Read Online Roma Victrix by Russell Whitfield - Free Book Online

could she get Hades from the stable.
    She made her way into an alley between two wine shops and hunched down. Unbidden tears sprung to her eyes and she wept, clutching her arms about herself. How could she have come to this?
    Why was she being punished when all she had done was live in service to the goddess? She sat there for some time, wrapped in her own misery. She would climb to some place up high, she decided, and this time she would not baulk; she would give Athene the ultimate sacrifice, her own life! Suddenly full of purpose, she tried to stand, but the pain from her wounds caused her to sway and stumble.
    â€˜A fine sacrifice,’ she muttered. ‘You cannot even stand on your own two feet.’
    She had never been so low as this, even when she was first at the ludus . But then, there had been someone to succour her in her moment of doubt. ‘Telemachus,’ she murmured. But she could not go to him. Not now. Not like this. She was so ashamed, so full of regret. What would he think of her? He might even turn her away, recognising her as the worthless profligate that she was. She hauled herself straight. If Telemachus refused to help, it would be a clear sign that her life was worth as little as she feared. She resolved that if this turned out to be the case she would hasten her own death by the swiftest means possible: it was better to die than live in ignominy.
    Athene’s sanctuary had grown larger under Telemachus’s auspices.
    What once had been a small haven had now grown to encompass the buildings on either side of it. Lysandra knew that it was a large donation by Lucius Balbus that had sparked the initial expansion and her own stint in the temple at the height of her fame had filled the coffers even more. The height of her fame . She smiled bitterly.
    That had been a long time ago.
    Mustering all the courage she had left, she walked down the steps that lead into the sanctuary. It was cool inside and she was grateful for the sudden relief from the unmerciful sun. The same statue of the Goddess stood at the far end of the temple, but the space inside was much widened. Telemachus had knocked out walls to increase the capacity. It was odd that the place was empty at this hour, but she was grateful for it. She sank onto a bench.
    She glanced around, noting that the paint was peeling from the walls and there was a musty smell that the meagre smoke from the incense burners could not mask. Much like herself, it seemed that Telemachus’s shrine was all but destitute within.
    â€˜Can I help you, lady?’
    She looked up to see her friend emerging from his rooms behind the statue. He had lost much weight, she noticed, and there was more grey in his beard then when she had last seen him. ‘Telemachus,’ she croaked.
    The priest hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, you have the better of me’. He spread his hands, that winning smile appearing on his gaunt face.
    â€˜But I can see that you are in need of… Lysandra? ’
    â€˜Yes. It is I…’ She was about to say more, but no words would come. Then, he was by her side, pulling her to his embrace, holding her close. She felt the warmth of him engulf her, the strength of his arms protecting her from the ills of the world. ‘Oh, Telemachus,’ she whispered. ‘I am a mess.’
    Even though his slave had bathed and clothed her in a clean tunic, Telemachus was saddened by the sight of her. Lysandra’s hands shook and her face was bloated and the once imperious, ice-coloured eyes were dull and glassy. She ate hungrily, like the lowest beggar, her eyes constantly fixing on the wine krater before flicking away again.
    After a time, she seemed to lose her internal battle and reached out to refill her cup, adding less than the proper amount of water.
    â€˜I am sorry to impose on you like this,’ she said.
    â€˜It is no imposition,’ he said. ‘I feel bad that we have not seen each other