5
She was on a ship.
Not a great ship and not a strong one, but a ship nonetheless. She stood with her back to the wind and in her face the brackish breeze blew. She lifted a clammy hand to her eyes and tried to shield them against harsh sea-wind; tried to see where she was destined. She felt in her heart, deep within her being, that she was escaping someone…that somewhere not so very far behind, something…or someone…terrible pursued her.
At that very moment, the wind died, and the small boat stopped dead in the water. Its sails hung in wet limpness about the soaking mast like the ghosts of drowned sailors, and she shivered at their appearance. She looked behind her…alas, another ship, a black and terrible ship, was coming closer!
Frantically, she dashed towards the helm. Her mouth opened in a soundless cry; there was no other aboard her vessel! She grasped the saturated wheel with sweaty hands and tried to pull the boat around…to no avail. She was powerless against the current.
Closer, ever closer, the black ship came. She saw its sails, red sails like the burning fires of hell, alight against the darkening sky. She saw the creature at the helm, but her fearful heart knew not what it was.
The body of a great and powerful man it had, yet its head was that of a bird of prey. It opened its sharp beak and roared at her…roared like a lion…and she covered her ears against the sound. As the creature prepared to board her vessel, she readied herself to jump from her own ship into the swirling black waters below. At just that moment, however, the greats finned beasts of the deep, their ponderous maws gaping death, appeared near the surface of the water. She cried out in terror; she knew not which death to choose…
At just that moment, the beak of the terrible monster closed itself upon her back. Pain, pain, great pain like the swelling of a black sea that would never, could never ebb dulled her senses. The beast roared in blood-lust as it ripped its mouth from her wounded back, only to close in upon it once more. She struggled, she fought, but the monster would not loose her. She was being eaten alive, and all she could do was scream her agony to the heavens…
It was the sound of her own cries that awoke Calliliana from her painful slumber, that and the fire-lash of pain spreading over her back. She opened her eyes and attempted to turn over, but was stilled by soft, strong hands.
"Hush, Calliliana, hush. It is I, Lavina." The maiden covered her face with her hands and wept, wept with relief that she was not alive in her nightmare, and wept with fear that she was still in the house of Agrippa.
"W-what h-happened?" she hiccupped softly, trying to wipe the crystalline tears from her face. Lavina gently turned her over on her stomach once more.
"You spoke bravely to the devil, Calliliana, and he sentenced you to torment. You were flogged for your courageous words." The slave girl moistened her hands and applied a cooling mixture of herbs to the ravaged back of her lovely friend, wincing at the sharp cries of pain the ministration elicited. "With careful tending, the scars from your punishment should be minimal. But there will be marks, my dear." Calliliana nodded and bit her lip against the agony.
"How is that I do not remember it, Lavina?" The slave girl swallowed thickly before she answered; the sight of the damage done to her beautiful comrade was enough to raise the bile to her throat.
"You were senseless when he brought you back to your chambers and bid me tend you. It seems that you lost consciousness half-way through your ordeal…" Calliliana shuddered as the memories finally accosted her senses…memories of sadness, pain, humiliation…
"I remember now. I do not think I could have spoken so bravely if I would have known what would happen to me…" Lavina breathed deeply before she worked the ointment into the tender, torn skin of her companion, and wished that she could shut out the tortured sob of pain which filled her ears.
"Do you now still believe in your God, Calliliana?" she questioned softly, after letting the woman weep quietly for a few moments. "After what was done to you this night…do you still believe?" The woman was silent for so long, Lavina feared she had fainted from the pain of her ministrations. At long last Calliliana spoke; in a voice so lifelessly hushed her companion had to bend close to hear it.
"It was not God who caused this to happen, Lavina."
"Could he not have stopped it?" The young woman hissed sharply as her friend began to work more medicine into the bloody flesh of her wounds.
"Yes…he could have. But suppose there is some lesson I must learn through my trials…if he would have stopped my punishment, would I have then learned it?" Lavina was silent.
"I swore to myself that if your faith in the Christian God was unshaken after what you endured, I would have faith once more as well—I had given up, you know. The pain I am forced to endure has broken me...broken me, Calliliana. But your courage this night…your faith…has shown me that God is present even in this hell we call home. If you can bear the trials that accost you…then so can I." Calliliana sighed a shaking breath.
"Then it has all been worth it. And perhaps this…this…was the reason I was made to suffer so."
It was with many tears—tears of pain wedded to new-born hope—that accompanied the two slave girls of Rome as they journeyed into a fitful slumber that night, clutched tightly in the protective solace of one another's arms.
"Mistress, there is one here to see you." Sylvia focused hopeful eyes upon her slave.
"Man or woman?"
"Man, Domina." All interest faded abruptly from the Roman woman's face; it was not her dear friend come once more to seek her companionship and succor.
"Did he state his business?"
"He did not."
"His name?"
"He is called Vitus, Domina." Sylvia sighed heavily and passed a hand over her paled brow.
"Send him to me, Mara." The slave woman bowed and exited obediently, trying desperately not to let her mistress detect her curiosity.
"The man at the door is a most interesting personage indeed," she thought inquisitively. "I wonder what lies beneath that midnight cloak…"
"Well? Does your mistress wish to see me?" Mara jumped slightly, startled by the abrasive tone of the stranger's voice.
"She does, Milord. Shall I show you in?" When the man nodded, or rather when the black hood of his cloak moved in acquiescence, the slave woman led him to where her sorrowing mistress sat by a garden fountain, her fatigued body supported by a cushioned divan. Ever mindful of her hospitality, however, Sylvia neglected not to rise and greet her guest, and remembered to send Mara for some refreshment.
"Welcome to my house and that of Antonius, my brother. Do you wish to recline?" The man shook his head.
"I thank you for your kindness, but that is not necessary. My business here is brief, and my time short." Sylvia did not hide her surprise.
"You act as if what you have to tell me is of the greatest importance, Milord."
"You may call me Vitus, Domina. And yes, my news is of great import to one whom you know. I met your brother on the way to his deployment, Domina, and had with him a most interesting conversation regarding your recent resident…one called Calliliana Maximinus." The eyes of the dark woman jumped in her ever-whitening face.
"News, news of Calliliana? Pray, Sir, do tell what these tidings may be!" The stranger flourished the will of Maximinus before the wondering eyes of his hostess.
"This here is the will of her late husband, Leander Maximinus. As I am sure that she told you, Domina, he was a man of considerable wealth—and every last denarius of this fortune was left to his wife." Sylvia shook her head slowly, as if trying to make sense of the man's words.
"But how will she learn of this good fortune, Milord? She is not here…"
"And you have not the faintest notion of where she might have gone?" Sylvia shook her head sorrowfully and slowly sank down onto her divan once more.
"Calliliana was ever mindful of her position among us. While we felt as if she was one of our own—our sister even—she always felt as if she was a burden to us. When it became apparent that she was with child once more…"
"What did you say?" The Roman woman looked up in surprise. The sudden harshness in the man's voice startled her.
"She is with child, Milord." The man rolled the parchment into a tight scroll once more, and placed it carefully within the folds of his midnight cloak.
"I had understood from Maximinus that she was about to give birth to his child months ago. It is not possible that the child could have waited so long to…"
"That is because she does not carry the child of Maximinus. That child, his son, is dead."
"WHAT?" Sylvia's mouth dropped in shock as the mysterious stranger abandoned all pretence of solemnity. He strode forward and caught her upper arm in a grasp that was not cruel, yet firm in its potent strength. "What is it that you say? The child of this man is dead, and his wife is carrying the child of another?"
"Calliliana is no whore, Milord, and her son did not die naturally." Vitus released her abruptly and moved away, hands raised respectfully.
"Forgive me, Domina. I did not mean to frighten you—but you must understand, this news of is of grave importance to me. If Calliliana Maximinus has indeed become the wife of another, she can no longer inherit the fortune of her husband…"
"She is not the wife of another, Sir, she was taken!" At her words, Vitus turned towards her slowly, and removed his ebony hood as he did so. Sylvia stifled a gasp as she gazed upon him; never before had she seen such a face in all of her life.
The man must have once been handsome; she had no doubt of that fact. The lines of his face and body were sharp and angular, and she could tell that his midnight covering hid a body of powerful strength. Although he appeared to still be fairly young, his pale face was traversed by care-lines, "like a road-map of sorrows," the young woman thought to herself. His eyes stood out in startling clarity against the pallor his skin; they were as bright blue as the sparks of flame that dance about the red tongues of a burning fire. "Yet not a pleasant blue," the woman reflected, as the man turned his gaze full upon her, "but a blue rather like the cold of ice on a harsh winter's day. A harsh color, that is what the eyes of this man are."
"I think that it would be wise of you to tell me everything that has befallen the young widow of Maximinus since his death, Domina. If she is not here, there may be a chance that she is with someone who is doing her great harm." Sylvia looked at the man curiously, amazed at his earnestness.
"I am beginning to think that you are miracle from beyond the realms of this earth, Milord. I have been worrying myself ill over the fate of this girl, knowing what I do of her past. Will you swear to me that, if I reveal what she confided in me to you, you will aid her in whatever way you can?" The man bowed his head slightly and reverently rested his hand upon his heart."
"I swear it." So with much trepidation and great hope, Sylvia related the tragic history of the beautiful young woman to the mysterious man.
"Not Vitus shall I call you," the woman thought to herself, as she watched the ice-fires of the man's eyes blaze in rage against the maiden's tormentors, "for no life will you bring to those who have wronged this woman. Not Vitus shall you be now, but Vindex."
Vindex—the Avenger.