Hello everyone! Sorry this has been taking me so long…I'm almost done with the book as a whole, and I wanted to wait a while. Hope you enjoy.
P.S. Merry Christmas!
The constant jarring of their fevered flight had taken its toll upon Calliliana's wounded body.
"Appius," she gasped, as she felt her bruised ribs grate against his heaving chest, "Appius we must stop, I beg of you!" With a sigh of resignation, the young man placed his burden gently upon the ground. The two had covered a fair amount of ground since their flight, he reasoned. They had left behind the villa and its inhabitants quite some time before, and were now fleeing along the coast, serenaded in their escape by the sound of the waves crashing against the sand. It was the earnest desire of the young man that he could place his charge safely upon one of the boats moored near the water, then return in stealth to the villa and abduct Lavina as well.
Calliliana cried out in pain as she hit the ground; as soft as was the sand that quickly molded to her shape, she felt all of her injuries seem to settle as one. She was felt as if she were one large bruise; one large abrasion, and the pain was dizzying. "Where…where are we to go?" she gasped, as soon as she had the breath to do so. Appius crossed his arms and looked defiantly out over the sea, like some great king of old, sure of his victory and mindless of possible defeat.
"To my home, Calliliana—to Gaul." The maiden's eyes widened in surprise.
"But Gaul is so far away…"
"Not on a boat such as these it is not. I will hire myself to the captain, and you shall be my sister…"
"But what of Lavina? Surely you cannot think of leaving her to the mercy of Agrippa…?" Appius looked down at the woman in surprise, shock and disgust coloring his flushed cheeks an even deeper shade of bronze.
"That goes without saying, Calliliana. Are your eyes truly so blinded that you do not see? I love her as if she were my own flesh and blood—I intend to make her my wife as soon as we shall reach Gaul." In answer to the questioning look that pervaded the troubled eyes of the girl, he added, "once you are safely aboard a vessel, I shall return and take Lavina even as I took you." Calliliana was thoughtful then, as she mulled over the plans of her friend.
"Have you not thought," she began slowly, timidly, as if afraid to arouse the temper of the excited young man, "that our master may very well have surrounded himself with an army by the time of your return, and that it may very well be impossible for you to escape once more…" Appius squatted down beside her so quickly that the sand flew up into the maiden's face. A dark light had kindled in his eyes, and with his visage lighted solely by the small, winking night-lanterns of a few scattered stars, he appeared very fearsome to her.
"I will do whatever I must to save Lavina and to free us all from the tyranny of that beast. I will do whatever I must...even if I must kill to do it!" Seeing the fire alight within his eyes, noting the hardened lines of his tensed body, Calliliana knew without the shadow of a doubt that Appius would slaughter if he was required to do so—and in that action he would rejoice.
Such knowledge inspired her with a dreadful terror—for in his eyes and in his face, in his words and in his voice, she knew the bloodlust of her master.
Her heart pounded furiously as he stood once more and gazed towards the moored vessels; her very heart trembled and she knew not why. They were safe, were they not? Appius had indeed seen to it that Agrippa would never harm her again…
"Why am I so frightened?" she murmured incredulously—she could not understand why her heart was beating so strenuously. The force of her fear was great enough to cause her whole body to quiver, so great she could feel the energy passing through her into the ground…
Appius felt it as well. He looked down at the woman quizzically, then his gaze darted off into the ebony distance. He squinted his eyes against the darkness, made himself one with the sensations reverberating from the ground into his legs. The diamond light of the scattered stars did little to dispel the onyxian shrouds of the night, but Appius felt sure that something—someone—was coming closer towards them at an alarming rate.
Shadows in the distance; poundings growing in intensity every moment that passed. Calliliana stood painfully, gasping for breath, and strained her eyes into the night as well.
And she it was who saw them first.
And she knew in that moment that the horrific beatings of the earth were not caused by the terrified palpitations of her tortured heart…for it had stopped.
Five dark shadows emerged from the blackness, shadows that had voices, whip-cracks, and names. Both slaves stood dumb-struck upon the sand, their bodies unable to comply with the reasonable voice in their mind which screamed "Flee!"
Appius was the first to react. Wordlessly he threw the woman over his shoulder, eliciting a sharp shriek of pain as her wounds shot through her body like liquid flame, and began to fly along the shore. The damp sand encumbered his feet like fetters on a prisoner, and he struggled violently to increase the speed of his flight. For one brief moment, Appius seemed to feel as if he was outdistancing his pursuers; as if he would at last reach the freedom he so craved.
But, alas, the moment was very brief.
The two were surrounded by the mounted shadows, surrounded and cut down like some gruesome harvest of humanity. One slave leaped from his steed and tackled Appius forcefully, causing him to fall with a choked cry of pain and rage. For one horrid moment, Calliliana felt herself flying through the air as she was dislodged from her comrade's shoulder…but the landing from her flight was worse by far; it jarred every bone in her body into an inferno of agony. She felt someone seize her arms, half-lift her from the flying sand, and hold her thus. Rough hands tore through her hair, wrenched her head back, and directed her eyes to the others…
They were killing him. It was plain to Calliliana at a glance that Appius would not survive the night at the hands of his tormentors. He fought as valiantly as he could, but he was one man, one man against many. They cut him down and back with their fists, they laughed at his pain and at his blood upon the sand. Even after he had ceased fighting, even after the shell of his strong young body lay upon the turf, lifeless and broken, still the minions would not cease their torment. Through it all, over the laughter and the shouts and the heavy breathing, one sound rent the night like a knife in the dark.
It pierced the sky like the cry of a terrified infant.
It made one shiver like the sound of a slaughtered beast.
It was continuous and horrible; it made the skin to crawl of whoever was unfortunate enough to hear it.
It felt as deep, as wide, and as brutal in its intensity as the agony which filled the heart of Calliliana when she gazed upon the empty cross of her husband.
It was then the woman knew the sound came from her own throat.
Her captors released her, and she fell heavily to the ground. Crawling against her pain on hands and knees, she slowly crept to the side of her slain friend. "Appius," she moaned, her hands reaching out to caress the fearsomely set lines of his cold face, "Oh, Appius! Must God take all that which is dear to me?" It was at that moment she heard a laugh. It thundered through her senses like the very voice of the devil—for who else would laugh in the presence of death? Slowly, Calliliana lifted her head and saw him.
Marcus Agrippa sat tall and proud, despite his disfigured appearance, on a fifth massive stallion. His ebony eyes were cold and winking in the starlight, "colder than the ice which must be his heart," thought the girl numbly. He watched her as a cat might watch a wretched mouse upon which he means to prey—such was the look of cold calculation and greed upon his face. Slowly, tremblingly, Calliliana rose to her feet and advanced upon him, one foot slowly before the other.
"How could you?" she breathed. The slaves stood back, awed by her courage. "You have taken everything from me…everything! You have not left one shred of human decency to cover the tarnished ruin that is my life and my name. You promised me the life of my husband if I would but stoop to become a common whore for you—and yet, though I gave you my soul, you took him from me." The other slaves looked about uneasily; they had known their master was cruel…but what this strange, beautiful creature spoke of was indeed a new level of evil.
The woman continued, advancing on Agrippa slowly but with a surety that was unsettling even to him. "You took the life of my child, my son whom I adored and who was the only living remembrance I had of my beloved husband. You slew my dear friend, you took me from the house of those who cared for me as a sister…you betrayed and annihilated any scrap of trust I could have had in humanity." Calliliana was standing at the neck of her master's horse now, so close that she could look up into his glittering eyes. "And as if that were not enough," she hissed, her emerald eyes growing into a tempestuous sea of rage as they narrowed at him, "you beat me until your own wretched son emerged from my womb far too early to bear life. You could not be content with destroying my life alone; you also had to slay the flesh of your own loins!" Agrippa reared back on his horse in rage and lifted his hand to strike her. With a strength she did not know she possessed, Calliliana caught his upraised hand as it swung toward her face and smacked it away. "I have not finished!" she roared, a tigress in her fury and a nymph in her beauty, as all of her fear of the man suddenly evaporated into a cold mist that left beads of sweat standing out on the skin all over her body. "You will live to see the day of vengeance, Marcus Agrippa, yet not vengeance such as I will give. I have faith that as God in heaven is my witness, HE will avenge the blood that has been spilled about me! HE will avenge my husband and my son! And HE will show the emperor, your precious Rome, and all the world what you are: a thieving, usurping, godless, spineless BASTARD!"
A roar of rage filled Calliliana's ears, a roar louder than that of the ocean which tossed about at her feet. Something heavy and unbearably hard hit her in the face, and she knew no more.
The stench it was that awoke her—so heavy, so fetid, and so strong it assaulted her senses like a blow. Calliliana stirred and blinked slowly, wondering where in the world she was; what in the world was causing that horrible smell. Like the scent of scores of unwashed bodies, yet worse it was—for it seemed also to carry the scent of death.
She was lying upon a hard surface; a stone floor it felt to be, and the woman sensed to her horror and dismay that some sort of a cold slime had seeped from it through the thin material of her stola and onto her skin. Calliliana attempted to raise herself into a sitting position—and was astounded to find her arms suspended above her head in irons. Truly terrified now, she cast her eyes about her wildly, hoping to discern some familiar face about her. No recognizable countenance did she behold, but there were others…other such visages so worked over and destroyed by pain and suffering it near broke what shattered remains left of her heart as she gazed upon them.
A grey-bearded ancient huddled against one corner of the cell—for prison-cell it was, the maiden now saw—and every now and again, a low moan sounded forth from his cracked, dry old lips. Close to him reclined an aged woman, the storm-clouds of her ancient eyes awash with a rain of fresh tears. A young woman, scarcely older than Calliliana herself, stood leaning against the putrid stone wall, a gurgling infant cuddled close to her breast. The girl raised her eyes and gazed at Calliliana; a look of resignation and blank disinterest. She had once been fair and lovely, perhaps, but dread and motherhood had ruthlessly ravaged the flower of her youth. The ebony eyes that stared out at the newcomer were hollow; lifeless. Finally, a tall, dark young man, perhaps in his twenty-fifth year, paced restlessly about the small stone cell. His footsteps were quick, livid, and sure, and the young Greek woman felt certain that he would happily spring at whoever was their captor if he was only given a moment's chance.
"What is this place?" a thin, quiet child's-voice murmured into the stillness. For a moment, Calliliana looked about her. She had not recalled seeing another child in the room…
…It was then that she realized that it had been she who had spoken. So fraught with fear and weariness was her voice, she herself had not even recognized it. The dark young man strode to her side and peered intently at her face through the gloom.
"One so lovely as you has never before seen the inside of a dungeon, I would wager." The man gazed at her again, his ebony-eyed head tilted curiously to one side. "You are not Roman, that is certain…you cannot be with that yellow hair and those green eyes."
"My father was Roman-born; my mother a woman of Greece. I am only half-Roman." He paused, and confusion replaced the inquisitiveness in his eyes.
"Do I…do I know you…?" Calliliana shook her head, confused.
"I…I think not…I am Calliliana, the wife of the late Leander Maximinus." The man started back with a choked cry of helpless rage.
"Oh merciful heaven, I should find you here!" Calliliana trembled at the terror in his voice.
"Good sir, what can you mean? I do not believe that I know you…" The man slammed his fist against a stone wall furiously enough to draw blood.
"Ah, but your name is not unknown to me, wife of Maximinus. Although I am sure that you do not remember me—why should you, a lady as fine as yourself?—I met you while you resided with Antonius and his sister, Sylvia. In that beggar's garb you wear, I barely knew you!" The woman's breath caught in her throat as recognition dawned as the morn over her night-cloaked senses.
"Are you not the man who fed and watered the horses of Milord Antonius? F-Fidel, I believe?" The man nodded.
"Yes, Domina." Fidel stopped pacing, sat down upon the dank floor, and covered his face with his hands. "How can it be that you are here, with us in this place?" Calliliana struggled against her bonds and gazed at him, perplexed.
"Why do you keep asking that of me?" The young man raised his eyes to meet hers. They were empty and somehow had seemed to lose their rich color in a matter of moments.
"You do not understand, I see. After you left—to thwart the charitable intentions of my mistress, I believe—the whole house was in an uproar. Domina Sylvia sent out each and every servant in her keeping to search for you and bring you back to the villa…but never were you found. She sent messages, all of which received no answer, abroad to Milord Antonius, who was suddenly sent on a campaign far from home…" Calliliana's mind was racked with horrible confusion.
"I did not leave the villa, Fidel, I was taken." The worry-lined mouth of the young man dropped in shock.
"Taken?"
"I was given a drink on my last night in the household of my benefactors. Thinking that it was, as I was told, a sleeping draught prepared by Sylvia, I took it and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, I had been removed from the household of your master and taken to…" she shuddered, remembering, "the villa of Marcus Agrippa." Fidel did not seem to comprehend the maiden's tale.
"Agrippa? The centurion? Why ever were you taken there…?" Calliliana sighed sadly.
"The tale is far too long to recite now. He had…some hold over me, that is all that I shall say at present." The man stood again, his hands clutched convulsively behind his back.
"I searched for you, as did we all, for many nights and days. At last, my food source had been utterly exhausted and I knew I had either to pilfer some victuals or perish." A deep scowl etched itself upon his dark features. "I took my chances. I was so very famished, I attempted to steal the meal of a Roman guard right out from under him. I was given new accommodations as a reward for this offense," here Fidel bowed dramatically and swept his hands about the room, "and am condemned to wait here without trial, without hope, and with no way of sending word to my master and my mistress of my whereabouts." A light filled his eyes, yet not a light of peace and merit, but one that gleamed as brightly and as coldly as stolen gold. "And curse it! Now that I have found you, my reward would indeed be great…if only I could somehow let my mistress know that you are here." Calliliana looked at him, attempting to hide her distaste for the man.
"I do not understand part of your tale. You say that Sylvia believed I left her voluntarily…that I wished to 'thwart her charitable intentions'?" Fidel nodded.
"She found a letter the morning after you disappeared, stating that you had accepted far too many kindnesses from her and that you could not bear to burden them any longer."
"A letter?" Confusion pervaded her very being, an uncertainty of cold dread and despair. "I never wrote such a letter." The young man looked at her, almost tauntingly it seemed.
"Then who did? Not I, nor any of the servants, can so much as write our own names!"
"Surely there must have been one of you…" Fidel stopped suddenly, as a mist of bewilderment passed suddenly from his face.
"The Arabian woman, that Mara, knew how to write. She had little love for you, Greek; all of us could see that…" Calliliana slumped weakly against her bonds. Mara…of course, of course it had been Mara! It had all, always been Mara…Mara which signifies "bitter", for indeed the golden young woman could taste the bitter gall of desolation in her mouth.
"Let us…let us not talk of such painful things," she managed finally, as she attempted to raise herself into a sitting position against the slippery wall. "Tell me, if you know, why I am suddenly cast into this place?" Fidel laughed a mirthless, joyless laugh then, loud and long, the laugh of one who has despaired of life, of reason, and of hope.
"You, my fine lady, are nestled close within the bosom of the Coliseum. This chamber is the threshold to the Otherworld, and we are the pawns who tomorrow must play the game of Death."