Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (3 page)

His stomach raged as he smelled the spicy aroma of cooked stews
for sale in the market. His toe throbbed as he hobbled about, his mind
scrambling as to how he could get work and find food.

These thoughts were aborted the minute he turned a corner and
the Coliseum came into view. He sucked in a breath. Words escaped him.
Everything else suddenly seemed dull and muted in comparison to its size and grandeur.
Never in his wildest imagination had he pictured a structure so massive and
magnificent. Its elliptical stone architecture with row after row of
archways—he counted—was four and a half stories high! How was it possible for
man to build something so awe-inspiring? He felt like bowing down and worshiping
it!

He was compelled to go right up to it, touch it. The marble
stones were cool to his roughened fingertips. When he looked up, the height of
it made him dizzy.

A poster with frayed papyrus edges hung nearby. It proclaimed
the on-going games sponsored by Emperor Severus. Painted images of gladiators
in fantastical costumes with names like Urbico and Rapido captivated his
attention. 

One day he would go to the games. This would be the ultimate
distraction from his troubles.

At the moment, though, the most pressing trouble was hunger.

He must find food.

Lucius entered a narrow alleyway and was pulled along by the
throng. Merchants peddled their wares–pottery, blankets, clothing…and food. He
didn’t dare steal his meal; he couldn’t bear the thought of being arrested on
his first day in Rome.

No, he must use his wits.

Presently, he came upon a young girl selling live chickens and
fresh eggs out of the back of a cart, which remained tethered to a donkey. She
had curly black hair that was held off her pale, rounded face with brass clips.
She wore a green sinus over her toga that fell over wide hips. Her fleshy arms
wiggled as she handed change to a customer.

Compared to Helena, she was a barn animal, but Lucius
considered she wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She had pretty eyes.

He was so hungry, he could eat the eggs raw. The girl caught
him eyeing the basket sitting on her small table.

“Would you like to buy some eggs?” she said.

Lucius flashed her a lopsided smile, not letting his eyes leave
hers. He gestured  around him. “What is such a pretty girl doing in an uncomely
alley such as this?”

She giggled. Good. It was working.

“I’m new in town,” he said, moving in a little closer, keeping
his eyes bright. “Can you suggest a good lodging establishment?”

She giggled again. “There are plenty of shops with rooms for
rent on the upper floors.” She told him of one just around the corner.

“Great,” he said. He leaned on the table watching with
satisfaction as a blush overtook the girl’s face. “I’m Lucius. What’s your name?”

The girl couldn’t stop giggling. “Gaia.”

Giggling Gaia. “Such a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m also wondering if you know of anywhere I could find work?
Like I said, I’m new to town.” Lucius rubbed his stomach for effect. “It’s been
a while since my last meal.”

 Gaia’s wide smile fell into a small o.

“Well, you could come home with me and work for my father,” she
told him. “He owns a brick yard. He’s always looking for workers. She glanced
around from side to side, and then moved closer to Lucius, whispering, “I’m
about to pack up.” She slipped him a couple eggs from under her sinus. “Help me
and I’ll introduce you to my father.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Lucius said with a satisfied smile.

After loading up the table and Gaia’s stool, and securing the
chickens and the eggs, Lucius climbed into the cart beside her, keeping an
appropriate distance between them.

Gaia turned out to be very adept at persuading a donkey to do
her bidding. She also turned out to be quite the tour guide, pointing out the Theater
of Pompey, the Bats of Nero, and the extravagant Temple of the Divine Hadrian.
The Forum of Trojan boasted every type of merchant and wares a person could
imagine, but the heart and royal jewel of the city was, of course, the Circus
Maximus. The Coliseum. The way the sun glistened off the marble, the massive
building radiated white as if it was its own light source. Rome’s own personal
sun.

“Where are you from?” Gaia said through her incessant grin.

 “I’ve come from Carthage.”

“Carthage!” she said. “In Africa?”

“The same.”

“That’s so exciting for you.”

Lucius noted that they were leaving the city and wondered how
far out they were headed. “I suppose.”

“I’ve never been out of Rome myself.”

“Maybe someday.”

Gaia’s grin flattened out. “No, I doubt the gods would allow
that.”

Thankfully, Gaia turned off the main road toward a small farm
where her father ran the brickyard. At least it was walking distance to the
city and if he were lucky enough to get work and lodging, he wouldn’t be
trapped there.

Gaia pointed. “There’s my father.”

Lucius squinted into the sunshine making out a husky man with
grey, curly hair and arms like timbers.

Gaia flapped her hand toward him.

“Father!” she said. “I’ve brought a worker!”

Was there really a shortage of laborers in Rome? Lucius
wondered.

The man approached as Lucius and Gaia dismounted the cart.
Lucius reached out his hand. “Hello, sir.”

The man’s eyes scanned him from his head to toe, considering,
and Lucius feared for a moment the man would toss him off his property for
accompanying his daughter unchaperoned.

But Gaia’s father shook Lucius’s hand. “Hermus is my name.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lucius said.

A gaggle of domestic geese squawked in failed attempts at
flying as another figure approached. It was a woman, who from a distance looked
just like Gaia. Her dark, curly hair was streaked with grey, and as she grew
closer, Lucius could see that her hips were much broader.

One thing was for certain, Hermus fed his family well. At that
thought his stomach growled.

“Gaia?” the woman spoke loudly. “Who is this?”

Lucius couldn’t tell by her voice if she was angry or not. Her
dark eyes studied him and then, thankfully, a wide grin took over her face.

“A young man?” She glanced at Gaia with raised eyebrows as if
this was the most surprising thing Gaia had ever done. “And a handsome one,
too.”

Gaia giggled again and Lucius stiffened. He suddenly understood
what was going on. Gaia’s mother was scouting for a husband for her daughter.

Fortunately, Hermus spoke up. “Gaia speaks the truth? You are
willing to work hard?”

“Yes sir.”

Hermus turned to his wife. “Marca, give him something to eat.”

To Lucius he said. “Gaia will bring you to me later this
afternoon. You will sleep in the barn.”

Lucius bowed slightly. Gaia and her mother each took one of his
arms and led him toward the house, both giggling like school girls.

But Lucius couldn’t be bothered by how uncomfortable he was
with that right now. He was about to eat. Perhaps he should thank the gods
after all.

Chapter Six

HELENA

Helena’s world was about to split in two as she walked, as in a
dense fog, from one into the other. Her father’s house was an uproar of
activity—slaves and servants arranging flowers, setting a banquet table,
lighting oil lamps—all a declaration of joy and celebration that she herself
did not feel. Sadness and trepidation tightened steadily around her heart.

Helena was aware that she did not struggle with this dichotomy
alone. Her mother’s eyes were hollow, not filled with laughter, unlike the eyes
of the guests who had already imbibed deeply in the wine.

She was certain her father felt he had done what was best for
her. She understood he was reluctant to see her leave his house, which is why
he allowed the betrothal to last as long as it did. But the marriage could not
be put off forever. Brutus smiled widely for the sake of the wedding guests,
and most importantly, for the groom and his family.

They were a respectable lot, and Vincentius had agreed to his
terms. Their marriage would not be an irrevocable confarreatio contract, nor
would his daughter become the responsibility of the groom, in manu, but as had
become increasingly common, the contract would be sine manu, whereas his
daughter would remain the responsibility of the father, even while married.
Vincentius and Helena would produce heirs for both families and Brutus would be
favored in business by Vincentius’s family in Gaul.

And most importantly, Vincentius would not take her from
Carthage. He had purchased a villa only a few short miles away.

In the light of what could have been, Helena acknowledged that
she had done well. She hoped that she could come to admire certain qualities in
Vincintius that she now quite honestly found repulsive. She prayed to the god
of fertility, Liber, that she would conceive quickly. The thought of Vincintius
touching her later that evening made her ill.

How impertinent the thoughts of one so soon to be married!
Helena chided herself. Soon she would be led to the courtyard and given to her
groom with many guests, friends and family members watching. They would
exchange far, the wedding cake of grain, and their marriage would be sealed.

“Felicity, pour me a cup of water,” she said, “I feel faint.”

Felicity, who had been working on her mistress’s attire and
hair throughout the morning, stopped her activities and did as she was
requested.

“I’m sorry you do not feel well and on such a day as this,” she
said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I am fine. You may go and get yourself ready.”

“You are sure you want to be by yourself? I could call someone
to sit with you.”

“No, don’t do that. I desire this time to be alone.”

“Of course,” Felicity said, and then quietly slipped away.

Helena’s thoughts returned to the approaching ceremony. Who
would be there to witness their coming together, this act of sacrifice, in
which Vincentius was the god, and she the blood offering?

Her father and mother would be present, of course, and her
brothers: Gordian, who had returned from Severus’s service for the occasion,
and Cassius who, she acknowledged, had decidedly changed. He was different
somehow, more peaceable and contented. There was evidence of this in his
demeanor and even his stance and gate.

Tatiana would undoubtedly be present, along with her new
husband and her rounded stomach. She had lost her sparkle and bounce of late,
and her eyes were beginning to remind Helena of Virina’s. Surely this world
that belonged to the wives and mothers of Rome was not so lost, not so
despairing. Gordian had jested when he had heard of Tatiana’s union, that it
would not last five years. In fact, Tatiana was not the first or even the
second wife of her elderly husband. Gordian might indeed be correct in his
prediction.

Lucius would not be present, of course. Had the world been a
fairer place, he would be the one she would be wedded to today. He, though gone
a thousand miles and what felt like a thousand days, was the man who owned her
heart. What a farce this marriage ceremony uniting her to Vincentius was to be.

Felicity returned. “It is time. I am to escort you to your
father’s office.”

“So be it,” she said. She would play the part of delirious
bride, of grateful daughter. She would not disappoint her guests or embarrass
her family. She would be strong with the help of the gods. And although she
knew she could never love Vincentius, she was determined to succeed at the
duties bestowed upon her as his wife and would honor him in public and private.

This much her father had taught her.

***

The villa Vincentius had purchased was situated west of her
father’s house. Not so close that she could walk there, which she often longed
to do, but a pleasant ride by carriage. She found herself lost in it, not due
to its size for it was considerably smaller than what she was used to, but due
to its lack of character and warmth and her failure to perceive it as home.

The courtyard was bright enough, with verdant foliage tamed by
gardeners and marble statues dotting the walkway, though not as trim or
colorful as her father’s. Nor were the paintings on the wall surfaces of
Vincentius’s home as elaborate and vibrant as the ones that covered the walls
of the atrium and tablinum belonging to Brutus.

The house itself and the yards contained therein were adequate,
and Vincentius had proven to be gentle and thoughtful on their wedding night. He
only called for her during the time of the moon that she could possibly
conceive a child, having obtained the information concerning her fertile days
from Felicity. It was a move that mortified her in the beginning, yet still her
stomach remained flat. The gods had not smiled on her, for she had not
conceived, and if only, if only she would, she would be spared the agonizingly
humiliating monthly visits from her husband.

For she knew he loved another.

Had she failed so terribly as a wife that her husband of only a
few months would find his pleasure in someone else? The worst of it was there
was no way in which she could compete, for her rival was a male.

At first she thought nothing of Vincentius’s regular
visitations with Claudius, for her father often conducted business from the
home. But over the course of time, she had not missed the shared grins, the
locking of eyes, and the casual stroking of the arms.

She was too humiliated to ask Felicity about it, for even if
she had remained in the dark about her husband’s private rendezvous, his
household of slaves and servants knew. Yet her curiosity and her dignity
demanded an answer.

“Felicity?” She had called her slave to walk with her around
the gardens. “You must see and hear many things in the house of Vincentius. More
than even the wife of the master would hear and see?”