A Voice in the Wind (33 page)

“You mock me.”

He let her go. “No. I wonder at this god of yours who so freely wipes out his people and kills a man whose only crime was to bore a young wife. I wonder that you would still worship this cruel god of yours and not be wise enough to choose another.”

Hadassah closed her eyes. She failed at every turn to explain. She failed even to drive the doubts from herself.

Why did you take Claudius, Lord? Why, when I felt so close to him? Why now, when I was finally able to gather the courage to speak of you? He was so full of questions, and I tried to explain. But Lord, I hadn’t reached him. He didn’t understand. He didn’t fully believe. Why did you take him? And now I can’t make Marcus Valerian understand, either. He’s bent upon destruction.

“God makes all things work to the good,” she said more to herself than Marcus.

He gave a soft, cynical laugh. “Ah yes. Good has come from this already. Claudius’ death set Julia free.” He saw Hadassah’s hand go to her throat at his callous words. With a pang, he wished he could recall them, knowing he had hurt her, for her grief over Claudius Flaccus’ death was sincere. “A harsh reality,” he said flatly.

She said nothing for a long moment, then spoke softly. “The Lady Julia will have less freedom in Rome than she has had here, my lord.”

He studied her face in the moonlight, more curious about her than ever. “You’re very perceptive.” When Julia realized she would have no control whatsoever over the money she had inherited from Claudius, she would balk. Rebellion would swiftly follow when Father took command of her social affairs as well. Marcus knew he could expect to be drawn into the mess that would soon develop. His mother would plead that he use his influence with Julia, while Father would order him to do nothing. As for Julia, she would use any means she could to get her own way.

Owning a villa in Campania had a certain appeal.

Marcus let out a weary breath. At least one burden had lifted. He knew what he would do about Persis and the others. Nothing. Nothing at all. “You may go to bed now, Hadassah. You’ve accomplished what you wanted, lay your fears at rest. Persis and the others will be spared.”

She spoke so softly that he knew she hadn’t meant for him to hear: “It was you I feared for most, Marcus.”

He watched her walk down the path and he knew that all the evenings he had spent in the garden, he’d been waiting for her and the inner peace she would bring with her.

15

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Decimus took Phoebe’s hand and looped it through his arm as they walked along the cobbled pathway of the gardens adjoining the emperor’s palace. Painted marble statues stood in the tended grounds, and fountains bubbled with soothing waters. Young people laughed and ran past Decimus and Phoebe, while other couples strolled as they did, taking in the glory of the day.

A marble statue of a nude maiden pouring water from a jug stood among a profusion of spring flowers. The sound of the running water soothed Decimus. “Let’s sit here awhile,” he said and relaxed onto a stone bench in the sunshine.

The trip to Ephesus had been hard, for he tired easily. Business had always consumed his mind, but these days he was distracted by so many strange and interconnected thoughts. His illness brought with it a crisis of his spirit—a sickness of his very soul, if he had one.

Why had he worked so hard all these years? To what purpose? His life seemed so futile, his accomplishments empty. His family was established, wealthy, assured of comfort. He had position in Roman society. Yet, rather than basking in the glory of his achievements, his family was torn by opposing ideologies. There was no unity anymore—he and his son argued about everything from politics to how to rear children, and his daughter clawed for independence. He had worked a lifetime to build an empire, to give his children all the things he had never had, and he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. But what had it brought him except an empty triumph?

Marcus was handsome, intelligent, well-spoken, shrewd. Julia was beautiful, charming, full of life. Both were well educated and admired by their peers. Nevertheless, Decimus felt a gnawing despair, a sense of failure as their father.

Who would think the mind could of itself be a battlefield? If not for Phoebe, he would open his veins and end the despair of his soul and the physical pain that was beginning to consume his every moment.

Perhaps it was the approach of death that had opened his eyes wide and made him see so clearly. Oh, that he had only been blind to it all and so been spared this emotional anguish. He had hoped visiting Ephesus, his place of birth, would bring him some peace. But peace was not to be found.

A slave came forward to shade Decimus, but he waved him away impatiently. He needed the warmth of the sun to take away the chill of foreboding that grew in him. Phoebe took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

“I have failed,” Decimus said flatly.

“In what, my love?” she said gently.

“In everything of any importance.” He clutched her hand like a lifeline.

Phoebe lowered her head, remembering the latest confrontation between Julia and Decimus. Julia had wanted to attend the games, and Decimus refused permission, reminding her that she was in mourning for Claudius. The ensuing scene had shocked Phoebe as much as Decimus. Julia had cried out that she didn’t care about Claudius, and why should she mourn a fool who couldn’t sit a horse? Decimus had slapped her, and Julia stood for a moment in stunned silence, staring at him. Then her expression had altered so dramatically that she was scarcely recognizable. It was as though thwarting her desires had roused some dark presence within her, and her eyes had burned with such wild fury that Phoebe was afraid.

“It’s
your
fault Claudius is dead,” Julia hissed at her father. “You mourn him, for I will not. I’m glad he’s dead. Do you hear me? I rejoice that I’m free of him. By the gods, I’d like to be free of you as well!” She ran from the peristyle and remained in her chambers for the rest of the morning.

Phoebe looked up at Decimus’ lined face. “Julia didn’t mean what she said to you, Decimus. She will apologize for it.”

Yes, she had apologized later, much later, after Phoebe had spoken with her and roused whatever conscience was left in their daughter. Decimus thought of Julia’s tearful pleadings and her excuses for her abominable accusation and behavior, yet it was the expression in her eyes during the outburst that remained burned into his mind. She had hated him, hated him enough to wish him dead. It was an appalling realization that the child he had created and loved so much held in contempt both him and all he held sacred.

“How is it possible that you and I have two children so opposed to all we believe in, Phoebe? What has happened to virtue and honor and ideals? Marcus believes nothing is true and anything is permitted. Julia thinks the only thing that matters is her own pleasure. I’ve worked my entire life in order to give my children everything I never had at their age—wealth, education, position. And now I look at them and wonder if my life is simple vanity. They are selfish, without the least restraint upon their appetites. They haven’t the smallest fiber of moral character.“

His words hurt, and Phoebe sought some way to defend her children. “Don’t judge them so harshly, Decimus. It’s neither your fault, nor mine, nor theirs. It’s the world they live in.”

“A world of whose making, Phoebe? They want complete control over their lives. They want to be free of the old standards. Whatever feels good is right. Whoever stands in the way of their pleasures, they want destroyed. They demand the moral chains be removed, never understanding that it’s moral restraint that keeps man civilized.” He closed his eyes. “By the gods, Phoebe, I listen to our daughter and I am ashamed.”

Tears filled Phoebe’s eyes and she bit her lip. “She is young and thoughtless.”

“Young and thoughtless,” he repeated flatly. “And what excuse do we find for Marcus? He’s twenty-three, not a child anymore. He said to me yesterday that Julia should be free to do as she wishes. He said mourning Claudius is a farce. Phoebe, a man is dead because of our daughter’s willful defiance and selfishness, and she doesn’t even care! Is Marcus also too young to have some sense of honor and decency about what happened in Campania?”

Phoebe looked away, hiding her tears, hurt by his harsh appraisal of their daughter. Decimus tipped her chin back. “I don’t blame you. You’ve been the gentlest of mothers.”

She searched his troubled face, so lined with fatigue. “Perhaps therein lies the problem.” She touched his temple. He had a new streak of gray in his hair. Couldn’t Marcus and Julia see their father was ill? Must Marcus argue about everything? Must Julia plague him so with her endless demands?

Decimus sighed heavily and took her hand again. “I am afraid for them, Phoebe. What happens to a society when all restraints are removed? I see our children consumed with watching blood be spilled in the arena. I see them seeking an unending diet of sensual pleasure. Where does it all lead? How can intemperate minds be free when they’re slaves to their own passions?”

“Perhaps the world will change.”

“When? How? The more our children have, the more they want, and the less conscience they have about how they get it. We aren’t the only ones facing these crises. I overhear it every day at the baths. The same problems plague most of our friends!” Restless, Decimus stood. “Let’s walk.”

He and Phoebe wandered along the pathway, passing a young couple worshiping Eros beneath a flowering tree. A little further along two men were kissing on a bench. Decimus’ countenance was rigid with revulsion. Greek influence had permeated Roman society, encouraging homosexuality and making it acceptable. While Decimus didn’t condemn the behavior, he didn’t want his face rubbed in it, either.

Rome tolerated every abominable practice, embraced every foul idea in the name of freedom and the rights of the common man. Citizens no longer carried on deviant behavior in private, but pridefully displayed it in public. It was those with moral values who could no longer freely walk in a public park without having to witness a revolting display.

What had happened to the public censors who protected the majority of citizenry from moral decadence? Did freedom have to mean abolishing common decency? Did freedom mean anyone could do anything they wanted anytime they wanted, without consequences?

Decimus ordered the litter. He was eager to return home and close himself inside the walls of his small villa, thereby shutting out a world in which he no longer felt he belonged.

Julia dropped the knucklebones onto the mosaic tiles of her bedroom floor, then laughed triumphantly. Octavia groaned. “You have all the luck, Julia,” she said and straightened. “I quit. Let’s go down to the markets and browse.”

Leaving the knucklebones scattered on the floor, Julia rose. “Father won’t give me any money,” she said glumly.

“None?” Octavia said in consternation.

“I like pearls, Octavia, and Father says they’re extravagant and unnecessary when I already have gold and jewels,” she said, in a sneering imitation of her father.

“By the gods, Julia. All you have to do is charge what you want. What choice will your father have then but to release some of Claudius’ money? Either that or taint the reputation he holds so dear.“

“I wouldn’t dare do that,” Julia said flatly.

“It’s your money by rights, isn’t it? You were married to that silly old man. You deserve some compensation for your time in Campania!”

“Marcus had the estate sold. He’s invested most of the proceeds for me.”

“In what?” Octavia said with brightened interest. Marcus was noted for his financial acumen. Her father would welcome any information where Julia’s brother was concerned.

“I haven’t asked.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be aware of where your money is going?”

“I trust Marcus’ judgment implicitly.”

“Did I say you shouldn’t? I’m only suggesting that it’s wise for a woman to be informed.” She poured herself some wine. “I’ve a friend you should meet. Her name is Calabah. She was married to Aurius Livius Fontaneus. Do you remember him? Short, fat, ugly, and very rich. He used to sit with Antigonus and your brother at the games sometimes.”

“No, I don’t remember him,” Julia said, bored.

Octavia waved her hand airily. “It doesn’t matter, darling. He’s dead. Died of natural causes, though what causes I couldn’t tell you. You’d like Calabah,” she said, sipping her wine as she sifted her fingers through Julia’s jewelry box. She took a gold brooch and examined it. It was simple but exquisite, rather like its owner. Dropping the brooch back in the box, Octavia turned. “Calabah goes to the ludus to exercise with the gladiators.”

“Women do that?” Julia said, shocked.

“Some women. I wouldn’t. I much prefer attending the pregame feast. There’s something very exciting about being with a man who might die in the arena the next day.” She swished the wine around in the goblet and gave Julia a catlike smile. “You should come sometime.”

“Father would never allow it. He knows what goes on at those feasts.”

“Delicious fun, that’s what goes on. When are you going to exert yourself, Julia? You’ve been married and widowed and you still bow to your father’s every dictate.”

“What would you have me do? My father isn’t as malleable as yours, Octavia. And I have to live beneath his roof.”

“Fine. He’s gone today, isn’t he? And still we loll around here, bored out of our minds, waiting for your twelve-month mourning period to be over.” She finished her wine and set the goblet down. “I’ve had enough. I’m going.”

“Where?”

“Shopping. Strolling through the park. I may visit Calabah. I don’t know. Frankly, Julia, anything is better than sitting here with you and listening to you whine about your fate.” She picked up her shawl.

“Wait,” Julia cried out.

“Why?” Octavia said with a haughty air. “You’ve become a dull little house mouse since your marriage to Claudius.” She draped the shawl carefully over her elaborate coiffure. “How long have you left to mourn him? Three months? Four? Send me a message when you’re free of your social obligations to that farce you claim was a happy marriage.”