A Noble Captive (7 page)

She put a hand to her throat, surprised that she could even think such thoughts. What had she started with her masque
rade? The ripples in the seeing bowl that Aunt Flavia sometimes used would surely show a dark path ahead.

‘Are you all right?’ Tullio’s voice came from a long way off. ‘You should lie down. You have gone pale.’

‘I believe I need some air. The incense hangs heavy in this room.’ Helena forced her lips to smile. She had to hold on to everyday things.

‘You need to rest. Let me escort you to your room.’ His tone allowed no space for dissent.

‘I’d prefer fresh air. A tour of the temple grounds would be pleasant, if you insist on accompanying me.’ Helena forced her mind away from the thought of him in close proximity to her in her bedroom. Fresh air and outdoors was the answer. It would give her time to see if her instincts were correct. Time to decide if she could indeed make him an ally. ‘You should have some idea of the lie of the land.’

A tour of the temple?

Tullio stared at Helena and did not try to hide his amazement. Everything about Helena, from the way her hand clutched the doorframe to the pinched look about her mouth proclaimed she wanted to flee. He had seen the same look in the eyes of his men before battle, a trapped helplessness, but with more than a hint of courage. Such a change from the confident woman who had demanded his soldiers behave properly.

He would go on this tour of inspection, rather than confront her directly. He had to make Helena understand that he wanted to help. She did not have to face Androceles and the Lady Zenobia alone. The temple and her influence could be useful to Rome. Rome would pay handsomely for a naval base. Tales about the sibyl’s healing powers could be spread and pilgrims would return. It was easy. He’d seen it done before. But first, he needed her agreement.

‘I look forward to learning more about your temple and grounds. You will find me an eager pupil.’

She gave a brief nod and glanced over her shoulder towards a closed ornately carved door as if seeking reassurance. Tullio longed to draw her into his arms, and tell her that, if she trusted him, he would do everything in his power to make sure she was protected. That would have to wait until her shoulders had relaxed and her face no longer wore its wary expression. He had to earn her trust.

He took one last glance at the reception room before they left. Here and there amongst the friezes and mosaics it was obvious that the chamber had been altered. Had this island always worshipped Kybele? Or was it fairly recent? When he had travelled with his mother, he did not think they had seen Kybele’s aspect as a healing goddess and yet here she was. All the healing temples they visited were linked to Aesculapius with his motif of the twinned snakes. In the far right-hand corner, half-disguised as grape vines, were the twinned snakes.

The temple had belonged to Aesculapius once.

Tullio permitted himself a grim smile. Now he needed answers to his questions.

How and why had the temple changed allegiance? And what did the change have to do with the pirates?

‘Slow down, you are walking as if the Furies are chasing you,’ Tullio called out to Helena.

‘We have a lot of ground to cover. The temple is more than its religious buildings.’ She halted, her skirts swishing softly about her legs to reveal neat ankles. ‘If your wound pains you too much, I can go slower or we can postpone the tour until another time.’

‘My wound does not trouble me.’ Tullio decided not to take the gamble on Helena repeating the offer.

‘Very well, you know your body best.’

Helena’s sandals struck the stone floor with quick impatient steps as she led the way past the small paved courtyard where his men sat in the sunshine, throwing knucklebones and counters, down a cool corridor and out into the large, immaculately kept vegetable garden.

Tullio tried to concentrate on anything but the curve of her hips and the swell of her firm bottom under her robes. He had to concentrate on who she was and what she could do for Rome. He could not afford a repeat of this morning, when she had rebuffed his mild flirtation. He had to remember what his primary purpose was and how he was going to achieve that. He could not let the hopes and fears of thousands be ignored in favour of the desires of his body.

If anything, the tour so far had shown him how powerful the temple was. Altars with inscriptions from kings and potentates around the Mediterranean filled every nook and cranny of the labyrinth of rooms and public spaces.

‘And this is where the temple gets most of its fresh vegetables.’

A low hum of bees, and the smell of freshly tilled earth intermingled with the sweet scent of thyme and rosemary greeted him. The greenness of the fields contrasted sharply with yellowed hillsides that surrounded the temple. Several temple guards were hard at work with hoes, weeding.

At first glance, except for the glimmer of deep blue on the horizon, this place could be on any of his estates. Then, Tullio’s eye began to notice the general shabbiness of the buildings, the half tumbled-down walls.

‘All of this is yours?’

Helena paused on top of a small hillock. ‘The fields to the sea are ours. My uncle’s seafaring house owns the other ones.’

‘You have fertile soil here. I am impressed with the way you keep your bees. They are spaced to prevent drifting and robbing of the nests.’

‘My people know how to till the soil.’ A sad smile played on her lips. ‘It is a skill passed down through the generations. We honour good husbandry. Kybele is above all a goddess of the earth.’

‘Now you do surprise me. I would have thought that your people would have been fishermen. That your gods would have been of the water.’

‘The ways of the sea are hard. When men pray, they want more understanding gods.’

A faint breeze captured a lock of hair and blew it across her mouth. Tullio forced his fingers to resist the temptation to smooth it away. He had to concentrate on the administrator and not the woman. If he touched her, he would be tempted to draw her into his arms again.

‘On land, crops fail. Animals get sick,’ he said.

‘Neptune is apt to turn angry at any time. We have always been farmers…in our souls. Some of greatest pleasure comes from working the land. You should taste the quality of our grapes.’

‘You mean your people did not always fish?’ Tullio leant forward. Perhaps there was an opening here. Romans were far more at home on land than on the sea.

She moved away from him, and drew her shawl tighter about her body.

‘My people chose to support Carthage.’ There was a bitter twist to her mouth now.

Tullio stared at Helena. There was such passion in her
voice. Her eyes gleamed at old wrongs. She obviously believed in the truth of her story. Tullio pursed his lips. He knew of other stories, of the perfidy of Carthage and how Hannibal had crossed the Alps, living off the land, taking what he wanted. Even his family’s northernmost villa sported a blackened doorway where Hannibal’s fire had touched.

‘And which would you rather they be—farmers or fishermen?’

‘It is not a subject for discussion. Kybele has decreed what we are.’ She dusted her hands on her gown and started off down another path.

Tullio caught her arm and turned her around so that he was looking directly into her eyes. ‘I believe there is always a choice, Helena.’

There was something in her eyes—a mixture of hope and despair—something that was quickly masked. She pointedly removed his hand from her arm. ‘You presume much, Roman.’

‘You are right.’ Tullio allowed his hand to fall to his side, silently cursing his impetuous act. ‘I am a stranger, but I do wish to learn. Perhaps, if our people knew more about how much we were alike.’

Her smile flashed, echoing the sun after a thunderstorm. ‘Come, see how the gods bless us. Neptune and Kybele approve of what we do. They refuse to let us starve, despite Rome’s intentions.’

‘Rome provides bread for its people. It cares about the welfare of its citizens.’

‘For its people, but not for us.’

The scent of Eastern spices wafted on the light breeze. In the shadow of an olive tree, he could see a large number of amphorae clearly marked with Roman merchants’ names, containing everything from olive oil to fish sauce and the
grain—both the hard wheat, which was used for bread making, and soft wheat for pastry—being loaded into the warehouse. He thought of the people back in Rome who would have to pay inflated prices.

‘What will you do with all this—sell it to Rome?’ Tullio struggled to contain his anger at the pirates. First they stole, then they sold the goods at inflated prices because no grain reached Rome’s markets.

‘It is what the seafarers do.’ Her voice was hard. ‘We store their produce here until they have sold it on. Rome is their largest market, I believe. The sibyl prefers to keep the temple’s tributes for her people. She refuses to let them starve. If we did not have the gifts from the sea, then my people would die, Tullio. My people want to live.’

‘Pirates raid the Italian coast,’ Tullio said bluntly. ‘They kill innocent women and children, not caring about nationality. They seize what they can and burn the rest.’

‘Not the seafaring houses who store their goods here. Aunt Flavia put a stop to that. On the sea, yes, the seafaring houses do what they have to, but they do not attack on land.’

She looked him directly in the eye. Tullio blinked. Either she was very good at lying or else she truly believed it. He saw the fervour in her eyes and decided it was innocence.

‘How can you be certain?’

‘My aunt banished two seafaring houses who attacked and murdered women and children.’ Helena held both her hands out, palms towards the heavens. ‘Our quarrel is not with them. She used her power with Kybele to curse them. Within six months, their kings had died, and their wealth scattered. Since then, the seafaring houses who store their goods in our warehouses have not attempted to raid the Italian coasts.’

‘I know of pirate raids.’ Tullio drew his mind away from
the horror of six months ago and his subsequent vow to destroy those responsible. ‘They have not stopped attacking the Italian coast. It is too ripe a plum.’

‘They will not be from these houses.’ She started away from the warehouse, shoulders square and a distinct edge to her voice. ‘Rome makes war with many.’

‘Yet you condone the attacking of ships and the confiscation of those goods.’

‘It is a question of survival. Romans drove my people to this, and therefore we take what we can…from the sea.’

‘If there was another way…’ Tullio curled his fingers into a tight ball. He refused to lose his temper. He had to remember she had helped his men. And she seemed truly to believe that the pirates of these islands had not attacked the Italian coast. If that was the case, the sooner he spoke with the sibyl, the better. Perhaps together they could work to rid the seas. She had already taken the first step. ‘If another way could be found for your people to survive, would they take it?’

‘Do you know of another way? A way which would allow my people to live, to feed their children? Do tell me.’ The flicker of hope in her face died almost before Tullio could register what it was. ‘I thought not. Words are easy, but deeds are much harder. Others have made similar promises throughout the years, but always the same thing—the only thing we can truly count on is the sea.’

Tullio regarded the top of his right sandal, the one which Rufus had patched three days before they set sail. He had no alternative to offer Helena, only words. But for a people who did not shirk work and who loved the land, there had to be more than piracy.

‘Your walls are precariously balanced,’ he said, changing the subject. There was no point in arguing over what might
or might not be. He had to do something practical. He had to show her that his words did have meaning. ‘Your roofs need retiling. Let my men do some of the repairs.’

‘Why? Why would you do this?’ Helena’s face showed her absolute amazement.

‘To show you that Rome has good intentions,’ Tullio replied smoothly. ‘We wish to help those who aid us.’

‘The temple has no need of favours from Rome.’

‘This would be a repayment. You saved the life of my man last night. I am in your debt.’

‘I will consider it and let you know my decision. But for now, you had best rejoin your men.’ She turned on her heel and left him standing by the sun-baked field.

Tullio smiled to himself. A small step forward. In time, he’d win her over—for Rome’s sake.

T
ullio’s men were now clustered in dispirited groups when he returned. Three or four played a quiet game of
latrunculi
with improvised pieces, but most simply sat, staring off into space, doing nothing, not even playing knucklebones.

Had one of the men accosted Helena’s maid? Tullio wondered, recalling the conversation with Helena before Androceles and her aunt appeared.

Could one of them have broken the dictates of hospitality? He found it hard to believe. He knew his men—where they came from, who their sweethearts were and how many children they had. There were one or two other unpredictable like Quintus, perhaps, but they were Roman legionaries, fired in the same crucible. They knew what was expected of them.

At the sound of his sandals, the group struggled to their feet. Quintus smartly saluted him, bustled up, giving the impression of the ultra-efficient centurion. Tullio dismissed his earlier suspicions as unworthy. Quintus would never do anything to jeopardise the men.

‘How are the men behaving?’ Tullio asked Quintus in an undertone.

‘Nothing I couldn’t handle, but what I’d give to handle the woman who brought the medicine.’ Quintus gave a distinct leer. ‘A little older than the ones in Ostia, but what shape. She was taken with me. A few more encounters like the last one and she will be like fresh clay in my hands.’

‘Did you make some comment to her? Something she might have found offensive?’ Tullio struggled to keep a leash on his temper. He had given his word to Helena, and Quintus was bragging about his conquest.

‘Me, sir? I complimented her on her dress and other things. I know how to talk to the women.’ There was a distinct swagger to Quintus’s posture. ‘A regular honey pot, I am. Just being friendly-like, but the girls can’t help themselves.’

A general guffaw erupted from the men. Tullio raised an eyebrow, and the room became silent.

Honey pot was not the term he’d use for the centurion. But he had to give Quintus the benefit of the doubt. He had not intended to upset the woman. And could he severely reprimand Quintus, when he himself had nearly stolen a kiss from Helena?

‘The lady in question may not share the same opinion of your charms. Remember we’re guests here. Their customs are different.’

‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ A worried frown appeared between Quintus’s brow. His shoulders showed the slightest of hunches before righting themselves. ‘She liked it. I could tell. I have a sixth sense about these things.’

Tullio hooked his thumbs through his belt and hoped his advice would be heeded. Quintus had only spoken a few words, tried a little coarse flattery. Nothing more.

‘Watch your step, centurion. Do not let your desire outrun your common sense. We are guests here and must abide by the rules of hospitality. You could jeopardise everything we
have worked for. There still might be an opportunity to save our mission. I refuse to allow any banter to put it at risk—not from anyone, especially not a highly decorated centurion who should know better.’

‘My mind is always on my duty…to Rome.’ Quintus stood to the strictest attention but Tullio could tell that he had taken the kindly meant words as a gross insult. ‘It is not my fault that my mouth is not perfumed like a bath house. I ain’t had no fancy education or nothing. But I am a Roman soldier, good and true.’

‘Be careful, Mustius Quintus. Remember that there is more at stake than your personal desire.’

‘It is never far from my mind.’ Quintus tucked his chin into his neck. ‘But still she was a pretty thing, not in the first blush of youth, mind. Mature, the way I like ’em. I fancy my chances.’

Tullio stared at Quintus. The centurion was close to insubordination. If they were on Roman territory, he would not hesitate to punish him, but out here he needed all the men he could get. Punishing Quintus would only inflame the situation and he didn’t dare take the risk of allowing Quintus to apologise. The image was not a pretty one. His earlier apology to Helena would have to suffice.

‘You will desist, centurion. That is a direct order.’

‘Very good, Tribune.’

‘The gods have granted us an opportunity and I for one intend to take it.

‘What do you think this island is, Tribune?’

‘It is an important staging post for the pirates’ captured goods. Helena showed me some of the warehouse complex.’ Tullio looked Quintus directly in the eye. ‘There is a possibility of turning the temple towards Rome. Neither the sibyl nor Helena appear to be overly enamoured with the pirates.’

‘The sibyl is in with the pirates up to her pretty neck. You remember that, Livius Tullio, next time you speak to that assistant of theirs.’ Quintus’s low voice just reached Tullio’s ears. ‘Do you understand what that lady is mixed up with? Think about that before you think about your nether regions. Always one rule for the officers and another for the enlisted men.’

Tullio advanced towards Quintus. His shoulders were square and his footstep firm despite the pain in his leg. He only knew that he had to reassert his authority or face more insubordination. Quintus seemed determined to challenge his leadership. He did not want to fight Quintus, but if he had to, he would. ‘Who is the tribune here, Quintus?’

The centurion took a step backwards. ‘I was only joking, Livius Tullio. Can’t you take a joke?’

‘We are in a very dangerous situation, Quintus. I have looked into the jaws of Hades because of your mouth. You will obey me in this matter. This is the Army, not the senate.’

Tullio stared at Quintus, daring him. The centurion looked away. ‘As you say, sir.’

‘Very well, if there are no other objections, we shall play this my way.’

Helena slammed her stylus down. She had hoped several hours of hard work would clear her mind, but her thoughts kept straying back to Tullio and his offer. Without a doubt, the temple could use the manpower. The seafarers had first pick of all the villagers and there were a thousand jobs that should have been done six months ago. But she had to beware of Romans bearing gifts.

Anything the Romans did to help the temple could be misinterpreted by Androceles. But all it would be was an excuse. He had made no secret of his desire to influence temple policy.

Helena pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, trying to will away the pain. She had never thought her simple masquerade would result in so many problems, force so many choices.

She rose and tapped on her aunt’s door. Once she heard Galla’s answering call, she entered, carefully closing the door behind her.

A single oil lamp burnt by the side of the bed. The familiar scent of cinnamon mingled with the less familiar one of alum creating a heady atmosphere that made Helena’s head spin. Galla put her finger to her lips and shook her head, but Helena chose to ignore the maidservant. She walked over to the bed and touched her aunt’s unlined hand.

At the touch, the sibyl’s eyes fluttered open and her lips curved upwards. ‘Helena?’

Helena’s heart leapt. Her aunt had spoken. A whisper to be sure, but clear and unmistakable. Tears pricked her eyelids. Aunt Flavia had returned. She would recover…in time. She wanted to laugh out loud, but contented herself with clasping her hands together.

‘You can speak. This is marvellous news, Aunt.’

‘Hush, child, control yourself.’ Her aunt’s voice, although weak, held some of its old command. ‘Dignity.’

Helena swallowed hard and stood up straighter. Her aunt gave a small nod. ‘Tell me everything. Galla tells me less than nothing.’

Helena hesitated, wondering how best to approach the problem. ‘Aunt—’

‘We had visitors,’ Aunt Flavia said, cutting off Helena’s words.

‘The Lady Zenobia and Captain Androceles, but I answered their questions.’ Helena forced her voice to sound light, as if
it were a problem with fish sauce. A twinge of guilt passed through her. She knew she should say something about Androceles’s request for a prophecy, but her aunt was too weak. She could barely sit up, let alone lift her arms for long. Helena had six days. When her aunt was stronger, maybe tomorrow, she would tell her and then they could decide together the best course of action. For now, her aunt had to recover.

‘Together? Androceles and Zenobia? This is worrying, Helena.’ Aunt Flavia struggled to sit up. ‘Those two hate each other. Bad blood from childhood. Cilicians hang on to their grudges.’

‘Androceles was stirring up mischief.’ Helena rearranged the statues on the bedside table. She had to make her aunt understand the danger they faced. ‘He twisted the story about how the Romans came to be here.’

‘Typical. Sails close to the wind, that one.’

Aunt Flavia collapsed down on to the pillows and her head moved from side to side. Helena’s heart contracted. Her aunt was not supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be the strong one. Galla pointedly cleared her throat. The interview needed to end.

Helena squeezed Aunt Flavia’s hand. How much had she understood last night? Did her aunt know that someone else had worn the gold mask?

‘I need to go, Aunt. There are things that must be attended to.’

‘Should never have let the Romans land.’ Aunt Flavia’s fingers reached for Helena. ‘You should have woken me. You don’t have the knowledge.’

Helena leant forward and brushed her lips against her aunt’s forehead. Cool to the touch. No fever, thank the goddess for small mercies. She rocked back on her sandals
and regarded the ornately carved bed. ‘It was all my fault. I know that. I am doing my best to make it right.’

‘It will be Kybele’s will. Listen to what she says. Follow Kybele.’

Helena’s throat constricted. She should confess now that Kybele did not speak to her. How could she trust the goddess, when she was given no clue as to how to proceed? All the hours she spent in prayer and ritual, but not a single sign, and with a mind that increasingly turned towards Tullio’s legs.

Her aunt made everything sound so simple. She should tell Flavia the truth, but now was not the time. She refused to cause more distress.

‘Sleep, Aunt Flavia. Get your strength back. The temple needs you.’

No response but a gentle snore.

Helena tiptoed out of the room.

Follow Kybele.

Helena was no clearer on what Aunt Flavia meant. She hugged her pile of tablets and scrolls to her chest. She had taken the long way round to avoid any possibility of encountering the Romans again. She’d ignore them, and the whole thing would begin to fade.

Helena stopped dead. Her mouth dropped open. Gradually she became aware she was staring, but she was powerless to do anything else.

Tullio’s arms gleamed bronze in the sunlight. He had discarded his cloak at some point, Helena noticed, and was working in only his tunic and sandals. The tunic was short enough to reveal the entire length of his leg from thigh to calf as he positioned the next rock in place. The angry red mark on the limb had subsided, and he moved with more grace than
she thought possible for someone who had been wounded. His tunic strained to contain the broadness of his back as he placed yet another stone on top of the wall.

She had not expected the Romans to be repairing a wall, let alone Tullio to be leading them. What was worse was that she found she was watching him not as a disinterested person, but as a woman.

There was a certain lithe grace in the way he moved. She had expected a Roman to be flabby and soft, unaccustomed to hard work, but his arms and legs were knotted with muscles. She wondered what the muscles would feel like under the palms of her hands. She drew in her breath sharply.

As if he sensed her presence, Tullio paused in his work, turned and his eyes locked with hers. Time stopped. Sounds faded. Helena glanced away first, then recovered.

‘What are you doing?’ She gestured towards the stone.

‘Repairing tumbled-down walls.’ He jumped down off the wall, wiped his hands against his tunic and nodded towards his men to continue.

‘Who told you to repair it?’

‘No one, but the stones had fallen, and we have hands and strong backs. I asked you earlier and you did not expressly forbid it.’ He stared at her, his dark eyes meeting hers once again. ‘My men need to work, Helena. Idle hands cause mischief. We are keeping within the bounds you gave us.’

Helena tried to think. She could not fault his logic. She had wanted that particular wall repaired for months, but there always seemed to be something more pressing to do. But what did he expect in return?

‘You should have asked first.’

‘The guards had no objection. They seemed to be quite pleased with the idea.’

‘No doubt.’ Helena rested a hand on her hip. The wall had collapsed during storms from two winters ago. Some of the capping stones now sported moss and grass. It was one of those little jobs she was going to have someone do, some day, when there was time. And there was never enough time.

She was not sure who she should be more annoyed at—the guards for allowing this to happen or at Tullio for simply going ahead and fixing something. All she knew was that she did not feel in control, and she had to be in control not only for her own sake but also for Aunt Flavia’s. ‘You should have consulted me first.’

He crossed the distance between them in three steps and stood so near her that she could see where sweat had soaked his tunic, turning it darker and making it cling to his body. A curl of warmth wound around her insides.

‘I wanted to show you what we were capable of.’ His voice soothed and caressed. She could feel its silken lures being cast out, urging her to agree with him.

‘I know the destruction you are capable of,’ Helena said, forcing her mind back to the stories that were told at the end of banquets, and the stories women told their children in whispers to keep them safe and quiet at night. ‘I have heard tales of that.’

‘But have you ever seen any? Has Rome ever attacked these shores?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or have you ever seen the aftermath of a pirate raid?’

‘I told you before, none of the seafaring houses connected with this island make raids on Italy.’

His eyes seemed to probe deeply into her soul.