"De Immortalitate" - Immortality

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Chapter 8 – Ghosts

"At cantu commotae Erebi de sedibus imis

umbrae ibant tenues simulacraque luce carentum,

quam multa in foliis avium se milia condunt."

"Then from the deepest deeps of Erebus, wrung by his minstrelsy,

the hollow shades came trooping, ghostly semblances of forms lost to the light,

as birds by myriads hie to greenwood boughs for cover."

(Vergil, Georgics, IV, 471-473)

Bella's POV

"Saturnalia is approaching in a little more than a month," Esma said quietly, without interrupting our sewing work. I threw another bundle of sticks on the fireplace. We were sitting close by the fire; while the winds howled outside, the heat of the crackling flames comforted us. "It will be the first time for you here, Bella."

As Christians, my family hadn't celebrated Saturnalia. However, I knew how important it was for pagans, especially for their children; it was even called "the best of days." I had heard that pagans exchanged gifts on that festivity: the adults wished good luck to each other with boughs of laurel called strenae, while children got small clay dolls called sigillaria. My vision blurred as tears welled in my eyes: I wasn't going to join pagan traditions and I wouldn't have the chance to enjoy a feast with my family anymore. I kept my head bowed, relieved that Esma hadn't seen that I was in tears.

"We could make pastries and sweets," she continued. "Antonius will like them." He was always her first thought. How nurturing had she been when she had her own child? She paused in her sewing.

The thought that both Esma and I had someone to mourn for made my chest ache. I wanted to give her any small comfort I could. I took a deep breath and swallowed back the lump in my throat. "Will you teach me to cook other sweets?" I asked.

"Of course, dear." She gave me a sweet smile, resuming her sewing.

The peaceful work that Esma and I did every day was the thing that most reminded me of my family. I was an only child, but my mother had told me her memories of the time when she and her sisters were still unmarried and lived at their parents' home. They used to talk while they were working, sharing dreams and fears about their adult life. They knew that their time together was likely to end as soon as their parents arranged their marriages and they might have to live far from home. The time I spent with Esma made me imagine what my mother's family life had been like when she was a girl. Our circumstances were different, though: as a free woman, she had options I didn't have anymore. As a slave, what dreams could I have for my future?

"Saturnalia were my child's favorite time," Esma murmured after a while. I was relieved that she had interrupted my course of thoughts. "When I see the master, I imagine how my son would be by now." For the first time since she had told me that her only child had died, Esma was speaking about him. "I dream that he would have been just like the master. He's a good man."

That he is, I could confirm. I looked at our hands as they continued to move on the clothes we were mending. We are so different: a freed woman and a slave, an aged woman and a young one, a pagan and a Christian, but we both care for the same man.

I put away the tunic I had just finished mending and took a cloak. The fabric was threadbare, and I turned the garment over in my hands, wondering how I could fix it.

"Do you need help?" Esma asked.

"Please." I sheepishly smiled at her. "I'm afraid it's too ruined to be mended."

Esma took the garment from my hands and looked closely at it. "See?" She pointed to the hem. "This part is too worn indeed, but we can still work with the rest. I'll cut the hem and you can put a fringe on it. It will be a shorter cloak but still usable."

"With a fringe and maybe some embroidery, it can become a palla," I suggested. "I've seen many women in my city wearing a wrap like this."

Esma stopped as if my words had made her remember something. She closed her eyes and pursued her lips in a tight line. I lightly caressed her hand, without understanding the reason for her upset. "Alica had a cloak like this," she whispered. "This will be the first Saturnalia without her."

Had I ever heard of that name? She couldn't be Esma's child, because he was a boy. I hoped that Esma was going to tell the rest of the story, but she remained silent and continued to sew. Then, I remembered. One year older than Alica: Antonius had mumbled those words when he had asked me how old I was. What if Alica had been a special woman in Antonius' life? I shivered, though the crackling fire was keeping the room warm. I didn't know where the thought came from, nor why I considered it disturbing that there could have been a young woman close to my master. Had Antonius had a wife? I gathered my courage and tried to make Esma tell me more. "Who is Alica?" I asked.

When Esma's eyes met mine, I saw tears in them. "She was a girl who lived here," she murmured. Then she looked down at her lap. "She was such a good girl. You know, you remind me of her sometimes."

She was. Could her death be the reason that Antonius was so sad? I urged her to continue. "What happened to her?"

Esma hesitated before answering. "It's not my story to tell." For the first time since I had met her, I saw her expression harden. "Please, Bella, don't ever mention her to Antonius." Her tone didn't permit any reply.

So it was true! There had been a woman called Alica, who was–in what way?–connected to my master. Why did my heart begin to hammer in my chest at that thought? Maybe someone else in the house knew Alica's story. How could I find more about it?

Antonius' POV

The fading afternoon sun was coloring the trees with warm golden and copper shades. Going back in the house after a walk in the garden, I spotted Bella carrying a bucket of water from the fount to the house. With a smile, I remembered that it had taken her a while to not get lost in the villa. I followed her with my gaze as she walked on the gravel path as quickly as the weight of the bucket allowed. She hadn't seen me and appeared more at ease than when we were together. I recalled the last conversation I had had with her and the moment I had held her in my arms. Will she ever understand that I don't want her to be tense when she's with me?

With such a clear sky, the sunset was going to be impressive. I went to the place where I could enjoy the view in its full glory. The solarium was smaller than in other villas, but I considered it my sanctuary. From that secluded spot in the house, I could look at the gardens without being seen. Since the balcony was covered by its own roof, I could get there even when it rained.

In my childhood, it was the place where I daydreamed of games and adventures; then it had become my refuge when I needed to be alone with my thoughts. I wondered about showing it to Bella; she was the only person with whom I had ever desired to share my refuge. Maybe, someday... At least it would be a secret easy to tell. There were other secrets–terrible ones–that I couldn't reveal. Bella had told me the story of her family and had shared with me her sorrow, but I couldn't do the same. I couldn't put her at risk by telling her the unbelievable truth about Felix.

The sun set behind the horizon, throwing his last rays of gold across the landscape. As I saw the dusk swallowing another day, I made up my mind. I was going to confront Felix about what he had done to Bella and her family. She didn't seem aware that, since she and her family were all free Roman citizens, he and his men couldn't do as they pleased with them, especially without a regular trial. Felix knew our laws well. If he had acted that way, he must have already known that he was going to remain unpunished; how was it possible?

Bella had expected that she could die at any moment, either because of Felix and his men or even because of me, as she had feared at the beginning. The thought made me shudder. But I recalled the times I had seen her smiling, the enthusiasm she showed when we read literary works in the library, and the passion she had for cooking and embroidering. Was there any chance that she could still enjoy the things she had liked in her life as a free woman? From what I knew and could see, she was developing a friendship with Esma, and it taught me a precious lesson: although she had been enslaved and, like me, was a prisoner, Bella hadn't closed her heart. What had happened to my own heart, conversely?

I wondered about the source of Bella's inner strength. Even after what she had suffered, was she still able to hope? I could ask myself the same question. More than my freedom, more than the opportunity to follow my dreams, Felix had stolen any hope from me. Could I do anything to get my life back?

When Bella had responded to my embrace, when she had been clutched to my chest, she had made me feel strong again. For me, she was for me like an unusual rose–a pure and bright white rose that could blossom out of season. I had to try to protect such a treasure.

I left my refuge and went to dinner. As I walked to the atrium, I realized how, because of Felix, every room was marked by a ghost. In that same spot, we all had greeted my father when he had come back less than two years ago.

Publius, the doorkeeper's son, went shrieking all around the villa. "The master! The master is here! He's back!"

For ten years we hadn't had any news about him. We didn't know if he was still alive–maybe prisoner or enslaved in some foreign country–or if he lay unburied somewhere. He had left me as a young boy and he came back to an adult son.

I thanked the gods or whoever had brought my father back to us.

Many times I had wished that he could see me or had wondered if he would have been proud of me. When I had had a difficult choice to make, I had asked myself what he would have decided. "He's here," I repeated in my mind, running toward the atrium. "He's here and will enjoy the prosperity of our home. Whatever he went through, his family will make him happy again."

Esma embraced my mother as soon as they got the news. After the first moments of incredulity, she finally sobbed in the arms of my wet-nurse. My father had left a blossoming wife and came back to a sad one, who, through her memories, not only had continued to love him, but remembered him as an ideal man. My mother's hopes were finally being realized.

But the joy of his return had been replaced by the questions about all the odd changes. The questions had not been answered, and strange things had begun to happen.

"Let's go to the office. I need to speak with you, alone," Felix told me. He kept his head bowed as we sat there.

"What happened to you, father?" I asked. "Have you been ill or imprisoned? Did anyone hurt you? We can send our men..."

He shook his head. "Do I seem ill?"

"No, but you're pale."

"Don't worry about me, son." He scoffed. "I can assure you that I've never been so strong."

I smiled, remembering how proud of his strength he had always been. "I can't imagine that you could be stronger."

He leaned a hand toward my desk and took up a little bronze statue of a faun, which I kept as a reminder of my hunting expeditions in the woods. It was heavy, but Felix lifted it as easily if it were straw, clenching his fingers around the statuette. I blinked as I saw the bronze object losing its shape. Before I could object, it had been crushed to a powder by Felix's hands. I gasped and stood up.

"How did you do it?" I stammered.

For the first time, Felix bored his eyes into mine. Two flames, two rubies were staring at me.

"Your eyes! What happened to your eyes?"

With a gesture of his hand he sharply silenced me. "I told you that I've never been so strong. Do you want me to show you how fast I am now?" he bragged.

I shook my head. Shivers were running down my back.

Felix rose in his impressive height. "Remember, son," he told me in a low voice. "You won't tell anybody what I discuss with you when we are alone. No mortal will ever know."

He's incredibly strong, fast, handsome. I stared at Felix as he towered over me. He resembled a huge statue, but he was breathing and moving. Why did he speak about mortals as if he weren't one of them anymore? Did gods actually exist? Was one of them in front of me?

I looked as closely as I could at his face. How could I believe that he was a god? Wasn't he my father? Hadn't all the people in the house recognized him as their master?

Keeping my mouth shut about everything he had told me, as he had requested, had never been an issue. I had always believed that I wasn't easily taken in, but I was sure that everyone would have considered me out of my head if I were to reveal what Felix had showed me about himself and his new nature. I wondered if someone else knew the truth. Had he said anything to my mother? I recalled the moment when I had said goodbye to her.

"We are going to spend some time in another house," Felix told us. "We need to be by ourselves for a while after our long separation." He chuckled.

When I was a young boy, I had always admired my parents. Given the contrast between her slim body and his huge frame, paired with her refined manners and his virility, they had complemented each other well. Alongside Felix, my mother seemed like a frail rag doll beside a giant warrior and she appeared intimidated, almost afraid of him.

I had felt unsettled saying goodbye to my mother, as if I was sending her away with a stranger. Felix appeared as the same man he was in our memories; it seemed that he hadn't even aged and had become more handsome. Even so, he seemed quite different. I hated to admit it, but I had felt repelled by him and I couldn't understand why.

Every time I had asked about her since then, Felix was always elusive. Was she also prisoner in another villa, just like me? Had he wronged her, too?

As a sea wave follows another, the first happy moments of Felix's return had been submerged by the fears that he had brought to our lives. Once again I recalled his rules.

"You took a leave from the army, didn't you?" Felix asked. He was reading the account books in the office and didn't even look at me.

"Yes. I wanted to check on the superintendent of the farm. The commerce has been very productive in the last year, and I was going to use the money to make some improvements in the farm." He nodded at my words, continuing to read. "But now that you are back, I can return to the army at any time."

"I've already sent a letter to your general, telling him that you've left the army for good," he said noncommittally.

I frowned. I could remember that Felix had always dreamed about a political career for me, more than a military one, but I had hoped that, with time, he would changehis mind. "Why? You know that I don't want to start my political career yet. Can't I spend some more years in the army before going back to Rome?"

"You're not going to Rome," he stated. "You'll stay here." He put the book back on its shelf and stood, as if he was going to leave.

"I don't have anything more to do here," I objected. "I've already given their tasks to the superintendent and the servants. They can do their work now."

Finally, Felix looked at me. I stiffened, meeting his ominous gaze. "From now on, you are not going to leave the estate without my permission," he ordered.

"What does it mean? Am I a prisoner in my own home?"

He didn't answer, but strode toward the door.

"Wait!" I grabbed his arm, but it seemed he didn't even acknowledge my grip. "Wait!" I said louder.

He barely glanced at me over his shoulder.

"Don't I deserve an explanation?" I asked him angrily. "Hercle, I'm an adult man. I can take a horse and go away right now, with or without your blessing."

"Antonius," he growled. "You have been given an order. I don't allow any disobedience."

"I'm a free man. Are you considering me a slave?" I hissed. "I'm leaving today. My soldiers are waiting for me."

"Do you care more for your soldiers or for the people in this house?" He sneered.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you hinting at?"

"If you leave, someone else will pay for your disobedience. I'm afraid that I'll take away more people from the villa if the young master goes away."

I cringed at the obvious blackmail. "The slave you took with you won't come back, will he?"

He pursued his lips in a tight line. "Do you forget that I'm the master? Not even the Emperor can question me about what I do with my own slaves," he spat.

"You don't need me. You won't miss me if I leave or if I die."

"But you won't leave," he stated.

"So I'll die. I prefer to lose my life than my freedom."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Esma has already lost her son. She would die from sorrow if she lost you, too. Maybe I should take her away with me," he threatened.

My mouth went dry as he mentioned her. "Caile was like a father for me, and you considered him a friend. You would never do anything to his wife." My tone was unsure.

Felix's teeth shone as he grinned at me. "Who knows..." With a few long strides, he went away.

Months had passed, but nothing had changed. Felix had been adamant, remarking that every breach of his main rules meant a death sentence–not for me, but for an innocent.

In my military training, I had learned what it meant to follow the rules: for my people the foedus, the pact sealed by someone's word, was sacred. Always. But Felix–Roman citizen, former soldier, politician and paterfamilias–didn't respect our rules or traditions anymore. Brazenly, he had wronged not only the servants that were under his authority, but also his own son. Alica's story always reminded me of that.

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Chapter's Notes

Saturnalia fell in the second half of December.

The palla was a women's cloak (men's cloak was called pallium instead).

Fauns were rustic forest gods.

Author's Notes

Romanward gratias agit to Camilla10, LJSummers, Duskwatcher2153, Marlena516, and Jmolly. Special thanks to Project Team Beta and to Emergency Beta Service, in particular to HollettLA.

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