A Noble Captive Page 10

  Tullio’s lips held the tang of the sea breeze.

  Helena was surprised how soft and gentle his lips were and how her body rapidly filled with a warmth. She wanted to be closer to him. Her body pressed forward and her curves moulded to his body. His kiss increased in pressure and she opened her mouth. His tongue touched hers and retreated, then returned to touch again. Helena knew that, without the support of his arms, she’d sink to the floor.

  How long they stood there, limbs and lips entwined, Helena could not say. Everything had ceased to exist except for this man.

  Then it was over. He let go and stepped back. They stood facing each other, chests heaving. Her legs and arms trembled.

  Helena found herself trying to concentrate on something other than his mouth, her aching lips and the feeling inside her that she had not experienced nearly enough. Her forefinger traced the outline of her mouth. His hand caught hers, held it there and then let go.

  ‘You will keep my secret. You will tell no one.’

  He raised an eyebrow then reached out towards her, but she backed away until the stone parapet touched the back of her thighs. ‘If they are your secrets, they are not mine to tell. But if you need help, I and my men are here. We have no wish to see innocents suffer.’

  A shout from the harbour, followed by a loud blast from a horn, brought her back to the present with a jolt. She shielded her eyes with her hands and stared at the purple-sailed ship with its hawk eyes. The mark of Androceles’s house was clear even from this distance.

  ‘I have to go. They will expect to see someone from the temple.’

  ‘The sibyl?’

  ‘No, it is Androceles’s son. The sails of the Androceles’s clan are distinctive. The sibyl only appears for the heads of the houses, the men who have proved their worth.’

  Tullio let her go. The passion in the kiss surprised him. He had expected to offer comfort and found himself desiring more. He should be thanking Jupiter the pirate vessel appeared when it did and reminded him of who he was kissing and what she stood for.

  He watched her rapidly disappearing figure as she descended, and followed her with his eyes as she crossed the courtyard. No doubt soon he’d see the lions emerge pulling the chariot and the whole charade would begin again.

  How many had been captured this time?

  Would she attempt to save them?

  She held the fate of his men in her palm. There was more to her than curves and an attractive smile. He tried and failed to imagine a Roman woman holding the power of life and death like that. Perhaps a Vestal Virgin.

  A shiver passed over him. He knew the penalties for toying with a Vestal Virgin. Did the followers of this sibyl expect the degree of purity?

  Was he guilty of what Quintus had accused him? Of putting his desires before his loyalty to Rome?

  He had meant to comfort her and had ended up plundering her mouth. Tullio raked his hand through his hair and knew that, despite the risk, he would do it again.

  ‘Did you get the stone?’ Quintus asked before Tullio could say a word.

  The men were lounging by a rebuilt wall. Most wore satisfied expressions on their faces. Workmen rather than discontented prisoners or slaves, Tullio thought with approval.

  ‘Something more important has happened. Another pirate ship has arrived.’

  ‘Our tribute?’ one legionary asked in a joyful voice. ‘I didn’t think it would be here before the end of the month. Thank the gods. We will be free men.’

  Tullio held up his hand, silencing the general happy chorus. The men fell silent and then assembled into their formation. Their faces bore expressions of anticipation. Tullio hated he had to destroy that hope.

  ‘Quintus, take the men back to the barracks. Immediately.’

  ‘Is there some reason, Livius Tullio?’

  ‘It is not the tribute ship. It is more than likely full of plunder.’ He watched the men’s faces sober. There was little point in offering soft words of comfort. The memory of the hold was too raw. ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to make certain any Roman being held captive is brought here.’

  ‘How are you going to do that, Tribune? What are our orders?’

  ‘You men must be out of the way if the prisoners are brought here.’ A grim determination filled Tullio. He longed for his sword and a chance to prove himself again in battle. ‘I don’t want any excuse for the pirates to station more guards.’

  ‘What do you plan to do?’ Quintus asked in an undertone.

  ‘Wait,’ Tullio replied. ‘And hope.’

  The late afternoon sun beat against Helena’s back as she hurried across the deserted courtyard where her aunt grew her precious bee orchids. Only one had bloomed this year. Its purple petals danced in the slight breeze.

  Usually Helena’s mood lightened when she saw it, but now her skin crawled from her encounter with Androceles’s son, Kimon.

  When she arrived at the quayside, one of the guards reported a disagreement about how many amphorae the temple was set to receive. A few words with Kimon, and, to her horror, he casually offered to have the man whipped. At her protest, he bowed low, and eyed her lips as if he saw Tullio’s kiss branded there.

  She knew many of the village girls thought Kimon very handsome and admired his strong shoulders and athletic prowess. But Helena always saw the look of disdain he had for women and for the seafarers under his command. Such a difference from Tullio and the way he treated his men. His men followed him out of love rather than fear.

  She knew which sort of man she’d rather choose.

  Choose?

  Helena shook her head. Where were her thoughts leading this afternoon? She was unlike other women. Her destiny was different, no matter how much she might long to be normal and have a husband and children. Her aunt had drilled that into her time and time again until her hand ached from copying the words out. Her first duty was to the temple and the people it served. There was no time left for the ordinary desires and passions of a woman.

  My mother had the time. A little voice nagged at the back of her mind. She had a lover, then she had me and the temple thrived.

  My mother died, brought down by the gods and her conceit.

  Helena curled her fingers around her belt. The tiny emblem of Kybele dug into her palm. It reminded her of the lessons and her duties. With Kimon’s arrival, there was a gathering of Androceles’s clan. How many more triremes were drifting on the tide towards here?

  She had run out of time.

  With each day that passed, the whispering would grow and the temple’s authority would start to ebb away. She had to brave Kybele’s lair today. Her childish fears were unimportant beside the need to safeguard Aunt Flavia.

  It was her only choice.

  Something in the shadows shifted. Helena jumped. A gasp rose in her throat. Within a fraction of heartbeat, she knew without a word or sound, with the barest of outlines who it had to be. A bubble of excitement rose within her despite her resolutions of no more than thirty breaths ago.

  Tullio stepped from the shadows into the light. The golden afternoon sun highlighted the planes of his face. The time he had spent working outside had coated his skin in a deep bronze, which the whiteness of his short tunic only highlighted.

  ‘I disturbed you.’

  ‘Disturbed me? No, no, I was thinking about…other things.’

  Helena thought what a lie that was. Everything about him disturbed her, made her sense, feel alive. It bothered her that, in a few short days, he had succeeded in reconstructing this temple as it was when her mother was alive.

  ‘Tell me your thoughts. A problem shared is a problem halved.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  ‘They would bore you, I’m sure.’ She forced a laugh from her throat. She had to do this alone. She had already confided more than was wise. ‘There are things I have to attend to. The temple is very busy.’

  ‘I wanted to ask…’ He paused. His eyes were unfathomable, the same colour as storm clouds rea
dy to burst. ‘Did the pirates, the seafarers, have any more Roman guests?’

  His mouth curled around the word guest as if it were more unsavoury than infamis or a hundred other insults.

  ‘Does it matter to you? Is it any of your concern?’ Helena lifted an eyebrow. One kiss and he thought he could control her.

  ‘I would like to plead for them to be housed here if at all possible.’ The set of his jaw challenged her. ‘I know what a pirate’s hold is like. If you consider that impertinent, so be it, but I had to try. These are men, not animals.’

  ‘These seafarers did not have the occasion to rescue anyone from the sea.’

  She stared over his shoulder at the fresco of Kybele and her chariot. Thank the goddess, she had not had to make that decision. The risk of the seafarers insisting on guards was too great, but she remembered the dreadful condition of Tullio’s men.

  ‘Why have they landed?’

  ‘They’ve grain destined for Rome’s markets. It will be stored here safe and dry until they find a buyer. It is simple but effective arrangement.’

  ‘How did they obtain that grain? Did they buy at the market in Alexandria?’

  Tullio’s face searched hers. She flinched. She had heard the whispers of how Kimon captured so much grain, the lengths he was prepared to go to.

  ‘It is not my place to ask. We, the temple, and the seafarers have a long-standing agreement. It makes no difference to us where they get the grain.’

  ‘It should.’ A muscle in his cheek jumped. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  ‘The merchants of Rome don’t care. Why should the temple?’ Helena gave a deliberate shrug of her shoulder. The situation was not straightforward. If he wanted to pretend that the Roman merchants who gleefully purchased grain, wine and even slaves from the seafarers were innocent, he could think again. ‘Before you start to criticise this island, Rome should examine its own tablets.’

  She watched Tullio run his hand through his hair. He reached out towards her, but she took a step backwards, knocking the orchid pot slightly.

  ‘Can you tell me if you would have brought the Romans here, if they had been in the hold?’

  ‘Only the sibyl can make that decision.’ She turned her head and watched the drops fall from the fountain into the basin, making little ripples and waves. One tiny choice, like a drop of water, could affect so many different things. When she had put on that mask, she had thought any consequences would be for that day alone. Instead, there had been new expectations, more problems. ‘And I am not her.’

  ‘But you did go down as the sibyl. You’re the acting sibyl.’

  She shook her head, cutting him off. She had to think clearly, difficult when he was so near and she simply wanted to lay her head against the firm wall of his chest and be comforted. She had no desire to dismiss his ideas with a polite laugh. The feelings inside her were too new and raw for that. She wanted him to think well of her. She had to make him understand. As he did, she lived in a well-ordered society, one bound by rules and regulations. She’d not chosen to masquerade as the sibyl on a whim. She had done so out of necessity.

  The temple and the island worked because everyone knew what was expected of them and when to expect it. And she knew as well. Her aunt had drummed everything into her head until it ached. She knew the traditions, from the proper way to light the ritual lamps to the number of pyramid cakes the sibyl had to eat.

  He understood nothing about their way of life.

  ‘Our customs are different from yours. The sibyl only appears when the occasion demands it. Captain Androceles is a chief—a king, if you will—and he had to be accorded a royal welcome. His son is merely a captain.’

  ‘Then it was good fortune a chief captured my men and me.’ The words were lightly said, but Helena could see the deep seriousness in his eyes, and the shadows of what could have been.

  ‘I suppose it was.’ Helena prodded a paving stone with the toe of her sandal.

  The state of his men when they arrived—ill kempt, injured, starved to the point of exhaustion—was clear in her memory. She refused to think about what might have happened, and indeed what must have happened to the others because her aunt insisted on keeping Romans in the holds of ships. When her aunt recovered, Helena would argue hard for guests to be held in the temple.

  ‘Rome’s and my gratitude is great.’

  ‘I did what the ritual required me to do. You left me no choice.’

  He captured her hand. A tremor ran through Helena before common sense reasserted itself and she withdrew her hand.

  ‘We value friendship…wherever it is offered.’ His face held an eager expression.

  Helena examined the point of her sandal, rather than continue to look into his eyes. She knew what his words were. A code. An offer for her to openly condemn the seafarers and align the temple with Rome. That would never happen. It was impossible. The very fact she was even considering it and how best to respond astonished her. He had shown her that Romans were no different from the people who inhabited this island. They were not monsters. They were civilised.

  She might be able to ensure fair treatment of prisoners, but they were at war with Rome. She was not a traitor and she could guess the price Rome would exact for its friendship. But what if the seafarers were plotting to overthrow the temple—what then?

  Helena wished for the simpler days when all she had to worry about was whether or not the incense burners were filled. She did not have the power to make that sort of decision, even if she wanted to. She drew her breath inwards. But he deserved to know the truth. ‘I—’

  ‘Helena, the grain has been unloaded and is ready for inspection.’ Kimon’s high-pitched voice interrupted her and drowned out the reply.

  She had never thought to be grateful to Kimon, but she was.

  Chapter Eight

  Tullio stared at the pirate striding across the courtyard, his dark green cloak billowing in the breeze. His high-laced sandals made a metallic sound. He lifted a hand and pushed his slightly too-long locks back. A shaft of sunlight caught the eagle tattoo and three gold rings with blue stones. The emblem of a lion fighting an eagle was clearly visible on one.

  Blood pounded in Tullio’s ears.

  A coincidence. It had to be.

  There was no guarantee that this was the pirate responsible for his ex-wife’s murder six months ago. But there was the signet ring that she wore, complete with the chip on the eagle’s wing. He had to keep calm, and not let his temper get the better of him. But he knew the ring and on whose hand he had last seen it—the final encounter with Marcia where they had reached a certain peace.

  He had wished her well in her new life. She had laughed, and confided that she enjoyed being the wife of a senator much more than being the wife of an Army officer. Ten days later, he heard of her and her husband’s murder in a pirate raid on the Italian coast, as well as the description of the pirate captain who had carried it out, and who, according to Marcia’s tire-woman, had performed the actual killing.

  After he attended Marcia’s funeral, Tullio vowed to track down the pirate responsible. Now it appeared the gods had delivered the man to him.

  Tullio pressed his lips together. Patience. He had waited this long, and he would have a chance to avenge the deaths. He had a face and a name. He was no longer chasing shadows.

  Half-dazed, he listened to Helena and the pirate discuss the grain storage arrangements. Helena was wrong. The seafarers who used this port did raid Italy. They were not frightened of the sibyl’s curse.

  ‘Zenobia was correct,’ the pirate drawled. ‘You are offering a safe haven to Roman scum. Whatever is this world coming to if the temple can not be trusted?’

  ‘The sibyl has extended us a welcome while we wait for the ransom demanded after an unprovoked attack.’ Tullio moved forward, positioning himself between Helena and the pirate. He held on to his temper by the thinnest of threads.

  The pirate flicked his fingers under his chin and
sent a deliberate stream of spittle, narrowly missing Tullio’s sandal. The insult was unmistakable. Tullio crouched on the balls of his feet. His belt hung with the three bronzes he had won for inter-cohort wrestling. He had even spent a time at Olympus, perfecting his skills. The pirate would not rise, but where to land the first blow?

  The pirate’s eyes gleamed. He made a slight beckoning motion with his hand, a hint of a grin played on his features. Drawing on all his military training, Tullio froze. A faint movement in the shadows caused Tullio to glance to his right. Seven seafarers were in the shadows, bristling with menace. He might reach the pirate captain, but not even a single punch would land.

  Everything he had worked so hard for over the past week would be wasted in a display of temper. Tullio pursed his lips. He would not throw away the gains so easily.

  Tullio drummed his fingers against his thigh and waited. He hated this impotence. It went against his nature. He wanted to strike and strike first, but he had others to think about. His men were more important than the satisfaction of avenging an insult.

  ‘By the shade of my ancestor, Alexander, my father grows soft, allowing Romans to dictate terms.’ The pirate’s eyes narrowed, giving him a hawklike appearance. ‘Helena, you take too many chances. You know the reputation Romans have. You must allow me to station guards here. I insist.’

  ‘The temple has everything under control, I assure you, Kimon.’ Helena inclined her head, half-covering it with her shawl, but Tullio could see the strain about her lips. ‘When we need help, we shall ask for it. In the hour of our dire need, Neptune will answer our call. It has been foretold.’

  ‘They might try to escape.’ The pirate stroked his chin. ‘For your own safety, Helena, I beg you to consider my offer. My men will be only too delighted to serve the temple in this fashion.’

  The pirate wore a smug smile as if the request was a mere formality, and Helena had already agreed. Tullio willed her to pause and to think. Once before she had rebuffed the pirates. She had to do it again. He forced every muscle, every sinew in his body to remain still but ready. If she needed his help, he’d give it.