Chapter Five

The following morning saw me sweeping the tiles of the Palace courtyard. The light was clear and pure; the soft breeze bore the ever-so-slight hint of a chill. Then a voice behind me stirred me into dropping my brush and I whipped round quickly to behold the voices' source.

"Sla...Vinca?"

There stood Commodus, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, rubbing the tops of his arms as if to warm them. It was only the second time he'd bothered to use my first name; the preceding incident was the day he'd accosted me in the corridor almost two years before. On that particular occasion he'd been far too angry to pay attention to simple matters of address. Having said that, Lucilla, the old Emperor, and Lucius had always professed the good grace to use my name. Bowing as required, I spoke.

"Good morning, Sire. What can I do for you?"

Commodus smiled shyly and glanced behind him, then turned back to meet my gaze.

"I-I have come out to see how you are doing..." he stammered. He fidgeted slightly, scratched the end of his nose, and took a deep breath. "In truth, Vinca, I wanted.... I wanted to thank you for... taking care of me last night, when I...when I was ill..."

Now this was a first! The Emperor Commodus, stooping to actually thank a slave; and more to the point, one he didn't seem particularly enamoured of until now! Then my cynical inner self lunged forth, gesturing frantically. What on earth could his motive be? Was it fair to think in these terms? Did he even have a motive?

I bowed. "I am most honoured, Sire. I trust that you are well" Picking up my brush, I resumed my work.

"Vinca, please put down the brush and walk with me awhile"

Puzzled, and with more than a little caution, I carefully placed the brush on the ground. Depressingly familiar with his irascibility and swift, unprovoked mood-changes, I grudgingly acknowledged that this sudden display of amiability could well be a precursor to something far more hostile in intent. Still, he was Emperor, and to disobey him would be akin to diving headlong into a vat of boiling water.

"I'd simply like to talk to you, Vinca. Get to know you a little better. I am aware that we have had our ...differences of opinion, shall we say, in the past; but I am eager to build good relations with all my members of staff. I have great plans for the Empire, Vinca, and I need a loyal and productive workforce behind me if I am ever to achieve my goals."

He peered at the ground as he spoke, chewing a manicured fingernail, a gesture betraying more than a smidgeon of self-doubt.

We strolled at a leisurely pace in mutual silence for several minutes. He broke it first.

"Tell me about Britannia" he said. "You were born there, were you not?"

"Yes Sire, I was"

"I hear it is a terribly cold and desolate place"

"Sire, it was my birth land. I acclimatised in the cradle."

"Is it an ugly place?"

"It depends on how one's eye is trained, Sire. Parts are indeed beautiful, green and lush. There are birds, and streams, and hills...not great mountains like the mighty Alpine peaks, Sire, but they have a beauty of their own. The weather is temperamental."

"Do you miss it?"

"I can barely recall it, Sire" This wasn't strictly true.

"Of course. You were take...you left there as a young girl. How terribly ignorant of me. I apologise; it must have been a difficult experience for you." Reaching out, he touched my shoulder.

"Even the most...the most beautiful places on earth can seem cold and desolate when one is lonely." he suddenly said, and I had the strangest feeling that he was talking about himself.

He stopped and spun round to face me. "You acclimatised in the cradle, Vinca. That means you are strong." He narrowed his eyes, his gaze intensifying, beckoning a reply.

"Please excuse my ignorance, Sire, but I don't understand."

"You and I, we...are both more alike that you realise. You were born strong; I, on the other hand, was not. Yet we have both had to fight for respect in our own ways."

"But I've never fought for anything, Sire. I simply get on with things, letting life take care of itself. In many ways I am fortunate; I have a mattress on which to lie, a roof over my head...and indeed, what a roof! I have three meals a day and clean water to drink. Many people don't have even that."

"Oh, but you have fought, Vinca...in a way, you are as tough as the mightiest gladiator ever to set foot in the Flavian Ampitheatre. You were taken from your family against your will then enslaved by your captors. You may never see your family again, yet you have endured. Every single day is a battle for you, yet you withstand it without complaint, and I find that intriguing. I was born into privilege, although my upbringing was far from happy in spite of that, and it has taught me some harsh lessons. We are both so alone in the world, but alas, so disparate in circumstance!" He sighed.

He bade me farewell soon afterwards, and I went to retrieve my brush, pondering his words. Although his self-pity rankled me at the best of times, I intuitively grasped the truth behind his words, leaving me with a new and startling insight; namely, that sometimes the mountain's pinnacle, although breathtaking, instilling a sense of invincibility in those who succeed in scaling its' heights, can be the most desolate, the loneliest, the most dangerous place of all.

Before leaving me that day, he'd informed me that he would call for me should he ever need me. I shrugged off his declaration; convinced nothing would ever come of it. Then one evening, approximately two weeks after our conversation in the courtyard, I had just settled into bed when I felt a rough hand touch my shoulder. I jerked upright and saw that the intruder was a Praetorian.

"Hurry" he growled. "The Emperor wishes to speak with you,"

Kicking off my snarled bedclothes, I dashed over to my water bowl to scrub my face. The Praetorian politely turned his back as I dispensed with my sleeping garments and climbed into my simple gown. I was about to put up my hair when the Praetorian turned to me. "Make haste!" he snapped. "The Emperor does not like to be kept waiting!" Conceding the battle, I let my hair hang loose, spilling over my shoulders and down my back in a wavy curtain of flame. Sliding my feet into my sandals, I silently hoped Commodus would not scold me for appearing before him with hair unkempt.

Following the guard up the stairs and along the corridor, a distinct sense of unease stirred within me. What if Commodes had misinterpreted our mutual amiability in the garden as evidence of unwavering devotion, and sought to use this perceived factor to blackmail me into spying for him, perhaps even on my fellow members of staff? I knew how manipulative he could be from first-hand experience. My long-thwarted plan of escape stirred again in the back of my suspicious mind.

But what if there was another reason for his summons? I was aware that some of the other servants-both male and female - had been roused from their beds late at night in order to "service" the Emperor. I personally had so far never been "summoned" thus, although one night I witnessed Hestia tiptoe into the alcove and climb into her bed, her face pinched creased with anxiety and exhaustion. "Please don't tell Cleandrus!" she'd whispered, distraught. I couldn't say anything. I knew perfectly well where she had been. Cleandrus had, in fact, returned from the same place a couple of nights earlier.

Arriving at the door of the Emperor's personal chambers, the guard signalled to me to stay put while he went inside. "She is here, Sire," I heard him say.

"Bring her in, Atticus"

He was sitting at his desk, eyes shadowed with terminal fatigue. I bowed. "Sire."

"Come, Vinca. Sit." He gestured towards the seat on the opposite side of his desk. Hesitantly, I took it.

"You may recall," he said, pausing for breath, "that I said I would call for you if I required your presence. That time has come." His luminous eyes held me in place.

"Permission to speak frankly, Sire?"

"You may"

Taking a deep breath, I plunged forward. "Please excuse my ignorance, Sire, but I cannot see how anything I have to say could possibly hold any interest or value for you. I am but a mere slave, and surely you would profit from rest rather than my humble company. It is late, Sire, and if you don't mind me saying so, you appear fatigued..."

"Oh don't be so silly Vinca! I don't expect you to address the Senate on my behalf or anything like that! And, while we are on the subject, do stop that ridiculous bowing each time you open your mouth to speak. It really isn't necessary, and it vexes me so. Anyway, just because you are a slave doesn't mean you have no opinions of your own. You strike me as a very bright girl, and I enjoy your company. So come through to my room, and we will talk." The finality of his words dissuaded me from pressing the point further.

He asked me to pour him a goblet of wine, "and to get some for yourself." We perched on the edge of his bed; I astonished at his sudden benevolence. Did he have seduction in mind? I grudgingly admitted to myself that the idea did not seem as distasteful as I'd originally thought.

To his credit, he didn't attempt to cross this barrier. We engaged in small talk for a while, and he admitted he was very tired but was unable to sleep. "I've tried everything," he sighed. "Sleeping -draughts, reading...nothing works. I can't relax. Too much is at stake."

Changing direction, he asked about my hair.

"What an extraordinary colour it is! And so abundant! Is it natural, or do you put henna on it?"

"It's all natural, Sire" I informed him. This seemed to please him.

More wine was poured. My head began to feel light. I felt more carefree than I had done for some time.

"So," Commodus asked. "What hidden talents does our wonderful Vinca profess, in addition to her considerable domestic ones?" He looked at me teasingly, with an attractive half-smile skewed by the distinguishing scar.

.

"I, er, I don't really know, Sire. My most intimate relationship is with the cloth and bucket, so that doesn't really leave much time for the nurturing of talent..."

He burst into delighted peals of laughter. "Oh, do come on, Vinca! There must be something! Singing, dancing, ..."

"I, er, I could try to sing for you, Sire..." Feeling a little awkward, I shifted on the bed and toyed with a curl of hair.

"Sing for me?" He laughed, astonished. "Can you sing?"

"Well, Sire, I could try...but please don't hold me responsible if it displeases you..."

He clapped his hands in delight. "Very well. Go ahead, sing for me." He leaned back into the pillows and folded his arms in anticipation.

So I did. My voice is not the sweetest in the world, but it isn't the worst either. I can hold a tune, put it that way. It was an old Briton folk song, sweet, melodious and haunting. When I had finished, Commodus clapped his hands and smiled at me, eyes rapt with amazement.

"Ah, a woman of profound talent. Come, Vinca, lie next to me. Sing me to sleep."

As I positioned myself next to him he nestled closer, putting an arm around me. I flinched and froze. To his credit, he noticed. Gazing up at me, he smiled, hoping to reassure me. "I'm not going to take advantage of you, Vinca, of that you can be certain. I don't want that with you. Sing for me instead, that would be more than enough."

It was another folk song, reminiscent of a lullaby, of soft, undulating breeze, of sad, silent clouds in gentle procession. The song evoked memories and I lost myself in it. When I had finished, I glanced at the weary young man in my arms. His eyes were wet with tears.

"My mother used to sing to me" he murmured.