A Noble Captive (11 page)

‘As soon as you can spare the time. She has much that she wants to discuss with you.’

A thousand questions buzzed through Tullio’s brain, but he was careful not let his face show anything beyond courtesy.

‘My time is at the sibyl’s disposal.’

Helena contemplated the range of herbs laid out on the bed before her. She pushed away the fears that were more suited
to a child, not a grown woman who had seen more than twenty summers. She had watched her aunt complete the cleansing ritual many times. She felt she could do this blindfolded.

The cleansing part had been easy. She had oiled her body with olive oil from the first pressing, and then had carefully scraped it with a new
strigil
. She had finally rinsed her body in the sacred spring that bubbled up beneath the sibyl’s chambers.

With each step, she became more certain that this was the way to proceed. When she was with Tullio, she had suffered doubts, but now, having cleansed her body, and donned the snow-white robes, she knew that she was doing the correct thing. It was the only thing. And, more importantly, she was equal to the task that lay ahead of her.

She would take the herbs, but she would not take a bird for companionship, Helena decided, mixing the powder with a bit of wine. The collecting of the dove would only bring her intended journey to everyone’s notice. And then she’d have to explain about the sibyl’s incapacity.

Helena fastened the gold-lion brooches on her shoulders and tied the gold belt about her hips.

She was ready.

Kybele would speak to her. Kybele would understand that her actions were to protect the temple.

The goddess
had
to speak to her.

Helena slipped her feet into the sandals and started off towards the grotto. Now was the time, while everyone would be breaking bread for supper and Galla was otherwise occupied. She had no doubt that Galla would argue that she should wait.

The combination of Androceles, Kimon and the Lady Zenobia required a robust response. Each day she delayed, the power of the temple ebbed away. If Aunt Flavia was well,
she would have braved Kybele’s lair before now. She never hesitated where that was concerned.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see the reassuring bulk of Tullio. Nothing, not even the shadow of the temple’s cat. She shook her head. After she finished with the cave, then she’d decide what to do about Tullio. She had to concentrate.

Her footsteps rang out as she crossed the empty temple courtyard, towards the smaller, more private sanctuary of the sibyl. Solitary and alone.

Beside a small stone altar, she stopped and said a prayer that her mission might be successful, that Kybele would understand.

Her hand hovered by a pile of unlit torches. Her aunt always used one, but Helena knew the torches would be counted. If she failed, and Kybele did not speak to her, she wanted to leave no trace. Helena swallowed hard. Her hand trembled.

If she failed…

It was unthinkable. She had to succeed.

At the concealed entrance to the grotto, Helena paused one final time. Her mind went blank. What were the final rituals? Did her aunt do anything, say anything that she had forgotten? Anything important?

The frigid air from the cave contrasted sharply with the hot sun that was beating down on her back. The cold prickle of sweat moulded her gown to her back.

Helena tightened her belt about her hips and tried not think about Tullio and the way his arms had held her. She had felt a sort of peace there, something she had not thought to ever feel. She pressed her lips together. How could she be thinking of Tullio at a time like this? Her mind should be full of pure thoughts. What happened on the parapet would never happen again. She was different from her mother.

She bent down and undid her sandals. She carefully placed them on the small altar as she had seen her aunt do.

She muttered one last prayer to Kybele as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom and started off down the track.

‘Kybele, I have come in peace and harmony to speak with you.’

‘At last we meet, Sibyl,’ Tullio said, striding towards the fragile figure in the centre of the elaborate bed.

The room smelt strongly of incense intermingled with cinnamon and myrrh and brought Tullio back to his youth with a jolt. It reminded him of other sanctuaries that he had visited. Same smell, same hushed atmosphere, same authority.

He peered more closely at the grey-haired figure and could see the resemblance to her niece.

‘Indeed, Roman.’ She held out a hand. Her voice had the same bell-like quality of Helena’s, but he could also hear the note of a person used to command.

‘I must thank you for the temple’s generous hospitality.’ Tullio shifted on his feet. He wondered if the sibyl knew of Helena’s confession to him.

‘The goddess moves in mysterious ways, Roman.’ Her deep green eyes seemed to pierce into his soul. She nodded briefly as if what she found there satisfied her. Then she looked tired, as if she knew her time was ending. ‘It would not have been my choice.’

‘Rome is grateful, none the less. Rome always prefers the hand of friendship.’

‘Rome’s friendship is tied to Rome’s interests.’

‘Isn’t everyone’s? Would the pirates—I’m sorry—the seafaring houses be as friendly if you did not provide them with a safe haven?’ He waited to see her reaction.

The sibyl gave a hearty laugh, the laugh of a woman used to power. ‘You are clever, Roman. I like a forthright man. Kybele has chosen well.’

‘What do you mean? My coming here has nothing to do with the goddess.’ Tullio bit back the words condemning religious practices as mere shams for the priests. He needed this woman and her power.

‘Nothing escapes the goddess. She has brought you here for a purpose. What purpose, I do not know yet.’

‘My sole purpose and concern is to get my men back to Roman territory.’ As Tullio spoke the words, he knew them to be false. His purpose had altered. He wanted to save Helena and her people from the ferocity of the pirates. He had no doubt they would turn on the island once they realised how ill the sibyl was. After seeing her, and considering his earlier encounter with Androceles’s son, he could understand why Helena had taken such a risk.

‘You do know and your heart understands, even if your mind will not recognise it yet.’ The elderly woman’s lips curved upwards in the merest hint of a smile.

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ The incense was beginning to work on his brain. He forced himself to focus. This woman might be holy, but he refused to allow the combination of smoke and ritual to befuddle him.

‘May you find what you seek, Roman.’

The sibyl’s eyes fluttered closed, her breathing became regular and her hand relaxed on the coverlet.

The interview was over.

Outside the room, he breathed deeply, cleansing his mind of the woolly feeling. He gave a wry smile. Even the most straightforward interview with a sibyl was cloaked in riddles. He should have learnt that by now.

He would have to dissect her meaning, and most times he knew there were only words and no meaning. It was what the listener heard that was important. Words only had power if you let them.

As he came around the corner, he collided with a small body. Tullio reached down and set Niobe back on her feet. ‘I should look where I am going.’

The mute girl flashed a smile. Then her small hand tugged at his tunic, indicating he should go with her in the opposite direction to where he was quartered.

‘But I need to return to my comrades, dinner is about to served. My stomach is rumbling. Tomorrow, tomorrow I will go with you. We can pick flowers. My mother taught me how to make a crown.’ Tullio mimed picking flowers and twisting them into a garland. ‘Shall I make one for you?’

Niobe shook her head, stamped her dusty foot in frustration and tried again. This time, she pulled his hand.

Tullio crouched down. ‘Is something wrong? Something I can help with?’

The girl nodded vigorously.

‘Is it one of your geese?’

A quick shake of the head. Tullio ran his hand through his hair and wished Helena were there. She always seemed to understand what Niobe wanted.

‘Has something happened to my men?’

The girl tilted her head to one side. She shrugged.

‘Are the pirates, Androceles’s men, massing to attack the temple?’

Niobe’s eyes grew big and she shook her head. Tears of frustration appeared in the corners of her eyes.

‘Who then? What has happened?’ But as the words fell from his lips, Tullio knew who. He knew who would cause
Niobe concern. Something had happened to Helena. His heart skipped a beat.

He forced his voice to remain calm. His hands gripped Niobe’s shoulders. ‘Is it Helena? You must tell me quickly.’

The girl nodded and looked distressed. Her face became white. She mimed walking with her hand and then falling.

What had Helena done?

Tullio offered a prayer up to Jupiter or any god that might be listening that he was not too late. That somehow Niobe had got it wrong and Helena was fine.

‘Shall we go there now?’

But as he followed Niobe through the labyrinth of passageways, he started to fear the worst. He urged her to walk faster, even though she was practically at a run.

Niobe paused at a half-concealed entrance to a cave. From the symbols outside the cave and the small stone altar with a simple offering of broken bread and incense, everything proclaimed it was a sacred spot. Tullio hesitated. His mother’s superstitions returned. He had no wish to despoil a holy place. The vengeance of the gods could be swift.

The entrance gaped black.

‘Are you certain that Helena is there? That she is in trouble?’

Niobe began to pull him towards the cave’s mouth.

‘But there are no guards, no one to help her.’ Tullio bent down, retrieved an oil lamp, lit it and then peered in the dark empty space.

The moment he stepped in to the cave, he detected a strong, unpleasant odour of sulphur and something else to make his knees feel weak. He could remember tales of miners who delved deep in the ground and who were overcome by the demons of the mine.

Was something similar happening here? Exactly how did
the sibyl communicate with Kybele? What was down in that hidden cave, deep in the bowels of the earth?

‘Helena!’

The echo returned his voice to him, a hundred times over. How large, how deep was this cave?

He waited, but there was no answering sound. Only silence and a distant dripping of water. His heart constricted. Where was she? He willed her to appear, but nothing. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Niobe’s face crumple. She sank to her knees, her face pleading with him.

‘I will find her. She is bound to be communicating with the goddess. Safe.’ He hoped his words were true.

Covering his face with a corner of his tunic, Tullio took another step forward. Nothing. The cave was deserted. Whoever had been here had left a long time ago. He turned to go.

A pale form made him stop. At the far side of the cave, a white-robed body lay in a crumpled heap.

A
black swirling mist enveloped Helena, holding her in its grip, preventing her from moving.

She knew she should go. The goddess had not spoken to her, ignoring all the entreaties. But her feet were heavy as if they had turned to lead. She tried lifting one foot, but it stayed stubbornly attached to the cave floor.

The icy mist pressed closer.

Helena knelt and began to crawl towards the entrance. One knee, then the other. A piece of sharp rock cut into her palm. She stopped and brought her hand to her mouth, licking away the faint trace of blood.

No blood. Never leave any blood. That was the first lesson her aunt taught her. She should stand up, but that took too much effort.

The mouth of the cave with its shimmering light was further away than ever. It swayed and changed. Helena wiped a hand across her forehead and felt the sticky sweat.

The black mist curled around her ankles, cold and damp. She attempted to move her right leg, then her left. Each time, it seemed to take more effort and the light never got any closer.

The black mist covered the entrance, plunging everything into darkness.

A thousand voices screamed, reverberating, echoing in her mind until she knew her own voice was being torn from her.

At the sound, the mist came down more firmly, pressing on her chest, sucking her breath from her lungs, pushing her to the ground.

Air.

She had to get more air. Her lungs burned with the need.

Helena concentrated on inhaling. Each time she tried, the mist pressed more heavily against her, squeezing the last drop of breath out of her.

The ground that had felt so sharp before became soft like feathers. She’d lie down for a little while, then, when she had the strength, she’d try again.

Her final thought was that she had failed, she was unworthy. Her pride had led her to this and Kybele punished pride. No one knew she was there, no one would help here.

Still the mist pressed on her, seeping into her very core, making her lungs feel as if they were on fire.

Unable to fight back any longer, she allowed her body to succumb.

A voice penetrated the darkness, calling her name.

Tullio?

Not here. He couldn’t be.

It was forbidden. She had to warn him to keep away. He must not be here.

She opened her eyes, and forced a breath through her lips. She tried to lift her head and answer, but no sound emerged. It took too much effort to keep her eyes open.

The mist pressed heavy once more. She wanted to close them and to sleep for ever.

Please.

Then suddenly she was floating, moving, and her head no longer rested against the cold hard stone. She could feel instead the unyielding softness of muscle, the rough rasp of wool, the steady heartbeat.

Tullio?

It had to be him. She knew it was him.

Tullio had found her? But how?

She wanted to ask, but her mind refused to supply the words. Did it matter? He was here and the black mist was receding.

She drew a deep breath, expecting the burning sensation to come back—but nothing.

Her lungs began to fill with clean air. One breath. Two.

She gagged and was set down. Without the arms about her, she felt cold, a cold that seeped to her bones. She wanted to stand but her limbs refused to obey her. The horror from the cave returned. She lashed out with her hands, pushing it away.

A cup was pressed to her lips.

‘Drink this,’ Tullio’s voice commanded.

She opened her mouth. Several drops of fresh water trickled down the back of her throat. Bliss. She tilted her head back and allowed the cool liquid to run down her throat, cleansing her, making her stronger.

She blinked and his face swam in front of her. A sigh escaped from her mouth.

Tullio said something. Not to her. To someone else.

Helena shook her head to clear the ringing noise from her ears. She tried to rise. This time, she made it to her knees.

His arms went round her again and lifted her up. She turned her head and listened to the reassuring steady thump of his heart.

Her mind seemed to drift and then she felt herself fall. The arms were abruptly withdrawn. Helena shivered and tried to
turn again towards the security and the warmth of his body. His heartbeat resounded in her ears.

Had it been a dream?

She had gone to the cave. She knew that much. The mortar and pestle she used to pound the herbs lay by her side.

She rubbed her eyes and saw Tullio standing at the foot of her bed, a crease between his eyebrows. It was all too easy to remember how his arms felt.

A dream, surely.

Her mind swam as the questions buzzed about her head. She raised herself on her elbows, then tried to sit up, but had to collapse back down as the room tilted. She saw the swift look of concern on his face as he started forward, grabbed her elbows and pushed her back against the pillows.

She wanted to lay her head on his chest. His scent filled her nostrils. Warm, spicy, as if he had eaten honey cakes. She reached out her hand.

What if someone saw her like this? She’d have to explain, and then…

She glanced over and saw the door was firmly shut. At least she was shielded from any passer-by’s gaze. Her hand fell back and knocked the statuette of Kybele that stood on her bedside table crashing to the floor.

Tullio bent down and righted it, placed it back so Kybele’s all-knowing eyes stared directly at her.

Helena turned her head away.

‘You are awake. I will leave. They will be releasing the lions soon.’ Tullio’s voice was low and pleasant. Her fingers reached out and touched his warmth. ‘Sleep. Your strength will come back.’

How long had he been here, watching her?

She remembered nothing beyond the suffocating pitch
blackness of the cave. She was sure she had been there, and had tried to face the goddess. There had been nothing in reply, nothing but blackness. Blackness pushing at her.

The vague memory of being carried stirred.

‘Stay with me,’ she croaked between parched lips, and longed for water. Her mouth felt stuffed with old rags. ‘I need…honey water.’

‘I won’t leave you, if you need me.’ He smiled. Then he reached over, poured her a cup of water and held it out to her.

As she took the cup, their fingers touched, and a searing bolt of heat went up her arm. She nearly dropped the cup in surprise, but recovered enough to take a few sips of honey water. Each sip brought more and more strength. She found it impossible to remember when she had been as thirsty. She held out the cup and he refilled it.

When she had drained it for a third time, he took the cup from her and set it down on the small bedside table, next to Kybele. ‘It is here if you need more.’

Helena watched his chest rise and fall. He had rescued her, but she had no idea how he had found her.

How could he have discovered the cave? Kybele’s sacred place? So well hidden she had not known it was there until her tenth birthday. It was sacrilege for any but the anointed ones to go there. Whoever did faced a certain death, but he had lived. Without him, she would have died. She passed a hand over her eyes. The trembling in her limbs started again and she swallowed hard.

‘How did you know I was in danger?’

‘Niobe saw you go into the cave, and came to fetch me. I discovered you lying on the cave’s floor.’

‘Where is Niobe?’ Helena looked wildly about her, but the room was empty save for Tullio. She started to sit up, the linen
coverlet slipping down to reveal her under-tunic and nothing else. With a wild grab, she clutched it to her shoulders. ‘Did anyone see you…carry me?’

‘Niobe returned to her geese. She waited until you were back here, then honked loudly. We encountered no one on the way back to your room. Niobe knows all the hidden passages in this temple.’

Tullio leant forward and his hand firmly pushed her back down on to the mattress. His face was so close she could see the faint bristles on his chin, and the different flecks of colour in his eyes. How many colours did his eyes have? He had impossibly long lashes for a man.

‘You must rest. Lie back. The air was bad in that cave. It will have sapped your strength.’

‘What do you mean?’ Helena propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him in disbelief. Her head felt stuffed with unpicked wool. Tullio seemed to know so much about the dangers of the cave and she, who had lived in the temple all her life, so little. ‘The air there is the same as anywhere.’

‘It smelt strongly of rotten eggs. I found it difficult to breathe.’ Tullio’s face grew grave. ‘This is why you collapsed. If you had remained there much longer, you would not have recovered. My uncle owned mines, and had to be careful. He had no wish to lose slaves unnecessarily. When was the last time the cave was used?’

‘When I found Aunt Flavia.’

‘It could explain why your aunt suffered as well.’

Helena wanted to believe Tullio’s words. Was it a case of bad air? She too had heard of problems in mines. She bit her lip and straightened her shoulders, ignored the weakness in her arms.

She knew the truth.

It had nothing to do with the air in the cave and everything to do with Kybele’s favour. She and Aunt Flavia—maybe the whole island—had done something to displease the goddess. This was the goddess’s revenge. Her way of telling the whole world she needed a new anointed one. Humiliation washed over Helena. She had thought she was the goddess’s chosen one, but she wasn’t. The goddess had no use for her.

She reached out and turned the statue face down again. This time when Tullio reached out to right it, she placed her hand on his wrist. His hand gave hers a brief squeeze, but he left the statuette where it lay.

‘Kybele protects her own.’ Helena fought to keep her voice steady. ‘I did everything right. I took the herbs. I washed in the sacred spring. I should have been safe. It was Kybele’s choice. It had nothing to do with air—bad or otherwise. If Kybele had desired it, I would have emerged unscathed as I have seen my aunt do countless times.’

The unspoken words hung about them. Helena regarded the frieze of grapes that ran around the top of the ceiling.

If he said the words, it would make it easier to hate him. To forget in her despair she had called out for him. Called out for a Roman and not for Kybele. And he came, her unruly mind whispered. He saved her from the fate Kybele decreed. She owed him a life-debt.

‘I have seen people suffer from underground sickness before. I know what it looks like.’ His voice cut through her as if it were a ritual knife with the sharpest edge. ‘It is not a question of the gods’ favour, but of being sensible, of not taking risks, of not staying where the air is bad. Truly, Helena.’

He reached out and touched her lips with a gentle finger. The tingles from that one touch infused her whole body with warmth. She wanted to believe his words. Like his touch, they
filled her with a warmth. Maybe it wasn’t a judgement. Maybe it was something else.

‘Was there nothing the sibyl does that you didn’t do?’ he asked. ‘Is it possible you forgot some small detail?’

‘She brings a bird, a dove, but I did not want to call attention to myself. The birds tend to let out a loud cry and all would have come running.’ Helena tapped a finger against her mouth. She tried to keep relief from flooding. Was there a possibility that she had not displeased the goddess? That she had not preformed the ritual correctly and so the goddess never came to protect her? ‘And the sibyl always takes a lit torch, but I did not see the need. I see well in the dark.’

A shiver ran through her as she recalled the absolute blackness of the cave. She had wanted a light, but it was too late, and the air had begun to move with a rustle of a thousand wings. Then the black mist descended, choking her. The thoughts sucked out the relief she felt and left in its place a great emptiness, a well that needed to be filled. Tullio’s fingers tightened around her hand.

She withdrew it and he let her go.

‘You think there was a reason for such things?’ Helena tilted her head. She had thought them theatrical trappings for her aunt. ‘A true believer who is pure of heart should have nothing to fear from the goddess.’

‘In my experience, there is always a practical reason for such things, although sometimes it is lost in the mists of time.’ A dimple showed in his cheek when he said the words. ‘It sounds to me as if the air is bad in that cave and your aunt quite sensibly took precautions.’

‘But she is known for the accuracy of her prophecies. The goddess should protect her.’

‘A good priest or priestess uses everything at his or her
disposal. Not to do so is to refuse a gift of the gods. The rituals are there for a purpose.’

Helena shifted uncomfortably. Was that what she done? Refused Kybele’s gift? Had she been too proud, as Zenobia accused her of being? All she knew was that the thought of the cave now terrified her. She had to get her mind away from there. Something, anything that was not about the cave.

‘You seem very knowledgeable about the religious craft and practice.’

‘As I said before, my mother visited practically every priest, soothsayer and charlatan in Italy, searching for a cure for my sister’s speechlessness.’ Tullio ruffled his hair. He gave a wry smile that made Helena’s heart turn over. ‘She dragged me along until I was old enough to protest. In the end, my sister spoke when she thought my mother was in danger of falling. She made her own miracle.’

‘People expect bells and incense. It is faith that counts. Surely it was your mother and sister’s belief that caused the miracle.’

His face loomed close to hers. The bristles from his shaved-this-morning chin were clearly visible. She ran her tongue over her lips and tried to concentrate on his words, not on the feelings building up inside, clamouring to be heard. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.

‘Torches and birds are more than smoke and mirrors, Helena.’

‘I…I knew what I was doing.’ She twisted the edge of the blanket around her fingers. ‘Maybe I took a risk but it was for the good of the temple.’