"Lavina!" the shrill cry of her companion woke the young slave from her tortured dreams.
"W-hat…what is it Calliana?" she mumbled wearily, her hand chaffing at her sleep-cloaked eyes. She felt the small, cold hand of her friend find hers and clutch it tightly.
"The pain, Lavina…oh! The pain!" The woman nodded soothingly and rose, fastening her robe more tightly about her as she went.
"I will make you something to drink, my dear. You were flogged; the pain will be present for some time…"
"NO!" With a sudden movement that shocked the sleep-dulled senses of pitiable Lavina, Calliliana rolled onto her back and thrust her hips high into the air, as if trying to rid herself of some invisible attacker. "It is not…oh! It is not that pain…I can hardly feel that now…the child, Lavina, the child!" Lavina's mouth dropped in shock.
"What do I do?" she cried frantically, as she dashed towards the sobbing young woman. Her eyes took in everything at once, yet nothing at all: the blood stains upon the bed where the wounded woman's back was pressed against it, the rolling of the girl's pain-filled eyes, the golden tangle of hair that lay overspreading the white pillow, the clutching fingers that reached for her…
"HELP ME!" Calliliana wailed, as another burst of pain caused her to try and emit the squirming mass within that was the seed of her tormentor.
"WHAT DO I DO?" Lavina shrieked. She was terrified almost past endurance; never before had she assisted in a birth. Calliliana whimpered softly and grasped for the bed with both hands.
"You must watch for it. That was what was done before when I gave birth. The head must come first…"
"What is all this noise?" At that moment, Marcus Agrippa appeared upon the threshold of the room, his hawk-eyed face pregnant with fury. For the first time in her life, Lavina paid scant heed to her master as he strode forward and roughly gripped her arm. "Silence her!"
"Her pain is past my administrations. Her time has come Milord—the time for the child!" All color drained abruptly from the face of the centurion, and stark fear filled his eyes.
"It is too soon," he murmured, as he drew close to the gasping woman, "she has many weeks yet before it should be her time…"
"I believe that she shock she was made to endure this night proved too much for her, Milord." Agrippa turned towards the slave girl, his white teeth bared in anger.
"Do you dare charge me with this calamity?" Lavina drew herself up, and courage replaced the fear in her face.
"I do." Wordlessly, Marcus struck his slave with all the force his strong, battle-seasoned arm could muster. She cried out and staggered back, covering her marked face with one hand. "Very well," she gasped, as she struggled to wrestle the tears into submission behind the floodgates of her eyelids, "very well, you might strike me for insolence. But that does not change the fact that this woman," here she was interrupted by a piercing shriek from Calliliana, "this woman is giving birth to your child! You must find a midwife, and that shortly!" Marcus Agrippa nodded, more to himself than to Lavina, and left the bedchamber at a run.
For the better part of an hour, the brave Lavina stood watch by the side of her friend. Though her ears rang with the force of the maiden's cries and her heart quailed within her, she refused to leave the side of Calliliana until the matronly midwife bustled into the room, her dark hair in disarray about her red face. "Clear the room," she panted, as she squatted down between the young woman's legs, "and get the man out of here!" Lavina did as she was told, knowing full well that the woman would very likely have lost her head if she had so disrespectfully referred to Marcus Agrippa at any time other than this.
Hours and upon hours passed slowly for the tortured woman and her companions. The midwife did what she could to aid Calliliana in her distress, but the child within her was as cruel as its father—it refused to come. Despite the ministrations of the professional and the agony of the mother, it was not until the morning sky was tinged with the red of dawn that the young woman finally gave up the burden of life within her.
"A son!" shrieked the midwife, as the child finally slid from the maiden's bloody loins, "you have a son!" Calliliana stared straight into the distance—she did not wish to gaze upon the face of Agrippa's child.
"Calliliana, my dear, look at your little son," Lavina urged soothingly. She attempted to place the child into the limp arms of her friend, but she pushed her away.
"My son is dead, Lavina. My son was the son of Leander Maximinus who was and is my husband in the sight of God. This child…this thing…is not my son. And he shall never be so to me."
"But Calliliana…"Agrippa rushed into the room then, his steel-frosted ebony curls glistening with feverish dew in the morning light.
"A son, you say? Let me see him!" Hastily, he took the bundled babe from the arms of his slave girl and peered within the blanket. The child was small, small indeed—too small to be strong for many years, thought the soldier. "Of course he is small," he reassured himself as he looked into the babe's blue eyes, "he was born before his time. He shall grow to be strong and brave, like his father…" The man gazed upon the tiny features, the curled fingers and waving legs, the howling mouth…
"Milord, he is choking!" Agrippa was startled from his contemplation of the boy by the shrill voice of the midwife. She snatched the babe from his arms and worked her hands over him, attempting to force life back within his breast. Agrippa watched in horror as the child ceased wailing, as his little face turned blue with the lack of air—though the man was a seasoned soldier and fearless on the battlefield, he knew not what to do in a time such as this.
"He is gone. He was born too early, Milord…" Agrippa turned towards Calliliana numbly, as if in a state of shock. She was lying still upon the bed, her collapsed legs and hips covered in her own blood, her shoulders and back a travesty where he had beaten her…
"What is it you say?" The woman met his eyes then, and there was that in her beautiful face that caused him to tremble.
"The child is gone, Milord. See for yourself." Agrippa asked her not how she knew; in a panic he did as he was bidden.
It was true.
He cried out in a rage and struck the midwife across the face. "You whore!" he screamed; the green-blue veins knotted out from his reddened face, "you should have saved him!"
"I did all I could, Milord, I promise you!" Agrippa raised his hand to strike the frightened woman again, but let it fall slowly instead.
"Get out." The woman gathered her things, but looked hesitantly back at him.
"But Milord…the fee that is due me…"
"I SAID GET OUT!" The force of his ire caused the very rafters above the company to tremble. Without further word, the midwife and Lavina both scampered from the room like startled sparrows. Agrippa reached out and took up the body of his son in his arms. Without a glance at the woman who had endured such pain and degradation to bring his child into the world…he left the room. And he left her alone.
Calliliana heard him leave. She heard him leave and she felt the blood flow between and down, down, down her legs. She felt a great sob well up within her throat; felt the tears well behind her disobedient eyelids.
She turned her face to the wall and wept.
And there was blood in the red-dawn sky.
"A moment, Milord." Vitus turned so see the angular slave-woman with the tigress eyes walking slowly towards him.
"How may I be of service?" The girl reached him and slowly, ever so slowly, reached out and put a work-roughened hand on his arm.
"You will pardon the intrusion into your affairs I trust," she began, her coarse voice vibrant with emotion, "but I heard you speak of the fate of the girl Calliliana." Vitus stiffened and drew back slightly; the touch of the slave-girl was as cold as that of death.
"I should report you to your mistress for eavesdropping…"
"I know where she can be found!" The ice-blue eyes of the young stranger leapt within his marble-pale face; without meaning to, he grasped the woman's slender shoulders so tightly that she cried out with the force.
"If that is indeed the case, then you must know from my conversation with your mistress that I am desperate to find Calliliana." Mara nodded, and carefully loosened herself from the man's vice-like grip.
"I do." Vitus passed a shaking head over his sweat dampened brow.
"This is of grave importance to me, Woman. Where is she?" Mara knitted her hands together, in a gesture almost of supplication as she gazed upon him.
"She has returned to her home, Milord."
"You mean to the house of Maximinus?" A golden gleam dawned within the murky depths of the slave girl's eyes.
"No, Milord, to her home—to Greece." Vitus pressed his lips together tightly; Mara watched with something akin to panic as his great hands balled into fists at his side.
"Do you know how long ago she left?"
"It is where she went as soon as she left the house of my mistress. Calliliana and I were great friends, Milord, like sisters we were. She confided everything to me; she told me that she did not wish Domina Sylvia to know of her whereabouts. She was tired of 'being a burden' she said, she did not wish anyone to find her…" Abruptly, Vitus withdrew two golden coins from under his cloak.
"You have been most helpful, and for that I thank you." Mara folded herself into an awkward bow.
"You are generosity itself, Milord. I would do anything to help my dear friend." The man threw the hood of his ebony cloak about his face once more, nodded to the informer, and left as abruptly as he had come.
Mara stood still for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the glow of her brilliance. She had sent this man, this strange, powerful, vengeful man, on a fruitless hunt for her nemesis. "After all," she thought, as she fingered the two golden coins slowly, "he will be so far gone when he knows that she is not truly in Greece that he will never come to hunt for me…"
Slowly, she dropped the gold onto the tiled floor, piece by shining piece. She watched as they spun quickly on their sides, wheeled crazily about the room for a moment, then slowly faltered and fell. "I do not need his gold," she mused, as she strode purposefully from the room, "for I have had a reward far greater: I have sent away the only one who may have helped poor little Calliliana!"
And for the second time in a short while, the twisted laughter of the evil woman echoed through the hall.