At the market stall where Antoninus daily sold his wares, he watched Julia's cakes disappear with pride, and guessed at what she may be doing at that moment. Sewing, probably. Daydreaming, most definitely.
The day was cool and sunny: a deceptively pleasant setting for the misfortunes which would result from this seemingly ordinary day's events. Trying to read his stepdaughter's mind distracted him momentarily from the scrutiny of a fellow trader in a stall several yards opposite Antoninus's.
A throng of noisy customers clustered and moved in between the two men's positions for several minutes before Marius, smiling smugly to himself, was able to catch the eye of Diana's husband. So many years without being able to spy on her, and follow her as he once had, before that day when he had first confronted Antoninus as that man had been on his way to a tryst with the brown-eyed lady.
What good fortune that Antoninus,
the pottery seller, was back in
He no longer loved Diana, or even cared for her, if indeed he ever had. They had been no more than children when she had first fascinated and then seduced him. Amateurs in the game of passion. He barely understood what was drawing him back to her now, bar the pull of some kind of destiny, whatever it was to be.
Antoninus's eyes definitely harboured some curiosity as Marius held them with his own, though they soon fell away indifferently. Marius was not surprised; thirteen years previously, when they had first met, he himself had been a man of some consequence, as his appearance had proved. Now, the veritable rags and unkempt beard he wore were bound to conceal his identity.
These days, he was more sympathetic when thinking of his ruined little jewel, Diana. For she had not been the only one to fall from the heights of Roman society, after all.
* * *
The night turned cool and crisp, and Antoninus strode home smiling with satisfaction, nursing a bag full of that day's takings. Nodding to friends passing by, he remained oblivious to the pair of shrewd eyes fixed upon him as he approached his villa, the building mottled with dying sunlight passing through the trees around it. Only when he drew close the front door, shrouded in violet darkness, could he make out the figure of the other gentleman lounging against the brick wall.
Disconcerted, he took a couple of steps backward, swiftly hiding his money beneath his belt. "May I help you, sir?"
The other man smiled broadly. "Perhaps. Is your wife at home today?"
Antoninus vaguely recognised the voice and its arrogant impertinence, but could not pinpoint when and where from at that moment. "I don't think that is any of your business. Might we introduce ourselves before we begin exchanging confidences?"
The stranger seemed to have no qualms about revealing his identity. "My name is Marius, sir. Your name I know – it appears that you are rather a pillar of the community in these parts already. May I ask, sir, after the beauty I encountered as she entered your home earlier? Is she your daughter?"
"My stepdaughter. Julia is the daughter of my wife Diana from her first marriage."
Marius chuckled heartily. "Married, and for a second time! I could never have predicted it." For the first time, he noted Antoninus's disbelieving expression laced with building anger. "Forgive me, sir. Your wife and I were once acquaintances, in our childhoods. I apologise if I have inconvenienced you, and bid you goodnight."
With that, he bowed slightly and departed, walking quickly as if he had some important matter to deal with elsewhere. Antoninus stood speechless, detesting his own memory for letting this person slip. He swore he remembered the man, and the name, from years ago, and indeed associated with Diana.
His head swimming with confusion and some anger, he stepped into the villa and locked the door securely behind him. This Marius has called Julia a 'beauty', he suddenly recalled with a surge of worry and protectiveness – might he pose some danger to her? His comments about her mother had suggested disrespect for their lineage, or indeed all women, at the very least.
The house was silent, but for the sound of Annia and the stable boy chattering in the pantry. It was still fairly light; Julia was fond of taking her pony out into the fields early in the evening. Antoninus was completely unprepared for the sight of her occupying the main sitting room, poring over a parchment containing his household accounts.
She did not see or hear him stood outside the alcove, or feel his eyes watching her, so intently was she concentrating. Her stepfather felt a catch at his heart, seeing her elegant hand toy with the edges of the paper slowly as her eyes glistened with frustration. She wore a new palla around her shoulders, embroidered with silver and red. Still that signet ring glittered on her finger.
More than anything, she longed to be able to read, he knew. Yet he could not yield to her most fervent wish for fear of spoiling the best future she could hope for as a woman: to secure a good man to marry her.
But she is no ordinary woman! So silent, so
graceful, adorning herself like this and walking as though she were a Princess
of the Empire.
He could ask the sons of his friends to visit her to speed up the whole process, but some invisible force steadfastly held him back. Part of him knew very well that her true destiny was quite different, and that should it be thwarted, she would wilt like a tropical flower denied water.
* * *
For Quintus, nightfall was the most depressing time of day, when the rooms of his family's country estate, long since emptied of the many children and servants that its passageways had once swarmed with, would fill with ominous darkness. He and Cassia now lived there alone, with few luxuries, subsisting on only Cassia's allowance from her family since his career had ground finally to a devastating stop.
He felt his advancing age like a pox creeping over him, as he trod through a candlelit passageway of the great old house. He remained fully mobile physically, and as mentally sharp as ever, yet his dreams of the past aged his soul even beyond his mortal years. In the dreams, he was a young man once more, free of all ties and allegiances bar those he willingly assumed: his honourable admiration for the General Maximus, and his love for the Lady Lucilla. Neither had ever died within him, even now.
This estate was empty of every kind of life that had ever meant anything to him. There was no profession for him, and no hero beyond the long-dead General for him to worship. No honest love since the one woman he ever might have shared it with was likewise given to Elysium. Even ordinary domesticity was an impossible dream, seeing as Cassia had failed to give him a child whom he might cherish.
Tentatively, as if it were as airy as one of his dreams and might disappear just as quickly, he brushed his fingers against a bust of his father, one of a line of his predecessors standing along the passage. That man, perishing not long after Marcellus had been killed, had been lucky, his younger son now realised. Both he and his luckless heir had been more fortunate than they could have known.
It's a dream. A frightful dream…life is.
Quintus pressed his palm hard against his own mouth, stilling his breathing for a moment. The feeling of increasing pressure inside his head actually seemed pleasant. He realised that he could easily, and with little discomfort, take his own life. Allowing himself to breath once more, his balled his fist and rammed it into his forehead. It would be a simple end to his misery, should nothing arrive within this life to alleviate it.
That night brought little sleep for him, only contemplations of what should be done with his family's belongings after his death, and how he would provide for Cassia. It was only fair that the sweet, though unremarkable woman should be thanked for her loyalty over her long, monotonous years as his paramour, particularly seeing as he had neglected to ever make her his bride. No doubt, she blamed her infertility for this, and seemed to accept her fate without bearing Quintus any grudge.
The morning was perversely beautiful; it seemed to taunt him as he walked the grounds of the estate, his mood lying as heavily upon him as it had the previous evening. Cassia found much to occupy her, the consummate mistress of the land even as she had no ties, legal or otherwise, to hold her to it. Her lover found himself avoiding her, wishing for company, but not hers.
He was approaching the sparse copse of fruit trees nearby when he reluctantly turned his eyes back to the house, and glimpsed immediately the figure of a young woman. From where he stood, her figure seemed small, though the details of her were startlingly clear, even down to her small feet treading lightly around the courtyard. Her face, framed by tendrils of golden-red hair spilling from the palla she wore, was tilted upwards. She was openly admiring his house.
Quintus might have been angered by any other person's trespassing on his property, but this woman seemed to draw him to her, against his own staunchly proud and restrained nature. For a moment, he remained where he stood, watching her progress and feeling his resolve seep gradually away. This was not just another beauty; this girl was extraordinary. Her power made itself felt even from this distance between them. Part of him screamed out that he had met her before.
The Gods had placed her in his proximity for a reason. In that second his melancholy was gone, replaced at long last by optimism and purpose.
* * *
Julia wondered at the beautiful formation of the old house for a long time, cursing herself when she realised how much time she had wasted. These roads were miles off her daily route to the houses where she usually went to offer her needlework for sale; she barely even remembered why she had decided to walk so far. The rich estate had caught her eye from a distance, and tantalised more than her fascination for wealth and splendour; she felt almost as though she had once lived within it.
Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself stood within the courtyard of the building, inching closer towards the outer walls. An odd and yet wonderful feeling overcame her as she gaped at the marble and stone, while at the same time censuring herself for such silliness. Trailing her fingers across them made her shiver, as if out of delighted surprise that the place was solid and real.
In her state of almost suspended reality, she failed to notice that more than one pair of bewildered eyes had come to rest upon her. By the time a servant of the house's owner had approached to ask the reason for her presence, she may as well have been a million miles away. Inside her head, all the strange dreams she had ever had, of the red-haired lady and the royal palace, were returning to haunt her. The feeling was exhilarating to her.
"Madam?"
Didius was suddenly stupefied by the startled pair of wide amber eyes that swung round to gaze at him. Their visitor had clearly been as unprepared for the sight of him as he had been for that of her.
"I'm so sorry!" she floundered, looking at the basket hanging from one slender white arm. "I did not mean to trespass! I was merely admiring the building…"
"Oh, well, there is no harm done, Madam; I was only wondering if you had any particular business with my master. If you do not, you may leave…"
"Unless, Madam, you would prefer to come inside to take refreshment with me?" The voice was deep and authoritative, although laced with an anxiety which puzzled Julia. She turned to face the other gentleman, certainly the master of the servant with whom she had been speaking, and saw that his expression was bewilderingly timid. She could not recall ever having inspired such a reaction in a man before, except for the numerous times she had received bungling marriage proposals from local boys.
The question left her struck dumb momentarily. As used to speaking with strangers as she was, this particular one made her feel strange. She felt she should accept his invitation out of politeness, and yet was somehow shaken by the sight of him.
"I do not know if I should. Please do not go to any trouble to accommodate me…"
"Nonsense!" The man swallowed after he said the word, reaching out to take her small, tender hand in his thin, haggard one. Bowing, he introduced himself: "My name is Quintus, and you are welcome to join me in my home. Didius, if you will lead our guest inside?"
Julia
followed the servant into the house in awestruck silence. She had not yet
disclosed to him her name, but was being treated as a friend. Her gut instinct
told her that she was not in any danger…as yet. What she did sense was
something very important preparing to happen, and the feeling of anticipation
was as exciting to her as it was terrifying.
