"De Immortalitate" - Immortality

Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended at any point.

Chapter 7 – Monsters

"Quod genus hoc hominum? Quaeve hunc tam barbara morem

permittit patria Hospitio prohibemur harenae;

bella cient, primaque vetant consistere terra.

Si genus humanum et mortalia temnitis arma

at sperate deos memores fandi atque nefandi."

"What men, what monsters, what inhuman race,/ What laws, what barbarous customs of the place,/ Shut up a desert shore to drowning men,/ And drive us to the cruel seas again?/ If our hard fortune no compassion draws,/ Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws,/ The gods are just, and will revenge our cause."

(Vergil, Aeneid, I, 539-543)

Bella's POV

When I came back to the room I shared with Esma, she was still asleep. In my tiny bed, I closed my eyes and tried to get some rest but to no avail. After what had happened with Antonius in the garden, I wouldn't have been able to say if I was dreading the new day or looking forward to it. My master's embrace had made me feel so small, but warm and protected at the same time. Could I trust him? He had always said he wouldn't hurt me, but he had been so angry when he had found me outside. I couldn't believe that I had had the courage to tell him that I was praying, and for him as well. Wasn't he the son of the man who had enslaved me? Hadn't the man who killed my parents been sent by Antonius' father? This thought made me shiver. I cried at the memory of the man who had brought me to Felix. His words and their obscure meaning still haunted me.

"She's probably a virgin," he said to Felix, who seemed to be his leader. I felt as if I was choking.

"She's supposed to be sweeter. I think that you will like her," the man added. When Felix looked at me, I trembled. His messenger had manhandled me, and when he took me by the arm, the bruises I had there hurt.

I screamed, fearing that he was going to rape me, but he didn't. He did something else that I couldn't understand: he...sniffed me.

Then he released me. "A gift for my son," I heard him mumbling. "She could be a good lesson." Good lesson for what?

I took some deep breaths, trying to calm down. My parents had told me that we were supposed to pray for our enemies, even to forgive them. But if I only dared to remember the men who had taken my parents' life, I could neither forgive nor pray for them. Every single memory about them made me weep angrily.

Antonius couldn't be like Felix. I couldn't hate him. My master seemed happy to be with me, and it made me feel a strange warmth inside. He was older and so much stronger than I, but I had the desire to take care of him and make him smile. He was so beautiful when he smiled; at dinner, the smile he had given me was glorious. I recalled that the first time he had brought me into the garden, he had almost fallen asleep while I was reading to him. He was so relaxed, so serene, and I had been tempted to caress his disheveled hair. I would have loved to see him always so at ease, at peace.

Was he still angry at me? Why had he hurt my feelings when he had discovered that I was praying? But I wasn't mad at him. He seemed so tormented that I was only sad for him. Again, the same question came to my mind: Why does he suffer so much?

Esma stirred in her slumber. I wiped my tears, waiting for her to wake up. I followed her to the kitchen and did the chores she gave me, until she told me that I could go weave and sew. The master was nowhere to be seen, and nobody told me to go to the library. I did the ordinary darning work for the simple tunics and cloaks of other slaves and freedmen who didn't have a wife or a daughter who could do that for them. Then I could devote my attention to the work I liked most. At home, my wet-nurse had taught me to weave and to embroider, and I was making a new tunic for Antonius. After working with the coarse fabrics of the servants' clothes, the fine wool that had been purchased for the master seemed even softer.

The wind outside had grown and rattled the pine shutters, creating drafts around the small room where the loom was. I felt at ease there, more than in the spacious, rich rooms reserved to the master and his guests. At first, I had been impressed by the mosaics and the frescos that decorated the master's quarters, but then, I preferred the intimate atmosphere of the kitchen or of the cozy room where I was weaving. I was so focused on the task that I barely heard the sound of footsteps. I imagined it was Esma who was coming to see how my work was progressing or to give me a different chore to do.

"Do you think that the master will like the new tunic I'm making for him?" I asked without looking behind me, as soon as I sensed that she was entering the room.

"I'm sure he will!" I heard. But it wasn't Esma's voice. I spun around and felt the rush of blood to my cheeks.

Antonius was just behind me, almost laughing, his eyes bright and shining as the sea on a summer day. "I wasn't trying to startle you. But seeing you so engrossed in your work, it was kind of fascinating. I couldn't refrain from telling to you that I appreciate what you are doing," he told me, giving me a gorgeous grin that I had seen before, although rarely.

I had called it his crooked grin. When he had that expression on his face it was the positive sign that he was actually in a good mood. "Sorry, Master, I didn't hear you coming," I excused myself sheepishly.

"I think that this time it's better than in the garden in the middle of the night," he observed. But he was still smiling, thankfully. "May I see the tunic you are making?"

I showed him how my work was progressing.

He looked at it and nodded appreciatively. "So you can cook, weave and sew. Domum servavit, lanam fecit."

It made me blush: it was the traditional praise reserved for mothers and wives. It meant that he was actually paying me a compliment.

But then his expression changed. He wasn't merry anymore, but he wasn't angry, either. His gaze became softer and his smile more tender. "Did you learn to embroider when you were at your home?" he asked. His voice was lower.

"I did." So many memories were ready to come again to my mind.

"Did you do it for your father or maybe...for your husband?" he continued. He seemed to hesitate before asking me about my husband.

Husband? I had never even received an engagement proposal! I suddenly remembered Jacobus. Our fathers had been best friends, and maybe they had hoped that we would get married one day, but my father had never mentioned anything to me and then...then it had been too late. "I used to spin for my father, but I didn't have a husband," I explained.

A light smile rested on his lips for a short moment. "How old are you?"

"I've just turned nineteen."

He mumbled something that sounded like "a year older than Alica," but I couldn't understand what he was referring to. "You're five years younger than me," he noted, almost to himself. His smile went away. He remained silent for some moments, buried in his thoughts.

What am I supposed to do? I wondered.

"Bella, what happened to your family?" he asked out of the blue.

I was breathless from his sudden change of demeanor. How could he possibly ask me something like this when he knew very well what had happened! "I'm sure you know," I blurted. This time I was sure that I was going to be punished, and severely. Without any doubt, I had earned it. The master seemed more confused than enraged. Nevertheless, I bowed my head, waiting for his punishment to come.

"Bella, look at me." His voice was loud and firm, but he wasn't yelling.

I raised my gaze; his eyes were darker.

"Why do you think so? Why do you think I know what happened to your parents?"

I felt cornered. He had already shown me that he didn't like it when I didn't answer his questions, but my answer was going to accuse his father of my parents' deaths. God, please help me! I thought before speaking. I could feel my eyes start to burn with the tears building behind them.

"Your father's men came to our home at night," I began to explain. "My family and a group of friends were assembled. My parents, the people in our house, our friends – they were all taken. I was with my mother." I couldn't continue. I swallowed hard. Tears were streaming down my face, and I couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. "A man took me. He said that the people in the house were all dead and I was...lucky, because I was going to be given to his leader. Then he brought me to your father." I couldn't say more. I remained silent, head bowed, eyes fixed to the ground. After a while, I risked a glance at the master.

He seemed frozen. So pale and still, he reminded me of the statues of Greek heroes that I had seen in the past, but–unlike those–his hand were clenched in fists. "Listen to me," he started. His voice was low: it seemed that talking without yelling took him great effort. "I need you to believe what I'm going to say."

"Yes, Master," I agreed.

"No, Bella. I don't want you to believe me because I'm your master and because what I say is never questioned in this house. I want you to believe me because I have never lied to you, and I'm not going to do it now."

A crease on his forehead marred Antonius' expression as he frowned. A veil of sadness covered his eyes as he stared at me. He didn't seem angry; he seemed hurt. As if I had just offended him–and I had, actually.

"I didn't know how Felix was involved in your family's fate until now," he stated. "But I can swear that I never had, and I don't have, any control over it." He paused.

"Felix, the man you called my father–he used to be my father." Antonius' voice wasn't firm anymore; he averted his eyes from me and cringed as he said his father's name. "But then he changed. I can understand that you hate him, because I hate him too. So how could you think that I am responsible like he is? How could you believe that I was involved in your parents' death or in bringing you here as a slave when I told you that I'd free you immediately if I could?"

Was I supposed to answer? Before I could decide what to say, he spoke again.

"You're Christian."

That wasn't a question. But I knew that it could be my death sentence.

"In the garden, at night, you weren't praying to the gods. You were praying to your God," he continued.

It was the moment of truth, it seemed. I didn't know why, but I gave a quick glance to the tunic I had been working on before the master came in the room. It had been such a mundane activity and then, in a matter of moments, I had been called to tell the story of my family and to confess my faith.

I limited myself to a nod, confirming his words.

Since I had admitted that I was a Christian, he could have asked me to offer sacrifices to his gods. I was going to refuse, and he could have done with me as he pleased, not only because he was my master, but because I could be considered as an enemy of his religion too. At this new thought, I cried new tears. I was going to wipe them away, but he did it on my behalf, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs.

"Why do you pray for me?" he murmured.

I looked at him. I had never seen such a sweetly melancholy expression. I don't know why, but I'm so sad when you're like this,I would have answered. I'm happy when you are. Every moment we spend together is precious. You have never made me feel like a slave, although you are my master.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, although I didn't know what I was sorry for. "I pray because I wish that you could find peace."

"Now I understand what he has done," he murmured, his voice so soft that it seemed that he was speaking to himself. Then his eyes met mine, a hard expression in his gaze. "Felix is a monster. I know what he is capable of," he said. He took a breath before going on. "And you believe that I'm a monster, too," he added. Again, it wasn't a question.

But this wasn't true, and I wanted to say so. Whatever was going to happen, I didn't want Antonius to think that I considered him to be like Felix. His words about his father and about his relationship with him had confirmed, as I had already sensed, that he couldn't be connected to the persecutions against people of my faith. I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised a hand, stopping me.

He came closer. I closed my eyes and savored his scent as he cupped my face with his palms. I felt safe, like when I used to sit under the odorous pines in my home's garden. "I would never intentionally make you cry," he said.

I recalled the dinner and the night in the garden when he had held me. Every time he had come close to me, he had been nothing but gentle and protective. I wished so much that we weren't master and slave, that we could be just a young man and a girl–two people, as he had said before. I wished so much that he would embrace me. I longed for the warmth I felt when I was in his arms.

He grazed my cheek with his fingers. I leaned my face into his palm, drawn to the emotion in his eyes. I couldn't bear that he believed that I saw him as a monster.

"It's true, I'm Christian. I'm ready to accept whatever you will decide to do with me, but I have never thought that you are a monster!" I blurted. "Never! Please believe me!" I was again in his arms, clutched to his chest.

He leaned his chin on my head and rubbed my shoulders, calming me with shushing sounds. "I know, Bella. I know."

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Chapter's Notes

The Latin expression "Domum servavit, lanam fecit" meant that the woman took care of her home and had a talent for spinning and weaving. This and chastity were among the best qualities for a woman, according to the traditional Roman ideals.

Jacobus is Jacob. But you know that.

Author's Notes

Romanward gratias agit to Camilla10, LJSummers, Duskwatcher, Marlena516, and Jmolly. Special thanks to Project Team Beta.

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