He also wanted some distance between himself and Arria. He had ceased seeking her company, but she still sought his. She told him Fannia was divorcing Patrobus and telling everyone she had a lover, and he didn’t want that trouble added to his shoulders as well. He grimaced, remembering Arria’s hurt and angry tones.
“Is it you, Marcus?”
“I have not seen the fair Fannia since the banquet Antigonus threw before the Apollinare games,” he had answered truthfully. “You were there, don’t you remember? You swam naked in Antigonus’ fountain to the Satyrs.” She had been drunk and wildly angry when she saw him in the gardens with Fannia. He had tossed her into the fountain, but doubted she remembered.
Now Arria attended every festival and banquet he did, a constant burr in his side. Piqued by his rejection, she told her friends she had tired of him, though it was all too obvious she still wanted him. Her persistence was embarrassing.
There was a measure of relief in his unattached status. He could do what he pleased, when he pleased, with whom he pleased. For a few brief days, he had enjoyed Mallonia, a woman who was a friend of Titus, the emperor’s son. Through her, Marcus had been introduced to Titus. The younger Flavius had been depressed over the termination of his love affair with the Jewish princess, Berenice. Though his captive, she had captivated him. Marcus had wondered at the rumors circulating through the Empire that Titus wanted to marry a Jew. He hadn’t believed it until meeting Titus. Were it not for Vespasian ordering the affair ended, Titus might actually have done it.
Titus should never even have considered marrying a woman of such a heathenish race. Perhaps it was a combination of too many months of campaigning and too long a time beneath the hot Judean sun. Women were meant to be conquered and enjoyed, not turn a man’s life inside out or set the Empire to rebellion.
Marcus thought of Hadassah and then pressed the image of her gentle face away.
He turned his thoughts to the rock quarries. He had purchased interest in two of them within a day’s journey of Rome after hearing a rumor passed on to him by one of his agents. One of Vespasian’s palace slaves had overheard a conversation between the emperor and several senators concerning Nero’s lake near the Golden House. Vespasian was mulling over the idea of draining the lake and making it the site for an amphitheater large enough to seat more than one hundred thousand plebeians.
Tons of stone would be needed, and where better to buy it than from quarries closest to Rome? Granted, Marcus only owned a very small share in the quarries, but even a small share would be worth a fortune once the colossal project got underway.
Grinning, Marcus gave the stallion his head and galloped down the road. The speed and power of the animal under his control exhilarated him, and his blood raced in response. The stallion slowed his pace after several milestones. Marcus drank in the fresh country air.
He wondered how Julia fared with her aging Claudius. He hadn’t seen her in months. She wasn’t expecting him, and the prospect of completely surprising her pleased him.
He purchased food from an open-air market in one of the small civitates and continued on his way. He passed by a rich traveler ordering his slaves to pitch a tent for the night. With the size of the man’s retinue and the frequency of Roman legionnaires on the road, there was less likelihood of an attack in the open. Spending a night at a local inn was an invitation to robbery or worse.
Marcus had friends along the way, but chose not to stop. He wanted to be alone, to hear silence and his own thoughts. He chose a place to bed down well off the road and hidden by a formation of granite.
The evening was warm, and he needed no fire. He removed the saddle and blanket from his horse, then brushed him down. There was a small stream and plenty of grass for grazing. He hobbled the stallion within reach of both and stretched out beneath the stars.
The sweet silence sang in his ears as though sirens were nearby. He drank it in, savoring the peace. However, all too soon, that peace left him as his mind filled with the dozens of business decisions he had to make over the coming weeks. It seemed the more successful he was, the more complicated his life became. Even escaping for a few days took a monumental effort.
At least he was not in the social position of his father. He did not have to sit in a curule chair early each morning and dole out denarii to twenty or more clients who stood with their hats in their hands. They always lingered, asking advice, offering flattery, bowing their insincere thanks.
His father was a generous man, but there were times when even he begrudged the doled-out coin. He said it took away the desire in men to work for themselves. For a few denarii, they sold their self-respect. Yet, what choice did Romans have when the population became glutted from every conquered province and foreign goods dominated the marketplace? Free Roman laborers demanded higher pay than provincial slaves. Romans thought themselves above the common pay. Ephesians like his father had grasped every opportunity.
Born and educated in the Eternal City, Marcus felt himself torn by allegiances. He was more Roman than Ephesian. Yet, his father still felt his roots were deep in Ephesus. A few nights ago, his father had said in wrath, “Roman I may be by purchase, but in my blood I am and always will be an Ephesian—as are you!”
Marcus wondered at his father’s vehemence. “Once it mattered to be a Roman, to ensure protection and opportunity,” Decimus had said, explaining his reasons for becoming a citizen. “It took time and effort. It was a thing of honor bestowed on a select few who earned it. These days, any man with the price can be a Roman, be he ally or enemy! The Empire has become like a common whore, and like a whore she is diseased and rotting from within.”
His father had seemed driven and talked with irritating rapidity of the homeland he had left over two decades ago. Even Vespasian’s able leadership of the Empire did not quiet his dire suppositions. It was as though some unknown force within the elder Valerian sought to draw him back to Ephesus.
Marcus sighed and thought of more pleasing and less disturbing things. Mallonia with her green eyes and practiced wiles; Glaphyra and her smooth, voluptuous curves. Yet, when he slept, the woman who filled his dreams was a young Jewess, her hands raised heavenward to her unseen god.
Julia was deliriously happy to see her brother. She threw herself into his arms, laughing and saying how thankful she was that he’d come. He lifted her and kissed her fondly, then set her on her feet again, putting his arm around her as they went out into the courtyard. She had grown up some in the months since he had seen her, and she was more lovely than ever.
“Where is your doting husband?”
“Probably in his bibliotheca poring over his scrolls again,” she said with an indifferent shrug and dismissive wave of her hand. “What brings you to Capua?”
“You,” he said, proud of how beautiful she was. Her eyes were bright and shining, all for him.
“Will you take me to one of the ludi? Claudius hasn’t the time with his studies, and I have been simply dying to see how they train the gladiators. Will you, Marcus? Oh, please. It would be so much fun.”
“I see no problem in that. Was there one in particular you wanted to visit?”
“There’s one not far from here. It belongs to a man named Scorpus Proctor Carpophorus. I’ve heard it’s one of the best training facilities in the province.”
Claudius’ gardens were extensive and beautiful. Numerous slaves were pruning and trimming and weeding to keep the pathways manicured. Birds flitted and sang from the high branches of mature trees. Claudius’ family had owned this villa for many years. His wife Helena had died here. Marcus saw no sign that her ghost had dampened Julia’s marital happiness. She seemed happier now than on the day the vows were said.
“How do you fare with your husband?” Marcus asked with a teasing smile.
“Quite well,” Julia said with a sly smile. “Sometimes we walk in the gardens, sometimes we talk.” She laughed at the wicked grin he gave her. “That, too, but not often these days, thank the god
s.”
A quick frown crossed Marcus’ face as she ran ahead and sat on a marble bench beneath the shade of an ancient oak. “Tell me everything about Rome, Marcus. What’s happening there? What gossip have I missed? I’m dying to know.”
Marcus talked for some time, his sister utterly absorbed with all he said. A maid came with wine and fruit. He’d never seen her before. Julia dismissed her and grinned at him. “Her name is Catya. Lovely, isn’t she? Do try not to get her with child while you’re here, Marcus. It would annoy Claudius’ sense of propriety.”
“Did you sell the little Jewess Mother gave you?”
“Hadassah? I wouldn’t part with her for anything! She’s devoted and obedient, and she’s been most useful to me over the past few months.”
There was a hidden message in the last part of her statement, for bedevilment shone in his sister’s eyes. He smiled wryly. “Indeed?”
“Claudius is quite taken with her,” she said and seemed amused.
A sudden hot flood of dark emotion burst inside of Marcus. He couldn’t assess his feelings, for what gripped his stomach was far too uncomfortable. “And you’re pleased with the situation?” He asked in quiet, controlled tones.
“More than pleased. I rejoice!” Her smile dimmed at the look on his face. She bit her lip like a child suddenly unsure of herself. “You needn’t look at me like that. You can’t understand how awful it has been, Marcus. I could hardly bear it.”
Growing angrier, he caught her wrist as she looked away. “He was cruel to you?”
“Not cruel, exactly,” she said and looked up at him with embarrassment. “Just persistent. He became tedious, Marcus. He wouldn’t leave me alone for even one night. Then I came upon the idea of sending Hadassah. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? She’s just a slave. She’s to serve in whatever way I decide. Claudius seems perfectly content with the arrangement. He hasn’t complained.”
The blood was pounding in Marcus’ head. “A fine scandal it will be if she becomes pregnant before you.”
“I don’t care,” Julia said. “He can do whatever he likes to her as long as he leaves me alone. I can’t stand him touching me.” She stood up and moved away from him, wiping tears from her pale cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in months, and now you’re angry with me.”
He stood and went to her. He took her shoulders firmly. “I’m not angry with you,” he said gently. “Hush, little one.” He turned her and held her close. He knew such arrangements worked in many households. What business was it of his if his sister decided to conduct such practices in her own home? As long as she was happy, what difference did it make what she did?
But it did make a difference. He told himself it was concern for his sister’s marriage that made him uneasy. But the thought of Claudius Flaccus having both his sister and Hadassah rankled. More than he would have thought possible.
Claudius joined them then. He looked robust for a man of fifty, and content in his marriage. Marcus watched him with Julia for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. One thing was clear: Claudius was no longer in love with her. He treated her with polite consideration and diffidence, but the spark was noticeably gone.
Julia was relaxed and went on questioning Marcus about Rome. She made no effort to include Claudius in her conversation, almost blatantly ignoring him. When he did join in the conversation, she listened with an air of boredom and long-suffering that made Marcus cringe inwardly. However, Claudius seldom had anything to say. He listened politely to their conversation, but didn’t seem much interested in affairs of state or what had occurred at the various festivals. He seemed distracted and deep in his own private reverie.
They reclined on the couches for the evening meal. A succulent oak-fed pig was served as the main course, but Marcus had little appetite and ate sparingly. He drank more wine than usual, and the tension grew in him rather than dissipating with the drink. Hadassah waited upon Julia.
After a first brief glance at the Jewess, Marcus didn’t look at her again. He noted Claudius did, however, several times. He smiled once, a fond smile that made Marcus’ hand clench on his wine goblet. Julia seemed perfectly content.
Musicians played on a pan flute and lyre, soothing sounds to ease a troubled heart. Following a final course of fruit, Claudius held up his golden goblet and then turned it over. The red wine splashed onto the marble floor in libation to his gods, thus ending the meal.
Julia wanted to sit in the gardens. “Marcus and I have so much to talk about, Claudius,” she said, looping her arm through Marcus’ and making it clear that her husband’s company was not wanted. Marcus noted that Claudius smiled warmly, relieved.
“Of course, my dear,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Marcus felt her fingers tense on his arm. Claudius straightened and looked at him. “I will see you in the morning, Marcus. Whatever you want, you’ve only to tell Persis.” He left them.
“Would you like a shawl, my lady?” Hadassah said. “It’s cool this evening.”
Her soft voice cut through Marcus’ heart and he felt a rush of unreasoning anger against her. She left the room and came back with a wool shawl, which she placed tenderly over Julia’s shoulders. He watched her openly, but her eyes never once lifted to his. Hadassah bowed slightly and took a step back.
As they sat in the garden, Julia wanted him to talk about all the gladiatorial contests he’d seen over the past months. Marcus amused her with various stories of contests gone awry.
“The Briton dropped his sword and began running around and around the arena. He was small and very fast and made the Gaul look like a lumbering ox. The little Briton must have run past his sword three times and never thought to pick it up. The crowd roared with laughter.”
Julia laughed, too. “Did the Gaul ever catch him?”
“No, and the contest became so boring, the Gaul was called out of the arena and a pack of trained dogs sent in. The little Briton didn’t last long after that. A few minutes and it was over.”
Julia sighed. “I saw a gladiator some time ago running with his trainer along our road. He was very fast. He would have caught that Briton easily.” She put her hand on Marcus’ thigh. “When will you take me to the ludus?”
“Give me a day of rest from my journey. Then we’ll discuss it,” he said with a distracted smile. Try as he might, he could not keep his mind from wandering back to Hadassah.
“I don’t want to discuss it. Every time I discuss it with Claudius, he changes the subject. He says he hasn’t the time to take me. He has time. He just doesn’t want to go. If you refuse me, I shall find a way to visit a ludus all by myself.”
“Still threatening me with dire consequences, I see,” he said, grinning at her.
“It’s not funny. You can’t imagine how boring it is to live in the country.”
“You used to love the country.”
“For a week or two, when I was a child. I’m a woman now, Marcus. I’m sick of playing knucklebones and dice.”
“Then settle down and have some children,” he said, tweaking her cheek playfully. “Card wool and weave like Mother.”
Her eyes flashed with resentment. “Very well,” she said with grave dignity and began to rise.
Laughing, Marcus caught her wrist and made her sit again. “I’ll take you, little sister. Day after tomorrow, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
She brightened immediately. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” The evening air grew chilly and they returned to the house.
Marcus made use of Claudius’ fine bath. He was amused when Julia sent Catya to him. She held the towel as he left the water and offered to rub his body with scented oils and scrape him. However, he dismissed Catya in favor of Claudius’ masseur. He had ridden long hours and slept on the hard ground. His muscles ached, and a woman’s gentle hand wasn’t what he required. Later, perhaps.
He thought of Hadassah as the slave kneaded his muscles.
Somewhat relaxed after the rubdown, he r
etired to a spacious guest chamber and reclined on the bed. He gazed in bemusement at the prim fresco of children playing in a field of flowers. Perhaps this room had been intended for a nursery.
A dark thought came. What chance was there for Julia to have children if she allowed her maid to usurp her?
The hour was late. Julia would long since have gone to bed and would have no need of her maid now. He wondered if Hadassah still went secretly into the garden at night to pray to her god. Thinking to find her there, he rose and went out. When he didn’t find her, he entered the house again and summoned a slave.
“Bring Hadassah to me,” he said and saw the brief flash of surprise before the servant’s feelings were hidden.
“My apologies, my lord, but she is with the master.”
“The master?” he said darkly.
“Yes, my lord. The master summoned her after the evening meal. May I bring you something? Would you like some wine?” He cleared his throat nervously and lowered his voice. “Do you wish Catya summoned?”
“No.” The evening meal had been over for hours. Had they been together all this time? Angry blood pounded in his veins. “Where are the master’s chambers?”
“The master is not in his chambers, my lord. He is in the bibliotheca.”
Marcus dismissed him with a jerk of his head. He was going to put a stop to whatever was between Claudius Flaccus and Hadassah. He couldn’t imagine why Julia had been so foolish as to allow it to go this far. He left his room and went along the corridor toward the library. The door was open.
As Marcus came near, he heard Claudius speaking. “Of all these many laws you have told me over the past few days, what then is the most important one, the one that supersedes all the others?”
“‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.’”