ Helena lifted an eyebrow. One kiss and he thought he could control her.

‘I would like to plead for them to be housed here if at all possible.’ The set of his jaw challenged her. ‘I know what a pirate’s hold is like. If you consider that impertinent, so be it, but I had to try. These are men, not animals.’

‘These seafarers did not have the occasion to rescue anyone from the sea.’

She stared over his shoulder at the fresco of Kybele and her chariot. Thank the goddess, she had not had to make that decision. The risk of the seafarers insisting on guards was too great, but she remembered the dreadful condition of Tullio’s men.

‘Why have they landed?’

‘They’ve grain destined for Rome’s markets. It will be
stored here safe and dry until they find a buyer. It is simple but effective arrangement.’

‘How did they obtain that grain? Did they buy at the market in Alexandria?’

Tullio’s face searched hers. She flinched. She had heard the whispers of how Kimon captured so much grain, the lengths he was prepared to go to.

‘It is not my place to ask. We, the temple, and the seafarers have a long-standing agreement. It makes no difference to us where they get the grain.’

‘It should.’ A muscle in his cheek jumped. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

‘The merchants of Rome don’t care. Why should the temple?’ Helena gave a deliberate shrug of her shoulder. The situation was not straightforward. If he wanted to pretend that the Roman merchants who gleefully purchased grain, wine and even slaves from the seafarers were innocent, he could think again. ‘Before you start to criticise this island, Rome should examine its own tablets.’

She watched Tullio run his hand through his hair. He reached out towards her, but she took a step backwards, knocking the orchid pot slightly.

‘Can you tell me if you would have brought the Romans here, if they had been in the hold?’

‘Only the sibyl can make that decision.’ She turned her head and watched the drops fall from the fountain into the basin, making little ripples and waves. One tiny choice, like a drop of water, could affect so many different things. When she had put on that mask, she had thought any consequences would be for that day alone. Instead, there had been new expectations, more problems. ‘And I am not her.’

‘But you did go down as the sibyl. You’re the acting sibyl.’

She shook her head, cutting him off. She had to think clearly, difficult when he was so near and she simply wanted to lay her head against the firm wall of his chest and be comforted. She had no desire to dismiss his ideas with a polite laugh. The feelings inside her were too new and raw for that. She wanted him to think well of her. She had to make him understand. As he did, she lived in a well-ordered society, one bound by rules and regulations. She’d not chosen to masquerade as the sibyl on a whim. She had done so out of necessity.

The temple and the island worked because everyone knew what was expected of them and when to expect it. And she knew as well. Her aunt had drummed everything into her head until it ached. She knew the traditions, from the proper way to light the ritual lamps to the number of pyramid cakes the sibyl had to eat.

He understood nothing about their way of life.

‘Our customs are different from yours. The sibyl only appears when the occasion demands it. Captain Androceles is a chief—a king, if you will—and he had to be accorded a royal welcome. His son is merely a captain.’

‘Then it was good fortune a chief captured my men and me.’ The words were lightly said, but Helena could see the deep seriousness in his eyes, and the shadows of what could have been.

‘I suppose it was.’ Helena prodded a paving stone with the toe of her sandal.

The state of his men when they arrived—ill kempt, injured, starved to the point of exhaustion—was clear in her memory. She refused to think about what might have happened, and indeed what must have happened to the others because her aunt insisted on keeping Romans in the holds of ships. When her aunt recovered, Helena would argue hard for guests to be held in the temple.

‘Rome’s and my gratitude is great.’

‘I did what the ritual required me to do. You left me no choice.’

He captured her hand. A tremor ran through Helena before common sense reasserted itself and she withdrew her hand.

‘We value friendship…wherever it is offered.’ His face held an eager expression.

Helena examined the point of her sandal, rather than continue to look into his eyes. She knew what his words were. A code. An offer for her to openly condemn the seafarers and align the temple with Rome. That would never happen. It was impossible. The very fact she was even considering it and how best to respond astonished her. He had shown her that Romans were no different from the people who inhabited this island. They were not monsters. They were civilised.

She might be able to ensure fair treatment of prisoners, but they were at war with Rome. She was not a traitor and she could guess the price Rome would exact for its friendship. But what if the seafarers were plotting to overthrow the temple—what then?

Helena wished for the simpler days when all she had to worry about was whether or not the incense burners were filled. She did not have the power to make that sort of decision, even if she wanted to. She drew her breath inwards. But he deserved to know the truth. ‘I—’

‘Helena, the grain has been unloaded and is ready for inspection.’ Kimon’s high-pitched voice interrupted her and drowned out the reply.

She had never thought to be grateful to Kimon, but she was.

T
ullio stared at the pirate striding across the courtyard, his dark green cloak billowing in the breeze. His high-laced sandals made a metallic sound. He lifted a hand and pushed his slightly too-long locks back. A shaft of sunlight caught the eagle tattoo and three gold rings with blue stones. The emblem of a lion fighting an eagle was clearly visible on one.

Blood pounded in Tullio’s ears.

A coincidence. It had to be.

There was no guarantee that this was the pirate responsible for his ex-wife’s murder six months ago. But there was the signet ring that she wore, complete with the chip on the eagle’s wing. He had to keep calm, and not let his temper get the better of him. But he knew the ring and on whose hand he had last seen it—the final encounter with Marcia where they had reached a certain peace.

He had wished her well in her new life. She had laughed, and confided that she enjoyed being the wife of a senator much more than being the wife of an Army officer. Ten days later, he heard of her and her husband’s murder in a pirate raid on the Italian coast, as well as the description of the pirate
captain who had carried it out, and who, according to Marcia’s tire-woman, had performed the actual killing.

After he attended Marcia’s funeral, Tullio vowed to track down the pirate responsible. Now it appeared the gods had delivered the man to him.

Tullio pressed his lips together. Patience. He had waited this long, and he would have a chance to avenge the deaths. He had a face and a name. He was no longer chasing shadows.

Half-dazed, he listened to Helena and the pirate discuss the grain storage arrangements. Helena was wrong. The seafarers who used this port did raid Italy. They were not frightened of the sibyl’s curse.

‘Zenobia was correct,’ the pirate drawled. ‘You are offering a safe haven to Roman scum. Whatever is this world coming to if the temple can not be trusted?’

‘The sibyl has extended us a welcome while we wait for the ransom demanded after an unprovoked attack.’ Tullio moved forward, positioning himself between Helena and the pirate. He held on to his temper by the thinnest of threads.

The pirate flicked his fingers under his chin and sent a deliberate stream of spittle, narrowly missing Tullio’s sandal. The insult was unmistakable. Tullio crouched on the balls of his feet. His belt hung with the three bronzes he had won for inter-cohort wrestling. He had even spent a time at Olympus, perfecting his skills. The pirate would not rise, but where to land the first blow?

The pirate’s eyes gleamed. He made a slight beckoning motion with his hand, a hint of a grin played on his features. Drawing on all his military training, Tullio froze. A faint movement in the shadows caused Tullio to glance to his right. Seven seafarers were in the shadows, bristling with menace. He might reach the pirate captain, but not even a single punch would land.

Everything he had worked so hard for over the past week would be wasted in a display of temper. Tullio pursed his lips. He would not throw away the gains so easily.

Tullio drummed his fingers against his thigh and waited. He hated this impotence. It went against his nature. He wanted to strike and strike first, but he had others to think about. His men were more important than the satisfaction of avenging an insult.

‘By the shade of my ancestor, Alexander, my father grows soft, allowing Romans to dictate terms.’ The pirate’s eyes narrowed, giving him a hawklike appearance. ‘Helena, you take too many chances. You know the reputation Romans have. You must allow me to station guards here. I insist.’

‘The temple has everything under control, I assure you, Kimon.’ Helena inclined her head, half-covering it with her shawl, but Tullio could see the strain about her lips. ‘When we need help, we shall ask for it. In the hour of our dire need, Neptune will answer our call. It has been foretold.’

‘They might try to escape.’ The pirate stroked his chin. ‘For your own safety, Helena, I beg you to consider my offer. My men will be only too delighted to serve the temple in this fashion.’

The pirate wore a smug smile as if the request was a mere formality, and Helena had already agreed. Tullio willed her to pause and to think. Once before she had rebuffed the pirates. She had to do it again. He forced every muscle, every sinew in his body to remain still but ready. If she needed his help, he’d give it.

‘Your father has already had my answer.’ Helena’s headdress quivered. ‘Why should it change now?’

‘You have spent several days with the scum. Surely you must see how untrustworthy and prone to lying they are,’ Kimon replied. ‘I beg you, Helena, for the sake of the temple—reconsider.’

‘The Romans have behaved honourably.’

‘Romans and honour do not go together, Helena. You know that.’

‘I have given my word as a Roman and an officer,’ Tullio said between gritted teeth. He had to keep control of his temper. He was tempted to ask what right a thief and murderer had to judge honour, but refrained.

‘Who exactly are you?’ There was a curl to the pirate’s lip. ‘I have known many Romans and few keep their word unless paid sufficiently.’

‘Marcus Livius Tullio.’

‘I have heard of the family.’ The pirate gave a loud grunt. ‘My father gets paid one way or the other.’

‘What precisely do you mean, Kimon? You arrive at the temple, speaking in riddles.’ Helena had crossed her arms and her tapping foot made a noisy tattoo. ‘If you have some proof that the tribute will not be paid, out with it.’

The courtyard crackled with tension. The pirate’s eyes grew crafty. He tapped the side of his nose.

‘No proof, just a feeling in my gut. The same sickening feeling I get every time I see a Roman. The same feeling every decent person should have.’

‘Unless you have proof, our business has concluded, Kimon, son of Androceles.’ Helena drew herself to her full height. ‘Next time I will take it ill if you attempt to tell me how the temple should conduct its business.’

The pirate’s eyes hardened. He looked ready to strike Helena. Tullio’s muscles tensed. Powerful man or not, if he took one step towards Helena, raised his hand, Tullio would act. He would not have a woman abused in front of him.

‘As you wish, Helena.’ The pirate clicked his heels together. ‘You cannot say you were not warned. When you have
trouble, you have only yourself to blame. And my father sends his regards. I, too, wait for the sibyl’s prophecy.’

He strode off, stopping only to crush a fragile flower deliberately between his fingers. Tullio watched Helena. She kept her figure rigid until the pirate disappeared out of sight. Then and only then did she drop to her knees and gather the crushed flower petals together.

‘The sibyl’s favourite—a bee orchid,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘We get only one bloom a year from this plant and he destroys it. Typical.’

Tullio walked over and placed his hand on her arm. Her warm skin radiated heat throughout his body. He wanted to draw her to him and tell her that it would be all right, but until he had weapons and more men he could make no assurances beyond mere words.

‘Would you trust such a man to protect Niobe?’

Helena stared at the shredded bits of the purple petal. She longed to agree with Tullio, to tell him everything she thought about Kimon, but she had already revealed too much. To speak against one of the seafarers would send her down a road she was not ready to take. ‘Crushing an orchid does not make anyone evil, Tullio.’

‘That is not what I asked.’

‘Kimon, son of Androceles, has been a good friend to the temple. He has brought in more goods than most of the recent seafarers.’ Helena stared at the wall. Prejudice blinded both men. Without inconvertible proof, she refused to act. ‘The rings he wears are a gift from his father to commemorate the amount of grain he brought last year.’

The line between Tullio’s brows increased. He tilted his head to one side. ‘From his father?’

‘Kimon worships his father. Did you not notice they even
sport the same tattoo? The emblem of Alexander? Kimon is Androceles’s heir apparent.’ Helena’s words came out in a rush.

‘Do you know how Androceles came by the rings? I thought I recognised them from somewhere. They are of Roman design.’

‘I have no idea. Androceles has many contacts in Rome. Is it important?’ Helena took a closer look at him. His face had become shadowed. She reached out a hand and risked touching his shoulder. No response. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘It may be nothing.’ He moved away from her hand and bowed stiffly. ‘I have tarried here too long. I need to get back to my men.’

‘Tullio, I—’ Helena stopped and forced the words back down her throat. She had nearly given into impulse and confided her fears about the cave, and the task she had before her. But not when he was like this. This was one journey she had to make herself. She knew she was ready for it. She had seen Aunt Flavia prepare herself often enough. But why did she wish she had confided in Tullio when she had had the chance? Especially now, after the encounter with Kimon.

‘Is something the matter, Helena?’ he asked, but his face was unyielding, the face of a Roman tribune.

‘No, I was pleased we didn’t have any more guests. May the goddess go with you, Tullio.’

She straightened her shoulders. She was the sibyl’s assistant, the one who would take over. She knew what had to be done. She was no clinging vine. She would stand on her own two feet. Face Kybele and survive. She would save the temple on her own.

Helena stood and watched him until he turned the corner. She shivered despite the heat and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. One of the purple petals drifted out of
her fingers and landed on the stone, reminding her of her task. She had delayed long enough.

She took an involuntary step towards Tullio’s retreating figure and forced herself to stop. She could not ask him for help. She swallowed hard and turned her footsteps towards the beginning stage in her plan—the ritual cleansing.

Tullio rejoined his men in a sombre mood. The dark circles under Helena’s eyes and the slight trembling of her rose-coloured lips haunted him. It had taken all of his hard-won self-control not to demand she tell him what it was that truly bothered her. Androceles’s son had unsettled her. More so than when they were on the turret.

Patience. Easy to preach, but difficult to exercise. He had to wait and let her turn to him. If he pushed too hard, he risked losing any foothold that Rome might have gained. He had to earn her trust. He had to show he was different from the pirates and that the pirates had resumed their raids. He had to have that final bit of proof.

‘And—?’ Quintus jerked his head towards the direction of the town.

‘The ship only carried plunder. Grain.’

‘The bastards,’ Quintus replied.

There was no need to say anything more. Silently, Tullio regarded the men. They were engaged in a mock battle with bits of wood.

‘You approve, Livius Tullio?’ Quintus gestured towards the men. ‘Not exactly legion wooden swords and wicker shields, but they will do.’

‘I gave the order that the men were supposed to go back to barracks. Not engage in behaviour that might be threatening. Helena has indicated the temple is not a drill hall.’

‘It is only a bit of fun. Something to keep their spirits up.’ Quintus wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘’Sides, if there were t’have been more soldiers, I wanted to give them hope, so to speak.’

‘Your hope would have caused the pirates to station men here. Did you think about that?’ Tullio glared at the centurion, who glanced away. Tullio rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He was being too hard on the man. ‘How did you get the sticks?’

‘There was some wood left over from the repair job we did on the warehouse, and I asked Galla, who agreed.’

Tullio noticed there was a slight hesitation in the way the hardened soldier had said ‘Galla’ and there was a faint rosy hue to his cheeks. Had Cupid’s arrow found the centurion?

A richly spiced aroma wafted into the yard, and the men hastily dropped their weapons. Galla entered, carrying a tray of honey cakes. Quintus hurried over and relieved her of the burden. Both sets of cheeks flamed to the same hue.

‘Galla has brought us some refreshments, lads,’ Quintus called, his mouth full of the small cakes, ‘in thanks for the reconstruction job we did on the goat sheds.’

‘It appears you have worked out a system of payment.’ Tullio walked over and casually took one of the cakes. Honey and cinnamon teased his senses. A most welcome change from barley soup.

‘An army needs to eat as well. It would be folly to refuse such a gift.’ Quintus sheltered his mouth behind his hand. ‘Your idea about sweet talking worked. We have been trading bread recipes. All those years as the cohort’s baker, who’d have thought it? My tongue may not be smooth, but I can get things done.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ There appeared to be a distinct change
in Quintus. Tullio hoped it was due to genuine feelings for the maid, rather than a desire to use her.

‘The sibyl is most grateful that you and your men have contributed to the well being of the temple.’ Galla came over to stand next to Quintus, her face wreathed in smiles.

‘It is our pleasure, I assure you.’ Tullio sketched a bow. The maid’s reaction was balm after his encounter with the pirate. It was proof his idea was working. Given time, he would be able to convince the temple to side with Rome. He had to believe that. ‘These cakes, then, are from the sibyl, and not Helena.’

‘The cakes are from me to thank these men.’ The maid adjusted her shawl more firmly about her head. ‘It is not something I wanted to trouble the sibyl with, or Helena for that matter. I am the mistress of my own kitchen.’

‘My mistake. I merely wanted to express my appreciation for such a gift.’

The woman harrumphed at the flattery, but Tullio noticed her cheeks were an even brighter hue, and she had a distinct twinkle in her. She rearranged her shawl, and her face sobered.

‘There is another reason I am here,’ she said ‘The sibyl has requested an interview with you.’

Tullio felt his second honey cake begin to slip from his hand. Perhaps Helena was correct and the sibyl would recover. Where would it leave him? ‘When?’