An Echo in the Darkness by Francine Rivers
“And how will knowing that help me?” she said angrily. It was all too apparent that neither Calabah nor Primus really cared what happened to her.
Calabah gave a heavy sigh and rose. “I grow weary of this conversation.”
“Where are you going?” Julia said in dismay.
Sighing, Calabah gave her a long-suffering look. “To the baths. I told Sapphira I would see her this evening.”
Julia grew even more distressed at the mention of the young woman. Sapphira was young and beautiful and came from a well-known Roman family. Upon their first meeting, Calabah had said she found her “promising.”
“I don’t feel up to going anywhere, Calabah.”
Calabah’s brow arched again. “I didn’t ask you.”
Julia stared at her. “Have you no consideration of my feelings?”
“I have considered your feelings. I knew you’d say no and saw no reason to include you. You’ve never liked Sapphira, have you?”
“But you do,” Julia said in accusation.
“Yes,” Calabah said with a cool smile, her answer a twisting knife thrust. “I like Sapphira very much. You must understand, my dear. She’s fresh, innocent, full of a world of possibilities.”
“The way you said I was once,” Julia said bitterly.
Calabah’s smile grew mocking. “You knew what you embraced, Julia. I have not changed.”
Julia’s eyes shone with angry tears. “If I have changed, it is because I wanted to please you.”
Calabah laughed softly. “Ah, Julia, beloved. There is but one rule in this world. Please yourself.” Calabah’s cold gaze moved over Julia’s face and down her slender body. “You mean as much to me now as you ever did.”
Julia took little comfort in those words. Calabah tilted her head slightly and assessed her with dark, unblinking eyes, daring her to respond. Julia remained silent, knowing the challenge had to go unanswered. Sometimes she felt Calabah was simply waiting for her to do or say something that would give her the excuse to desert her completely.
“You do look pale, my dear,” Calabah said with damning insouciance. “Rest this evening. Perhaps you will feel better about everything tomorrow.” She walked gracefully from the room, pausing briefly to lightly brush her fingertips against Eudemas’ cheek and say something for the servant’s ears only.
Helpless to stop her from leaving, Julia clenched her hands. She had thought she could trust Calabah with her heart. Now she was filled with fury.
All her life she had suffered at the hands of men. First, her father had structured and controlled her life, dictating her every move up until he married her off to Claudius, a Roman intellectual who owned land in Capua. Claudius had bored her to distraction with his intellectual pursuits into the religions of the Empire, and she had been thankfully saved from a life of drudgery with him by his accidental death.
She had been madly in love with her second husband, Caius, sure this was the union that would bring her all she had hoped for: pleasure, freedom, adoration. Then she found him worse by far than Claudius could ever have been. Caius opened the purses of her estate, spending thousands of her sesterces on races and on other women while venting his ill luck and dark moods on her. Julia had stood the abuse for as long as she could. Finally, with Calabah’s guidance, she had made sure Caius would never hurt her again. She recalled with a shiver his slow death, a result of the poison she had slipped into his food and drink.
Then there was Atretes . . . her one great passion! She had given her heart to him, making herself totally vulnerable, asking only that he not ask her to give up her freedom. And he had deserted her because she turned from his marriage proposal and married Primus to ensure her financial independence. Atretes had refused to understand why it had been necessary to do so. The pain of their last, angry encounter stabbed through her momentarily, and she gave an angry shake of her head. Atretes had been nothing more than a slave taken in the Germanic revolt, a gladiator. Who was he to dictate to her? Did he think she would marry him and relinquish all her rights to an uneducated barbarian? Marriage by usus to Primus had been the more intelligent course open to her—it gave her the freedom of being a married woman but none of the risk, for Primus would have no claim on her finances or estate—but Atretes had been too uncivilized to understand.
Even Marcus, her beloved, adored brother, had betrayed her in the end, cursing her at the games because she saved him from making a fool of himself over a slave girl. The pain of his defection had been the greatest blow of all. His words, filled with disgust and anger, still rang in her ears. She could still see the cold fury on his face as he had turned from her to Calabah.
“You want her, Calabah?”
“I’ve always wanted her.”
“You can have her.”
He had refused since then to speak with her or see her.
Father, husbands, and brother had failed her. So she had given herself into Calabah’s keeping, trusting her absolutely. After all, wasn’t it Calabah who swore undying love for her? Wasn’t it she who had pointed out and finally opened her eyes to the frailties and infidelities of men? Wasn’t it Calabah who had nurtured, spoiled, and guided her?
And now Julia had found that Calabah was no more to be trusted than the others, and her betrayal was deepest and most astonishing.
She was pulled from her thoughts when Primus poured more wine into his goblet and raised it to her. “Perhaps now you have a better understanding of how I felt when Prometheus’ affections turned to another,” he said wryly, reminding her of his handsome catamite, who had run away. “Don’t you remember? He was enraptured with Hadassah’s every word, and she finally stole his heart from me.”
Julia’s eyes glittered. “Calabah is free to do as she likes,” she said, pretending indifference though her tone was brittle. “Just as I am.” She wanted to hurt him for reminding her of Hadassah. The slave’s name alone, like a curse, always roused an incomprehensible loneliness and fear in Julia. “Besides, Primus, Calabah’s affections can’t be compared to those of Prometheus. He didn’t come to you of his own accord, did he? You had to buy him from one of those foul booths beneath the arena stands.” Seeing her words had struck their mark, she smiled and shrugged. “I’ve nothing to worry about. Sapphira is little more than a temporary diversion. Calabah will tire of her soon enough.”
“As she’s already tired of you?”
Julia raised her head sharply and saw his eyes shine with malicious triumph. Fury rose in her, but she pressed it down, speaking quietly. “You dare a great deal, considering your own precarious position in my household.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father is dead. My brother has relinquished all rights over me and my possessions. I have no further need of you as a husband, do I? What is mine is mine with—” she smiled coldly—“or without you.”
His eyes flickered as he understood her threat, and his demeanor changed as swiftly as a chameleon changes colors. “You ever misunderstand me, Julia. Your feelings are uppermost in my every thought. I only meant that if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it is I. I empathize, my dear. Haven’t I suffered myself? Who was it who comforted you after Atretes deserted you? I did. Who was it who warned you that your slave was stealing your brother’s affections and poisoning his mind against you as she did with Prometheus?”
Julia turned her face away, not wanting to think about the past, loathing him for reminding her of it.
“I care about you,” Primus said. “I am the only true friend you have.”
Friend, she thought bitterly. The only reason Primus remained was because she paid for the villa, the clothes and jewels he wore, the lavish, rich food he loved, and the pleasures of the flesh he embraced. He had no money of his own. What little money he did make came from patrons afraid he would turn his acerbic wit on them and expose their secrets. However, that means of support had proven more and more dangerous of late, his enemies increasing. He now relied heavily on her financial s
upport. Their mutual need of one another was what had made this marriage convenient in the beginning. He needed her money; she needed to live with him in order to retain control of her money.
Or had.
Now, no one cared any more what she did with her money. Or her life.
Primus came to her and took her hand, his own cold. “You must believe me, Julia.”
She looked into his eyes and saw his fear. She knew he feigned concern merely to protect himself, but she was desperate for someone to care about her. “I do believe you, Primus,” she said. She wanted someone to care.
“Then go to the haruspex and find out what causes these fevers and bouts of weakness.”
And thus, Julia found herself here in this dark, torchlit sanctuary, witnessing a grim ritual. Having studied the texts and tablets, the haruspex slit the throat of the small thrashing goat. Turning her face away as its terrified bleating gurgled into silence, Julia swayed and struggled not to faint. With another expert stroke, the priest laid open the animal’s belly and removed the liver. Servants removed the carcass as the priest reverently placed the bloody organ on a golden platter. He probed at it with his fat fingers, studying it, certain that the answers to whatever disease had befallen Julia would be found on its slick, black surface.
The priest gave his opinion and sent her away with little understanding of what ailed her. His veiled sentences hinted at myriad possibilities, and he made few suggestions. For all the good her visit had done, he might as well have said, “The gods refused to speak” and dismissed her. As she looked around, she saw others, more important, who were waiting—government officials concerned about possible outbreaks of disease or coming disasters. And she understood. What did the fate of one sick, frightened, and lonely young woman matter to anyone? What mattered were the gold coins she had given for the goat.
“Perhaps a votive offering would help,” a novice priest said as she was led away.
To which god? she wondered in despair. How would she know which deity among the pantheon would intercede on her behalf? And to whom would that god appeal? And if she had offended one god among them all, how would she know which one to appease with an offering? And what offering would suffice?
Her head ached with the endless possibilities.
“All will be well, my lady,” Eudemas said, and her comfort grated on Julia’s already raw nerves. Julia was well aware Eudemas’ sympathy lacked sincerity. The slave pretended to care because her survival depended on the goodwill of her mistress. Julia had Prometheus to thank for the way the slaves treated her. Before he had run away, he had told every servant that she had sent Hadassah to the arena.
Tears smarted Julia’s eyes as she looked away from the girl. She should have sold all of her household slaves and bought others fresh off ships from the farthest reaches of the Empire. Foolishly, she had chosen to sell only a few, never considering that those new to the household would soon hear what happened to those before. Within a few days of their arrival, Julia felt their fear like a palpable force around her. No one ever looked her in the eye. They bowed and scraped and obeyed her every command, and she hated them.
Sometimes, against her will, she remembered what it was like to be served out of love. She remembered the sense of security she had felt in trusting another human being completely, knowing that person was devoted to her even when faced with death. At such times her loneliness was greatest, her despair the most debilitating.
Calabah said fear was a healthy thing for a slave to feel toward her mistress. “One who is wise in the ways of the world should learn to cultivate fear. Nothing else gives you more power and advantage over others. Only when you have power are you truly free.”
Julia knew she held the power of life and death over others, but it no longer gave her advantage or security. Hadn’t she hated her father when he controlled her life? Hadn’t she hated Claudius, and then Caius, for the same reason? And even when she had fallen in love with Atretes, she had feared his hold over her.
Power was not the answer.
Over the past six months, Julia had begun to wonder whether life had any meaning at all. She had money and position. She answered to no one. Calabah had shown her every pleasure the Empire had to offer, and she had embraced them all wantonly. Yet, still, something within her cried out, and the abysmal emptiness remained, unfulfilled. She was so hungry, hungry for something she couldn’t even define.
And now she was sick, and no one cared. No one loved her enough to care.
She was alone.
This wretched lingering illness only made matters worse, for it made her vulnerable. When the fevers were upon her, she was forced to rely on others: Like Calabah, whose lust for life was turning to others. Like Primus, who had never cared about her in the first place. Like Eudemas and all the others who served out of fear.
Julia walked out of the temple. She craved the warmth of sunlight. Jannes, a well-proportioned slave from Macedonia who had taken Primus’ fancy, assisted her onto the sedan chair. After sending Eudemas to the market to buy a vial of sleeping potion, she gave Jannes instructions on how to reach her mother’s villa. He and the three others lifted her and carried her through the crowded streets.
Weary from the ordeal in the temple, Julia closed her eyes. The sway of the chair made her dizzy, and perspiration broke out on her forehead. Her hands trembled. She clenched them in her lap, struggling to squelch the rising sickness. Glancing out once, she saw they were carrying her up Kuretes Street. She was not far from her mother’s villa, and hope made her bite her lip. Surely her own mother would not refuse to see her.
Only twice in the last months had her mother come to her own villa. The first time, conversation had been strained and stilted. Primus’ anecdotes about high officials and well-known personages made her mother uncomfortable. Julia had grown accustomed to his crass innuendoes and acid humor, but in her mother’s presence, his words embarrassed her. She had also become acutely aware of her mother’s subtle reactions to Calabah’s openly possessive and affectionate manner. Julia had begun to wonder if Calabah was behaving so deliberately and had given her a pleading look. She had been surprised at the venomous anger sparkling in those dark eyes.
On the second visit, Calabah made no effort to be discreet or polite. As Julia’s mother was ushered into the triclinium, Calabah rose, tipped Julia’s chin up, and kissed her full and passionately on the mouth. Straightening, she gave a taunting, contemptuous smile to Julia’s mother and retired without excuse. Julia had never seen her mother look so pale or repulsed, and Julia found herself mortified by Calabah’s behavior. The scene had caused the first rupture in Julia’s infatuation with her mentor.
“You deliberately shocked her! You were rude!” she said later in their upstairs apartment.
“Why should I concern myself with the feelings of a traditionalist?”
“She’s my mother!”
Calabah arched her brow at Julia’s imperious tone. “I don’t care who she is.”
Julia stared into the cold blackness of Calabah’s eyes, fathomless as a dark, bottomless pit. “Do you care at all about me and my feelings in the matter?”
“You ask foolish questions and make unwarranted demands. I will not suffer her presence in order to please you. You are indulged by me enough as it is.”
“Indulged? Is it indulgence to show common courtesy to the only relative I have who speaks to me?”
“Who are you to question me? You were nothing but a foolish, naive child when I met you in Rome. You didn’t even know your potential. I guided you and taught you. I opened your eyes to the pleasures of this world and you’ve been drunk with them ever since. It is I who deserve your loyalty, not some woman who by accident of biology gave birth to you!” Calabah glared at her with chilling intensity. “Who is this mother? How important is she when measured against me? She is a narrow-minded, backward-thinking fool who has never approved of the love we have for one another. She looks upon me as a foul, anomalous creature who
has corrupted her daughter. She suffers me in order to see you. I tell you, she pollutes the air I breathe just as your little Christian slave did. I despise her and all those like her, and you should as well. They should be made to bow down before me.”
Julia shuddered now as she remembered Calabah’s face, grotesque with hatred and rage. Calabah had quickly regained her composure, but Julia was left shaken, wondering if the smooth, smiling face was but a mask to Calabah’s true nature.
As the chair was lowered, Julia drew the curtain aside and looked up at the marble wall and stairway. She had not come back to this villa since her father had died. A wave of longing swept over her at the thought of him, and she blinked back tears. “I need help,” she said hoarsely and held out her hand. Without expression, Jannes assisted her from the chair.
She looked up at the marble steps, feeling weary. She stood for a long moment, gathering her strength and then began the climb to her mother’s villa. When she reached the top, she dabbed the perspiration from her face before she pulled the cord. “You may go back and wait with the others,” she told Jannes and was relieved when he left her. She didn’t want a slave present should she be humiliated and turned away by her own family.
Iulius opened the door, his homely face taking on an expression of surprise. “Lady Julia, your mother was not expecting you.”
Julia lifted her chin. “Does a daughter need an appointment to see her mother?” she said and stepped past him into the cool antechamber.
“No, my lady, of course not. But your mother is not here.”
Julia turned and looked at him. “Where is she?” she said, disappointment tingeing her voice with impatience.
“She’s taking clothing to several widows who have come to her attention.”
“Widows?”
“Yes, my lady. Their husbands worked for your father and brother. Lady Phoebe has taken it upon herself to provide for them.”
“Let their children provide for them!”
“Two have children too young to work. Another’s son is with the Roman army in Gaul. And the others—”
Calabah gave a heavy sigh and rose. “I grow weary of this conversation.”
“Where are you going?” Julia said in dismay.
Sighing, Calabah gave her a long-suffering look. “To the baths. I told Sapphira I would see her this evening.”
Julia grew even more distressed at the mention of the young woman. Sapphira was young and beautiful and came from a well-known Roman family. Upon their first meeting, Calabah had said she found her “promising.”
“I don’t feel up to going anywhere, Calabah.”
Calabah’s brow arched again. “I didn’t ask you.”
Julia stared at her. “Have you no consideration of my feelings?”
“I have considered your feelings. I knew you’d say no and saw no reason to include you. You’ve never liked Sapphira, have you?”
“But you do,” Julia said in accusation.
“Yes,” Calabah said with a cool smile, her answer a twisting knife thrust. “I like Sapphira very much. You must understand, my dear. She’s fresh, innocent, full of a world of possibilities.”
“The way you said I was once,” Julia said bitterly.
Calabah’s smile grew mocking. “You knew what you embraced, Julia. I have not changed.”
Julia’s eyes shone with angry tears. “If I have changed, it is because I wanted to please you.”
Calabah laughed softly. “Ah, Julia, beloved. There is but one rule in this world. Please yourself.” Calabah’s cold gaze moved over Julia’s face and down her slender body. “You mean as much to me now as you ever did.”
Julia took little comfort in those words. Calabah tilted her head slightly and assessed her with dark, unblinking eyes, daring her to respond. Julia remained silent, knowing the challenge had to go unanswered. Sometimes she felt Calabah was simply waiting for her to do or say something that would give her the excuse to desert her completely.
“You do look pale, my dear,” Calabah said with damning insouciance. “Rest this evening. Perhaps you will feel better about everything tomorrow.” She walked gracefully from the room, pausing briefly to lightly brush her fingertips against Eudemas’ cheek and say something for the servant’s ears only.
Helpless to stop her from leaving, Julia clenched her hands. She had thought she could trust Calabah with her heart. Now she was filled with fury.
All her life she had suffered at the hands of men. First, her father had structured and controlled her life, dictating her every move up until he married her off to Claudius, a Roman intellectual who owned land in Capua. Claudius had bored her to distraction with his intellectual pursuits into the religions of the Empire, and she had been thankfully saved from a life of drudgery with him by his accidental death.
She had been madly in love with her second husband, Caius, sure this was the union that would bring her all she had hoped for: pleasure, freedom, adoration. Then she found him worse by far than Claudius could ever have been. Caius opened the purses of her estate, spending thousands of her sesterces on races and on other women while venting his ill luck and dark moods on her. Julia had stood the abuse for as long as she could. Finally, with Calabah’s guidance, she had made sure Caius would never hurt her again. She recalled with a shiver his slow death, a result of the poison she had slipped into his food and drink.
Then there was Atretes . . . her one great passion! She had given her heart to him, making herself totally vulnerable, asking only that he not ask her to give up her freedom. And he had deserted her because she turned from his marriage proposal and married Primus to ensure her financial independence. Atretes had refused to understand why it had been necessary to do so. The pain of their last, angry encounter stabbed through her momentarily, and she gave an angry shake of her head. Atretes had been nothing more than a slave taken in the Germanic revolt, a gladiator. Who was he to dictate to her? Did he think she would marry him and relinquish all her rights to an uneducated barbarian? Marriage by usus to Primus had been the more intelligent course open to her—it gave her the freedom of being a married woman but none of the risk, for Primus would have no claim on her finances or estate—but Atretes had been too uncivilized to understand.
Even Marcus, her beloved, adored brother, had betrayed her in the end, cursing her at the games because she saved him from making a fool of himself over a slave girl. The pain of his defection had been the greatest blow of all. His words, filled with disgust and anger, still rang in her ears. She could still see the cold fury on his face as he had turned from her to Calabah.
“You want her, Calabah?”
“I’ve always wanted her.”
“You can have her.”
He had refused since then to speak with her or see her.
Father, husbands, and brother had failed her. So she had given herself into Calabah’s keeping, trusting her absolutely. After all, wasn’t it Calabah who swore undying love for her? Wasn’t it she who had pointed out and finally opened her eyes to the frailties and infidelities of men? Wasn’t it Calabah who had nurtured, spoiled, and guided her?
And now Julia had found that Calabah was no more to be trusted than the others, and her betrayal was deepest and most astonishing.
She was pulled from her thoughts when Primus poured more wine into his goblet and raised it to her. “Perhaps now you have a better understanding of how I felt when Prometheus’ affections turned to another,” he said wryly, reminding her of his handsome catamite, who had run away. “Don’t you remember? He was enraptured with Hadassah’s every word, and she finally stole his heart from me.”
Julia’s eyes glittered. “Calabah is free to do as she likes,” she said, pretending indifference though her tone was brittle. “Just as I am.” She wanted to hurt him for reminding her of Hadassah. The slave’s name alone, like a curse, always roused an incomprehensible loneliness and fear in Julia. “Besides, Primus, Calabah’s affections can’t be compared to those of Prometheus. He didn’t come to you of his own accord, did he? You had to buy him from one of those foul booths beneath the arena stands.” Seeing her words had struck their mark, she smiled and shrugged. “I’ve nothing to worry about. Sapphira is little more than a temporary diversion. Calabah will tire of her soon enough.”
“As she’s already tired of you?”
Julia raised her head sharply and saw his eyes shine with malicious triumph. Fury rose in her, but she pressed it down, speaking quietly. “You dare a great deal, considering your own precarious position in my household.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father is dead. My brother has relinquished all rights over me and my possessions. I have no further need of you as a husband, do I? What is mine is mine with—” she smiled coldly—“or without you.”
His eyes flickered as he understood her threat, and his demeanor changed as swiftly as a chameleon changes colors. “You ever misunderstand me, Julia. Your feelings are uppermost in my every thought. I only meant that if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it is I. I empathize, my dear. Haven’t I suffered myself? Who was it who comforted you after Atretes deserted you? I did. Who was it who warned you that your slave was stealing your brother’s affections and poisoning his mind against you as she did with Prometheus?”
Julia turned her face away, not wanting to think about the past, loathing him for reminding her of it.
“I care about you,” Primus said. “I am the only true friend you have.”
Friend, she thought bitterly. The only reason Primus remained was because she paid for the villa, the clothes and jewels he wore, the lavish, rich food he loved, and the pleasures of the flesh he embraced. He had no money of his own. What little money he did make came from patrons afraid he would turn his acerbic wit on them and expose their secrets. However, that means of support had proven more and more dangerous of late, his enemies increasing. He now relied heavily on her financial s
Or had.
Now, no one cared any more what she did with her money. Or her life.
Primus came to her and took her hand, his own cold. “You must believe me, Julia.”
She looked into his eyes and saw his fear. She knew he feigned concern merely to protect himself, but she was desperate for someone to care about her. “I do believe you, Primus,” she said. She wanted someone to care.
“Then go to the haruspex and find out what causes these fevers and bouts of weakness.”
And thus, Julia found herself here in this dark, torchlit sanctuary, witnessing a grim ritual. Having studied the texts and tablets, the haruspex slit the throat of the small thrashing goat. Turning her face away as its terrified bleating gurgled into silence, Julia swayed and struggled not to faint. With another expert stroke, the priest laid open the animal’s belly and removed the liver. Servants removed the carcass as the priest reverently placed the bloody organ on a golden platter. He probed at it with his fat fingers, studying it, certain that the answers to whatever disease had befallen Julia would be found on its slick, black surface.
The priest gave his opinion and sent her away with little understanding of what ailed her. His veiled sentences hinted at myriad possibilities, and he made few suggestions. For all the good her visit had done, he might as well have said, “The gods refused to speak” and dismissed her. As she looked around, she saw others, more important, who were waiting—government officials concerned about possible outbreaks of disease or coming disasters. And she understood. What did the fate of one sick, frightened, and lonely young woman matter to anyone? What mattered were the gold coins she had given for the goat.
“Perhaps a votive offering would help,” a novice priest said as she was led away.
To which god? she wondered in despair. How would she know which deity among the pantheon would intercede on her behalf? And to whom would that god appeal? And if she had offended one god among them all, how would she know which one to appease with an offering? And what offering would suffice?
Her head ached with the endless possibilities.
“All will be well, my lady,” Eudemas said, and her comfort grated on Julia’s already raw nerves. Julia was well aware Eudemas’ sympathy lacked sincerity. The slave pretended to care because her survival depended on the goodwill of her mistress. Julia had Prometheus to thank for the way the slaves treated her. Before he had run away, he had told every servant that she had sent Hadassah to the arena.
Tears smarted Julia’s eyes as she looked away from the girl. She should have sold all of her household slaves and bought others fresh off ships from the farthest reaches of the Empire. Foolishly, she had chosen to sell only a few, never considering that those new to the household would soon hear what happened to those before. Within a few days of their arrival, Julia felt their fear like a palpable force around her. No one ever looked her in the eye. They bowed and scraped and obeyed her every command, and she hated them.
Sometimes, against her will, she remembered what it was like to be served out of love. She remembered the sense of security she had felt in trusting another human being completely, knowing that person was devoted to her even when faced with death. At such times her loneliness was greatest, her despair the most debilitating.
Calabah said fear was a healthy thing for a slave to feel toward her mistress. “One who is wise in the ways of the world should learn to cultivate fear. Nothing else gives you more power and advantage over others. Only when you have power are you truly free.”
Julia knew she held the power of life and death over others, but it no longer gave her advantage or security. Hadn’t she hated her father when he controlled her life? Hadn’t she hated Claudius, and then Caius, for the same reason? And even when she had fallen in love with Atretes, she had feared his hold over her.
Power was not the answer.
Over the past six months, Julia had begun to wonder whether life had any meaning at all. She had money and position. She answered to no one. Calabah had shown her every pleasure the Empire had to offer, and she had embraced them all wantonly. Yet, still, something within her cried out, and the abysmal emptiness remained, unfulfilled. She was so hungry, hungry for something she couldn’t even define.
And now she was sick, and no one cared. No one loved her enough to care.
She was alone.
This wretched lingering illness only made matters worse, for it made her vulnerable. When the fevers were upon her, she was forced to rely on others: Like Calabah, whose lust for life was turning to others. Like Primus, who had never cared about her in the first place. Like Eudemas and all the others who served out of fear.
Julia walked out of the temple. She craved the warmth of sunlight. Jannes, a well-proportioned slave from Macedonia who had taken Primus’ fancy, assisted her onto the sedan chair. After sending Eudemas to the market to buy a vial of sleeping potion, she gave Jannes instructions on how to reach her mother’s villa. He and the three others lifted her and carried her through the crowded streets.
Weary from the ordeal in the temple, Julia closed her eyes. The sway of the chair made her dizzy, and perspiration broke out on her forehead. Her hands trembled. She clenched them in her lap, struggling to squelch the rising sickness. Glancing out once, she saw they were carrying her up Kuretes Street. She was not far from her mother’s villa, and hope made her bite her lip. Surely her own mother would not refuse to see her.
Only twice in the last months had her mother come to her own villa. The first time, conversation had been strained and stilted. Primus’ anecdotes about high officials and well-known personages made her mother uncomfortable. Julia had grown accustomed to his crass innuendoes and acid humor, but in her mother’s presence, his words embarrassed her. She had also become acutely aware of her mother’s subtle reactions to Calabah’s openly possessive and affectionate manner. Julia had begun to wonder if Calabah was behaving so deliberately and had given her a pleading look. She had been surprised at the venomous anger sparkling in those dark eyes.
On the second visit, Calabah made no effort to be discreet or polite. As Julia’s mother was ushered into the triclinium, Calabah rose, tipped Julia’s chin up, and kissed her full and passionately on the mouth. Straightening, she gave a taunting, contemptuous smile to Julia’s mother and retired without excuse. Julia had never seen her mother look so pale or repulsed, and Julia found herself mortified by Calabah’s behavior. The scene had caused the first rupture in Julia’s infatuation with her mentor.
“You deliberately shocked her! You were rude!” she said later in their upstairs apartment.
“Why should I concern myself with the feelings of a traditionalist?”
“She’s my mother!”
Calabah arched her brow at Julia’s imperious tone. “I don’t care who she is.”
Julia stared into the cold blackness of Calabah’s eyes, fathomless as a dark, bottomless pit. “Do you care at all about me and my feelings in the matter?”
“You ask foolish questions and make unwarranted demands. I will not suffer her presence in order to please you. You are indulged by me enough as it is.”
“Indulged? Is it indulgence to show common courtesy to the only relative I have who speaks to me?”
“Who are you to question me? You were nothing but a foolish, naive child when I met you in Rome. You didn’t even know your potential. I guided you and taught you. I opened your eyes to the pleasures of this world and you’ve been drunk with them ever since. It is I who deserve your loyalty, not some woman who by accident of biology gave birth to you!” Calabah glared at her with chilling intensity. “Who is this mother? How important is she when measured against me? She is a narrow-minded, backward-thinking fool who has never approved of the love we have for one another. She looks upon me as a foul, anomalous creature who
Julia shuddered now as she remembered Calabah’s face, grotesque with hatred and rage. Calabah had quickly regained her composure, but Julia was left shaken, wondering if the smooth, smiling face was but a mask to Calabah’s true nature.
As the chair was lowered, Julia drew the curtain aside and looked up at the marble wall and stairway. She had not come back to this villa since her father had died. A wave of longing swept over her at the thought of him, and she blinked back tears. “I need help,” she said hoarsely and held out her hand. Without expression, Jannes assisted her from the chair.
She looked up at the marble steps, feeling weary. She stood for a long moment, gathering her strength and then began the climb to her mother’s villa. When she reached the top, she dabbed the perspiration from her face before she pulled the cord. “You may go back and wait with the others,” she told Jannes and was relieved when he left her. She didn’t want a slave present should she be humiliated and turned away by her own family.
Iulius opened the door, his homely face taking on an expression of surprise. “Lady Julia, your mother was not expecting you.”
Julia lifted her chin. “Does a daughter need an appointment to see her mother?” she said and stepped past him into the cool antechamber.
“No, my lady, of course not. But your mother is not here.”
Julia turned and looked at him. “Where is she?” she said, disappointment tingeing her voice with impatience.
“She’s taking clothing to several widows who have come to her attention.”
“Widows?”
“Yes, my lady. Their husbands worked for your father and brother. Lady Phoebe has taken it upon herself to provide for them.”
“Let their children provide for them!”
“Two have children too young to work. Another’s son is with the Roman army in Gaul. And the others—”