The Roman’s Revenge

“But what about Magia? I…I can’t leave without Magia,” Livia pleaded, her eyes going to where her tire-woman lay comatose on the other bunk.

She saw him frown, before he looked away from her to where the old woman lay on her bunk bed.

“What ails her?” He demanded, his words clipped, harsh.

“She has been suffering with the sea sickness. She has been so very ill and I have been looking after her. When…when the storm started she fainted and I cannot rouse her.”

The man’s frown deepened, and the nerve twitching along his jaw line pulsed harder as he gritted his jaw, making the scar on his left cheek stand out even more before his eyes once more impaled hers. “I can’t take you both,” he bit out, “I need all my strength to fight the storm.”

“But I can’t leave without her! Please, I beg you. Help her,” Livia pleaded. She couldn’t leave Magia. The poor woman had been petrified from the first moment she had set foot on the trireme, and had been a virtual recluse in their cabin ever since. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had suffered from such terrible sea sickness Livia had spent the whole time on board the ship tending to her. She couldn’t leave her; her conscience just wouldn’t let her.

The man stood staring down at her, before he nodded abruptly, “Come up on deck with me first, and I will return for her,” he said, his voice demanding, as he stared at her with a dark brooding look on his face.

Livia looked up into his harsh face for a long moment. Realising she had to trust him to return for Magia, she nodded in acquiescence and uncurled her body. As she stood up, she placed her left hand on the cabin wall to steady herself. The ship was rolling so much, she was in serious danger of falling flat on her face.

“Give me your hand.”

Livia looked up in surprise, but seeing the closed look on his face she didn’t protest, and she held out her other hand. She was immediately aware of the smallness of her hand being enveloped in his much larger one, felt a jolt of awareness shudder through her when the flesh of her hand met the flesh of his. And even though his hand was as wet as the rest of him, the heat emanating from his skin where it touched hers was enough to make her look up at him in wonder.

He didn’t seem to be affected by her touch, as all she saw on his face was bland indifference. But then all thoughts of his touch disappeared, and her breath escaped on a gasp when he pulled her forward so she came within touching distance of his large body.

“W…what are you doing?” She squeaked, trying to pull her hand out of his firm grip, when she saw he was trying to wrap some rope around her waist with his free hand.

He yanked her hand back, and trapped it in his strong grip, carrying on with his task, his face grim. “I’m tying the rope around your waist so you don’t get washed overboard. Now be still woman.”

His rough command halted her movements, and she watching in stunned fascination as he tied the rope first around her waist, and then around his own, and Livia couldn’t help noticing how the rope cut into the tunic he wore, emphasising once more the sheer strength of his body.

“No matter what happens on deck, stay as close to me as you possibly can.”

Lost for words, all Livia could do was nod her head, but she wasn’t even sure if he had seen her gesture, as he had already turned to walk out of the cabin.

A series of lightning flashes illuminated the lower deck as Livia followed in his wake, before he started to climb the wooden steps leading up to the top deck of the ship. Livia squealed in shock when a deluge of icy cold water crashed down through the open hatch, soaking them both. Shivering with cold, and trepidation, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the right thing. Did she really have a better chance of survival up on the top deck, there at the full mercy of the raging storm? Rather hysterically, she realised, she didn’t have much choice about it as she was irrevocably joined to the man by a thick rope.

As they climbed up the slippery steps, Livia heard the huge timbers of the ship creak all around them as the vessel fought against the forces of nature. The noise was so frightening, it was as if the ship were screaming its own protest about being battered by the storm.

Once she reached the top rung of the ladder, a hand was thrust down towards her. “Take my hand, and don’t let go, or you will be washed overboard.”

She placed her hand in his, the smallness of hers lost once more in the strength of his, as she allowed herself to be pulled up onto the deck of the heaving ship. Once she was standing on the deck she was unprepared for the force of the wind as it tore through the thin silk of her gown, the lashing rain saturating the fabric so it moulded against the slimness of her body, hampering her movements. Icy tentacles of cold speared her, and her teeth started chattering. She turned to where the man stood, his free arm holding onto one of the wooden masts as he used every ounce of his strength to stop them both being swept overboard.

He pulled her roughly into his body, so they stood fused to each other as he used the thickness of the mast as a makeshift shelter. Shock coursed through her as she realised how close they were, breast to breast, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. If it had been any other situation she’d found herself in, she would have been mortified at the intimacy of their embrace.

But this was survival. Pure and simple.

Deep in her heart, even though she didn’t want to acknowledge it, she knew he had lied to her. There was no way he would be able to go back and fetch Magia. The sheer ferocity of the storm would make it a suicide mission, and if she was brutally honest with herself she didn’t want him to release her. She knew her only hope of survival lay with him. Tied to him – literally.

As the howling winds screamed above their heads, the storm raging all around them, Livia burrowed deeper into the solid strength of the man who held her. She had never been so frightened in all her life as wave, after wave, of ice cold water crashed over them time and time again, battering them both with its intensity and ferocity.

“If we get washed overboard, you must kick out as hard as you can. If you don’t, you will drown. Do you understand?”

Livia heard his words shouted above the cacophony of noise which swirled around them, as the storm lifted the huge ship higher into the night sky before a great swell rolled in once again from the dark depths of the ocean.

“Yes!” She shouted, just before another deluge of icy water washed over her, choking her, salty water filling her mouth and nose, threatening to suck the very life out of her lungs.

The crest of the wave passed beneath them, and the massive ship dropped like a stone, and water once again cascaded down the length of the deck. Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, another massive wave tore through the ship, and this time the stranger’s strength wasn’t enough to protect them as they were washed along the length of the ship, powerless and totally at the mercy of the mighty storm.

Livia screamed with terror as they were tossed into the air like leaves blown about by the wind. For a moment she felt free as she flew through the air, but the feeling came to an abrupt end when she fell into the freezing cold sea, salt water once again filling her mouth, rushing down into her already tortured lungs.

She felt herself being pulled up, against the force of the water, and then she remembered she was still tied to the man. The rope tightened as he pulled her towards him, his arm wrapping around her waist as he lifted her above the crashing waves, enabling her to draw in a vital breath of air. For a moment she felt safe in his arms, but it didn’t last long as another wave washed over them.

“Kick!”

The order permeated her frightened subconscious, and she did as he ordered, trying her best to kick as hard as she could, even though the fabric of her silk gown clung to her, hampering the movement of her legs.

She didn’t know how long they stayed in the water, both of them kicking frantically against the massive waves. The blackness of the night overwhelmed her, and she wondered if she would die tonight wrapped in the arms of a total stranger. A man whose name she didn’t even know! And with that thought, she felt the urge to laugh, as a feeling of hysteria consumed her. But when a dark shape shot out of the ocean and hit her, striking her on the temple, she mercifully felt herself slipping into blessed darkness.

It was the groans which woke her. A slow, painful, awakening, she did her utmost to fight, the pounding in her head so severe, she never wanted to open her eyes again. She didn’t want to wake up; didn’t want to face the all-consuming fear she had felt when she had been thrown into the icy waters of the ocean. She wanted to sleep forever, safe in the cocoon of her dreams-

“Shh. Lie still or you will injure yourself.” The whispered words soothed her fear, as they permeated her foggy mind. Comprehension dawned, when she realised the moans she had heard, were in actual fact her own.

She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelashes seemed to be stuck together, and she felt a moments panic at the thought of never being able to see again. Then, as if she had somehow managed to communicate her distress, she felt cool water trickle over her face washing away the salty residue. She flicked out her tongue, eager for the cool water to assuage her dry throat moaning again, this time in relief.

“Quiet now. Can you open your eyes for me?”

She recognised the voice as being the man who’d taken her from the cabin. Opening her eyes she blinked at the brightness which assaulted her pupils. It was several moments before she was able to focus on the shadow of a man next to her. She couldn’t see any of his features as the fierceness of the sun above her cast his profile into shadow. For several seconds she lay there letting her eyes adjust to the brightness, until she was able to make out his features.

He was leaning over her, a frown of concern on his face, and instinctively Livia raised a trembling hand up to his face, tracing a finger across the thin line of his scar. She saw the pupils of his eyes dilate at her feather light caress, saw the grey of his eyes darken at her touch.

“What is your name?” She heard the huskiness in the tone of her voice and swallowed hard, winching at the soreness in her throat. It felt as if she had swallowed a cup of metal shards. Then she saw him frown, obviously taken aback by her question, before he leaned back on his haunches, the movement causing her hand to drop away and fall back down onto the ground.

For several long moments he looked down at her, and Livia wondered whether he was going to ignore her question, but then he replied, “Metellus. My name is Metellus.”

Livia smiled slightly, and closed her eyes once more, turning her head away from the searing brightness of the sun. “Metellus,” she whispered. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

CHAPTER 3

The next time Livia woke, her headache was still there, but not as painful as before.

Again the intensity of the bright sunlight caused her to blink, and for a few minutes she had to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. As she lay there, she could see she was sheltered under the shade of a tree whose leaves danced above her in the slight breeze.

She was content to watch the branches sway high above her head for a moment, sunlight bouncing off the leaves in bright bursts of colour, their movement’s hypnotic. She didn’t know what type of trees they were, as they were nothing like the pruned ornamental ones which grew in the peristylium and atrium of her family home.

Thinking of her life back in Rome caused tears to clog her throat. Not because she missed it, but because she knew without a shadow of doubt that Magia was dead. She swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that fell. She lifted her hand and wiped away the dampness, but the small movement was enough to cause a blinding pain to crash through her head, and she gasped out loud.

For a long moment she closed her eyes once more, and lay still, letting the pain subside, content to listen to the wind blow through the branches of the trees overhead, before she stretched her hand out, encountering the softness of wool under her fingers. The fabric protected her skin from the abrasiveness of the sand beneath, and she felt a warm glow flow through her at the kindness of the person who had taken the time to shield her from the elements.

After a few more moments of rest, she forced her eyes to open once more. This time the pain wasn’t so brutal, and she moved her head, until she was able to look around her.

She was in some sort of makeshift camp, high up on the shoreline, to her right she saw the beginnings of a large forest. Draped over the branches of some of the trees she saw several red woollen cloaks drying in the breeze. She recalled seeing the cloaks being worn by a small unit of soldiers who had boarded the ship the same time as she and Magia had. They, like her, had been on-route to Alexandria. Livia shivered, wondering where the men were, and whether they had survived the storm.

Supressing her dark thoughts, she turned her face to the left and saw three wooden barrels lined up next to each other, acting as a makeshift table on which some wooden utensils had been placed: several bowls, spoons and a comb. Next to the barrels there were two small wooden chests, their lids open but she couldn’t see what was inside them. Her eyes were drawn to several swords propped up against one of the barrels, their metal blades glinting in the sun. Again she recognised the swords as belonging to the soldiers who had been aboard the ship. Their presence reassured her somehow, as they seemed to offer protection against an uncertain future.

Apart from that, there was nothing else, and her gaze shifted beyond the camp, taking in the long sandy beach which seemed to stretch for miles and miles in both directions from where she lay.

In any other situation she would have relished the chance to be on such a beautiful beach, taking in the iridescent blue of the sea and sky around her. But this was different. Could they – she didn’t know how many of course – be the only ones inhabiting this vast expanse of emptiness? If they were, then they would have a difficult time surviving. An uninhabited island meant only one thing – there would be no water.

Metellus! Instantly her brain assimilated the fact that he wasn’t here, and a panic filled her, and heedless of the pain in her head, she shot upwards into a sitting position, fighting back the nausea threatening to engulf her, as her eyes scanned the vast stretches of sand before her.

Where was he? She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, shocked to feel sweat pouring off her brow, and as she moved her fingers trying to sooth the pain in her head she felt a large lump. It was obvious she was still suffering from the effects of whatever had knocked her out, and she should really lie back down and rest, but her mind was racing.

What if Metellus was injured? Dead even. And, ignoring everything her brain was screaming at her to lay still and rest, instead she sat up, forcing herself up on her knees. The world spun for a moment, and she took a deep calming breath before she stood up. Her legs trembled with the exertion, threatening to buckle under her as she took a tentative step forward. But determination, and an inbuilt desire to survive, propelled her forward. She stumbled, and had to reach out a hand to hold onto one of the wooden barrels to prevent herself falling, before she felt stable enough to try again.

She had to find him. She needed to find him, as a feeling of dread came over her at the thought of being the only person alive on the island. Looking down towards the shoreline, at the vast expanse of sandy beach, she could see he hadn’t walked on it as there were no footprints in the sand. That left only one other option – he must have gone into the forest behind her. Turning, she fought the nausea welling up inside her, and walked towards the relative darkness of the forest in front of her.

Metellus paused to wipe the torrent of sweat off his brow, his chest heaving with exertion. For a few moments he stood unmoving, his head bowed, before he lifted up his makeshift wooden spade and continued digging. The “spade” was the same piece of wood which had crashed out of the darkness on the night of the storm, and had knocked Livia out. It was also the same piece of wood which had saved their lives as it had afforded them the much needed buoyancy to stay afloat during the raging storm on that fateful night.

But now, it was being put to a more practical task, helping Metellus dig the holes he needed to bury the dead bodies. Dead bodies, which had been washed up on the shore in ever increasing numbers over the past five days since he had been attending to Livia…

For a moment he hesitated in his digging, leaning his forearms on the plank of wood, as he remembered how close to death she had been. The bump on her head had been the size of a duck egg, and he wondered if she would ever wake up from the unconscious state she had fallen into.

The days had seemed endless as he’d tended to her, wiping away the fever which had consumed her, and when this morning, she had awoken and asked him his name he had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was a turning point he hoped, one which would mean they could leave this part of the island and try to find food and water. As each day passed, their small reserve of fresh water diminished, and now there was only a quarter of a barrel of water left. But at least they had some water, and he had thanked the gods when the one barrel had been washed ashore intact.

Because of Livia’s incapacity, he hadn’t been able to explore any further than the periphery of the forest, as he couldn’t leave her alone just in case she woke up to find him gone. But the time was approaching when they would have to leave, and Metellus had even considered making a wooden sleigh of some sort so he could drag her along.

But, with the gods on his side, he prayed he wouldn’t have to resort to that just yet; the lump on her temple had decreased substantially and he was praying she would soon be well enough to walk. Hopefully, with one more day of rest, they might be able to leave.

A grim look came over his face. Before he could return to Livia, and their makeshift camp, he needed to get this grave dug and bury the two bodies which had been washed ashore that morning. So with a renewed sense of urgency, he carried on digging the grave, and once he had finished burying the men, he offered a prayer to Pluto the god of the underworld, and headed back to the camp.

But his steps faltered when he saw the empty space on the red woollen cloak he’d used as a bed for Livia. Frowning in frustration, he glanced down the wide expanse of beach, but there was no sign of her. That left only the forest, and his fists clenched in anger, when he realised how much danger she had put herself into.

He threw the plank of wood onto the ground with a muttered curse; and with a grim expression on his face he charged into the undergrowth.

Livia realised she had made a monumental mistake going into the forest. For a start she hadn’t a clue where she was going, and secondly, she may well now be lost, although she was sure the beach was behind her - somewhere.

She’d lost track of how long she had been here – perhaps no more than an hour – but it was soon becoming the longest hour of her life. She realised she had no choice but to abandon her search for Metellus and try to find the beach, and their camp. So she stopped walking and turned round to make her way back.

A sudden gust of wind came in off the sea, causing the trees behind her to sway and groan as if in protest. The noise was eerie as it blew through the trees, and Livia shivered in fright, afraid of the forest, and what could be lurking deep within its dark depths. She immediately thought of wolves. Would the island have wolves? Again she shivered, and then, as if she wasn’t already scared enough, a disembodied voice came from behind her causing her to squeal in fright.

“What in the name of Hades do you think you’re doing, woman?”

“Metellus!” Relief flooded through her, and Livia spun around, but not before a sudden wave of dizziness came over her causing her to stumble. She would have fallen into a tree trunk if it hadn’t been for Metellus reaching out and catching her, and Livia couldn’t help the shudder of awareness that assailed her when she felt the warmth of his hands on her arms. He was so near, she could feel his breath on the side of her neck, and heat curled in the pit of her stomach, as warmth spread through her whole body. She became aware of his strength, his raw power, a power which seemed to overwhelm her, causing her heart to pound, as much as the pounding in her head.

She had never been aware of a man as much as this one in her whole life, and for some reason it unsettled her, unnerved her, and with a blush of mortification she straightened and pushed him away.

“I am well now. Thank you,” she said, trying to control herself, before she saw Metellus frown down at her and his hands dropped away as he took a step backwards, breaking the contact between them.

“I asked what you were doing in the forest, Livia.”

Stiffening at the harshness of his voice, she looked him square in the face, her tone cool, “I was looking for you, I…I thought you may be hurt or something.” Her words trailed off when she saw him raise an eyebrow in disbelief; and now she’d said the words aloud, she realised how stupid they sounded. Here he was, the most physically perfect specimen of manhood she had ever seen, and one who looked none the worse for wear after their ordeal, and she was concerned about him!

She realised she must look, and appear such a fool, but thankfully he didn’t say any more on the subject.

Instead he said, “The camp is back this way. Shall we?” Not waiting for an answer he took her arm and guided her back through the dense forest, and back to their temporary home.

For a few minutes they walked in silence, their pace slow, so Livia didn’t exert herself too much. Trying to break the tense silence between them she asked, “Where had you been before…before you found me?”

For a long time he didn’t answer her, and she wondered if he had heard her question. She glanced up at him, about to repeat her question but the words died in her throat when she saw the dark brooding look on his stern face. He was staring down at her, watching her with an intensity that was unsettling.

“I was burying the dead,” he answered eventually.

“Who?” She whispered, stopping dead in her tracks, her breathing laboured as his words sank in. Her hand reached up to her throat in trepidation. “Magia?”

He shook his head, his mouth twisting, “No, not Magia. Some of the sailors, and soldiers who had been on-board.”

She turned away from him, lest he see her tears, as she thought of her tire-woman. Poor Magia. How she had hated every moment she had been on-board the ship. If Livia could go back in time she would have; if only to persuade her brother to leave Magia behind. She should have protested harder, insisted the older woman remain in Rome, but Flavius had been adamant. She was to accompany Livia and nothing would dissuade him. And even though she had tried so desperately to get him to change his mind it still didn’t stop the powerful upwelling of guilt assailing her none the less. For several minutes she said nothing, just carried on walking thinking of Magia.

But realising she had to be strong - this island demanded it - she wiped away the salty tears, and when she had composed herself, she asked, “Are there any other survivors?”

She saw the shake of his head, and her stomach dropped. Swallowing hard she whispered, “How…how many men have you buried?”