A Noble Captive Page 11

  ‘Your father has already had my answer.’ Helena’s headdress quivered. ‘Why should it change now?’

  ‘You have spent several days with the scum. Surely you must see how untrustworthy and prone to lying they are,’ Kimon replied. ‘I beg you, Helena, for the sake of the temple—reconsider.’

  ‘The Romans have behaved honourably.’

  ‘Romans and honour do not go together, Helena. You know that.’

  ‘I have given my word as a Roman and an officer,’ Tullio said between gritted teeth. He had to keep control of his temper. He was tempted to ask what right a thief and murderer had to judge honour, but refrained.

  ‘Who exactly are you?’ There was a curl to the pirate’s lip. ‘I have known many Romans and few keep their word unless paid sufficiently.’

  ‘Marcus Livius Tullio.’

  ‘I have heard of the family.’ The pirate gave a loud grunt. ‘My father gets paid one way or the other.’

  ‘What precisely do you mean, Kimon? You arrive at the temple, speaking in riddles.’ Helena had crossed her arms and her tapping foot made a noisy tattoo. ‘If you have some proof that the tribute will not be paid, out with it.’

  The courtyard crackled with tension. The pirate’s eyes grew crafty. He tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘No proof, just a feeling in my gut. The same sickening feeling I get every time I see a Roman. The same feeling every decent person should have.’

  ‘Unless you have proof, our business has concluded, Kimon, son of Androceles.’ Helena drew herself to her full height. ‘Next time I will take it ill if you attempt to tell me how the temple should conduct its business.’

  The pirate’s eyes hardened. He looked ready to strike Helena. Tullio’s muscles tensed. Powerful man or not, if he took one step towards Helena, raised his hand, Tullio would act. He would not have a woman abused in front of him.

  ‘As you wish, Helena.’ The pirate clicked his heels together. ‘You cannot say you were not warned. When you have trouble, you have only yourself to blame. And my father sends his regards. I, too, wait for the sibyl’s prophecy.’

  He strode off, stopping only to crush a fragile flower deliberately between his fingers. Tullio watched Helena. She kept her figure rigid until the pirate disappeared out of sight. Then and only then did she drop to her knees and gather the crushed flower petals together.

  ‘The sibyl’s favourite—a bee orchid,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘We get only one bloom a year from this plant and he destroys it. Typical.’

  Tullio walked over and placed his hand on her arm. Her warm skin radiated heat throughout his body. He wanted to draw her to him and tell her that it would be all right, but until he had weapons and more men he could make no assurances beyond mere words.

  ‘Would you trust such a man to protect Niobe?’

  Helena stared at the shredded bits of the purple petal. She longed to agree with Tullio, to tell him everything she thought about Kimon, but she had already revealed too much. To speak against one of the seafarers would send her down a road she was not ready to take. ‘Crushing an orchid does not make anyone evil, Tullio.’

  ‘That is not what I asked.’

  ‘Kimon, son of Androceles, has been a good friend to the temple. He has brought in more goods than most of the recent seafarers.’ Helena stared at the wall. Prejudice blinded both men. Without inconvertible proof, she refused to act. ‘The rings he wears are a gift from his father to commemorate the amount of grain he brought last year.’

  The line between Tullio’s brows increased. He tilted his head to one side. ‘From his father?’

  ‘Kimon worships his father. Did you not notice they even sport the same tattoo? The emblem of Alexander? Kimon is Androceles’s heir apparent.’ Helena’s words came out in a rush.

  ‘Do you know how Androceles came by the rings? I thought I recognised them from somewhere. They are of Roman design.’

  ‘I have no idea. Androceles has many contacts in Rome. Is it important?’ Helena took a closer look at him. His face had become shadowed. She reached out a hand and risked touching his shoulder. No response. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘It may be nothing.’ He moved away from her hand and bowed stiffly. ‘I have tarried here too long. I need to get back to my men.’

  ‘Tullio, I—’ Helena stopped and forced the words back down her throat. She had nearly given into impulse and confided her fears about the cave, and the task she had before her. But not when he was like this. This was one journey she had to make herself. She knew she was ready for it. She had seen Aunt Flavia prepare herself often enough. But why did she wish she had confided in Tullio when she had had the chance? Especially now, after the encounter with Kimon.

  ‘Is something the matter, Helena?’ he asked, but his face was unyielding, the face of a Roman tribune.

  ‘No, I was pleased we didn’t have any more guests. May the goddess go with you, Tullio.’

  She straightened her shoulders. She was the sibyl’s assistant, the one who would take over. She knew what had to be done. She was no clinging vine. She would stand on her own two feet. Face Kybele and survive. She would save the temple on her own.

  Helena stood and watched him until he turned the corner. She shivered despite the heat and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. One of the purple petals drifted out of her fingers and landed on the stone, reminding her of her task. She had delayed long enough.

  She took an involuntary step towards Tullio’s retreating figure and forced herself to stop. She could not ask him for help. She swallowed hard and turned her footsteps towards the beginning stage in her plan—the ritual cleansing.

  Tullio rejoined his men in a sombre mood. The dark circles under Helena’s eyes and the slight trembling of her rose-coloured lips haunted him. It had taken all of his hard-won self-control not to demand she tell him what it was that truly bothered her. Androceles’s son had unsettled her. More so than when they were on the turret.

  Patience. Easy to preach, but difficult to exercise. He had to wait and let her turn to him. If he pushed too hard, he risked losing any foothold that Rome might have gained. He had to earn her trust. He had to show he was different from the pirates and that the pirates had resumed their raids. He had to have that final bit of proof.

  ‘And—?’ Quintus jerked his head towards the direction of the town.

  ‘The ship only carried plunder. Grain.’

  ‘The bastards,’ Quintus replied.

  There was no need to say anything more. Silently, Tullio regarded the men. They were engaged in a mock battle with bits of wood.

  ‘You approve, Livius Tullio?’ Quintus gestured towards the men. ‘Not exactly legion wooden swords and wicker shields, but they will do.’

  ‘I gave the order that the men were supposed to go back to barracks. Not engage in behaviour that might be threatening. Helena has indicated the temple is not a drill hall.’

  ‘It is only a bit of fun. Something to keep their spirits up.’ Quintus wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘’Sides, if there were t’have been more soldiers, I wanted to give them hope, so to speak.’

  ‘Your hope would have caused the pirates to station men here. Did you think about that?’ Tullio glared at the centurion, who glanced away. Tullio rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He was being too hard on the man. ‘How did you get the sticks?’

  ‘There was some wood left over from the repair job we did on the warehouse, and I asked Galla, who agreed.’

  Tullio noticed there was a slight hesitation in the way the hardened soldier had said ‘Galla’ and there was a faint rosy hue to his cheeks. Had Cupid’s arrow found the centurion?

  A richly spiced aroma wafted into the yard, and the men hastily dropped their weapons. Galla entered, carrying a tray of honey cakes. Quintus hurried over and relieved her of the burden. Both sets of cheeks flamed to the same hue.

  ‘Galla has brought us some refreshments, lads,’ Quintus called, his mouth full of the sma
ll cakes, ‘in thanks for the reconstruction job we did on the goat sheds.’

  ‘It appears you have worked out a system of payment.’ Tullio walked over and casually took one of the cakes. Honey and cinnamon teased his senses. A most welcome change from barley soup.

  ‘An army needs to eat as well. It would be folly to refuse such a gift.’ Quintus sheltered his mouth behind his hand. ‘Your idea about sweet talking worked. We have been trading bread recipes. All those years as the cohort’s baker, who’d have thought it? My tongue may not be smooth, but I can get things done.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ There appeared to be a distinct change in Quintus. Tullio hoped it was due to genuine feelings for the maid, rather than a desire to use her.

  ‘The sibyl is most grateful that you and your men have contributed to the well being of the temple.’ Galla came over to stand next to Quintus, her face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘It is our pleasure, I assure you.’ Tullio sketched a bow. The maid’s reaction was balm after his encounter with the pirate. It was proof his idea was working. Given time, he would be able to convince the temple to side with Rome. He had to believe that. ‘These cakes, then, are from the sibyl, and not Helena.’

  ‘The cakes are from me to thank these men.’ The maid adjusted her shawl more firmly about her head. ‘It is not something I wanted to trouble the sibyl with, or Helena for that matter. I am the mistress of my own kitchen.’

  ‘My mistake. I merely wanted to express my appreciation for such a gift.’

  The woman harrumphed at the flattery, but Tullio noticed her cheeks were an even brighter hue, and she had a distinct twinkle in her. She rearranged her shawl, and her face sobered.

  ‘There is another reason I am here,’ she said ‘The sibyl has requested an interview with you.’

  Tullio felt his second honey cake begin to slip from his hand. Perhaps Helena was correct and the sibyl would recover. Where would it leave him? ‘When?’

  ‘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 th
ey 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.