Chapter 13

The villa Antoninus procured for them to live in was small, cramped, but would serve until such a time as he was able to return to Diana. That is, when Julia fulfilled her part of the unspoken pact between them, and found some purpose for herself here in Rome.

Poverty, even the subdued kind she and her mother had endured before they moved to the countryside, was unacceptable to her stepfather. Their new home lacked some amenities, yet still would have appeared as a palace to the peasants enduring worse urban squalor. They had no servants bar a young man paid to care for their horses and a maid, both allowed to live within the villa with them, if discreetly.

Though she needn't have, Julia soon learned the arts of housekeeping, to Antoninus's great relief, without complaint. However, much of the time she clearly had other things to distract her; other purposes for her stay in the great city.

Since their arrival, she had pandered him almost constantly to accompany her into the more populated, lively areas of the city, where she absorbed her surroundings as easily as a sponge absorbs water. Seeing how dramatically her spirits rose as a result of these outings, however, her stepfather could not complain. He loved her so much that her happiness became his happiness; he wanted only to keep her smiling for as long as possible.

"What do you want out of your life, Julia?" he asked her one morning, as she led the way through a dusty marketplace, collecting necessities like a second nature.

The question slowed her pace as she walked ahead of him, her basket sliding a little down her slender arm. "I do not know."

They spoke no more of her future then. Only when they reached a small café in which to take their midday meal did Antoninus realise what a sore nerve he had touched within her. She chewed on expensive sweetmeats half-heartedly, refusing a course of meat and vegetables altogether. He could afford to feed and clothe her richly, but not as richly as she would have liked, he feared.

Some days, he found himself utterly shocked at the amount of independence she asserted, and at the downright coldness she often displayed to others, including him. But this was only one side of the coin; she could be so warm and doting sometimes, she brought tears to his eyes he had to fight to conceal. Finding a husband to tolerate her many facets would prove nightmarish.

"Have you found everything we need for the house?" he queried, needing to distract her obviously melancholy thoughts somehow.

"Everything, except for the bread. And I would like some sewing materials." She brought a cloth up to her face to wipe away a few crumbs, and as she did, her stepfather caught sight of an exquisite signet ring on her delicate middle finger. It caused his breathing to freeze for a moment. Never, in either Julia's possession or her mother's, had he encountered such a beautiful specimen of jewellery. It looked entirely as though it had once belonged to royalty.

Then it occurred to him: the box Diana had handed down to the girl, the former possession of the elusive Roman cousin.

The thought of Julia's now owning the box made him oddly uncomfortable as he stared at the ring. She was so curious, and always had been, about the lives of people in classes higher than their own. He, more than anyone, knew how empty and corrupt those lives could be – he had voluntarily abandoned his own chances in their world. The girl was too impressionable. His only hope was that her fascination would never tempt her into trouble.

* * *

Julia retired late that night, changing her clothes and conversing briefly with the maid before sinking into her bed. All day, she had been filled with a strange excitement, caused only by the effect of Roman air upon her, she was certain. The activity of the areas where she had walked with Antoninus that day, the prosperity and grandeur all around her, left her almost too edgy to go to sleep.

When she finally closed her eyes, however, she dreamed so vividly that even in unconsciousness she was aware of the frenzied pounding of her heart.

The dull linen of the night dress she wore turned to something fine and soft against her skin, making her shiver. The air around her smelled of sweetest perfume, better than any natural aroma she had ever smelled in the countryside. In front of her eyes was a blurred fusion of colours and indistinct objects and faces. The only sounds were of whispering voices. This surreal, sensuous awareness all at once terrified and excited her more than anything ever had.

Her vision came into focus as a beautiful, tall, imposing and yet gentle female figure stood before her, holding out two slender arms. Julia's heart seemed to stop beating as she stared at the woman, unsure of what to do.

This was more than an average rich Roman lady – she was an empress, or at the very least a princess. Her face was long and unlined, framed with flowing auburn curls, her pale skin dotted with tiny freckles. Her smile and eyes spoke volumes of affection, to Julia's pleasure and bewilderment.

For once, she barely noticed what the woman wore – her usual fixation when it came to women of higher station than herself. Feelings began to fill her that were completely alien, though extremely agreeable. She tried to rise to accept the beautiful woman's proffered embrace, but could not. Reaching instead for the small white hands to hold them, she caught sight of a signet ring on one of the fingers.

"I know that…" she thought quickly, before another startling thought occurred to her. This woman might have been an older version of herself; in sunlight, Julia's hair turned coppery also. Her skin sometimes showed freckles, when it was not ivory pale. That smile…was hers. This woman could have been…her mother.

The next day, occupying herself by baking cakes for Antoninus to sell, she thought of the woman in her dream, and of the last gesture that the woman had made: placing her fingers to her lips, as if telling Julia to be quiet. Oftentimes she had bored her stepfather to distraction with tales of the odd things she saw in her dreams, however this one, she consequently surmised, was probably best kept to herself.

"Put those things down, Annia!" Julia shrieked, shock and possessiveness cutting through her as she saw the maid's small body bent over the open box.

The girl jumped to her feet, an expression of terror and remorse twisting her plain face. "I am so sorry, Miss, but it was not I who took your jewels out…"

"Who else could it have been?" Julia pushed past the maid roughly, gathering up the few priceless trinkets as calmly as her rage would allow. "You are paid to keep this house clean, not to rummage through other people's belongings! I can have my stepfather turn you out of our home for this! Whatever were you thinking?"

Annia edged towards the door of her young mistress's bedchamber, tears of alarm and dismay at her own bad luck filling her eyes. She was surprised at Julia's temper, having never witnessed it before. The young woman was usually so good and amiable when handling servants – yet now it appeared that her character was somewhat divided.

"I tell no lie, Miss…I merely came in to turn down your bed for this evening, and found your things scattered across it, so I stopped to admire them…"

"Did you attempt to steal anything?" Julia hissed, counting the treasures in her hands. They were all there, bar the signet ring she now wore, the only one of them splendid and yet tasteful enough to wear around this more provincial sector of Rome without being gossiped about.

"No…Miss, I realise that I have no right to accuse anyone, but..."

"Oh, be silent now, girl, and go back to your quarters. I will complete your duties myself."

"Yes, Miss." Annia hurried, without another word, from the room, leaving Julia feeling peculiar. Somehow, she could believe that Annia, a girl so nervous she was hardly brave enough to open a drawer in order to clean in, had told the truth about having found the box already open.

That meant that the only other person who could have come into her room, taken out her jewels, and laid them in a perfect circle, was Antoninus. Unless, of course, a ghost had invaded her privacy and toyed with her most prized possessions.

To bring in some extra income for running the villa, and also to distract herself from thoughts of her increasingly bizarre dreams, Julia took to travelling to nearby houses to do needlework for others. Her proudest accomplishment, and one of the few creative skills she had been permitted to learn, was her sewing. It calmed her whenever she felt agitated for no clear reason, which was often. It put her too-small hands and nimble fingers to some good use.

But most importantly, to her, it brought her into contact with many different and fascinating people, and in the process opened her eyes to the wider world.

One morning in particular, when the sun beating mercilessly down upon the city signalled the start of yet another glorious summer, she found herself in the entrance hallway to a rather impressive residence, meeting with none other than the lady of the house herself. The wife, Julia gathered with a feeling of growing insignificance, of a senator or a man of property.

"Good morning, my dear," the red-haired woman greeted her warmly. "If you will follow me through here I will show you the garments I would like you to mend. Then we will discuss payment."

For some reason she could not fathom at that moment, Julia felt incredibly at home in this grand house, far too opulent, it seemed, for this less prosperous if not poverty-stricken area. Everyone was aware of the rigid class system within the great city, so why did these people choose to live here?

Julia followed her hostess into the large sitting room, where she tried her hardest not to stare at the plush furnishings and adornments. Immediately, the lady before her began speaking, a little too loudly, holding up a selection of rich, well-worn gowns which needed Julia's attention. However, the young seamstress was unable to listen properly, for she had caught the eye of the only other person in the room with them.

Sat with her legs up on a long couch, a girl, roughly Julia's age, stared into her eyes with a curiously vacant expression and a serene smile. Startled, Julia wondered why her hostess had failed to yet introduce them. Then she realised: this was a daughter, of a marriageable age and yet…mentally unwell, and so remaining at home. This explained the obscure situation of their home, away from high society, which would be critical of them should their sick child be seen by the world.

The silent young girl's mother, having finished explaining Julia's job, finally turned to her. "And this is my daughter, Flavia. She would like to sit with you here, while you work, if that will not bother you?"

Julia ventured a friendly smile in Flavia's direction, which was vaguely returned. "Of course not."

The woman smiled, starting to walk from the room, her back straight and her bearing undeniably noble. "I will send a servant in later with some food for you. Don't be too noisy, Flavia, my dear."

Julia sat to her work somewhat stiffly, acutely aware of Flavia's large, impassive eyes upon her. After thirty minutes at least of strained silence, she decided to try and begin a conversation.

"Do you like to sew?" She glanced up at the girl across the huge room, careful to keep her head bowed so as to seem naturally curious.

"No," Flavia replied after a pause, her perfectly modulated voice belying her supposed mental deficit. "Mother does not allow me to use needles, for I may hurt myself, she says. I like to read instead the books my father gives me."

Julia was surprised, for a number of reasons. Flavia's voice was nothing short of beautiful; tuneful, with only a slight slur to its tones to give away her condition. Not only that, she could read; at some point in her life, someone had educated her to an extent. Jealousy sprang up, unbidden, inside Julia. The one thing she desired more than anything in life, more than happiness in marriage or a good home or children, was education. These were scandalous thoughts for a woman in these times.

"Oh? Who taught you to read, may I ask?"

"My father. When my brother and sisters were all married, it was wonderful. We sat here for hours and he taught me to read myths and histories, so that I would not be bored. I will never get married, you see."

As her hands worked fast at her stitching, Julia's concentration became fearsome. Did a woman have to be simple-minded and a spinster to deserve the great privilege, as she saw it, of literacy? She had little time to dwell upon this, however, as Flavia began to speak again.

"I make up my own stories, as well. I make some of them up out of my dreams. Do you have dreams, Julia?"

Unable to suppress a sudden sense of relief washing over her, Julia lifted her gaze to the other girls smiling, inoffensive expression, grinning back at her. Finally, a chance to unburden herself!

"I dream almost every night, of wonderful, frightening things."

Flavia laughed suddenly, a melodious, uplifting sound. It was no wonder, Julia realised, that her parents did not shut the girl away into her room, as many other patrician pillars of society may have done to protect their own reputations. She was clearly a very pleasant creature to encounter.

"How can something be wonderful and frightening at the same time?"

"Well," Julia began, placing the sumptuous half-repaired fabrics down in her lap, "Imagine something you dream about constantly, like a place where you wished dearly that you could live. Then imagine one night that you dream about it again, only this time it seems completely real. You are frightened, but it is wonderful to be there at last, at the same time."

"I understand. How marvellous that would be! What sort of things do you see in your dreams?"

Julia suddenly felt unable to contain her secrets any longer. "Of a very rich place, like a palace, where I am a princess, I think. I see a woman, a beautiful, red-lady just like your mother."

"Oh," Flavia gushed, closing her eyes to picture the scenario. "Please tell me more!"

The other person Julia had dreamt about was somewhat more difficult to discuss. For not only had she seen, and sensed him, in her incredibly lucid dreams, his appearances to her had extended into her daily life. To speak out loud about him was to admit that she was probably as strange as her stepfather and their neighbours seemed to think she was.

Nonetheless, perhaps she may gain some peace of mind from confessing. Flavia opened her eyes again, their grey, trusting depths full of expectation.

"I dream of a man…I see him in many different situations. I think he is a soldier. Sometimes he is riding across enormous fields, dressed in rags, other times he is dressed all in armour and furs, walking over grounds covered with snow. In some foreign country, I think. He seems to be looking for something."

"Perhaps he is a guardian from another life, like a kinsman or an ancestor," Flavia charitably offered up by way of explanation. "My grandmother used to sit with me, and tell me that since her father had died, he had guarded her from the afterlife. Do you believe in that?"

Julia was momentarily struck dumb by that thought. A guardian from another life. A memory of Diana surfaced, from their days of poverty in that tiny apartment, telling her about her father dying before she was born.

Her father…

Warmth began to rise up to her cheeks, a broad smile settling upon her lips. The handsome soldier from her dreams was her father – he had to be. Now her purpose in her so-far empty life would be to discover his identity.