The following week, after Diana had completed the business of delivering Lucilla's jewels into her displaced daughter's hands, an oppressive, invisible cloud seemed to descend upon their home, seeming to bring everyone down like a plague.
Diana fought continually with her own conscience, vacillating between resentment towards her own malign fate and hatred of herself for feeling that way. She had a wonderful husband, though he must remain forever ignorant of the truth – of her truth. Was she to tell him somehow, not tell him and learn to live with these emotions, or simply be glad for all the beautiful things she now had?
Then there was Julia to contend with. Even more withdrawn, all the time walking out in the fields. Diana could ask herself only one question – why? Since the day the girl had been born, all her guardian had striven to do was make a happy, conventional life for her. If she had succeeded, logically Julia should have grown up contended and accepting of her surroundings. These days, she seemed neither.
Chillingly, she seemed somehow to know as well as Diana did the repugnant truth of her origin, and suffer for it every bit as much as the older woman did.
"I'm so worried about her, Antoninus. Those fields, every day…"
Her husband usually had a wise answer for all of her questions. Now, all he could do was pull her closer to him, wrapping the bedclothes tighter around them both, trying to ignore how painfully thin she felt pressed against him. She might worry about Julia, but he had both of them to fret about. He did not need to be told now that Diana was most definitely not carrying their child yet.
She, on the other hand, had only one thought troubling her at present. It was one she certainly could not share with him.
Why the fields every day? She was not the General Maximus's child – only the product of an unthinkable attack. The thought made bile rise up in her throat, even after all this time. So many questions she should have asked that broken, violated lady as she lay on what would become her deathbed, dragging themselves through Diana's mind like thorny vines, tearing her sanity to pieces.
"I worry about her too, my darling. Every day, I worry so much. I could not love her more if she were my own."
Neither could I, Diana thought bitterly.
"I want only what is best for her…"
"What is
best for her is to get married and settle down," Diana interjected, almost
angrily. She checked herself then swiftly. Never hate her. She is still
Lucilla's child, still that priceless creature you raised in that building by
yourself. Never hate her for what is not her fault…where she came from.
"Of course," Antoninus said softly. "Only she keeps the rest of the world at a distance, when she could find a boy so easily."
Diana forced a smile at that. Somehow, when the girl only appeared in public if she absolutely had to, she received so much attention, had so many admirers. Her loveliness and grace seemed to be common knowledge for miles around.
"There are some good young men among them, too," Antoninus continued. "But does she ever speak about them to you, my dear?"
"Never. She behaves as though they do not exist." A thought suddenly came into her mind. "Might she already have a lover, in secret, do you think?" It was a hopeful possibility – by any means possible, Julia needed to find a husband to tame her strange, silently headstrong disposition.
Antoninus gave a low, slightly cynical chuckle. "In all honesty, I do not think she truly notices those boys at all. That is one thing so upsetting about all of this: even were she to recognise what was the right path for her to take, I doubt she would know what was expected of her as a wife. May I ask you something, my dear?"
"Anything." She nuzzled his bare chest, infinitely comforted by his closeness and ceaseless love for her.
"How did you react when you were first married to Julia's father? You know, to your…duties?"
Her heart lurched, even before her mind could cast itself back. This was one question she had no prepared answer for.
"I…was rather shocked at first. I was very young and naïve." Her throat seemed to tighten then, cutting off any further explanation.
Luckily, Antoninus left it at that, merely hugging her close to him again. They lay in silence for several moments, listening to the sounds of night outside the villa. Eventually, he spoke up again, this time tentatively.
"Darling, there is something more I think I must tell you tonight."
Automatically, she was filled with dread. "What is it? Is it Julia?"
"…Yes, it is. She asked me a favour, a rather large one, this afternoon. It appears she has a longing to return to Rome, to live for a while."
"Oh…oh," Her breath cut off almost completely.
First her fascination with the
fields, now Rome. Her roots are calling her…calling her home. Why did I not
keep her there, where she belonged?
"Did she tell you why she wishes to go?"
"Only that she wishes to see it again. I think she has grown bored with the countryside. Personally, I am surprised it took her this long to realise." His tone changed from light-hearted to grave. "I thought to ignore her at first, just to hope that it was a passing fancy. Then she made me promise that I would discuss it with you."
Diana was glad for the darkness enveloping them, making her face invisible. For a torrent of tears was fighting to escape – both at the prospect of Julia leaving them, and dread of what may happen if they refused to let her go.
Together, they made the impossible decision. It was arranged: Antoninus would take Julia to Rome on the pretext of a visit, leaving Diana to oversee the farm by herself for a short while. Even had she been able to accompany them, her health had recently taken a turn for the worse, and she spent much of her time abed. The spectre of the fever that had almost taken her life thirteen years ago remained unabated.
On the eve of the day father and daughter were due to leave, Diana and Antoninus made love until the early hours of the morning, when they both crept out to the spot where she had first agreed to marry him, lying entwined in the long grasses, awaiting the sunrise.
"When will you come back?" she asked him, her voice choked.
"Soon. Do not worry about that. She was raised here in the country; she will tire of the city soon enough."
"And if she does not? Then what will we do with her?"
"If she will not find employment somehow, she will have to get married. Once she is settled in Rome, I will come home to you."
Diana
grimaced. This is wicked of me. I should not be happy when she may well
leave us.
Yet
she was the last member of a royal dynasty. Not only that, some barely-tapped
part of her being knew it. That is it, then. Rome is her world; she belongs
to the centre of the Empire. So she was born of an evil, unnatural act – at
least she will never find out about it. All she will ever know is that in Rome
is where she is happiest. That will do no harm to her.
"We are doing the right thing in this, aren't we?" She gripped her husband suddenly, staring into his eyes as they filled with concern for her.
"Of course we are! This is what she wants, so it must come to some good end for her. If it does, we will visit her often when she is wed. If it does not, I will bring her back home." He glanced up, the first rays of golden sunlight on the horizon making him squint, and hold Diana to him even more tightly. "The day is finally here. The day we knew would come eventually."
Painfully, her eyes moist with the beginnings of tears, Diana extricated herself from his embrace and stood up, squaring her shoulders to face the day. "I did not quite envision these circumstances. I suppose I should go and wake her, then."
Antoninus took hold of her arm again. "Not so quickly, my dear. I suspect she is already awake."
No sooner had Antoninus and Julia left, than Diana wished with all her heart she had never let the girl out of her sight. Once the cart carrying her husband and daughter away from her had disappeared over the grassy horizon, she had immediately taken to her bed, refusing all of Catalina's anxious requests for her to take some food.
The pillow beneath her soaked with hot tears, sleep eluded her for many hours, until finally a trance-like stupor took hold, heavy and inescapable as a shroud made of iron. The dreaming began in small, horrifying snatches, the sort of which she had not experienced since Julia had been a baby.
Her mother, that ignorant shrew, appearing before her again, looking down upon her with a disgusted expression. Diana felt tiny and terrified, before realising that she was reliving her own childhood. Then her father, taking a whip to her for every small offence he deemed inexcusable. The tears streaming down her face, the stinging pain in her back and buttocks, as she heard her own voice ringing out, shrieking, calling for her older sister who was long since dead of the plague.
Their mother had almost died also. Diana felt cold stone beneath her knees, small, tender knees, and the smell of incense in her nose – she was praying, praying for her mother to die. My father was not a bad man – she made him bad, she told him to hit us. When her mother had survived, when she had been allowed to live where in years gone by all of Diana's siblings had perished, leaving her all alone, the little girl had sworn to make her family pay.
As she writhed in her sleep, trapped by these images flashing beneath her closed eyelids, she wondered if she was dying. I am seeing my whole life, all my mistakes. Is this death? What did Lucilla see when she was leaving me?
The visions became a little lighter, a little clearer. Twelve years old, and dressing and behaving as a grown woman, she felt a euphoria washing through her like cool water. This was the moment she had become resolved to punish her mother, perhaps the only way a highborn young Roman lady could punish her influential family: by dishonouring herself, and therefore them.
The boy had not been difficult to find – the son of an advisor to Emperor Marcus Aurelius himself, who had been paying court to her for almost two years already. In recent years, even when she had been willing to, it had been near impossible for Diana to conjure these memories – now they were crystal clear: his pouting and impatience at her initial coyness, then his expression of equal parts shock and delight when she had finally agreed to succumb to him.
The horror of childbirth made her blood run cold afresh now as it replayed itself. The child had been taken away immediately after, but that had never mattered to her. It had not been easy, as it was when Lucilla had borne Julia – far from it. The surgeons informed her raging parents that their ruined child was badly torn, so would most probably never deliver again.
Thirteen years old, with no chances of making a good marriage now seeing as she was barren. The disgrace of her prestigious lineage. With one last thrashing from her father, she was quietly placed into the service of the newly married Princess of Rome, never to meet any of her relatives again.
Roused at last from this appalling montage of her young life, Diana might have smiled, recognising the irony that it had been within her darkest hour that the happiest time of her existence, by Lucilla's side, had been initiated. Yet it was impossible to take any comfort from this, knowing that the dreams could only have foretold something terrible for Julia.
I rushed
to let her go, and this is my punishment. Oh, sweet lady, I have failed you, as
I always knew I would.
* * *
Julia lay resting in the back of Antoninus's cart as they searched for somewhere to stop for the night, caught between sleep and wakefulness, occasionally making soft murmuring sounds that her stepfather could clearly hear, so clear and silent was the land all around the road they occupied.
Periodically, he peered backwards at her, always seeing her petite figure curled like a foetus, her head wrapped in her favourite linen palla and supported by a bundle of her clothing. She was a beauty, most definitely – though a strange, sometimes cruel one. Not at all like her mother, he thought; so fair and exotically lovely of face whereas Diana was of a more classic, restrained prettiness. His wife was always so eager, also, to put others before herself.
Sometimes he wondered whether she might be constantly seeking to make up for some past selfishness. That, he had accepted, he was probably never to know the truth about.
Julia was selfless also, but often in an inadequate manner. She always tried to help where she could, but her efforts never seemed to lead to anything, and she always appeared to hate herself for it afterwards. Then would come a long dry spell, wherein she never tried to assist anyone. Antoninus had once heard Catalina muttering to a young male stable hand, "That young lady will never be fit for a mistress of a villa. She should have been born a princess, all proud and graceful like she is."
Antoninus had laughed at this, albeit bitterly. His biggest fear had been touched upon: that there truly was no place for Diana's refined little daughter in this land of mere mortals.
Spotting what appeared to be a small village up ahead of them, he began pulling on the horses' reins to slow them. As he did, he heard Julia's drowsy mumblings turn to more pronounced, coherent speech. What could she be dreaming about?
At that moment, one of the cart's wheels passed over a large rock, jolting the young woman out of her cosy position. Her head banged against the wood beside her, and she opened her eyes, moaning at the brief pain ensuing.
"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked, leaning closer to where she lay.
"I am, thank you," she sat up quickly, straightening her clothes and the wrapping around her hair, ever ladylike and conscious of her appearance. "Where did he go?" She looked around, genuinely confused.
"Where did who go?"
"The man in the armour, carrying the sword…a soldier, I think. He just walked right next to us, as I was waking up. He bowed his head and smiled at me."
Bewildered, Antoninus thought back; there could have been no such soldier. The area had been perfectly silent and empty but for themselves.
"What did he look like, may I ask?"
"Slightly dark skin, short hair. Kind eyes…I know it is strange, but he seemed to know me. I…think I have seen him before, at home."
"A soldier, at home? I think you were dreaming just now, my dear, and you mistook the connection between the man at home. There are no soldiers in the countryside. I like to think I know everyone there."
Antoninus now had his back turned to her, focusing on the road ahead. But from the sound of Julia's indignant sniff, he could tell she was hurt by his dismissal.
"Rest a little more, my dear," he said softly. "It will be a long journey before we reach Rome. This is an unreliable route."
"I know it. I have travelled it before."
Irritated by the petulance in her voice, he went on, "Yes, when you were a child. Now put your head down for a few minutes. I will wake you when we arrive in a place to settle for the night."
He heard her lie down dutifully again. Then, almost whispering, she added, "I did not imagine that man. I could not have imagined him twice."
