from underneath Lucius’s arms and straightening her tunic. She swallowed hard, stepping away from him. “You scared us to death.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, still panting.
“Well, what is it?”
“Commodus is dead.”
“What?” Lucias said. “Tell us what you heard!”
“It is reported that he had a sudden stroke.”
The news of their foolish emperor’s death did not bring the joy one would expect, for despite his antics, Commodus was relatively harmless to the average Roman citizen. There had been worse emperors, and quite possibly, “worse” was to come again.
“I must return,” said Helena, knowing her house would be buzzing with the news. “We will meet here tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty
LUCIUS
The men in the shearing pen were pensive when Lucius returned. The news about the emperor weighed heavily on them. Big changes always came when the purple changed hands, and often the changes weren’t good.
His father, Quintus, wrestled down a heavy, fat sheep. It squirmed and baa-ed in protest, its black eyes wide with fear.
“Now, now,” Quintus said, holding tight. “This won’t hurt.”
Lucius grabbed the flailing back legs so his father could gain purchase with the metal shears.
“Where’d you run off to?” Quintus huffed between breaths.
Lucius avoided his father’s eyes. “I was summoned by the master.”
Quintus’s eyebrows shot up.
“Not Brutus,” Lucius clarified.
“Who then?”
Lucius had managed to keep his clandestine meetings with Helena from his family, because he had dictated the times. He and Helena had found a pattern that worked for both of them, and with Felicity’s help they both had been able to keep their secret. Until now.
“The master’s daughter.”
Quintus dropped his shears. The sheep bolted out of their arms and back into the pen, leaving half its coat lying at Quintus’s feet. The other men in the pen laughed, but kept their shears in hand, snipping steadily.
Lucius wiped the sweat from his brow and frowned at his own stench. He smelled like farm animals and manure and sweat. He was embarrassed that he’d been called to Helena with short notice and he’d had no time to wash up at the well.
“Why would the master’s daughter summon you?” his father asked.
Was it his imagination or did the pen grow quieter? Lucius glanced around as the men averted their eyes, but he knew their ears were waiting for his answer.
His sister Teria entered the pen before it could be given. Her twiggy arms wobbled, weighted down by a tray holding a clay pitcher of water and several clay mugs. She’d taken one too many. Her left arm twitched, and Lucius saw the clay jug slip along its sweaty sheen. In his mind, he saw the pottery fall to the ground, clay pieces shattering and water dampening the earth.
He sprang into action, and in an instant Lucius was at Teria’s side, taking the tray from her trembling arms. He set it on the bench.
“Thank you, Lucius,” Teria said, rubbing her arms. “That was close.”
“Next time make two trips. The men can’t lap water off the ground like the sheep can.”
When Teria excused herself to go back to their mother, Lucius spoke quietly to his father. “Can you accompany me to the pasture?”
At the fence line, Quintus examined the sturdiness of the posts while he waited for his son’s words. Lucius pulled on a few as well, ensuring they were still secure and not in need of replacement. The dust under their feet stirred with the wind causing Lucius to cough.
“I’m a busy man,” Quintus said.
“Sorry, Father,” Lucius answered. “In the summer past, I found myself acquainted with the master’s daughter, quite by accident. At the time I thought it was an answer from the gods, an opportunity to learn. Helena agreed to teach me.”
Quintus jerked back sharply. His jaw dropped, but no sound came out.
“She has been my tutor these many months.”
“Why did she suddenly summon you?”
Lucius closed his eyes
“I’m sorry,” she said, still panting.
“Well, what is it?”
“Commodus is dead.”
“What?” Lucias said. “Tell us what you heard!”
“It is reported that he had a sudden stroke.”
The news of their foolish emperor’s death did not bring the joy one would expect, for despite his antics, Commodus was relatively harmless to the average Roman citizen. There had been worse emperors, and quite possibly, “worse” was to come again.
“I must return,” said Helena, knowing her house would be buzzing with the news. “We will meet here tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty
LUCIUS
The men in the shearing pen were pensive when Lucius returned. The news about the emperor weighed heavily on them. Big changes always came when the purple changed hands, and often the changes weren’t good.
His father, Quintus, wrestled down a heavy, fat sheep. It squirmed and baa-ed in protest, its black eyes wide with fear.
“Now, now,” Quintus said, holding tight. “This won’t hurt.”
Lucius grabbed the flailing back legs so his father could gain purchase with the metal shears.
“Where’d you run off to?” Quintus huffed between breaths.
Lucius avoided his father’s eyes. “I was summoned by the master.”
Quintus’s eyebrows shot up.
“Not Brutus,” Lucius clarified.
“Who then?”
Lucius had managed to keep his clandestine meetings with Helena from his family, because he had dictated the times. He and Helena had found a pattern that worked for both of them, and with Felicity’s help they both had been able to keep their secret. Until now.
“The master’s daughter.”
Quintus dropped his shears. The sheep bolted out of their arms and back into the pen, leaving half its coat lying at Quintus’s feet. The other men in the pen laughed, but kept their shears in hand, snipping steadily.
Lucius wiped the sweat from his brow and frowned at his own stench. He smelled like farm animals and manure and sweat. He was embarrassed that he’d been called to Helena with short notice and he’d had no time to wash up at the well.
“Why would the master’s daughter summon you?” his father asked.
Was it his imagination or did the pen grow quieter? Lucius glanced around as the men averted their eyes, but he knew their ears were waiting for his answer.
His sister Teria entered the pen before it could be given. Her twiggy arms wobbled, weighted down by a tray holding a clay pitcher of water and several clay mugs. She’d taken one too many. Her left arm twitched, and Lucius saw the clay jug slip along its sweaty sheen. In his mind, he saw the pottery fall to the ground, clay pieces shattering and water dampening the earth.
He sprang into action, and in an instant Lucius was at Teria’s side, taking the tray from her trembling arms. He set it on the bench.
“Thank you, Lucius,” Teria said, rubbing her arms. “That was close.”
“Next time make two trips. The men can’t lap water off the ground like the sheep can.”
When Teria excused herself to go back to their mother, Lucius spoke quietly to his father. “Can you accompany me to the pasture?”
At the fence line, Quintus examined the sturdiness of the posts while he waited for his son’s words. Lucius pulled on a few as well, ensuring they were still secure and not in need of replacement. The dust under their feet stirred with the wind causing Lucius to cough.
“I’m a busy man,” Quintus said.
“Sorry, Father,” Lucius answered. “In the summer past, I found myself acquainted with the master’s daughter, quite by accident. At the time I thought it was an answer from the gods, an opportunity to learn. Helena agreed to teach me.”
Quintus jerked back sharply. His jaw dropped, but no sound came out.
“She has been my tutor these many months.”
“Why did she suddenly summon you?”
Lucius closed his eyes
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