A Noble Captive (19 page)

‘We have your cloak, and the stars.’

Helena tilted her head and peeped at him from under her
lashes. She knew what he was offering, but she also knew that she wanted this man once more. She wanted to feel as she had felt in the cave. She wanted to feel like a woman, not a priestess.

He took off his cloak, lay it on the ground, then relaxed against it, inviting her. He patted the ground next to him. The invitation was clear.

She knew what she had to do.

Her hands loosened the simple tie about her hips and let it fall to the ground. She watched Tullio for any sign. Her tongue licked her lips. Her fingers were all thumbs. She wanted to please this man. She wanted to make him feel the way she was feeling. The points of her breasts ached and her skin tingled from his touch.

She swallowed hard, wondering what to do next. How to proceed. How did one disrobe for a lover? Instinct only guided her. She started to shrug the gown off one shoulder, saw the possibility of it becoming stuck and stopped.

She wanted to get it right.

Tullio watched her. He held his body still. He had to let her take her time because he wanted her to come to him. He had no wish to frighten her. He had so very nearly lost her. He waited, feeling the desire within him grow.

With one swift movement, she took off her gown and stood there shimmering. The dusky place between her thighs contrasted with her starlit limbs.

A goddess.

He had to touch her, to worship her.

She held out her hands, beckoning.

Tullio knelt up and encircled her waist with his hands, before running them down her sides. She quivered under his touch, but did not draw back.

He laid his cheek against her abdomen and felt her hand stroke his hair. Skin against skin.

With a slight turn of his head, he touched his lips to her midriff and tasted the sweetness of her flesh. His tongue curved around her belly button, lingered there. Then his lips moved ever downward, sampling, nibbling until he reached her short curls.

He paused and glanced upwards. Her head was thrown back. Her nipples were tight buds poised above him. He lifted a hand, touched them and then returned to the point where her thighs met.

A gasp came from Helena’s throat.

Her hands buried themselves in his thick dark hair, drawing him towards her. This was unlike anything she had ever experienced before—the touch of his mouth against her, parting her. He made her feel as if she were a precious vessel made of glass.

She wanted him to continue.

She needed to feel the heat of his mouth.

His tongue delved deeper within her and heat surged over her. The only thing she knew was his tongue making forays into her innermost space. With each new caress, the heat within her built. Her limbs melted.

‘Please, Tullio,’ she begged, not knowing if she was asking him to continue or to put an end to this feeling inside her.

He loosened his hands and gently lowered her to his cloak. She lay wondering if she should touch him in the same way he was touching her.

His hands opened her thighs, exposing her to the warm air. He placed his mouth on her. She bucked at the sensation, rose to meet him, her body demanding his mouth drive further into her. His tongue swirled and swayed. Her hands sought him, finding first the cloak, then his soft hair, holding him there.

When she thought she must die from the pleasure, she felt
him slide himself upwards, and enter her with the tip of his erection. He filled her and her body opened to receive the full length of him.

She moved her hips, and he followed her rhythm. Slow. Fast. Until the whole world was moving. She felt him shudder a breath before she did, watched his face and saw the bliss in his eyes.

This was what she was born for, she thought and then her own climax overtook her.

Helena’s face was pale in the moonlight. Her eyelashes made black smudges against her skin. Her skin touched his with no more than the faintest sheen of sweat between them. Tullio felt his body begin to harden again, but he forced himself to roll away from her and lie on his back, staring up at the sky.

He hated to wake her up, but he had to. He could detect the first faint streaks of rose in the slate grey sky. Soon everyone would stir. They had tarried there too long. He might not have another chance to speak to her again alone. With each passing day, the tribute ship would draw closer. He couldn’t leave her. He wanted her by his side.

‘Helena, we must speak.’

Her eyes flew open. Deep green pools. Tullio wondered what it would be like to wake every morning to those eyes. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek and her lips curved into a smile. ‘I wondered if it had been a dream.’

‘It was no dream.’

‘Good.’

Tullio captured Helena’s hands and held them tight. The simplest of touches and his body responded. He wanted her again, but not here and not now. It was most emphatically not safe.

‘Helena, we did not take any precautions.’

‘Precautions?’ Her eyes looked confused, sleep laden. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I am talking about if a child should result from this encounter or the last.’

Her eyes grew wide and the sleep vanished. He felt cruel for reminding her, for destroying the moment, but it had to be said.

‘There are ways. My aunt taught them to me. You need not worry. Rue and raspberry leaves.’ She pulled her gown back over her head, covering her magnificent body. She wrapped her arms about her knees and fell silent.

A queer stabbing went through Tullio’s heart. He should have known. Sibyls and priestesses would have their ways, but it did not lessen the danger.

‘And if Androceles and his son should find out? They will brand you traitor.’

‘What do you propose?’

‘Leave, leave with me when the tribute comes.’ He caught her right hand and brought it to his lips. ‘You will like Rome. It is as no other city in the world. Its markets are filled any number of goods, and the buildings are made of brick and marble. Let me show it to you.’

‘What are you saying, Tullio?’ She withdrew her hand.

‘Let me look after you. Leave this behind you and come with me. There is little for you here. Put yourself first for once.’

Helena felt the aching in her stomach grow. This was not how she had envisioned a proposal. She knew that everything Tullio said was correct—if her liaison with Tullio was discovered, it would go ill for the temple. But it was not going to be. She forced her mind to think clearly, the cobwebs of the night vanishing as they had never been.

He was more worried about what the consequences might be for Rome than for her. He had to be.

‘I can’t just leave. The temple depends on me. People depend on me.’

‘You are not the sibyl. You don’t have the responsibility.’

‘You have no idea what you are asking of me. The sibyl needs me.’

He grasped her forearms.

‘Think, Helena, what might happen if Androceles discovers what has passed between us. You must come away with me. It is dangerous for you.’

‘But Aunt Flavia needs protecting.’

‘For how much longer do you think you can continue this charade? It is clear that Androceles and Kimon suspect.’

‘I’ll think of something,’ Helena said with more confidence than she felt.

‘Helena, all my life I have waited for you, for what we have. Let me show you Rome. The world is so much bigger than this island.’

Helena looked out at the sea. Soon it would be rose-coloured and the sounds of the harbour would echo. Could she leave all this and go away? If she thought he truly loved her, she might be tempted. She was tempted. He was right—none of this was her responsibility. She thought of her longing to hold her own child in her arms. And of the dried up look of her aunt who had never known pleasure in a man’s arms.

‘How? Walk on board ship with you? Androceles and the rest might let me, but then they would take their revenge on the temple.’

‘You vanish.’

‘Vanish?’

‘You said that one sibyl did. There is a faint pathway down to that beach, the one where you said that the lover met the sibyl.’

‘Only goats wander up and down that path and even they never go to the bottom.’

‘But it could be done. My trireme could meet you there. The seafarers would never know.’

‘I’ll think on it.’ Her arms trembled as she wrapped them about her waist. Leave everything, abandon all that she held dear. But what sort of future did she have here? It was only a matter of time before Aunt Flavia discovered what a fraud she was. And when her aunt lost her powers, there would another sibyl, a different one.

‘Rome will look after you. You have done a great service to my soldiers. Rome always rewards its friends.’ His face became boyish as if he had been given an unexpected present, something he had longed for, but had not expected to receive. ‘You will see.’

Helena nodded and wished he had said something that showed they had a future together. She wanted to know they were going to be together. But he hadn’t. Her mouth twisted. He was a Roman patrician and she was the daughter of a disgraced sibyl. They lived in different worlds.

She stood up and adjusted her gown, straightening the creases. Her hair she allowed to flow down her back. She’d worry about putting it to rights when she returned to her bedroom. Her shawl should hide its disarrayed state. She held the belt in her hand. Out of habit she neatly tied it around her hips. She hesitated, undid the knot and tied the belt firmly under her breast. She would be an ordinary woman, no longer an acolyte of the temple.

‘Do you want me to come with you when you tell the sibyl?’

Helena shook her head. ‘There are some things that I have to do alone,’ she said.

‘Y
ou’re dressed in your robes, Aunt Flavia.’

Helena stared. Flavia was standing in the middle of her reception room, dressed in her white robes with the sword of power hanging by her side. Save for the golden mask, she could be just about to embark on a ceremonial visit.

‘I thought it was time I reclaimed my authority.’

Her aunt’s green eyes bore into Helena’s soul. She was convinced that her aunt could detect the imprint of Tullio’s touch. Helena bowed her head and concentrated on the mosaic tiles at her aunt’s feet.

‘Is there something wrong with that?’ her aunt asked. ‘For far too long I have allowed you and Galla to nurse me. I am not an invalid. I never have been. Now I discover things have been happening in the temple which I have no knowledge of. Important things.’

‘No, no, there is nothing wrong with that. I welcome it. Truly I do.’

Helena wondered how she would tell Flavia that she had doubts. That she had decided not to take the final step, but to
depart from the life of a priestess. She had to choose her words carefully.

She should be rejoicing that Flavia had regained her strength. It would make leaving easier. Tullio was correct. Her destiny was not here. Her destiny was out there. Somewhere where she would not have to worry about if the incense burners had been filled or the robes washed, or if the correct amount of tribute had been received. She was about to become free.

Her aunt raised the ceremonial sword, and held it aloft over her head. It wavered in the air, then crashed to the ground. Flavia bent down and started to retrieve it and a pang went through Helena. She went forward and took the sword from her aunt’s grasp. The elderly woman let it go with a sigh.

‘A few days more, Aunt, and you will be strong again,’ Helena said quickly.

A few days more and she would be gone. None of this would be her concern. Her hand reached for her amulet, but it had gone. Helena closed her eyes.

‘Is this another of your prophecies, Helena, or mere words?’

‘Another prophecy?’ Helena tucked her hair behind her ear. She opted for a smooth smile, but her stomach churned. ‘I would never dream of making a prophecy to you, Aunt. I can just tell from the way you are recovering. You will be well, just as you have been a hundred times before.’

‘You are a good supporter, Helena. I appreciate it.’

‘You are a good sibyl, Aunt Flavia. You have done more for this island than anyone else I know.’

Helena shifted under her aunt’s gaze and drew a breath. She would tell her now. She owed Aunt Flavia that much.

‘You flatter me,’ her aunt said, but her smile was pleased. It troubled Helena that Aunt Flavia had not regained the full use of her face, but a half-smile was better than none.

‘Not flattery. I tell the truth.’

Her aunt’s eyes narrowed at the word—truth. Helena took a step backwards. The table bumped into her legs and she put out a hand to steady herself. She had to work the conversation around to the right words. She had to find an opening. Surely her aunt would notice where she had tied her belt. Surely she would comment on that. She knew where her destiny lay. But how to tell her aunt? How to explain she had changed her mind? It was one thing to be sure up there on the turret in Tullio’s arms, and quite another here in her aunt’s chamber, faced with the evidence of Aunt Flavia’s infirmity.

‘Tell me, Helena, how did you get that prophecy? Out of a matter of curiosity.’

Helena paused. Her aunt’s voice reminded her of the times when she had made an error of judgement, when she had chosen the wrong sort of incense to burn or had not thrown the correct combination of knucklebones. She busied her hands with returning the sword to its box. The lid snapped with a click, and Helena turned the key.

‘Does it matter?’ she asked.

‘It would appear that Kybele has spoken to you with a great deal of accuracy. Prophecies like that are not found through tossing knucklebones or gazing into libation bowls.’

A chill breeze seemed to blow through the sibyl’s apartments. Helena started forward, and knelt at her aunt’s feet. The time had come to confess what she had done and how she had entered the prophecy cave without permission.

‘I went into Kybele’s lair,’ she said, holding her head up and looking directly at Flavia. ‘I know it was strictly forbidden, but the temple had to remain strong. I could not risk you going down there. You were too weak. It was for the good of the temple. The prophecy came from what I saw there.’

‘Surely that was something I should have decided.’

Helena shifted under her aunt’s sharp gaze. The explanations she had planned died on her lips. She held out her hands, imploring her aunt to forgive her.

‘I could not take the risk. Another spell in the cave so quickly after the last and you would have died.’

‘That was for Kybele to decide.’ Aunt Flavia inclined her head, but there was an immense sadness in her eyes.

‘I know.’ Helena stood and ran her sandal along the floor.

‘The prophecy came from your efforts and yours alone?’ Her mouth twisted as if the words tasted bitter.

Helena’s hand plucked at her skirts. How much longer was she going to have to endure this? She knew what was coming—banishment. It was well she had already decided to go.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ She regarded her hands, the floor, anywhere but her aunt’s eyes. ‘I take full responsibility. No one knew I was going to go down there. I spoke with no one about the prophecy before I wrote it down.’

‘You have confirmed what I suspected.’

Helena took a big breath. She had to tell Aunt Flavia what she intended on doing now, before her aunt banished her.

‘Aunt, I must tell you—’

‘There, Flavia, it was not so difficult after all.’ The Lady Zenobia came from Aunt Flavia’s bedroom, her green silk gown rustling with every step she took. Her face wore a triumphant smile. ‘You played your part admirably, Flavia—but then you were always a good performer on the day.’

Helena glanced between her aunts. Aunt Flavia seemed to shrink and become much hunched while Zenobia positively glowed. Helena took a step backwards, knocking over the table. She heard the sword case crash to the ground, but ignored it.

‘What is going on here? Aunt Flavia? Will someone tell me?’

Aunt Flavia shrugged, and looked pointedly at Zenobia. Zenobia’s thin lips were stretched into an unpleasant smile. She advanced towards Helena, snapped her fingers and one of her slaves righted the table. A simple but significant act.

Somehow, Zenobia had discovered Aunt Flavia’s recent illness. She had taken control of the sibyl’s apartments. Helena’s eyes widened as Zenobia clapped her hands together and armed guards streamed into the room.

Helena’s heart rose to her mouth. A trap. Perfectly executed and she had walked into it. She offered a prayer up to Kybele, to any god who might be listening, that she emerged alive.

‘You have been hiding much from the seafarers, Helena. You were naughty, but then you were always disobedient, even as a child clinging to your mother’s skirts.’

‘It was not their business,’ Helena retorted.

‘The sibyl’s health is everyone’s business,’ Zenobia spat. ‘Everyone suffers when the goddess does not speak to the sibyl. You forced me to learn the truth from my cousin.’

‘There is no evidence of Kybele’s desertion. The prophecy was accurate. Uncle Lichas arrived back in a black mist.’

‘Pah.’ Zenobia made a movement with her hand. ‘It was not Flavia’s prophecy. Surely you must know that the goddess only speaks to one sibyl at a time. Kybele has abandoned Flavia and chosen someone new.’

‘No, that is not right.’ Helena threw up her hands and backed away. She wanted what she’d agreed with Tullio. She wanted to renounce everything. ‘Aunt Flavia is still the sibyl.’

‘You said the prophecy was accurate.’ Zenobia’s smile was pitiless. The same expression Helena had seen her use to
order a flogging of a slave. ‘You went into Kybele’s lair and emerged alive. You are the one. Deny if you dare.’

Helena looked at Aunt Flavia, hoping to see something, reassurance, help. Her aunt had her head bowed on her hands. She had aged years in the last few breaths.

Cold swept over Helena. How could she explain now that Kybele had not spoken to her? That she hadn’t done as Aunt Flavia always did—waited for the first mist to lift and then received the proper prophecy? It hadn’t lifted and she couldn’t. It was a very tangled web of lies she had woven. Galla had been correct that first day. She should never have attempted the deception.

It had all gone wrong, dreadfully wrong.

No, not all wrong, there was Tullio. She refused to think that what they had shared was wrong.

‘What do you want me to do?’ She glanced at her hand with its shortened finger. A few weeks ago to be proclaimed sibyl would have been her dearest dream, but everything had changed. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. ‘I am not ready to be the sibyl.’

‘The goddess knows when you are ready, Helena.’ Zenobia’s eye glittered, reminding Helena of snakes. ‘She would not have spoken to you otherwise. You survived the cave.’

‘Aunt Flavia…I have not made the final ritual.’ Helena turned towards her and held out her hands in a gesture of supplication. This was all a mistake. It could be solved. But not here, and not now.

‘The final ritual is to confront the goddess and see if she gives any indication of her favour,’ Zenobia replied.

‘Why can’t you let my aunt speak?’ Helena turned towards Zenobia.

‘If you don’t wish to be the sibyl, I am sure arrangements can be made…’

There was no mistaking the note in Zenobia’s voice. Helena stumbled her way to a stool and sat down before her legs gave out.

‘What happens to Aunt Flavia?’

She saw her aunts exchange glances. For the first time, Helena detected fear in Aunt Flavia’s eyes.

‘What happens to the old sibyl is a matter for the new sibyl and her alone.’ Zenobia straightened her robes. ‘However, I do think it is a mistake to have an old sibyl. We had problems with the old sibyl, didn’t we, Flavia?’

‘Helena, you should leave the room.’ Flavia’s voice held a note of her old authority. ‘I need to speak with Zenobia.’

From force of habit, Helena started towards the door. She trusted Aunt Flavia’s judgement.

‘She will learn the truth soon enough, if the goddess does speak to her,’ Zenobia replied.

‘What do you mean…problems?’ Helena stopped and turned towards Flavia. She trusted Aunt Flavia to tell her the truth, however unpalatable. She had never flinched from her duty before. ‘My mother’s death was an accident. You told me that. She chose to go out in that storm. Didn’t she?’

‘She did not want to accept Kybele as the new chief goddess.’ Flavia gave a weary shrug and collapsed into her chair. She motioned for Helena to come and sit next to her. ‘When your mother discovered she was pregnant, she refused to go into the goddess’s lair. She wanted to do everything in her power to keep you safe. She preferred Aesculapius anyway, but we were attacked and lost several triremes. To make peace, Lichas agreed to marry Zenobia.’

‘The sibyl needed a stronger goddess to protect this island,’ Zenobia interrupted. ‘Flavia accepted my sensible suggestion to change the temple’s allegiance to Kybele. Her predictions
became accurate and the house of Lichas went from strength to strength.’

‘We quarrelled, Helena. That is why your mother went out in the storm, and I have always regretted it. It is the reason I took you in when others would have left you.’

Zenobia’s cheeks coloured. ‘We have discussed this enough. I accepted your decision. The goddess spoke through you.’

‘Jupiter spared you, Helena. The goddess Kybele protected you that day. She has chosen you for my successor.’ Flavia’s cool green gaze met hers and seemed to bore into her soul. ‘Such a responsibility is not tossed away lightly.’

Helena bowed her head. She could not desert her aunt now. There had to be another way. She had to follow the path she was born for. Too many people depended on her. She shuddered to think what would happen if Zenobia chose another woman. There had to be a way of defeating her and the seafarers.

‘If you say that I am the next sibyl, then so be it.’

‘We must speak, Marcus Livius Tullio.’

At the sound of Helena’s voice, Tullio turned from the window. His heart leapt. She looked as lovely as she had earlier. But rather than rushing into his arms, she stood beyond his reach and retreated as he stepped forward.

He searched her face and saw a new dignity there. Instead of her usual robes, Helena wore the white robes of the sibyl. Her hair flowed down her back and a gold belt was looped about her hips. But even with such authority, she seemed uncertain.

‘What has happened?’

‘My aunt’s illness was discovered.’ She inclined her head but her big eyes looked luminous. ‘I have agreed to become the sibyl.’

A wealth of meaning was in that simple statement. Tullio’s
heart contracted. She could not leave the people of this island. Silently he cursed. He should have known that on the turret. It hurt that she had chosen glory. He wanted her, not the symbol. He knew what this could mean for Rome, but selfishly he looked for any sign that she regretted giving up her earlier promise.

‘Does the old sibyl live?’

‘She lives. Aunt Zenobia has insisted on looking after her in her illness.’

Again, Helena spoke in an almost toneless voice, but Tullio knew what such an occurrence must mean to her. For one wild instant, Tullio completed storming the palace, then he rejected it as being suicidal. He needed men and arms. There had to be something he could do. Some way he could help.

He reached out to touch her face, her shoulder, but she moved neatly away as if she were frightened. Tullio’s hand hung in mid-air for a heartbeat and then he returned it his side. Helena’s action told him far more than he wanted to know.

‘Do you need protection?’ he asked in a low undertone. ‘Tell me what you want my men to do. Rome can help.’

‘Rome, it is always Rome. Whenever is it anything else?’

‘My duty lies with Rome.’