Authors: Carla Capshaw
The litter slowed, then stopped. As the transport was lowered to the ground, Tibi sat up and pushed back the curtain to peer outside. “We’re here…almost. I told you there’s a short walk. Are you up to it?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bait me, woman?”
“Me?”
she asked as wide-eyed and innocent as a child. “Never.”
He reached for her, but she grabbed her cloak and scrambled outside, laughing. “Be good. I don’t want you to pull out your stitches.”
Her playful mood was infectious. He climbed out of the litter. A verdant landscape surrounded them. The six men who’d carried the vehicle were all of different heights. Little wonder their ride had been rough.
“The day is perfect,” Tibi said, looking upward. “Have you ever seen such a clear blue sky?”
“It’s beautiful,” he agreed, without taking his gaze off her face. “I’ve never seen a lovelier sight.”
Her mouth twisted and her eyebrow arched. “Are you mocking me, gladiator?”
“Who,
me?
Never.”
She picked up a satchel stuffed with furs and settled the strap on her shoulder. “The other basket over there has our meal. Can you carry it? Or do you need my help?”
Hearing the mischievous taunt in her voice, he determined that even if the woven leather basket weighed a thousand talents he’d somehow pick it up and carry it a dozen miles. He reached for the handles and lifted the basket. Fortunately for his jostled ribs, it weighed about as much as a pillow.
“Where are we off to?” he asked.
“This way. Be sure to watch your step.”
They left the hired men with the litter and started down an overgrown trail that sloped to the Tiber and followed the water’s edge. The brackish smell of the gently flowing river competed with the sweet fragrance of wild honeysuckle and bushes of wild roses.
Lichen-covered bricks, once arranged with aesthetics in mind, lay cracked or at odd, uneven angles. By design, poplar, olive and cypress trees lined the meandering path. Weathered stone benches, placed at equal distances apart, invited visitors to sit and admire the play of sunlight on the crumbling marble statues of gods, goddess, flute-playing satyrs and magnificent horses.
“Where are we?” Alexius asked. “I’ve been all over Rome and never imagined a place like this existed.”
“It’s otherworldly, is it not?”
Tibi joined hands with him as if she did so every day. He accepted his good fortune without comment and entwined his fingers with hers.
“This is what’s left of one of Emperor Claudius’s private imperial gardens,” she said.
“Claudius? It must be over thirty years old then.”
“At least,” she agreed. “The imperial palaces and gardens line both sides of the river, but somehow this small strip of land was forgotten or overlooked. If we continue in this direction, we’ll eventually run into the guarded wall that marks Emperor Domitian’s land. The opposite way leads to the palace of his niece, Julia.”
“You must come here often.”
She nodded. “This garden has been my haven for much of my life. Our family home has access to the river. On sunny days, my mother used to bring my sister and me here by boat when we were children. We played for hours. We’d make flower chains, climb trees or play games of hide-and-seek. Sometimes we pretended the statues came to life. My sister was always the princess in danger—”
“What were you?”
She gave him a wry smile. “I was whatever evil creature she was most afraid of at the time. A handsome demigod never failed to come to her rescue and kill me. I became quite deft at dying,” she added with proud lift of her chin.
He laughed. “Weren’t you ever the princess?”
“No, Tiberia is much better suited to the role.”
“And she’s still playing that particular part, isn’t she?” he added in appreciation of her sarcasm.
Her wide brown eyes blinked up at him. He grimaced inwardly, realizing she’d been serious and not sarcastic in the least.
“You don’t like my sister very much, do you?” she asked. “I noticed that the first day when we spoke about her.”
His hand tightened on the basket’s handles. “Truthfully, no. I realize you may see the best in her, but to me she’s spoiled, vain and doesn’t appreciate you nearly as much as she should.”
The easy flow of the river and distant bird calls filled the pause in conversation. “It’s not her fault she’s the way she is. She’s been beautiful and elegant since birth,” Tibi defended. “She is blessed with the talent of knowing what to say and how to behave. No one was surprised when she gained the attentions and affection of a senator. Father picks her to pieces like a hawk picks a mouse, but you’re the first person I’ve ever met who genuinely disapproves of her.”
Thinking of Caros’s rants against the elder sister, he knew better, but kept that information to himself. “My apologies for being the odd man out,” he said in a way that made it clear he was sorry for nothing. “But enough of your sister. She’s of no interest to me. You were telling me about your exploits here in this garden.”
“Oh, yes, where was I?” She led him off the path and into a thicket of tall grass. A half circle of lemon trees shaded the spot that was surrounded by more rosebushes and wild pink cyclamen. An old, broken fountain lay in pieces near a rusted sundial. “Sometimes I come here to read or shoot when I need a private place to practice away from Father.”
She opened the satchel she carried and pulled out a large woven rug that she unfolded and spread on the ground to tamp down the grass. Next came a thick black blanket of sewn-together beaver pelts to cover the rug and create a soft island to sit on.
Alexius sank to his knees on the luxurious fur and placed the basket he’d carried in front of him. Tibi knelt down on the other side of the woven container, undid
the latch and rummaged through the various packs of food stored inside.
“Why don’t you rest while I assemble all this? If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you.”
He did as she suggested, choosing to lie on his uninjured side in a patch of sunshine that filtered through the lemon trees. He bent his elbow and propped his head on his palm. Enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin, he watched her unwrap a bundle of freshly baked rolls that were seeded with rye.
“For a woman as bloodthirsty as you are, you can be surprisingly domestic.”
She grinned but otherwise ignored him as she opened packet after packet of oiled parchment containing fat pork sausages, several kinds of cheese, and foul-smelling pickled cabbage. She wrinkled her nose at the rotten aroma.
“Here,” she said, her face wreathed with disgust. “I’ve heard this is your favorite.”
“You keep it.” He pushed the packet away. “I hate cabbage. Always have.”
She frowned. “Why did you tell Velus otherwise?”
“He was too smug in thinking he knows everything about me. I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind in a few days.”
She sat back on her heels. “That means today you’ve sentenced us to have a vegetable neither one of us likes.”
“So we’ll eat the sausages and cheese.”
“It’s not good to waste food. There are hungry people all over the city.”
“Do they like cabbage? We have plenty to share.”
A roll hit him square in the face. He chuckled and ripped off a piece of the bread to taste. “I didn’t realize
you’re concerned for the poor. Have you visited one of Adiona’s orphanages?”
“I used to visit often until Father learned of my interest and forbid me to go any longer. I ignored him at first, but he found me out. He threatened to report Adiona and Quintus’s religious leanings to the authorities if I didn’t heed his command to stay away.”
Alexius swore under his breath. Exactly what kind of evil beast
was
her father? “Tiberius is against charity?”
“No, not all, but he doesn’t believe it’s appropriate for his daughter to associate with beggars and thieves. Even if they are children.”
“Do you truly believe he’d be wicked enough to report Quintus and Adiona?”
“I don’t know if he’d do as he threatened, but I never cared to put him to the test.” She offered a sly grin. “But all is not lost. My father provides me with a monthly allowance to afford the silks and furs he insists are necessary for me to be adequately dressed as his daughter. If you haven’t noticed, my tastes are less formal. I make certain half of all he gives me goes to the orphans. I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased to know he’s feeding so many of those beggars and thieves, but I’m determined to help one way or the other.”
He shook his head. His large monthly donation to Adiona’s endeavor seemed second rate compared to Tibi’s gift. He gave because Adiona browbeat him into doing so. Tibi gave because she truly sought to help. “Very crafty,
agape mou
. I’m proud of you.”
“You don’t think I’m being deceitful?”
“Perhaps, but for the right reasons. Maybe there will be a day when you can give without all the trickery.”
She reached for a blade of grass and split it in two. “I hope so.”
“There’s no doubt. If nothing else, one day your father will be d—”
“Don’t say it. You speak true, but as long as he lives, I can hope he’ll change.” She bowed her head. He watched her for a moment, giving her time to think. The lemon trees behind her swayed in the breeze. A long tendril of soft blond hair had worked free of her braid and she hooked the silken strand behind her ear. Her inner turmoil was palpable as she reached for a cyclamen bloom and tore the bright pink flower apart.
He wished there was some way for him to ease her melancholy. If she belonged to
him
, he’d never keep her from the path she chose to follow. He wanted to rail against her father, to make her see that she didn’t need the old man or his elusive blessings. But how did he convince her when he didn’t understand the need to make a hateful father proud? His own parents had been kind and compassionate, their love and approval freely given. The thought of one of them being a miser like Tiberius was as foreign to him as some far-off Nubian desert.
She tossed the decimated petals aside and looked up with a cheerful, slightly forced smile. “Enough of my woes. Let’s eat. I know you must be near the grave from hunger.”
She handed him a rye roll stuffed with cheese and sausage before preparing the same for herself. To his disgust and amazement, she pinched some of the cabbage between her finger and thumb, then placed the smelly vegetable on her sausage.
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m sure even the hungry wouldn’t expect you to eat that.”
She sank her teeth into the sausage, cabbage and all. Her tentative chewing turned avid. She reached for more cabbage. “How delicious. Try some.”
“No, thank you. Another few days without food and I might be hungry enough to try that poison, but I doubt it.”
“Come, don’t be afraid. I tried your Greek meal—”
“Because it was delicious. This has nothing to do with fear and all to do with smell.”
“Just a taste.” She pushed the sausage toward him. “If you don’t like it you can spit it out.”
“The stench is blinding.” He leaned forward and took a bite. The acid and crunch of the cabbage mixed surprisingly well with the smoked meat and soft brown bread. “It’s not terrible,” he conceded.
She grinned. “Would you like more?”
“I’ll pass.”
Later, Tibi leaned against one of the lemon trees. No longer hungry and flirting with the idea of sleep, Alexius relaxed on the soft fur with his head on a pillow in her lap. Her fingertips brushed lazily through his hair or drew light patterns over his forehead and closed eyelids.
The leaves rustled above them. The discomfort in his side was a dull throb he managed to ignore for the most part. “When men dream of an idyllic future, this is the kind of day they have in mind.”
“Mmm…even with the pickled cabbage to mar it?”
“Even then.” He grinned and opened one eye to look up at her. She’d tipped her head back against the gnarled tree trunk. An expanse of soft, fair skin tempted him to kiss her slender throat and the soft underside of her chin.
The grasses rustled to the right of him. He rolled
to his feet and reached for the knife on his belt, all his senses on immediate alert. Seeing nothing of concern, he glanced to Tibi. Her eyes flared imperceptibly at something behind him.
“Be at ease, it’s only a rabbit,” she said with distinct dislike. “There’s no one here to disturb us.”
Alexius craned his neck, locating the little gray culprit just as it turned and hopped in the opposite direction. He sheathed his knife. “You don’t like rabbits, Tibi?”
“No, not particularly.”
He sat back down. “They’re delicious in a brown sauce with sautéed onions and pork fat.”
She swiped his shoulder and leaned back against the tree trunk.
“Why don’t you care for them?” he asked, sensing a good story. “Small defenseless creatures seem like something you’d rally to defend.”
“The reason is no fault of theirs and I bear them no ill will, but they bring back bad memories.” She stretched her legs out in front of her and arranged her tunic to deny him even the smallest glimpse at her long, supple limbs. “When my father learned I’d taken up shooting, he took me on a hunt with a group of his friends. I thought I’d finally discovered something to make him spend time with me. When we arrived in the woods, I had second thoughts on killing, but he and his friends taunted me and said they expected no less from a girl. To prove them wrong, I shot the first creature I saw the next morning. It was a small brown rabbit… but it wasn’t a clean wound.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. He could imagine the slow death of the animal and the pig of a
sire too unmerciful to make quick work of the matter for his young daughter.
“I swore I’d never kill again.”
“Have you kept your promise?”
“Yes. Although, it hasn’t escaped me that now I’m training gladiators to dispatch more than rabbits.”
“You might be saving their lives.”
She picked another cyclamen bloom. “Yes, but at the possible expense of another.”
“You don’t have to go back to the field.”
“I know, but now I’m fond of the men. Gaidrēs and Ovid are my best students. They truly seem to enjoy the sport. I can’t bear to think of any of them being harmed when I might be able to teach something to aid them.”