his mind and the noise of the crowd diminished. He had wished to be the young legionary officer’s friend, a true friend, and had given freely of his devotion and his patronage. And what had he received in return? Rejection. Did Verrens truly believe the slight could be ignored? He wasn’t even as pretty as the other boys, the charioteers and the lithesome young palace servants who squealed so delightfully and were so… flexible. Did this part-man think a common soldier was too good for an Emperor? Did the hero believe he, Nero, could not match his bravery? He felt Poppaea squirm and knew he’d hurt her, but his grip on her arm didn’t loosen. Well, in time, the hero would discover the folly of his ways. In time.
But, for the moment, Torquatus believed he could be useful in the matter of the letter.
V
‘Is there any improvement?’
Julia, the russet-haired Celtic slave who was Olivia’s closest companion, shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
He read something in her voice. ‘You do not approve?’
‘I approve of anything that makes her well again, but these people
… they are so different. We should trust in our own gods.’
That word trust again. Valerius wanted to believe, but everything he saw with his own eyes made him doubt. They had given Olivia the Judaean’s potion an hour earlier, but so far there had been no effect. A thought sent a shudder through him. Perhaps the gods were punishing him for his lack of piety and he was the reason Olivia lay there helpless, a pale shadow of the cheerful young woman she had been a few months ago. But if he believed that he would go mad. ‘We must do everything we can, whatever it costs.’
She nodded, and as she left she allowed her hand to touch his. He knew it was an invitation, but that had been a long time ago, and his life had enough complications. He slept for a while on a couch beside his sister’s bed until some inner sense detected movement. Olivia’s eyes opened and she looked up at him. This time recognition was instant and he saw the wonder in her face. But it wasn’t only at his presence.
‘I feel strange.’ Her voice was hoarse from lack of use and he quickly fetched a cup of water from the jug in the corner of the room. He felt a moment of panic. Strange? Had the Judaean poisoned her? When he placed the cup to her lips he was surprised when she raised her head to meet it, something she hadn’t been able to do for a week.
She surprised him again by gently raising her arm, wondering at her own ability to achieve the simple task. And again, by smiling at him. The old Olivia.
‘Is Father here?’ she asked. ‘I thought I heard the sound of his voice.’
He shook his head. ‘He is busy with the estate. They’re getting ready for harvest.’
‘I wish I could help with the harvest the way I once did,’ she said, the simple statement breaking his heart.
‘You will be able to soon. When you are properly well.’
‘I feel well now,’ she insisted, and attempted to raise herself to a sitting position.
He pushed her gently back. ‘One thing at a time, baby sister.’ Olivia smiled at the old endearment. ‘First we have to build you up. You need to eat.’ She looked at him as if food was an entirely new notion. He backed off. ‘All right. A little broth then?’
‘No. Please. It’s just…’ She shook her head. ‘It seems such a long time since I ate proper food. I’m ravenous.’
He called for Julia, who burst into tears when she saw Olivia awake.
Valerius watched his sister eat — a little boiled chicken breast with a ripe peach from the garden — and studied her. The change astonished him. A few hours earlier she had been an invalid; now, she looked almost capable of dancing. His joy was tempered by Joshua’s warning: the effects will not be permanent. Even so, this was hope and hope was something he hadn’t felt for many weeks.
When she had eaten, she insisted Valerius help her sit up. ‘I will have a conversation like a human being,’ she said. ‘I have had enough of being a corpse.’ She studied him as he had been studying her. ‘You are unhappy, Valerius. I can see it in your eyes.’
He shrugged with a little half-smile, but couldn’t find the words to tell her what he felt.
‘Me?’ she said, reading his mind. ‘You must not mind, Brother. I know I am dying.’ He opened his mouth to protest, but she put a finger to his lips. ‘No, do not deny it. Even though you have worked this magic today, I still feel myself fading. But do not be sad. I suffer no pain, only weakness. The gods are calling me, and when the time comes I will go willingly. All I ask is that you remember me at the lemuria. I would like to see Father again, but… I understand. But it is not just your little sister. I have seen it since you came back from Britain.’ She stroked his wooden hand. ‘Something changed you there, and not just this.’
They had never talked of it before, but a hollow feeling inside told him this might be his last opportunity. ‘I met a girl, but she is
… gone. I made a new life as a soldier and I miss it.’
‘Then be a soldier again. You are still young. Still strong.’ She picked up his left hand and ran her finger over the calluses he’d earned from the long hours of training with the gladius. ‘You were a good soldier?’
‘Yes, I was a good soldier.’
‘Then they will find a place for you.’
‘There is Father. He wants to see me in the Senate.’
She laughed, and it was like the tinkle of a delicate silver bell. ‘You will never be a politician, Valerius. The first time some greasy aedile seeking promotion tries to bribe you, you will throw him in the Tiber.’ Her face became serious again. ‘You cannot live your life for Father. You must find your own way.’
She lay back and he placed his hand on hers. He remembered her as she had been on the day she turned down their father’s marriage candidate, her eyes flashing with fire and filling the air with scorn. No wonder the old man was afraid to see her.
‘Tell me about Britain,’ she said. The request prompted a moment’s hesitation. He had never revealed the truth about his experiences in Britain, not even to Fabia. But, like the good sister she was, Olivia eased the path for him. ‘But only speak of the happy times.’
So he told her about the fine land, the forests and the meadows with their endless unnameable shades of green, the bounteous hunting and the pride of the legions; about his beautiful Maeve and her unscrupulous father Lucullus, and Falco and the defenders of the Temple of Claudius, and of Cearan and the fearsome Iceni warriors he had led.
‘He sounds very handsome,’ she said. ‘For a barbarian.’
‘He was. And a good man.’
‘If you serve in the legions once more, where would it be? Britain again?’
He shook his head. ‘Britain has too many memories for me, so not there, at least for now. There is always trouble on the Rhenus frontier and a good officer would be welcomed, even with one arm. Or up beyond Illyricum fighting the barbarians on the Danuvius. But the most likely place would be Armenia, in the east, where General Corbulo is campaigning against the Parthians.’
‘So Armenia it is, my hero brother. Tomorrow you must petition Nero for a position on General Corbulo’s staff and’ — her voice took on a fair imitation of their father’s pompous tones — ‘do not return unless you add new laurels to the name of the Valerii.’
He would have replied, but she lay back and closed her eyes. Within a minute she was in a deep sleep. He arranged her as comfortably as he could and kissed her gently on the forehead. Her skin felt fever hot against his lips.
On the way to his room he met Julia in the corridor.
‘Is she…’
‘She’s asleep, but I think the medicine is wearing off.’
Tears welled up in the slave girl’s eyes. ‘Please ask the barbarian doctor to help my mistress. If…’
He touched her arm. ‘You can ask him yourself. He has promised to visit, but don’t call him a barbarian. He might turn us all into frogs.’ The old joke made her smile. ‘And Julia?’
