John Stack - Ship of Rome

After thirty minutes, Atticus began to question whether his run of good fortune had ended with the discovery of the house. He anxiously watched the door, willing a knock to be heard that would signal her arrival. Doubts began to fill his thoughts. Perhaps the message had been intercepted by one of her brothers who, unknown to Atticus, had returned and was staying in the same house. Or perhaps the servant had simply pocketed the money and the message had never been delivered. The last reason he had thought of, the one he did not want to contemplate, was that Hadria had received the message but did not want to see him.

A loud knock broke his thoughts. The knock was repeated, louder than before. The innkeeper walked across the room to the door, shouting to the person outside to be patient. As before, he opened the hatchway to peer out at the caller. Words were spoken that Atticus could not hear, although he could tell the person on the other side of the door was a man. The innkeeper turned.

‘Is there a Captain Perennis here?’ he called.

Atticus stood up to identify himself, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword.

‘Someone here is looking for you,’ the innkeeper explained, his eyes seeing Atticus’s guarded gesture. His hand stayed firmly on the iron bolt holding the door closed.

Atticus walked to the door and looked out. A soldier was standing there, a house guard who looked alertly up and down the darkened street.

‘I am Captain Perennis,’ Atticus said through the hatchway.

The guard turned back to the hatchway.

‘The mistress of my house requests you accompany me. She has a message for her brother which she wishes you to bear,’ he said, the guarded message revealing nothing of Hadria’s identity to the prying ears of the innkeeper.

‘Open the door,’ Atticus ordered.

‘It’s not safe out there,’ the innkeeper said, ‘and you haven’t paid for your room or the lodging for your horse.’

Atticus reached into his pocket and withdrew a bronze sestertius. The innkeeper bit the coin before putting it in his pocket. Only then did he draw back the bolt.

Atticus stepped out into the street once more, his hand remaining steadily on his sword. The soldier turned and walked up the street, passing the main doorway the servants had indicated earlier. The street was strangely quiet, the only sounds those of muted conversations and laughter behind the burned brick walls of the houses. The guard made a sudden left turn into a narrow alleyway, the path leading along the north wall of the town house. The soldier’s steps took him unerringly to a small wooden door set into the wall. He tapped on the door and it immediately opened, a shadowy figure beyond beckoning them in off the street. The door was immediately closed and barred. Atticus followed the guard across a courtyard bathed in subdued light from second-storey windows. They made their way towards a door, and again the guard had to knock before the sound of a sliding bolt signalled their permission to enter. The opening door threw a long rectangle of light out into the courtyard and Atticus once again experienced the relief of entering a well-lit room.

The guard who had opened the door and the escort left, leaving the young captain alone. Atticus looked around the simple square room, its doorways probably leading to other reception rooms and the atrium, their destinations now hidden from view. A long, low marble bench stood in the middle of the room, minimal furnishing that spoke to the room’s use as a waiting area. Atticus could not sit, and he paced the room for what seemed an eternity. Finally a door opened and a woman entered.

In the weeks they had spent apart since their last encounter, Atticus had formed a picture in his mind of Hadria. A simple, unadorned portrait that spoke to her beauty and poise. It had become his icon, the image he evoked when the end of a day allowed him a moment’s peace. He could see now that even his elaborate imagination did not do justice to the real vision before him. She literally shone with beauty, the soft light of the room behind her infusing her hair and framing her image in the doorway.

‘Hadria,’ Atticus whispered, his voice instinctively lowered in the muted space.

She walked forward at his summons, her movements slow and ethereal, her smile suddenly radiant and infectious.

‘You kept me waiting,’ Atticus said playfully.

‘Your message took me completely by surprise,’ Hadria countered with a smile. ‘First I had to wait until my aunt retired for the evening. Then I had to dismiss all the servants to make sure none would see you enter.’

Atticus smiled at the convoluted arrangements.

‘I almost decided you weren’t worth the trouble,’ Hadria added teasingly.

Atticus smiled but did not reply immediately and a silence began to spin out between them. They both gazed intently at each other, the air around them becoming charged with unspoken emotions before Hadria suddenly rushed the last few yards between them and flung herself into Atticus’s arms. He held her tightly, drinking in the smell of her perfumed body, the feel of her against him. They drew slightly apart and kissed, the intimacy of the moment causing them both to catch their breaths.

As Atticus framed Hadria’s face in his hands, he noticed tears forming in her eyes and he thought his heart would break at the sight.

‘We have so little time,’ she explained before he could speak, ‘only minutes before the guard commander returns to escort you back to the tavern. I told him that you were going to courier a message for me to my brother in Fiumicino.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ Atticus began, ‘I am not expected back at camp until noon tomorrow. There is so much I need to tell you, so much I want to know.’

‘We can’t be together, Atticus,’ Hadria tried to explain, ‘not yet.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of Septimus.’

‘Septimus,’ Atticus spat as he broke away, striding around the marble bench until it separated him from Hadria, ‘I already know what he thinks.’

Hadria’s confused look prompted Atticus to continue.

‘He thinks I’m not good enough for you. That because I’m Greek, I’m beneath you.’

Hadria’s face showed instant shock and she shook her head, her hands outstretched across the bench.

‘No, Atticus, that’s not true.’ She pleaded, ‘Whatever Septimus has told you is only a front. Septimus wants us apart because of Valerius.’

‘Valerius?’

‘Yes, Valerius Cispius Clarus, my first husband.’

‘But why…?’

‘Valerius was Septimus’s best friend,’ she explained. ‘They grew up together and joined the Ninth Legion together. He took Valerius’s death at Agrigentum very hard. I even believe it was one of the reasons why he transferred from the Ninth to the marines.’

Realization began to dawn on Atticus’s face and he walked once more around the bench to be by Hadria’s side.

‘So Septimus is concerned…’ Atticus began.

‘…that history could repeat itself,’ Hadria concluded.

‘So why didn’t Septimus tell me this himself?’

‘Because he’s a proud man, Atticus, and I think he would see his concern as being a weakness.’

Atticus instinctively held out his arms again and Hadria moved into his embrace, her worries momentarily forgotten.

‘I love you, Atticus. I know that now. But I also know the terrible price that would be paid if Septimus found out we were together before I had a chance to somehow allay his fears.’

Atticus smiled at the loyalty underlying Septimus’s concerns.

‘Why are you smiling?’ Hadria asked.

‘He must love you very much,’ Atticus said simply.

‘Yes…he does,’ she said, his understanding touching her deeply.