Courted (5 page)

“She hardly fell on her sword. She divorced
me and remarried a rich Egyptian merchant. It’s not a fate worse
than death.” Lucillus’ voice had reached maximum peeve.

“Of course she fell on her sword. I’ve only
been in love with you for a year and I can tell you that giving you
up is a fate worse than death.” Anthea was indignant.

Lucillus’ sudden smile mystified her. “So
giving me up is a fate worse than death, then?” he asked
smugly.

“Well, not
worse
than death,” Anthea
sputtered, “that would be ridiculous.”

“But just as bad?” Lucillus cocked an eyebrow
at her.

It was Anthea’s turn to scowl. “Do you have
to cross-examine me? I’m not on trial.”

Lucillus reached out and wrapped on hand
around the back of her neck, pulling her forward for a soft kiss.
“No, you are not on trial, my beloved.”

Regardless of his assurances, Lucillus
certainly had the same visage he used in court when he sat back.
“Let’s look at this logically. There are no impediments to our
union except your fears of infertility.” He ticked the points of on
each finger. “Since I am wealthier than you are I don’t look like a
fortune-hunter after your dowry, so that will cause no
tittle-tattle in the marketplace. It will look exactly like what it
is — a love match. Age is immaterial in love matches.”

“You are drunk if you think age is immaterial
in love matches.” Anthea retorted. “Besides, you represented me in
court. People will say I paid you with more than coin.”

Lucillus shook his head. “No, thanks to Titus
no one will think that.”

“What do you mean, ‘thanks to Titus’?” Anthea
glared.

“You didn’t know?” Lucillus was surprised.
“Titus paid informers to watch you and your house twenty-four hours
of the day. If you had taken a lover, me or anyone else, Titus
would have used it in court.”

“That bastard!”

“Yes, but he stepped into his own snare. When
I found out what he had done I subpoenaed the informers. They had
to testify to your virtue under oath. I though Titus’ head would
explode he was so furious.” Lucillus grinned. “Not that I would
have minded seeing his head explode.”

“You would have never have gotten the blood
stains off your toga.” Anthea pointed out sardonically.

“There is that.” His mouth quirked. “That’s
off topic though. I was explaining why we could marry. Or even why
we
should
marry. If we are wed, I won’t have to sneak out in
the night so Annia won’t see me as a lecher ravishing her mother.
We will be setting a good example of marital bliss for her
instead.”

“Lucillus,” Anthea said patiently, “it
doesn’t matter. All the reasons why we can, they don’t change my
age. They don’t make me any more likely to help you carry on your
family name.”

“I can adopt. Many families adopt. Emperor
Trajan is adopted, for Diana’s sake. I tried telling Tullia that.
Even if she had born ten sons there is no guarantee they would have
lived. Look at Cornelia Scipionis Africana. She gave birth to 12
children, and only two sons made it to adulthood and neither of
them gave her a grandchild.”

Anthea wanted him to talk her into it, but
was trying to do the right thing by him rather than what would make
her happy.

“Nerva only adopted Trajan when it was
absolutely certain he would have no sons of his own.” She said. “He
did it for the Empire. You are the only child of your parents,
Lucillus. What if you resent me one day because I kept you from
continuing your father’s line?”

Lucillus put a hand on each of her shoulders.
“My love, I would never do that.”

“The future is uncertain, and none of us can
know what the Fates plan.” She said, her eyes bright with unshed
tears.

“How will we know, if we do not try?” The
timbre of his voice seemed to suffuse her frame, filling her with
the need to agree with him.

No wonder he never loses a case.

Anthea scooted forward to wrap her arms
around him and lay her head against his chest. “What if we just
marry simply, by contract? No big fuss. We can give it a year and
if I have not conceived, you will find a nice young woman and wed
more prudently.”

She felt him sigh more than heard him. “We
should give it five years at least.”

“Two years.”

“Three.”

“No, two. If I have not gotten with child
before you are forty, you much move on.”

His silence was loud. She watched the flicker
of the small lamp’s flame, giving him time.

“Is this really the only way you’ll marry
me?” He asked.

Rather than speaking, she nodded her head
where it rested on him.

“All right then. I’ll draw up the contract
and see a soothsayer about the most auspicious day for us to sign
it. Is that acceptable to you, you headstrong woman?”

“It depends. How much do you charge for
wedding contracts?”

“You are so absurd, Anthea.” Lucillus snuffed
the lamp and pulled his bride-to-be down into bed with him. There,
in the dark, he gave her multiple reasons to be glad she was
marrying him.

****

Lucillus approached his wife where she was
seated in the garden, enjoying the mild warmth of early autumn. The
cushioned wicker chair reclined slightly, and Anthea had her feet
propped up on the matching footstool.

She heard his footsteps, and turned to smile
at him. “You are home early, husband. Did things go so well in
court today?”

“I worked in the office on contracts today,
so I could leave whenever I wished.” He leaned down and kissed her.
“I wanted to spend the occasion of my second anniversary with my
wife, like the hopelessly romantic fool that I am.” He unfolded the
stool he carried and sat beside her.

“Is it just me, or have these two years flown
by faster than Mercury himself?” Anthea mused.

The chubby baby she was nursing began to
fuss, an infant demand that the other breast be presented. Only
four months old, their daughter Luccia still drifted in and out of
sleep during most feedings, and she made it clear she disliked
having to wake up when her mother switched breasts. If the fuzz of
coppery hair on her head was a true indicator, she would never be
one to quietly bear anything she didn’t like.

“I remember a day or two that lasted a
century, actually.” Lucillus had not handled the many hours of his
wife’s labor with the aplomb Roman patriarchs were supposed to
display.

Anthea giggled. “Other than those days?”

“Yes, other than those days it has gone
fast.” Lucillus conceded, and kissed his wife again.

“Ria, I need to speak to my wife in private.
Go into the kitchen and see if Chloris needs help.” When the
nursemaid had left, he turned to Anthea, “I’ve written a letter to
my cousin Marcus Equitus Luccianius, but I wanted to talk to you
before I sent it.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up. “You are
arranging her marriage already?”

Lucillus smiled and shook his head. “Don’t be
ludicrous. I am not convinced there will ever be a man worthy of my
daughter. I may insist she become a Vestal Virgin. No, this is
about Marcus’ youngest son, Caius.”

“What about him?”

“I want us to adopt him, if his father is
agreeable.”

“Why?” Anthea looked perplexed. “We know I
can still bear children. We might yet have a son.”

“That’s not what I want.” Lucillus replied.
“I want you to start using contraceptives and for us to adopt
Caius. He is, by all accounts, a fine boy and will be taking off
his bulla soon. Once he is officially a man, he could come live
here with us as our son.”

Anthea face with the picture of bewilderment.
“Why don’t you want to try for a son? I am sure Caius is wonderful
and I will love him, but I don’t understand.”

“I have never, in all my life, been as
terrified as when you were delivering Luccia, that’s why.” Lucillus
beautiful mouth looked grim.

Somewhat exasperated, Anthea said, “That was
a perfect delivery, you insane man. Juno Lucina has seldom blessed
a woman so much. Why else would we have sent an entire bull in
thanks? Do you know how much those things cost?”

“I am perfectly aware of how fortunate we
were in Luccia’s birth, and how much a white bullock costs. I had
to work for a month just to pay for it. That is not the point.”
Lucillus was starting to sound a bit exasperated as well.

“What is the point then?” his wife
demanded.

“The point is that I don’t want to risk
losing you in childbirth when I have a perfectly good second cousin
to adopt.”

“Oh, Lucillus.” Her countenance was soft and
full of love as she reached her free hand out to hold his. “I
wanted another baby too. I prayed for it every day at the shrine of
Bona Dea. It’s not something I suffered solely for your sake.”

Luccia released her mother’s nipple with an
audible pop, and Anthea shifted the baby to her shoulder to burp.
As she patted the baby’s back, Luccia relaxed, and then let out a
belch that could have been heard in Rome.

Thoughtfully, Lucillus rubbed a forefinger
across his small daughter’s cheek. He was always amazed at how much
it felt like the petal of a rose. It was almost eerie; like the
baby had been stolen from Flora.

“There is such a risk with every birth,
though. I don’t want to lose you.” His gem-like eyes were troubled.
“I don’t want to risk my happiness. I don’t want to anger the Fates
with the appearance of ingratitude.”

Anthea was quiet, and Lucillus gave her time
to process his argument. Finally, she spoke. “We could try for just
one more.”

Lucillus was honest. “I would rather not,
darling.”

He waited patiently for Anthea’s response,
which was a long time coming. “Alright then,” she eventually
nodded. “I’ll have the contraceptives made up. You can send the
letter to Marcus about Caius. But if he says no I reserve the right
to argue in favor of trying to have another.”

“That is a reasonable compromise,” Lucillus
agreed, kissing her temple. “Now, since the baby is full, why don’t
we have Ria come take her and you and I can go celebrate our
anniversary properly.”

Anthea looked at him from the side of her
eyes mischievously. “You mean, go to the theater?”

“No.” He smiled. “I was thinking of something
else. But you can certainly wear your pearls if you’d like.”

“You mean I’m going to be given my own
private performance?” She affected ignorance.

“Yes, one that is best enjoyed while one is
prone.” He concurred.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. If it the one I
am thinking of you’ve gotten me to enjoy it in many other positions
than just that one.” Anthea pretended to be coy.

“That,” Lucillus promised, “is also on the
agenda.”

THE END

Discover other titles by Sylvia Ketrie:

Tempted by Infamy, A Novel of the Roman Empire

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“Octavia, tell me honestly, are you trying to regrow
your hymen so you can join the Vestal Virgins?

Octavia, startled out of her reverie by her
best friend’s question, looked over at Aemilia and croaked.
“What?”

She and Aemilia
had been as close as sisters for years. It was
Aemilia who had been her nearly constant companion in the months
following the death of Octavia’s husband. It was Aemilia who
visited almost every afternoon to play a quiet board game and chat.
It was Aemilia who dragged Octavia to plays and coaxed her into
accepting dinner with friends. Octavia did not know how she could
have borne her widowhood without her friend’s steadfast support,
but now it was Aemilia who was trying to convince her to remarry or
at least take a lover, and Octavia had thus far refused to even
consider it.

“I asked if you were trying to regrow your
hymen. What part wasn’t clear? Was I speaking in Aramaic?”
Aemilia’s face dramatically pinched to demonstrate how she suffered
from Octavia’s inability to understand plain Latin. “People say it
can happen if you go long enough without sex.”

Octavia clutched her glass
of wine a little tighter and drew herself up as far as her
reclining position would allow. Putting all the disdain of a
wealthy Roman matriarch into her voice she looked down her nose and
said, “Really, Aemilia. I have no idea what’s gotten into you that
you should ask me such a thing.” Octavia could feel her mouth
purse
and thought,
By the holy breasts of Venus, I have turned into my
grandmother. When did that happen?

“More than anything that’s
gotten into you for the last year, I am sure,” Aemilia retorted,
completely undeterred by Octavia's more-Roman-than-thou façade. “I
am surprised you don’t have dust fly out from under your
tunic
every time you cough.”

Octavia had long ceased to be shocked by her
friend’s earthy way of expressing herself. Unlike most other women
of her social status, she enjoyed Aemilia’s bawdiness. Octavia had
always disliked the mendacity required for socializing in the
political powder keg that was Rome. She lived in a world where
nearly every conversation she had was full of evasions, hedges, or
outright lies. In contrast, Aemilia’s brash and unstinting honesty,
no matter how coarse the phrasing, was as refreshing as a swim in a
cool tiled pool.

“I’m fine.” She was trying to convince
herself as much as she was trying to reassure Aemilia. “Honestly.
It’s only that I don’t feel the urge to take on passengers right
now. I think my ship has sunk. I am dead from the waist down. I
have no interest in sex at all.”