"De Immortalitate" - Immortality

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Chapter 5 – Souls

"Animae dimidium meae."

"Half of my soul."

(Horace, Odes, I, III, 9)

Antonius' POV

"The head of the stables and his wife have come to pay a visit," Sextius announced. "They ask to speak to you, Master."

"Show them into the tablinum," I told him. I had spent the morning in my office, talking with some clientes and telling them what they had to purchase for the villa and the farm before the winter. The omens said it was going to be a cold one.

"Any bad news, Sextius?" I inquired.

"Not that I know. But they don't seem upset."

The servant, Iacomus, had been recently appointed as agaso and was responsible for the horses and stables. It was considered a good position for a slave on the farm, and I was confident that he was doing his work well. I didn't ride my horses as often as I used to, but I wanted to be immediately informed about anything that concerned them.

When I saw that Iacomus was proudly smiling, I supposed that it couldn't mean anything bad. The servant and his wife paid me their homage and announced that my favorite stallion had fathered a new, healthy foal. Very good news indeed.

Shortly before my father's return, a misshapen foal had been sired by the same stallion. It had been seen as a bad prodigium for the farm, and not only did I have to order the slaughter of the newborn, but I also had to offer sacrifices to the gods in order to calm down the tumult among the most superstitious servants. After that, it seemed that the stallion had become incapable of fathering other horses, and the former head of the stables was even suspected of witchcraft.

Finally, all that tumult seemed to be over. That was even better news than the birth of the new horse. I was fed up with all these absurd rituals and more-than-absurd popular beliefs.

"It's good news, Iacomus. I'll come soon to see the new horse," I promised.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I was busy all day with other business concerns. The freeman who was responsible for my family's residence in Rome when we weren't there had sent me a request. Since he was too old to continue to work as he had always done, he had asked me to give his job to his eldest son. Sadly, one of the clientes, who had seen him in Rome, had confirmed me that the old man was in very bad shape. Thinking about a substitute for him, I wondered if I would ever see him or my home in Rome again.

When I finally arrived at dinner, I could have used some rest but, more than anything else, I was longing for Bella. Esma surprised me; she hadn't prepared the quick meal I usually ate. The dining room had been set with the triclinium, and the little table in front of the couch was full of dishes. Small torches lit the room and their dim light was soothing. I lay down on the soft seat and looked hungrily at the food in front of me.

After serving the main dishes, Esma went out. When she came back, holding a tray, she wasn't alone. I stared at Bella as she slipped into the dining room and stood in a corner, ready to give a hand if she was called to.

A sweet aroma made me moan in anticipation when Esma put the food in front of me. She had even baked a pie – a pear pie, what's more. It was one of my childhood favorites.

My smile grew wide as I tasted it. It was delicious, the best I had ever eaten, and I wanted to give Esma my compliments on the tasty treat she'd cooked for me. But when I did so, I was intrigued by her impish smile. Was it a god's feast day, perhaps? It wouldn't have been the first time Esma tried to make me join her giving offers to the gods. I could recall that in a matter of few days there was the feast of Epulum Iovis and of the goddess Feronia, protectors of the abundance. Had Esma already started to celebrate them?

"What's that smile for, Esma?" I asked. "Is there any secret beyond the pie?"

"Bella made it," Esma proudly announced.

I beamed at Bella. Even in the evening's half-light, I could see that she was blushing. The dinner had been extraordinary, but could I make it perfect?

I thanked Esma once again and dismissed her, so she might have some rest. Bella and I were alone in the room now. She followed Esma with her eyes as my wet-nurse left the room then gave me a sidelong glance, as if she was waiting to be dismissed too.

"Bella, come here," I instructed.

The first image that came to my mind when I saw her approaching was of the goddess Diana. Although covered in a simple tunic, Bella was more attractive than many patrician women I had met in the city just because of the way she stood. She was lean, but not too thin, and well-proportioned. Her skin was like the finest alabaster – smooth and flawless. Her cheeks, framed by some loose strands of hair that had escaped from her braid, still held the traces of her previous blush.

She's so innocent.

Her voice was hesitant, soft. "Yes, Master."

Shifting on the triclinium to make room for her, I directed her to sit beside me. "Have you tasted it?" I asked with a nod to the pie.

Her eyes widened. "No."

The urge to touch her made me feel in a daze. The thought of the food in front of me was strangely alluring. She had touched the things I had just eaten, she had made them with her hands. For me, in a certain sense. I was aware that they weren't made out of love, just out of duty. But regardless, I felt cared for.

Esma had always been as a mother to me, always loving. I was used to being spoiled by her. But arriving to dinner, finding a room well prepared, eating the food that Bella had cooked...It was new, and it felt so good.

Itook a small piece of the pie and, holding it with my fingers, I offered it to her. She didn't move, and I stared at her glorious mouth. Her lips were slightly parted, and they seemed like a juicy pomegranate. I wanted to feel them. In a slow motion, I put the piece of pie directly in her mouth.

She remained still, and the blush to her face came back, this time in a shade of deep crimson.

Mine. I thought, and it was almost a growl in my mind. She's mine. She could be mine in every possible way, should I want it. But I quickly drove away this thought.

We had never been so close, and I could feel the heat coming from her body. I would have liked to hold her, being caressed by her warmth as by a delicious summer breeze.

Memories of all the young women who had surrounded me during my public life flashed through my mind. I could recall the exotic perfumes that the Roman socialites used in the feasts, their jewels, their refined hair-dressings and expert gestures. I had never been impressed by any of them as much as I was attracted, right in that moment, by the purity of the sweet eyes that were staring at me.

In the past –while I had never found a woman that I wanted to marry– I had never lacked female companionship whenever I was so inclined. The high divorce rate in the upper classes created a high number of young matrons more than willing to share my bed. But that behavior was something of the past. After my captivity had begun, I had lived in isolation and sadness.

I felt the deep desire to approach this girl with tenderness.

Many women had found my harsh and mercurial behavior attractive. One of them had told me that conquering my attention had been the most exciting challenge for her. Could I be different for Bella, just for her? I didn't want to challenge her, I actually wanted to take care of her.

Her lips moved slowly while she was eating. They made me think of a ripe cherry. As she licked her lower lip, picking a crumble of the pie, her mouth glistened under the dim light of the torches. So exquisite. I stared at her long neck as she swallowed; her grace and the creamy color of her skin reminded me of a swan.

"More?" I asked.

She quickly shook her head.

Eyes closed, I inhaled deeply. She smelled of honey and freshly baked sweets. I savored every drop of her scent with a deep sigh. Smiling again at her, I roamed her face with my eyes. Smiling, with her and at her, feels so natural, so easy.

"Bella..." I started. The way her name sounded was lovely: every time I called her, its meaning made me think that I was praising her. You're truly "Bella." You're so beautiful.

Slowly, I leaned more toward her. I had to clench my hands in fists to prevent them from closing her in my grip.

But she stiffened.

I don't want you to be afraid of me. The words I had said to her in the garden came back once again to my mind. Can I do at least that? Can I be worthy of her trust? She must know that I would never approach her against her will.

"You can go, if you want," I told her, resigned.

Had she caught how much I would have liked to put off these parting words? She bowed her head. For a long moment, only the sound of our breaths filled the silent room.

"Good night, Master," she whispered.

I stared at her as she stood up and left our couch. Stay! I screamed in my mind. My heartbeat accelerated as she went out of my reach and left the room. I wanted her against my chest, close to my heart.

That was the first night I dreamed of her.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella's POV

It had been a long day but I couldn't sleep.

Esma's voice was the first thing I had heard in the morning. She always let me sleep a little longer than she did, and when came to wake me up, for a brief moment I thought that I was still at home with my mother and my own wet-nurse.

"The farmer came to pay a visit and brought a big jar of honey. I'm going to make some sweets and a pie for the master. Come, I'll teach you," she announced.

She took the same quantity of cheese and wheat, mixed them, and together we used the batter to make many small balls. We poured lard into a copper skillet and fried one or two balls at a time, turning them with two stirring rods. We spread each sweet with honey and gave them a final touch, sprinkling them with poppy seed.

After that, we made a pie. Esma told me to core some pears, boil and then grind them. I mixed the ground pears with honey, cumin, sweet wine, beaten eggs and a bit of oil. Then Esma showed me how to cook the pie properly.

It seemed that Esma wanted to prepare not the usual dinner, but a small banquet.

"Is it a god's feast day?" I asked her.

She gave me a sweet smile. "Not yet. But I will thank the gods if today our work will make someone happier." It took us a lot of time to prepare everything in the kitchen, working silently and keeping our thoughts busy.

I was grateful to Esma. She didn't push me into talking about my pain. While I was focused only on the domestic chores she was giving me, I felt more at ease, and when we saw how well the things we had cooked came out, I finally gave even a happy smile.

But I could have never imagined what was going to happen during the dinner. The room was warm, but I felt a shiver when the master told me to sit so close to him and leaned toward me. I was scared, knowing that I was completely in his hands.

I would never hurt you. His words came back to my mind.

He called me with tenderness, his voice low and gentle.

Antonius. I had to stop myself before I said his name aloud. He's the master and you are nothing but a slave. This thought made me stiffen.

His gaze was kind, and a light smile on his lips made him look even younger. I remembered some banquets I had joined when I was at home. What would have happened if I had met him when we were both free? It's not possible. I thought. It's just a dream and can't give you other than more sorrow.

When the master told me that I could go away, I didn't know what to do. I felt the same sense of loss that sometimes I had waking up after a beautiful dream. But I was also relieved at the thought that, alone, I might try to regain my composure. Could the master sense what battle of feelings was raging inside my heart? My cheeks were hot and the thought that he was seeing me blushing made me even more embarrassed.

Finally alone in my bed, I wondered if the racing of my heartbeat was ever going to slow down. I felt as if my lips had been scorched by a burning fire where the master had touched me.

Antonius. Quietly, I repeated his name. I had heard Esma calling him and I was impressed by the way she always said it with so much sweetness and affection.

The events of the evening kept me awake and restless. I took my cloak and stepped out from the bedroom. It wasn't dawn yet. I wandered around the house, trying to not get lost, until I saw a corridor that I remembered well. It led to the garden where I had been reading with Antonius. I took some more steps and looked at the dark garden now shrouded with night. The moonlight barely illuminated the dark foliage which rustled in the night breeze, but I easily found the path and followed it to a small copse of trees; I crouched there, on the ground. The cloak I snuggled into was coarse against my skin and wasn't enough to shelter me from night's dampness, but I didn't want to go back to the house yet.

What remains of the girl I used to be?Even these clothes on my back aren't mine. Once again, I thought about my family home. Nothing belonged to me anymore. I stared at the blinking stars, trying to lose myself in them. They resembled little holes in the dark sky. Could Heaven's light filter through them?

My mother had told me that everyone has a guardian angel. Was my guardian angel looking at me from the sky? The stars blurred when my eyes filled with tears.

Mother... Father... can you see me? Since my parents and I had become Christians, we had been taught that life didn't end with the death of the body. I believed that my mother and my father were still living, enjoying the Heaven they had deserved since they had defended their faith with their own blood.

If I closed my eyes, or looked at the sky for a while, I could imagine that I was still at home. The restless night wind stirred the fallen leaves, making me shiver. I struggled to remember the feeling of a pleasant summer breeze, the scents of my home's garden and the blossoming flowers that I admired so much.

"Mother... Father... I miss you so much," I started to whisper. "Please keep watch over me and pray for me, so that I can be blessed with your faith and your strength."

I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if I could speak to them as if they were watching me.

Are they worried about me?

As if a dam wall had broken, images of the last moments with my family started to flood my mind. I recalled the screams of my mother when I had been taken away from her embrace.

No, no...I said to myself. I didn't want to relive that day anymore, nor the ones that followed. That wasn't the way I wanted to remember my family. Tears heated my face. "God...O God, come to my aid," I begged. "O God, make haste to help me!"

The memory of Esma, with her smile and her loving caresses, was the first light I recognized in the darkness – the darkness I had been left to wander in when my family was destroyed.

This course of thought helped me to calm down and to keep my most frightening memories at bay. Meeting Esma had been, for me, the first sign that God had not forsaken me, that my parents had sent an angel to protect me.

"God, thank you for Esma. Bless her and make her believe in you. She's so good, she's been so good to me."

I started to talk to my mother, as if I was at home. I told her about Esma and the things we had done together. I described the passion she exhibited while teaching me everything about the tasks we attended to in the house.

Bit by bit, I felt that even in my new and unwanted condition I could find a reason to thank God, and so I continued to pray. "I will thank you, God, at all times. I sought you, and you heard me; you delivered me from my fears."

I had faced the fear of death more than once lately but every time, when I had been able to pray, I had felt that God was going to help me in my troubles. "I'm your servant, God," I continued. "I trust in you, my Lord, don't let me be desolate."

I'm your servant, God. I repeated these words in my mind. It was the only bondage that I could understand and willingly accept. If I had given my soul to God, it meant that it couldn't be taken despite me being taken from my previous life: it couldn't be sold, even if I had been sold like an ordinary commodity. My freedom had always seemed granted to me. I was the daughter of free Roman citizens. My parents weren't poor, and I was sure that they had never done anything wrong. Why would I have ever considered that I could become a slave? Again, I thought about the man who was my master.

Antonius. In my mind, and in my prayers, I always called him by his given name. I had been told that I had to call him "Master," but when I prayed for him and when I talked to God and to my parents of the things that happened to me during the day, Antonius and I were both just souls.

I had been so impressed the first time I entered his library! I had never seen anything similar. Did Antonius know all those literary and philosophical works? I knew that I was supposed only to put them away, not to read them, but I was so curious and eager to get just a glimpse of one of them. The first time Antonius had caught me trying to look at a Greek pamphlet, I had feared that he was going to punish me. Instead, nothing like that happened.

But I couldn't forget that he was always so tormented, his handsome face always marred by a deep frown. Once again I prayed for him, wishing that he could find the freedom and the peace that we both desired so much.

Why does he make himself sound like a prisoner? Isn't he free? I wondered.

I recalled his piercing green eyes and the way they had looked at me during dinner. Once again, his eyes reminded me of the sea, capable of being rough and gentle at the same time. I missed the sea. From my home, I could smell it when the breeze reached the garden.

Antonius seemed so troubled. In some moments, he appeared at ease with me and his gaze was serene, but then, often in a matter of seconds, his expression would darken and he seemed to be so saddened and pained.

"God," I prayed again. "Please, help Antonius. Have mercy on him. He's suffering so much..."

I heard the sound of a sudden movement among the fallen leaves. Then a voice behind me made my blood run cold.

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Chapter's Notes

About the story of the sick horse: to the Romans, a prodigium was a sign that came from the gods. A bad event tended to be seen as the result of the anger of one of the gods. To avert disaster, the Romans made sacrifices or did other acts to propitiate the appropriate god.

The servant Iacomus is James. You can bet that his wife is Victoria.

The recipes of the sweets that Esma and Bella made are original Latin. They are taken from Cato, De agricultura, chapter 79, and from Apicius, De re coquinaria (On the Subject of Cooking, IV, 2, 35, "patina de piris"). But if you want to try them...do it at your own risk!

Triclinium is the name of a sort of couch and of the dining room where those couches were used.

Bella's prayer in the garden is part of Psalm 34, King James Version.

Author's Notes

Many, many thanks to Camilla10, LJSummers, Duskwatcher and Jmolly. Don't forget to read their fascinating stories! Thank you also to Itsange and Madmum.

A special thanks to Project Team Beta – they rock!

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