The villa had been their home for all of six months. Saying farewell, nevertheless, was as difficult as if they had lived a decade within its walls. Antoninus loaded their belongings onto the back of his cart, listening all the time to Julia's weeping through a nearby window as she packed up her own things. Early that morning, she had insisted upon rising to clean the house from top to bottom, almost ritualistically. He had simply kept out of her way, not wishing to disturb any process she had to go through in order to make her own clean break with the past.
He himself had been euphoric with anticipation of the end of their journey, and his reunion with Diana. He pictured the situation down to every last detail: how much healthier she would look, the tone of her skin, the length of her hair, how she would feel when he held her in his arms. Their marriage would begin again, exactly as blissfully as it had on their wedding day. He almost fancied he could smell the land beneath their perfect country villa, and feel the long, dry grasses crunching underneath his feet as he hurried to be with her.
She would be pleased to see Julia again, of course, but also disappointed that she was as yet without a husband. Antoninus would explain his failure in settling her as fully as was prudent, omitting, naturally, the most distressing details. She need never find those out once the girl was safe, being cared for by both her parents.
Seating himself in the front of the cart and proudly taking up the reins, he called out Julia's name once, waiting for her to join him. When she at length appeared, carrying a bag of personal articles in one hand and her jewellery box in the other, he was horrified by her appearance.
Her face, marred by a frown of resignation, was deathly white, and her amber eyes seemingly shrunk to half their splendid size by the severe and darkened swelling around them.
Had he not known better, her stepfather might have assumed that she was mortally ill.
He immediately climbed down from his own seat, hurrying around the vehicle to assist her in making her way up. She sighed deeply, accepting his proffered arms and hauling her stiffened body upon the wooden bench. When she was comfortable, or as comfortable as she was going to get, she smiled thinly and nodded her thanks in his direction.
Antoninus concentrated on keeping his eye on the road ahead as their journey slowly began. Beside him, however, Julia unwittingly held his attention; her head bobbed up and down alarmingly, her eyes opening and closing as if she were slipping in and out of slumber.
"My dear, are you well? Is there anything I may get for you?"
"Yes," she replied, her voice loud and robust as ever and horribly inconsistent with her corpse-like appearance. "I would like a friend who will not judge me, and who will listen to my troubles and teach me about life without demanding anything in return!"
At this, Antoninus felt his blood boil, the good humour he had striven to preserve the whole morning disappearing in an instant. "Silence, girl!" he hissed, pushing the horses on suddenly faster. "You will cease speaking of these matters now, as we have discussed. Now, is there anything you truly require?"
Her teeth chattering with contained rage, she shook her head.
"Very well. Now you will behave yourself."
Several minutes later, Julia reached into the bag she had placed beside her feet to remove a roll of unused parchments, which she opened out upon her knee. Her stepfather fought the temptation to remove his gaze from the land before them to see what she intended to do with them, especially when she took out a piece of charcoal and began drawing, or so it appeared.
"Do you remember the last journey we took here together?" she asked him abruptly, still scratching upon the parchment.
"Yes," he answered testily. "Why do you ask?"
"Do you remember when I told you about the soldier I had seen, twice? You thought I had imagined him, because there are no soldiers in the country…"
He sucked in his breath, becoming more disturbed with every word she said. Perhaps she was ill. He had heard of people rambling when they were very sick.
"What is this about, dear? Are you certain you are well?"
"I am in good health. I only wished to tell you that a friend informed me not so long ago that my soldier was very much alive once. A hero of the Empire, no less. He told me many things that made me feel less abnormal…"
"Speaking of one of your friends, Julia, I visited Quintus yesterday night." As soon as he had spoken the words, Antoninus wished them unsaid. He had never intended to inform her of his fruitless meeting with her clandestine companion. Craning his neck to discern her reaction, his anger rushed to the fore once again.
She stared straight ahead, feigning petulant ignorance. Unable to concentrate on where they were going, he pulled the horses to a violent halt, making the whole vehicle shudder.
"I know that he asked you to be his wife. You defied me by going out to meet with him, as you know. He courted you even as he already kept one concubine within his house! Did you know that? Did he request that all of you live together that way?"
Letting out a cry, she glowered at him. He ignored her.
"I understand now that I am foolish man, Julia, but I am not so much so that I would ever see you wed to such a creature as would treat women in such a manner. He courted you – if your trysting with him could possibly be called a courtship – and asked for your hand without consulting me, to whom you will always ultimately belong. I might have allowed it if he had done so. You must be married sometime. Else I don't know what we will do with you."
"I meant no harm by it!" she shrieked, throwing up her hands, as soon as he was silent. He speedily took the opportunity to look at the parchment in her lap. It was covered in writing – actual letters and words, forming sentences he was able to read from where he sat. When their eyes met again, he saw that hers, molten gold and flashing green, were brimming with tears.
"He taught you to write?"
"And read. The only bad thing, seeing as you think it so terrible, that he ever did to me."
Antoninus watched dumbly then as she picked up her belongings and swiftly pulled herself down and out of the cart, as though he had struck her. Perhaps he had. Somewhere in that part of herself she had only just begun to discover, which no one, barely herself, could ever completely comprehend.
"What…where are you going?" With no small measure of humiliation, he heard the sudden weakness in his own voice, where seconds before he had come so close to properly disciplining her, perhaps for the first time.
"Nowhere!" she snapped. "I want to go back. I have to stay there."
He could not force her to go home with him. As her stepfather, under the law, he had every right to, of course, but it was somehow impossible. She was not his blood child; sometimes he even doubted that she was Diana's.
Julia's demands quickly turned into sobbing pleas.
"Rome is my home now! If you take me back, I will die. Please, sir! I will do anything you say. I will never disobey you again."
Antoninus remembered clearly his days watching Julia grow, from the precocious five-year-old she had been when he and her mother first met, to the unsettled woman she now was. During the weeks that followed their aborted journey home, he felt as though he were watching the entire process beginning anew. She went out of her way to please him and cause as few problems as possible. She shocked him.
He had thought to take her with him everywhere he went to reassure himself always about where she was. Though he found there was no need, for the first day she had assured him that, now the servants had been dismissed, she would manage the household entirely on her own. He had grudgingly decided to give her that one chance. That evening, returning home full of apprehension and genuine fear that he would find her disappeared – eloped with Quintus, no doubt – he found the villa spotless, the baking, washing and sewing done, and the horses cared for. He had not thought her to possess such skills, given her staunch idleness in the past.
This morning, they took a meal together outside, the temperate sun beating down like a good omen. Antoninus found that he had ceased at last to look at his stepdaughter and automatically feel nauseous, wondering in precisely what ways Quintus, and who knew how many other men, had enjoyed her. She was Diana's baby to him once more, in these irreplaceable moments of peace between them.
She wore her hair loose and her simplest clothes – and for the first time since she was a child, not one piece of jewellery adorned her. It quickly occurred to him why this was. Finery reminded her of wealth, and wealth of Quintus.
"I think I should like to go out riding this evening," she said mildly, cutting a piece of fruit in half so that they might share it. "Could you escort me? If you are not too tired, I mean."
He raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Certainly I will."
They fell into companionable silence, Julia humming quietly as she handed him his portion of fruit and began to nibble on her own. Her stepfather watched her proudly, confident she was daydreaming, and so would not notice.
"You do look pretty today, dear. I wish your mother could see how beautiful you have grown since we left."
She visibly stiffened at this mention of Diana. Smiling almost mechanically, she rose from where she knelt upon the grass and started to clear away the uneaten food. "I will fetch you some things to take with you."
He opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment they were interrupted by the sound of horses' hooves approaching the other side of the villa.
"Who could that possibly be?" Julia piped, clearly panicked a little. Antoninus, with relief, took this as prove that their visitor had nothing to do with her.
Or did he? Approaching the road that passed by them, Antoninus called out, "Who's there?" He almost wept with relief when a young man rode towards him, holding out a folded, sealed piece of parchment. Walking towards the courier, smiling congenially, he silently thanked the Gods for allowing them to continue living in peace, without the past creeping up on them.
"Deliver this to the lady of the house, if you will, sir," the boy requested, equally affably, passing the letter to Antoninus.
The other man froze, bile rising up into his throat. "The lady of the house is my stepdaughter."
"Yes, sir. My master sends both of you his warmest regards."
* * *
Julia enjoyed the noisy crowds of the Roman market, even managing to tolerate the stench of horse manure and other filth, as well as the clouds of dust flying skyward with every passing traveller. At various stalls she stopped to buy numerous essentials and exchange pleasantries with their owners, relishing the experience which Antoninus had denied her in recent days. Now, she was ecstatic to note, he was beginning to trust her completely again. They had slid back into their old routine, that monotony which had once infuriated her, and it suited her almost perfectly.
At one stall, she stopped to purchase sewing materials, and glanced into the basket she carried before placing them inside. Her heart began to race as she did. A piece of parchment had caught her eye, and from what she could tell, it had been written upon. A single word, in a fine, dignified hand – her name.
Suddenly alarmed that someone might see her taking it out, she hurried around a small building to a hot, secluded, dusty area before steeling herself to do so. For the moment, she did not question how it could possibly have made its way to the bottom of her basket, so fixated was she on the fact that it could have come from no other person except Quintus. Only he, aside from Antoninus, knew that she was able to read. Out of his goodness, he had taught her to.
The parchment was fine and velvety; tears welled in her eyes as she rubbed her fingertips over its surface, looking at the inscription again and recognising his hand for certain. Tentatively, as though it might tear with the slightest roughness, she pulled away the small amount of wax sealing it up, and hungrily began to read.
My dearest lady,
I have no means of knowing whether or not you will receive this missive before you leave Rome, for as you will know, you stepfather paid me a visit not five days ago to inform me of your imminent departure. I must pray that you will, for I will not rest without having had the opportunity to tell you how deeply sorry I am for all the pain I have caused you. No words could express how desolate I feel in your absence, and wretched in the knowledge that I can never see you again. Dear Julia, you must know that every word I spoke at our last meeting was the truth, and every proposal made honestly and of a pure heart. I understand, however, that you very rightly were in no position to accept any of them. I wish that our acquaintance may have continued, so that I might have witnessed you attaining the happiness you deserve, but I have ultimately decided that I must achieve some further advancement before I die. To this end, I have decided to re-enter the army and serve our emperor, Septimus Severus, in whatever rank I am able to. Now I bid you farewell, my lady, and wish you every possible happiness in your life to come.
Your servant and friend,
Q
She found that she was unable to shed a single tear, though she longed to cry torrents. So Antoninus had forbidden Quintus ever to meet with her again. He had not written her to beg her forgiveness and ask that she return to him – he wished only to say goodbye.
The basket slipped from her arm, suddenly gone limp. Why was she this devastated anyway? She had never loved Quintus as a woman must love a man. He had never been anything more than a friend to her. The dearest friend she had ever been able to call her own.
A swell of nausea gripped her as she tried to stand up, stuffing the letter into the basket as she gathered it up. The short walk back to the villa would be agony. Once there, moreover, she would have to face some awkward questions from her stepfather. He had certainly planted it where she would find it.
Walking was even more difficult than she had anticipated; her balance swayed and her nerves made her tremble as Quintus's words replayed themselves in her head. Forcing her back to remain straight, she pushed on laboriously, before a sudden tap on her shoulder made her flinch painfully.
"Yes?" she hissed, swinging around to glare at the man who had stopped her.
"I apologise, Madam, I meant only to offer you some assistance…you seemed a little unsteady on your feet. Are you well?"
Her frown fell away as she observed his earnest and truly concerned expression. He was middle-aged, though handsome, clean and impressively attired considering the poverty all around them. Against her better judgement, Julia was impressed and gladdened that he, of all people in the area, had approached her.
"I am quite well, sir. Only a little…fatigued. I am sorry if I startled you."
He smiled broadly, his eyes shining as though he were truly honoured to meet her. She stared, quizzically, for a second or two.
"Might I carry your basket for you anyway? I would be happy to escort you home. These surroundings are unsuitable, really, for any human being, least of all a lady like yourself."
She chucked, forgetting how miserable she had so recently been. The letter inside the basket may as well have never existed. "Oh, you needn't, really. It contains only some small articles I purchased earlier, but…all right!"
He had all but removed it from her grasp without her permission, so she allowed him. She realised that, spending so much time alone, she had begun to crave society badly. This gentleman was as good as any, she reasoned, for conversation.
"Might I know your name, seeing as we will walk together?"
The gentleman grinned again as they began their journey, holding the basket with one arm and linking the other with hers in order to support her. Then, however, he seemed to grow nervous, swallowing twice before he could speak. "I am Marius."
"Marius…" she rolled the name over in her mouth and, finding it to her taste, continued, "I am Julia. You may address me as such."
"Thank you. I will."
She stole a number of discreet glances at him as they trod out beside the road. He was dark-haired and dark-skinned, she noticed. Like Antoninus, only plainly younger and more gregarious.
Antoninus. She had done a terrible thing, she realised, in making him stay with her in Rome. He needed Diana again; yet she needed Rome. She could not remain there alone, releasing him to be once again with his wife. She could not remain there alone…
