Woman of Sin Page 6

  “She’s not your enemy,” he said earnestly. “She wants to be your friend, or as nearly a friend as possible, under the circumstances. She can’t live with your hatred. She owns you. You could find yourself once again at the slave market.”

  Alysia stared at him dumbly, unable to think of a suitable retort. She couldn’t believe she was being rebuked for not showing affection toward the very people who had wrecked her life!

  He watched her, seeming unaware of her mounting indignation. “I can see that you won’t take my words to heart,” he said, then added pointedly, “but you do realize there are people who do not treat slaves well.”

  Suddenly, everything hit her with such force it was like a physical blow…her fear and helplessness, her sense of loss, her mixed feelings for this Roman soldier, the utter injustice of her predicament. As always, rage wiped all caution from her mind.

  She kicked him, barely feeling the pain as her foot struck the iron hardness of his leg. “You dare say that to me after what you did!”

  He caught her thrashing fists in his hands. “Stop, you young tigress,” he commanded, struggling with her. She writhed violently, furious tears stinging her eyes. For this moment she didn’t care if she lived or died, and now that she had let loose her wrath it refused to be stilled but poured forth in a torrent. She stamped her foot like a bucking calf, splattering mud over both of them. He fought to restrain her, for she was strong and in her temper like a young Fury. She twisted so that he couldn’t keep a grip on her, and he swore when she sank her teeth into his hand.

  “Go ahead, flog me!” she cried, her body contorting to escape his binding arms. “Beat me until I’m dead, I do not care! Kill me! I want to die, you—you—” She couldn’t think of a scathing enough insult. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she had completely lost control, but it was too late. She made a tremendous lunge, unable to move forward.

  “Stop it, have you lost your senses, woman? Stop, before I—” His words were cut off as her hand laid resoundingly across his face. Without hesitation he grabbed both her arms, pinioning them to her sides. This time he wasn’t lax in his grip. He pulled her so close she could barely move. Then he bent his head and his lips came down upon her own.

  There came a rush of wind, and it was as if the wind were inside her, soaring through her nerves, touching her everywhere at once. Alysia felt the wild anger die, replaced by a new emotion, something different and yet just as violent and uncontrollable. Paulus placed one hand behind her head, closing it over her streaming hair.

  A sudden crack of thunder shattered the stillness, and a flare of lightning briefly illuminated their merging figures. The rain began again in a steady deluge. Alysia pulled away with a gasp, and meeting his gaze for a fleeting moment, whirled to run toward the house. Paulus was upon her in an instant, his hands catching her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

  “Alysia, wait!” he shouted over the tumult of the storm, his eyes blazing.

  “No! Leave me alone! I hate you! Don’t ever touch me again or I will kill you, do you hear? I would rather die, I would rather rot in jail than have you touch me!”

  He stared at her silently, and his hands dropped slowly from her shoulders. She turned and walked away from him, her head up, her shoulders straight. She entered the house through one of the side doors; she walked, dripping, through the center hall and up the stairs, into Selena’s empty bedroom, and went as if in a trance to the unshuttered window.

  Paulus had just mounted his horse and swung around toward his own house. Alysia watched him pause and look slowly up at her, as if he knew she would be there. Without conscious thought her hand moved to her still pounding heart. She was struck by the gravity of his expression and wondered, with a strange detachment, what it meant.

  She kept standing there long after he was gone. For the first time since her trouble began a tear of grief rolled down her cheek, and then another, and she wept…wept for her murdered father, for the loss of her home, her freedom, and for the loss of her own will. He was a Roman soldier, he was her enemy, and yet she had lied when she said she hated him. And he had known it was a lie.

  CHAPTER V

  The Circus Maximus seated more than a hundred thousand people, and surely there were at least that many here, all in a hurry to procure the best seats…seats that might have to be relinquished when someone with more money or authority made a tardy entrance.

  The colossal amphitheater nestled in a valley between two of Rome’s seven hills. Shaped like an elongated circle, one end was open where race-chariots stood in readiness for the last spectacle of the day. The sand-covered arena was bisected by a low wall on which hung seven bronze dolphins that would be raised up or down to indicate the number of laps the chariots had made around the track. A wooden arcade containing dozens of small shops completely surrounded the outside of the arena; spectators had to pass through the arcade to gain access to their seats. Vendors hawked a tempting array of refreshments…water and wine, cheeses, breads, nuts. People thronged and pushed in the aisles; common courtesy had flown away with the doves that had been released into the sapphire-blue sky a few moments ago, signifying that the festivities were about to begin.

  Fascinated, Alysia gripped the sunshades, cushions and fans she carried and surveyed the scene around her. This marked the first day of a celebration in honor of the god Jupiter. It seemed to her that Rome lived for such occasions; Selena and her friends had talked of nothing else for days. Glancing furtively about, she felt strangely disappointed that the legate was nowhere to be seen; she had thought he would sit with his family. She looked around to find Selena’s knowing gaze upon her.

  “You won’t see my brother here today,” she said. “Someone must stay and keep order in the city. Besides, he doesn’t like the games—he always has someone else attend in his place.”

  Unwilling to admit any interest in Paulus, Alysia began to voice a protest but Selena had turned her attention elsewhere as she called to a friend, her eyes shining with excitement. Everyone seemed gripped by the same fervor, faces animated and eager, voices loud and high-pitched. Over the din Alysia could hear the roaring of the animals that would be exhibited in one of the events before the race, and an occasional wayward breeze brought reassurance of their presence somewhere behind the moat separating them from the spectators.

  Selena turned to her again. “Here, leave me those fans and a parasol, and two of those cushions. You’ll have to wait in the slave section. Oh, there’s Cornelius—” She moved away to be embraced by a man in a tribune’s uniform and they disappeared into the crowd. Alysia looked toward the place where Selena had pointed and made her way slowly to the section reserved for those who awaited their masters.

  It was only the beginning of a day of disappointments. The section was small, for most slaves were sent home. There were no seats and very little view; a wall obscured all but a corner of the arena. A religious procession honoring Jupiter was first on the agenda, and this she missed completely. By the time the wrestling and boxing matches began, someone moved and she was in a better position to watch the rather indifferent performance; it was nothing like the athletic events she was accustomed to seeing in Greece. Then the animals paraded out—monkeys doing tricks, lions, zebras, elephants…

  The longer she watched the more depressed she became, exactly the opposite mood that dominated the huge crowd, whose roar was almost deafening. The races were about to start. Alysia didn’t want to witness a spectacular crash; she didn’t want to see some unlucky driver get thrown from his chariot and trampled by horses or dragged around behind his own chariot having been caught in the reins. These, according to Selena, were common occurrences and a day at the races just wouldn’t be quite the same without them!

  What was she doing here, waiting in the hot sun for no other purpose than to carry things for an ungrateful young woman who was perfectly capable of carrying her own fans and cushions? How utterly boring her life had become, and tiresome and such a w
aste of her youth!

  A feeling of desperation seized her, a darkness of spirit that set her feet suddenly moving. She took a path through the arcade and all at once found herself outside the amphitheater, crossing street after street, passing temples and great arches and forums, passing men and women whose eyes didn’t even touch her; it was as though she did not exist.

  She always felt pressed in, here in the center of the city…crowded with buildings and people, the buildings crowded with statues and huge columns. There were steps and stairways leading away in all directions. Searching for she knew not what, she went inside a basilica; it was cool and dim as she walked among the aisles of seats, her footsteps soft on the marble floor. There was a meeting of some kind at the front, and when the men turned to look at her she quickly left, encountering hawkers on the steps outside selling food to passersby.

  She passed markets and taverns; she passed shops…one piled high with wicker baskets and furniture, one selling rugs, others she barely looked at. She stopped at a bakery, drawn by the aroma of rolls and cakes; she realized she was ravenous and bought a sweet bun and a fruit tart. She always had a purse with a few coins in it.

  She walked until darkness fell and finally sat down on the steps of a deserted temple.

  Ha!—the Temple of Fortuna, goddess of luck. Fortuna had not been kind to her. For a moment Alysia wished she believed in the gods so she might curse them.

  In the past weeks the idea of escape, however vague, had lurked reassuringly in her mind. Someday, she’d thought, someday she would run away and start her life over again. But now that she’d taken that first step she’d come to a dead end, banishing whatever hope the thought of escape had held for her. She didn’t know where to go. There was nowhere to go. How was she to leave Rome? How would she support herself?

  She looked up at the moon, half obscured by clouds. “I’ve been a fool,” she thought, with a mild sense of surprise and self-reproach. “All this time I’ve been thinking this was a mistake—that someone would see it was a mistake, and rescue me. I’ve thought I could get away with things because of who I am, or was. But no one is going to rescue me. This is forever. I am a slave.”

  It seemed remarkable that people kept passing by without even a glance at her when she had reached such a crucial moment, such a dreadful precipice in her mind that one more step would surely send her into a pit of darkness from which there was no return. For a moment she wavered there, half wishing she would fall into that pit. But something stopped her, causing her to step back and turn her mind’s eye first to the past, then to the future.

  Her life, as she had known it, was over. Everything dear and familiar to her had been erased in that single moment when Roman soldiers thrust open the door of her father’s house. Now she was someone else, someone who was not able to come and go as she liked, who was not free to say what she felt, whose future comfort was no longer assured. Long years of lonely servitude loomed before her.

  She said aloud, “I’ve been an arrogant, stupid fool.”

  Not only had she refused to accept her condition, she’d been deliberately rude to everyone, even her fellow slaves, because she was the victim of injustice and wanted everyone to know it. The trouble was that they did know it, but there was nothing anyone could do about it—even if they cared to. Clearly she wasn’t the center of anyone’s world but her own.

  Alysia got slowly to her feet, swept by waves of shame and remorse and hopelessness—and something like a sense of nostalgia for things that might have happened, but now never would.

  * * * *

  It must have been near midnight when she returned to the Aquilinus house. She walked softly across the outer courtyard and let herself in the side door. After crossing the atrium she was a good distance down the corridor when she heard someone hiss, “Alysia!”

  Startled, she turned and saw Selena standing within the shadows of Decius’ study. Selena gestured for her to enter, and she did so with an air of resignation. She’d already made up a story about feeling ill and leaving the amphitheater, then getting lost and wandering about all day.

  A lamp burned on the desk and another on a large wooden stand, casting great shadows on the walls. Selena stood just inside the entrance, her eyes dark blue and worried, her hair glowing like spun gold.

  “Alysia, where have you been? I didn’t dare tell anyone you’d disappeared, except Paulus. He’s been out looking for you—” She stopped and turned toward the door.

  Alysia waited in weary silence as they listened to the approaching footsteps. Paulus stalked into the room, his eyes searching until they found her in the gloom. He said nothing, but his gaze went over her swiftly, as though the reason for her disappearance might somehow be on her person. Or maybe he was assessing her for damage, she thought cynically. After all, she had cost him four thousand denarii.

  “Where have you been?” Selena asked again, perturbed by her slave’s lack of response. “Alysia, I’ve endured much from you simply because my brother—”

  Paulus came further into the room, saying, “Selena, would you leave us alone?”

  His sister hesitated, then lightly touched his arm. “Yes, thank you, Paulus. Goodnight.”

  When she had gone, Alysia turned and looked at him warily. He moved closer, the lamplight exposing lines of worry and anger on his face. “I’m beginning to think you enjoy being punished,” he said.

  She could find no words and went to stand before the window, where a faint gleam of moonlight made a halo around her head. He came still nearer, so she could see the vivid blueness of his eyes. She braced herself for the question Selena had asked, but instead he said, “Why did you come back?”

  For a moment she could only look at him blankly. At last she shrugged. “Because there was nowhere else to go.”

  He remained silent for so long that she moved and sat down in a chair opposite him, forgetting that it was improper for her to do so. A faint, gnawing fear was driving a wedge into her apathy. What was he thinking? Had he decided to get rid of her? Was he really going to punish her?

  “I want to know,” he said, his eyes fastened on hers, “if you meant what you said a few days ago—when you told me you never wanted me to touch you again.”

  Her heart did a strange little flop in her chest. “I—I meant it when I said it.”

  He continued to watch her with an intentness that puzzled her. “How would you like to leave this house?”

  “Leave?” she repeated. “Are you going to sell me to someone else?”

  “No, Alysia. The house would be yours. You would have your own clothes, your own servants. But you would belong to me.” He paused. “I want to buy you back from Selena.”

  She stared at him. With the attraction between them that she could not deny, his meaning was all too clear. His liberta, his concubine!

  She hid her uncertainty under a heavy inflection of sarcasm. “Is this indeed a request, my lord, or a command?”

  His look did not waver. “I would not want to keep you against your will.”

  Alysia managed a brittle laugh. “You wouldn’t keep me against my will, and yet I am your slave, as much as I am your sister’s and everyone else’s. You contradict yourself, Legate!”

  He came abruptly toward her, his hand reaching out and pulling her to her feet. “We won’t quarrel again over your status as slave,” he said sternly. “You know what I mean. An unwilling woman, held prisoner in her own house, is not what I had in mind.”

  Unable to speak, she just looked at him with her mouth half open. His ire slowly vanished. “I’ll not ask you to give your answer tonight. And be certain of it when you decide. I won’t punish you—in any way—if you say no, and if the answer is yes—” He stopped and said quietly, “If the answer is yes, I’ll expect more from you than the obedience of a slave.”

  Her pale cheeks colored under his steady gaze. Sexual knowledge was not uncommon among girls her age, and in fact such things were openly discussed, so she was not completely i
gnorant as to his expectations. It was impossible not to notice the eroticism that saturated both Roman and Greek society, for it was in every form of art, from graffiti scrawled upon walls and buildings to even household dishes. Not to mention that any time one turned almost any corner there stood a statue of a god—and the gods seldom bothered to wear clothes. Even the lamp on the desk before her had a little naked figure perched on top of it.

  She knew she must speak. Her voice was soft but clear. “I—I am sorry. I’ve been acting like a child. I haven’t been myself. Believe me, I haven’t always gone about screaming, and kicking people. It’s only—” She stopped, thinking her words might seem like a plea for sympathy. She didn’t want sympathy or pity. She wanted only to be herself again.

  A flicker of surprise went over his face at her words. He put his hand on her cheek and turned up her chin so that he could look more closely into her eyes. She met his gaze soberly and, for the first time, without rancor or resentment. His hand moved from her chin and both arms went around her, pulling her close against him.

  “You have suffered many things,” he said quietly, “things I cannot change, Alysia. But you can start over again. Never again as you were—but I promise you things will be better.”

  His cheek was against the top of her head, and she nodded it because she couldn’t trust herself to speak. No one had ever held her like this, so that she felt safe and strangely comforted. She let her arms slide around his belted waist; he raised his head and she never knew what he was going to do because the comforting silence was broken by a familiar, and unwelcome, voice.

  “What, Paulus? Another conquest?”

  Alysia jumped and stumbled back into the shadows. She and Paulus turned simultaneously to see Lucius standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and a glittering smile upon his face. The wavering light upon his swarthy countenance gave him a startling appearance, as though he’d just been conjured from the underworld.