

Daughter of the Sea

Mira Zamin

Copyright 2010 by Mira Zamin

Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Mira Zamin

Cover design by Mira Zamin

Cover image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: Leisure Hours (oil on canvas), John William Godward (1861-1922)

"The Odyssey" by Homer translated by Richmond Lattimore Copyright © 2007. Published by Perennial Classics.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be distributed or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission from the author.

But even so, what I want and all my days I pine for is to go back to my house and see my day of homecoming. And if some god batters me far out on the wine-blue water, I will endure it, keeping a stubborn spirit inside me, for already I have suffered much and much hard work on the waves and in the fighting. So let this adventure follow.

—Homer's The Odyssey

Year of the Consulship of Lollius and Lepidus

PART I: TERRONENSIS

CHAPTER I

The salty wind tugged at her robe, twining the water-heavy wool around her legs. Both the ocean and sky were a foreboding iron grey, but she was undeterred. Cool gusts teased tendrils of golden hair, chanting her name longingly: Calista, Calista. Caught in the trance of the rhythmic waves, she felt herself yanked into the embrace of the water. The sand slid from beneath her feet and she was falling, falling...

"Caly!" The exclamation broke through her reverie. Her eyes snapped open as she caught her balance. She returned to reality as gently as a gull's downy feather floating into to the sea.

"Come here! Look at what I've caught!" commanded the voice from across the gravelly expanse of beach.

"Coming, Pyp!" Her thoughts clearing, she bounded towards the dark-haired boy clutching a net. Pebbles crunched beneath her sandals. "Well, what have you caught here?" Calista asked, brushing away agitated strands of hair.

He thrust the finely woven net towards her and presented his prize: a small mussel twisted in the threads of the mesh, its violet interior apparent. Despite the meager nature of his trophy, Pyp's tanned face glowed with the bright pride of accomplishment.

With a grin, Calista congratulated her younger brother and ruffled his curls affectionately. Her fingers glided through their cool silkiness.

"And, look Calista, look! I found something beautiful!"

"W-where did you get that?" she gasped. Her hands reaching for it instinctively, of their own volition. He held before her a largish circular pendant, set with midnight blue lapis lazuli flecked with gold. It was not that the pendant was particularly fine—she owned finer lovely jewels—but something about the delicate work, the shape of the locket, resonated with her, thrummed in her blood, like a drum pounding a long-forgotten beat.

"In the net!" he exclaimed.

"Might I hold it?" Her hands were still outstretched, soft palms turned upward.

"Of course." After a moment's pause and a burst of heady generosity, he added, "It's yours."

"Oh, Pyp! Thank you!" Gently, she took the locket and clenched it in a tight fist. It felt...right. She raised the pendant against the silver clouds, marveling at its subtle inlay. Her fingers tried to pry the clasp open but it stuck; she did not pursue it further but instead embraced Pyp.

With clear impatience, Pyp suffered through the hugs, anxiously squirming away once Calista's hold loosened. "Calista, Mother and Father will worry if we stay out much longer—it's nearly evening."

"Of course Master," Calista acquiesced dryly, even bobbing a small bow. She strung the pendant on a chain next to her gold bulla as a temporary measure. It clinked merrily against the amulet.

They waded through the sand, laughing companionably, age barriers disintegrating with the darkening sky. It was conscious, this crumbling, for they were approaching an end of times. Within a week, Pyp would be celebrating his seventh birthday, marking his foray into a world of learning that would prepare him for a senatorial career in Rome and then to perhaps be appointed by the Senate to his father's place as Governor of Terronensis for the honor of the great emperor Augustus Caesar. Or, if he had his way, pursue a career harassing and fooling innocent bystanders.

As for Calista, marriage was an ever-looming prospect, which was becoming more tangible with every instant. Their mother's handmaids were scandalized that Calista was sixteen and not even betrothed; many of her girlhood friends had been married in the last few seasons. It astounded those women that her father had wealth, power, and she had some modicum of beauty—and that would flee soon, they warned—and yet she remained unwed. Calista had tried several times to explain that at a recent sixteen she just was not prepared and her father respected that decision—to some extent. They clucked and paid no attention to her protestations, and instead complained about the sheer expectations of the youth these days, and, yes, the foolishness of the proconsul Lucretius to let his eldest have her will on such an important issue. Nonetheless, she knew she would not be able to stall the inevitable for much longer. For that matter, she did not even know if she wanted to.

"In my day," had huffed one of the handmaids, as she folded the laundry a few days prior, "a girl was lucky to see her fiancé before the wedding. To choose him!" She had exchanged darkly significant looks with the other maids but Calista had merely chortled and left the room. As if their day had been so very different from her own.

Pyp and Calista had only this one week. After, they would go their separate ways: he with his progressing studies and she with her own life. The fork was approaching rapidly and it would two worlds where there had only been one.

"Guess what Calista! Guess!" Pyp chanted eagerly, jarring her from her musing once again. "Guess, guess, guess!"

"Um, you saw Apollo this morning pulling his own chariot like an ass?"

"Calista!" Pyp gasped, scandalized. A small hand covered his rosebud mouth. "What would the pontifix say?"

"I'm not going to tell them, and neither are you." She grinned conspiratorially.

Pyp giggled at his sister's brazenness. Everyone thought that Calista was so good (though headstrong). He knew better. She was scandalous. She swore freely, and she would run on the beach with her stola pulled up past her knees and say devilish things like "To Hades with the pontifix!"

"No! " he exclaimed. "Someone's coming." Eagerly, he waited for her to ask him who was coming but she remained silent. A smile played around her lips. Every so often, she slid a mock-sly glance in his direction.

Finally, Pyp could bear his silence no more. He burst out, "Traders! Traders are coming tomorrow!"

"Traders? Do you recall when the group a few months ago brought that huge cat from Africa? A leopard." She shuddered delightedly at the memory of the horrific roaring beast. "They said those places were even more uncivilized than Gaul!"

Pyp jigged excitedly on the sand, his tunic beating at his knees to the rhythm of the wind. "Yes, and mother wouldn't let me keep it!"

Calista snorted incredulously, loosening her hair and allowing it to wave behind her. Her palla looped carelessly about her arms. "The slaves would have fled from fear and the floor would have been covered with their...defecations..."

"Defecations?" repeated Pyp, perplexed.

"Oh, you know what I mean!" Calista giggled. "Don't make me say it Pyp!"

Pyp stared at her blankly.

"Oh, very well: Shi—"

"Ahhh!" Pyp giggled. His older sister was a very bad girl.

She scooped a handful of gravel off the beach. It scratched her hands as it sifted through her fingers and hit the ground like soft raindrops. "Are they coming by land or sea?" Calista asked. Because of the great amounts of salt and wine produced in the region, strangers, with their novel ways and interesting looks, were steadily becoming a more common sight. Merchants especially flooded the city. But each ship brought with it new people and new stories and despite the frequency of their arrivals, the anticipation never lost its shine.

"By sea, and they are coming from Punic! The third group this Aprilis, right Caly?" Pyp twisted in the air, excited to impart information to his older sister whose knowledge he considered to border on omniscience.

"Punic! There is nothing in Punic," Calista laughed. "We destroyed the Punici centuries ago!"

Pyp stuck his tongue out of a corner of his mouth and rolled his eyes up to the grey sky in thought. "Oh, sorry, not Punic then...I think my tutor was talking about them yesterday," he explained utterly without embarrassment.

"You should pay more attention to your lessons!" she admonished, waggling her finger at him in a fair imitation of their nursemaid, Nuala. "Hmm...I believe I can convince father to buy me a new gold chain. I can put your lovely present on it." She ruffled his hair again.

He looked up at her with keen disinterest.

They entered the villa's courtyard, where slaves bustled around, occupied with their tasks. Two native maids carted around baskets of laundry, and a handful of urchins played a game with old dice, wagering stones. They called out to Pyp who was eager to scamper off but Calista held on fast to his hand.

Portus Tarrus had been home for many years and Calista warmed fondly at the villa's lavish Corinthian columns, which swooped past her and seemed to emerge again somewhere between the clouds. They led her gaze into the courtyard, paved with large, smooth flagstones, and then to the ornate fountain that spouted fresh water from a deep spring. The massive white manse was almost a wholly new construction. To her, it possessed none of that air of state that she associated with the Greek Parthenon that she had seen four years ago before her father had received the posting in Terronensis from the Senate. It felt comfortable, a home now.

"Nicetius Tertillius Volusus!"

Pyp scowled at his name. Calista could read his thoughts on his face: Who wants a name like Nicetius Tertillius Volusus?

"Calista Tertillia Volusus! Where have the two of you been? The whole household is in upheaval searching for you rascally louts. If the village seer-woman had told me I was to be charged with taking care of two scamps like you, I would have run away years ago!" It was their nurse, Nuala.

Rascally lout. Calista snorted. If not a "wife," then why not that? she thought.

"One of the Emperor's men has come, and on important business too. The two of you must get ready!" A native of Gaul, Nuala, hustled them past the courtyard and into the warm atmosphere of their home. A thin woman, she still managed to induce within her charges more terror and adoration than the presence of Augustus himself would have inspired.

They entered, not by the formal entrance, but through a side door which led to a curving staircase. Bright tiles with captions in stately gold-leafed Latin lined the steps. The floors and walls were worked with glimmering glass and gleaming stone: and these mosaics were produced by Portus Tarrus' own tileworks. Calista breathed a sigh at the chill air inside. Ventilated by many windows, the villa was kept cool in the summer by the gardens' shade. It sprawled grandly, leading to numerous wings which were all connected by the atrium. Just as all roads led to Rome, all corridors led to the atrium.

Dashing up the stairs, Calista absently ran her fingers against the wall—the mosaics were smooth and jagged by turns— until the skin of her finger snagged on a tile. With a small yip, she stuck her finger in her mouth. The salty taste of blood flooding her tongue, she entered her room, located in a snug corner on the top floor. One of the finest rooms in the villa, the mosaics showed in vivid color the Seven Hills of Rome where she and her family had resided before moving to Terronensis.

Luxuries from all around the Empire littered the chamber's fine furniture. A delicate jewel box of fragrant of sandalwood sat on the dresser; a Greek statuette of Poseidon rested on a desk; scrolls of Homer's Odyssey and Hesiod's The Works and Days were crammed into shelves. In the corner of her room, where the sunlight was best, stood a loom upon which a half-woven piece, depicting Ariadne battling the Minotaur sagged; Theseus was notably absent. Just above the loom and out of a gleaming glass window, unfolded a magnificent view of the evanescent ocean. The glass was uneven and blurry but the dusky silver of the sea still shined through. The manor was built away from the faulty foundations of the sand and if Calista strained, not only could she see the sea but also the Circus Maximus, the Baths, and the Pantheon of Portus Tarrus.

Calista extracted the sandalwood box, carved with vines twisting until each separate step was indeterminable, from a heap of rubbish on the table. When she opened it, the failing daylight refracted off the jewels: amethyst, sapphire, emerald, gold. She placed the locket inside and softly closed the box.

CHAPTER II

Later, Calista emerged from the family's bathhouse. Although it was small, with its formal columns and heated floors, it was as fine as any in Rome. Perfumed, oiled, and dressed, Calista had one of her maids bring out the mirror of polished silver in her room. She inspected the reflection. Her sunny hair had been artfully piled on her head—still simple enough for a maiden, of course—and braided with dainty white, yellow, and purple buds. The sky blue robe, which had taken the maids the better part of an hour to drape, was cinched with a worked gold belt. The rich color deepened her eyes to cornflower.

"Be sure not to ruin it, domina," admonished her slave girls, both thin and dark-haired, in eerie unison.

Calista rubbed her hands over the faint spots left from the blemishes of her younger years, thanking Venus once again that they had gone, leaving only a vague mark of their presence that her mother promised would disappear with time. Now, they only erupted occasionally and could be very well contained with hair arranged just-so or careful application of a powder.

"Is the guest handsome?" Calista asked hopefully.

"Nay, domina," one of her handmaidens laughed. "He is old enough to be your grandfather."

"Then I suppose I must be on my best behavior, so he may carry my attributes back to Mother Rome," she sighed. Her own mother often coined such phrases in her speeches about the meaning of decorum.

The maids tittered but Calista's face grew darker with frustration. Several men had proposed to her before, or rather her father. Their overtures had in a fit on her part and a refusal to marry. However much Calista's parents nominally (and unorthodoxly) accepted her decision not to marry quite yet, they were eager to see their eldest wed. Calista knew her unwillingness to marry worried her parents; her mother had been married at fourteen and Calista was two years beyond that age. "Damn it all," she muttered to herself, refusing to be embarrassed by her vastly childish stubbornness. Louder, she said, "You are dismissed."

They backed out, bowing in their short tunics.

Calista's mother, the famed beauty, Olympia Tertia, entered the room as the stooped maids exited. Olympia smiled at her daughter's classic pose: legs crossed, head tilted to one side as it rested upon her clasped hands. However, when her eyes fell on the cases of the great orator, Cicero, lying beside Calista on the white linen sheets of the bed, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Reading was all well and good but if prospective husbands discovered that Calista fancied herself an advocate, as evident by her argumentative stance on so many things, the marriage proposals would all but disappear. Beneath the cases of Cicero lay The Histories of Polybius, and Olympia recognized the well-worn copy as her husband's own. "Well, at least it's not Demosthenes," she muttered. And erudition is certainly not a fault in a Roman woman although my daughter could use the virtue of silence from time to time!

"Bene salve, Mother," grinned Calista, making a half-hearted effort to push Cicero out of sight.

Unlike Calista, Olympia's hair was a night black that glittered red in the sunlight. The obsidian of her eyes was accentuated by her palla of purest white, lined with a thick strip of Tyrian purple. The only similarity between us, Calista decided for the umpteenth time, is our noses.

Absently stroking Calista's hair, Olympia slid beside Calista on the bed, which was lofted high by gleaming wood columns. A few flowers tumbled to the floor. "Your aunt Laetitia has written from Rome and I must say what she has to say has left me quite surprised," announced Olympia, brandishing a sheet of parchment.

"Do tell," Calista said with a laugh.

"Well, she writes, Olympia, you may soon find yourself without a husband! Do not make that face, Sister but I write to tell you that one Caecina Severus (you know the one, who wrote those tirades against Caesar) has proposed that governors may not take their wives with them while they are performing their duties in the provinces." Olympia looked at Calista with expectation. "What do you think of that?"

"It seems outrageous. Why would he ever recommend such a thing?" Calista, exclaimed, inflamed, immediately imagining this Caecina as an embittered man without a wife or mistress and therefore resentful of all those whose wives were willing to leave Rome to be with their husbands.

"Apparently we are much too interfering in affairs of the state," said Olympia dryly but Calista privately recognized that perhaps Caecina had a point—her mother held her own when it came to the business of Portus Tarrus. "Doubtlessly this issue was struck down by the Senate soon after the absurd fellow proposed the idea. Now, dear Calista, I beg of you, please, be on your best behavior tonight for our guest, Avaritus."

"So he can carry my attributes back to Mother Rome?" Calista asked, unsurprised by the swift turn of conversation. Her mother had a habit of lulling her with gossip and then, quick as a viper, striking her with a command.

Olympia shifted uncomfortably for a moment before finally nodding briefly. "So keep a proper tongue in your head."

Taking Calista's hand, Olympia led her steadily to the dining hall, the triclinium from which musicians' strumming floated. A vast, rectangular, room, the triclinium was inlaid with mosaics of Ceres and her helpers harvesting fields, each touch gilding the wheat stalks and turned the leaves scarlet. On the opposite wall was a bawdy and gaudy mosaic of Bacchus and some nymphs at a clearly wine-sodden feast.

Olympia sat down on a plush green sofa next to her reclining husband, Lucretius Tertillius Volusus, who was garbed in a toga of plain but fine wool. Calista took her seat next to Pyp, who leaned on the couch as casual as any emperor.

"Move over," Calista commanded, gently shoving him aside. "You have conquered this whole seat, Caesar."

With a small laugh, Pyp scooted to the edge. "There are two other couches open: take those," he suggested. At this statement, Calista leveled him a deliberate look. After several moments, Pyp exclaimed, "You know, I have really big news!"

"What Pyp?" she whispered, elbowing him to lower his voice as Lucretius and Olympia simultaneously glanced at them sharply.

Pyp suddenly shook his head and Calista turned around to see the grey-haired man.

"Good afternoon, Proconsul Lucretius, Dominae Olympia, Calista and young Pyp," he said, bowing slightly in the direction of his hosts. Despite his age, he walked straight-backed. His hair was shorn short, in the fashion of the Caesars, and his cloudy grey beard, which gathered into the pale, oddly delicate, crags of his skin, was cropped as well. His beard flouted fashion: men were supposed to be clean-shaven. Avaritus' eyes though, were black, and where Olympia's eyes conveyed the warmth of smoldering coal and security of the night, his eyes reflected...and perhaps Calista was imagining it but his eyes reflected the fear night produced.

Lucretius rose and greeted the guest warmly. "Bonum vesperum, Avaritus. How was your journey? Portus Tarrus is quite a long ways from Rome; I hope it was comfortable."

"Quite," replied Avaritus tersely, his eyes ranging covetously across the furniture and property, electing to recline near her parents.

Not noticing anything peculiar, Lucretius chuckled. "I never imagined, when I met you at Drusillius' soirée and described my home and family to you and you vowed that you would come and visit that you would make good on your word. And in less than a year since the meeting! Delighted, absolutely delighted, I am to have you here. It's just a quiet dinner tonight with the family, but we shall fête you properly tomorrow night!"

Lounging on the couch, Avaritus held Calista's eyes for a moment. "I must confess it was the description of your lovely daughter which intrigued me the most. That and the account of your fine wine!" he added with a chuckle.

Olympia and Lucretius laughed politely while Calista and Pyp rolled their eyes. Obligingly, Olympia gestured for a slave standing at the fringes of the room to pour wine into Avaritus' goblet.

The first course of the cena had begun and their slaves scurried about, presenting a large plate of fish in the center of the table. Calista dipped a bite of fish into mulsum, a wine sauce sweetened with honey. The light strums of the kithara did not sit well with the foreboding tickling her spine.

"Calistaaaaa," Pyp sang out again.

"Yes, oh dear brother?" she answered with a grin.

"I have a secret," he whispered around a mouthful of fish with an air of great importance. Calista was rewarded with the sight of half-masticated flesh floundering in his mouth.

She waggled her eyebrows at him outrageously. "Oh really? Do tell."

"I heard father say that Avaritus means to marry you," Pyp spilled eagerly, and then covered his mouth, aghast. Not shocking himself for too long, Pyp took a long draught of water and then waited for Calista to respond to his investigative findings.

"And you also heard the traders were coming from Punic," Calista commented blandly, not believing her younger brother, not wanting to believe him.

Pyp twisted his face.

Despite Calista's doubt, she frequently glanced at the old man. More often than not, his eyes met her own. He was...aged. He cannot ask for me to marry him, he simply cannot. He was much too old, and even if he did, her parents would not make her marry him. With that final argument she convinced herself; she was not marrying him—although a voice did tell her that if her parents so desired, they were perfectly within their rights to coerce her. Pyp just had to go and get his ears checked by a physician. Never mind the fact, a voice whispered to her, that girls younger than you have married men older than them—and have been happy to do so!

Surreptitiously, Calista observed the adults discuss something with avid interest. Olympia's face was drawn, and she kept sending looks of askance towards the two men. Avaritus was speaking softly and earnestly. When the conversation shifted away from him for a moment, he looked covetously around the dining hall. When his eyes lighted on Calista, his expression slipped into a sly smirk that might have passed for a smile had Calista not already been floating in suspicion.

The slaves took away their knives and empty plates and replaced them with the larger plates of the second course, the prima mensa. The libation bearers refilled the men's goblets with wine and with water for the women and Pyp. Calista bit into the main course of chicken cooked with cabbage, parsnips and garlic presented with soft bread fresh from the ovens. Ignoring the nightingale's tongues, she added honeyed dormice, oysters, and mussels to her plate.

The adults seemed as engrossed in their hushed conversation as they had during the gustatio. Now, not only Avaritus but Lucretius and Olympia would glance at her quickly in the middle of the conversation. Heat rising to her face, Calista tried to ignore them and enjoy the meal and lilting music but she found herself wishing that the secunda mensa would come soon so that the dinner might be over. Perhaps there had been some truth in Pyp's hearsay but surely her parents would have asked her to join in the conversation if they were truly discussing her marriage?

Calista thought she heard someone call her name, and her heart leapt out of its pocket. Oh, Juno...please say it is not true. She studied them closely, trying to read gestures and lips but to no avail. She attempted to turn her attention to the meal but her stomach had gone to ash. She found herself sneaking glances at Avaritus. He smiled at occasional comments her father had made and then frowned thoughtfully. As if feeling her gaze, he flashed a glance at her and she dropped her eyes reflexively.

When the slaves came with the pastries of the secunda mensa Calista found her appetite aroused by the sight of the dessert and promptly devoured two honeyed cakes without waiting for the others to serve themselves.

Finally, with the dinner done, Olympia, Lucretius, and Avaritus rose. "There is a delightful view of the ocean from the balcony," hinted Olympia softly. "We should be able to catch the last of the sun's rays. Come Calista. No, not you Pyp," Olympia added when Pyp leapt up to join the group. Her mother and father had left the room and Calista gave Pyp a bewildered look. "Nicetius, go to your chambers. Nuala will see you to bed." Olympia's voice carried from outside.

"I believe that I too shall retire for the night like young Master Pyp. Gratias vobis ago. The dinner was lovely. Valé. Good night." Avaritus followed Pyp from the room.

Apprehensive, Calista realized that they had forgotten to give the traditional portion of the meal to the fire in honor of the lar: an omen of ill fortune for sure.

Calista followed her parents to the balcony, and there was indeed a breathtaking view. The sea shimmered blood red, and then whimsically turned ice blue. The sun, which had finally emerged from behind the swathe of clouds, still clung with a final tenacity to the world.

It could be anything, Calista tried to convince herself as her stomach rebelled.

"Calista," Lucretius began without preamble, "you have grown up into a lovely young lady, and we have had many offers for you." He circled Calista. "I, and your mother, have decided that it is time for you to wed and settle." Heading off her objections, he exclaimed, "Look at your friends! Cordelia-Cornelia-whomever! All married." He smiled lovingly at Calista, stroking her silk-soft hair. "We want what is best for our daughter. On that note, and forgive me for my bluntness we have had a marriage offer for you, from Avaritus."

"And you refused, correct?" Calista said nervously, wishing with all her heart that Pyp's prediction would prove false, praying to Venus, to Diana the protector of maidens, to Minerva, to Juno, Vesta, Ceres, Proserpine, to all the female goddesses who might better sympathize with her predicament.

"No, dear, we accepted." her mother said, her face impassive.

The world suddenly whirled around Calista. "How...why...I thought we had an understanding. Father?" Against her will, tears bubbled in her eyes at the betrayal. "Who is he even, Father? Why him? Why?"

At the sight of his eldest child, his only daughter, on the verge of weeping, some of Lucretius' reserve crumbled but he swiftly reminded himself that he must stand firm for the better of his daughter. He enveloped her in a hug, which Calista furiously clawed out of. Unfolding his arms, Lucretius murmured, "He is rich and well-placed. You will never want for anything. I wish to see your future secured."

Tripping to Olympia, Calista buried her head in Olympia's shoulder. "Mama," she wailed. "Do not do this to me. Please."

Olympia shot Lucretius a despairing look, stroking Calista's head. "Understand darling, we do this because we love you. We are not doing wrong by you, never think that."

Through watery hiccoughs, Calista crumbled to the side of the balcony, hiding her face behind her knees. Once the first wave had passed, Calista raised her head to her parents, who watched her with concern. "If you felt this way, why did you not betroth me before? Why affiance me now, to that?" She spat the last word.

Lucretius crouched beside her, rubbing her shoulder concernedly. "Would you wish to live in Portus Tarrus forever? This offer came to us at an opportune moment. Lord Avaritus speaks of his expansive holdings near Rome and familiarity with the Emperor himself. Surely you recognize what a great opportunity the Parcae have awarded us?

"You will accept our decision as your own," Lucretius finally commanded, raking fingers through his hair, realizing that their imploring and wheedling was having no affect on Calista. "You will go to your room and you will sleep. Let us hope that tomorrow, after a night of rest, you will understand our decision better. We love you."

Calista stood up, head as high as her color. "Please do not feign care. You have proven just how little regard you have for me." She whirled into the corridor and slammed the door behind her. The resounding crash was even louder than she had expected. She flinched—but she did not look back.

Leaning on Lucretius, Olympia said, "One day she will thank us. She is young and impetuous and every girl dreams of a handsome young patrician to come and take her away." Olympia snorted. "She does have a flair for the dramatic."

"One day she will find out we do all we can for her; she is our daughter, no matter what," Lucretius agreed, draping a warm arm around his wife.

"A night to cool down and Calista should begin to see the reason of our actions." The steady sound of his heart calmed her, its tattoo her own ambrosia, one of the few things that could wrap her in warmth and at the same time, place her feet firmly on the ground.

Again, Lucretius ran his fingers though his hair, as black as the ocean before him, except where it was lit by moon-grey. "It is a good chance for her." What Lucretius did not add was that if they had not capitulated to Calista's whining before, she could have made a better one.

"There is so much to do now; the engagement party, then the wedding so soon after. It seems that the gods have aided in this endeavor." She laughed lightly. "After she ran off so many eligible bachelors, one of the wealthiest comes to take her away." Olympia bit her lip, realizing that something sounded strange, but with a look at Lucretius' placid face, she kept her peace.

* * *

Blinded by tears, Calista wobbled, ran, crashed to her room, ignoring the startled slaves. She careened onto the bed, stifling her whimpers in a pillow. She did not know how long she muffled her howls but after a while, the onslaught of grief ebbed. Taking a few shaky breaths, Calista rested her forehead against the icy glass of the window. It frosted under her warm breath.

So soon, why so soon? And to him? Calista was sensible—she had expected marriage and had expected little say in whom her parents chose but she had also expected it to be later and to some, (and she could admit it freely to herself now) young, dashing man from a good family whom it would not be burdensome to marry. How could her mother and father, who showed the most discerning of tastes otherwise, have failed so miserably in the selection of her husband? Guiltily, she wondered if this was her punishment for not having decided earlier, for not having wedded earlier. Daughters do not belong to their parents, and yet she had selfishly clung to them, even as a line of suitors, young, friendly, and moderately handsome, had approached her for marriage.

Sighing brokenly, Calista mused that this sort of match occurred often. A few of her friends had been wedded off to older men without their opinions taken into account, yet none had possessed the implicit understanding which lay between her and her parents. Perhaps it was so implicit, that they did not realize that we had an agreement, she thought with another croaking sob.

"Caly, what happened?" Pyp's voice, trembling with tears for his sister's agony, rang out from the archway of her bedroom. His small figure was silhouetted by the soft light from the hallway.

"Get out Pyp. Please leave," she answered tiredly, pulling the covers over her head as she leaned against the curve of the headboard. She knew that she would not be able to withstand the onslaught of his inevitable sympathy without crumbling once more into a mess of tears.

"But—"

Calista cut him off. "You'll find out in the morning," she said, trying to infuse her works with briskness.

"Well, night then," he said uncertainly, clearly uncomfortable with leaving her. "I love you, Caly."

Lifting her head from beneath the covers, she answered, "I love you too, Pyp."

Leaving his sister's room, Pyp realized that Avaritus had proposed to Calista and his prediction had come true. He had never thought his parents would accept. He was such a nasty old man. Pyp hadn't liked the way he'd been eyeing their home and his sister. He did not understand why, but it raised goosebumps on his arms. Calista could not marry him. She could not. Then, an idea struck him. He would plague Avaritus to such an extent that simply to escape him, Avaritus would flee Portus Tarrus. He grinned—he was brilliant.

Pyp tiptoed down the hall of the slave's wing to the room on the far end. His eyes adjusting to the dark of the room, he found a boy of twelve lying on a pallet and tossing a small sphere in the air.

"Maro!" Pyp called in a whisper.

The boy hastily stood up, capturing the stone neatly in his hand before it could clatter to the floor. An easy smile flashed across his face. "Yes, Domino Nicetius?"

Scowling at the name, Pyp said in his fierce fashion, "No one is around, so don't call me Nicetius, or I'll call you Marius. I need you to do me a favor, Marius."

A few slaves stirred on their pallets and Maro and Pyp quickly scarpered out the door and onto the moonlit terrace.

"Oh Pyp," replied Maro in mock despair, "Never call me Marius: Never!" He cast the rock somewhere into the town.

Pyp giggled. There were two people in his life on whom he could always count to make him laugh and to take care of him: Maro and Calista, and for them, he would do anything.

"What can I do for you, Pyp?" Maro asked. When Pyp wanted a favor it was usually something interesting. Maro loved serving a master, who, at six years old was easily influenced by his older and equally roguish slave. Not that Maro would ever use that influence inappropriately. Certainly not. He simply introduced Pyp to the alternate art of mischief, which Maro felt was woefully absent from the traditional patrician curriculum.

"Help me put the biggest crab, the hungriest we can find in that Avaritus' bed. A cranky one. One that bites."

Maro rubbed his hands together. "I like your style," he cackled.

Careful not to rouse the sleeping villa, the two slipped into the night to comb the beach for obliging crustaceans.

CHAPTER III

One morning some suns later, Calista was preparing for her engagement party, the sponsalla. Slave maids whirled around her, weighed down by clothing, jewelry, perfumes, and cosmetics. Prominent Romans in Portus Tarrus and nearby provinces had been invited, senators had been asked and the whole event was much anticipated—to Calista's chagrin. In preparation for the engagement party, the household had been turned and tossed like a storm-struck ship. The cooks and slaves were in a frenzy of baking and cleaning. Everyday, new packages arrived from Rome and the East stuffed with gifts: fine wines, gorgeous pottery and metalwork, fabric so soft it felt like water—all of which her mother dangled before Calista enticingly.

However, Calista refused to be distracted by pretty presents and she remained outraged at the very idea of wedding a man old enough to be her grandfather. It is preposterous! she fumed. He was never outwardly unkind and when she had voiced her complaints to her parents, they had curtly replied that she was being imaginative and that if she could not rein in her mind there was plenty of work that could be found for her. But when Avaritus looked at her, she felt as if winter-cold water was trickling down her neck, sending uneasy shivers rippling down her back.

Calista suppressed a brief flash of mirth at the memory of what had passed the morning after she had learned of her engagement.

Eyes closed, she was lying abed, still exhausted and depressed, when, without knocking, Pyp's slave, Maro, entered her room.

"What do you want Maro?" she said wearily. Her fingers screened her eyes from the glare of light flooding into the room.

"Master Pyp, er, Nicetius, Master Nicetius, sent me to report that a crab appeared mysteriously in Avaritus' bed last night." He grinned impishly, leaving no doubt in Calista's mind who had been responsible for the crab. "Apparently, the doors weren't shut tightly enough," he continued, "and the crab decided Avaritus might make a nice midnight meal. He will not be able to attend the sacrifices due to...injuries..." Again, the grin appeared, and Maro had turned to leave, without bothering to bow; he never did.

She sighed. One day those two boys would get themselves in trouble with their little escapades. Still, she chuckled at the thought of the arrogant Avaritus being frightened out of bed by a crab and sustaining injuries of the caliber that he could not attend breakfast or the ritual sacrifices. Only the satisfaction of gloating had motivated her to leave her bed that morning.

When Calista walked into to the golden sunshine of the courtyard, she had seen Avaritus limping in the opposite direction. Despite the quietness of her steps, his eyes cracked towards her with the ferocity of a whip. Her legs trembled beneath her stola, but she still held his gaze with as much bravado she could muster. As soon as he strode away, she began scrubbing her arms furiously, attempting to raise heat where the fine hair of her arms stood erect. There lurked something merciless, demonic, behind eyes but her parents would not believe her, not when they were so blinded by wealth and station—Like a pair of plebs, she thought disdainfully. They would think that her fancies were taking her again. In the sunlight streaming onto the fountains and potted trees, she began to question her own judgment.

"Are you cold, milady?" a voice behind her asked.

Startled, Calista had whirled around to see an astonishingly handsome man, an apparent incarnation of Apollo. A halo of gold hair appeared damp, as if fresh from a bath.

"Y-yes, I am, thank you." "Wait, no. I mean no, I am not cold." Catching herself, she yelped, "And who are you and what are you doing here in our courtyard?"

His cerulean eyes danced with amusement and he responded, "I have business with the proconsul."

Mystified, she could not tear her gaze away from his. Giddiness flooded her eyes, her veins. "Are you here with the merchants?" Calista had asked, trying to relieve some of the sudden awkwardness. There was something unbearably familiar about him...like someone recalled from a dream.

He brightened at that. "Yes, domina would you like to see our cargo?"

A thrill surged through her body at the sound of his voice. It originated somewhere in her stomach but quickly suffusing her palms, the tips of her fingers and toes. "That is not necessary. I am in need of one thing, though. A golden chain, not too heavy, the finest one you have for a pendant." Calista paused for a moment, crinkling her nose in thought. "If you would wait, I could fetch the pendant to give you and idea of what sort of size I would need."

"That would be advisable."

There was a trace of laughter in his voice to which Calista had responded with a smile. Quickly, she left the atrium, her heart pounding. The man lingered in her thoughts. He cannot be much past twenty, she decided as she entered her room.

Finding the pendant safe in her mahogany box, she returned to the man, eager to learn more of him—he provided a welcome distraction from Avaritus and his creeping stare. "This is it." She dropped it into his open hand.

Feeling the heft of it, the man replied, "Fine craftsmanship, certainly. I believe I've seen a piece similar to this before." Curiosity had glinted in his eye, but he continued. "I think I have just the thing. Or several. We have not had a chance to set up stalls in the market yet, but if you want it now, you can come with me to the ship."

"Not now, but perhaps if you can meet me at the ship before dinner, we will do business." She flashed him a pert smile and left.

Arriving back at the present, Calista wiped the insipid grin from her face. Another braid was bound jerkily and she yelped in pain. While that meeting had certainly been the highlight of her day, it did not warrant such a silly response. I still have not got that chain though. Guiltily, she thought that she should have let the man know that she could not come (for she had never actually met with him). Vaguely, she made a note of it in her mind but she knew it would be quickly lost; she was occupied with graver things at the moment.

Beneath her window, the courtyard teeming with party guests. At the thought of the sponsalla, her stomach plummeted miserably to her knees. Their large villa was almost brimming and they had been forced to locate people in the other, smaller and older manor that bordered the walls on the opposite side of the town.

Someone knocked on her door, and Calista rose from the short stool, but one of the maids reached it more swiftly. It was Nuala, a bolt of ivory silk foaming in her arms.

"Is that the robe?" asked Calista dully.

"Yes, dear." Nuala shook it out to reveal the stola, which fell into precise pleats and might have been gowned a Phidian statue for its perfection. Of the finest silk from the Far East, it was bordered by Tyrian violet. "It's beautiful," she cooed enticingly. "Your mother did quite a job in having it made and delivered here so hastily from Rome."

Calista shrugged disinterestedly.

Studiously ignoring her apathy, Nuala said, "Come down to the baths, my dear."

Taking her arm, Nuala nearly dragged her to the baths on the lower floor of the house. Calista supposed she must have looked like quite the spectacle to all she passed: the fiancée being hauled around like a caterwauling toddler. Certainly, the slaves who had followed them had appeared most amused. Nuala, with the help of the bath attendants, dunked Calista beneath the waters of the deep tiled basin, and scrubbed her with a wash of myrrh, and called for one of the masseuses to rub her with jasmine oil. Another maid wove her hair with laurels, of the same sort which would be given to the victor of the chariot races of the Circus Maximus which would precede the sponsalla.

Bare and gleaming with oil, she rolled her eyes at Nuala, and offered an arm to take the robe.

Ignoring Calista's ocular gymnastics, Nuala said, "Let me help with this robe; it's quite tricky..."

* * *

Tents for the sponsalla had been assembled outside of the villa, close enough to the beach to allow for a stupendous view of the ocean when it slowly flushed rosy with the sunset. Excitedly, people chattered as they moved to the Circus Maximus, where, in honor of Calista's engagement, Lucretius had sponsored chariot races, causing a great deal of good-natured uproar.

"Who is this lord who has come to marry Domina Lucretia Calista?" asked a matron. A few fine strands of silver running ran her meticulous knot of hair and her wide hips were draped in good, soft fabric. Judging from its quality, she was undoubtedly the wife of a wealthy man and smug in that too.

A group of wives had taken root near the forefront of the seats, sitting slightly behind their husbands, near enough to be at hand for their needs. With hooded eyes, they observed all: fellow women, young girls, men and, of course, the event about to commence.

"Talk says he is very wealthy and powerful in Rome," replied another woman, whose dark hair shone like lacquered wood. She carried a babe in her arms, whom she handed off to the wet nurse behind her. "Here, take the child; walk her around," she told the nurse absently. "However," said the woman conspiratorially. "I have heard nothing of him from Ivmarus, and you know how my husband travels in all of the proper circles."

The matron, Marcella, looked disinterested. "Well, whatever the case, Kosma, there is now one less man to marry our girls, and one less girl to take away their men."

"It is a wonder anyone marries out here. There are so few good social events here so far from Rome," Kosma said wistfully.

They nodded in agreement but someone, a younger woman, with a maid following her about said, "I was in Rome recently and heard some rather unsavory tales of a man who bore the name Avaritus."

"Ooh!" squealed the lacquer-haired Kosma excitedly, but Marcella shushed her, adding, "Of course, names mean nothing, but gods know who might hear."

The women were distracted, even from their gossipy chatter, by Calista's entry. After all, it would be untoward for their voices to carry when the rest of the party had fallen into silence.

* * *

Veiled by an amaranth palla, Calista was carried out on a palanquin with Olympia, lofted on the shoulders of four strong slaves. With her eyes downcast, she was the perfect demure pacta. The warm May wind brushed the palla from her face occasionally, and the smell of the sea hung heavy in the air.

Taken to the highest pavilion of the Circus Maximus where her family and Avaritus waited, Calista could not help but feel a brush of excitement at the prospect of the chariot races. The huge pillars loomed over her, their sheer size enough leave her gaping. Up and down the rows, people were crowding into the seats: city folk milled below, while the visiting patricians were attended by their slaves in their cloistered boxes.

Seven chariots and riders were spread out across the lanes of the racetrack. The men that were to drive the gilded chariots were decked out in short tunics which displayed bronzed thighs to which sandals were nearly laced. Down below, plebeians called out wildly taking bets. Portus Tarrus often held races and other minor entertainments, yet the excitement was as if it were the first time the city had seen a race. The horses pawed anxiously on the sandy earth beneath them, eagerly tossing their heads. The chariots flashed in the glaring sun: gold, white, scarlet, orange.

Lucretius, seated upon the most prominent seat of the dais, handed Calista the mappa which, in accordance with custom, she would drop to signify the beginning of the race. Neither the honor nor the bribery were lost upon her. The crowd grew silent in anticipation. Smiling sweetly, she took the linen square, leaned over the stone railing, and let it flutter to the earth below. "Let it begin!" she yelled.

The crowd roared like a many-headed lion as the charioteers surged forward.

Calista had set her heart on the fellow who was riding the crimson chariot. As his white horses started forward, excitement streamed through Calista's veins. This was what being Roman was all about. This was the heart of the Empire. The excitement, the thrill. A streak of blood gleaming on golden sand. Waving away a slave who was offering cool drinks, she eagerly leaned forward, suffused with a heady rush and in those moments, Avaritus all but faded from her consciousness. The men circled five, six, seven laps. Circled until Calista lost count, and one by one they dropped into rank behind each other—or were derailed by competitors. To her disheartenment, the crimson chariot also fell behind in the race. Finally, one was left, and the crowd bellowed with their approval of the champion, who had driven a chariot of white and gold led by four matched black horses.

Coming forward, the man ducked a dark, perspiring head, and Calista placed the wreath of laurels about his head. "Congratulations, sir, on a race well-ridden. I declare you, the winner," she said formally. Her eyes squinted against the bright sun. He grinned back at her, full of pride in his victory.

He bowed, and once again, the crowd cheered. They were boisterous—and clearly drunk. While their revelry continued and the champion was thoroughly toasted, Calista proceeded to the temple.

The litter swayed to the temple where statues of the gods loomed beneath the arching dome.

It will all be legal now. There will be no way for me to get out of this, Calista thought faintly. She was squished between her father and mother on a cushioned bench. Avaritus was alone. Curious that none of his family have come to observe. Likely, they're all dead, she mused venomously. Slowly, their patrician guests trickled in and began looking expectantly at the family who was hosting the function.

"Hail!" called out Lucretius, raising his wineglass.

"Hail!" The voices of their guests, men and women alike, resounded through the temple.

"We have all been assembled for the sponsalla of my dear daughter Domina Calista Lucretia Volusus and our guest of honor, her betrothed, Gracchus Avaritus Flavius."

"Avaritus has asked to marry our daughter, and now I, her paterfamilias give consent for the marriage." Lucretius nudged Calista to stand up in front of Avaritus. He placed the traditional kiss on her lips to seal the betrothal. Calista tried not to cringe. He grasped her hand and slipped an iron ring on her ring finger.

"Mine," he murmured so softly that Calista was not even sure that she had heard him properly or whether her imagination had bled into reality. When she lifted her hand from his, the iron ring on the third finger was as heavy as any set of manacles and chains but this she knew for sure to be imagination. The eyes of their guests tingling over her body, she signed the engagement papers and Avaritus followed suit. Her fingers trembled with foreboding.

After congratulations all around, they proceeded to the tents. The bustling slaves laid out flaky honey fish, on the immense tables. As soon as Calista faded from general attention (which was soon enough once the food and entertainment—acrobats, musicians, and dancers—arrived) she slipped away from the scene stealthily as she could. Her sandals reached the rough sand, cueing tears to begin pouring silently down her cheeks so that, try as she might, the flow could not be staunched. For fear of ruining the robe she did not crumple to the ground—she retained that much control at least.

"Are you well?"

Calista recognized his voice. It was the merchant from the ship.

Calista steadied her breaths, and then turned to face him. "Of course. It is my sponsalla, you know," she said, falsely bright. "What girl would not be overjoyed at the occasion? And, what are you still doing here?"

He frowned. "And, it is your sponsalla. Plenty of new customers have flooded in. Why go elsewhere when the people come to you? My ship is docked over there." He gestured to a line of boats bobbing in the waves. "If you still want your chain?"

"I'll wait here," she said after a pause.

With a knowing grin, he made for the ship and in a few moments reappeared, chain in hand.

She grasped the fine chain eagerly. It was so thin that it could have been a thread for embroidery. Her spirits leavened. "Oh, it is perfect! How much?"

"A gift on this very happy occasion of your sponsalla," he offered generously. Calista thought she heard something sarcastic in his inflection.

"I am not at liberty to accept gifts."

"It is a gift of friendship. Can you accept that?" A disarming smile played around the sailor's mouth and Calista decided she was willing to trust him.

What Nuala would say, Calista could only imagine but Calista was of her own mind now. "Of course. Gladly." Beaming at him winningly, she asked, "Who are you? Will your master not be displeased that you are offering wares so freely?"

He stuck out his hand in an unassuming gesture. "I am Claudius. I am working on board the Orpheus at the moment. And I know who you are, as, I am fairly certain, the province would know. You are quite recognizable, Domina Calista."

She grimaced in response. "Tell me, what is it like being able to do what you want, whenever you want? To be safe in your anonymity?"

"Much less glamorous than it sounds, I can assure you. Tell me, what is it like never having to work for a meal, to be certain in the security of your home and family?" At her stricken face, Claudius remorsefully patted her arm. She felt fire where he touched her. "When is your wedding?"

"I do not know. I hope that it will not be too early. The longer I have to wait the better it will be."

The wind blew faintly through her hair, carrying with it sounds of festivities: music and laughter, roasted fish and wine.

"Domina Calista!" a shrill voice called.

"Oh no," Calista groaned, her smile falling. "I must go now, Master Claudius. Which house are you staying at? Perhaps I can contact you through your captain. I cannot accept the chain without some compensation."

"Calista!" The sound was closer this time. Calista suddenly feared discovery and the inevitable punishment for being caught with an unknown plebeian.

"Well, then, meet me near that rock tomorrow afternoon." She gestured towards a large boulder which stuck out from the beach a ways away. "Over there."

"As you wish." He turned away with a bow.

Calista watched him disappear towards the ship. A shuffling gait ground on the gravel behind her and goose bumps rose on the nape of her neck. "Well, Nuala, what did you want?"

"Your parents want you back at the party," said the old woman, her hands on her knees as she huffed. It had not always been so. She had been young and spry enough once to chase after the two children from dawn until dusk.

Calista went cold. Of course it had been too much to hope that her disappearance would go unremarked at her own sponsalla. Her parents would be furious that she had fled. And if anyone had seen her chatting with Claudius, it was very possible that she would be married to Avaritus before she could say "Non."

"What sort of mood are my parents in, Nuala?" Calista asked anxiously.

Nuala's eyes narrowed. "The party was in your honor, and you haven't been seen since the very beginning. The guests are utterly scandalized and your parents ashamed."

"Oh gods," she muttered under her breath. Feeling drained, she leaned against Nuala's aged body and rest her head on her nurse's shoulder. Nuala, despite her efforts at maintaining an appropriate sternness, stroked the girl's hair.

"Who was the young man you were talking to?" Nuala asked suspiciously, her misgiving undiminished by sympathy.

"One of the merchants." A faint blush stood out on her cheeks. Again, it had been too much to hope that Nuala's eyes had missed that gaping detail.

Nuala snorted incredulously. "Remember that you're engaged and that that man you were talking to is a pleb. Remember your position and your family's honor. Don't be a witless ninny. What's his name?"

"Claudius," she breathed. "And it was nothing of that sort," she continued primly. "I shall have you know it was strictly business."

Nuala looked displeased. "'Strictly business,' bah!" What will your lord Avaritus think if he knows you to be dallying with young men?"

"To Tartarus with Avaritus!" Calista declared. "Besides, I wasn't dallying: we were talking."

Nuala shook her head. She was not one to gainsay her masters, but the betrothal of Calista to Avaritus did not set well with her either. "Well, put on a pretty smile for your parents, and put that mind of yours to use, so when your parents ask you where you were, they won't find out that you were dallying."

"I was not dallying," Calista muttered mutinously. "But thank you for not telling them," she added begrudgingly.

"I haven't promised that yet, have I?" she blustered.

They had arrived at the lawn in front of the villa where her parents were awaiting her. The spurting fountain obscured their faces so that Calista could not read their emotions. The manor had never looked more striking than it did then. Venerable enough to have acquired the air of dignity that befitted a great house, the marble still flushed youthfully with the pink and orange sunset.

"The guests were startled at your rudeness—to disappear like that without greeting a one!" chided Olympia. "Where were you?"

A flash of anger burst from Calista. "With someone closer to my own age; not with a man old enough to be dangling great-grandchildren off his knee," Calista lashed out, completely ignoring Nuala's counsel in the heat of the moment.

Olympia pursed her lips and whispered something to Lucretius. Briefly, they studied Calista. She shifted nervously under their scrutiny as if she could entirely scoot away from the room and their discerning gazes.

Lucretius' lips thinned. "Your behavior has been reprehensible. You have been immature and impolite and disobedient. This behavior will not be tolerated and I command that you comport yourself with dignity and mingle amongst the guests who have traveled far to partake in your joy."

In our food, you mean, Calista thought spitefully, but remained silent under her father's unusually grim stare.

Suddenly, her mother smiled and said, "Now, Caly, be a good girl. Put a smile on, brush that sand off your robe, and socialize. It will do you good."

Following her mother's command, she sweetly greeted the attendees and accepted their blessings gracefully. She joined a group of young ladies with whom she was faintly acquainted and bore their squealing with the best humor she could muster.

The sponsalla ended late that night, and even then, some men, who had imbibed freely, tottered about the grounds. Heartily yawning guests retired to their chambers, all the while whispering about what a great success the party had been and that the marriage would surely follow suit—even if a few shadowy doubts were whispered about the bridegroom's character. The hosts and the guest of honor stayed until the very last drunk had left, cordially thanking them for their presence. Calista's eyes wandered to the shoreline, fruitlessly searching for a tall figure outlined against the precariously dipping sun.

CHAPTER IV

Downing a bunch of grapes in the name of breakfast, Calista was dressed hastily by a maid in preparation for the meeting with her parents in the solarium. Despite her apprehension, Claudius' face kept swimming before her eyes. She could not shake the feeling that she remembered him from somewhere, a place before this world. But he was plebeian. There was surely no way she could have known him before. He was of an inferior class. And in the end, that was what truly mattered. Had Claudius been patrician than it would have been another matter entirely...

After checking her hair and stola in the mirror, Calista tramped down the stairs with trepidation. Her sandals flopped with every step.

Finally arriving at the threshold of the solarium, she pushed the door open. Sparse raindrops beaded on the thick, uneven glass of the windows. Her parents and Avaritus reclined on couches, clutching goblets. She recognized the sweet aroma of warm milk mixed with wine.

Nervously twirling a loose strand of hair, Calista took a seat. Their faces seemed grim but not alarmingly so. Calista breathed a small sigh of relief. But Avaritus' smile seemed to carry an acerbic tinge, souring the back of her throat.

"Calista," Olympia began, with the directness she was renown for throughout the province. "We have decided to postpone your wedding."

Shock undulated through Calista, her mouth tumbling open, eyes gaping. She had expected a beating and was now emerging with the best present possible. "For how long?"

"Your wedding has been rescheduled for summer of next year," Lucretius said.

"Avaritus has been generous enough to agree to waiting," Olympia added.

Calista said nothing.

"And you really ought to thank him for his sensitivity," Olympia said, a hint of admonishment in her voice.

Shooting her mother a look, Calista recited sullenly, "Gratias tibi ago, Avaritus." She waited expectantly for her parents to say more, but when nothing further came, she said, "Thank you, Mother, and thank you Father. If that is all you have to say, may I leave now?"

"Yes, you may," Lucretius allowed. "But would you mind doing a favor? A man, Captain Claudius, I believe, should be waiting in the courtyard to meet us. Tell him he may come."

"Yes, Father," Calista replied obediently, pliable now that such luck had been tossed her way.

Calista hurried out of the room as a smile broke upon her face like a wave on the beach. Humming lightheartedly, she entered the courtyard and ran into her Claudius, who was interestedly examining a particularly ill-formed statue and loosely grasping a sheaf of what looked like accounts in his hand.

She leapt back. "You! You never told me you were the captain of a ship."

"You never asked," he protested, clearly amused.

Something clicked into place in her mind. "So that is why you were able to offer me the chain without charge—you are your own captain. But you are quite young to hold the position. You must explain how you accomplished that."

Claudius cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Remembering her task, Calista said, "Proconsul Lucretius and Domina Olympia request your presence, at the moment."

"Yes, well, I better go see them." He nodded to her. "Will we meet, two hours hence by the rock you had indicated before?"

"Hopefully." Excitement at the prospect welled within her.

"A pleasure as always, domina."

Calista watched him depart, a curious expression rippling across her face.

Concealed within a shadowy alcove, one of Avaritus' slaves had listened to the conversation, intrigued.

Well-hidden inside a bush, Pyp had enjoyed the discourse as well. Curled up beneath the spreading branches, he was attempting to smother his laughter in his tunic.

Once he was out of sight, Calista seated herself onto a stone bench and began humming a random tune.

After a few minutes of her off-tune humming Pyp extricated himself from the bush, which cracked slightly at the shift in his weight. He appeared behind Calista. "Whatcha doing Caly?" he piped.

Calista whirled around with a shriek, her hand at her throat. "Pyp! What were you doing?"

A mischievous look crept across his face. "What were you and the good Captain doing?"

"We were talking Pyp, just talking!" replied Calista defensively.

"If you say so..." Pyp taunted in a singsong voice.

She let an easy smile cross her face. She grabbed Pyp's collar. "Come on, you ragamuffin. Let's get back to your chambers..."

Calista's voice faded away from the shadow in the alcove. Only the solitary shadow-slave remained. Soundlessly, he scuttled close behind.

"Oh Claudius, you are sooo handsome!" Pyp said in a high-pitched imitation of his sister's voice. He giggled at his wit.

"Quiet Pyp! I will tell Mother on you!" Calista admonished, reddening.

"You two looked like Paris and Helen!" Pyp chortled, disregarding the obviously empty threat.

"I am betrothed Pyp, betrothed. I am no longer free to make these decisions, and besides, he is a plebeian. Even if I were free it wouldn't be proper," she told him a little sadly. "And," she added, "you know how Paris and Helen ended: destroyed their whole city between them. Certainly not the lovely couple I would wish to be compared with or emulate, if it were all right with you!"

Bored with the topic, Pyp shifted subjects without a glimmer of a segue. "Do you want to go to the town? Maro says that old Portius' mare had foaled. Maro tells me he's going to be the best racer in the province. Father might even buy him."

"All right," Calista agreed. They veered left to exit the villa and visit the city, acquiring a guard at the manor walls.

Avaritus' slave breathed a sigh of relief. Slaves hurried about him and he spread jovial smiles all around. He thought his mouth would collapse from the cheery expression. Once he arrived at the Lord's doors, he peered around to ascertain that nobody was there, then he gave their private knock.

"Panos?" Avaritus voice asked as the door opened.

The slave shuffled in and the door closed behind. He heard the snick of the lock. "Yes, Master." He bowed once and stood in front of Avaritus' chair to deliver his report.

"Have you any news of my lovely wife-to-be?" Avaritus inquired after a sip of wine, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Aye, my lord. She seems to be meeting with a certain Captain Claudius. They have an arranged meeting later this afternoon."

Avaritus' eyes glittered angrily. "Ah, well, this does seem a good time to hasten our plans. And, I believe Domina Calista's parents would like to know of this obscene behavior."

The dour-faced spy looked discomfited. "They were merely flirting, my lord."

"Yes, Panos. I know. You know. She knows. He knows. But her parents do not." Avaritus tapped his chalice thoughtfully and one of his slaves quickly came forth to refill it. "If they restrict her movements, the less chance there will be of her being caught up in the fighting."

"Is it all quite necessary, my lord? It is only a girl after all. Only a governorship."

Avaritus' eyes glimmered with a deadly calm chill and Panos quailed beneath his gaze. "It is not in you place to question me. The girl would not matter if not for the governorship. The girl ties me to it. We have already reviewed this and tediously so, Panos. Send for the mercenaries."

"Yes, my lord. I will see to the messenger myself."

Smiling icily, Avaritus mused, "It should not take them to long to arrive, do you think? Perhaps a week, maybe even less. How far are they from here?"

"Three legions are on the ships, nine leagues from here. The other two are camped four leagues away," replied the slave promptly.

"Even less than a week! Excellent!" He rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Have your blades ready, Panos. They will come into use very, very soon."

"Yes." If anything, Panos appeared even more uncomfortable.

Avaritus looked positively lighthearted. "Superb. Now, we must make a quick visit the Proconsul. Regrettable business, too," he tutted. "Come, Panos."

And Panos heeled like a well-trained dog.

* * *

"She what?" Olympia exclaimed, aghast. Her coiled black hair slipped out of its demure bun as she shot out of her sinking seat.

Avaritus gave her an oily smile. "Your Calista has been seen with Captain Claudius. Although, I assure you, they had no wish to be seen," he repeated calmly.

"I cannot believe it!" Lucretius declared. His dark eyes flashed dissent as his fingers curled into a tremulous fist.

Avaritus answered patiently, but great contentment bubbled beneath his voice. He attempted to submerge it, but was not completely successful. "One of my loyal slaves saw them, a man that I would trust with my life, your life and indeed, the life of your daughter. I hope that I need not say that I am as disappointed as you are."

"What shall we do?" Olympia implored Lucretius worriedly, collapsing back into the couch and not hearing the simmering satisfaction in Avaritus' tone, but fixating solely on his words. "She is a good girl," she added for the benefit of the room.

Lucretius thought for a moment. "Wait, my dear," he murmured to Olympia, laying a gentle hand on her knee. "Avaritus, when did your slave report this to you?"

Avaritus closed his eyes, feigning remembrance. "Within the hour," he finally said.

"Around when Captain Claudius was with us, then. He took leave of our company a few moments before you arrived."

"It would take Claudius and my slave approximately the same time to get here, I would believe," answered Avaritus, smooth as a slithering serpent.

"Claudius just arrived at Portus Tarrus," objected Lucretius.

"One night is enough to make a difference and he has had weeks. Calista was emotionally unwrought the night of the sponsalla." He paused significantly, allowing their imaginations to work. He could almost see the visions their minds were creating.

"Are you implying...?" Olympia breathed. Her expression was part disbelief, part anger.

She is beautiful, noted Avaritus, but has the same streak of independence that sullies her daughter. It speaks of Lucretius' weakness as a husband, a father, a ruler—in short, his weakness as a man.

Calmly spreading his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, he answered, "I am implying nothing. I only point out what could have happened in the space of a night." He leaned back against the cushions, letting Lucretius' mind tweak the puzzle he had presented.

Lucretius rose, quivering with fury at the insinuation. "Your accusations are outrageous. Our daughter, your future wife, is no harlot. You may leave, domino. I must speak to my wife!"

"As you wish." Avaritus stood up and bowed to the proconsul and his consort. "You must know that I desire this to be as untrue as you do," he added convincingly as a slave ushered him from the meeting chambers.

CHAPTER V

Avaritus was pleased with the progression of his plans. His eyes swept over the property appreciatively: the immense grounds, the neatly manicured gardens, the bubbling fountains, the graceful statuary. Then, there was the additional property coming to him by way of his patrician future wife—a villa in Rome, a villa in Capri, vineyards in Greece, estates in the Roman countryside, and the occasional, patrician-appropriate business investment. All of this would be his and no one would recall that another man had ever governed here. It was a gamble, certainly, but for a man with nothing and with so much to gain, it was one worth taking.

And then there was the thrill of the kill.

Raising his chalice, Avaritus drank deeply to his future.

* * *

As Avaritus disappeared, Olympia discreetly dismissed the attendant. The poor man did not need to witness this. He gave Olympia an unspeakably thankful look as he departed.

"Olympia, what should we do? What if that bastard is right?" Lucretius snarled while pacing the room. His toga whipped violently around his legs as if absorbing its wearer's anger. "Help me think, Wife."

She smiled at her husband, newly glowing. Her smile quickly dimmed. "We have raised our daughter well. She would not do a thing like that. Now, sit down beside me," she said comfortingly, patting a spot on the sofa. "We must trust her."

Lowering himself onto the creamy-colored couch, Lucretius affectionately stroked his wife's back. "As you say, my heart of hearts. How should we handle this?" He scrubbed a hand through his black hair. "It is one thing entirely to run a province, but when the issues come so near to your heart..." Here, he touched his heart. "I cannot think clearly."

"If she has done something, she will come to us of her own will," Olympia told him confidently, standing to pour Lucretius a goblet of wine. The yeasty scent, usually barely discernible, made her somewhat queasy. "Besides, the crew of the ship spend their nights at inns or on the ship, and our guards would have surely reported if someone had gone to Calista's room, or if she had left the villa. Especially at night. They would have stopped her from leaving. They are our guards after all. And," she added, "you know no one passes through the gates at night without Cornelius' knowledge."

"Even so, we should ask the guards and Cornelius," Lucretius decided, taking a deep draught of the fragrant wine. "She is, after all, quite clever. If there were any possible way for her to escape without detection, I have no doubt she has the ability to discover it. We must be completely thorough in our investigation."

"I concur," Olympia agreed, melting into his embrace. "I cannot think what Avaritus meant by telling us this. He still means to marry her, I am sure."

Lucretius' expression darkened. "If she continues to behave like this even that will not be certain," he said ominously.

* * *

"I think you were right Pyp. Portius' foal certainly as the legs of a racer. Especially when he almost kicked you!" She laughed heartily at Pyp's scowl as they hiked back up the path to the villa from the city. The path to the village was marred by potholes and more than once had they tripped on an upturned stone. Mud crusted along the hem of Calista's saffron robe. "Father really must repair these roads," she added as an afterthought.

"I fell five times!" Pyp boasted proudly, puffing out his chest and tossing his dark hair in pride. Very much resembling, Calista thought, the self-same prized horse they had just visited.

Pyp grew quiet for a moment and then reached over to quickly hug Calista. "I'm going to miss you, Caly. When you get married. And when I start with my tutor."

"Oh," Calista knelt down and gave him a hug, feeling a huge wave of tenderness for her little brother. He would become wrapped in preparing to assume leadership of the Empire in some capacity and playing with his older sister would become a humiliating past time, something relegated to the memories of early boyhood. He would leave her to sport with boys of his own age, court girls, and carouse. He would not be her sweet, innocent younger brother but someone else entirely. Even if that future was far off, suddenly it became frighteningly tangible. She did not wish to lose the connection she had with her little brother due to something so abstract as the passage of time.

"Argh!" he yelled, writhing in Calista's violently tightened embrace, trying vigorously to liberate himself from this oh-so embarrassing spectacle. "Calista! I can't breathe! Don't hug me!"

"Why ever not?" she asked. Perhaps that intangible future was even closer than she had thought.

Pyp jerked his thumb. "Maro is standing right there! He'll think," Pyp blanched, "that I like hugs."

Calista laughed at his self-righteous countenance. Winking at Maro, who was carrying a basket of field mushrooms behind them, she kissed Pyp's plump cheeks pink. "You like kisses, too."

* * *

A week later, Pyp knocked on Calista's door. "We will spend the whole day together today," he told her. Excitedly, he leaped around her room, one moment on the bed, another near the dresser where she stored her lotions and perfumes. His gold bulla bounced madly on his stout chest.

Still groggy from sleep, Calista stupidly asked, "Is today your birthday?" followed by incoherent snuffles. She covered her face with the thick sheets to protect herself from the sun which spilled through the windows and door.

Pyp nodded, attempting solemnity but an excited grin broke through at the last moment. "Time to take on my duties, or so Father says. Let's play on the beach the whole day, please."

Covering a yawn with her hand, Calista agreed. She chivvied Pyp out so she could change. Dispensing with calling a slave, she carelessly knotted on a sleeveless mint green stola. She left her room, darting to the kitchens where the cook, Koisis, readily handed her an orange from Hispania. She found Pyp polishing away a plate of bread and she seated herself beside him, puncturing holes into the skin of the orange and peeling it away. They ate in silence. After Pyp had finished, Calista leapt up and shouted, "Race to the shore!"

Calista easily beat Pyp with her longer legs. When he reached her, he was panting. Calista had woven a crown of seaweed and placed it on her head. "I am the champi-o-n!" she sang, dancing around and waving her arms and legs in frantic movement.

"No fair! Your legs are longer, and you're taller, and you're bigger!" Pyp complained, his arms akimbo.

Still smiling grandly, Calista did a final mad caper towards the ocean. "Into the water! That's always fun, eh Pyp? And don't pout! You'll never find a wife with a face like that!"

"Especially when the tide is going out!" Pyp exclaimed excitedly, ignoring Calista's teasing. "Remember that time when one of the slaves had to swim out to get me, remember? Remember? That was such fun!" He rushed after her, determined to beat her to the ocean even if there were no announced challenge.

Calista looked at him in amusement. "If you say so..."

They sat down on the edge of the water and when particularly large waves surged, they would drench Calista's and Pyp's clothing, staining their garb with salt and sand and eliciting delighted yelps and shivers. Absent-mindedly, Calista dug her fingers in the rough sand. The iron band around her finger became icy cold. Pyp watched with curiosity as Calista used both hands to dig up a large spiral seashell.

"I've never seen anything like it!" exclaimed Pyp, reaching forth to snatch it from her hands to examine it more closely.

Calista turned it over. "Perhaps its from somewhere far, like Mauretania...Or maybe even further!"

"Can I hold it?" asked Pyp.

"You can have it. It's yours. Consider this all you're receiving for your birthday."

Pyp settled comfortably at her side, examining the new oddity. They stared at waves as mesmerized complacency descended. The sun was an hour from leaving their side of the earth when Nuala called, puffing, "Your father wants to see you. Perhaps he means to scold you for slipping your old nurse. A spanking would you good too, you rascally vermin."

"In a second, Nursie," Pyp shouted. "Well, goodbye, Caly," he said, giving her a kiss on her cheek, no mutinous mutterings about Maro's opinion concerning affectionate displays. He stood up from the water, vainly endeavoring to squeeze the sea from his tunic.

Calista laughed, "You aren't going off to war, you're going off to talk to Father about the beginning of your lessons!"

"Just as bad," Pyp muttered.

Remaining seated in the wet sand, Calista shook her head at him as he loped past her to his nurse. She stared after him, and felt her nose begin to sting, a sure sign that she would soon start bawling.

"Well," a soft baritone said behind her, "if it makes it any easier for you, saying good-bye is not always such a terrible thing."

A tear dribbled down her face.

"It's all right, it's all right, Calista." Claudius repeated the words to her over and over again, a comforting chant, which soon lost all meaning. Once the tears had stopped, he gently kissed her hair. The gesture brought Calista back to herself.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I should not be here."

Unperturbed, Claudius answered, "It's fine. What are friends for if not to cry on their shoulder?"

She smiled shakily in reply, but thought, Not to kiss you. Still, she did not shift away when he sat beside her. She stared at Pyp's small footprints. When she raised her head, she saw Claudius studying her intently. She gave him a little smile but turned towards the harbor when she could bear his gaze no longer. About to ask how he had come to his captaincy so young, she distinguished a great ship gliding across the water at a numbing speed, flanked by two fainter ships. It reminded her of a sweeping bird of prey.

"Claudius, is that a trading ship? Arriving a little late, isn't it?"

The answer came immediately when an arrow, dipped in oil and lighted, sailed towards the shore like a shooting star, only to be extinguished with a hiss, by the salt water. A hail of fire followed.

Calista paled. "Is it an attack?" she asked blankly. Claudius' horrified face confirmed her fears. "Attack!" she shrieked with all the volume she could muster. She bound to her feet and sprinted towards the town.

Several slaves and townspeople loitering near the shore looked at her in surprise. More flame-throwers were cast towards Portus Tarrus. The people gaped at the approaching ships in horror.

Screaming Calista bolted, her feet sinking in the sand with every step, "Attack!" She was heaving, but she had finally reached the city. Dashing past people, she heard one mutter, "What if the ship burns the salt, destroys the wine?"

Astounded, Calista stopped, unbearable impatience bursting from her. "I hardly think that should be the worst of your fears!"

The group of middle-aged men looked at her quizzically, then turned back to their discussion. They did not believe her. They could not fathom such a thing happening.

"Don't you understand?" Calista asked in agitation. "The ship is coming to attack, kill, ravage, rape, burn. Run, dammit! Run! Go to your families! Take them away!" She pushed one roughly. The startling motion broke the spell of shock and they bolted towards their families, their livelihoods.

Heedless of propriety, her wet robe hiked past her knees, Calista ran through the town. Shaken from their torpor, some townspeople milled around in hot panic while others worked to secure their families. Others spotted the ships and hysteria threatened to grip them all.

Yelling "Attack!" until her throat was hoarse, Calista trampled into the villa and scrambled up the stairs. Heading towards her parents' room, she warned every slave she encountered of the coming ships. Arriving at the chamber gasping for breath, she was met with emptiness. Running to the thick window, she tried to discern what was happening outside. For a better view, she craned her neck and was horrified at what she saw: a horde of thousands of horsemen galloped towards her home.

"My gods, what in the name of the Underworld is happening?" she whispered to herself. Automatically, her mind began listing what she must do: find her parents, hide Pyp and Nuala, warn General Cornelius...

"Domina Calista, what are you doing here?" A translucent hand curled around her shoulder.

Calista swallowed a shriek and closed her eyes. "I am searching for my parents, Avaritus. Something...is coming." She bit back a spurt of hysterical laughter.

"Why ever would you think that, dear Calista?"

She could hear the delight foaming in his voice.

With one look in his black eyes, she suddenly knew with an uncanny surety that he was responsible for the ships, the men, the invasion. It was the worst of her lurking fears come to a real and undeniable fruition. Calista stepped back and drew a breath. "You! They are here for you!"

A menacing look came into Avaritus' eyes. "What do you mean?"

Ready to throttle him, Calista threw one last look at the scene outside and screamed, "You damn well know what I mean! The ships—"

He cut her off. "A dangerous accusation to make of your future husband." His voice was deadly still, thinly sharp, like a dagger in the night.

"You will never be my husband," she spat. "You bastard! You are a fool if you think I will marry you now. After this!" She slapped him, the iron of her ring colliding with his cheekbone. The sharp sound of flesh's contact with flesh rang throughout the room. For an instant, the sounds of the armies, the sea, and even the panic overtaking Portus Tarrus were muted.

"Bitch," he snarled, cradling his cheek where a bright red bruise was rapidly blossoming.

The battle had begun.

CHAPTER VI

Demetrius saw the army first.

"What's that, you reckon?" he said, squinting against the dim glare of the sun.

His fellow sentry, Iranaeus, looked up and sighted the lines of rapidly approaching armed horsemen. Thousands. "Shit," he swore.

Standing on the city walls, Demetrius felt a small flutter in the corner of his eye. "Ships!" he exclaimed, pointing towards the billowing striped sails advancing on the sea. Iranaeus looked over in time to see his friend collapse, an arrow sprouting from his chest. Falling to the ground beneath a hail of arrows, Iranaeus rolled down to the earth with a decidedly solid thump. Fighting his way through the milling streets, each instant like a lifetime, he reached a house tucked away from the overwhelming noise and terror.

Chest heaving, he skidded across the marble expanse of the entryway of the general's home. Urgently, he asked a nearby slave to take him to the general's room.

Iranaeus bowed as he entered. "Sir, we have just spotted an army rapidly advancing onto Portus Tarrus. Three thousand strong."

Startled, General Cornelius looked up from the papers he had been studying. "Are you sure, man?" he barked. He did not wait for Iranaeus to answer as he donned his armor with the help of a ready slave. "The army, however impossible that may seem, might not mean to attack us. They could simply be passing through and Lucretius forgot to pass the note along to us." The general's lips compressed with displeasure. "How far are they?"

"If that army were friendly, I doubt they would proclaim their arrival by putting an arrow through the chest of a sentry," Iranaeus said. If he had been a senior officer, he would have snorted. "They are less than a quarter of a mile away. What's more, a force of three ships is arriving by sea and they are not peaceful."

"Who the hell are they?" Cornelius demanded almost to himself.

Iranaeus could only shake his head in bewilderment.

Cornelius strode out briskly. Iranaeus followed him. "We have no time then. Do the other lieutenants know?"

"They've likely seen them or another sentry has warned them—I wouldn't know; I came directly to you."

"Go warn the others!" he snapped.

"Yessir," Iranaeus saluted, clasping his hand to his chest. He marched out.

General Cornelius groaned. Small but potent, the legion here could smoothly handle a Gaulish rebellion, but a trained, invading army with the element of surprise?

That would be tricky.

His short, distinctively crimson cloak blew in the wind, his belted white tunic bright against the sun. He had to meet with the rest of his lieutenants, to quickly plan their response. It will be a siege. We should be able to hold out...But they will have access to the ships...still... The calm cloudless sky was smoothing into darkness. Cornelius' sandals left tracks in the sand as he ran to the soldiers' barracks.

Summoning the map of the area etched into his mind, he traced an imaginary finger along the edge of Gaul, near Hispania, then brought his finger to the smaller province of Terronensis and tinier still, the city of Portus Tarrus.

A battle, thought Cornelius in shock, his stalking feet churning sand. Portus Tarrus had always been peaceful, except for the odd brawl—and that was for the town watch to handle not the legion. The Gauls had been subdued years ago and knew better than to try their luck against the Romans again.

Terronensis was a Senatorial province, with its proconsuls elected among ex-consuls and ex-praetorians from the Senate. To reduce the chance of rebellion against the Emperor spearheaded by the Senate, Senatorial provinces had few if any legions.

And now they were being confronted by several thousand men by land perhaps another thousand by ship. At the very least, they presented a force of four thousand men. He had four hundred. Half-heartedly, he considered negotiation but he knew that a force this strong did not come to talk. The only way for this situation to be resolved was by battle.

Emperor Augustus' fear and his desire to keep power will result in the deaths of thousands of men and women. It was not a mutinous or bitter thought. Just a sad one.

As he entered the barracks, the men froze in astonishment; General Cornelius rarely surprised them with visits.

Drawing a deep breath, he kept his words short and to the point. "Men, we are under attack. Cavalry and armed ships—some four thousand men. Get dressed, armed and report to the eastern walls in ten minutes. We will make Proconsul Lucretius proud!"

The men wasted no time. For this self-same purpose they had extensively trained and any doubts were suppressed by overwhelming need: to defend their proconsul, his family, the city, their families. The initial bravado waned as the sheer number of their opponents seeped into the men. They murmured amongst themselves, quickly testing the edges of their gladii and pilliami.

Aiding another soldier with his armor, Milus, a newer recruit, wondered aloud what many were thinking. "How are we going to fight them? All of them? General Cornelius makes it sound as if..."

An older man hefted his shield. "Aye, well, we try our best and try not to die? And might as well hope that the city walls hold while we're at it."

Milus looked thoroughly frightened and the older man patted him on the shoulder kindly. The human touch, even when protruding with iron and leather, was soothing.

"This is your first battle?"

Milus nodded nervously.

"If you survive, it shall be a story for your grandchildren and if you don't...Well, that's a soldier's lot, ain't it?"

Swallowing dryly, Milus followed the older man and shuffled out of the barracks. He drew small comfort from his proximity to the other man.

The advancing army had spread beyond the city gates, whereas the ships had ducked from sight. That made Cornelius uneasy. The soldiers marched to the coliseum near the western walls, where a constant thudding resounded against the solid gates, amplified by the acoustics of the building. The words "battering ram" and "ballista" wove through the phalanx. Unease spread. Officers strode through the ranks, sharing instructions and positioning soldiers.

The general walked to the front of the army. Flanked by three lieutenants, he stood on a stone bench. "Men!" Cornelius roared. "We each have our honor, our duty. I call on Mars to guide us through this battle." Now is the time to fulfill your oaths—to the Emperor!" Cheers. "The Proconsul!" More cheers. "To Portus Tarrus!" The sound was deafening.

One of the lieutenants removed his plumed helmet; it was not a lieutenant after all, but Proconsul Lucretius. "I will fight with you."

Cornelius groaned softly. Despite his attempts at persuading Lucretius otherwise, the man had been stubbornly insistent on fighting with—Cornelius' thoughts were turned away by the sudden breach in the walls by the opposing army. How in the name of Minerva...?

* * *

Calista stared heatedly at Avaritus, shakily awaiting his anger. Instead, soft laughter, worse than a thousand blows, drifted to her ears.

"Our time will come soon, and I shall enjoy it." Something caught his eye outside and he turned heel, leaving Calista by the window. She watched the cacophony of men, horses, and weapons out. It made as much sense to her as Assyrian. Less, even. From what she could see, her army was filing to the coliseum. Beyond that...Assyrian.

The light flop of sandals alerted Calista to the presence of another in the room. Thinking Avaritus had returned, she readied to launch herself at his throat. Instead, she saw young Marius, his face displaying a strange blend of fright and determination.

"Calista, follow me. There is to be an attack and Domina Olympia wants you in a safe place until we win the battle." That was said with utter confidence. He led her into the hall and halted near a spare chamber. He knocked on a thick door (which Calista realized, much to her mortification she had never noticed before) cannily disguised as a part of the wall.

"Maro," Calista said suddenly. "Wait here: I need to fetch something."

"A pretty dress, Caly?" Maro asked incredulously. "We really don't have the time." An odd sort of seriousness had settled on his face.

She laughed dryly at Maro's assumption. "Don't worry—I will be quick."

"All right..."

Battle cries filtering into the manor, she sorted through her things looking for it. Finally, her hand touched a cold metal edge of her gladius. About four hand's lengths, it had been given to her by a heartily amused Lucretius for her thirteenth birthday. She wished she had asked for another one.

Tucking the gladius in her belt, she looked regretfully at her other possessions, but she knew she could not safeguard everything. With much restraint, she took only the locket the Pyp had given her and clasped it around her neck. It knocked warmly against her bulla. She ran back to the slim door, where Maro awaited her patiently.

"Can you use that, Calista?" he asked skeptically, eyeing the blade at her waist.

"Let's hope we don't have to find out." Seeing Maro's worried expression, she speedily added, "I think I can though. What about you?"

Maro pulled a dagger from his belt. "Gods, I hope so."

On impulse, Calista hugged Maro warmly. Breaking the embrace (Maro squirmed perhaps a little less than Pyp, in deference to her rank, no doubt), Calista nodded to herself. She knew Pyp had not yet commenced his training and her mother would never think of using a knife for anything but cooking—and even then Olympia would only supervise. If it came down to it, she would protect them. "Are there any guards with us?" Calista asked.

The air of taking charge and assessing their situation did not settle naturally around Calista, nothing like a second skin—she was aware of her duty but it made her nervous. She attempted calmness.

"We have ten guards, and five slaves." A frown appeared on Maro's young face. "Your mother's attendants and their children are all with us. Some fifteen women and children." As if he were not a child himself. As if she were little more than a child. Calista smiled wanly.

Judging by the shrieks of metal and men, the other army was still pounding at the gates with their artillery. Why does Avaritus not just open the door, Calista thought angrily, it would make this whole terrible affair easier for him.

The sounds of battle reminded him of his duties and Marius knocked an intricate tattoo, which, after a moment, Calista recognized as a tavern tune she had heard the cook, Koisis, whistle from time to time. After a few thuds, the door opened, revealing a pair of guards framing a narrow passageway that led to a rickety staircase. Recognizing her, they bowed. "Domina Calista."

She smiled through the dark at them in what she hoped was a heartening way.

At the top of the stairs was a sort of upstairs cellar, not in use but with the familiar dank smell. Faint light filtered through a grimy window, illuminating a small room of the same marble as the rest of the manor but rough, unpolished. Calista counted some eight guards and six attendants not to mention a dozen or so children, just as Maro had reported.

"Calista!" Olympia exclaimed in relief. Pyp gave her a watery smile.

"Ah, Domina Calista," said a young lieutenant whom Calista's memory swiftly named Trebonius. "As I was explaining to your mother, we should be able to withstand any assault in this room. It's damned difficult to find let alone breach." He grinned confidently, his brown eyes too smoothly mirroring his words.

Calista did not believe him.

Faint screams and the sharp rings of metal reverberated through the room.

Ignoring them, Trebonius continued, "You are not to worry. We will take care of everything."

One of the soldiers shepherded the women and children, including Calista, into the corner nearest the window. When Calista protested, showing her gladius, the man guffawed. "If it comes to that, Domina, you'll be dead."

Trebonius shot the man a stern look.

The men stationed themselves around the small chamber. The majority guarded the narrow stairs. She supposed that the space was small enough that a handful of men could easily defend it. Starting, she realized all they had was a handful and she fervently hoped that her untutored assessment proved true. Pressing a hand to her breastbone, she felt as if her soul was preparing burst. Her stomach was jittery, her head light...and she felt the most inopportune urge to empty her bladder.

The thudding and cries of battle sounded painfully close. She flinched with each scream. Yet, the attic had descended into a silence so deep it was almost deafening. A brown-eyed child, no more than two, wailed. His mother hushed him, cradling him to her breast.

Calista imagined the scene outside and immediately regretted doing so. More noises. The rustling of leather. The clang of swords.

"Sir." The voice was outside but frighteningly clear. "There was a noise through there."

A second voice, older sounding, replied scathingly, "How could a noise come through a solid wall, you fool."

A pause and Calista dared to hope.

"Ah, it appears I was mistaken," the second voice said. "A cleverly disguised door."

The soldiers tramped down to lend their silent strength to reinforcing the door against the mercenaries' assault. After a few muffled shouts, Calista ignored her mother's protests and dashed to the top of the stairs to see what was happening. Blinking against the light coming from the open door, she counted five mercenaries to her eight. She watched as one of her soldiers was hamstrung. She watched him topple to the ground, heard him roar in pain. To Calista's eyes, that was the only event that stood out. Everything else blended together in a haze of shadow and blood. Still, it was a simple numbers game and Portus Tarrus quelled the assault with no more casualty to their side. Avaritus' dead littered the floor. But not before another troop of looting mercenaries noticed the carnage before them. Seven to a dozen now. Outnumbered.

And thoughtlessly, Calista leapt into the fray.

"Portus Tarrus!" Calista bellowed. The mercenaries gawked at her in amused disbelief. For that matter, Portus Tarrus' soldiers were not far behind. Trebonius used the distraction to strike a mercenary to the ground. The spell was broken.

Deep in the mêlée, she was overwhelmed by the stink of blood and sweat. A grinning man raised his arm to club her over the head with his blade. Instinct ruled. Raising her own arm, she met his gladius with her own. The contact reverberated down her arm. His blade locked above, in a fluid movement, she swung hers down, gripping it with both hands and striking at his neck where the armor gaped. He had not expected it of her, a patrician girl. She felt his flesh and bone vibrate through her hands, a thousand times more terrible than the feel of the metal. His head thomped to the ground, still smiling. He had green eyes. She wanted to retch but she willed herself to be strong. Just do not think about it. Do not look there.

Suddenly, she realized that she was being moved up the steps. Thinking her soldiers were moving her back for protection, she felt irritated—but relieved. Looking at the spectacle below, she understood that they were retreating. Shock lanced through her. The crush of mercenary reinforcements slapped her with the knowledge that Portus Tarrus was lost. She could not have believed that so many would be in the manor otherwise. Her foot missed a step. On the main floor now, she deliberately avoided looking at the women and children.

Hot panting curled the fine hair on the nape of her neck, the gladius slipped out of her sweaty fingers and in her panic she kicked it away. She could not reach it. The mercenary had been several feet from her but he lunged, stumbling unsteadily but he still managed to paint a thick scarlet ribbon across her arm. Quelling the scream that rose in her throat, she determinedly shoved the pain away. Other men were fighting in clusters and she would distract them with her shouts. Unarmed, she grabbed his hair, bit the man, kicked, scratched. Anything. It made not the slightest impact on him. She stabbed his sword hand with her sharp nails and in shock, he dropped the weapon. He closed his other hand like a vise around her throat. The room spun.

Grabbing his hair, she smacked it against the wall. The man's skull was made of iron. Expressionless, he tightened his fingers. Blackness. Her body fell limp. Then, the fingers loosened and Calista gasped for air as hot wetness trickled down the front of her robe. A kitchen knife was being pulled roughly from her assailant's throat. By her mother.

"Mother!" Gods, Calista thought. By rights, she should have let me die. Supervise, indeed. Her wry chuckle faded into a gurgle when she surveyed the surrounding bath of blood and death. Gladius roughly wrested away from her by an invader, she realized that nearly all of Portus Tarrus' men were prone. The mercenaries stood victorious. Although, Calista noted with spiteful joy, more of their dead littered the floor. It was a small a pleasure.

She had killed. Knees buckling under her at the thought, she collapsed. She had killed, yet they still had been vanquished. That was not right. Scrutinizing the scene of their loss one last time before being hauled unceremoniously and prodded out of the room a captive, she murmured staunchly, "I will be brave. I will be strong." She hoped that by saying it enough times, it would become true.

* * *

Miletus was more than surprised to find himself fighting near Proconsul Lucretius but there was no time to do more than admire the fact. Portus Tarrus was being quickly hemmed in and Miletus fought for his life with every inch of skill he could muster. He was bleeding from nicks all along his body, but his condition was much better than that of many of the surrounding men. He, at least, was alive.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he squinted at the hazy sun, just evident from behind thickly rolling dark clouds. He judged the time to be perhaps five hours past noon. Eyes sweeping over the field, he watched Proconsul Lucretius attacked by two men. Miletus readied himself to dash to the Proconsul's aid when suddenly a small, dark man appeared behind Lucretius. Throwing caution to the wind, Miletus drew in a breath to yell warning to the Proconsul when a sharp, burning sensation exploded in his stomach. A blade was pulled out roughly. Stomach wounds are fatal, he recalled hazily. Like a slow-moving play, he watched the Proconsul bellow in agony and topple to the ground. Miletus' knees hit the earth.

"Proconsul!" Miletus gasped. Lucretius' head rose as if he heard the cry, but then slowly he sank back into the blood-stained earth.

Around the dying men, the battle slowed. Blood bubbled from Miletus' mouth, gushed from his stomach. The certainty of loss folded into Miletus before he too faded into the Fortunate Isles. The victorious milled around the corpses.

CHAPTER VII

One week. It had been one week since Calista's life had shattered, but she looked no different. Sadder, perhaps. Red scars crisscrossed her arms from the fight in the attic, but the bruises were beginning to fade from her neck. She thought that there should have been some physical manifestation of the grief that tore through her. In one fell swoop, she had lost her father, her home, her freedom...her security. She had seen her father burned to ashes on the funeral pyre, just one of the nameless dead.

Father. Dead. Those were two words she was unable to connect. Like a sundial, her mind always circled back to his death. Her heart paused, clenched, gasped for breath, as if her soul was drowning. She would never see those warm, dark eyes again or feel his arms encircle her. A wheezing sob welled in her throat but she stifled it roughly for fear of awakening her napping mother and brother.

Nuala had disappeared. Dead, run away, Calista did not know but she wished her the best of it. General Cornelius and his surviving lieutenants Aloysius and Trebonius had refused to accept capitulation and had met their end in the coliseum as part of the general spectacle. She could still hear the fickle crowd's cheers.

And just like that, it was all gone.

She drew a breath. Not all was gone. She would not let the gods catch her in thanklessness. Pyp and her mother slept beside her on her bed. Yes, they were prisoners—she tried not to think of the time she had been forced to spend alone with Avaritus—but they were alive and they were together. And she had managed to convince her mother nothing had happened on those visits. She was even managing to convince herself.

Avaritus occupied her parents' chambers, relegating them to detention in Calista's room. Calista had brooded over his actions, searching for a reason, as if she were picking at a fresh red scab. Greed obviously drove him. He is well-named, Calista thought bitterly. But he could have lobbied the Senate or the Emperor for a few estates if he so desired. He wanted more, that was clear. What will the Senate, what will the Emperor do? she wondered. They cannot let this usurpation simply happen. It would set an example that bore the potential to tear the entire fabric of Rome. Surely Avaritus has realized this? Through his skillfully orchestrated invasion, he had proven he was no fool. So why this? It was a puzzle.

In it lay the definite understanding of his character. If it was simply her he had desired, they were arranged to marry in a year. If he could not have waited, kidnapping was a far easier option. He could have saved hassle and lives if he had wed Calista after abducting her. Certainly, her father would have been given him anything to ensure her safety. But she could have sought a divorce...At any rate, that would not have satisfied his taste for brutality. Perhaps he was not a landowner in Rome and had hoodwinked her parents in a plan to gain Terronensis. Yet, the Senate assigned the ruler of the province, every decade or so; it was not inherited land. Was he relying on distance to ensure that the Senate would sit idle? Rich bribes? That would be folly. Sooner or later, the Senate would respond to this travesty. He had made sure to kill her father. That was important. If only she could cobble the answer together. Sighing, Calista reclined against the bed, blue eyes pensive.

Calista's mind wandered to the moments after they had been locked into her now-looted chambers.

Pyp, Olympia, and Calista lay on the bed together, silent but huddling beneath the blankets. Pyp's drew the deep, even breaths of sleep but Olympia gasped shakily every few minutes. They were uncertain of her father's fate, but they feared the worst. Calista knew that she herself trembled like a lone leaf on the wind, her face sticky with tears. She buried her head in her mother's bosom.

"Calista," she said suddenly. "I must tell you something."

"What, Mother?" Calista's stomach clenched in anxiety, cold billowing through her.

Olympia's face screwed with determination that was evident even in the weak starlight. "I am to have a child." Her words shook.

Calista gaped, a thousand thoughts and emotions moving furiously through her. "Did father know?" she finally inquired.

Olympia's voice held steady. "Yes. We were so pleased...

"When will it be born?" Calista whispered.

"Less than half a year. And you must not speak of this to anyone, you understand? Not to Pyp, not to anyone."

"As you command, Mother."

The next morning, Olympia and Calista were escorted by a pair of soldiers to Avaritus' newly occupied chambers. The rooms had not been altered in the slightest, but Calista could not shake the feeling of hollowness, as if the chamber had been burned raw.

The procurator Bodenius slipped past them, and Calista leveled him a look of fury: his daughter, Cornelia, had been one of Calista's dearest friends before Lucretius had arranged her marriage to the brother of one of Calista's former suitors. They had done well out of that match and now look at Bodenius, toadying to Avaritus. Calista was gratified by his shamefaced scuttle.

Avaritus lounged easily but left Olympia and Calista standing, enjoying their discomfiture. A fine pair of women, as different from each other as night and day. His eyes raked over them calculatingly. "How do you find your lodgings?"

They had remained fastidiously silent, looking at him with darkly glowering eyes.

Avaritus had tried again. "My dear Olympia, it grieves me to inform that your husband has passed."

Not a flicker of emotion crossed their faces.

Calista's mother drew herself up then. "Domina Olympia," she had corrected.

Avaritus barked a laugh. The rings on his fingers had caught the light. "I announce the death of husband and you stand on niceties? Perhaps you wish to know the manner of his death? I am a gracious host: I would not deny you." A lean man emerged seemingly from shadow. "Lucretius was a fool to fight among his men. Did he think himself Hektor, a hero? Well, he is dead, now. A dagger to his back, courtesy of Panos here." His tone was casual. He very well could have been asking after the recipe of a cheese spread.

"Do you intend to make yourself Proconsul of Portus Tarrus then?" Olympia demanded coldly.

Calista admired Olympia's nerve: to hear the manner of her husband's death and then take it so calmly. Although Calista's face was impassive, she was ready to weep and knew that she could not be trusted to speak with any modicum of composure.

"After a fashion. First, this conquest, next, marriage to your lovely daughter, Calista. That and lining the pockets of a few well-placed senators can never hurt a man's cause."

If Calista had not been practicing studied calmness, she would have jumped at that. Instead, she quietly said, "I refuse and there is no force on Earth or the Heavens that can force me to relent."

"You know nothing of forces!" Avaritus snapped. "I have your mother, your brother in my hands. Do you wish me to prove how quickly I can make you renege on your vow?"

Calista blanched. "No," she said in a small voice. She wished she could be as courageous as her mother, to spit defiance in his eye.

"You are my prisoners." His lips curling into a satisfied smile, relishing the sentence like a sweet wine. "You, Calista, will attend me tonight."

"No!" Olympia exclaimed.

Avaritus was gratified to have broken her composure at last. "Yes, Olympia?" he replied solicitously.

"Allow me to attend you, Proconsul." Olympia's posture was tight but she looked into Avaritus' face directly, eyes blazing.

Calista's body reverberated with shock. Her mind refused to click the pieces together; understanding of the exchange hovered just out of sight.

Avaritus permitted himself to appear to consider the offer. He gave a slight smile. "No, but I thank you for the offer Olympia. I will bear it in mind. You are dismissed."

Calista abruptly snapped back to the present, startled by her mother's sudden movement.

Dark circles rimmed Olympia's eyes, grey lines framed her mouth. The grief-stricken woman barely held any resemblance to Calista's fiercely defiant mother of only a few nights ago.

"I will be getting medicine for you tonight, and you will feel better," Calista murmured to her mother, trying to reassure her. "Mama?" she whispered tentatively when Olympia remained unresponsive.

Her mother closed her eyes, for all the world appearing asleep.

This was enough. Her mother was with child, obviously ill, and she needed help. Calista resolved to speak to Avaritus about the matter and stubbornly avoided the warning shiver that trickled down her spine.

She had wondered about Claudius, several times after the capture of Portus Tarrus. It would have been unbearable if Claudius had died, along with her father, like another piece of her flesh carved away. She hoped he had managed to sail away and was somewhere hot and safe where there was good trade to be had. So many gone: loving Nuala, gruff Cornelius who had always had a sweet for the younger Calista, and Trebonius, brave to the end.

A flame-haired slave woman stepped through the door. With her tousled hair and precariously slipping tunic, she might have just emerged from bed. Which, Calista thought spitefully, is likely the case.

"Calista, Proconsul Avaritus requires your presence." Older than Calista, perhaps her mother's age, the woman's tone was decidedly neutral.

It did not placate Calista. "Domina Calista, slut," Calista snapped. Stubbornly, she ignored the foreboding which trembled in her stomach. Standing up, she shook wrinkles from the stola, the same one she had been wearing for the past three days.

"Your title was stripped along with your holdings," the slave replied woodenly, green eyes hard against an olive complexion. She was not gloating; she was reciting facts. Calista did not know which was worse.

"Only the Senate can strip my family of either." Turning her back to the woman, Calista ordered, "Tell Avaritus I will be along shortly." Whatever her situation, she refused to see him while looking like a kitchen slave. If she appeared strong and self-assured, perhaps he would believe it—and maybe she would believe it too.

Surprisingly, the woman complied and departed. Instantly, Calista regretted indulging her frustration on her. She seemed reasonable and Calista could have used a friendly face on the opposition. She could feel her father's reproach: he was always firm with the slaves but calm and even-handed, saying that a man's character could only truly be judged by how he interacted with his inferiors.

Another lesson her father had imparted to her once, when she was young, came to mind. Ceremony is everything, Daughter, Lucretius whispered in her mind, and for a moment she could almost feel his presence. People are impressed by splendor and ceremony: always use custom to your advantage. Of course, he had been referring to her future role as a hostess for her husband's events, but the words fit just as well here.

She knew that if she dressed herself too finely, her clothing and jewelry would be removed. It is not as if there is much left. Still, a few plain clothes remained, although her silk vestments had all been looted.

She washed her face, neck, and arms before stepping into a tunic followed by a stola of fine peach wool with sleeves gathered at the shoulders. Ivory comb stolen, her fingers quickly brushed her damp hair and hastily braided and twirled it into a coronet around her head.

A guard escorted Calista to her father's office. She refused to refer to anything as Avaritus'. Vaguely, she toyed with the idea of breaking the guard's nose and running away but promptly dismissed it. If she managed to overpower the guard, she would still have to pass the soldiers who patrolled the grounds of the manor and the city with her mother and Pyp. Impossible but such a lovely fantasy. Better than seeing what had passed on the villa.

Absolutely ransacked during the battle, the manor had seen little effort to put it to rights. Calista gaped at the brownish-black splashes on the floors and wall frescoes: blood. The guard looked at her in askance but she smiled weakly and shook her head. The mercenaries were cold and violent men in the majority but there was no reason that there could not also be those that were good.

Her eyes drifted back to the blood. It was as if Avaritus wanted a persistent and visible reminder of the means he had used to achieve power, a warning to any who would counter him. Spotting a few familiar slaves, she deliberately smiled at them. Whatever her situation, if she presented an illusion of strength publicly...well, she did not know what it would accomplish but it would certainly be better than crumpling and weeping every few steps.

They stood at the office, the room where her father spent hours poring over provincial records, discussing matters with the procurator and others, issuing orders, and corresponding with senators and proconsuls. Calista wondered if any unsent letters remained in the drawers. Oh, she would give anything to read his last words, the last products of his loving mind.

The door opened.

Dismissing the guard with a flick of his fingers, Avaritus did not look up immediately. Irrationally, Calista longed for the man to stay. He afforded some illusion of protection against Avaritus. The door whispered shut and it was just the two of them.

"You requested my presence, Avaritus?"

He seemed distracted. He did not even spare a moment to eye her appraisingly as was his habit. "I have called to inform you that we will be wedded in four days' time. That is all."

Ignoring the sensation of ice sinking in her stomach, Calista instead observed loudly, "I see you are finding governorship to be a bit of a chore. Of course, you must do it well for the Senate to allow you continue in the position but it does leave very little time for whoring." She tutted sympathetically. In spite of his stormy countenance, Calista plowed on. "My mother is quite ill and requires a physician's services. I doubt the Senate would look kindly on you if she perished in your care, upstart that you are and her brother, my uncle Bellicus, a senator."

Avaritus' mouth tightened, but he called for a slave. "Have a physician sent for," he said blandly.

Calista tried to keep her face unruffled at the sight of Maro. Let Avaritus think she saw him as nothing more than a slave. By the gods, she was thankful to see him well. They did not allow a flicker of recognition to pass between them.

"Yessir," nodded Maro and hastily backed away from the room. To her chagrin, she noted that while Maro seemed healthy and clean—at least Avaritus understood the value of caring for slaves—there was an oddly un-Maro-like, placid gleam to his eyes. It was unsettling like seeing an ugly Venus.

"I hope you are keeping our family slaves well," she drawled. She hoped he would not be able to hear through her feigned nonchalance.

Avaritus chuckled, seeing through her thin guise easily. He straightened his fine crimson toga: the red was so deep, it bordered on violet but even he dared not cross that line. Yet. "A fickle bunch. Took to me quite easily."

Calista released a sigh of relief she had not even realized she had been holding. "Tell me of your family, Avaritus. You know everything of mine and if we are to be man and wife..."

"Shut up, bitch," he spat venomously, his apparent good humor vanishing with alacrity.

"Who are you really, Avaritus Spurius? A bastard son of a patrician family, disinherited for the scandal he caused?" Even as her eyes mocked him, her voice was carefully modulated.

Avaritus' fingers tightened around the parcel of papers he had been studying. "Whatever I was, I am now the Proconsul of Terronensis." He smiled privately, as if he had been struck by a most pleasurable notion.

A chill pricked her arms. "Not for long Avaritus. The Emperor, the Senate will hear of this soon and I doubt that either will let a bastard rule Terronensis, after coming to power, not through their command but through his own impetus. Were you really such a fool to believe that if you succeeded in conquest, the Senate would permit it?"

"You assume too much and know too little."

Calista bit her tongue. Let him illuminate her. She would find a way to use the knowledge.

"Lucretius and I signed a contract in which he allowed that in the case of his incapacitation and young Nicetius not yet of age, I would, through marriage to you, take on the duties of the Proconsul of Terronensis until such a time the Senate could appoint someone else. And, as it happens, I have recently heard that the Senate looks favorably upon my appointment."

Nearly fully confident he was bluffing, she told him so bluntly.

"If the Senate finds me willing to take on this burden—" He pulled a face; the childish mannerism did not suit him. "—They will not likely disregard me. I have already sent my case to be presented before the Senate."

Anger swelling within her at the thought of Avaritus occupying her father's position through the legal support of the Senate, she snorted, "I hardly think the Senate will by sympathetic to you plea. 'Dear Senate, using mercenaries to rape, ravage, and pillage Portus Tarrus I gained control, but now can I have the position?' Pah!"

Shaking his heard with condescension, he replied coolly, "You would be an idiot to believe that I sent to the Senate a true-to-life account of what occurred." At the sight of her mutinous glare, he added, "And an imbecile to believe that I will allow you any means to send a messenger. You are dismissed."

Calista did not move.

"You are dismissed," he repeated curtly.

With frigid gravity, Calista announced, "I swear to you, on the legacy of my father and the lives of my mother and brother that one day I will see you dead." Stately, she glided from the room, knowing without peeking that she left a shocked Avaritus in her wake. If he had thought he had cowed her with his brutality, he would learn that she was of more resilient stock than that.

The mercenary guard, who revealed his name to be Gualterus after a cordial inquiry, escorted her back. Calista pointedly smiled at and greeted all she encountered. Slaves or mercenaries, she did not discriminate. Inch by inch, she resolved to win the esteem and sympathy of her captors.

"Do you have a family, Gualterus?" she asked warmly.

Surprised at the question, Gualterus paused before informing her of his wife and three children but found himself thinking that it was a pitiable situation that the girl he was guarding had found herself in and he resolved to be kinder to his prisoners. After all, Avaritus had never taken such an interest in little Medullina's fascination with conch shells.

Calista permitted herself a small smile as Gualterus locked her in the room with an apologetic light in his brown eyes.

She was going to need every bit of goodwill and luck she could gather. This meeting had proven that she could not wait for senatorial forces to arrive and set things aright. She was going to have to escape. The thoughts of freedom occupying her mind left little room for the darkness of the past few days to take precedence.

Avoiding jostling her mother and Pyp, both of whom looked so utterly at peace asleep, she settled onto the bed and mentally outlined her successful escape from the home she had clung to with all her might. She refused to think of how the situation could have been avoided if she had not so foolishly rejected proposals, tenaciously gripping Portus Tarrus and her family, her father. That he might still have been alive if she had but played her role of a dutiful daughter...

No. She denied the thought even as it threatened to overshadow all else.

CHAPTER VIII

Calista awoke to Pyp's pendant burning at her throat. When she tried to pull it off, it scalded her hands. Just when she could bear the heat no more, it cooled. Her breathing steadied as she tried to capture the last moments of her dream. The pendant was a part of it, of that she was sure. And obsidian columns floated prominently in her memory. Odd colors and sensations dominated as well. Chanting. Crying. A child called Claudius. An infant with her name. A woman wailing.

She shook her head free of the absurd images and saw that her mother and Pyp were already awake, playing a game they had recently contrived that involved the few odds and ends left around the room. Opening her mouth to ask how to play, she was interrupted by Gualterus' entry. He was followed by a young woman hooded in grey.

"This is the physician's daughter," he introduced briskly before ducking out.

When she lowered her hood, she revealed a mane of hair, perhaps a bit more flaxen than Calista's and eyes of a deeper blue. Although they were not particularly alike facially, the similarities in their coloring and build spawned a frenzy of ideas in Calista's mind.

Olympia rose weakly and walked to the woman. "His daughter?"

The girl flushed slightly but responded with dignity. "I am Rusonia. My father is otherwise occupied, but he has taught me much and if I encounter an issue I cannot handle, I will consult with him. Fear not, you are in good hands with me. Proconsul Avaritus has given me an hour, so if I can urge you Domina Olympia, to lie on the bed so I may examine you."

Calista did not miss Rusonia's delicate shudder at the mention of Avaritus. She tucked the information away. She could not believe that Rusonia's father had so cavalierly sent his daughter to this house teeming with mercenaries.

Noticing Pyp's frightened face, Rusonia added confidently, "Not to worry, little one."

As the doctor's daughter worked, Calista mulled over whether or not she should do as she planned. She would be asking much of Rusonia; it would even be risking her life if they were apprehended. Could she stomach the woman's blood on her hands? That was a definitive no. But what if this were a trap? What if Avaritus had found Rusonia for just this purpose, to lure Calista into revealing herself openly? She snorted, much to her mother's and Rusonia's astonishment. Had she not, just a few days ago, promised to see Avaritus dead? He knew where she stood and a trap would be superfluous. Besides, Avaritus was much too occupied with managing Portus Tarrus to squander his time with such tricks. And he still needed her.

Sufficiently convinced that the girl was just a girl, Calista watched her. Rusonia's movements were crisp as she kneaded Olympia's stomach and checked her mouth and eyes.

"Ah, you are with child?" Taking Olympia's silence for assent, Rusonia knelt on the ground and extracted herbs from her satchel. "I will not tell Avaritus," she whispered.

Trusting the moment, Calista inquired as nonchalantly as she could, "What do you think of Avaritus?"

Olympia's voice was stern. "Calista! You do not have to answer that," she said to Rusonia, shooting Calista an admonishing look.

Pyp watched the unfolding scene with interest. Like Maro, he had absorbed a disconcerting quietness into his manner, a gravity much too severe for the age of seven. However, it was somewhat lightened by the anticipation of seeing what his sister planned.

Calista spoke in a rush. "I am going to ask of you a favor, one much too great to ask of someone I have known for scarcely fifteen minutes, and yet I must."

An apprehensive light flickered behind Rusonia's indigo eyes but she stayed mute.

Deciding to frame her request as an innocuous question, she requested, "May I borrow your cloak?"

Rusonia's face clouded dubiously. Her lips thinned. "What for?" she asked, her manner as crisp as when she had been examining Olympia. Olympia echoed Rusonia's sentiment and while Calista, at any other time, would have applauded her mother's rally of spirit, irritation coursed through her, followed speedily by shame. She was a wicked daughter. Instead of being thankful that her mother was recovering from her malaise, she was annoyed.

An image of being forbidden to do as she knew she had to floated before her eyes. Her mother would advocate, had advocated, waiting for the Senate to rescue them. After all, her mother did not know the full extent of what had transpired between her and Avaritus. Her mother was pregnant: she wanted security not worry. A part of Calista thought she was underestimating her mother but she would not risk it with the complete truth. "I just need the opportunity to be about Portus Tarrus unattended—"

Shooting up, Olympia chastised, "Do not be a fool, Calista! You risk not only yourself but Rusonia. I cannot understand what possessed to think that you could imperil so much for such a fancy."

It was Calista's turn to look incredulous. "What possessed me? Allow me to think. Father died. Our home was conquered. We are prisoners and Father's murderer is living here happily. What has not possessed me?" Turning to Rusonia, she implored, "Avaritus has given us an hour. If anyone asks, I will be you and say that I need herbs or to counsel with your father." Even as she said it, she recognized the sheer stupidity of her intentions but her desperation was such that if Rusonia denied her, she would the cloak away with her own fingers. For good measure, she added, "If I should be caught, I will say that I threatened and forced you to it; you need not worry about that."

"Very well."

"What?" Calista asked blankly. She had already begun planning exactly how she was going to physically coerce this hale girl into giving her the cloak. Rusonia's assent was surprising and frankly mad. But Calista would not question it. It was deeply selfish of her and she was vaguely disgusted by herself, but she would reconcile her conscience later. "I thank you, profoundly," she said, folding the heavy felt cloak about her.

"You're welcome."

Olympia watched Calista with disapproving eyes as she slipped out of the door, avoiding the questions of the guard with a roughly muttered, "I will return soon." All the while, she ducked her head meekly, even as the mercenaries called out rude and shocking suggestions. She was surprised to realize that they curbed their tongues in her unmasked presence. She supposed that whatever else, she was their employer's betrothed.

Treading softly down the stairs, she crept to the white stone kitchens. The mosaics depicting women cooking and men baking were some of the most beautiful in the house and gleamed as ever.

Her awkward hovering was noted by the cook, Koisis, who had worked in Portus Tarrus' kitchens since her grandfather, Antonius Tertillius Volusus. "You are not permitted to be here. You may exit this way." He gestured towards a narrow door which led to the vegetable gardens.

Calista approached him cautiously, eyeing the working slaves who were barely aware of her presence. She whispered, "Koisis."

Recognition flashed in his dark eyes but his face was smooth. "Ah, stranger, you do not know the way. Let me guide you," he announced loudly. "Fidelus, oversee the kitchens while I see this lost stranger out."

While Calista inwardly cringed, Koisis led her through the garden where green remnants still clung tenaciously to the soil. Although it was an overcast day, Calista reveled in the unadulterated daylight. "How are you Koisis?" she murmured.

He gave a small frown and unleashed a verbal torrent. "I've been better but seeing you has lifted my spirits. How did you escape? Why? Where are your mother and brother? I am sorry for your father."

"I need to go into the city but I am not escaping. Yet. Mother has been ill—not too seriously!" she added at the alarmed look in Koisis' eye. "—And Pyp is a bit down. Do you know if the merchant's ships have departed yet?" Fervently, she hoped they had not.

If Koisis was confused by the question, he did not let on. "They have stayed on to trade with the mercenaries, not all but most."

"Do you know of Captain Claudius?" Despite her worry, she noted inconsequentially just how stupid the alliteration sounded. She lost her footing on the rain-smooth flagstones, but Koisis caught her arm.

"Not that I know of. If I'd had the chance, I would've left. I can't condone what the bastard's done but a man needs a roof over his head."

"I understand. And your words are truer than you think," Calista said, seizing on the moment and a most convenient transition.

"What?" Koisis leaned towards her eagerly, always ready to hear an interesting piece of gossip.

Calista dropped her voice to a barely discernible hiss. "He is a bastard, in the literal sense of the term. Perhaps you should let the word spread to others but do nothing that will risk you or anyone else." She had jeopardized Rusonia but by the gods, she would not risk more than she had to. More than she had to. She shoved away how hard that sounded.

"You can't mean...?" Koisis gaped.

Sighing despondently, Calista saw they had reached the end of the walk and she felt a heaviness extend from her stomach to her feet, a symptom of her reluctance to leave Koisis. "He hoodwinked us into believing he was a man of good birth and honor. We, being so out of touch with Rome, believed him. The privacy we so prized proved to be our downfall." Calista's eyes, nearly grey in the cloudy silver light, flickered unhappily.

An image of the baby Calista in some queer watery hall suddenly blossomed in her mind's eye without provocation as if someone had tugged it out of the recesses of her brain. It was another scrap from her dream, and it lodged into her mind, not like a dreamt wisp, but as something true and solid: a memory. "Koisis? Were you here when I was born?" she asked abruptly. She drew the grey cloak further over he face as a pair of soldiers glanced at her inquiringly.

The man started at the question and nervously fiddled with his stained tunic that strained over his potbelly. "Yes." His voice wavered.

His reticence to answer was enough. The question sprang into her mouth fully-formed. "I am not Mother's daughter am I?" Calista murmured wanly. It felt as if the bottom had dropped out of the world and she was being simultaneously compressed and pulled through a knothole.

"It was around when your grandfather was still proconsul here and the story they put about was that your mother simply did not grow during the pregnancy." He appeared momentarily uncomfortable, scrubbing his fingers through grey-brown hair. "But slaves talked and not a one of us believed the tale. Still, they were so happy." His gaze suddenly grew distant. "I remember when your mother first named you. I was there, serving breakfast a day or so after you came to us and it was as if she had been struck by Cupid's arrow, such a look of divine inspiration came into her eye."

"How did they find me?" She thought that by asking more questions, she could make it more real. She understood it theoretically, but the news that she was not her father's daughter seemed to apply to another Calista. Not her. A portion of her knew she was wasting valuable time for a trifle when compared to everything else at stake but something in her demanded that it was every person's right to know where they came from. Their love is what matters, she told herself firmly. But as she mentally tallied what had befallen her, she was ready to curse the gods. Everything she had mentioned to her mother, somethings she had not, and now discovering her parents were not her parents. It was far too much. She wished she had not asked Koisis. She wished he had lied.

"Koisis," A woman appeared from the arches. "Avaritus is commanding his meal and, pardon me, wishes to know whether, 'Your fat arse has gone and eaten all the food.'"

Calista held her breath, waiting for the slave to recognize her but the woman's dark-eyed gaze flicked over her disinterestedly. As much as Calista wanted to know more she realized her time had grown thin. "Thank you...Koisis, is it?" She nodded, vaguely cordial for the benefit of the slave woman. She left the pair, a mêlée of thoughts roiling in her mind.

Her leather sandals churning up mud from the alley, she noted the effects of the battle lingering. Blood stained trees, torn shreds of clothing shivering in a bush. Remnants of lives, of people, now only marked by things which had been theirs. Calista shivered. People still hurried around the city and their homes seemed largely undamaged if occasionally charred. Calista bowed her head to avoid recognition.

The path shifted to smooth stones and disregarding appearances, she skidded down to the harbor. And there, lit up against the moonbeam sea, was a figure as familiar to her as Pyp's. She dared not hope but hastened her pace, stubbornly wading through the beach gravel. The golden hair was undeniable. Eyes focusing on the scene, she saw that Claudius was speaking to a pair of sailors but she only had to hover before a few moments before he dismissed them. After that, she was shocked at how rapidly her feet carried her to him.

"Claudius!" she cried, feeling sudden relief as his colors resolved: the sage green of his tunic, the cerulean of his eyes, the blush of his lips.

"Calista!" He wrapped her in a tight embrace. "How...?" he trailed off wonderingly.

Breaking from his arms, she wrung her hands and spoke urgently. "I have little time, but I have to come to ask if you would be willing to sail with me and my family? Soon? I am afraid I can offer you no definite recompense, but we have property in Rome and a few farms in the countryside." She peered at him hopefully.

He stared pensively at the ocean. Calista watched him, her heart ready to crumble at the sound of his refusal. No, she admonished herself. If he says No then I will find another way. Oh gods, let him agree but if not, help me to find another way.

Calista drew a breath as Claudius answered, "Trade with the mercenaries is lagging since their loot started dwindling and my men are growing restless. Smuggle your family out within a week and we will be ready to sail but I can promise you no more than that. And you must remember that I cannot give you more than a week. Is there anything else you require?"

Unexpectedly, Calista realized that they were in plain view on the beach but she quashed the instinct to hare off. A person on the beach was not odd. A person running off like their hide was on fire? That would be notable. Aware of just how stupid she was about to sound, Calista sucked in a cold breath. "I also came here because, well, I had a dream." The next words came as a nervous torrent. "A most realistic dream. I do not recall much but you and I were together, that I remember. We were children. And there was a wall, only it was not of stone or concrete but rather of—"

"Water," Claudius completed. He looked shocked at his words and the way they clicked into place with her sentence.

"Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly. Again, she was putting her history above her safety and Rusonia's well-being, but the pull was irresistible.

"Those images have haunted my dreams too," he exhaled. "I would not have remarked upon the matter if you had not mentioned it. Surely, if you too can see them, they are not mere fancies?"

"What in the name of Neptune have we stumbled into?" she muttered, feeling buffeted by confusion from every angle.

Before Claudius could reply, a scruffy sailor ran to them. A shot of panic surged through Calista.

"Claudius, that girl, Calista, is missing and Avaritus has men searching for her." The lad carefully averted his dark eyes from Calista and she immediately understood—if asked anything, he could honestly plead ignorance. Certain that Claudius had understood, he dashed away, not eager to linger.

If this boy has seen me than how many others have too? She nearly fainted in fright at the thought and cursed herself ten times for a fool. "I must go. If Avaritus discovers me with you...He will hurt—" She broke off. "Thank you, Claudius." Sarcastically, she chuckled. "That is all I offer anyone. I risk their lives and offer my sincerest thanks."

"If I were you, I would wallow a little less and run a bit more," Claudius advised wryly.

"I will see you within the week," she promised. "Thank you again."

Calista set off. A sheet of sheer mist allowed her an inconspicuous excuse to draw the hood of her cloak up. She was very nearly at the villa when she leapt behind a bush waving with tattered and bloody scraps. A small flock of mercenaries marched closer.

"Where's the damn wench gotten to?" cursed Deodatus, the mercenary captain. An unprepossessing man, he was stocky with only a shock of red hair to hint at the vicious temper which boiled underneath. His clear blue eyes, like a babe's, belied any such temper.

"Could be anywhere in this gods-forsaken fog sir," called one of the men. "She might even be inside, enjoying a goblet of warm wine while we're tramping around in this haze." His voice was wistful and Calista barely contained a snort of hysterical laughter.

Deodatus' eyes narrowed. They were not precisely cruel—hard described them more aptly. "Nolus, if you don't have a good answer, keep your mouth shut and your eyes open." He vowed to himself that he would never take children on campaign with him. "Weak stomachs, weaker minds," he grumbled.

A misty gust rattled the shrubbery, whisking the hood from Calista's head. Even as she scrambled to replace it, her sunny locks winked like a beacon.

Spotting the signal, Nolus approached to investigate. In the moment his earthy brown eyes met Calista's, she thought her heart would stop. She sprang away, making for the manor.

"There she is, Captain!" Nolus exclaimed, shocked at his own initiative.

"Don't just stand there! Get the damn girl!" If the situation had been any less important, Deodatus would have rolled his eyes.

The mercenaries dashed after her and Nolus found himself pulling ahead, his heels pounding on the paved road. Within minutes, he was at Calista's side, his hand tight around her elbow. Her head and heart were near to bursting and regret for Rusonia filled the parts of her which were not on the brink of explosion. I deserve whatever they do to me, she thought and halted in mid-step. Nolus tripped over her and both hurtled to the ground. She heard her chin crack against the pave stones. A hot, wet burning sprang forth.

"Up you," grunted the mercenary as pulled her up roughly. "Proconsul Avaritus' going to be pleased to see you."

Calista stared at him blankly.

Disconcerted by the sudden emptiness in his quarry's face, Nolus swung her up on his shoulder and toted Calista to his captain. Proudly, Nolus strode over to the group and Deodatus nodded in pleasure. He slapped Nolus on the back. "You may just be able stick around longer if you keep showing this kind of initiative."

"Thank you, sir." His chest puffed out in pride.

"Carry the girl to Proconsul Avaritus. Who knows? You may be rewarded." Deodatus lowered his voice. "I hear he gives women to the soldiers who please him." Of course he had heard no such thing (women had been taken independently but they had not been gifted) but it would amuse him to hear of this hapless man's reprimand.

Nolus' grip around Calista tightened not inconsiderably and Deodatus, spying the direction of the man's thoughts, reproved, "Not her. She will reach Proconsul Avaritus safely."

"Yessir." Eager to claim his prize, Nolus lowered Calista perhaps a bit too handily but Deodatus allowed that to slip.

Calista was led into the villa through a smaller side door, not unlike the garden door through which she had escaped. Had she been less inclined to soak in her guilt and misery, she might have seethed at the sight of the dilapidated walls or drawn heart from the discreetly sympathetic looks the slaves tossed towards her. However, she was startled from her morose trance by the sight of a hastily carved marble bust of Avaritus which skillfully captured his thin lips, and, in Calista's opinion, the mean squint of his eyes. Even his presumption could not jar her for long and soon she retreated again, not even feeling Nolus' roaming hands.

When Nolus pushed Calista to the door, she came to herself. Efficiently, he knocked on the door, arranging his hands tidily about his own person. The door was opened by a buxom woman, the same one who had issued the summons to Calista. Attempting a tentative smile, Calista was disappointed to see no flicker of empathy in her olive eyes.

"Who is it, Flora?" Avaritus called.

"A soldier and the runaway Calista," she replied in a soft, seductive voice: quite different from the one she had used to address Calista.

A smile wove through his words. "Let them in."

This was but the third time she had entered these rooms and each time she perceived something newly transformed. Today, she realized that the scent of myrrh still lingered in the rooms but it was faint, tinged with sour pungency; a dream of a fragrance that had stayed beyond its time.

Avaritus emerged from the chambers within. "Look Flora, it is my beloved and missing betrothed." His lip curled as he lowered himself onto the long golden couch.

Turning his attention to Nolus, Avaritus said, "Thank you for returning my betrothed. You are dismissed and may report to Deodatus that I am pleased with your performance."

"Please...can I...may I...?" the man stuttered tentatively, eyeing Calista appraisingly.

"Get on with it man," Avaritus demanded.

Nervously, Nolus licked his lips. "A reward," he requested, suddenly fearing that he had overstepped.

Avaritus was silent and for a moment, fright sparked across Nolus' face. "You are quite...forward. Flora, here."

Sashaying over, she did not balk at being summoned like a dog. Calista was not sure if she would have the control to answer to Avaritus like that if she did not manage to escape. A serpent of disgust coiled in her throat.

"I am sure this man here will have a few directions for you. Follow them. His daring has been pleasing. This once." The warning was clear.

"As you wish," she assented but her eyes were hard with aversion as she led a startled Nolus from the rooms.

Now alone with Avaritus, with not even a barrier of slaves, anxiety surged through Calista. Then, the need, the overwhelming need to ensure that no harm had come or would come to Rusonia shattered it entirely. Carefully, she gathered her words to launch her defense. Cicero, she chanted, Cicero. "I hope you have not harmed the girl. She is innocent of any collusion and I coerced her—"

"What girl?" queried Avaritus. He sounded bemused.

"What girl?" Calista echoed stupidly, not daring to hope that Rusonia had somehow managed to escape and that kindness to Gualterus had borne fruit.

"Yes, 'what girl,'" he demanded impatiently.

"No girl," Calista said quickly.

Avaritus looked dubious. "If there were no girl, then why would you ask after her?"

Giggling nervously and then damning herself for it, Calista fabricated, "I never said 'girl.' I said 'mother.' You must have misheard me." Fervently, she prayed that Avaritus would take her words for the sun's own truth.

"Your mother?" he questioned, the doubtful light receding from his eyes and Calista could not figure if he believed her inventions.

"Yes, Avaritus. And my brother. I forced them to lower me through the window." She would not dare allow him to think that Gualterus had allowed her through.

"And how did they lower you?" His face was a mask of courteous disbelief.

Still standing, she shuffled nervously as darts of pain raced through her legs. "Tied robes," she elaborated and then throwing caution to the wind, pled, "Do not harm them. Not for my foolishness."

Surveying her calmly from the couch, Avaritus swiftly lunged forth and pressed her against the wall. Before she could draw a breath, he pushed a pillow against against her mouth. He was so close to her she could count the creases in his face: four framing the corners of his mouth, five straddling his forehead, two running parallel between his eyebrows and another two creasing the corners of his eyes. Minutes seemed to stroke by with each count. Struggling to draw breath, she tried to tear at the cushion with her teeth. Futile efforts. Her screams strained through the pillow but for all her will, she generated as much sound as a mouse.

"I expected audacity from you but never such cowardice. To run away without your family and leave them with the fall out? Know this though, one more such incident and your brother dies, another and your mother will meet the same fate. I will not expect a third. And Calista, we wed at the end of the week."

Avaritus took the sudden faraway look in her eyes and a vague hum as confirmation of her understanding and summoned a soldier to take her away.

He did not know that the distant stare was not confirmation of his edicts but a strengthening of her resolve: she had to orchestrate an escape in one try. The prospect for error had been crowded aside by the certainty of death.

CHAPTER IX

Nightfall.

A few hours before, a slave had come to inform Calista that Avaritus ordered her attendance tonight and that she would be bathed in the family baths for the purpose. Tomorrow she would wed and cement Avaritus' plans. And Calista would have no escape. Divorce was achievable in Rome but here, in Portus Tarrus, where she would be constantly watched, marriage would irreparably seal her fate. Calista had avoided her mother's concerned looks and had agreed smoothly, but had requested that her mother and Pyp bathe with her. To her relief, the woman, with her cloud of curling black hair, had shrugged her small shoulders in disinterested agreement. What was it to her, after all, if two more people came to bathe?

That was her first mistake.

Hours later, the black-haired slave woman, Brina, who was one of Avaritus' unfamiliar imports, came to take them to the baths. Calista followed her from the room, avoiding her family's eyes for fear she would start giggling uncontrollably and expose the whole charade. The villa's halls seemed to have been swept clean of people and Calista would have wagered that Avaritus had ordered the household to keep away while they were being transported, thinking that they may be moved to aid their former masters.

As they walked through the atrium, Calista memorized her home, aware that she would very likely never see it again. To her eyes, the fine details stood out: the deep blue pieces of the mosaic, the pink marble veins of the floor, the carved rivulets running down the columns, the calm ripple of water from the fountain in the center of the atrium. She would miss it: she had lived here while her father's father was proconsul. They had lived in Rome for some time, only to return again when Lucretius had become Proconsul of Terronensis. The charm of this place, the connection she felt with it, threatened to cause her to curl around a column and never let go.

Once I leave, my childhood is over, she realized.

Every so often, Olympia reached out to touch Pyp to remind him to keep the buoyancy from his step. Calista herself was hard-pressed to maintain her morose expression when her liberty was so close.

Once she had returned from Avaritus' chamber, Calista had confided everything in her mother, save what she had learned of her own birth, and much to her surprise, instead of commanding caution, Olympia had eagerly aided Calista in devising their escape. Calista had realized then that her mother would wish to whisk her children away from this place, even at great risk. She was ashamed, once again, that she had doubted her mother's resilience. They would go to Rome now, to their old home, which was currently occupied by her aunt Laetitia and her family. Again and again, her mother surprised her and Calista reached out to squeeze her arm warmly.

Arriving at the empty bathhouse, the guard, a tall and broad lad of Calista's age, remained outside as Brina entered alone to attend the three Volusi. The chamber enveloped Calista's skin in a warm, humid embrace. The large pool gleamed blue and gold in the lantern light and the clean scents of olive oil and water permeated the room. That smell, at least, had remained steadfast.

Locking the door behind them, Brina made her second mistake and turned her back to Olympia. With surprising alacrity, Olympia struck Brina once-twice on the back of her head with a clenched fist and the slave sank to the ground.

Carefully, Olympia hunched over, confirming the slave's quavering pulse. "I regret that," she murmured. "Now Calista, you will find that—Pyp, stay away from the water!" she chastised, spotting Pyp leaning precariously close to the simmering caldarium. "You will find that the little grate opens up and if we follow it through, it will lead to the harbor. Pyp, help you sister shift it open. Quietly, quietly!"

Together, Calista and Pyp lifted the heavy metal grid and propped it softly against the walls. Pyp did not need their mother urging "In, in," to swiftly slip into the small tunnel, and crawl on his hands and knees deeper inside. With excitement rushing through him, Pyp wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh but he kept silent as his mother and Calista tugged the grate back into place so that not even the most discerning eye could tell it had been used in their escape.

"We will have two hours at the most," Olympia whispered, "but this route should have us at our destination in half an hour. Crawl quickly my children! Just keep straight!"

Calista and Pyp hastened on their knees down the dark, moist path with Olympia following in the rear. Calista bumbled in disgust as her hands slid around the slippery passage. In the lead, Pyp slipped smoothly ahead in the dark, as easy as a seal, but Calista wished she had brought a lantern. Her mother had said it would not be necessary since the tunnel was direct but it would be have been comforting to see her direction. She squeaked in fright as she heard the chatter of a rat. Perhaps blindness was acceptable after all.

"Mother?" she whispered.

"I am right here, child," Olympia called back but it was clear she was short of breath.

"Shall we stop?" Calista asked concernedly.

Calista felt a slap on her bottom. "Absolutely not! We do not have time to loiter."

On they scrabbled along their tube-like route, occasionally slipping or splashing in puddles of water. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark so that Pyp's shape and the general outline of the pipe were discernible. Details, of course, eluded her sight and Calista ignored the dank smell that threatened to gag her. She knew her mother had already emptied her stomach once but Olympia would not voice a complaint. Pyp could not have been more delighted, and he capered along like a frog chuckling gleefully.

"Hush," Olympia and Calista said in unison but they grinned at his turn in spirits.

The tunnel sloped upwards and the journey became arduous as Calista had to dig her nails into the cracks of the stone to ensure that she did not tumble down. The knees of her stola were soaked through and her muscles and bones ached. Concentrating on maintaining her balance, Calista nearly yelped when a soft body collided against her head.

"Umph," grunted Pyp as Calista set him upright again with a slight shove. "Sorry, Caly."

"It's nothing," she replied while Olympia asked, "What happened?"

"Pyp slipped into me, Mother," Calista answered, noting disconcertedly that Olympia's voice sounded far off.

"Well, push him up. We are near!" Olympia called, an excited grin shining through her words.

Just as her mother's words reached her, another, most welcome, sensation arrived. Chilly, fresh breezes carrying the briny smell of the ocean prickled her skin with goose bumps. Calista breathed in deeply, drew heart, and thrust Pyp ahead of her.

"I see it, Caly!" he shouted jubilantly, and with a burst of energy scampered ahead to a circular hole, covered with a grate like the one they had removed in the bathhouse. Rapidly, Calista clambered after him and her pupils dilated to accommodate the light of a million stars swimming in the obsidian sky above the grate.

As they had done before, Calista and Pyp, both still on their hands and knees, heaved the grate off. Pyp rocketed onto the sand, ready to dance his joy, before Calista's hand grabbed his tunic and pulled him into the sandy rocks.

"Shut up, Pyp," she snapped. They had worked so hard to orchestrate this and she refused to let her foolish seven-year old brother destroy their chances.

Startled at his sister's annoyance, Pyp plopped onto the gravel, still luxuriating in its rough touch but did so silently.

Keeping a wary eye on Pyp, Calista reached down and grabbing her mother's soft palms, tugged her out. Both mother and daughter fall onto the earth in a tumble. The rough sand ground into her back as she and her mother laughed in quiet relief. Hugging her mother, Calista permitted herself a few moments of joy before allowing the risk to sink in again. They had made it this far but there was still a ways to go, and much could go wrong in a minute's time when so much was being risked.

"We must get to the harbor, Calista," Olympia said. "Do you know where the ship is docked?"

Calista flinched in embarrassment. "No," she replied shamefacedly. "I am a fool; it did not occur to me to ask."

Olympia's black hair twinkled in the starlight as she shook her head. "No matter. I recall where Captain Claudius' ship was initially docked. Let us pray that it is near there. And, you have no reason to feel ashamed, Caly. What you have done for us is more than an adult's burden. I am proud that you are my daughter."

Blinking back tears, Calista could not help but think, I am not your daughter though, am I? Confusion churned within her. Should her mother have told her? Should she tell her mother she knew? Why would she claim Calista as her daughter? Where had Calista come from? Shoving those thoughts aside, she followed her mother down to the harbor and grasped Pyp's hand.

"Sorry, 'Cus," she whispered.

He squeezed her hand in response.

They strode along in silence until the small inlet of the harbor arrived within sight, all the while ready to duck away at the slightest provocation. Pyp had been assigned sentry duty and he kept his eyes wide. Cresting one last dune, the company at last spotted the bulky shapes of ships dimly illuminated in the light, perhaps ten or fifteen triremes bobbing in the inky ocean. The rhythmic slap of the water against the wood of the ships was not loud enough to mask the jovial voices of merchants. Calista knew that the mercenaries' ships were docked in another, wider natural harbor, far from this one.

Calista spotted mercenaries guarding the mouth of the harbor. "Now how will we get down there?" She was too close to freedom, to allow anyone, even armed mercenaries to block the certainty of her getaway. In the face of all of the adversity they had faced, these men were a laughable obstacle.

"I will take you."

Calista nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice so close to her shoulder. Discerning a few familiar features, Calista recognized the boy who had warned Claudius of the search for her. He carried in his arms three long cloaks which he handed to her family.

His face dour, he said, "My name is Ignatius and I was sent by Captain Claudius to act as a sentry around these grounds in search of you. The guards know me and they will not question you with me...unless they know you have escaped. They don't, do they?" he added anxiously.

Knowing that the boy would likely lose his life if that were the case, Calista said confidently, "No, they do not. We have time yet. Let us not waste it." Taking a dark cloak from him, she draped it over her, firmly covering her head and was reminded of her recent escapade. Thank the gods Rusonia made it out safely.

Each step they took towards the ship filled Calista with an indomitable sense of cheerfulness even as she was fully aware that the mercenaries may have been warned to look for the three Volusi. No, absolutely not. She refused to consider the possibility.

The trio followed Ignatius to the harbor, while Olympia ordered Pyp and Calista to keep absolutely silent and their heads bowed. Absently, Olympia touched her belly, feeling the stirring child within. Nearing the guards, Ignatius adopted a swagger and Calista fell uncertainly behind him.

"And who do you bring with you tonight?" asked the mercenary in a rough voice. His torso armor glinted ominously silver in the starlight.

Closing her eyes, Calista wondered how Ignatius would explain himself and hoped he would be successful. We cannot go back to Avaritus! she thought desperately and against her better judgment, she grabbed her mother's hand.

Ignatius answered smoothly. "Tonight's entertainment. Ah, ah, they're for the captain. Not for you," he added, as one of the guards made a playful lunge for Olympia which she avoided by skipping aside neatly and chortling coquettishly.

Nicely played, Mother! Calista thought admiringly even as a tingle of anxiety muffled her thoughts.

"Leave some for us!" the other of the pair grinned, allowing them all through to the harbor.

They followed Ignatius to a ship that dipped in the corner. It was a small ship but one which, Calista hoped, was primed for speed.

"Tell Captain Claudius I'm back!" Ignatius called up and a ladder was promptly dropped to them, clattering the ground.

Pyp was the first to swing up it as adroitly as a monkey. As the ladder swayed precariously, Calista watched with her heart in her throat as he moved up.

"There's no time to wait! Both of you must go up now!"

Keeping her eyes firmly where she was stepping and not caring if her stola swung open to reveal to the world all she kept hidden, she gingerly climbed up until finally she was hauled over the top by familiar hands belonging to a familiar face that was lit up by the flickering lanterns strung up around the ship. "Claudius!" she gasped, embracing him tightly. "Thank you, thank you so much!"

Turning around to help her mother up, Calista grinned, now truly recognizing that she and her mother had managed to devise the unlikeliest escape since time in memoriam. She let out a gasping laugh of relief.

"Welcome to the Orpheus!" Claudius said to Olympia, who beamed at him widely. Pyp's smile split his face in two.

"Captain Claudius," Olympia said formally, "You have performed a great service to me and mine." She cupped his cheek. "My dear man, I shall see you happily rewarded for this." Calista could hear the tears choking her mother's voice.

Holding Olympia's hands wide, Claudius called out, "Men, let us sail!"

He released Olympia and Calista ran forward to embrace him. Leaping into his arms, she tearily whispered, "Gods bless you. Thank you so much." She felt the circle of his arms tighten around her monetarily. Embarrassed, she broke away and walked to the edge of the deck with her mother and Pyp.

Ready to set off, the sailors wasted no time in preparation for departure. The Orpheus was slowly steered out of the harbor, parting the water like the softest of silk. Even the sailors were quiet as the distance between them and the rowdier crews of the other ships widened. The very caress of the water, which sighed against the boat, could have been mistaken for nothing more than the natural tide; it was as if their ship was not there.

It was chilly on the water and Calista's arms prickled with goose bumps, but Claudius helpfully draped a wool blanket over her shoulders. Calista thought of all those she was leaving behind, like Maro and Koisis, but she vowed to herself that she would bring them to Rome someday soon.

But a single thought took precedence over all else as silver streams of water trailed the Orpheus: Free, free, free. As she gazed back at Portus Tarrus, a few tears clouded her eyes as the city vanished quickly from sight. She traced the scar down her arm. Gone, forever.

PART II: ATLANTIS

CHAPTER X

Calista awoke to a heavy head and chapped lips. She licked them and was surprised by the salty burn on her tongue. She cracked an eye open and grit tumbled down her cheeks; only a sliver of light filtered in. Calista tried to move her arms up to rub away the sand but she may as well have tried to move columns—her arms felt like lead. Cool silk sank into her bare flesh.

And then memory flooded back.

To think they had managed to escape the villa so easily and the board the ship with equal facility. To think she had thought that the clear sky, obscured only by a few wisps of feathery translucent cloud, portended a fair voyage.

That night, the mercenaries had hotly pursued the merchants, but the Orpheus had managed to dart away before any severe damage could occur. But the illusion of safety had been shattered. She had thought they would be safe once they had reached the Orpheus: nothing could have been more wrong.

The family wandered the decks, ecstatic at their freedom and unwilling to waste their first few hours of liberty sleeping. With Pyp and her mother on another side of the ship, Calista had turned away from Portus Tarrus and was now gazing at what lay ahead. Dreams of Rome littered her mind, but she turned around at a sharp cry. Three ships were bearing down fast, forming a pincer to capture the Orpheus. Images of Avaritus clouded her vision. "No," she whispered. She could never return there—unless it was to remove the bastard from Portus Tarrus.

Efficiently, Claudius barked for their smaller ship to prepare to increase her speed, chivvying the rowers bound to the different levels of the ship. Meanwhile, their hunters closed around them like a vise ready to shut on Calista and her freedom. Her hands burned and chafed against the rope, but she hung on relentlessly. She would not release it until they were away from the mercenaries. And if we are captured, they will have to slice my hands off, she thought.

Calista watched in horror as Avaritus' men came closer and the Orpheus sat in the water placid as a duck. Her heart pounded. She could not even scream. Then, she heard the furious sound of synchronized splashes, and the ship lurched beneath her feet. Supported by the rope, she did not fall, but still stumbled straight into Claudius.

"What the...?" she breathed.

Claudius firmly turned her by her shoulders to face the trio of triremes. Too slow to fully change their trajectories, the ships worked frantically to avoid collision. Even in the faint strip of the greenish pre-dawn light, Calista recognized that it was an impossible task. The sharp sound of wood scraping against wood filled the air.

Closing her eyes, Calista murmured, "Thank the gods." Claudius' hands tightened briefly around her shoulders.

Just as they sighed in relief, Calista gaped, feeling as if buckets had been upended on her. The dove grey of earliest dawn suddenly grimaced to an angry greenish-black and dark grey clouds, seemingly conjured from nothing, unloaded rivers of rain.

Calista was soaked and her stola flapped wetly in the violent winds that threatened to overturn the ship. Alarm gripped her insides.

She tried to comfort herself, This is just rain. We eluded the ships. This is a minor problem. But the blinding sheets of rain whipped around by a howling wind and the frantically working sailors belied that. Grabbing Claudius, Calista feared she would be blown into the sea by the force of the gale or toppled into it by the Orpheus' heaving. She gave thanks that her mother and Pyp were below the decks.

A great gust tore at their clothes, which billowed like sails and pushed them to the edge of the ship. Calista clung to Claudius and tried to reach something to anchor her to the Orpheus and stop her from slipping. Just as Claudius' weight crushed Calista against the railing of the ship, the Orpheus stopped rocking. The sea abruptly calmed, and the sky lost some of its bruised color. Sailors began to relax, moving about routine checks and candidly explaining to Calista that the storm had blown itself out as autumn storms are wont to do.

Brushing back wet hair from her forehead, she chuckled shakily to Claudius, "Why anyone would choose such an existence is beyond me."

A determined gleam appeared in his eyes and he grasped her chin. Calista could feel her stomach to her toenails as his eyes bored into her and he moved closer. Closer.

...And the ship lurched viciously and the winds howled again, more furiously than before. Already at the edge of the ship, it had taken just one furious roll to pitch Claudius and Calista into the froth of the churning sea.

Opening her eyes in the water had been painful but necessary even though she could only see murky grey bubbles. With the undertow threatening to sink her and currents pushing and pulling, Calista could hardly determine where her feet were let alone the direction of the surface. She knew she would have to breathe soon and sending a prayer to Neptune, she picked one direction and kicked towards it. Swimming was not her forte but her survival depended on it. Bubbles spouted from her mouth as she struggled to hold her breath.

Black and silver stars danced before her eyes and the thought of letting the ocean have its way with her had become tempting when finally her head broke the surface. She breathed in that fresh, cold air hungrily. She could never have enough of it. The winds still blew fearfully and waves drenched her by the second, but she pedaled her feet to keep afloat.

Something clammy wound about her arms and with a shriek, thinking of squids and sirens, she tried to shake it off.

"Calista!"

"Claudius!" She tried reaching out her hand to him.

Another wave took them and when Claudius emerged again, he spat out a mouthful of bitter seawater.

"By Jupiter!" she swore after realizing that the winds, if they continued with this persistence would return the ship to Portus Tarrus. The Orpheus was already out of sight. Another wave sunk them.

Calista remembered struggling through the water to return to the surface but the crush allowed no respite. Finally, after a long battle against the overwhelming blackness, the cold, the muscles throbbing with exhaustion, she lost consciousness.

Now, she was lying here (wherever here was), on a bed of black silk surrounded by four walls of gleaming obsidian. Sacrifice, she thought with a shiver. Above her, a dome of water rippled with greyish light. She stared at it. She could almost say that she had never seen anything so queer in her life, but...it seemed familiar, like something she had seen in her dream but as the thoughts came to her, they fluttered away. Brushing the last of the sand from her eyelids, she pushed herself up and wound the sheet like a toga. Every muscle in her body protested at the effort. Pyp's necklace still swung from her neck and she could feel it emitting the same heat it had only a few nights ago.

"Where am I?" she whispered aloud.

"My dear, you are home and I welcome you," announced a melodious voice from behind her.

Calista tumbled off the bed and landed on the hard floor with a thud. "Where are my mother and brother? What am I doing here? Who are you?" Calista lowered her eyes in embarrassment. The woman's robe was as sheer as a dancing girl's.

"I am Melba. The winds returned the ship your mother and brother were on to Portus Tarrus."

Calista blinked, aghast. All their plans, swept away! Her mother and brother returned to that evil man while she was...wherever here was. Without them. I must return to them! she thought furiously.

Ignoring Calista's shocked silence, Melba said, "Now, I am sure you are wishing for clothes. Yes? Well, come along now, we cannot keep you filthy, can we?"

The plump golden-haired woman led Calista from the room and into a maze of halls. Unlike the dark stone chamber where Calista had woken, the rest of the building was formed of many-hued marble, with high ceilings vaulting to watery domes above. Calista stared in fascination. She did not know where she was, but she was certain that there was no place like this in the Roman Empire.

Calista examined the woman before her. She had the same hair as Calista, a sunshine gold. Her eyes, though not shaped much like Calista's, reflected the same clear blue. Despite her plumpness, she walked with a smooth grace—in that, at least, she bore little resemblance to Calista. All of this, when combined with this otherworldly setting, was more than enough evidence to conclusively convince Calista she had gone mad.

Opening a door of sea-hardened wood, Melba ushered Calista inside. "Robes have been provided for you in that trunk. There is a sunken bath behind that ebony door. You will have to use your old sandals though. We could find no women's sandals in your size," she explained regretfully, "and your mother was loathe to have her daughter wear men's sandals. Now, go make yourself presentable. Here is a comb: brush out those snarls!" She offered Calista a coral comb.

Staggering from the verbal onslaught, Calista took the comb from the woman's hand. As Melba turned to leave, Calista called, "What of the man I was with?"

"Your mother is attending him separately. I have not seen my son yet either. Only your mother is permitted to before the presentation." Melba sighed regretfully, a musical sound. "It has likely happened already for him."

"Your son? By Jupiter!" Calista swore as she sagged to the tiles. She then registered the reference to "her mother." "My mother? Olympia Tertia?" Hope surged. This fancy was insane but at least she was not alone it.

Melba twisted her rosebud lips in confusion. "Olympia Tertia? No...and you will do well to know that we only swear by Neptune here. The sea is his domain after all! I shall knock on your door in twenty minutes time. Be ready!"

The door pounded shut and Calista was alone in this mad, mad world.

What lunacy have I stumbled into? This is the absolute strangest hallucination—but at least it includes a bath.

Cautiously, Calista stepped through the ebony door. The obsidian sheet fell to her ankles as she removed her sandals. Golden illumination sparkled on the large pool, highlighting the inlay of tiles in a square spiral Greek design that wound around the edges. As Calista slipped into the bath, which was easily double the largest pool in the Portus Tarrus villa, sweet steam wafted around her. Calista's skin opened in response.

Neptune's domain? It was utterly mad. I must be hysterical. Scraping her skin with pumice, she mused, I do not know which would be worse: to know this is a dream and that I am still Avaritus' prisoner or to understand this as reality. Even as this frenzy of thoughts wormed through her mind, one question was constant: Where is my family?

The water rolled off her as she stepped from the bath. She shivered, hurriedly grabbing a towel. What a mess of a hallucination! Neptune? Claudius' mother? My mother? But the thought of meeting this woman who was not Olympia Tertia Volusus sent a quiver of anticipation through her. This cannot be real!

She dipped her sandals in the water, swirled them clean and then shook them dry. Wrapping her towel around her wet hair, Calista crouched to open the chest of clothes. Her fingers ran pleasurably over the fine materials. It was lana pinna, she realized, a fabric drawn from the shells of Mare Nostrum. From the bottom, she tugged out a snowy stola with delicate gold embroidery parading along the border. This hallucination is detailed and strange enough for Homer, she thought wryly, combing her hair with one hand and strapping on her sandals with another.

A smart rap sounded at the door. Calista opened it.

Melba sucked in her breath. "A true daughter of Atlantis. Your mother will be pleased." Reaching out, Melba moved Calista's pendant and bulla so the two gold chains hung prominently above the neckline. Calista noticed that Melba wore a similar piece around her neck as well.

"Atlantis?" Calista croaked. Homer, indeed. Closer to Plato. Closest of all to madness! "How...if, that is to say this is real and not...how did I get here?"

"The tides and currents carry whom they will, where they will, and if Neptune commands it, they will safely carry people from Portus Tarrus to Atlantis," Melba replied, clearly enjoying the air of mystery.

Now certain she was dreaming, Calista decided she very much wanted to wake. She pinched herself but to no avail.

Arriving at a lavishly carved entryway flanked by a pair of burly men, they entered a vast hall. Calista was nearly blinded by the shining walls embedded with pearls and gems that refracted the torches' burn.

At the front of the room, sat a large, bare-chested man, who easily topped ten feet, on an immense gold throne. A gossamer-garbed bevy of unearthly beautiful women, each blonder than the next, surrounded him. His long white hair and longer beard had been braided with seaweed and...shells? If Atlantis then why not this? Upon his brow, rested a broad coronet of simply crafted gold.

Calista was speechless.

Unaffected by the surroundings, Melba proclaimed, "Lord Neptune! As you commanded, I have brought Calista, known Above as Calista Tertillia Volusus." The woman pushed her forward until Calista was at Neptune's feet. It did not strike Calista to wonder how Melba knew her name.

Suddenly, the fearsomely pronged weapon he hefted in his left hand looked awfully large. With Neptune examining her, seemingly prizing out all of her secrets with his cold blue-grey eyes, Calista would have fled from the room had not one of Neptune's ethereal companions—nymphs, or rather, Oceanids, Calista supposed absently—stepped forward with tears in her eyes.

She enfolded Calista in her perfumed grasp. "Daughter, you return to me after so long," cried the woman.

Something about the lilting accent clicked with what Melba had said. "Mother?" Calista said cautiously, doubtfully. Olympia's warm face swam before her eyes. She could feel Neptune's stare weighing on her like a boulder.

"Sixteen years. Too long to have been parted from you." The woman paused and then breathed her name like the sweetest of words: "Calista."

Still in her arms, Calista patted her awkwardly. She had wished to know the truth of her parentage but this was altogether too odd to understand. She wanted to drop to the ground and bury her face in her hands and will the insanity away. Is any of this real or am I trapped in my own mind? Here she was, somewhere? Atlantis? Below the sea, standing before Neptune, being introduced to a nymph who said she was her mother. It was too much. It was unbelievable. It could not be real.

"Well, Evadne, introduce my daughter to me," rumbled Neptune, all of the crashing and roaring of the sea melded into one many-toned voice.

His daughter? Her mind fell into impenetrable blackness. She blinked blindly, her mouth sagging. She could not even think of a curse proper for the situation. This had to be a dream. There was no way this could be happening. Her? The daughter of Neptune? It was the deepest madness. The idea of being the daughter of a nymph started to seem believable by comparison. She looked around wildly, waiting for the dream to dissolve, to be shaken awake by Olympia.

Her umber robe undulating as she floated forth, the woman who claimed to be Calista's mother announced formally, "My lord Neptune, may I have the pleasure to present your daughter Calista."

Calista trembled with confusion. To have known that she may not be a Volusus was one thing, but to be thrust into this world with a stranger claiming to be her mother and a god claiming to have sired her was quite another.

"A pretty young thing, what say you Evadne? The resemblance between mother and daughter is striking."

Calista recalled with stunning clarity how she and Olympia looked nothing alike.

Neptune stroked his long beard, finally deigning to speak to Calista. "Welcome to Atlantis, daughter. It brings me great joy to welcome you home. Now, you must meet the Waveguide. Go follow Melba," he instructed.

Following Melba out docilely and avoiding looking at any of the other people in the chamber, Calista was led like a dog on a leash. She began to consider the prospect that this was, in fact, reality. Her feelings were too acute, the details of this place too sharp, for the blurred realm of dreams.

They passed through a dark tunnel of reflective obsidian lit by a series of flickering lanterns. The tight space reminded Calista so forcibly of the pipes through which she had escaped from Portus Tarrus that homesickness welled up in her. Thrusting it aside, she listened to Melba, hoping to glean some knowledge of Atlantis. Atlantis! She touched the wall, trying to convince herself of its solidness.

"You have no idea how anxiously Lord Neptune has been awaiting your arrival!" Melba said amiably.

She's lying, Calista thought.

Melba slid her a knowing look, those cornflower eyes seeing all too much. "Neptune is not the most expressive of gods, even after an eternity. Do no expect verbal assurances of esteem but he will be good to you, even when he is absent, as he his to all of his children, as he will be for Claudius."

All of his children! I am his child. This cannot be a dream for even I am not so arrogant as to believe myself a child of a god. And I know if I were with Pyp, he would never let me sleep long enough to allow me to sink so deep into a dream. Wait— "Claudius?" Calista repeated.

"He is also Neptune's son, of course. Why else would he be summoned alongside you? He is your half-brother and it warms my heart that you two are as close as you are already."

Dread staggered drunkenly through Calista's veins. She thought of how her heart had raced the first time she had seen Claudius, the look in his eyes on the Orpheus. "You don't know the half of it," she muttered.

CHAPTER XI

Avaritus was wrathful when the brutal storm blew the Orpheus back to Portus Tarrus. Just as the storm had begun to settle, Avaritus' ships had swooped upon them within miles of the shore and reclaimed both Pyp and Olympia as prisoners.

The despair of knowing her daughter was dead because she had impetuously longed for freedom and her son had lost liberty after tasting it for only a few moments tore at Olympia, but looking into Pyp's brown eyes and seeing Lucretius through them, she drew heart.

At Avaritus' order, she and Pyp stood and watched as the crew of the Orpheus was flogged. Olympia knew that only their patrician breeding had saved her and Pyp from that fate, but she would have willingly switched places with any of those men. As the braided leather whip peeled strips of skin from the backs of the sailors and merchants, Olympia pressed Pyp's face into her waist.

She gagged into her hand and then gasped as something inside her squeezed sharply. "No," she whimpered as another, more painful contraction gripped her. She had three more months before her time, but the force of the pains was unmistakable. She knew the danger. She clenched her jaw, gripping Pyp's hair with such strength that he yelped.

Olympia clutched her stomach covertly, hoping the touch of her hand could settle the child. "Candelifera, help me," she murmured, invoking the goddess who guided children from the womb.

Avaritus, who had been enjoying the proceedings, noticed Olympia's pained contortion. Initially thinking that Olympia's grimaces were in response to the scourging, he did nothing. When he realized that she convulsed with suspicious regularity, he signaled Flora to investigate. "Look at Olympia. Could it be that she is...suffering from pregnancy complications?" He had not even realized the woman had been carrying Lucretius' whelp.

Flora shrugged. "I will check. If that is the case, shall I take her to her rooms?"

He nodded.

Olympia started when she felt the woman's hand on her shoulder. She recognized the fiery-haired woman as sympathetic. "I am to have a child," she gasped. Pyp stiffened against her. She feared that she would be leaving her son an orphan more deeply than she had feared anything.

With half an eye on the whippings, Avaritus watched Olympia lean heavily on Flora as they returned to the villa. Young Nicetius followed anxiously behind them. Olympia's death would present Avaritus with an obstacle. When Olympia had informed him that Calista had drowned, it occurred to him that marriage to the mother would still cement a link to Portus Tarrus. With her dead...Avaritus beckoned Panos. "Instruct Flora to do all she can to save Olympia."

If Panos was surprised by the instruction, he showed no sign although relief tickled his expression.

* * *

Calista's room festered with the stink of sweat and blood. Olympia writhed at another contraction, feeling as if dozens of fingers twisted her insides. Rusonia gripped one of Olympia's hands while Flora held the other as the laboring woman crouched on the rush-covered floor, tunic hiked past her knees. The sun had already set and risen once yet the child did not emerge. At last, her womb contracted and the child began to shift through.

"Easy, easy," she heard Flora's soothing voice say. "It's coming. Push again, Olympia, push again. In Candelifera's name, push."

Rusonia exclaimed, "I see the babe's head! You are nearly there, domina."

However, push as Olympia might, the child seemed to be entangled in something. She leaned against the wall, eyes closing with exhaustion. She had never been so afraid in her life. Pyp's birth had been a short matter of hours; this labor seemed to have continued for days and she knew that the longer it took the less the Fates swung in her favor.

"I will have to pull the child out myself," Rusonia muttered to Flora. Fear sliced Olympia's heart. "Olympia, just one more strong push, alright?" she ordered, reaching her hands inside.

Racked by a spasm, Olympia pushed when she felt cool hands inside her and saw Rusonia, the dear girl who looked so much like Calista, grasp a bloody, grey mass gingerly in her hands but she heard not the familiar squalling that accompanied a child's entrance into the world.

"Is it well?" she breathed faintly. It would have been too much to hope.

"Have some water," offered Rusonia and Flora tripped the water, powdered with willow bark, into Olympia's open mouth. She drank thirstily and the infusion numbed her pain, but her eyes were taken with her child.

Carefully wiping the little body clean, Rusonia said sympathetically but briskly, "I am sorry, but the child was born dead."

"Dead?" Olympia replied weakly as if she had never heard the word before, as if her only daughter had not died hours before. Hope shattered around her for the umpteenth time.

"I'm sorry," Rusonia murmured.

Olympia could see her surroundings grow more and more watery and with deathly certainty she knew she was not long for this world. "Bring my son to me, please...Open the windows and clear away the mess." If she were to die, it would be smelling the ocean and with her Pyp, with his eyes so like Lucretius', at her side.

Flora went to dispose of the rushes. After washing her hands in a bowl of water that was stained pink after her hands were clean, Rusonia opened the windows and let the ocean breezes and bright sunshine purge the rankness of the room.

"She would have been a beauty," Olympia whispered dreamily to herself. Shifting a little in uncomfortable wetness, she saw that the sheets beneath her were stained deep scarlet and the blood seeped steadily from her. From me, she thought wonderingly. Tears flickered in her eyes. She did not fear death. No, she looked forward to once more sitting beside Lucretius, Calista, her mother, her father. She would have gone happily had it not been for her son who had no one left in this world.

Flora returned as Rusonia attempted to staunch the flow of blood. To some extent, Flora had expected this to happen. She had helped at her share of births and aye, had birthed her share of children, and she could mark well enough when a birth would turn fatal. Making herself helpful to Rusonia, Flora's mind wandered across time—she had no interest in watching a gentle woman die a gruesome death.

She had been Avaritus' mistress when he had first tried to establish a political career. He had been rakishly handsome some thirty years back but his foray into government had been doomed from the beginning. His mother had gotten herself with him by a dark Greek slave and not even the dullest Roman would believe that he had been a child of the fair Silanus clan. Although born Grachhus Silanus, his mother's husband had changed his name to Avaritus. Silanus was a man of pride who would not allow a bastard to bear his name. When Avaritus had become a man at sixteen, Silanus had denounced him. With his real father killed years ago for impregnating the master's wife and his mother divorced and disgraced, Avaritus petitioned for the protection of his mother's half-brother, the husband of Crassus' grandniece.

He had not exactly welcomed his nephew but still had provided him with a base to launch his political career. In these high Roman circles, he had met the young Flora, a courtesan of a high-end brothel and their affair had begun there, enduring these many years, even when his political aspirations had come to naught after a publicly botched marriage to an heiress. Now, at fifty-four years of age, he had at last fulfilled his desires. And Flora had stood alongside him to reap the rewards.

Olympia had passed out from the blood loss. Delicately, Flora took the child away, placing the bundle on a table. She could not help but grimace in disgust.

"Shall I fetch her son?" Flora asked of Rusonia. She admired the girl, so confident in herself and felt no shame in deferring to a child less than half her age.

Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Rusonia replied, "Yes, that would be best. I fear she is not long for this world. Here, let me cover her with a blanket and then bring the son inside."

Slipping outside, Flora found the boy dozing against the wall. "Your mother wants you, lad," she said not unkindly, her sympathy rising for the boy.

Quietly, anxiously, eagerly, Pyp went to his mother, his eyes large shocked pools at the sight of her. "Mother."

Olympia did not stir and Rusonia patted the boy's shoulder comfortingly.

"Mother!" Pyp demanded louder, gently shaking her, desperation tightening his face.

Before Rusonia could reprimand him, Olympia's eyes fluttered open. "Pyp?" she exhaled. Then her face fell immobile again.

"I love you, I love you," he repeated. The stench of blood threatened to overwhelm him as he touched his forehead to his mother's clammy hand. From the corner of his eye, he discerned a small bundle, the contents of which he recognized as the cause of his mother's sickness. His throat tightened at the thought of losing his mother. Cold gripped him. He would miss his mother. Had the gods not taken everyone away from him? Calista? His father? He would be alone in the world, at Avaritus' mercy. Oh, if anyone would help me, he prayed in despair. Warm tears slid down his cheeks despite his efforts at keeping them beneath his lids.

The lightest of touches fell on his hair. Thinking it was his mother, he looked up hopefully. Instead, he saw a tall women, draped in a blue-green stola shimmering with gold. Her body was translucent, almost invisible where the sun shone through.

Pyp darted a look at Rusonia. She seemed oblivious to the presence in the room. Pyp blinked, but the woman's image remained steady. Registering a peacock feather in the apparition's golden-brown hair, Pyp breathed, "Juno?"

She nodded with a quiet smile, pressing a long finger to her lips, a motion Pyp found himself imitating. Ephemeral, she made no noise as she bent over Olympia, running a transparent hand over his mother's sweat drenched hair and face. Pyp watched raptly as Juno stood patiently at Olympia's side for a few moments.

Finally, Olympia muttered something and Rusonia flew to her side. She checked under the blankets and listened to Olympia's heart. "The bleeding has stopped." Seeing the color slowly returning to Olympia's cheeks, she smiled at Pyp. "I do not know how, I do not understand it, but I believe your mother will recover."

The goddess emitted a soft transitory glow, her lips curved slightly just for Pyp, who had his cheek pressed to his mother's. Juno's immense sapphire eyes drifted to the inanimate bundle which began to emanate a faint golden light. Then a figure as unreal as Juno's emerged. It was a young girl with dark curls and darker eyes who smiled the same knowing smile as the goddess.

"Amantia," he whispered, naming his younger sister.

Juno's bow-shaped lips moved: Beloved?

Pyp nodded. Thank you, he mouthed, knowing that from this moment he would be a devotee of the goddess for the rest of his days in gratitude for the inestimable service she had rendered to him. Juno was known to be a vindictive, jealous goddess but many failed to recall the kindness with which her hand moved. Pyp would never forget.

Bending down, she softly kissed Pyp on the forehead. A warm shiver ran through him. With a gracious incline of her head, she extended her hand to clasp Amantia's and they faded gradually until Pyp could have sworn he had imagined the entire encounter had the fragrance of lilies not lingered in the air.

Olympia's voice was soft but strong when she demanded, "Come here, Pyp. Give your mother a kiss."

Pyp obliged. He had never been more happy to accept a command in his short, rebellious life.

CHAPTER XII

Calista stared at Melba, trying to make sense of the hurricane of emotions, each striving to establish precedence. Half-brother. She would wager that Claudius held her high in affections—any man who would risk so much for a woman on a few months' acquaintance had to. Neither could she deny the pull she had felt towards him. In Rome, any relationship between her and Claudius that bled beyond fraternal was reprehensible. Bile rose in her throat. She knew the stories of the gods, their incestuous liaisons. And apparently, she was one of them, Neptune's daughter. She cringed. Whatever her descent, she was human, she was Roman and the thought of her heart fluttering in Claudius' presence confused her, disgusted her. Even if she had not loved him, she had seen him, her brother, as a man.

Melba watched her curiously. "Are you ill? We should not tarry while the Waveguide awaits."

"What's a Waveguide?" She had heard Neptune refer to it in the hall.

Melba tittered. "Who not 'what.' The Waveguide is the ruler of Atlantis. It is a very great honor that she seeks your company."

"I thought Neptune ruled Atlantis."

Melba tutted at her ignorance. "Neptune rules the seas. Atlantis has belonged to the Waveguide since we came to be. But don't fret: she shall explain it all to you."

Calista shoved her thoughts aside and concentrated on following Melba. The dark tunnel gave way to reveal a pair of sentinels who allowed them passage through immensely cast bronze doors. Robed figures and scenes of seas and mountains were molded into the metal with exquisite detail.

"Welcome to the Maretheon," Melba said softly.

Calista grunted politely in response.

Intricate mosaics adorned the walls of the Maretheon, depicting a series of lands and faces with unnaturally large eyes that examined her accusingly. Knowing it for the purest idiocy, she still shivered. Finally, they arrived at a huge glass atrium, which allowed a view of the surrounding ocean. It reflected blue-green on the sea-polished marble and the light rippled through like mismatched silver honeycomb.

An immense door of riveted black iron swung open and Melba pushed a startled Calista through. Calista whirled around to ask Melba what was happening, but the dark doors shut firmly in her face. She wished the woman were still with her.

Turning around, she saw another woman, as utterly unlike Melba as could be, seated in a blue-bronze throne as immense as Neptune's. Despite the ornate seat, encrusted with emeralds and sapphires, the most majestic presence in the room was that of the seated handsome woman. Decidedly darker than the rest of the women Calista had seen, she had inky hair and deep copper skin. But when the woman's eyes flicked to Calista, the gleamed like liquid gold. She seemed as young as she did old and Calista could not have gauged her age had she tried.

Before Calista could make any sort of greeting, the Waveguide headed her off. Her deep and resonant voice commanded Calista's attention, although it seemed at odds with her tall, slim figure. "Welcome, Calista Tertillia Volusus. Atlantis has long awaited your return."

Calista cocked an eyebrow, even as the mental and physical exhaustion of the grueling past few hours fell on her like a load of rocks. One look into the Waveguide's eyes showed that she would not relent in the face of Calista's exhaustion.

"What do you mean?" Calista asked tentatively, deciding that if she could not beg off, she would beg information.

Ignoring Calista's question, the Waveguide launched into her explanation. Calista sighed disconsolately, wishing she had at least been offered a chair. Her legs ached at the thought of standing still.

"Once, when the world was blossoming with ideas and great plays, when great thought, and great art flourished...but you do know even know my name and to understand the story you must know the storyteller. My name is Thetis and I am the Waveguide of Atlantis."

Calista supposed she should have been suitably awed at this announcement but with her legs feeling like fire-hot ants were crawling up them she could only produce an interested grimace. "Very pleased to meet you," Calista added after a pause for lack of any other response. Then, the Waveguide's name registered in her mind. "Mother of Achilles?"

Deep-rooted grief crept across her face, but only for an instant before it was quickly smoothed over. "That was before Atlantis," the Waveguide replied quietly.

"Oh."

Nodding, as if Calista's response were not wholly inadequate, the dark woman appeared as stony as before and began the story again but this time with a warning. "Listen well, Calista Tertillia Volusus, daughter of Neptune and Evadne; this is a lore that has been lost to the land-dwellers for many ages and you would do well to well to remember it. I highly advise you to commit what you hear to memory.

"Once, when the world was blossoming with ideas and great plays, when great thought, and great art flourished, a land called Atlantis disappeared into the sea. All but vanished from the memories of those who live under the sun, Atlantis had to surmount many difficulties during its rebirth. As your Plato explains, Atlantis was once a neighbor of the city of Athens, but I am afraid he misses the mark on much else.

"At the time, Atlantis was rivaled only by the island city of Knossos. The king of the state that was Atlantis angered Zeus, Jupiter to you, by murdering his daughter, the princess Altheda, after he found her pregnant out of wedlock. Unknowing that the child was Zeus' and taking Altheda's protests as lies, he grew enraged that she would invoke the god's name in such untruths and killed her. When Zeus discovered the death of the girl, in his wrath, he smote the city-state into the sea. He would have damned all, innocents as well, had not Hera intervened with Poseidon to allow Atlantis dominion where it settled.

"Those who had been granted a second life by Hera and Poseidon could still live on land, if they so chose, but as wraiths. There were a few who so longed for the warmth of the sun that they chose that half life. However, for those who wished to live in Atlantis, Neptune contrived a system of diverting the currents so that the dome you see today was formed and filled with air."

"You mean I cannot return to Portus Tarrus without being invisible?" Calista demanded, aghast.

"Those not of the First Generation can visit and still be entirely visible Above, but who would wish to depart Atlantis?"

Thetis pinned her with a look so steely and beady that Calista squirmed uncomfortably, feeling not at all like a woman who had held out under Avaritus and then masterminded an escape with her mother. She felt like a child who had been caught pilfering cakes from the kitchen.

"Is any of this real?" Calista asked wonderingly.

Thetis' lips curled up, although Calista would not go so far as to call the gesture a smile. "Atlantis is part of the same world you grew up with." Thetis pointed at the liquid dome and Calista followed her finger up and up until she saw a small circle of light bobbing miles and miles above. "There," Thetis said. "That is your sun. This is your own sea, the one you paddled in during your girlhood. This is just as real as anything Above."

"What about the nymphs?" Calista felt like an idiot just saying the word and meaning it seriously. "And Neptune? How did Atlantis come to be in his grasp?"

"Atlantis is not in his grasp." Thetis' voice could have sheared through glass. "The seas are Neptune's domain, but Atlantis has been my domain since I offered myself to maintain the space you see before you today." She leaned forward until she was almost touching Calista. "It is I who direct the currents to ensure the water does not collapse on us. It is I who sit judgment on the affairs of the citizens. The mantle of responsibility grows weightier with time. The moment will soon come when I must put it off altogether and select my successor."

Anticipation tingled down Calista's spine, but Thetis abruptly waved a dismissal.

Feeling as if she had been unceremoniously yanked awake, Calista bowed and backed out. The Waveguide nodded and turned to a stack of papers, seemingly forgetting her.

Ah, I do so love these Atlantians and their abrupt dismissals, Calista thought dryly.

* * *

Calista jumped at the unexpected sight of Melba in front of the throne room door. A silver-green stola draped over the nymph's arm.

"You are asked to attend a dinner with Neptune in two hours," she said.

Calista irritably quelled her tired yawn but nodded, all the while longing for the softness of her bed in Portus Tarrus. Perhaps gods and nymphs do not tire, but I am human enough to want sleep!

Once more, they passed the glass atrium and the mosaics, but this time they exited through the gate which opened onto the sandy streets of Atlantis. Calista gaped at the gleaming dignity of the tall obsidian and marble buildings. Although the ocean light tinted everything dull blue, it did not dim the the majesty of the city—Altlantis made Rome look like a poor, upstart village. Everywhere, arches flowed, columns laced through the air, each carved with more delicate curlicues and foliage than the last. The style of the architecture, at least, reminded her of home. Statues of unknown figures bubbled with rivulets at each crossroads. While the faces and features of passersby differed, they presented a singularly united front of golden locks and blue eyes.

Calista touched her own hair self-consciously. The people of Knossos could not have been so fair...It is as if years of living underwater have bleached them of color. She shivered.

Wrapping her fingers around Calista's hand as if she were a child, Melba quickly led her back to the dressing room, allowing Calista little time to gape at Atlantis. She felt overwhelmed by this new world, which in so many ways resembled her own and yet could not have been further away. She tried to snatch her hand away from Melba, but the nymph gripped her hand all the more tightly with a knowing squeeze.

Entering the chamber where she had dressed, Calista felt relieved. This was familiar territory in a strange, rushing world. Melba finally released her hand and Calista flexed her fingers tentatively, trying to coax sensation back.

"Consider tonight's dinner your formal début in Atlantis. Be aware of yourself." Melba's eyes scrutinized her, as if seeing the hoyden that lurked inside Calista.

Calista decided she had held her tongue long enough; the hoyden that Melba was so expecting was bucking to shock. "Would it be such a grievance if I were allowed a night's rest?" she said coldly. So perhaps the hoyden had frozen her heat to a more acceptable temperature but that did not dull her words' sharpness. "Or does partial divinity not grant you what the meanest slave in the Empire has by right?"

Melba's eyes glinted, their blue icy, but her voice was disconcertingly warm. "I understand completely."

Despite Melba's apparent understanding, she still oversaw Calista's toilette at the hands of fair-haired, light-eyed attendants. Calista was dressed in the grey-green stola and her hair was piled high and held by delicate silver chains. Once Calista had been attired to satisfaction, Melba departed. Despite the careful grooming, she could feel the telltale softness beneath her eyes which indicated dark crescents.

Stifling a yawn, she drowsily shuffled behind one of the attendants (a slave?). Approaching the familiar doors, the woman bowed slightly and departed. And Calista was left to face the open doors alone. As she entered, every eye fell upon her. Whether they were merely curious or were judging her tardiness, she did not know. A whoosh of tingling anxiety was compounded by a melting of sleepiness that spread from her eyes to her feet.

Determinedly, she fixed her eyes on the chair indicated for her by a manservant at the high table. At that high table sat Neptune, Evadne, Melba, and Claudius. Nervously, she took her seat beside Claudius, but fastidiously lowered her gaze as conversation buzzed in the room once again.

Atlantians did not dine on couches but rather on miniature thrones, each identically ornate. She smiled weakly when she met Evadne's eyes but sank back into a sleepy haze, tracing the woodwork. The high-ceilinged chamber, with its lanterns strung with crystals, warmed with the scent of food. A stab of hunger reminded Calista that the last meal she had eaten had comprised of porridge another world ago. The plate of hot seafood, the bright pinks of the shrimp, the creamy flesh of the mussel, the white and rose of fish sent her mouth watering. The first bite of lampreys melted in her mouth and she sighed in delight.

The room hushed quickly when Neptune drew the attention of the feasters. "Atlantis! It has been near sixteen years since I have set eyes upon my son and my daughter. As the prophecy prescribed, they were ascended to live Above, and now have been returned to us safely. To my son." He raised a glass to Claudius. "And my daughter." He nodded to Calista whose cheeks were swollen with food. "Welcome."

Atlantis murmured with him, even as they sharply observed the pair. But it was not the Atlantians' gaze Calista dreaded.

Claudius gave Calista a shocked look she fancied she could read only all too well. Children? His? Brother and sister, that makes us. Alarm etched into his face.

Calista could only sleepily nod. There was something dreadful about the words touching the air, becoming common knowledge, as if it made the situation more real. Yet, none knew what had nearly passed between them and if Calista had her way, none would.

Claudius had his own intentions.

"By Venus, Calista, I wanted you." he exclaimed once Neptune had seated himself again.

Calista was thankful that the chatter continued around them, oblivious to the drama unfolding between the newfound siblings.

There was no need to say that! If you had not said anything, we could have ignored it and pretended as if nothing had ever existed between us!

Aloud, she said, "We did not know Claudius. We did not. Our actions remained pure. Moreover, if one were to examine descent and then the associated precedent, it would seem that incest— " She paled at the word. "—is not such a sin for we are not mortals but gods." Calista's lips trembled as she tried to approximate the legal language Cicero. To calm herself, she downed a goblet of wine. She was unaccustomed to it; her father had not considered it ladylike for a woman to drink wine. Her vision blurred pleasantly. "Not that I suggest any such course. Whatever we may be, I bind myself to mortal morals. I would be glad to love you as a brother and I think I may always have." Calista tried to will herself to believe it as well. The alternative was too grotesque.

Claudius said nothing, but emptied a succession of wine chalices as quickly as they were filled. After the second course was brought to the table, he slurred, "Let us leave to talk."

Startled by the suggestion, she protested, "The dinner has just started. They shall notice and wonder." Suddenly, she was wide awake and scrutinizing Claudius. What she found unsteadied her and she hastily busied herself in extricating a mussel from its shell.

Calista could hear the wine gush down Claudius' throat. "No one will notice; they are all drunk. Calista..." He tipped precariously close to her, his eyes unfocused. Calista squirmed uncomfortably. She smelled the fruity, fermented scent of the wine on his breath as he opened his mouth to speak, but his head tumbled into her lap and she could feel his muffled chuckle vibrate up her thigh.

"Claudius!" Calista shrieked, drawing the attention of the whole hall. "Are you all right?" Her thighs felt awkward supporting his weight and she moved her chair back until his chin rested precariously on her knees.

And there, in the silence, Claudius announced, "Caly, I love you," and then promptly sunk below the table. The chalice dropped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a ring.

Calista stared wordlessly at the prone form in the puddle of wine at her feet. She could not believe that he really loved her. She refused to believe it. He was drunk and confused from this sudden change in their lives. They had gone into the ocean mortals and awoken gods. It was enough to send anyone reeling into madness.

"Now, there is a man who can keep his head around liquor," jeered someone from down the table.

Calista glared at the dark-haired and grey-eyed young man who had made the comment. He stared back boldly. His darkness was surprising, considering the fair coloring of the other Atlantians and she was surprised she had not noticed him before. He raised a single eyebrow at her lengthy appraisal and she hastily shifted her gaze to Neptune.

"What does your brother mean, Calista?" Neptune asked, his ocean-colored eyes emotionless.

Carefully, Calista considered her response. "I cannot answer for him, but I think there was a brief time I fancied myself in love with him. That is no longer so. For me." It was a brief time that had been not so long ago at all, but the world may as well have shifted to circle the moon.

"Would you consider a marriage to your half-brother?" There was no question about it: the prospect pleased Neptune.

She was surprised by the swift turn of events, but her voice held steady as she announced for the entire hall to hear, "Never. Such a thing would be anathema to the instincts instilled in me since childhood. Whoever my parents by blood, I am human." The last three words resounded loudly through the hall and even Claudius twitched at her feet.

Evadne laid a graceful hand on Neptune's brown arm. "Should this not be discussed privately? Perhaps when the most esteemed Melba's son is coherent." Evadne shot Melba venomous look, which astounded Calista. She had not detected any ill-will before.

"Why do you look at me Evadne?" snapped Melba, not warm now. "Your daughter is the one..." She trailed off as Neptune firmly squeezed her shoulder with a large brown hand.

The brawny tyrant of the seas heaved a sigh, ocean winds blowing against cliffs. "We shall speak in private. At this very moment. Hadrian, for your remark, you shall carry Claudius to the room. Carry, sir, not drag."

The grey-eyed man, Hadrian, was preparing visibly to protest yet when he saw the gleam in Neptune's eyes, he kept his peace.

Calista felt embarrassed at the whole situation. That so much of Atlantis bore witness to this most sordid of family dramas on her very first night in this fantasy land was enough and then to have this Hadrian follow them...Those thoughts were immediately crushed under the apprehension of what would happen next. Casting glances over her shoulder to the man who carried her link to the Empire and erstwhile beloved, she trailed behind Evadne, Neptune, and Melba. Anxiously, she scrunched the grey-green silk of her stola between her fingers. The halls they traversed were vaulted high with the floor flecked by black and white stones, smoothed over by millions of footsteps. They were ominously quiet as the group walked into a small library whose dark shelves stored neat piles of scrolls. I wonder how they survive in the damp. At any other time, Calista's fingers would have longed to touch the delicate papyrus.

"Hadrian, lay Claudius on the sofa," Neptune said. Calista thought it was so strange that this god, this ruler of the seas, brother of Jupiter, should be standing before them giving such petty commands. It was like seeing an emperor sweep a floor or an empress milk a cow.

The man obeyed Neptune, dumping Claudius unceremoniously rich crimson upholstery. The whole room, tiny as it was, was nothing like the more reserved style she had seen in Atlantis. With silk and gold thrown about as if they were wool and tin, the room was opulent in an eye-wrenching way. Still, the presence of the mutely hued scrolls vastly improved upon the gaudiness. Hadrian was gone from the room, but Calista would have wagered Pyp's pendant that he was close by, listening. He seemed just like that type of base fellow.

Nervously, Calista looked up at Evadne, Neptune, and Melba. Evadne looked faintly amused and entirely unconcerned while Neptune seemed eager. However, Melba stared at Calista as though she were some vile worm that had crawled beneath her sandal. Calista squirmed; the feeling echoed in herself.

Neptune lowered himself on a grandly appointed seat and indicated for Melba and Evadne to sit flanking him. Ignoring the other empty sofas, Calista perched on the couch beside the sprawling Claudius. She maintained a delicate distance between them. She wanted to yield into the soft warmness of the cushions, close her eyes, and dream herself away from this madness.

His toga shimmering in the unsteady lamp light, Neptune asked, "Now, explain from the beginning how this 'love' came about."

Maybe if I hurry, they will allow me sleep. Taking in that heartening thought, Calista explained promptly, "When I met Claudius, I felt something, a connection, a spark. It was as if we had walked together in some life past. I understand now that it was the recognition of blood, not of souls. I am sure once he comes to himself, he will see the situation as I do." Fervently, she prayed that it would be so and then nearly chuckled. Here was a divinity before her and far from being occupied by supplications, he was proving himself to be more concerned with matters ultimately unimportant. I suppose proximity proves gods more human than is comforting. No wonder they hold themselves aloof.

She continued, "He was a good friend when I needed one and for that, I will always be in his debt."

Quirking a grey eyebrow, Neptune said seriously, "I would not find a marriage between you two displeasing. You speak of a connection and he comes from your world. It would be solid match.

Calista bit down on a grimace. "Again, as I said, I have lived too long holding incest as deplorable to change my mind now." She would have thought that now she was of a divine lineage, she would no longer be hassled to wed. Were not their stories filled with goddesses who sought love on their own, not matched to their husbands by overbearing fathers? Calista sighed. It seemed her lot that she would always be running from marriage arranged by a father. Father! Her heart twisted at the thought.

"Calista."

She started as Claudius blearily rose beside her. Clumsily, he leaned on the arm of the sofa.

"Ah, Claudius!" roared Neptune jovially.

Claudius flinched at the loudness of Neptune's exclamation.

"What would you think of a marriage to Calista?" Neptune's forehead wrinkled expectantly while Evadne and Melba exchanged a long, unreadable look.

Claudius replied thickly, "There was a time that nothing would have pleased me more, when Cupid's arrow had struck me and I was glad for it, but with what we have learned—" It was now Claudius' and Calista's turn to trade glances. "—a marriage is no longer viable."

Flashing into temper suddenly, Neptune growled, "Why are the pair of you so dense? You are not humans. You are gods. What mortals cannot do, we can. You do not become a pervert for changing your beliefs. You adapt to what has been revealed to you." His eyes, now wine dark, dared them to argue.

While Claudius looked pensive, Calista groaned. Did empathy flutter past this god, leaving no trace of itself upon him?

Perhaps recognizing blood herself, Evadne admonished Neptune in that gently mellifluous voice of hers. "The children have just arrived to Atlantis. Let them first accept this location and their descent before we begin to shift their ideas. From mortal to immortal is change enough."

Melba nodded heartily in agreement, which appeared to astound even her. "Before you begin to marry them off, let them rest from their journey! It is inhuman—and do not give me that rubbish about them not being human—to launch them into this life without rest."

Calista could have kissed Melba.

"Very well," Neptune said, but he watched sharply with suspicious unhappiness as Melba and Evadne approached their children. It astounded Calista just how deftly the pair of them had handled this god. Surely there was more here than met the eye?

"Come dear. Let us go home," Evadne said, reaching out a soft hand to help Calista from the sofa.

Images of Portus Tarrus, Lucretius, Olympia, and Pyp flashed through her mind.

"To meet your sister."

Oh dear gods, no. Not more family. But she smiled politely as if nothing could please her more.

Calista walked through Atlantis in a sleepy haze, only vaguely registering the grand buildings and wide avenues. Evadne's undersea villa was a palatial structure replete with marble and gilt, but Calista could only sleepily discern its great size. A younger girl dashed out, her long golden hair streaming behind her. As she neared, Calista gauged her age to be perhaps fourteen. And even at this age, which Calista had spent awkwardly, the girl was unearthly beautiful.

"Mama! Everyone is talking about dinner!" She halted before Evadne and Calista, her eyes appraising her newfound sister.

"Calista, I would like for you to meet your sister, Philyra," Evadne said.

Stepping forward, her body feeling cumbersome with sleepiness, Calista felt a wave of nervousness sweep over her. Calista had never been a shy person but there was something about this girl that made her want to compete. You may be beautiful but can you quote Livy? she surprised herself by thinking. Guiltily, she fell into the hug the girl offered.

"Oh, she is tired," Philyra observed sympathetically. "We must get her to bed." The girl fluttered over her sister like a willowy indigo butterfly.

Calista tried to draw herself taller but barely reached Philyra's ear. "It has been a long day," she assented, trying to keep the accusation from her voice. After all, there was nothing Evadne could have done to shorten it—unless she had spoken up sooner but that was neither here nor there.

Both Evadne and Philyra guided her to the room and although Calista would have tumbled into the invitingly soft bed right then, Evadne insisted on undressing her. Philyra handed her a soft wool tunic, her sapphire eyes unreadable. At long last, Calista slipped into bed. It was as soft and warm as she could have wanted.

"Goodnight, my child," Evadne chimed, but Calista did not hear for she was already fast asleep.

CHAPTER XIII

Philyra could not help but be singularly curious about her home's new occupant. Oh, she had been regaled with tales of Calista (the same few repeatedly for Calista had been only one year old when sent away). Quietly, she opened a trunk of things collected for Calista. Philyra had not been impressed by the girl who had arrived, but Calista had been the subject of intense speculation among Philyra's friends and indeed, the whole of Atlantis once it had become common knowledge that Claudius and Calista were to be Returned.

Calista's room was smaller than Philyra's, but Philyra knew from her mother's many tales that the chamber had originally been a nursery. Now, it was outfitted with a large wooden bed draped in jade silk, a delicate writing table, and a large, thick rug that sprawled in the center of the room. Philyra knelt, the apricot silk of her peplos breathing softly against the smooth white floor, as her probing fingers brushed the sea-polished wood of trunk.

Calista grunted as she rose in her bed. "Hey."

Philyra's heart thumped wildly. "Good morning, Calista," she said calmly. She kept her face pacific.

"What's in the trunk?" Calista asked as she looked around the room with wide, inquisitive eyes; they were not suspicious though and for that Philyra heaved an inward sigh of relief. If Calista was surprised that Evadne was not there to greet her in the morning, she did not show it.

Philyra tried to make her face as clear and honest as possible. "Just the fabrics and dresses Mama purchased for your arrival." Despite Philyra's best efforts at innocence, Calista studied her doubtfully but said nothing.

"Oh. Well, what were you looking for?"

"I." Philyra could not help but let a nervous little giggle escape her. "I was just adding some more robes to the chest. I am sorry I woke you." That last part was true enough.

Calista studied Philyra carefully as the girl's hands twitched around her peplos. The bluish light was warmer this morning and it sparkled, reflected in Philyra's eyes. "That was certainly very kind of your mother and yourself," Calista said.

"Not only that, but there is a guest awaiting you." Philyra looked at the ground and gazed at Calista through her eyelashes, observing this stranger's reactions.

A snake coiled coldly around Calista's insides as her bare feet touched the floor. "Who?"

"Hadrian." Her voice was smooth but Calista noticed how Philyra's lips quirked at his name.

Calista rubbed her cheeks. The name stirred a vague, liquid memory. "I am sorry...who is Hadrian?"

Suddenly, the girl's painfully beautiful features became very animated. "He stands out among us fair-haired folk of Atlantis, with his grey eyes and black hair. I am sure you have seen him; he was at the banquet. Hadrian was the one who..." This time, Philyra's eyes flickered uncertainly towards Calista. "He made the comment about Melba's son being drunk," she finished tactfully.

"Claudius," Calista supplied absentmindedly, her mind's eye honing in on a pair of storm-colored eyes. What business could he possibly have with me? Tartarus! "Well, if you could tell him I will be out in some moments I would be much obliged."

Philyra nodded curtly, perhaps insulted at being used as a servant and left. Surprised that there were no nymphan maids to attend her, Calista shrugged out of her tunic and pulled a fresh peplos from the chest that Philyra had been rooting through. She grimaced at the unwieldy tube-like garb and longed for the grace of the stola. And what was the girl looking for?

As she struggled into the wine-colored peplos, she realized the fabric was gossamer sheer, just as the other nymphs' had been, just as Philyra's and Evadne's were. She had not realized it the night before, so assaulted was she with the rest of Atlantis, but she felt disturbingly bare in the cloth. When struck by the milky light, it revealed ever contour of her body. Sighing, she put her tunic on underneath, knowing she would be deemed unfashionable and terribly unworldly. If they wish to prance around like prostitutes in broad daylight that is really not my concern.

Her hair was still in a semblance of last night's bun, although a loving hand had removed the silver chains during the night, and Calista chose to leave it so. Calista went down a fuzzily remembered path to her caller. She made her way past bright, festive mosaics, whose protagonists were almost always nymphs bearing a strong resemblance to Evadne. A few doors were propped open sliver-like and Calista wondered absently which belonged to Philyra and which to Evadne. Where there were no mosaics, gaping windows overlooked the thoroughfare of Atlantis. It would almost seem like a normal town with normal people if not for the otherworldly rippling, almost nauseating sea-sky that separated Atlantis from the encompassing ocean.

When she entered, Hadrian nodded deeply. "Good morning. How did you rest?"

Calista felt hot blood color her cheeks. She smiled awkwardly, wondering if Philyra was watching her now, wondering where Evadne was. "Well, thank you." Her achingly tired muscles belied her statement. Calista felt she coud have slept from now until the Lupercalia.

There was a pause and Calista awkwardly twisted the silk of her robe.

"Will you walk with me to the markets?"

Surprised by the direction of his request, she answered slowly, "I do not see why not." Calista absentmindedly noted that Philyra was right about the peculiarity of his hair color; she had only seen the shade on Thetis since her arrival.

The two walked in silence out of the villa and onto the pathway, which led to the main road of Atlantis. Calista's eyes stretched wide, drinking in the unfamiliar, still-dreamlike strangeness of the black and white city.

"I would like to apologize for waking you so early," Hadrian said, a slightly mocking smile on his pink lips, unusually full for a man. Calista found herself wondering what it would be like to...No, don't go there! she reprimanded herself.

"After what you have been through, I can see that you could probably sleep for hours more," he said.

Calista shrugged noncommittally.

"My behavior last night was boorish and rude and I beg your pardon. As recompense, I would like to offer you any counsel I can. I have dwelled in Atlantis long enough to know it is a mire of intrigue and politics, and I have heard it rumored that you will be named the Waveguide's heir, which will make you the center of all sorts of gossip."

There was so much ridiculous filling that sentence, Calista did not know where to begin to discredit his words.

"What makes you think I will be named the Waveguide's heir? Thetis certainly mentioned nothing to me," Calista finally said after struggling through a mountain of words. She then decided that she would let herself flow with whatever insanity Atlantis tossed her way. To fight against the indomitable current would prove futile, she was sure. Anxiously, she rubbed the pendant and bulla together.

Hadrian nodded thoughtfully, but did not answer. Calista saw that he wore a heavy lapis and gold ring on his longest finger.

Walking in a series of half-broken silences, Hadrian and Calista reached the Agora of Atlantis. Alongside the salty ocean air, she could smell the sweetness of fruits, the warmth of bread. It reminded her strongly of Portus Tarrus and homesickness flashed through her. The Agora bustled at the crossroads and women and men hawked everything from jewels and fabrics to vegetables and fruits. They weren't the silken party-goers from the night before. No, these men and women were rough of hand and weathered of face. It was queer seeing such signs of hard-working reality dwelling side-by-side with the fantastic.

Drifting closer, Calista studied the different fruits and vegetables offered. They were brightly colored and strangely shaped. She could attach no names to them but others looked similar to foods she had eaten on land. In the middle of the Agora stood several men and women: speakers all there for the benefit of the market-goers. It was powerfully reminiscent of the Roman Forum.

Breaking through the quiet that hung between then, Hadrian said, "The Waveguide has become increasingly reclusive in the past few years—you must have noticed that she did not attend last night's feast—and she has held no audiences for strangers. We all noted that you spent nearly an hour in her Maretheon. I believe her favor may have something to do with your time Above. We will know for certain if she calls you again." He eyed her speculatively.

"Thetis did tell me she was tired and wished to leave her post..." Calista allowed.

"There you go!"

"It would be folly for Thetis to believe I will succeed her as Waveguide. I am not Atlantian; I am Roman. These people are not my responsibility. I do not know them—how can I hope to rule them?" Her fists on her hips, she dared Hadrian to protest.

He (and the fruit vendor) stared at Calista until her face flushed and embarrassment tingled across her skin. Hadrian said nothing and the noise of the Agora swelled to fill the void.

That is right! she thought crossly. I should be taking care of Mother and Pyp, not a mass of strangers for whom I do not care two figs.

To keep her hands busy against the stymieing awkwardness, she tossed a strange, green-colored fruit in her hand. Its tangy fragrance reminded Calista that she had departed Evadne's home without breaking her fast. She peeled it deftly and bit into it. Juice dribbled down her chin.

Hadrian reached over to pay the vendor with small golden coins, ignoring her protests. "I can't imagine all of this, Atlantis, has been easy," he said not unkindly.

"Confusing, unbelievable, ridiculous, but easy, no, easy it is not. But this is only my second day here, and once I get my bearings I can set about—"

They began retracing the path to Evadne's villa.

"Set about what?" he said encouragingly.

"I..."

"Yes?"

Taking a deep breath, she explained, "I need to return home, soon." She divulged the situation to him and to her surprise Hadrian appeared entirely sympathetic. "You must not tell Thetis or anyone else," she insisted. "I don't know what purpose I am here to serve, but whatever it is, it cannot be more important than going home. I need to rescue my family, I need to destroy the bastard who murdered my father, ruined our lives." She bit her lip, suddenly wishing she had maintained her silence.

He touched her shoulder. "I can understand the love you bear for your foster family and their home, but now you have come back to your come. There is plenty for you to love here." He smiled and Calista lowered her eyes, flushed.

Reaching Evadne's villa, Calista said, "Thank you for showing me the Agora and for your attention while I babbled like a fool. Whether or not Thetis means for me to rule after her, I appreciate your offer of counsel."

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. It was no more than a politeness, but Calista's heart pounded hard. "We shall meet again soon." He loped away.

Calista glanced towards the window and was startled to see Philyra peeking out. Calista sucked in a breath at the brightly burning hatred emanating from the girl's face. Once Philyra saw she had been spotted, she quickly ducked.

Calista shut the villa door softly behind her and heard the fuming Philyra before she saw her.

"What did Hadrian want with you?" Philyra hissed. She drew herself to her full willowy height. "Is it not enough you've already bedded Melba's son? Now you have to chase after Hadrian as well?"

Surprised by the vitriol, Calista raised a cool eyebrow. Philyra's face was perfect even when furious—it brought a lovely pink to her high cheeks and long neck. Calista let her own anger fall away. This Hadrian was not worth creating enemies, especially with her blood sister. (How strange that seemed!)

"You are mistaken, sister. Hadrian came to offer his apology for his behavior last night. He mentioned you a great deal," Calista added. It was a lie, but a well-meant one.

The tightness softened and then disappeared from Philyra's rosebud mouth.

"The two of you suit each other quite well; a most handsome couple," Calista said, but her voice grew sharp when she asked, "But what is this you said of me and Claudius?"

Roses bloomed in Philyra's cheeks and if Calista was satisfied by her embarrassment it did not help that embarrassment suited the girl well. "That is what some of the women are saying."

Calista looked at Philyra levelly and was gratified when the girl wilted under her gaze. "You can tell those gossip mongers to stop spreading their lies. I would hardly think Neptune would approve," she finished primly.

Philyra led Calista to a room with reflective crystal embedded in the walls. They seated themselves on a plum-colored sofa. She was close enough to Philyra to smell her sweet perfume. It reminded her of violets. Calista knew that if she could win an ally in Philyra, who appeared to have a knowledge concerning all things in the city and a love of rooting around for gossip, she could begin to better understand Atlantis. And find a way out. If what Hadrian had said was true, then she would need to learn the ways of Atlantis—enough to lull them into thinking her tame.

"You really do not know much about Neptune, do you?" Philyra cocked her head to the side, like a little bird with bright eyes and smoky lashes.

"Well, I only arrived yesterday," Calista said. There was no need to divulge that she still half-believed Atlantis to be a product of her imagination.

"Well, Neptune has so many...spawn...he really does not give preferential treatment to any of his children." Philyra laughed bitterly. "I do suppose he may disapprove of people spreading such rumors but I wouldn't count on it." She paused. "He does seem to particularly like you." Her tone suggested that was some inexplicable oddness.

Calista sighed. "This entire society boggles my mind. The Waveguide told me a bit of Atlantis' history but perhaps you could explain more of the quotidian?"

Philyra smiled, almost patronizingly. "Atlantis is not a place that is meant to be questioned. The gods said be and it was."

Calista stifled the urge to roll her eyes. "Can you at least explain why Claudius and I were sent to Rome?"

Philyra smoothed the pleats of her peach peplos, but just as she parted her lips to speak, Neptune and Evadne hurtled in like a pair of young lovers hanging off each others' arms.

"Oh hello, Calista! Philyra, be sure to—" Neptune kissed Evadne before she could finish her sentence and her words were lost in a squeal. The two disappeared into Evadne's room without a second glance towards their daughters.

"Gods...Do they do that...often?" Calista was not sure whether to laugh or be uncomfortable. There was no doubt about what they were about to; she cringed. That was certainly uncomfortable.

Not discomfited in the slightest, Philyra explained, "Actually, yes. It is very good for us. Think: what if he lost interest in our mother? He has so many other concubines and children, it really wouldn't matter to him. A nice house, pretty robes, our standing: they are all here because Father Neptune enjoys spending time with Mother.

"Now, come." Philyra's hand grasped Calista's warmly and Calista thought that perhaps the awkwardness of seeing their birth parents behave so had broken some of the wariness between them. "Let me show you the Waveguide's gardens."

They had almost reached the gardens when Philyra abruptly stopped and lightly touched Calista's arm. "Hadrian and I...Hadrian...he is not my suitor." The last several words came out in a jumble that Calista had to spend a moment deciphering. "He thinks I am too young." Philyra now blushed. "I did not need someone who is new, and pretty and my own sister to take more attention away from me."

Calista squeezed her sister's hand. She was sympathetic to the girl's plight. "I would not poach him from you—nor do I think he would be poached. If you would like, I will try to pair the two of you together. In Portus Tarrus..."

Recollecting her formidable composure, Philyra smiled at Calista's offer, hope gleaming in her eyes. "So, is that where you were from then? Portus Tarrus? How was it?"

Calista smiled as memory of the place swam before her eyes. She gestured to the rippling dome that shimmered with patterns of light, the airy architecture that surrounded them, and the exotic blooms and fountains of the Waveguide's gardens. "This is beautiful, like something from a story, but Portus Tarrus is wonderful." Calista rubbed the pendant and bulla together and her heart squeezed painfully. "To see the sea touch the sand, the sky arch over both ocean and land...

"I have a little brother, Nicetius but we call him Pyp. He and his friend Maro are absolutely inseparable. Then, there is...was...my father, Lucretius. He is...was such a kind father, and he indulged far more than he should have." Calista scrubbed her burning nose. "He was killed." Ignoring Philyra's startled look, she continued. "My mother, Olympia, she was expecting a child when I left." She hoped her mother and Pyp were well, but she wondered how likely that was if they were once more in Portus Tarrus in Avaritus' hands.

"You cannot imagine how much I want to go back." The words spilled quietly from her as if squeezed out by a force of their own. It had been less than two days that she had been separated from Portus Tarrrus and her family, but the time rested on her like eons. Calista followed Philyra to a bench shaded by a strange gnarled tree, her throat tight and heavy. Philyra helplessly petted her arm.

Willing the tears to recede, Calista stared steadily at the stretch of marble and obsidian buildings, the dome curving like a sky above. How could she escape? Was that border pregnable? How would she navigate to Portus Tarrus? If she could be sent there, surely she could return. She had never thought that such a beautiful scene—majestic pillars, neat roads, fine statues and fountains at each crossroads—would seem so daunting.

CHAPTER XIV

Calista was wandering around the Agora stalls, a habit she had developed over the past few weeks. She had been here long enough to accept the reality of Atlantis, with all its strangeness and magic, but not a day passed that she did not long for her family, that she did not try to implement some scheme to take her home.

She had been born (or found, she supposed) in Portus Tarrus, but when she was six, her father had shifted the family to Rome for a handful of years after her grandmother had died. She had been a capricious child and one day had sneaked off alone to explore Rome. She remembered weaving through the legs of citizens and slaves, delighted with her freedom. There had been an instance of fright when someone who Calista still swore had been a slave trader caught her arm, but she had wrested her hand away by yanking her arm through the weak link of his thumb. Once she had escaped, she had begun narrating the story in her head as she later would to her friends in Portus Tarrus—never mind another five years would pass before her father would be appointed proconsul and she would see them again. At the end of the day she had returned to their villa, where her aunt Laetitia now lived, shocked when her parents had punished her by confining her to the house.

Today, too, Calista was eluding capture. Today, two things had happened that had set her already teetering world reeling. Calista had been jolted awake by a most unsettling dream. She could not recall the details of it or even the basic plot for that matter, but that dream...there had been something horrific about it, an aura that lingered in her mind.

At the farthest edge of the Agora, Calista peered up at the walls of water that contained the air for the inhabitants of Atlantis to breathe, trying to see past the bubbling swirls. She strained as if by looking through sun-strained waters she would catch sight of the family she had left behind. She felt herself slowly walking towards the wall of water and pressed herself against the jelly-like barrier. As the chilly water splashed against her face, she was unceremoniously pulled back.

"What in Tartarus are you doing?" Hadrian's grey eyes were stormy with fury. "If you had broken the barrier, you would have drowned."

"I see no reason to remain when it is evident that my return was a triviality: I am not the gods' plaything, no matter what they may believe." She was suddenly very aware of his large hand wrapped around her arm. She tried to free herself of his hold as she had with the Roman slave trader but he held fast.

Hadrian was calmer but he spoke firmly. "If you answer the Waveguide's summons your questions might have been answered. I can appreciate a dislike of the Waveguide, but that is nothing to kill yourself over."

"Don't yell at Calista." Appearing from nowhere, Claudius was still as golden and handsome as ever. Calista had heard Philyra's friends sighing over him. Yet, there was a tightness in his eyes that had not been there before and Calista was very much afraid that it was her fault.

"Claudius," Calista said, sensing the antagonism simmering between the two. "Really, it truly is not your place. I appreciate it, but don't worry yourself."

For a few moments, Calista was very much afraid that she would have to wrestle Claudius down but he finally conceded, "Very well."

The trio stood awkwardly before Calista said, "The Waveguide has summoned me, so I suppose I shall go now."

Claudius touched her elbow. "Do you wish me to escort you to the Maretheon?" He caught Calista's glance at Hadrian. "Do you need his permission to go with me?" he quipped.

Calista forced a sunny smile as they left Hadrian. "How have you been keeping yourself?" After the banquet, she had been avoiding him and she wondered if he realized that. When he did not respond, Calista assured him in what she hoped was a comforting manner, "You must forget everything you said when you were drunk. I realize that people say things that they do not mean when they have been drinking. Even the most bizarre things seem sensible and right."

Claudius changed the subject. "Why is your stola wet?" His finger faltered just short of touching the water-transparent fabric. Calista was thankful for the thick tunic underneath.

She was relieved when the pillars of the Maretheon came into view. She had no desire to tell Claudius about her ill-thought and botched escape attempt. "If you will excuse me, the Waveguide is expecting me. Thank you for walking with me, Brother."

He flinched but Calista felt no compunction—if he required hourly reminders she would provide them. Hearty discomfort flooded through her at the thought she was the object of her brother's affection. It would be like if Pyp...She could not complete the thought. He needed to be reminded that despite his semi-divine status, he could not throw away all sense.

As he left, Calista leaned heavily against a soaring column. She knew full well that the moment she entered the Maretheon, she would be the target of all eyes, curious to know what business the Waveguide had with the strange girl from above. She sucked in the salty air of Atlantis.

A man dressed in the scarlet tunic of a Maretheon guardsman asked, "Are you Calista?"

After her affirmation, he gestured for her to follow him as if she could not recall every step to the Waveguide's chamber. The familiar wood doors opened, revealing Thetis perched regally on her gem-encrusted throne. Seeing Calista, she indicated the seat in front of her.

"I am sorry that I have not spoken to you since your arrival, but there were some affairs that required my oversight." Thetis did not appear particularly contrite, but Calista knew this was the most she would receive for her weeks of impatient worry. Once I know what is expected of me, I will know better how to counter it.

"I have been deliberating since your first day whether or not to name you my heir," Thetis stated with startling frankness. "I had decided, long ago, that if anyone were to rule Atlantis after me, then she would have lived Above, just as I did. You were chosen to be sent Above by Neptune and now that you have returned, I am pleased to see you are a clever girl."

Judging by Thetis' expression, Calista supposed she was expected to rejoice. "Perhaps you should have thought to consider the lives you split asunder with your plans," she said quietly.

Thetis ignored her. "I have selected you to be my heir. Your discovery of that pendant you wear around your neck was the trigger for your return. All those born of Atlantis have similar pieces struck for them on birth; it is a sign of your heritage. You have shown resilience and resourcefulness on your sojourn Above. Of course, you will need to be thoroughly trained and educated before you are prepared to completely assume the role of Waveguide."

"Perhaps I do not want to take over your position as Waveguide." Calista wanted to reach up and wrench the necklace from her neck and throw it away. If this was what brought her to this place, then she had never loathed anything more.

Thetis seemed unruffled and raised a thoughtful finger to her lips. "I cannot force you to my will, but as Waveguide, I hold the favor of the gods. At a simple request, they could destroy your foster family without a second thought—or they could save them."

Calista's breath was trapped in her throat. Thetis smiled.

"And if I agree you will have them rescued?" Calista wished she could believe it, but having seen Neptune, she found that she could not put her faith in the hands of the gods.

Thetis smiled enigmatically.

With difficulty, Calista modulated her tone to mild disbelief. "I do not see why you are so eager to have me as Waveguide. I do not know Atlantis nor do I think I would prove a deft hand at intrigue."

"You are untouched by the factions within Atlantis. Were I to choose someone from here, I would offend other groups: the nymphs, the men who walked Knossos, their children. Each has their own interests. And you have proven an emotional toughness. Like those of the original generation, like myself, you know life Above and as we did, you will learn of life in Atlantis."

Calista wanted to be nothing of the sort. "I refuse," she said sharply.

Thetis did not raise her voice, but her brow tightened with fury. "Deny me again and I will see you confined to your mother's house."

As a sense of powerlessness rushed through her ears and eyes, Calista decided she had had more than enough. "The arrogance to presume that I would wish to assume responsibility for Atlantis leaves me speechless. I bear this place no love. And you dare threaten my family and then think that I would be eager to serve you? So, Thetis—" She refused to address the woman by her title. "—Thank you for this generous offer but I have to decline." If she could not control her fate, the fleeting satisfaction of venting her anger at the woman responsible was pleasure enough.

Thetis' golden eyes flashed with the anger Calista had hoped to kindle. "I believe I just warned you of the consequences of speaking so. I did not believe you to be a stupid girl, but perhaps you are unworthy of Atlantis after all. Whatever the case, I do not go back on my word." With a wave of her hand, she summoned a guard. "Gnaeus will take you to your mother's home."

Calista's stomach swooshed as the import of her foolhardiness dawned upon her. With the thrill of confrontation rushing through her veins, she had not recognized the immensity of ostracism. She would lose her mobility about Atlantis, the chance to pry at its cracks, to solicit the good will of its citizens to help her find a way home. Foolish, foolish, foolish, Calista berated herself.

"What was that?"

Calista had not realized she had spoken aloud.

"Even if you apologize," Thetis continued, "I will not forgive your transgression. There is no use in trying to wheedle your way out."

Remaining silent, Calista tried to level Thetis with her most condescending stare. The indignity she had suffered at Avaritus' hands would make even the longest solitary imprisonment seem like a holiday.

Unfazed, Thetis ordered the guard to take Calista away.

CHAPTER XV

When Calista arrived at the villa, Evadne was waiting for her, having no doubt been alerted by messenger. Calista's escorts were dismissed but not before they warned Evadne, "By the order of the Waveguide, the girl is not to leave your home."

"Yes," she replied irritably, bundling Calista into the house.

Once inside, Calista realized that Evadne's features were set in a way which uncannily resembled Olympia at her most irritated. Calista felt the familiar drop in her stomach in response to the prospective telling-off.

As Evadne took Calista to her room, she chided sternly, "You could not have held your tongue for Thetis? You could not have smiled meekly and accepted it? There are times to speak and then there are times to remain silent. You must learn this."

In spite of everything, the uncanny resemblance to Olympia, although Evadne was as fair as Olympia was dark, brought a smile to Calista's face. After they entered her room, Evadne pulled a key from the folds of her robe. Seeing the direction of Calista's gaze, Evadne apologized, "I'm afraid that I am under strict direction to keep you locked in your rooms if you are left alone."

"Stay with me a while then." Calista did not know if she or Evadne was more surprised at the invitation but a distinct guilt welled up in Calista at the soft, unadulterated pleasure on Evadne's face.

"Of course, dear." She gracefully flowed onto the couch. Less elegantly, Calista lowered herself beside her.

In Evadne's face, Calista searched for similarities to herself, as she had done so long ago with Olympia. She had Evadne's sun-colored hair and water-hued eyes, but she knew the bite in her wit and the sharpness of her mind were all the product of careful molding under Olympia's hands.

Whatever the differences Calista discerned, Evadne still possessed an undeniable mother's intuition and immediately sensed the question in Calista's mind. "What is it, child?" she asked, stroking Calista's cheek tentatively, as if wary of rebuke.

"Why did you send me away?" The question was unexpectedly hard for Calista to articulate and she was surprised to discover how much she cared to discover the answer.

Evadne turned her head away, resting her chin on her shoulder for a moment. "Nymphs...are meant to be pliant and yielding, without two thoughts to rub together. I told you just now about smiling meekly and being accepting, yet I was not always so wise. I once rushed into confrontations as you did, with my intentions apparent for all to see. And that is how I lost you.

"I was once great friends with Melba, and we were united in our pursuit for changes. We wished to be no longer mistresses of Neptune, residents of Atlantis. Melba and I wanted more liberty in our lives, to open the scope beyond being Neptune's playthings. Our children by gods become gods, yet we remain immortal and indolent.

"Melba and I were leaders of a dissatisfied group. At my insistence, we challenged Neptune and Thetis. Our cause was beginning to gain popularity and Neptune and Thetis started to feel threatened. Nymphs comprise a significant portion of the population of Atlantis, you see.

"Soon after, an oracle prophesied that you, my daughter, and Melba's were the keys to Atlantis' salvation and had to be sent Above. Most believed the veracity of the oracle—after all, who would violate the sanctity of a prophet? Yet, both Melba and I knew what it was: a tactic to scare us into silence. We both had other children whom we knew could also be taken away. It divided us. Melba never forgave me for urging to publicly pursue the matter. They say you two were sent Above to save Atlantis. That's a lie. You were sent to silence, warn, and divide your mothers. When it comes to the integrity of Atlantis, Thetis is single-minded and Neptune more than willing to help her," she finished bitterly.

The shock Calista felt was akin to what she had experienced when she saw Olympia pull out a kitchen knife and attack the assailant in the garret. "But you are so...affectionate with him?" she blurted.

"I do what I must to protect mine," she whispered, her eyes deepened to a bright indigo. "I know you do not love me, that you wish to return to what you feel is your real family, but we can make a family here too. Another one. You, me, and Philyra. We would love you; we have loved you for all the years you have been gone. I would do anything for you and your sister."

Calista's throat tightened and something in her soul seemed to click with Evadne at last, as if memories of the year she had spent in the nymph's arms and the love she had been given were flooding back to her. Instinctively, she embraced Evadne, burying her face in her mother's perfumed neck.

* * *

Despite the warm feeling between Calista and Evadne, Evadne would not subvert the Waveguide's directions and Calista was confined to her chamber. She would dine with Evadne and Philyra, who would both sit with her in her room. In a way, Calista was thankful for Thetis' punishment for it forced her to acquaint herself with this second family. They acted like a balm over her longing for her mother and Pyp and she found her love for Evadne growing. But the days still passed slowly, and Calista had even perused a history of Atlantis graciously translated into Latin and provided by the Waveguide.

Claudius managed to visit one day, and after a brief awkwardness, conversation passed smoothly enough between them, and he finally revealed the story of his young captaincy.

"My father..." He shrugged uneasily. "My father in Rome was a captain of his own merchant ship and I had sailed with him since I was a boy. When he retired, he gave me, his heir, his ship." Stricken, he had paused. "I have four other sisters, you know. A mother. My father. And they all think I am lost at sea. And lost I am."

His jaw tightened and Calista empathetically reached out to hold his hand. Lightly, he traced the scar down her arm. Calista whipped her hand back.

He did not visit again.

Calista was reading a history of Atlantis when she heard the click of the key turning in the hole. Philyra's head popped in. "Calista, Hadrian is here to see you."

Calista's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What business does he have with me?" she inquired incredulously.

Philyra's lips twisted scornfully, but Hadrian pushed past her. "I risk myself coming to visit the prisoner and this is the thanks I get? Thank you Philyra for letting me see your sister."

The dismissal was as clear as Philyra's annoyance, and she left in a huff of sea green silk. Calista tilted her head, listening to the footsteps fade away. "What business do you have with me?" she repeated, as if she did not feel an excited thrill in his presence.

He stepped closer, towering over her. Heat rushed in Calista's blood.

"Affecting you, little nymph?" He smirked and his face only grew handsomer.

"Hardly," she huffed, stepping away from him irritably as he chuckled softly.

"I just thought perhaps you were growing bored in your confinement. I came to lighten your time."

"I assure you, that is hardly necessary," she answered haughtily.

Hadrian made as if to leave. "If you do not wish to hear what Thetis wishes to do with you..."

Grunting, she gestured to Hadrian to sit down. "You could have opened with that, you know."

"How fun would that be?" he said with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Anyways, I do not know much, but I hear that you will be released into Thetis' custody within a few weeks."

And so it began. Hadrian would visit Calista everyday, led in by an increasingly disgruntled Philyra. Initially, he stayed for only half an hour, but as the days went on, the hours would stretch as well, until Evadne developed the habit of regularly inviting him to dinner.

Calista was unsure what game Hadrian was playing, whether or not his regard for her was feigned or part of some plot. Even with her suspicions, she found herself looking forward to his visits and regretting his leave-takings. She sometimes wondered whether Hadrian paid her attention out of desire to tweak Thetis' nose, but she knew when she was with him, he too was a balm over the pain of her family. And for the moment, that was enough.

* * *

After supper one day, after Philyra had departed to spend time with her friends, Evadne and Calista were sitting inside the villa together in silence, watching the people of Atlantis pass by.

"You long to return Above?" said Evadne quite suddenly.

Starting at the question, Calista carefully weighed her response. "You have shown me great kindness and love, for which I will always be thankful. Yet, I left my brother and mother in gods know what kind if situation and in need of my aid. It is not even a question of wanting to return home—it's needing to." She chuckled caustically. "Not that it matters, either way. I cannot even leave the villa, let alone Atlantis. I would not even know how to depart. All I can do is pray that they are delivered by some other hand than my own."

Evadne stroked Calista's head. "Do you think that I did not follow my daughter as far as I could? I saw them send you up. I remember all they did, the words they chanted that opened the dome and let you be assumed into the sea. I could do it again...but I know not if I dare."

Calista's heart thudded wildly. "Why would you not?" Her fingers clenched into a tight, anxious fist, her nails biting into the tender skin of her palm.

"I fear them," Evadne answered directly. "I fear what they would do if they discovered that I had helped you leave them. Would they take away Philyra?"

"Did you not say that you detested the status of nymphs as indolent and impotent creatures?"

Evadne nodded.

"If you helped me leave...you could at last exercise the power of choice that you so longed for." She looked intently into those eyes that so resembled her own, searching for a positive answer.

After a pause that seemed to span across ages, Evadne said, "I will have to think on it...and it would take at least a month to prepare everything. I would do anything for your happiness," she added fiercely. "Is this what you want?"

"Very much. Mother." This woman could never replace Olympia, but Calista had learned to love her and to appreciate the bravery that coursed through her veins. She thought she had inherited that from living with Olympia, but she was only part of the mixture. Evadne was a courageous woman in her own right and it was clear that their resemblance extended past the skin. The fierceness of her affection for Calista resonated with what Calista felt in her own soul for Olympia, Pyp, and yes, Evadne and even Philyra although Calista could not bring herself to fully trust her.

Her hand wrapped in her mother's, Calista watched life in Atlantis unfold before them.

CHAPTER XVI

"Explain to me again why we ever approved sending the children up to Rome?" Thetis said, rubbing her temple. She crossed her legs, and the changing green-blue fabric of her dress rippled.

Her companion smirked. "I recall you being quite insistent about it, Thetis. I seem to vaguely remember your desperation with that little nymphan revolt. Why, is Calista proving less than tractable for your plans?" Laughter rumbled in Neptune's chest. "Just choose an Atlantian to succeed you as Waveguide."

Thetis lazily gestured for one of her crimson-robed attendants to refill her and her companion's chalices with wine. "You know as well as I the spoiled indolence of Atlantians. A child related to you by blood would hold intrinsic power. Had I had a daughter, she would inherited from me, as it were...the girl is the only young woman who has been Above and I am too tired to wait another sixteen years before I begin training an heir."

"But what is sixteen years when you have lived an eternity?" Neptune snapped his fingers. "A moment flashing through time."

"I want what I want and I want it now. I will not have my plans overturned by a stubborn maid." Her lips thinned until they were only a faint line on her dark face. "She throws the title of Waveguide away as if it were coal." The stem of the chalice snapped into two jagged pieces. Wine sloshed over the rim.

"We must surmount this," he said.

Thetis pursed her dark lips in thought. "I must persuade her. Bribes have not worked and neither have threats. And if we are to lend any credence to that bought prophecy, we must make some effort to have her—not the boy; the Waveguide must be a woman—contribute to Atlantis. Atlantis must seduce her. Hadrian has thrown himself into that effort, although I do not know how long I can persuade my son to keep up this farce."

"Has he told you anything of interest?"

Thetis shrugged. "Just that she longs to return to the home where she was raised, but that is to be expected." Thetis grew quiet in thought. "Perhaps if I were to make her my attendant, let her follow me as I performed my daily tasks, it would allow her the chance to fall slowly in love with Atlantis and the idea of being its ruler."

"Cheers," grinned Neptune.

A smile softened her austere features and she raised her goblet to the lord of the seas. "To the future and success of Atlantis."

* * *

Calista had served as Thetis' personal attendant for the passage of two spring tides. After Evadne had assured Thetis that Calista's behavior had infinitely improved, Thetis had commanded Calista to reside in the Maretheon. With some regret, she had said her goodbyes to Evadne and Philyra.

Her precise duty in the Marethon was unclear: she shadowed Thetis' every step but did little else. Moreover, Thetis went out of her way to be kind to Calista and to glorify Atlantis. Occasionally, she mused that this side of Thetis' personality was more favorable, but she was not fool enough to trust the switch completely.

"Listen," Thetis chided, and Calista's head snapped up.

Thetis stood in the middle of a group of greying men dressed in long blue tunics. They were the patrons of each quadrant of Atlantis, who managed the areas and reported to Thetis in case of a major problem. Before the meeting, Thetis had told Calista to observe the proceedings closely.

Still, Calista's attention would drift to Hadrian, and to Evadne's vow to help her escape. She fiddled with the light green fabric of her robe. She hadn't seen him since the morning of her release when his visits had stopped suddenly. Neither had she and Evadne discussed her departure again.

Under Thetis' watchful eye, Calista had been kept within the Maretheon in case the Waveguide should need her services. The rule chafed. She had grown up a proconsul's daughter who had the run of her villa, Portus Tarrus, and the beach beyond. Now, she was little more than a servant tied to her mistress.

"Waveguide...we would speak to you privately," said a hawk-nosed man, eyeing Calista suspiciously.

Thetis sniffed. "Whatever you wish to say to me, you can say before her."

Calista's eyes glazed over again. She would have rather been trapped in Evadne's villa than sitting here. She had been not seen anyone but those with business with Thetis since she had been brought to the Maretheon. Calista was surprised to find how much she missed Evadne and even Philyra. She sipped a sweet red nectar, squeezed from strange Atlantian fruit.

A man ran towards the Waveguide, startling the huddle of patrons like a flock of pigeons.

"Waveguide! Water is breaching the barrier. You must come!" His blue eyes darted worriedly.

The storm-struck ocean above the dome had turned iron-grey. Unbeknownst to Calista, churning furiously, the currents had been seeping through Atlantis' invisible barrier and the leak threatened to cascade through.

Thetis stood up swiftly but looked unsurprised. "Gentlemen, I'm sorry but this meeting will have to be postponed. Follow me, Calista. Observe closely this time, girl!"

They bowed as she left.

Once the patrons were out of sight, Thetis said, "Did you see how they wished to send you away? They would look for a crack to manipulate me, to dictate the terms of our meeting. It would have shifted the power in their direction."

Thetis had been extracting pearls from her daily interactions for Calista's benefit and Calista appreciate their importance for life in either Atlantis or in Rome. She had learned more about politics and land management under a month of Thetis' tutelage than she had during her whole life Above.

The taller woman strode powerfully ahead. Calista skipped to stay at her heels. Thetis seemed calm, but when Calista looked over at the lad, his face was white with fear. Calista looked overhead and shivered. If that dome were to break, if Thetis did not reach the edge in time, then the ocean would collapse upon Atlantis with all the weight and unstoppability of an avalanche. Calista could too easily imagine her back cracking with the force of the water, the struggle to breathe as saltwater filled her nose and mouth, bubbling before her eyes while the world grew black...

Thetis drew her attention back to the present. "For all the other work I do, I am called Waveguide for my main duty: I guide the water away from Atlantis, but sometimes, the strength of the ocean requires extra reinforcement of the barrier."

"But how do you actually keep the water away?" Calista asked, perturbed despite herself.

Thetis gave Calista a mysterious look and no answer.

As they walked towards their destination, it grew colder and the fine hair on her arms stood up in a futile attempt to preserve heat. Wind as well, which was mostly nonexistent in Atlantis, whistled icily, cutting through the fabric of her peplos. As the palaces receded, and they drew closer to the border, Atlantis darkened. Frigid water splashed Calista's face like rain. It was salty in her mouth. Both Calista and Thetis were soon drenched.

Calista looked back on the city. The white marble glowed in the dark, but she could not pick out Evadne's villa. It looked lovely, haunting. But she knew that however beautiful, whatever her blood, Atlantis could never be home...but would it not be a wonder to be the ruler? ...And Thetis could keep her word and have Pyp and her mother rescued, and they could all live here happily—while Avaritus escaped scot-free. She frowned.

"Calista!"

Pocketing her thoughts, Calista hiked her peplos past her knees and ran up the hill after Thetis. Thetis was stood at the very edge of Atlantis. Far from the glow of the city, it was forlorn, black as pitch. The waves pounded against the barrier like Scythian wardrums. The earth beneath their feet was soaked with seawater. She held her hair back against the whipping wind. The shield between the ocean and Atlantis had thinned to a whisper.

"The border is loosened regularly to let fishermen catch seafood, but that is done with careful regulation and I can also manipulate the dome to create rain. Because of the barrier's fluidity the sea can occasionally start to break through." Thetis struck the shield, and her passed easily into the sea. Calista shuddered to think what would have happened if the dome had been so permeable when she had pressed herself against it.

When Thetis brought her hand back, beads of water gleamed on her bronze skin. "This is what comes of inattention. And this is how we remedy it."

As if embracing the whole sea, she opened her arms wide. Her golden eyes were closed, her cheeks tight. Calista gasped as the ocean beyond the barrier swirled white and green and slowly rose. The barrier glowed. Power radiated from Thetis like a brilliant light. The water, which had been collecting in puddles, and the dampness in the air, also ascended, bringing a cool, light breeze. The bubble around Atlantis stopped glowing and grew solid once more.

"This process is best done during the full moon, with the help of the spring tides," Thetis explained. Despite the hard work, her body stood as erect as ever.

Calista's gaze caught on the scar from the battle of Portus Tarrus, now only a faint raised silver line. The memory still caused unpleasant shivers to crawl across her spine. "Why cannot Neptune do this? Surely he should for he resides here."

She tried to keep her attention on Thetis' answer, but the battle started unfolding irrepressibly in her mind. The shrieks and iron-smell of blood and the bright green eyes of the man she had killed drowned out Thetis' answer.

CHAPTER XVII

Pyp slowly woke on the cold lumpy ground as he had every morning for what seemed like forever. His mother was sleeping next to him, an arm wrapped around her son for warmth. They slept in the cellar, where Avaritus had imprisoned them after Olympia had refused to wed him. He hoped the cold and dampness would break her spirit for him. The cellar was stacked high with barrels of wine and Olympia and Pyp were rarely left alone by the tipsy mercenaries. Whenever Pyp heard their stumbling steps, he and his mother would hide. The soldiers' tempers were volatile, and alcohol easily set them blazing. Nor did it help that they were never far from there gladii and were liable to take a swipe at whomever they pleased.

...Now, what was that dream... Pyp scrunched his eyes but all he could remember was a great deal of green and white. And...a dark woman, with gold eyes? Strange. She had been talking to Calista...

But what does it mean? He had dreamt of his dead sister before, and each dream was more peculiar than the last. He wondered if she were stretching her hands beyond the Underworld to send her younger brother a message, counsel in these dark times. He liked those dreams. In those dreams, his sister was alive.

"If only I could go to a sibyl," Pyp muttered aloud. "They would know how to interpret the dream." He remembered Nuala telling him of the oracles in her village and he wished Portus Tarrus had seers of its own.

He let out a loud sigh. Carefully untangling himself from his mother's arm, he climbed up the heavy wooden barrels to the single tiny window in the whole cellar. It let in only a narrow line of pearly grey light.

Pyp heard the lock turn and footsteps pound down the cellar steps. After nearly three full moons, Pyp was accustomed to his new life's customs: the boredom, the depression, the fall from the grace of the gods. Moments before, a guard had made his circuit. Right now, Flora, the red-haired woman, was coming down the steps with his and his mother's breakfast.

When Pyp had asked his mother who Flora was, she had replied that the slave woman was Avaritus' good friend. In spite of that, she was kind to him and made sure their food was fresh and hot; not that Koisis, the cook, would allow anything less. His stomach grumbled fitfully. Last night they had not received their cena. That is, if the tasteless, but soft bread they generally ate for every meal could be called that.

"Nicetius? Olympia?" Flora whispered. She appeared at the foot of the stairs, her vibrant red hair swept up in a lazy bun, and her body draped carelessly in a scarlet robe. She placed a pitcher of water and the clay bowls of bread beside Olympia's blue wool blankets.

"Flora?" Pyp said nervously. An idea had quickly formed in his mind, and while it wasn't much of a plan it was better than nothing. Pyp's heart beat furiously. It was no less than Caly would have done.

"Nicetius, where are you?" Flora peered around the cellar.

She was in no hurry. Avaritus had been up late last night, managing the funds of Portus Tarrus and would still be abed. While a conqueror, Avaritus still wanted Portus Tarrus to be a profitable venture, especially since he was not so well liked among the citizens, and people would not think twice about taking advantage of his unfamiliarity with the province. Indeed, Avaritus had already sent several men to the lions of the small Coliseum; they had been heard telling the tale of Avaritus' bastardy. Such talk was not taken lightly and Flora felt he had been quite right in sending the men to the lions. Even the slightest crack in his armor could inspire revolt.

Even though the folk of Portus Tarrus did not much like Avaritus, they could not help but enjoy the spectacle. The lions had been freshly imported from Africa and when the townsfolk watched the displays of the coliseum, their blood pumped hot and furious through their veins and Avaritus won their temporary approval. They were reminded that Lucretius had been too gentle: only ten men had been sent to the Coliseum in the years of his rule. In this way, Avaritus earned the esteem of some and made examples of others. His years of observing politics in Rome were serving him at last.

It did not occur to most of the townspeople to wonder by what right Avaritus exercised his power. Rulers came and went but the boats would always have to be sent onto the sea to come back with fish, the salt mined, the fabric woven. Any who would contest Avaritus' rule were rendered silent by the mercenaries lodging in the barracks.

Pyp carefully clambered down the barrels and stood in front of Flora. With the grey light shining on him, the child looked like a shade, stretching his fingers from the Underworld. Flora shivered. He was pale as snow. Flora could make out the blue veins crisscrossing beneath his skin. Months of malnutrition had melted the weight off him and his shoulder bones jutted through his tunic like bird's wings.

"Flora, I'd like to go out."

Flora looked at him incredulously. "Out? Eat your bread."

Pyp sat down obediently, shredding the bread between his hands. He swallowed and was pleasantly surprised to find his bread was baked with currants. He ate it quicker, enjoying each surprising burst of flavor.

"What would you like to go out for?" she asked, relenting a little.

He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in thought. He knew that he very well could not say 'Oh, so I can run away and go to Nuala's village and then to the sibyl that she told stories about so that she can help interpret a dream I had about Caly.' So, he said, "To see the ocean and the sun. Please, please, please Flora. I haven't been out in so long. It would only be a quick peek. You can come with me!"

"That is right I will come with you. Very well, Nicetius, you and I shall go out but only for a moment."

He beamed with delight. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He surprised Flora by giving her a hug. She looked pleased by this show of affection, and awkwardly but warmly, patted Pyp on the head.

Exhilaration coursed through Pyp as he reached the threshold of the steps. Excitedly, he opened the door. His limbs trembled with apprehension, with thrill. He was escaping! In his energized state, he did not think to tell Olympia where he was going, or consider his mother's response to discovering her last child was gone.

The outside air was chill and the wind blew hard and cold, but he felt more awake and alive than he had in months. Pyp scampered ahead enjoying the whip of the sea breeze against his face and the feel of the chill morning sun on his body. Under the light, the hollows of his body looked less well-defined. Pyp ran to the beach with Flora following steadily behind. For a few seconds he allowed himself to bask in the fresh, unspoiled air and the touch of the waves lapping like icy licks at his feet.

When he saw that Flora was close behind him, he jumped away from the beach and his sandaled feet pounded against the stone road. He could her calling out for him. He was running away, away, away, and no one would stop him. This was his land, and there was no one who knew it better.

CHAPTER XVIII

Pyp gripped the searing stitch in his side and crumbled to the ground against a wide tree. His legs shook violently and his breath came out in wheezy pants. It materialized and disappeared before him like mist.

He had run and run until the cold morning had become a cool noon. No chase had come, and yet he had not stopped. He pretended he was the messenger from Marathon, running to give his fellow Athenian citizens news of the victory in the Battle of Marathon. "Nike!" the man had shouted. Pyp ignored that the messenger had died right after that final exclamation.

He had followed a hidden trail in the woods he had once explored with Maro. He wondered where Maro was now, just as he had wondered countless times in the gloom of imprisonment, and hoped to Diana that he was safe, just as he always did whenever he thought of his best friend.

The shadows of golden sunshine and winter's shaky brown leaves played on his skin. He still had not found Nuala's village or the seer's either, although he remembered her stories well. His stomach grumbled fitfully; he had been counting on Nuala to provide him with cena. He told himself to be strong; he knew he could not stop in the woods for long, and he was certain that the oracle was near.

And so he walked. He walked into the afternoon; he walked into twilight. Finally, as night was beginning to fall he walked into a village. It was small and still wild. It had not been civilized by the Romans but left to its own Gallic devices. Pyp rather liked it.

"Pardon me," Pyp asked politely in unsteady Gaulish of a woman carrying a child. "Do you—"

"Yes, lad?" the woman responded impatiently and shifted the crying babe in her arms. The child was wrapped in a yellow and red blanket of checked wool, the same fabric the woman had draped over her shoulders.

"Do you know where I can find the oracle, please?"

She looked him up and down, taking in the dirty tunic and his accent; his rough attempt at speaking Gaulish was tinged heavily by the Latin he was used to speaking. "You're a Roman, ain't you?"

"Erm, it's a possibility," Pyp responded nervously, recalling something his tutor had told him about natives savagely killing Romans whenever they could. "But the oracle...?"

She moved the babe to her left hip. "The seers? Over there," she replied gesturing with her free hand.

Following her eye, Pyp caught sight of a rather unpromising domicile. As Pyp was walking away, the woman called out again. "Lad, where's your family?"

Pyp shrugged.

The woman put her hand in the folds of her dress, and for several seconds Pyp was unreasonably afraid she was pulling out a knife. But with a sudden burst of kindness, the woman handed him bread. "You looked hungry," she said by way of explanation.

"Thank you," Pyp replied automatically, and crammed a piece of the bread in his mouth. His stomach grumbled for more. There were no currants in it but it tasted as fine as anything he had ever eaten. With a last smile at the kind woman, he walked towards the scruffy-looking temple. Hmm. Herbs hung outside, but otherwise it seemed frightfully normally. He had thought it would be a bit wild-looking, filled with...well, augured birds and fantastical potions brewing.

With only the slightest tremor, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," responded a shaky voice.

Pyp entered a bright room. It was not built in the traditional Roman style. He was unsettled by the lack of familiar sights like a statue of Apollo and his basket of holy snakes. Instead, there stood altars, which reminded Pyp of one of the few lessons that had stuck in his mind: something his Greek tutor had had him read by Julius Caesar, the Gauls, and human sacrifice. He very nearly retreated out the door when a woman in white robes greeted Pyp. She had a ruddy complexion and wild hair the color of ebony, but against the sunlight it flamed like a red halo. "Well, what would you like young Master...?

"Pyp."

The woman smiled serenely. "Of course. You are here to..." She peered at him carefully, and Pyp felt as if she was sorting through him and looking for what she needed. "Find out what your fate will be?"

Pyp nodded wordlessly. He was amazed at her perceptiveness.

"Well, maybe tomorrow."

"Beg pardon?" Pyp asked nervously.

The woman pursed her lips. "I divined twice today, and communing with the fates is wearisome, my child. Perhaps tomorrow I will have the strength to divine for you. And if not tomorrow then the day after tomorrow certainly. But time is has no meaning when you can dip into it at will..."

Pyp took an impatient breath. Vaguely, he recalled another, a more successful visit to an oracle. This one had been visited when they were in Rome several years ago. He could not remember the details, but he had heard the story enough times. He had not been allowed in when the oracle had made her prediction but he did recall that she had not fed his father this waffle about weariness and time. "But when Father went to Tibur to consult with the sibyl there, Albunea, she was able to divine for us right then."

The woman's eyes flashed. "Well, I am not Albunea and we are not the great Tiburtine sibyls. Our art stems from different gods entirely. If you have not the patience to wait then perhaps I will not look into the future for you."

Pyp studied her, this woman, and perhaps a few months before, when he had been a young boy of six, he would have taken her at her word. But he was seven now and after all that had happened, he had learned suspicion. Suddenly, he very much doubted that this woman was anything more than a fortune-teller, making her living off cheap guesses and probabilities, unblessed by Apollo's gift. It was a despicable sham.

Tears welled up in his eyes however hard he tried to will them back. He had traveled all this long way for no reason. The escape...he would be awfully punished if he went back. He briefly considered not returning but he could not bear to leave without his mother. "I suppose I shall go then." Pyp managed to sniffle.

Dark had already begun to fall. He wondered where he would sleep but decided he would worry about that when he became sleepy. He tightened his sandals and stepped outside. He shivered at the cold wind. Only a few hours until home he told himself.

"Boy!"

He turned around hopefully and saw the fortune-teller leaning against the doorway. She softened for a moment. "Don't weep, my lad. You may sleep here tonight." Her blue eyes shone with a faraway light. "Tomorrow, a merchants' wagon will stop here for directions, and they will take you along the way." She shook her head and the light faded. "And tonight, my sisters and I will feed you."

Pyp was unsure how to respond. He was thankful for their hospitality; he was not inclined to want to spend the night outside, curled up against a fallen log for warmth and yet...And yet this oracle he had sought out with such high expectations was not what he had wanted at all. "Yes, thank you."

The woman and her sisters fed him well; they stuffed him with tarts filled with fruits, chicken seasoned with nuts and several dishes that Pyp could not recognize. These were after all the wild provinces and they ate many oddities out here. He had not eaten so well since his birthday. He wished he could bring some food back to his mother.

The sisters laid out a bed of blankets for him before the hearth. With a full stomach and wrapped in warm quilts, Pyp fell asleep quickly although he started once or twice before he drifted off, certain he heard the footsteps of the sisters, intent on human sacrifice.

* * *

When Pyp awoke, he saw a strange man standing in the room, golden arms akimbo. Pyp thought he looked like a duffer and giggled sleepily at his marvelous joke.

The man smiled as if he had sensed Pyp's thought.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he asked the tall man.

The firelight crackled behind the man, stronger than ever, and cast a golden aureole around his bright hair. "I am here to answer your questions. Although why, I am unsure. I certainly owe your 'sister's' father no favors."

Pyp did not quite understand. "Erm. What are you talking about?" He wiped his eyes sleepily, and for a second, the man's form blurred.

"You wish to know the meaning of your dream and I am here to divine it. But our kind do not do favors pro bono. You must give me something in return for this knowledge."

"What do you mean your kind?" Pyp asked, bemused. He wondered what sort of illness afflicted the man's mind.

"The gods," replied the man exasperatedly. "I am a god."

To Pyp's bleary mind, things began to come into focus. The man's shocking gold hair, flickering in the firelight, should have been a tip off and the gold, sun-shaped medallion embroidered into his tunic. It was Apollo. Well, it could very well have been someone masquerading as Apollo, but who would dare? He remembered Calista's long-ago joke about Apollo pulling the chariot, and he hoped the god wasn't here to punish him. "But who has sent you?"

Apollo snorted. "Your family has become a cause célèbre among the gods: Neptune, Juno. I wanted to join the fun."

Pyp frowned. "What would you have me do? I've nothing to give you."

"Should I ever need your aid you will come to me right away, give me whatever I demand." He smiled, his teeth bright and white against his bronzed skin.

Pyp thought for a moment and to him the deal seemed reasonable. "Alright."

Apollo whipped his scarlet cloak back, and sat down upon the pedestal. "Your sister is very much alive."

Pyp's mouth dropped open. "What...can it be? But how? Where is she now?"

"She resides in Atlantis, one of Neptune's many domains beneath the sea. The man, Claudius, is also with her."

"Are they married?" Oh, Pyp hoped this was not a mad dream brought about by a strange place and too much foreign food. He hoped it were true. He hoped Caly was still alive, somewhere, even if it was beneath the ocean. It was like a piece of his heart had returned to him.

Apollo looked as if he would have very much liked to snort. "If you wish answers to such foolish questions, call upon Venus. I am here for more sensible matters. Calista is being trained to take up the position of the Waveguide of Atlantis, but she still desires to return to Portus Tarrus."

Pyp did not know what "Waveguide" meant, but he understand the last part of the sentence well enough. "And will she?" Pyp asked eagerly. The thought of seeing his sister filled him with sweet, silver peace. She had brought their family out of Portus Tarrus once and he had little doubt his older sister couldn't do it again.

Apollo paused. "I think it would be best if I did not tell you. But a word of advice: stay true to the course you have stepped onto and all will work out as it is intended to."

Pyp said nothing aloud, deciding it would do no good to irritate a god, but thought, That is unhelpful and cryptic to boot. Those fortune-tellers aren't the only charlatans parading about with false airs of sight. "Well, um, sir, could you please, give my sister a message?"

Apollo raised an eyebrow. "That is possibly the most intelligent thing you have uttered during the duration of this whole exchange," he replied. The god relented, remembering that the boy was only seven years old and shouldering a load that most adults would break under. "Certainly. I would be more than willing to pass a message to her."

Pyp carefully considered what he should say. "Tell her...that we love her, and things are horrific here, and we need help. Tell her...tell her I don't know what to do without her. Tell her I'm so happy she's alive." He choked. To his horror, tears started appearing again on his cheeks.

The god looked at the boy sympathetically. "Should you like to see your sister?"

His head popped up in surprise. "Yes," he sniffled.

"Then come."

Apollo grabbed Pyp's hand and the god's palm was sun-hot to touch. Pyp resisted the urge to draw back. He felt his stomach swoosh inside him like a storm-rocked boat. He clenched his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was standing in a blue-green world...surrounded by water. It was in front of him, to his left, to his right, and arched above. What in the name of...?

Pyp looked around. Apollo was nowhere to be seen. He did not know where to go, but he kept to the path Apollo had placed him on and walked straight. And then, and then Calista came into view sitting beside the golden-eyed woman from Pyp's dream and a group of strange men with light hair and eyes.

"Calista!" he called out. His legs pumped hard and he raised little clouds of sand as he ran towards his sister.

Calista's head whipped up. "Pyp! Pyp!" she shrieked as she saw him. Her companions seemed to notice nothing. She ran to him, her arms wrapped around him so fiercely that he couldn't breathe. She kissed his hair, his forehead, his cheeks.

Pyp hugged her back, and he could feel the warm tears dribble down his cheeks. He was becoming a bloody aqueduct with all this crying.

"Oh, my little brother, my little love." She watched him with amazement glittering in her eye. "What in the name of all the gods are you doing here? How did you get here?" She stopped. "How are you?"

"Oh Caly, you have left us up there, and, and Mother isn't well, and we are being kept in the cellars like slaves...and Avaritus has killed them all. General Cornelius...he gave General Cornelius to the lions. And all of the others as well. All those that fought to protect Portus Tarrus."

Calista's eyes flashed angrily. "Well, what did the townspeople say about that?"

"Caly, they don't care."

His sister stood up, her hands clenched in two shaking fists, and Pyp thought that if by some strange way, Avaritus appeared in front of her, she would break him in half over her knee.

"You have to come back, Caly. We cannot go on without you." His breath caught. What if she liked this strange new watery world more than she liked him? She looked as pretty as he had remembered her, pink-cheeked and healthy. What if she didn't want their problems, but the ease of silk and conversation with fine people? He did not know what he would do then.

He could feel her warm tears against his neck. "Oh, Pyp, I want to. I want to, I do. I think of you and mother all the time. And I am trying, but how can I come back? I'm at the bottom of the ocean. I cannot just...leave. But how are you here?" She pulled back and gazed at him in wonderment. "Are you real?" She reached out and touched him. He felt cool, not his usual warm softness—but real.

"Apollo." Pyp responded, pleased with himself, relieved that Calista still loved him, still thought of him, would not abandon him and Mother to Avaritus. He'd known it all along, hadn't he?

"What?" Calista toyed absently with the locket Pyp had given her. He remembered that day on the beach. It felt like centuries ago. It had been a little more than six months.

"Apollo," repeated Pyp. "He let me see you in return for a small favor."

Calista groaned, ruffling his hair ruefully. "Pyp. One does not just go and make deals with the gods. That lot says one thing and means another. You should have been more careful."

"Bugger careful!" Pyp shouted, childishness breaking through the adult reserve he had built around himself. "I should not have to be careful. I'm only seven."

Calista's eyes widened, a sure sign she was going to give someone a sound telling-off. "You do not have time to act like you are seven. If things had been normal, then yes, you would have played with Maro and studied your lessons and gods, I wish that was what your life had been. But you cannot. You have to be strong, you have to grow up." Her voice softened. "It is not easy, Pyp, but is what you have to do. You are our father's heir. If you cannot protect Terronensis and his memory then who will?"

He looked down at his scuffed sandals. "But it is hard." He knew he sounded petulant, like a baby and he did not like it. His father would not have liked to hear him speak so.

Calista breathed deeply and took his hand in hers. His hand had grown, but it fit as well with his sister's as it ever had. "I know it is hard, but to each of us, the fates parcel our destinies. You have to protect your birthright, reclaim our father's legacy. I do not know how you will do it...but resist Avaritus, be strong for Mother. Stay strong and I vow to you, I will come." She hugged her little brother close and they leaned on each other, supporting each other.

"I'll find a way Caly." His mouth set into a strong line of resolve, at odds with his baby-soft cheeks and childishly full lips.

"I know you will. And I promise you, the next time we meet will be under the sun." She embraced him tightly and her fingers seemed to press ever deeper into his back. "What's happening?"

Pyp looked at his hands which were growing translucent, foggy. "I'm going back, Calista. Promise you will too."

Calista reached out helplessly. "Of course." she whispered. "I love you. Tell Mother I miss and love her too."

Pyp blinked and he was once more sitting before the fire in his heap of blankets. He looked up at Apollo. "How do I know this is real?"

"You don't." And Apollo vanished as well.

* * *

Pyp was riding in the back of a merchant's cart, as the fortune-teller had promised. He intended to hop off and find Nuala. And Maro. He had found his sister and now he would find them too. He had a great deal to do but a great deal of time to do it. After all, he was only seven.

CHAPTER XIX

Calista looked up from the scrolls she had been copying, her fingers stained with ink. She was helping the Waveguide manage Atlantis' accounts. Initially, she had found it rather tricky, but with Thetis' aid, her ability with this and her other tasks grew.

Covertly, she observed Thetis, noting that her golden eyes shined unearthly bright against her bronze-black skin. It was unlined and almost ageless in its wisdom...and something else. It was an air of power, a raw elemental power, a power which did not come of its own but was acquired through years of experience. A sureness, a deftness, a confidence of manner. Calista wished she had it.

Her vision...her waking dream...of Pyp strengthened the need for her to return to Portus Tarrus. She coud not close her eyes without seeing her little brother's thin white face, the dark hollows under his eyes, and hear him pleading for her to return. She had set wheels into motion with Evadne for her escape...and ultimately, she was thankful that she had come to Atlantis and stayed. She was acquainted with her past, with her family, with her true identity. The pieces of her that had felt loose, floating, were now secured fast with knowledge.

Thetis stood up, shaking out her green peplos. She examined Calista for a moment and then spoke, frostily, but laced ever so slightly with a hint of good humor. "Tonight there is a festival; 'tis the shortest day of the year. You have my permission to enjoy the festivities."

The enormity of this did not escape Calista. For months on end, she had been captive, forbidden from venturing past the Maretheon's walls without Thetis. A needle of regretful guilt lightly pricked her, but she brushed it off. "Thank you."

"Clean up here and then head out," Thetis added, offering Calista a rare, if brusque, smile.

Calista carefully wiped her ink-stained fingers on a damp cloth and closed the bottles of squid's ink. She had been copying another draft of laws for Atlantis. It was not difficult work, and the life, as boring as it was, was nonetheless easy. She could not help but feel remorseful whenever she thought about her mother and brother's horrific existence.

Atlantis' peculiar night was falling now. There was no sky but the water would darken, a black as deep as the ink she was wiping off her fingers. Through the large windows, of finer glass than Calista had ever seen in Rome, the festival lights were twinkling. Hurriedly, Calista finished tidying her space. Luminescent fish swam about the borders of Atlantis, shining like stars in a place where true stars were only the faintest memories.

Eager to exercise her newfound and fleeting freedom, Calista strode out of the Waveguide's Maretheon. Once past the guards, she was unsure where to go, but decided to head to Evadne's house. It was a short walk, and when she arrived she saw Philyra hurrying out of the villa.

"Calista!" called the younger girl excitedly. "You are out! Mama will be so pleased."

Calista sped her pace and gave Philyra a quick, awkward embrace. It was a gesture more of duty than affection. She liked Philyra well enough but there was no tentative love budding between them as there was between Calista and Evadne. Calista could not entirely forget the hard and hateful things Philyra had said to her on her second day in Atlantis.

"How have you been?" inquired Calista politely.

"Well. And yourself? You have been holed up in the Maretheon for weeks now. Mama was quite worried. I think she misses you in the villa."

They set off towards the sounds of drums and laughter. "It has been...busy. And odd. But not entirely horrific. When Thetis told me I would be her personal attendant, I assumed I would be scrubbing her feet for eternity." She laughed and after a pause, Philyra followed suit. "But really, I am something like her companion-page-scribe-observer."

Brightly-colored stands had been set up for the festival and everything glowed golden with the blazing radiance of a large bonfire. Calista could feel its yellow heat even from a distance. The smell of hot seafood made Calista's stomach grumble longingly. She had not eaten all day.

Philyra fetched drinks and Calista sipped the bright pink punch. It was sweet in her mouth but she nearly choked at the burning in her throat as she tried to swallow. Overcoming the initial shock, she quickly tipped the rest down. "What's in this?" Calista gasped.

Philyra smiled. "Oh, it's a festival speciality. Here, have another one."

Calista nearly choked again when Philyra asked casually, "Do you know what Mama is up to? She has been quieter than usual of late." Her eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for someone.

Calista coughed and sputtered and the rosy drink spilled stickily onto her hand. "I....uh...of course...not. Of course not," she said more firmly, surreptitiously wiping her fingers on her robe.

Philyra looked at her suspiciously, her blonde hair glinting in the firelight. "Of course."

"Of course," Calista affirmed, trying to follow Philyra's gaze through the mass.

She spotted the very eyes that Philyra had been searching for, a familiar cloud grey pair. Hadrian had not seen them yet and was engrossed in conversation a buxom blonde, the type which heavily populated Atlantis. Whereas in Portus Tarrus Calista stood out because of her fair eyes and hair, here, Calista was one of hundreds. She absently wished that she had exotic raven-colored hair and dark, alluring eyes but she quickly banished the thought. Raven-colored hair? Foolishness at best.

Calista gestured towards Hadrian, but Philyra shook her head bashfully and buried her face in her chalice. Shrugging, Calista picked her way through the crowd of revelers. Skirting past a few grabbing hands, she tapped Hadrian's shoulder.

"Well, how have you been?" Hadrian asked with a familiar grin and the warmth from Calista's drink melted down her throat and into her stomach. The woman he had been speaking with smiled tightly at Calista and left.

Words were hard to find, but Calista finally managed, "Thetis runs a tight ship. I have been busy but...busy. I have been busy."

"Busy. I see." His voice swam in an undercurrent of amusement. "Anything else occupying your hours, your thoughts?"

Calista smiled in what she hoped was a suitably mysterious manner. "No. And who has been occupying your hours? Not that lovely lass I saw you with?" Despite her attempt at a joking tone, Calista winced as she heard the ring of true concern in her words.

"Her?" He stared after the woman's swaying form intently. "Well, I suppose one could say that she is handsome but she is certainly not the one occupying my thoughts." His eyes lingered on Calista.

"Pray tell who then? Philyra?" Calista gabbled foolishly. She wished that her mouth would come back under her control and shut up. She bought another goblet of drink, hoping that having something in her mouth would prevent her from running it off.

His lips quirked into a smile and Calista flushed. "She is little more than a child. Why do you seek to match me with her?"

Twirling the goblet in her hands, Calista shrugged uncomfortably and wished she had never said anything. "She has been kind to me," she managed finally. Very good, she told herself. Keep your responses down to six words or less.

"Kind?" Incredulity painted his face as clear as any fresco. "You and I certainly have different assessments of kind then. For all the kindness she may show in your presence, she is one of your foremost detractors. If you were not kin by blood, I would say she hated you!"

Her mouth curled in distaste at Hadrian's evaluation, and Calista swigged the rosy drink. "I cannot believe what you are saying as true. She has never shown me anything but generosity—"

His voice dropped low. "Do you not see why she says these things? She knows you have what she wants and she doesn't like it."

Flustered, Calista rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Every girl dreams of having her father killed, her home destroyed, to be separated from the remainder of her family, told her whole life has been a lie. Of course Philyra is burning with envy." She turned away, but Hadrian's fingers circled her wrist and brought her close.

"Do not be a fool and walk away in anger." He sighed. "There is something you have Philyra could never have. And I am not speaking of your grace or beauty," he added with a cheeky smile.

Calista stared at him blankly.

"My interest." He bought her another goblet of punch from a stand.

Calista sputtered. The gall!

"You well know Philyra has been vying for me for years, and then you come and we become...friends...she does not like that."

Calista was without words, but her eyes stretched wide, her eyebrows arched, her lips She wanted to slap him for his arrogance. Interest? Bah! "You announce your interest as if it were a villa on the Palatine, as if every girl in Atlantis were clamoring for it, as if I desired it!"

"Well...don't you?" He said it hesitantly, hopefully, and some of Calista's frosty anger slipped away.

"Come, sit with me." Calista swept through the sand, and found a spot to lean her back against a pillared building. "Can I confide in you?" she asked as they settled down comfortably.

He looked over at her and Calista thought her head would burst with dizzy giddiness from the look in his eyes. "Of course."

"But you must swear not to say a word to anyone, no matter if you disagree with what I say. No matter how strongly you feel about it. Even if you think I deserve Tartarus for merely the thought of this. Are we agreed?"

Hadrian nodded.

"Do you know of a way to leave Atlantis?"

His dark eyebrows narrowed skeptically. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully, with no hint of his ever-present humor on his face.

Calista drew in a deep, nervous breath. "A way for a person to leave Atlantis. To return to Portus Tarrus."

His lips thinned, perhaps in thought, perhaps in consternation. "None that I know of. Why, are you planning something?"

"Hadrian, I can trust you, can I not?"

He nodded impatiently.

For a moment, Calista felt a certain dissociation. It was as if she was watching herself talking to Hadrian, and she noted the reflection of the torches rippling in the water like stars, the coolness of the sand. She absorbed the haunting music strumming in the background of the festivities.

"Why this curiosity above leaving Atlantis?"

Calista was shocked that Hadrian had even felt the need to ask. "My family is still in Gaul, Hadrian. My father's murderer has them at his mercy while he sleeps soundly in my parents' bed. My brother, my mother...and since, I suppose, blood is no longer a criterion for family, my nurse, my cook, another younger brother I have, Maro, a slave...I am the daughter of a proconsul. It is my duty to protect what remains of those people loyal to my family, but it is mighty difficult to do anything when I am in a different world entirely. They are at the mercy of a tyrant, while I live here in comfort!" She shook with emotion.

Hadrian wound an arm comfortably around her waist and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "Tell me whatever you wish, and I will take it with me to the Underworld—should I ever reach it."

"Evadne has promised to help me." She felt giddy with divulgence and she wondered if the burning punch was in any way responsible for her foolhardiness.

"How does Evadne mean to help you reach your home?" Hadrian asked with intent curiosity.

"Swear you shall not breathe a word?"

"I have sworn quite enough, Calista. If you do not trust me now..." he trailed off impatiently.

Suspicion tickled the back of her mind, but it was quickly quieted by a warm insouciance and a swallow of punch. "I am not sure how, but Evadne watched them send me away the first time, when I was a baby. She knows what to do. She promised me a month, so it should be soon now."

He removed his hand from her waist and spread his arms wide. Calista nearly toppled over from the loss of his support. He smiled disarmingly. "Will you at least let me know before you leave?

She scrabbled up against the slipping sand. The lights and sounds spun dizzily around her, like she was the Earth and all the stars and planets and moons and sun were circling her faster and faster. She swallowed bile. "If I have the chance," she promised. Teetering as she stood, she listened for Evadne's voice through the cacophony of music. "Now that I have the opportunity to be out of the Maretheon, I suppose I should seek out Evadne. I am also very much afraid that I regret telling you as much as I did," she added candidly.

Suddenly, Hadrian stepped closer to her and her nose was pressed against his grey-green tunic and she could smell that very Hadrian scent of him: the salt, the clean sweat, the...lavender soap? Or something that smelled like lavender at the very least.

In a hushed voice, Calista said, "I have shared a crippling secret with you—I think you owe me the favor right back."

"As you say, domina," he murmured, warmly pressing himself closer. "I wish for you to stay in Atlantis with me. Say you will." His fingers ran through her hair, cupped her cheek.

Suddenly, Calista's mind flashed to Portus Tarrus and an image of Avaritus, of his cold touches and his unfulfilled desires. And the horror and revulsion Calista had felt at her powerlessness boiled to the surface again, breaking through the locks Calista thought she had placed on them. Shivering, she thrust Hadrian away.

Concern flickered through Hadrian's grey eyes. "Calista?" he asked worriedly, grasping her clammy hands.

Shaking her head, Calista tried to beat away the assaulting images and to regain her balance. "I...it's nothing. The drink." She trembled with suppressed memories. Hadrian looked afraid to touch her. When she finally calmed, she tried to veer the conversation away. "You must tell me a better secret than that. How old are you? What are you? A born Atlantian? One who has lived Above?"

Hadrian watched her carefully as though he feared she would fall ill. "Fourteen hundred and twenty-four," he answered smoothly. "Do you want Evadne—?"

Feeling unbalanced, Calista pushed him away from her as much in shock as a desire to close that avenue of conversation. "You are joking."

"Not at all. I was conceived Above and was the first child born in Atlantis. A god of sorts, tied to both lands." He looked nonchalant for a god and Calista told him so.

He shrugged. "I do not have any especial power except immortality and other small gifts here or there. I may as well be a bloody nymph." He regarded her, amused. "There will come a time when you will have lived as many years—and many more as well."

Calista shuddered. "Who are your parents then?" Suddenly, she hoped that he would not say Neptune. Calista did not know how she would handle such a revelation the second time.

Hadrian's face immediately became guarded. "My father died long ago...my mother is no one of any great importance."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

As her vision blurred, Calista giggled. She found it very silly that Hadrian claimed to be of such a great age when he looked no more than a years older than herself. "It would seem to me that if you were so old as you claim to be, you would have a beard. A great long white one, just like Neptune's, with starfish and seaweed braided in." She laughed and ran a finger along his jaw. "You would look fetching! So tell me Hadrian: why don't you have a beard?"

Amused, he took Calista firmly by the hands as they approached the Maretheon. "Calista, my dear, you are well on your way to drunk." He took the drink out of her hands and poured it onto the ground. "Let us find Evadne."

"But where is your beard?" she giggled.

Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "As the first child born in Atlantis, I have been blessed with an ever-youthful state."

"Mhmm." Calista's attention fell to his lips, and darted back up to his eyes, and the heady feeling strengthened. The drink had smoothed away the shadows of Avaritus. Again a dart. She would not let thoughts of Avaritus bleed into this moment.

Her gaze was on his eyes, then fell to his lips, and then slipped modestly to the ground. With a lopsided grin, Hadrian caught her game. Leaning in, he briskly pecked her, and when her lips parted for more, he said loudly, "Ah, there is your mother!"

Evadne shot Hadrian a look of distrust. She wrenched Calista heavily from his arms. "I will care for her now," she said, her tone steely. Smirking, Hadrian bowed and disappeared into the crowd of merrymakers.

Evadne dropped her voice further until it was an almost imperceptible whisper. "Calista. I will do it. Give me two days."

CHAPTER XX

"Vinidium," Pyp whispered the name of Nuala's village into the cart driver's ear. His breath created a snowy cloud that hovered in the air for a few moments before dissipating. The carter nodded.

Pyp sought his nursemaid, knowing full well that if there were anyone in all of Gaul who could help him, it would be her. He had not seen her since the day of the battle, when she had dressed him in his play tunic, but he knew, just knew knew knew that she would be waiting for him. He had found Caly in the world of dreams, but he would find Nuala in this one.

And so, the cart driver took Pyp on without a second thought. From Nuala's tales, he knew the village of the seers was close to hers. As the horses raced through woods, Pyp snuggled in the warm hay and began creating a course of action, not a grand one which would save his home but one that would save only those most immediate necessities: his mother and himself and their friends. Now, he laid his hopes with Nuala, hoping against all logic that she would have some way of saving them.

* * *

Olympia lay huddled in a mass of shredded fabric. Avaritus stood over her, arms crossed. Her face, which had once been as smooth and white as sea-polished stone was now etched with tiny creases of worry and horror.

"I would advise you to reconsider my offer, Olympia," Avaritus drawled.

The dark-haired woman stared at him, her eyes raking him up and down and with one last shred of energy, spat at his feet. "I would never marry you. You could not have my daughter, you could not keep my son, and you will not have me."

"Your courage is admirable but misplaced. I shall be victorious. Or am I not already? Despite all of your efforts, here I am, the Proconsul of Portus Tarrus. Your son will return here soon enough—how could he not when I hold their mother in my fist? If he returns and you have not yielded, I will kill him. Marry me and he will be safe. I give you a day to mull this over again; I will return tomorrow at sunrise."

Drawing herself up, she stood straight-backed and looked Avaritus fearlessly in the eye. Not by a tremble did she betray how much effort it took her. "Don't bother. My answer here and forevermore will remain no." The defiance seemed to rub away some of the grooves of her face.

With one last hateful look at the petite woman, Avaritus left the cellar. The very bloody defiance of her. As if she were still in power, as if she still even had a speck of power to her name. As if he were still a no-name a bastard and she a patrician who could trace her lineage back to Aeneas. He supposed he did humor her by asking her to marry him, but he had hoped that if she acquiesced freely it would not only cement his status as proconsul but in the good graces of the people, that despicable mob.

Locking the cellar viciously behind him, he caught Flora bringing dry bread and water to Olympia. Grabbing the fire-haired woman's fleshy arm, he said angrily, "She continues to refuse me. Bloody impudence of her. You have not been warning her, have you Flora? You let that whelp of hers go...if you have, woman..."

Flora flinched. When Avaritus had discovered that the boy had managed to escape under her guard, he had been furious. Her back, arms, and legs still throbbed with bruises. "You know I have not," she said calmly. "You know I serve you faithfully and have done so for years. You know you entrusted this task to me because I am trustworthy. Perhaps they survive because they are favored by the gods." There had been a time, long ago, when Flora had been the daughter of the priest. Those early teachings still ran in her blood.

"The gods are dead," Avaritus spat disdainfully.

Avaritus did not notice the ominously glowering dark clouds huddling over Portus Tarrus. Silver lightening laced through them, a silently flashing filigree. The waves insistently smacked the shore as the wind whistled up and down the beach and through the town, flipping carts and shaking houses with wanton abandon. Avaritus did not know it, but a storm was coming.

* * *

A village began to resolve before Pyp. Their trip here had been hasty for the driver had made only one brief stop in the woods. When he had returned, it seemed the horses moved swifter than they had before: the short rest had done them well. The village was tiny and Pyp briefly wondered how exactly Nuala had come into his Father's service from here.

The cart slowly rolled to a stop and the driver said not unkindly, "Here you are lad, Vinidium. Gods know why you want to come to this place but here you are."

"Thank you so much sir," responded Pyp politely. "I have no way of repaying you but perhaps, if the woman I am searching for is here, she could give you some cena."

The man peered at the sinking sun that shot pink and gold streaks in the sky. "Well, it is getting dark and these horses could use some rest. Very well then lad, you have convinced me," he added with a toothless but altogether sunny smile.

Pyp peered unsurely around the small village with its ramshackle wooden buildings; it was a typical Gaulish village. The sight of it, poor as it was, filled him with an inordinate pride at being Roman. With the man behind him, Pyp slowly wandered around and when the man asked him where they were going Pyp had no answer. A man, a blacksmith by the look of his burly arms, came their way tugging two large horses.

Trying to cover his Latin accent with thick Gaulish brogue, Pyp asked, "Do you know where Nuala is?"

The man gave Pyp and his companion a curious one-over: newcomers were few and far between in this tucked away community. The man found the name unusual but after a few moments understood exactly what the boy meant. "The old witch-woman? Aye, her hut is in the woods that way, by the stream. You cannot miss it."

When the man had said 'witch-woman,' Pyp's little heart had given the most frightened jump of his life. He very much doubted that Nuala was a witch of any kind though and thought the man was trying to scare him. A part of Pyp's imagination though, a vastly untamed portion of it, created a brief image of Nuala cackling over a brew of poison, human heads swinging in the corners. He knew it was ludicrous though. The driver glared at Pyp dubiously.

"She really isn't a witch," said Pyp comfortingly.

The man, nonetheless, began to look skittish as they wound their way through the roughly trodden forest path. Rough vines and thorny branches tried to thwart their journey but with a little ducking and maneuvering they managed their way through virtually unscratched. Abruptly, a tidy cottage came into view. It was very homey and just the sort of place Pyp could see Nuala living. "Nuala!" he called with excitement. "Nuala, Nuala, Nuala!"

A young man, whom Pyp did not recognize, opened the door. "What's this caterwauling then?" he demanded.

Pyp halted and for a moment was entranced by the man's long, red mustache. Shaking his head, he explained, "I am searching for my nursemaid Nuala. I was told she lived here. Tell me, is she home now?"

The man's dark eyes softened with sadness and he hugged the brown and mustard checked cloak close over his tunic. "Come in, come in. I am your Nuala's nephew. And let me guess: you are the indomitable Master Pyp."

"That's right," Pyp said spiritedly, walking into the house. Pyp turned around to invite the cart driver for supper, but he had disappeared without a sound. Shrugging, Pyp entered the cottage. It was small and dark and herbs hung from the rafters, but nothing more malicious than that. "Did Nuala tell you about me? When will she be back?" He peered around eagerly, looking for his nurse.

The man showed him to a well-scrubbed table. "Have a seat Master Pyp. Would you like some mulberry tea? Cheese?"

"Yes please," Pyp answered happily, excitedly anticipating Nuala's return. The man poured the tea into a clean bowl and offered the cheese with a knife to cut it. Rough bracelets of twisted metal clinked on his wrist with every movement.

The red-haired man sat down in front of Pyp and watched him devour the cheese and down the tea with a sort of rueful amusement. "My name is Brennus and as I said, I am Nuala's nephew, although I just met her a little more than three months ago after Avartius conquered Portus Tarrus. She spoke very fondly of you, your sister, and your family as well."

"Where is she?"

Brennus ignored his question. "Your lord Avaritus had no need for her services. Someone must have moved him to mercy for he sent her away from Portus Tarrus with her freedom and life—and with the express order that if she returned, she would be fed to the lions."

A confused look crossed Pyp's face. "Her freedom?"

"She was a slave in your father's house. An honored, loved and lucky slave but a slave nonetheless." Brennus poured Pyp another serving of the sweet, dark tea. "I did not know much about her until she returned here. This home was hers before her mother, driven to the brink of poverty, had sold her into slavery into the home of your grandfather. You know that she was your father's nurse from the time she was eighteen, and then your sister's, and then yours?

"When she came here, only I remained. Her mother, my grandmother was a poor witch-woman with more children than she could count. She was dead and Nuala's siblings were dispersed to the winds. But for me, her nephew. I inherited the house from my father, her younger brother. She lived here with me for a while."

Pyp yawned politely.

Brennus twitched the pitcher of nervously in his hand. "What I mean to say is...Nuala is dead. She died a month ago."

"I...what?" Pyp asked, feeling a rushing in his ears and a lightness to his head. He was reminded of the death of his father all over again. The hope he had for salvation in Nuala fell. He was alone and this whole trip had been foolish. He risked his mother's safety, Flora's safety, for this foolish trip where he accomplished nothing. And Nuala, poor Nuala, who had loved him and Caly...she was gone. He knew she was old—she had been his father's nurse after all, but now...she was gone.

"How—how did she die?" His throat felt hot and dry all of a sudden.

Brennus smiled kindly. "Very quietly and peacefully. She missed you and your sister very much, but she was very, very tired."

"So she's gone?" he croaked disbelievingly, tears blurring his vision.

"With the gods. Would you like to see where I buried her?"

Pyp nodded quietly, the movement showering tears onto his cheeks.

After providing Pyp with another brightly hued cloak, Brennus showed him to the back of the cottage. Snugly hidden in the woods, the cottage was surrounded by dry, brown branches of trees bowing with the weight of their years and wild bushes and brambles that, although dormant now, would yield in abundance of blossoms and fruit come springtime. In the deep shadows, dirty remnants of the last snowfall hid.

Stopping so suddenly that Pyp almost ran into his back, Brennus announced, "I buried her here myself. In the spring, this bush will be covered with feathery white blossoms. Would you like a moment?" Without waiting for his response, Brennus retired to the cottage.

Before the dead bush, with its clawed branches of the dullest brown, Pyp stood and shivered. His tears fell onto the cold, hard mound of earth where one of its warmest residents rested for eternity.

* * *

When Pyp returned, Brennus was kindling a fire in the small hearth. "Lad, wat do you mean to do?"

Wiping his running nose on his grubby tunic, he answered, "I must return to Portus Tarrus."

Brennus blanched. "You have just run away from there. Even if my aunt Nuala had not loved you, I would still not send a boy back to that place."

"But my mother is still there," Pyp maintained staunchly.

"I'll say no more, but pass the night in my house at least. You can set out tomorrow. There will be plenty of folk heading into Portus Tarrus for the market. What difference will one more boy make?"

After Brennus laid out blankets for him in front of the fire, Pyp lay down but could not fall asleep for some time. Finally, as the moon rose, Pyp's eyelids lowered and he was soon fast asleep, dreaming of stealing a brightly checked shawl from Nuala to cover the brittle fingers of a large looming tree...

Roused before dawn by Brennus, Pyp attempted to rub the sleep from his eyes. Clumsily, he clambered out of the pallet, wrapping the blankets about his shoulders. He shivered slightly; despite the warmth of the hearth, the cottage was cold in the winter air.

Brennus forced a worn leather satchel in Pyp's hands. "I have spoken to a carter who has agreed to take you to the outskirts of town. You will have to find your way in yourself. Can you do that?

Pyp nodded and after completing morning rituals like breakfast and other less savory necessities, Pyp was led out by Brennus. Taking Pyp's hand, Brennus navigated the dark woods expertly. They tramped through the lightless forest, through mud which squelched uncomfortably through Pyp's sandals, until they found the paved road. The faint morning stars suddenly blossomed overhead through a jagged cut of sky between the branches overhead. Pyp fancied he heard the sound of unseasonable thunder far ahead. Thoughts of that were wiped away when the pound of hoofbeats on earth broke through the cool night air. To be safe, Brennus tugged Pyp to the side of the road.

A familiar voice cut through the dark. "I am here as agreed."

Pyp, with Brennus at his side, climbed out of their hidey-hole. To Pyp's surprise it was the man who had given Pyp a ride before but then had disappeared at Nuala's door. Pyp's heart stopped at the thought of Nuala, but after that small falter, it began again. The old man sat in his cart with his horses, quite serendipitously and proud as an emperor to boot.

Pyp bounded to him, the sudden excitement causing alertness to beat through his veins. "Where did you disappear off to?" he asked. "Like magic." He snapped his fingers.

The driver placed rough blankets beside him on the bench. Pyp easily swung himself up beside the driver and nested himself comfortably.

"Not like magic at all," said the driver. "I had somewhere I needed to be that I had forgotten. Where do you need to be, young master?"

"Portus Tarrus," replied Pyp excitedly. To him, all of a sudden, this story of his had taken a proper and exhilarating twist and this nighttime dash only added to the thrill of it all. They were going to be heroic rescuers like Theseus and Ariadne as they had saved those Minoan youths from the Minotaur. He bounced in his seat anxiously and looked down at the red-haired man from his perch.

"Thank you, Brennus. I'm afraid I can't repay your kindness yet, but I will not forget your name or what you have done for me."

Swinging the checkered cloak from his shoulders, Brennus chuckled, "I ask that if you are caught you do forget my name. Here, take this cloak. Stay warm and safe." Brennus tied the cape around Pyp's neck. "Good bye Pyp of Portus Tarrus. May the gods help you in your endeavors."

"And you, Brennus of Gaul," Pyp replied solemnly as Brennus receded into the woods and disappeared from sight.

The white-haired driver shook his reins and the rhythmic steps of the horses began. "We should come to Portus Tarrus soon after the sun rises. These horses of mine make excellent speed." In response to the praise, they tossed their golden manes proudly.

That pair lived up to their approval, and once they found the Roman Road, they galloped over it so fast that at a point, Pyp found the sky and forest fuzzing most unusually. Pyp thought they would have been better suited to chariots than carting around an old man and his load. He faded in and out of sleep. Throughout the ride, the man hummed an unusual tune, and Pyp discovered he felt as though he had rested for a week and the realization Nuala's death, his father's death, was a healing bruise on his heart. Indeed, even the air, which had been chilly before, now seemed warm and comforting.

Time whipped by him, more furiously than the wind cutting through the horses' manes. As the sun's ascensions approached, they arrived at the outskirts of Portus Tarrus. To Pyp's starved eyes, sight of the city was like being fed a deliciously sweet honey cake, that was just warm enough and the honey dribbled down, leaving a sticky trail in its wake. In the city, activity stirred with the promise of light.

"I leave you here," announced the old man, his blue eyes as clear as the sky. "Good luck in the trials. Remember, stick to your course."

Pyp wondered where he had heard that before as he clambered out of the wagon, grabbing the satchel and cloak. When Pyp turned to thank the man for his help, he was nowhere to be seen. Pyp shrugged. He did not blame the man for wishing to be rid of Pyp as quickly as he could. Now, Pyp considered how to return to the villa.

Dawn light had begun to break but instead of the expected pure white light, it was weak, fruitlessly combating the dark and serving only to reveal a multitude of heavy, murky clouds. The sight surprised Pyp immensely. Pyp recalled observing the stars when they set out but upon consideration, he could not remember seeing the stars when they reached within a mile of Portus Tarrus. A winter storm to be sure—the worst sort. Even the ocean, which should have been calm so early in the morning, seemed shadowy and ready to heave its contents.

Pyp hurried as furtively as he could to a wooded spot, which had the luck of having a straight view of the door to the cellar. Here, the brambly crisscross of branches hid him in their bare embrace. Not too far from the city itself, this location presented the very real danger of discovery by some individual who could turn Pyp in to Avaritus for a tidy profit.

"Flora should be coming at any moment," Pyp whispered aloud, unaware of any of these possibilities. "What shall I do?"

Pyp spied Flora's vibrant red head bobbing up the horizon. "There. There she is."

He waited until Flora slipped into the cellar with the platter of food to follow her. Trying to press through the crack in the door, he saw his mother standing proudly and erect receiving the food from Flora like an offering to a goddess.

With Flora thus occupied, Pyp lightly stepped on the steps, praying they would not creak. One. Two. Threefourfive. Just as Pyp released his held breath, the step beneath him emitted a betraying creak.

Flora's head whipped around. "What was that?" Pyp pressed himself against the wall, willing himself to become invisible.

Olympia spoke for the first time, and Pyp's heart leaped at the sound of his mother's voice. "Nothing, Flora. The wind." He knew she had seen him.

Shrugging, Flora turned away and Olympia chattered loudly as Pyp flew down the stairs, hiding in the expansive shadows and trying to suppress his breath. Holding tightly to the railing, Pyp attempted to walk down the final steps quietly, but his efforts were to no avail. The stair creaked again traitorously and this time Flora could not miss the sight of him at the foot of the steps, illuminated by a thin shaft of light.

"What?" Flora gasped on shock but before she could do much else, Olympia wrenched the platter from Flora's hands and brought it down over her head with a resounding crack.

"Oh my Pyp!" Olympia exclaimed, reaching out to embrace her son with a regretful look at the fallen woman. "Where have you been? What were you thinking?"

When Pyp opened his mouth, Olympia stopped him. "First, let us leave this unsightly place and then we will see what we will do, and you will answer for your behavior," Olympia added through gritted teeth, roughly shaking the boy.

As Olympia turned to help Pyp out of the cellar, she heard a grim, rough voice that nearly sprang her out of her skin.

"Well, what is then? The escaping wife of a proconsul?"

CHAPTER XXI

Given a free morning by a generous Thetis, who Calista privately felt was still feeling some of the aftereffects of the festival night's rambunctious drinking, Calista decided to run a few final errands. Evadne had given her promise two nights ago. Today was the day.

Twining her fingers through the fine gold threads of her chains, Calista took a steadying breath aware that the journey she would be embarking on in the space of a few short hours would be the most perilous and important of her life. The knowledge did nothing to soothe her rollicking stomach.

Drawing another deep breath, she picked her way through the sandy streets, determinedly avoiding the gaze of the people she would soon proceed to deceive, disappoint. They expected her to be the heir to Atlantis, to be their leader into the future. The rumor which had begun as a few whispers from Hadrian to her, was now considered to be widely acknowledged fact, and she was given a respectful berth by the Atlantians. They had never seen this real to her before, always something like a half-dream, but now that she was departing, she was no longer in any doubt: they were as real as her and she did not like it. Calista could not help but think that if she had been in their position, she would resent a foreigner coming and taking on the most powerful position of her land. Now what would the future of Atlantis hold?

She looked away from their searching eyes and saw a lost-looking Claudius. "Claudius," Calista called out despite herself.

He started at the sound of his name. "Calista?"

He seemed so solid, so certain. That she could trust him, she was sure. Perhaps she could give him warning enough to keep him safe. He loved her, she knew. The weight of that responsibility fell heavily on her; he loved her. She had to take care of him, this man who loved her, despite the inherent wrongness of it. She owed him at least that much for his devotion.

She bit her lip. "I am going home today."

"Home?" he asked, surprised.

"Home. I may be able to provide you passage back to Rome...unless you have grown to love Atlantis or someone here. In that case, I ask you to keep your silence." He had been so flat and listless since he had arrived in Atlantis, as if stretching and molding into a new identity had beaten away all that had made him Claudius when he had lived under the sun. She was surprised that he had not fought to return to his family as hard as she had fought to return to hers.

His eyes took on a sudden tenderness. "You are the only one I love," he said simply.

To Calista's surprise, her eyes grew watery with tears and as she blinked them back, several slipped down her cheeks and onto her trembling lips. Impetuously, she reached out to hug him. "You are a good friend Claudius," she said even as she knew how those words would hurt him.

"I would like to help you in whatever you hope to achieve for your home," he said. "And then...I'd like to return to mine as well."

She breathed, "Oh Claudius. It will be dangerous...I cannot ask it of you...Come with me, return to your mother, father, sisters by all means, but you owe me nothing, you owe Portus Tarrus nothing."

Clasping her hands, he replied, "I am yours and I will find you, whatever this plan of yours is." He turned her palms over, kissed each once, and then clasped them closed. "I am yours."

She wondered just how he could love her as much as he did. She knew she had done little to warrant the depth of his affection. Yet, a part of her could not help but think, How can I get the type of love Claudius bears me to be transferred to Hadrian? But that seemed thankless in the face of all that he had done for her, in the face of what his eyes promised he would do for her. His love still disturbed her, even disgusted her, but she could not bring herself to turn him away. He genuinely was a good friend, a good man; she wished she could have been a better friend to him. She considered what their life might have been like in ignorance Above. "Thank you. I will try to find you when...whatever happens."

His eyes lingered before he turned around and disappeared into the distance. She offered up a small prayer to Neptune that Claudius would be safe and she snorted. Neptune was her father, who, despite being a god, had tangled the mess of her life and had never asked for her again after that first night. From what Calista had seen, divinity did no good.

Calista stumbled as a largish pebble rolled into her sandal. She ducked into a doorway to shake it out. Readjusting her lavender peplos after the pebble fell away, Calista's eyes lighted upon Hadrian. She quickly averted her gaze. She reddened remembering her behavior from the night of the festival. His shadow came closer and closer.

"Hello Hadrian," she growled, staring at the ground.

When she finally raised her eyes, she startled at the dark circles curving beneath his eyes, his messy, unwashed ebony black hair. His white tunic, usually spotless, was crumbed with dirt and food.

"Are you well?" she gasped in surprise at his filthy appearance.

"I have treated you unfairly Calista," he said without preamble. "I have done things I should not have and it has filled me with guilt...For gods' sakes, even Thetis asked me what was wrong. That was when I realized. Calista, after the night of the festival, I lay with Philyra."

She felt winded as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She remembered his words from before: 'There is something you have Philyra could never have...My interest.' Bullshit. She did not blame her sister. Philyra loved Hadrian and had made it clear from the beginning...but Hadrian, Hadrian who had sought her company, who smiled at her with knowing sweetness, who tried to draw out her secrets, convince her to stay in Atlantis, with that unspoken promise of a life with him.

Taking a deep breath, she answered icily, "It is of no matter to me whom you take to your bed. I generally appreciate not being privy to someone's bed hopping habits. It is no matter of mine. Best of luck to the both of you. Now...if you will...?"

He grabbed her arm. "There is something else." He swallowed. "I am Thetis' son and for her, I have been trying to seduce you, to make you fall in love with me so you would not leave Atlantis." His face crumpled miserably. "I am so sorry, Calista. You do not deserve it and I hope you will permit me to atone for it any way I can."

He sounded sincere but it was drowned out by the vicious anger that roared through her ears, followed rapidly by the cutting sting of betrayal. I was a fool, I was a fool. She could not bear to look at him. She hated the sight of him, everything about him, those smirking lips, those lying grey eyes. She wanted to weep. No, I am going home and leaving all this deceit behind. Mastering her emotions, she glided past him.

He looked at her. "I hope you can forgive me. Calista...I...care for you. Deeply."

"There is nothing to forgive," she said coldly, mimicking Thetis at her frostiest.

She walked away from him as fast as she could, ignoring Hadrian crying out her name.

Soon, the many-columned villa of her birth mother appeared. It was naïve to think that Evadne would not face consequences for what was to happen tonight, but Calista could not help but hope that they would be light. A millennium of currying favor with the Lord of the Seas should count for something, she thought. A twitch nestled between her shoulder blades as if someone was watching her, as if someone knew what she was about to do.

Kicking the sand, she drew strength from the effervescent sea writhing above, as she used to a long, long time ago. With bated breath, she entered the house.

She found Evadne lying on the scarlet coverlet of her bed, a cold compress over her eyes. Moving to take a heavily carved chair near the bed, Calista nervously cleared her throat. "Ahem. Evadne? Mother?"

Evadne peeled the compress off and smiled delightedly. Calista felt a swoop of sadness in the pit of her stomach. Briefly, she considered what her life would have been like in the warm shelter of Evadne's arms.

She momentarily considered abandoning her plans and residing in Atlantis with Evadne, relying on prayers and the promises of unreliable Neptune and the relatively more dependable Thetis to rescue Pyp and Olympia. She did not want to leave Evadne just as she was getting to know her better—the promise of that loss was already beginning to hurt—but there was no doubt that her mother and brother needed her far more than Evadne. To reside in Atlantis would be the coward's way out without any guarantee that she would ever see them again. Without any guarantee that she could see herself without shame.

Evadne's smile faded and Calista noticed for the first time dark hollows around her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks.

"Calista, I have everything set up, but dear child, do you know what you are sending yourself back into? Can you handle it?"

Calista wished she had the answer to Evadne's question. "Being part god and part nymph...am I conferred any other special sort of skills?"

"Fancy yourself a Hercules, do you?" Evadne laughed dryly. "An outward manifestation of clear and directed skill is generally rare. Instead, your gift is very likely charisma a...persuasiveness. Does that sound like you? I thought as much. It is one of the most important abilities, in my opinion, conferred by divinity. A great and subtle power.

"Oh, and of course immortality—we are a resilient breed. Use it well." She paused. "In some rare cases, I have heard that a child can take on almost full god-like qualities, powers, answering prayers and such, but it is a power that manifests later in life."

The golden-haired woman surprised Calista by grasping her wrists. "I know you cannot love me as you loved your mother Above but I hope you can love me in some small way, my daughter. I cannot ask you to revoke your love for your mother Above for that is a holy and sacred thing but you are my daughter, my heart, and I would like just a fragment of yours."

The younger woman hugged Evadne again and murmured in a choked voice, "You have my love, Mother. You should know that."

"I will be sorry to see you go."

"Can you visit me?" Calista asked, and blushed like a fool at the question.

Evadne smiled a kind albeit watery smile. "No, my love. Goodbye is goodbye. For a time at least. Eternity yawns before us, and I will always be here waiting for you." Her lips quivered.

Calista kissed her mother's hands as tears rimmed her eyes. "We will meet again."

Evadne's voice shook. "Now, say good-bye to your sister, but do not let her know what is afoot. She is already suspicious. In ten minutes, I will do it. It will be best if you are standing behind the Maretheon. Say your farewell quickly and go out." She wiped her tears with a few determined fingers.

Despite her own unsettled feelings towards Philyra, Calista did want the chance to bid her her blood sister farewell. Somewhere towards the vicinity of the kitchens, Calista heard a ringing laugh. She padded softly down the steps, so that only the cloth of her peplos whispered gently against her legs.

"She will writhe in envy when she hears...Bloody Above-bred bitch." The voice cackled in satisfaction and Calista registered it as Philyra's. Sweeping the curtain aside, she slipped in. Philyra perched on a table, gossiping with a kitchen servant. She gesticulated animatedly as the woman laughed.

"What is so funny Philyra?"

Her sister's face slackened with shock. She slowly slid off the table in a melting movement. The woman with whom Philyra had been speaking squeaked in terror.

"Um. Nothing," Philyra replied but the guilt was so evident in her voice that Calista had no need to probe further.

The kitchen servants slid away, sensing a confrontation in which they wanted no part.

All thoughts of attempted reconciliation disappeared and all Calista could think of were Hadrian's words from the night of the festival. She had refused to believe Philyra's betrayal, more fool her.

"So—you enjoy spreading hateful lies about me. I wonder why?" Calista sneered with surprising venom. Philyra's eyes widened with shock. "Let me think, let me think." She pronounced each word with great relish. "You have your fool heart set on Hadrian. How old are you exactly? Around four I expect, the way you sit here spewing this, as if speaking of me that way will make Hadrian regard you in a manner other than that of a flute girl. And for some gods forsaken reason you are mad with envy over me. You—you—" here Calista lost some of her momentum. "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" Her voice quavered with anger. She was unaware that Evadne's ten minutes had passed.

Philyra's eyes widened even further and she attempted to twist her lips into words but no sound escaped. They finally became immobile. "I had him," she whispered as though her mouth were frozen.

Calista's cheeks rose with a satisfied smile. "He already told me what an easy slut you were."

Tremors vibrated through the ground. The earth jumped gently and Calista tripped against the table. The floor began to move rapidly beneath her, hard and fast as though it were being shaken by some great hand. The dishes and pots clanged and chimed and crashed against each other. Philyra froze in shock as abject terror overtook her face. She glanced at Calista.

Evadne had given her ten minutes to go to the Maretheon, and was not there. Is that why this was happening? She did not think so. Something must have gone wrong.

Calista stumbled outside only to see Atlantis' dome shivering and shimmering queerly and the surrounding water bubbling furiously. It seeped through the newly-developed fissures. Something has gone wrong! she thought desperately. "Fix it! Fix it!" she cried, almost to herself, hoping against hope someone—Thetis, Neptune—would hear her pleas.

The land jutted up in jagged pieces, almost goring Calista. She gaped in horror.

Men and women spilled onto the streets, screaming with fright, in agony. They ran but to where? There was no way to go. Guilt bloomed in Calista as she spied a child crying in her mother's skirts, and the mother barely holding onto herself as the land threw up around them.

Spilling in with ferocious force like some titanic waterfall, the water churned with the earth and everything shook violently. Buildings crumbled and collapsed all around Calista. Steam crept up from between the cracks of the earth, snaking between legs, rising to kiss faces with its scalding heat. Their dying cries were forever imprinted into Calista's memory.

The scorching smell of sulfur swirled in the air. It burned Calista's eyes, nostrils, mouth. She hacked violently. Behind that steam came the scarlet and gold glimmers of lava, luxuriously threading through the cracks to burn unwary individuals.

Unthinkable heat licked her ankle, licked it and twined itself around it like a thousand suns suddenly bearing all of their searing heat onto her foot. Screaming with pain, she leapt away, stumbling onto her good foot. She could not think for the pain. It wiped away all semblance of anything but a desire to escape the fury of Tartarus that had opened on Atlantis. She was scrambling to the edge, to water—the shaking escalated.

The screaming grew louder. The burning. Oh the burning.

OH THE BURNING. OH THE SHAKING. THE SHAKING. Earth, everywhere. Lava. Lava eating, chewing, spewing. Water. Water. Choking. Gasping. PAIN, death. Everywhere.

Nothing.

CHAPTER XXII

Pyp's breath caught in the back of his throat, darts of nervous heat nettling his chest. Quick, sharp pricks of panic; his world constricted to encompass himself, his aggressor, and fright, his most steadfast companion of late.

"Well then?" continued the gravelly voice.

With a purposeful blink, a summoning of all things brave in that small twitch of a lid, Pyp turned around to face his captor. He was preparing himself to flee when he recognized him. His stomach swung even lower—with relief.

"Koisis!" exclaimed Pyp. He was immediately enveloped in a warm, putrid hug; where Koisis had once worn the perfume of flour, fish, and wine, he now smelled of sweat and dirt beneath the aroma of food. It was another reminder of the distance traveled in the space of a few monumental months...There were quick flashes of darkness when Pyp could not even summon his father's face.

"Koisis!" repeated Pyp, disbelievingly. "Koisis, Koisis, Koisis. How long since I have seen you! How have you been? What are you doing here? What is happening in Portus Tarrus?"

Koisis grinned widely, molding the skin of his cheeks into tiny valleys. "I was taking a walk Master Pyp, Domina Olympia."

Olympia embraced Koisis. "It is good to see you, old friend," she said into his shoulder. She looked pale beneath the leeching light but she breathed in the fresh salty air with new vigor. A light and happy smile crossed her face. She could still recall her husband's face with loving clarity, her memory blurring the marks of time into youth.

"Where should we go?" Olympia asked. She brushed Pyp's now-gritty, once-soft curls as he ran into her soiled woolen skirts.

Pursing his lips in thought, Koisis said, "I'm none too sure. Once they discover you missing, they're bound to tear up the entire town searching for you." Koisis paused but when no divine inspiration struck him, he added, "Let's go into the woods where we'll be hidden from view."

Olympia's robe quivered tellingly but her face was wreathed in a beatific smile of thanks. She ducked beneath the boughs, following Koisis until they arrived at the tiniest of clearings, hidden by a sprawl of bushes and thorns. Olympia sank to the ground, laying her cheek on the cool, damp earth, steadily inhaling the sweet scent of the soil.

"Where's Maro?" asked Pyp eagerly, looking about to see if perhaps his friend were hiding behind a tree.

"He's working in the stables, but under heavy watch, Master Pyp, especially after he tried to get to you in the cellar and then pulled a series of pranks on Avaritus when he failed. Avaritus was all for having him killed, but me and Daphne convinced him to watch the boy closely. I had a talk with young Maro about behaving himself. But don't worry Master Pyp! I see to it that he's well-fed and taken care of."

A flash of guilt crossed Olympia's face at Koisis' mention of Daphne.

"Can you bring him to us?" asked Pyp eagerly.

Kosis grew grim. "If only. Like I said, eyes are always upon him—he was never good at being inconspicuous that one—and he rarely leaves the stables. If he came to wherever you hide, it would draw too much attention." Seeing Pyp's downcast eyes, Koisis quickly added, "But I'm sure you'll see him soon enough, lad!"

Hoping Koisis was right, Pyp lay his head against his mother's stomach. Olympia stroked his hair with a newly renewed sense of wonder. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she murmured to no one in particular and yet to all, imbibing her surroundings as if they were wine and she was dying of thirst.

"It was my honor, Domina," Koisis answered gruffly. "Domina, perhaps...what would you say to hiding in the tavern of my sister's husband? I have good stock there with the man. I've supplied him with something or another from the villa many a time, begging your pardon," he added abashedly.

Olympia looked uncertain. "What of his politics? And what if someone searched the premises?"

"I..." Koisis looked stumped, his brow knit in thought.

Pyp attempted to exchange worried glances with his mother, but she gave him a look of such determined optimism that a sudden sense of peace and softness wrapped around Pyp. Tenderly, he kissed Olympia's cheek.

With a steely look in her eye, Olympia touched the kiss and clutched Pyp closer to her. "What do you think, my little man?" asked Olympia, turning towards Pyp with a mild smile. "What do you suggest?"

Feeling once again like the child he was after many, many months, Pyp shrugged. "I don't know."

Olympia pulled Pyp up and straightened his dirty tunic, gently brushing the caked mud off. As her hands moved absently, she thought, knowing that this decision would very well determine her survival, her son's survival. She knew that she owed it to Lucretius to live, to scream defiance until breath left her body. "Let's go to Koisis' sister's tavern. We have nowhere else and a roof, even a risky one, is better than none." Iron resolve laced through Olympia's voice. Olympia unpinned her messy locks, letting them tumble to her back. "How will we get into the tavern?" she asked Koisis.

"We walk."

* * *

Boldly striding through the paved streets of Portus Tarrus with their scraggly hair and dusty clothes, neither Olympia nor Pyp were much noted. Even better, it appeared that Flora had not reported their disappearance yet. Each soldier who passed Olympia caused her heart to drop with worry, each soldier who glanced at her engendered the desire to vomit, but with Pyp looking so brave she centered herself. Reaching the tavern, a sturdy wooden building, Koisis led them in but the proprietor only had eyes for Olympia and Pyp.

"Out, you ruffians, out!" exclaimed the man, a thin and weedy fellow with hair shorn short in the Caesarean style.

All the eyes in the busy kitchen devolved upon the two visitors. Olympia feared that at any moment someone would recognize her face, Pyp's face and raise the alarm. She studied her fingernails, noting the filth caked beneath formerly white crescents of fingernails. Measured breaths, calm, she thought. Nothing is amiss. She wished they would all look away—to escape from Avaritus' clutches and then to be brought back so quickly. She shuddered at the thought.

Koisis approached the man with a laugh. "Come on now, brother. These are my guests. Don't make a scene."

"Guests?" He studied them suspiciously. She feared the man would recognize her and was suddenly thankful for the changes imprisonment had wrought on her: white threads in her hair, a tightly drawn face. She knew she looked little like the happy wife she had been at Lucretius' side.

"I don't hold with any kind of funny business in my tavern, you hear?" His words were belied by the sudden, high laughter of a woman, which filtered through the air and the strumming music of the kithara.

Giving him a steady look that brooked no further discussion, Koisis slowly said, "Might I remind you of the favors I have..." He let the sentence hang tantalizingly in the air without finishing and his brother-in-law quickly turned the tide of his action. Ushering Olympia and Pyp into a private room, he admonished the workers to tend to their own matters.

"Well, what is this about then? Who are these folk?"

Koisis opened his mouth and for a moment Olympia feared he would divulge the whole tale to this fellow but what actually came from Koisis was even more shocking than Olympia expected. The base of her neck flushed pink as Koisis spoke.

Bluntly, he explained, "She is my lover and he our son. She was a slave, newly escaped, and you must help me hide her. You must hide her and let no one know of us for her master would crucify me for this. Your own wife, my sister, was a slave once, whom you purchased out of love. Remember that love, brother. Look at the boy, Vercingetorix, your own nephew! Would you do that to him? Would you deprive him of his father? "

For a moment, Vercingetorix looked tempted to do just that, but he assented with a great sigh. "Very well, I will hide her, although you have acted quite rashly for a man of your age. I can't keep them here forever, you know."

"As soon as the wind shifts," promised Koisis.

"Now settle them down in the door behind the cellar. No one has been there for years. I'll send Potita down with a few blankets and food. Don't become too comfortable," he said with a knowing look at Olympia.

Koisis guided them down the dark wooden stairs and Olympia shuddered at being put beneath the ground again after such a short time beneath the open sky. Still, there was something warmer and cleaner about this cellar. She realized it was the familiar aroma of olives, wine, honey, goat cheese, and flour. All those things she had enjoyed in the past, taken for granted, and had subsequently lost. It was the scent of home. Pyp was intrigued, not by the odor but by this new realm and was eager to explore the caverns of crates and climb the mountains of stacked barrels.

"I have to return to the villa, but I'll have my sister bring some water and soap down for a bath and new robes. And, when I have the chance, I'll let her know who you really are. There's a few empty barrels and if you come out smelling like olives," Koisis added to Pyp, "so much the better."

Pyp chuckled and even Olympia cracked a smile. Olympia was happy to be rid of the scratching robe she had worn for weeks. She smiled at the prospect of washing her hair and body with soap.

A portly, sharp-eyed woman, Potita arranged for water to be poured into the barrels, soap, clean robes were left and within an hour both Olympia and Pyp appeared with new faces, new bodies. Clean. It seemed strange that something so simple could have wrought such a difference but at the moment Olympia emerged from her bath she was filled with a confident determination, an arrow of purpose, the certainty that Avaritus would die. She would expect nothing less of herself.

* * *

Pyp, Olympia, and Koisis sat on straw pallets and Potita's blankets.

Olympia chewed the olives, tangy white cheese and fresh bread with great relish. "It will have to be simple. Simple and quick. And easy."

"Might as well add 'impossible,' " grumbled Koisis.

"I have been thinking and it may not be as impossible as you think," Olympia said, optimism buoying her spirits. It made her look younger despite the silver streaks that wove through her night-black hair, the creases in her face from months of imprisonment. "It will be hard though, so perhaps 'easy' should be removed as a qualification for a plan."

The light of a half-lit moon filtered languorously through the slim vents in the cellar. Realizing that the illumination would be meager, Potita had grudgingly supplied oil and lamps, which cast nearly as many shadows on the packed earth floor as they dispelled.

Looking at the shadows, Pyp's back prickled and he snuggled closer to his mother. Her very real warmth won out over lurking imaginary threats. Sleepily, he nodded in accordance with each person's point. His long tunic covered him snugly and Pyp was not long for the world of the awake.

"What do you propose, Domina?" asked Koisis, handing Olympia a cup of water.

Drinking deeply, she considered the sheer impossibility of what they would soon attempt.

"Caesar."

Pyp and Koisis looked at her blankly.

"Julius Caesar," she clarified. "He ruled the Empire. Created the seed which made Rome an Empire. He was the most powerful man in the world. He was not killed by a large army of an invading foreign power. He was not killed in battle. He was killed by a small group of men in his palace. By assassination." Her arm curled protectively around Pyp's drowsing form. It was also the same manner in which Lucretius had died, a dagger through the ribs in the middle of battle, but she did not say that. "He will not be expecting retaliation. He will expect us to flee. It is that which is our advantage.

Surprised approval crossed Koisis' face—the look many a man's face adopts when a woman speaks with what they view as good sense. "Domina, that just may work. It will be difficult for me but I am certain I can do it. Who has more experience with knives in Portus Tarrus than me?" he added with a grim chuckle.

Shaking her head, Olympia corrected Koisis with the softness, the silkiness of a knife cutting through tender meat. "I am afraid you are mistaken friend. Avaritus is mine."

Year of the Consulship of Marcellus and Arruntius

PART III: PORTUS TARRUS

CHAPTER XXIII

Where was she? The moments stumbled on with infinite slowness. She was icy cold. Water and brine rose in her throat and her lips spewed froth and saliva. It pooled onto the sand. She fell off her elbows and onto the contents of her stomach. The sun glowed red against her eyelids as she collected her thoughts. Water dripped out of her ear.

She was...water lapped against her prone form...somewhere near water...and sand...she remembered from her brief glimpse of the ground. It was cold. When was she? That made no sense...she was...Atlantis. At the thought, pain flared in her foot and leg and the memories rushed in and Calista suddenly wished they would submerge themselves again.

She rolled over, and more water sputtered out. She tried to sit up but the world spun around her in a haze of blue and brown. She lay back down but on her side this time and opened her eyes. So used to the watery light of Atlantis, they were overwhelmed by the direct sun. I can see...trees...this is not Portus Tarrus...where am I? What happened? Evadne! Claudius! The thought of him jolted her to dizziness again but she remained upright this time.

Licking her lips, she found them cracked and dry. She felt light, as if tons of weight, to which she had grown accustomed, were no longer bearing down on her. An attempt to shift her foot resulted only in stinging pain coursing up and down her leg. She shivered against the cold. The sound of the ocean, its soft rocking against her body lulled her back out of consciousness. She fell against the moist sand with a dull thud.

* * *

She heard their voices before she saw the speakers but her eyelids refused to open. Sand grinding into her legs, she listened. For a moment, she could not understand their words and then she realized that they were not speaking Latin but Gaulish. She had learned the language fluently, for as the daughter of the proconsul of Portus Tarrus in Gaul she knew exactly how important it was to be able to speak the natives' tongue. Yet, it had remained a skill unused in her arsenal and the words were difficult to summon to her mind.

"Who do suppose she is?" A low, yet girlish voice came from somewhere near Calista's head. A hand rested on her chest, carefully monitoring the heartbeat. "I can tell you she's alive though."

The second voice was quite high-pitched but clearly that of a young boy. "A nymph, or a siren or any number of Roman beasts! Plug your ears sister, lest she bewitch you!"

"I think it is you who have had your ears plugged!" laughed Sister. "Or you would know that women cannot be enchanted by a siren's song."

The bantering reminded Calista so forcefully of her relationship with Pyp, that she groaned aloud and then hacked roughly. The shaking aggravated her burned foot...and...she could think no more. She just was. She opened her eyes slowly and saw two fair-haired children with matching dark eyes sitting beside her. They were obviously brother and sister, achieving that similar look that she and Pyp never had. Calista offered up a wordless prayer for his protection to Juno; she was not sure why she chose that goddess.

"Ah, ah, don't move!" exclaimed the girl as Calista shifted slightly to move out of the slowly rising tide. When she had last awoken, the ground beneath her had only been damp, but now the sea threatened to overwhelm her gasping mouth.

"You need a healer. What happened to that foot? Can you walk?" Seeing Calista's condition, she answered her own question. "No matter. I will find my older brother and he will carry you up to the healer. Lugurix, stay with her." The girl dashed through the trembling sand with surprising speed. Once she had disappeared into the trees, Calista sat up gingerly, holding onto the boy's, Lugurix's, shoulder for support.

"Are you a nymph?" he asked, his voice breathy with awe.

Tapping her hand in the water, she wiped her face and hands clear of the dark, wet sand and answered truthfully in difficult Gaulish, "Yes...but do not tell...our secret..."

The boy laughed delightedly. "Yes, of course! But why are you here, Lady Nymph?"

"I am...where? Where am I?" Calista asked weakly, but she could feel her voice and mind gaining strength.

Looking past her, at the pockmarked ocean, the boy responded fiercely, "You are in Artiyon, the last free sanctuary from Rome."

She was surprised, both at his intensity and the fact that this place was not under Roman jurisdiction. Uncertain whether that was a boon or a burden, she did know for sure that on all of the maps of Gaul she has ever seen, she had never spotted such a place, so perhaps the boy was telling the truth.

"Mare Nostrum, or...?" she asked in her rough voice.

The boy looked at her oddly, and then exclaimed, "Why, you're a Roman, aren't you? Mare Nostrum. I have heard that is what your lot call this at times." He gestured towards the rippling water. "Yes, this is it. But are you a nymph, still? I have heard stories of them from the Roman traders who find their way here from time to time."

"Of course," she answered. Leaning heavily on Lugurix's shoulder, she pushed herself upright. Her vision spinning, she would have fallen had it not been for the boy's quick hand on her back and arm.

"You should wait for Adiega to come and take you. You shouldn't be standing on that foot, I don't think. Why, when I broke my foot from falling down a tree, I was forbidden from moving anywhere. This looks much worse than that. Awfully ugly, too."

She stood on her good foot, but cringed. Her burnt foot still throbbed in time with her heart. The skin was raw and red, and Calista could make out muscle and even bone beneath the white blisters. If that was the top of her foot, she had no desire to see the bottom. It made the scar on her arm from the battle in the attic seem a beauty mark. She closed her eyes. "What is your sister's name?" she asked, trying to keep her mind off the pain.

"She is Adiega and she is thirteen years old. She is getting married next week! It's very exciting but she will be moving to a village away from here. Not that I'll miss her, of course." He looked offended that Calista would dare insinuate such a thing with her silence.

"And how old are you?" Calista asked through gritted teeth as the world whooshed about her uncomfortably again. Calista put her bad foot down in the sand and regretted it immediately when a million little darts of pain shot through her. She almost swooned at the agony.

"Ten." The boy continued to chatter. As his stories, concerning topics which were reminiscent of Pyp's exploits with Maro, began to trail off, Calista prompted him again. However, he exclaimed, "...Look, there is Adiega with our brother Iccaous!" Lugurix pointed to two figures loping in the sand. Calista was thankful for their arrival for she was sure she would have soon fallen down in a dead faint waiting any longer. Suddenly, she felt for her locket, and was thankful to find it secure around her neck with her bulla. For a moment, she thought she had lost them and her heart had dropped through her stomach.

As the man and the girl approached, their relation became evident, yet where the girl had a hardy prettiness about her features, the man was quite plain. Without a word, he gently scooped Calista up.

"We shall take you to the healer," he said. Calista nodded. She wanted to ask him how long it had been since Atlantis, what had happened there, but she knew it would be foolish. How could he know? Well, she satisfied herself with the thought, at least I am where I need to be. Close enough.

The man carried her to the village healer's home whom Lugurix eagerly promised was nearly as good as Borvo, the Gaulish god of healing. His sister cuffed his head when he said that. "Careful!" admonished Adiega.

As she was being carried, Calista glanced past the beach and into the town, gleaning information wherever it could be found. It was mid-sized and clearly Gaulish and while it possessed the air of prosperity, the streets remained unpaved. It was a fight against herself to keep conscious.

Iccauos gently lay her down on the bed of hay on the floor of the healer's home and he and Lugurix and Adiega sat around her, waiting for the woman to arrive. According to Lugurix, she was attending a fevered child. The boy had a surprising store of such knowledge. In that, he was like Pyp who always seemed to have his hands in everyone's gossip. At the thought of her younger brother pain to surged through her like a tidal wave. She quickly fought it down. She was here and she would take care of him. That was what it came down to. Philyra too had a handy way with gossip. That thought was even worse. She tried to convince herself that they were immortal, Atlantians, and ultimately, all would be well.

"So, what is your name?" asked Iccauos in a surprisingly melting voice which lifted his plain features into handsomeness.

Sitting against the hard wooden wall, she said, "Calista." Shifting slightly, she loosened her lavender peplos, now stained with water and sand and blood.

"That's a Roman name?" asked Adiega distrustfully. The girl's dark eyes glowed fiercely. Calista could understand why she did not want Roman influence on her secluded existence and yet...And yet, Roman culture was glorious and could only serve to improve (roads at the very least) the life of their town. Improve, or eradicate completely. The girl's expression looked like she was reconsidering her offer of aid.

"Would you believe me if I said it was not?" Calista responded tiredly. Where she was dressed in traditional Greco-Roman garb, albeit ragged and dirty, they wore bright checked wool. Adiega's gown was tight-waisted and summery yellow while the two boys wore a matching pair of shocking blue knee-length tunics above buttery trousers. The effect was altogether different—and jarring—from the Roman look: their attire was square-cut and simple without any Roman flourishes.

"No," answered Adiega firmly, swinging her long braid over her shoulder. "We wouldn't."

The four sat silently and Calista racked her mind for other questions. She knew she had a plethora of them, and yet nothing came to mind. Finally: "What date is it?"

Iccauos said, "Little more than three weeks past the winter solstice."

Calista's eyes widened in shock. She had been adrift for almost two weeks. Not even half a year had passed since Avaritus had come to Portus Tarrus. A thread of surprise wove through her. Somewhere in this mess, two weeks after the solstice, she had turned seventeen.

Adiega suddenly lurched up and apologized profusely. "I forgot to bring you water! Tarry a moment."

She disappeared through the low door, leaving Calista with the two lads who had begun to relax. The three sat in silence until a woman with ebony hair and shimmering blue eyes entered the room. Adiega carried an earthenware cup of water behind her. Iccauos sat a little straighter in her presence and Calista was hard-pressed to hide her smile. Some things were universally amusing.

"The girl tells me that you need my services." Like Adiega, Lugurix and Iccauos she was dressed in bright woolens but despite the plain clothes an adeptness clung to her. Calista immediately felt comforted by her obvious competency. "Give her some water Adiega. I do not understand how you expect to run your own household in a week if you cannot remember something so simple as water."

Flushing, Adiega knelt beside Calista and offered her the cup. Calista gulped deeply and handed it back to the girl with a weak grin. "Thank you."

The woman gently raised Calista's foot to examine it. Calista bit her tongue in pain and then blacked out. When Calista came to, the healer was clucking her tongue and had extracted herbs from her scrip. She began mashing them into a paste in her wooden bowl. "How'd you burn your foot so, girl?"

Calista shook her head. How could she explain herself without appearing completely addled? The woman applied the green mess to her the wounds. A cool numbness spread through her wretched foot. Calista sighed.

The woman gave Calista a sharp look. "You like that do you? Well, you're lucky. I cannot see any sign of infection. Adiega tells me they found you washed up on the beach? Aye, well, ocean water is miraculous when used on cuts and burns. Stings, but keeps things clean of infection. Even if your foot will never be as pretty as it once was you'll be able to walk on it if you keep off it for a few months." She daubed more salve on Calista's foot and wrapped it gently in a bandage.

"A few months!" Calista exclaimed. Her legs flailed in surprise.

The healer eyes narrowed. "Now she speaks! Aye, a few months, and I will see to it that you do not move any more than you have to, even if I have to sit on you!"

Calista tried to reason with the woman. "But you do not understand—"

The woman's eyes widened with anger and she replied hotly, "I don't care what I don't understand. What I do understand is that you're being a fool and that it's time you realized you're under my jurisdiction now lass. All you bloody Romans are the same, thinking the world's at your feet."

Iccauos lazily reached out and placed a calming hand on the healer's arm. "Now, now Banonia. She has clearly had a difficult time. Give her something to help her sleep and let's be on our way about it."

After a few moments, a calmer Banonia answered, "Of course." She went to a table upon which crude clay jars rested and turned her back to Calista. All Calista could see was the woman's yellow and cinnamon plaid cloak as it twitched with her movements. Banonia mixed together a concoction and handed it to Calista. When Calista looked at it suspiciously, Banonia said, "If you do not drink it of your own volition, I will hold your hair and push it down your throat myself."

Calista quickly swallowed the vile mixture. Had she anything more than a rudimentary knowledge of herbs and spices and such nonsense, Calista would have sworn that Banonia had added something bitter to punish her for not acquiescing quickly enough...

* * *

The next thing Calista woke to was a grumbling stomach and loud whispers. "Where does Nehalennia come up with these burned Romans?" The voice was Iccauos' and it was heavy with curiosity.

The second frustrated voice was Banonia's. "First, Iccauos, do not invoke the sea goddess' name so freely. Secondly, we'll move the girl onto my pallet and give this fellow the hay. She should be coming to any moment now, in any case." Her voice dropped almost reverentially. "He must have beautiful once. Look at his nose and the line of his eyes. It hurts to look at him and think of what he must have once been. Poor child. To lose it all so young."

Uncomprehending, Calista slowly sat up in her bed of straw. She picked out a few golden pieces from her hair. The world twisted around her for an instant and in that moment she thought she saw Hadrian. No, this cannot be true. Clutching the wall, Calista staggered up gasping and was horrified by what she saw. His left cheek and jaw line had melted away, replaced by an angry red.

Banonia had spied her movement and rushed to Calista's side. "Here, lean on me." With Calista staggering on her shoulder, she dropped Calista onto her own hay pallet.

"Hadrian?" Calista wheezed, riveted by the sight of her once beautiful friend now lying on the hay Calista had just occupied. His chest rose and fell painfully. Calista flinched. It was her fault she had left him like this. He was a god and look at how she had destroyed him. All of her anger and betrayal faded at the sight of his destroyed face. She should have warned him. She could have warned him. She should have warned him. She should have warned them all.

Banonia gave her a sharp look. "Do you know him?"

"Yes."

Banonia asked no more, and set about making a balm of lavender and comfrey. With careful fingers, she generously smeared the cool cream across his face. Banonia soaked the bandage into the solution for a few moments before tying it firmly, but gently, around his jaw. Before she could secure her knot, Hadrian's mouth moved. "Calista?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Immediately, she fell to his side. Guilty tears gathered in her eyes. "Yes?"

But he said nothing more. Tears stumbled down Calista's cheeks. She swiped at her eyes and cheeks with the raggedy end of her robe.

"I know not how to repay you for your kindness," Calista said.

Banonia appraised Calista with a glance. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

With sudden inspiration, Calista unclasped that accursed locket, the one which had commenced the sum of this destruction. "Here, take it. Gold and lapis lazuli. Should fetch a pretty price at any market. Compensation for the care, room and board you have provided for my friend and me."

Banonia cupped it in the palm of her hand as Calista had done many moons ago. Now that it was no longer hers, Calista peered at it with curiosity, memorizing details she had only glanced over for the past few months. The locket covered half of Banonia's palm, and the stones were of a generous size, studding a neat circle around the largest stone in the center. Rich veins of gold ran through the deep blue of the stone. The chain Claudius had given her was as thin as strand of hair.

Realizing exactly she had undersold her product, she added, "And two horses."

"I don't know where you suppose you'll get to but I accept. Here." She thrust bread stuffed with meat into Calista's hand. "Now get you to the pallet and I'll come in the morning to check on the two of you. Sleep well."

Calista finished her meal, but could not sleep. She spent the night wrapped around Hadrian and his two blankets, keeping his shivering form warm.

CHAPTER XXIV

Two days later, Calista cautiously teetered about the small hut, her feet splayed at odd angles to avoid placing pressure on the burns. Banonia could only gape at the rapidity of Calista's convalescence, but insisted that Calista not leave the house; sand or dirt in her bandage would be death to remove and could irritate the wound enough to cause infection. Calista thought that at last, her accursed lineage was serving her.

As she healed, her desire to run back to Portus Tarrus to her mother and brother grew and grew. Now that she was so close, the feeling in her chest swirled harder than ever, but she knew that leaving too early could set her journey back weeks if she fell ill. And then there was Hadrian. While he was healing well, she could not move him from where he convalesced and would not leave him.

"I know what you are thinking," he said.

Avoiding looking at the visage she had marred so terribly, Calista asked innocently, "What?"

"You're restless. You want to leave, but you must realize the folly of traveling across the land, not even knowing where we stand or how far your home is." She found it remarkable that his voice was as unchanged as his face was transformed.

She felt guilty skirting his gaze and she forced herself to unflinchingly look at Hadrian's face. His features were still...marble-carved, smooth planed, minus the freshly scarlet pit which ran along the side of his cheek and chin, cutting from the corner of his eye to his jaw, narrowly missing his ear. His bandages had been removed momentarily to allow his wounds to breathe. They were healing and had acquired the sheen of new thin skin. Calista knew that burns were scattered beneath his robes. But it was not quite as bad as she had presumed, as her surreptitious glimpses had led her to believe. She thought back to what she had seen before. She knew her memory was accurate, and the rapid improvement of Hadrian's wounds could only be explained by one thing: divinity. Fresh with hope, she thought of all the other people in Atlantis, hurt, yes, but healing just as miraculously as Hadrian. As amazingly as her.

"Not as beastly as you thought?" Hadrian smirked, the scar stretching painfully across his face.

Averting her eyes Calista murmured, "Not at all," and limped to the pallet beside Hadrian for her feet burned with a ferocious agony. "I am sorry, you know," she added. "I should have asked Thetis or Neptune to help, not Evadne."

"I should be apologizing to you Calista. What you believed you had to do, you did with the most honorable of intentions. I behaved in a most ignoble fashion towards you; let me make amends. Let me help you rescue your family." He looked up at her with sincerely gleaming eyes.

"What makes you think I'd want anything to do with you?" she snapped, feeling the same ugly emotions she'd felt the day of her departure uncoiling within her.

He flinched as if struck. "I understand."

She look away as her deepest fears bubbled up within her: that she would never walk properly again, she would while away too much time recovering as her mother, brother, home, were destroyed by a relentless tyrant, that she had done the wrong thing in fleeing Portus Tarrus in the first place and that she would return too late...All thoughts of divine benefits slipped from her mind.

The door creaked open and Calista grasped Hadrian's hand in shock. "Claudius."

Ignoring Hadrian blandly, Claudius rushed to Calista, and to her eyes, he appeared as healthy as that faraway day when he had given her the chain. Not a single burn marred his complexion. His eyes ran over Calista and when they reached her feet, they halted dead. "You're alive. You have no idea how I worried for you." With those simple words, he seated himself beside Calista, still disregarding Hadrian who took the slight mildly.

Calista embraced him tightly. "How did you get here? Are you quite well? Have you seen Evadne or Philyra? Thetis? What of the others of Atlantis? How do they fare? How did find us?" She thought of how miraculous it was that both Hadrian and Claudius had washed up near her. Perhaps Neptune had heard her prayers after all.

He opened his mouth and then closed it, mulling over what to say and where to begin. Rubbing his aquiline nose absently, he said, "I was thrown up around here as I assume you were, and as you can see, I'm fine. How did I find you? I have traded with the people hereabouts, and they recognized me. When I asked them about you, they directed me here. As for the others...I have not seen them but no doubt they are somewhere and perfectly well."

"You cannot know how relieved I am by the sight of you. At least I know the three of us survived and that gives me hope for the others."

Hadrian muttered something.

"What was that?" Calista grinned. Her anger with Hadrian was dissipating.

Hadrian enunciated clearly, "I said, 'It's a happy occasion indeed, and fortuitously, there's no drink about." A grin fought with his cool facade.

"Fortuitous indeed," agreed Claudius.

Laughter erupted. Tension was usurped by amusement, all the more hysterical for nerves. They fell silent as Banonia entered, her hands laden with bandages for Hadrian and Calista.

"Ah, Claudius, I see you found your friends," she remarked. She set the bandages on the pallet and rolled her green sleeves past her elbows. Briskly, she applied salve to Hadrian's cheek and tightly wound the strip of fabric around the wound.

She repeated the ministration with Calista's foot. Its skin was now red and glossy, no longer overly soft and tender. "Both of you are healing remarkably quickly," commented Banonia. "Although I do not think either of your skins will ever return to their former states you have...astounded me with the speed of your recovery. But you must remember to not apply undue force on those burns!"

With a wink at Hadrian, Calista said cryptically, "One would almost think some divine providence were at work here, hmm?"

Not noticing Calista's attempted sly tone, Banonia replied earnestly, "Exactly! Highly unusual but clearly Borvo has blessed you two greatly. Both of you should give him your thanks."

"There's another god whom I intensely desire to thank," muttered Calista, her jovial mood flagging as her mind lurched to Neptune and Atlantis.

"You should not say such things," reprimanded Banonia.

Calista replied in a carefully modulated voice, "They are as flawed as you or I."

Banonia dusted her hands and surveyed the room, ascertaining that nothing was out of place. Without responding to Calista's comment she said, "I'll have Lugurix bring up a meal for you three. You, Captain Claudius, I assume, will pay for your meal and stay here as well as anything else you will take?"

His blue eyes amused, Claudius drawled, "Of course."

Satisfied, Banonia left the three alone.

Silence followed Banonia's departure, for all three were filled with so much to say, they were unsure where to begin. Then, all three began speaking, a few syllables escaping their lips, followed by protestations that the others speak first.

"Calista, I would have thought that you would have dashed as soon as possible towards your family, injury or no injury," Claudius said. "Although I must admit that I am thankful to have found you so quickly. A benediction of the gods."

Vehemently, Calista replied, "Don't speak to me of their blessing. If you speak to me of their meddling and insensibility I would be the first to concur with you but of their good will? They are fickle and foolish and one wonders how they came by such power. A wonder of wonders that such idiots managed any power."

"Don't say such things," Claudius gently reprimanded.

Her nose stung. "My brother used to scold me when I would say such blasphemous things. Gods, I miss him."

"And how do you intend to return to him? What schemes have you been plotting?"

She smiled. "I can't see that the odds are in our favor."

"What of hiring your own mercenaries? Or pleading your case in Rome?" Claudius said.

Calista rose and tested her feet against the floor despite Banonia's recommendations. She drew in a sharp breath—although the pain was much less than it had been days before. She did not have all the time in the world and her task was the most urgent of all. "Mercenaries?" she snorted. "What would I pay them with? Feeble promises? I have no gold or wealth at my disposal and certainly my divine origins do not give me rights to demand others' wealth for a cause as lost as this.

"There is no time for Rome. Had we more people, we could send someone to Rome but at this point, no person can be spared. We will not succeed unless some providence takes deep pity on us and frankly, I do not see that happening. And yet, I would rather die a thousand tortuous deaths than not try at all—and because of this, you should turn back. You owe me nothing."

"On the contrary," Hadrian said, "this seems like the perfect opportunity to make amends."

Calista did not know how to reply to him. "We have very few advantages, you realize. I have spent these last few days tabulating exactly which things lie in our favor and which stand against us. In Atlantis, I believed that escaping was the greatest obstacle and after that everything would fall neatly into place." She chuckled dryly.

Grimness shadowed Claudius' face. "Our advantages...?"

Somewhat embarrassedly, Calista continued, "Well, surprise. Avaritus thinks I'm dead. It does not fully level the situation but it shifts the balance slightly. Enough, I hope, to break in, rescue my family, and assassinate Avaritus. Cut off the snake's head and he is lost."

Hadrian asked, "What of the mercenaries?"

"I doubt they will linger without Avaritus paying them."

"I thought your goal was to rescue your family. Why must you kill Avaritus as well?" asked Hadrian gently.

Calista bit her lip. In Atlantis, when she could only handle two causes, she had held on to escaping the city and rescuing her family. Now that one of her obstacles had been surmounted, she added a new one. Avaritus. She could not imagine going to Portus Tarrus only to leave with that bastard still drawing breath. For what he had done to her and her family, for what he had shattered beyond repair, he deserved death. "It is the fate he deserves—and I intend to deal it to him. Soon."

Without another word, Hadrian left the house and disappeared into the town. Calista limped to the door but did not venture through.

"Where do you suppose he is going?" asked Calista.

Claudius shrugged and the two waited quietly for their companion to return. That is, until, Claudius said, "Calista, do you love me? At all?"

Her face suffused with heat. Finally, she managed, "You are truly one of my greatest friends in the world Claudius. I owe you almost everything. I most certainly owe you my life. And before, in Portus Tarrus, you must understand. I was foolish, I was being forced into a marriage and you seemed such a hero in my eyes. But you are my brother, my own flesh, the same blood flows through our veins, and because of that, I can love you as nothing more than a dear friend and brother. I am sorry." And she was. If Avaritus deserved death, then surely Claudius, kind and brave Claudius, deserved love.

Claudius turned away, so she could only see his broad back. "And do you love Hadrian?"

This inquiry astonished her almost as much as the other one had. She croaked, "I-I like him very much, yes."

Tight-lipped, he turned to face her. "Tell him before you march to your death. I reckon he returns the sentiment. How could he not?"

"How could he what?" asked Hadrian, striding into the room. Bright humor hung about him and his cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement. By the same count, a slight sheen of clean perspiration clung to him.

"Ah, nothing!" exclaimed Calista in an unusually high-pitched voice, shooting Claudius a dangerous glance. "Just wondering where you had disappeared to!"

Hadrian announced with a flourish, "Domina Calista, you admit you lead us on a fool's errand. Why wait for it to become a useless fool's errand as time passes by? Come outside dear domina and see what I have procured!"

Exchanging curious looks with Claudius, Calista limped to the doorway. Upon the shifting sand whinnied three mares, all young and speckled different shades of gold, red and brown. The horses, barebacked but for the reins and bridle contraption, tossed their heads impatiently, tugging against the post to which they were tied. Bags brimming with food and bandages were strapped. to their backs.

Calista's eyes widened. "Leave now?" She thought she had never heard a better idea.

"What better time?" replied Hadrian. A wide grin spread across his face as he leapt up onto his own horse, untying her from the post.

"Where did you learn to ride?" Calista asked curiously as she scrambled around the hut, searching for her sandals.

"Seahorses," Hadrian responded seriously as he swung down from his mount and picked Calista up lest the sand worm into her bandages and placed her on a mare. "Come now my good man. Get up!" he said to Claudius.

Claudius seemed somewhat reluctant seat himself on his horse and carefully examined their rides and asked, "Where did you find these horses?"

Raising an eyebrow, Hadrian answered, "Bought them, of course. You can pay me back for the horses and food with your armband." His heavy Atlantis heirloom ring was no longer on his finger, no doubt bartered for their mounts.

Thinking of the locket which was to have paid for two of these horses, Calista shook her head.

Wordlessly, Claudius tugged the band from his arm but instead of throwing it immediately to Hadrian, his careful fingers ran over its curling gold form, the ridges of lapis lazuli at the ends. Raising it to the bright sun, he squinted at it one last time before handing it to Hadrian. He flung himself onto his mare. Grunting, Hadrian heaved himself up and the three examined the sandy town which had housed and healed them. Pursing her lips tightly against remorse, Calista reeled away but then was immediately halted by the appearance of Lugurix with their meal in a basket.

Squinting against the sun, Lugurix demanded, "Where are you going?"

Calista exchanged a glance with Hadrian and said, "Home, Lugurix. And I thank you and your town, especially Banonia, from the bottom of my heart for the kindness you have shown us but my task is urgent and we must fly."

The boy's eyebrows squirmed of their own accord. "The Roman Road is perhaps, a mile away towards the sun. Good lu—" He ran into Banonia's house and within a few moments reappeared with a basket laden with medicinal goods. "She will not mind," he said in response to the surprised twist of Calista's face.

Earnestly, Calista pulled the boy into a sidewise hug from her perch on the horse. "Thank you so much. I know that seems so inadequate but I will never forget you all. We will never forget."

With a final wave, she wheeled her horse towards the sun. The Hadrian and Claudius galloped behind her though Calista's turned around one last time to blow a kiss to Lugurix, her golden hair streaming behind her.

They rode on rapidly in silence, each attempting to grow habituated to riding. After all, Claudius was a seaman who was more accustomed to water transportation than land and as for Hadrian, despite his jesting about seahorses, horses had never factored into his existence. Calista's own education in the matter was rudimentary at best. By the time they clattered onto the Roman Road, whose dark stones had smoothed from age, the three of them had managed some ginger semblance of a solid seat on their mounts.

Breaking the silence, Calista asked, "You have been here before, you said. How far are we from Portus Tarrus, Claudius?"

"You must remember that I came by sea; roads are liable to lead us to other ends."

"Can you not judge by the sun and give us a distance?" Calista prodded.

Claudius barked a laugh. "We gauge distance and space by stars. I can only tell you that we are going in the correct direction by the sun. Let Apollo rest for the night before I give you any definite directions. If I had an itinerarium that would not even be necessary. If only I had the presence of mind..."

"What is an itinerarium?" asked Hadrian.

Answering for Claudius, Calista explained, "It is a guide as to which cities come upon the Road and approximately how far each is from the other."

In quiet discussion, they raced down the road, passing very few travelers. Around them, the world was still frozen in winter, with dark branches shaking overhead, occasionally broken by the green of firs. She loved the sight of trees, of the open sky. Of sights that were normal and utterly beautiful in that. Calista deeply inhaled the fresh air, which was touched just slightly with salt but heavily with the cold sweetness of approaching rain. Clouds had begun to coalesce in the sky above them. When Calista caught Hadrian staring openmouthed at his surroundings she could not hold back her laughter.

"What?" he asked, startled.

"You seem so confused by all this. It is not so terribly abnormal," she laughed softly.

Grinning, he shook his head but did not reply. Atlantis was already beginning to seem like a fantasy she had conjured up. Except for Hadrian and her burns she would have thought the whole thing a delusion. She urged her horse to gallop faster, her light purple peplos flapping about her legs like a mad seagull. Now, she went to rescue the remnants of her life, the people she loved most in the worlds of mortals and immortals.

CHAPTER XXV

After six days of excruciating riding (she genuinely thought her backside would never be the same again), Calista arrived home with the dawn. She suppressed a saddle-sore groan. From neck to thighs, she ached with the strain of their journey. Hidden by a thatch of woods, she stood with Hadrian and Claudius, surveying Portus Tarrus.

Her horse impatiently pawed at the ground and Calista gently guided her towards a flush of brittle leaves. She rubbed her arms to warm them against the pink-gold chill of dawn. Portus Tarrus seemed no different than before, more real than it had been in memory. Its smallness shocked her after the grandeur of Atlantis: despite the immensity of the Circus Maximus and the Coliseum, this was a town populated with modest homes, not opulent palaces.

"Alright, Hadrian, you recall the plan?" Calista asked, massaging warmth and blood into her face.

He rolled his eyes. The burn had nearly disappeared but for a certain sheen and redness which would vanish with time. It was better than any of them could have hoped and was solely due to his divine inheritance. "Yes, Calista. I am an outsider and I am asking for news. Subtly. I go into a tavern and I make conversation. It should not be too difficult considering that I am an outsider." Despite his sarcasm, Calista thought she sensed a hint of tenderness—but she did not dwell on it.

"I just want the two of you to know that you have absolutely no need to do this. It is amazing of you but...you do not have to," she finished lamely. Calista had made this speech to them almost every day after leaving the hut. She realized that without their help, her task would rise a few notches on the scale of impossibility but she would not let them risk their lives without letting them know, repeatedly, that they were under no obligation to her. The thought of them dying violently for her benefit flooded coldly through her veins.

Claudius and Hadrian exchanged glances and, as a duo, ignored her. Holding the reins of Hadrian's horse as he hopped down, Calista said, "We will be off the main road, by the beach. If you head towards the sun you will come to an odd outcropping of rocks, which is mostly hidden from view." Calista had a sudden image of the place. It was where she and Claudius had met, secretly, that first time, a location laden with brief fragments of memory: a laugh, a flash of golden hair, a tender touch.

Claudius thumped Hadrian on the back. "Good luck."

She was somewhat taken aback by the...friendliness that had sprung up between Hadrian and Claudius of late, but she did not begrudge it in the slightest.

Thrusting the memories away, she added to Hadrian, "Make sure you sell the horse for a good price and with that whatever weapons seem casual enough to purchase and food. For a horse like this," Calista ran her eye over the bay. "You should at the very least go for forty-five aureii, those are the gold ones, although I do not know who would have that much. Perhaps Avaritus. Oh the irony! Please try to sell the horse to one of his agents." Calista clapped in delight. "And if you are not back by sunset, Claudius will come to find you."

Claudius looked at her sharply. "Leaving you alone?"

Sighing impatiently, Calista replied, "Yes, leaving me alone on the beach where I grew up. But since Claudius is so worried about it, Hadrian, do not be late." She could appreciate his concern, but gods, she was a grown woman, not a babe in need of a nursemaid.

"I will certainly try," he said dryly and then loped off, disappearing beneath the shadow of the hill.

As Hadrian finally and completely vanished below the horizon and into the town, Calista turned to Claudius. "Let's go."

* * *

Hadrian entered the town, attempting to appear as casual as possible with one arm swinging freely at his side, the other holding the horse steadily. He whistled a jaunty tune. As he passed, townsfolk, busy in their rituals of selling fragrant fruit and hardy nuts and describing the winter-belying freshness of their produce, paused to give him bemused glances but, luckily, not much note.

Above was a strange place, he thought. Of course he had read about it: being Thetis' son had guaranteed him a first rate education in all matters but not even the most descriptive memoirs could do justice to the reality. Firstly was the sun, which glared down at him as if he had committed some grave transgression. In Atlantis the water had softened and rippled the light, but his new atmosphere gave no such respite. His eyes felt constantly blurry as they adjusted and focused to the unobscured brightness.

And then there was the air—dry. Incredibly dry. He felt that if he breathed it long enough, he would be dried into a husk. He shuddered. Not to mention that he had been feeling a sort of light-headed nausea, which he supposed came from the change in pressure.

He passed through the foreign streets, searching for a likely place to sell the blasted horse. He did not understand why they couldn't keep the bloody thing and steal what they needed but Calista was adverse to that idea, refusing to rob her people. He still had Claudius' armband but she had said the piece would draw too much attention. He snorted and the mare mimicked him. He tossed an amused look at the strange beast, who stared back placidly. It just was not natural. Animals in Atlantis would never be so uppity.

Turning away from the mare, he looked around the large square populated with vendors. Surely there should be some sort of stall where these sorts of transactions occurred? He could not help but be irritated at Calista for her meager directions. "Just sell the horse!" he mimicked aloud in a high-pitched voice.

"Are you looking for somewhere to sell the horse, sir?"

Hadrian jumped, jerking the horse's reins with him. The mare tossed her head back in irritation. Swiftly, the boy calmed the horse down and Hadrian took a moment to examine him. He was twelve or thirteen, dark-haired and slight, but something in the way he held his shoulders and head spoke of durability, reliability.

The boy gave him an impish grin, a flash of bright white against his olive complexion. "My apologies."

Smiling back, Hadrian answered, "Do you know anyone who would buy a horse? He's a good one." Or perhaps it is a she, Hadrian mused. No, definitely a she. A man would never have that kind of knowing smirk on his face.

"Aye. They are always searching for horses, Avaritus' men. I should know," he explained, seeing Hadrian's questioning look. "I work in the stables." That much was evident by the boy's grubby tunic.

Hadrian followed the boy all the while keeping a firm hold on the horse. "So who is this Avaritus?" he asked casually.

The boy stiffened. "At the moment he is styled as Proconsul of Portus Tarrus."

"'At the moment?'"

"Things weren't always so but now they're all gone and I'm the only one left." A spasm of fear crossed the boy's face: he had said too much.

"Who is gone?" Hadrian probed.

Hadrian thought he heard a disgruntled mutter of "My wits," but the boy beamed falsely and said, "Someone who can show you where to sell this horse. Come along, come along."

The boy skipped to the stables. "Wait a moment," he said and disappeared inside.

When he reemerged he was with another man whose long black hair obscured his eyes. He ignored Hadrian, but examined the horse closely. "Ah, well, she looks well enough. Healthy. Although ridden hard but nothing a little rest..."

"Yes, yes," Hadrian said impatiently. "How much will you give for it?"

The man finally looked up at Hadrian's, his brown eyes vague and mild. "I will have to speak to the bursar..."

"I do not have time for that."

"Strangers without time. Suspicious. Selling his horse. Where does he plan to go? Riddles and mysteries..."

Hadrian's back prickled, but the boy chortled, dispelling the eerie air, which had begun to slowly surround and suffocate Hadrian. "Come on Caecilius, give the man a price."

"Without negotiating with the bursar, it will be lower..."

"How much?" Hadrian said tersely. There was yet much work from him to do in the city, much information to scrounge. After all, he had been chosen because only he could blend in without garnering too much attention. Calista was too obvious: the daughter of the former proconsul and Claudius was the one with whom she had fled. That would not leave town memory for a good while yet.

"Forty aureii, and let me a moment to show him to the bursar and you will have your money. Maro, give the man some water."

"Fifty," Hadrian challenged.

Caecilius shook his head. "The highest I will go is forty-two."

"Forty-five and half of that amount in silver denarii."

"Forty-three," Caecilius countered.

Nodding in accord, Hadrian acceded the price. The man then headed towards the villa, horse in tow.

Gratefully, Hadrian gulped the water from the wooden goblet provided by Maro (that name sounded familiar), watching Caecilius lead his horse away. He handed the boy, Maro, his cup. "Is it always so...is the air always so dry here?" Hadrian complained.

The boy, Maro, chortled. "It has actually been uncommonly humid these past few weeks. A little warmer than it should be for the end of Januarius, but the heaviness makes it up for it. The air is building up for a storm. And I reckon, the way the build-up has been going, it will be a sight to see."

"A storm?" Hadrian visualized an Atlantian storm: the water would whirl around the city, white and black, violently shaking its boundaries. Hadrian looked upwards. Surely the grey sky above them could manage no such thing.

"Yes, a storm. Rain, thunder, lightning."

The words held little meaning for him, just vague memories of lessons with Thetis but he nodded sagely nonetheless. As nonchalantly as he could, he began to wander, seemingly aimlessly, about the area. What he was really doing was reconnaissance, a word Hadrian felt Calista had learned from old stories, but it was upon such faulty foundations they built their efforts. Behind him he could the sense the lad tailing him. Seemingly giving him little thought, Hadrian mentally tallied up Avaritus' reserves: food, water, horses, men. The situation looked graver for them than he had expected.

As of yet, he was uncertain of the means by which Calista had entangled him in this mess. And a mess it is. I should convince her to give this up...Perhaps it was a twinkle in her eye, a flick of her hair but he was ensnared, her captive and willing to do her bidding. But it cannot last, he reminded himself. He knew he owed her for his attempted seduction—although that had hardly come off the ground. There was also the possibility that a certain guilt concerning his liaison with Philyra played some part in his behavior. Although, he rationalized, that has no need for any such emotion. After all, I owe her nothing. Two different worlds... "Oh Calista, what I do for you," he murmured aloud.

Suddenly, something clattered behind him and Hadrian leapt into the air. The boy had dropped the cup and was now bending over to retrieve it.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I thought I heard something."

"The wind is blowing strangely today, almost as if it were speaking," Hadrian said, and although the statement had been a vague nothingness, it struck him as true. And sounded slightly mad, to boot. The winds, which swirled from the ocean, had gone unnoticed by him now seemed glaringly obvious. Neptune stirred.

At that moment, Caecilius appeared with a leather scrip clutched in his palm. "Forty-three, as promised."

Assiduously, Hadrian counted the amount and finding it to his satisfaction nodded curtly.

"Be careful with that!" he called to Hadrian's back.

CHAPTER XXVI

The sun fluttering above Hadrian, peeking out every so often from its veil of clouds, related the time as being an hour or so before noon. He had learned at least that much from Claudius—as if his growling stomach could not have told him that it was time for lunch. The money secured tightly around his waist, he entered a likely looking tavern. The traditional sign of Bacchus wreathed in vines swung softly in the damp breeze. Hadrian sat down at a well-scrubbed wooden table near the center, where all the conversation and sweet, piercing music of the stringed kithara floated to him.

The establishment, like all other taverns, attracted the seedier populace of the town: soldiers and plebs and in response, strong-arms were flanked the door. Naturally, when this sort of customer frequented an establishment, another type of woman fell into the equation. As Hadrian had guessed, a few such ladies, garbed in togas, lurked in the corners, flashing calculated glimpses of skin and hot glances at entering men. One such woman boldly eyed Hadrian but receded into the arms of another patron after he quietly shook his head no.

A plump, greying woman decked in a clean apron approached Hadrian. "I am Potita," she said briskly. "Today we have fish, fresh-caught and baked with olives and better than your mother's and bread, steaming from the ovens with the cheese melted right on the inside."

Thinking of Calista and Claudius, no doubt hungry in their hideout, he said, "That sounds excellent. I shall have three plates of the fish and bread and one glass of wine."

Potita's brow tautened. "Will others be joining you, sir?"

"No. That is for later."

The woman nodded and Hadrian settled down to wait.

As Potita disappeared into the kitchen a man slurred loudly, "Ah, Luke. He was a nice...chap."

The soldiers suddenly straightened, their short swords glinting ominously in the low light of the tavern. Hadrian strained to hear the man's words.

"But," continued the obliging drunk more loudly, "things ain't half bad with this Avaritus. No worse than before."

The mercenaries relaxed.

Teetering to his feet, the man proclaimed, "But the way he did it....he did it low. I wonder what happened to the family. Shouldn't have killed them. Or Luke. But things aren't bad. As good as before. He can do the job, at least."

Hadrian filed away this information although he was unsure whether Calista would be willing to hear that her father's murderer and usurper was a competent ruler. Well, that is Calista's affair. But, by this point, he could no longer deny that what was Calista's business was rapidly becoming intertwined with his own.

Potita arrived with the fish, bread and wine, and Hadrian chewed through the food hastily, barely tasting it. Brushing past the table again, Potita laid the food before him, wrapped in cheap cloth. Suddenly, a loud crash tore through the common room, drowning the sound of husky laughter and kitharas. It came from below, and Hadrian examined the floor beneath him curiously.

"What in the name of Pluto...?" he murmured. He sneaked a look at Potita, still standing before his table, who muttered, "That damn Pyp."

Hadrian froze. Pyp. Calista's brother. "I beg your pardon?"

A flash of panic crossed the woman's face. "N-n-nothing. Enjoy the meal." She slipped into the kitchen.

Once the chatter in the room resumed, Hadrian followed her. The kitchen was a hot, miniature labyrinth of stone ovens and stoves but Hadrian found Potita readily enough. Standing immediately behind her, he could see her quivering and could guess precisely why she was so panicked.

Sensing him, Potita turned around and boldly looked him in the eye. "What do you want? This area is for cooks only."

Quietly, Hadrian said, "I heard a name just now and I was wondering how you came across it."

With a brusque air, Potita responded, "You ears must have been ringing after that bang. You must forgive my cats. They enjoy climbing the barrels."

Hadrian admired her coolness. He probably thought he was one of Avaritus' men come to unearth the missing Olympia and her son. How much of her subterfuge is self-preservation and how much loyalty?

"I am a friend and mean them no harm."

Potita turned around and answered dismissively, "I do not understand what you are talking about, but I advise you to return to your food. It will grow cold."

Growling in frustration, he started towards the exit to the kitchens when suddenly a thought struck him. He turned around and smiled with satisfaction. "If," he whispered, "it was merely your cats, then why do you have your men standing in front of the cellar door?"

Potita's thin lips worked wordlessly against the air and again Hadrian tried, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it. "Would you believe me if I brought you Calista?"

Potita gaped.

"Should I come with her at night?"

"After midnight," said Potita, sounding strangled. "Not," she added, "that we have whomever you want but you seem to like to brag. Let us see if you can produce your prize."

Hadrian flashed a winning, easy grin. "Of course."

"Your food is growing cold," repeated Potita pointedly but Hadrian was gone.

Eyeing the guards, Hadrian scarfed down the rest of his food, appreciating the tanginess of the fish and richness of the bread. Leaving a few copper on the table, he was momentarily blinded by the bright-white sheet of clouds that swathed the sky. Alright, to the beach.

* * *

After what seemed like hours of drudging through the sand, Hadrian found the outcropping of rocks described by Calista and then the subsequent hollow in the hill, in which, he noted to his satisfaction, Claudius and Calista were huddled uncomfortably. He was gratified to note that her face brightened when she spotted him.

"Well, what did you discover?" she asked eagerly.

"More than you could possibly believe for a handful of hours in town. I think I may have found where your family is."

Calista's face could have outshone the sun. "Really? How? Where?"

Hadrian related the entire scene of the tavern to Calista and Claudius.

"It could be a trap," Claudius said flatly, clapping his hands like a vise.

"No, I do not think so," said Calista. "For one thing, no one is expecting us. Why go so far as to make a ruse? We must go." Observing the height of the sun, Calista sighed morosely. "This will be the longest dozen hours of my life."

Hadrian's dark eyes grew distant, debating whether or not to relate to Calista the whole of what he had heard at the tavern when Calista asked sharply, "Hadrian, what is the matter?"

Startled, he responded, "Oh, nothing."

She furrowed her brow. "You were thinking of something...unpleasant."

"It is something that can be left for later," he said, looking away from her.

"Hmm." She paused. "Well, what is that in your hand then?"

Hadrian glanced up, surprised, and then saw the packages he carried. "Oh, food! Here!" He dealt a packet apiece to Claudius and Calista and they fell upon it ravenously. Claudius ate the whole lot of it but Calista saved a portion.

"Half a day is a long time," she pointed out. "And I like to snack." Delicately, she wiped her mouth on the edge of the cloth and Hadrian, for a brief moment, was transported to the sort of life she had led previously: here and in Atlantis.

As if reading his thoughts, Calista asked, "Do you think we will ever see Atlantis again?"

Hadrian chuckled. "And you were so eager to leave that place Calista! Don't tell me you are feeling homesick."

Smiling slightly, Calista replied, "No but I did find some...family there, despite some disloyalty all around." She carefully avoided looking at Hadrian. "Perhaps I am being a nostalgic fool but some parts of it were nice." Looking at the sand, she continued more firmly, "Evadne was a most loving mother and I hope she is well. I hope they all survived. I hope no one was hurt."

"You are being a nostalgic fool." He brushed the hair aside from Calista's temple fondly and Hadrian wanted to swipe his hand away. "But I feel the same away."

Hadrian silently listened, losing himself in the cadence of the ocean waves and the rhythm of their speech. He wondered where his mother was and how his home was. They recalled a place they had been only a few months. Atlantis had been his home, where he had been born, where he had lived for more than a thousand years. Conceived on land, the first child of Atlantis, being away from there was like having an ache echo every heartbeat.

"I shall return," he said, interrupting Calista's and Claudius' playful banter.

Calista blanched. "Return where? Not Atlantis? How would you?"

Shrugging, he answered, "I would find a way."

Her lips tightened but she merely nodded, thinking of what Hadrian had said that night about being a sort of god. After a tight moment, she announced, "I think I will go for a little walk. I will not stray far." Carefully, she wrapped her food and laid it on the gravel.

Her sandals waded uncomfortably through the rocky sand and every so often Calista halted to dislodge a stubborn pebble from near her still delicate skin. A stray breeze gusted, tossing her golden hair, now past her hips, like a banner behind her and suddenly that, the rushing of waves, and the overwhelming strong salty scent reminded her of the very beginning, when Pyp had given her the pendant. She snorted to think of that no doubt priceless artifact in some nameless, uncivilized village.

What did not please her though was the thought of Hadrian leaving, although she could not precisely pinpoint why. It is his companionship, she decided. When I have so few upon whom I can rely each and every one becomes precious. However, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, she would recognize that such an announcement from Claudius would not prompt such discomfort, or, if she were to be closer to the truth, a distinct throb, centered around her breastbone. Indeed, she would be pleased that Claudius would be able to regain some vestiges of his life and she hoped that he would become a captain again. As soon as she won Portus Tarrus she would ensure that he had the resources to do that very thing.

Soft footsteps thudding behind her should have warned her but she was too engrossed in her own thoughts to be aware of much else. When a hand was lain on her shoulder, she leapt up, startled, the name "Avaritus" running through her mind illogically. Turning around and seeing a familiar pair of laughing grey eyes, she gasped in relief. "Oh Hadrian! Do not surprise me like that. I thought you were my former fiancé."

"Which one?" he smirked.

"Oh very droll," she rejoined. "I am pleased to see that you and Claudius are getting along so well together."

"Necessity makes comrades of us all," Hadrian said.

She laughed. She did not bear him a serious grudge for what he had attempted in Atlantis. His willingness to help her rescue her family was more than enough to wipe away the petty debt of bruised pride. She understood his motivation to serve Thetis, his mother. It was that same familial loyalty that drove her to return to Portus Tarrus to rescue her family and settle the score with Avaritus.

His thumb caught Calista's temple, and rubbed it gently, as if he were erasing the mark of Claudius' touch. Calista was certain that only she felt the spark of lightning that flashed upon their skin contact.

Turning her face up, she asked, more jovially than was natural, "So, when do you plan on taking your leave of us?"

"So eager to see my back?"

Calista looked away, but said nothing.

Gently, he took her chin between his fingers, raised her mouth, and kissed her lips softly. Blood rushed from the tips of her fingers to arch of her cheeks. She broke away, abruptly feeling too much, far too much, for this man whose heart would always be tied to a land beneath the sea.

"If you do not want me to leave, I won't," he whispered.

Her head spun. She could not handle this as well as everything else. She shook the grimy wool of her peplos and lengthened her steps through the shifting sand. Her sandals crunched angrily as she strode over remnants of shells and stones. She took vicious pleasure in each crush.

When he touched her shoulder again, she whipped around, and with furious bluntness, said, "I'm confused right now. I don't understand a damn thing I'm feeling and all I know is that you are irritating me to Hades so let me alone!" As she spoke, her voice grew louder until she was screaming, until not even the waves dashing against the beach or the cawing of seagulls could drown it out.

Then, a voice came from above, cutting through Calista's confused anger with icy sharpness. "Why, it is Calista, my bride-to-be! A voice like a siren. Look, she has returned to us!"

Avaritus.

CHAPTER XXVI

The view before her quickly faded to black and grew oddly airy as if she were looking at the world through a bubble. Avaritus stood on the sandy embankment directly above them with his slave Panos, her father's killer. Her breathing came in rapid gasps. She had known a confrontation was inevitable but always in her mind she had visualized surprising him. Her fingers and legs were numb. She could not move.

"Run," she mouthed to Hadrian but stolidly he refused to leave her. "No, run. Run, run, run," she whispered but he stood as Panos leapt down before them, and helped Avaritus down.

He was ever the same. His short, grey hair was lighter than before and the same lines ran through his face, hidden partially by the closely-trimmed snowy beard he kept. With an icy smile, he approached and cupped her face. "I always knew you would return to me," he whispered.

A repulsed shiver ran through Calista and Hadrian's grip on her arm tightened to the point of pain. Unexpectedly, he flew towards Avaritus, knocking him into the ground but in a moment, Panos was on Hadrian, knife bared and at his throat.

"Don't!" Calista shrieked.

Avaritus flicked his two foremost fingers downward and dismissively and Panos lessened the pressure on the knife although the little man's vise-like grip on Hadrian slackened not a bit.

All right. I have Hadrian and myself. Panos has his knife and Avaritus is too decrepit to be much help. If I can knock Panos away before anyone can notice...we can do something. With that resolution, she lurched towards Panos but the sand slowed her movement, giving Avaritus time to spy her intention. "Panos!"

Suddenly, Hadrian was gasping for breath again and Calista was frozen, as still as a statue, crouching with one leg stretched forward and her fingers gingerly spread out on the ground for balance.

"If you move, I will have Panos slice through your lover's neck. I do love red on the grey of stone. It reminds me of your father." He smiled slowly and Calista growled like a great cat on the attack. But she remained still.

"Ah, we are in a pretty conundrum. Panos needs me to watch you and I need Panos to watch your lover; neither of us can leave to retrieve the soldiers necessary for your escort. You wouldn't oblige me by coming of your own volition." A pause. "I thought not. Well, Panos, cut the man's throat. The greater prize is here," he added courteously.

"No!" Calista shrieked. "I shall come! Don't harm him."

Avaritus smiled. "Cooperation. Perhaps I should have sent you away myself. You have come back much more...flexible."

Calista bared her teeth at Avaritus' back as Panos needled Calista and Hadrian with the point of his blade to clamber onto the wedge of earth that stood like a small cliff above the beach. Together, they stumbled to the top. Calista vaguely considered tackling Avaritus to the ground but rejected the idea. She had no weapon with which to hold Avaritus hostage and to prevent Panos from murdering Hadrian on the spot. So she quietly trailed after Avaritus, taking note of everything they passed. Avaritus led them through a winding way which kept the town hidden from her view, and, more importantly, kept her hidden from town view.

As they approached her home, she thought her heart would halt at the spot. The warm white façade of the walls were still the same, the gardens as lovely as ever, and, as she entered it, it smelled of memory.

"Take him below," Avaritus instructed. "And do not let anyone see him and fetch some soldiers once you bind him to watch him. As for my betrothed, let us return you to your old room." Avaritus' rough hands grabbed her arm, his brittle skin biting as he tugged her up the steps.

"Milord? Are you sure you should be left alone with the girl?" Panos inquired.

Avaritus gave him a derisive look. "I am confident I can handle a girl. Now, scurry." And Panos, with a twist of Hadrian's arm, pushed him along the corridor.

"You and I, my dear, have a long overdue wedding night," Avaritus chuckled amiably. Calista's blood ran cold at the thought, her memories of his previous attempts rushing to the forefront of her mind. He pulled her up the time-smoothed steps.

When they approached the top, Calista, thinking quickly, did not struggle but instead fastened her hand tightly around his wrist and fell limp, leaning backwards. She toppled and Avaritus slipped with her. In a tumult of colors and thudding, she landed on the floor, with her head tucked into her knees. Her back and elbows ached but she was fine. Holding her breath, she looked over to see Avaritus: he did not move although his chest rose and fell.

I could kill him now. He was strewn on the ground, utterly vulnerable and Calista knew that by striking his throat properly she could kill him. She could shove the bone of his nose into his brain and kill him. She could bash his brains against the stone floor. She could end the months of struggle here, by murdering a defenseless man, an evil man, but defenseless nonetheless, in cold blood. She could. She gripped his head, poised to hit it against the floor when she stopped. I cannot. Weak and foolish but I cannot. She stared at Avaritus for a few more moments and then stood up.

She slinked through the stone halls. After what felt like agonizing hours of winding, she found herself before the door. She opened it slowly and it creaked loudly in protest. For a few frozen moments, she stood still and alert but no one came and she silently padded down the steps.

"Hadrian?" she whispered through the darkness. "Hadrian?"

"Calista!"

She followed the voice and found Hadrian with his hands and feet tied.

"How did you escape?" he asked, amazed.

"Later," she muttered as she worked on pulling the ropes past Hadrian's hands. She could hear his teeth grinding at the pain of her tugging but she did not waste her breath apologizing. "Ah!" she gasped, as the bonds came free. "Work on your feet and I'll dig around for a knife or something sharp."

Feeling around with her hands, she rummaged until she found a sliver of sharp metal. Meanwhile, Hadrian had managed to wriggle his feet out of the ropes and he tapped Calista's shoulder. She started at the touch but said, "We have to hurry. Follow me."

Dashing up the steps, she halted at the door, and after peeking around, proceeded through the route from which she had come. She could hear Hadrian behind her. Finally, they arrived back where Avaritus had fallen but he was there no longer. "Hurry," she murmured.

They were almost at the door, when Panos appeared before them. "I have found them!" he exclaimed to Avaritus who stood a few steps behind him, leaning heavily against the wall.

Cold flowed through her blood, followed in rapid succession by a brilliant heat and without even knowing what she was doing, she slashed the metal at Panos' throat.

As she sprinted away, she thought she saw the man fall, clutching his throat, attempting to staunch the ruby red flow.

She ran, following the hidden paths of her childhood, until her sides ached and her lungs heaved. Tears of exertion bubbled from her eyes and she could hear Hadrian breathing heavily behind her. She ran until they finally came into the sight of Portus Tarrus' woods. She slowed only enough to turn around to ascertain that they were not being followed and then she dashed again into the cover of the forest. Now, she slowed to pick her way through the trails without leaving too much of a mark of her progress. Once she felt they were safe enough and that her legs could hold her no more, she tumbled onto the grass, taking in giant gasps of burning air. Her feet throbbed and she could see red blood seeping from the reopened wounds.

Wiping her eyes and coughing painfully she turned the bloodied metal over in her hand. "Do you think I killed him?" She could feel the echo of Panos' tearing cartilage and skin still reverberate through the bones of her hands.

Hadrian, prostrate on the ground, raised his head. "Don't worry about it. You injured hundreds in Atlantis—what's one more, right? The real question is what do we do now."

Calista's eyes widened at Hadrian's cavalier assessment of the situation. Cavalier but true, she knew that. More honest than the delusions she had foisted upon herself in the intervening weeks. "I owe the world an incredible debt of life, even for that evil Panos." And the green-eyed man from the battle so long ago.

"Cheer up. Maybe he's alive."

Calista felt a lurch of fright. "Maybe it would be better if he were dead..."

"Then what are you whining about?" he said equably.

Calista glowered at him, firmly deciding to keep any further morose thoughts to herself.

"What do you plan to do now?" Hadrian asked, returning to his original question.

Puffing her cheeks and blowing the air out, she answered, "I...I really don't know what to do. That...Avaritus...that...unexpected. But we can't go back to Claudius before nightfall at the very least and he knows we're here." She shuddered, wiping the blood on the grass.

Hadrian closed his eyes in thought. "We could go to the tavern."

"What?"

"We could go to the tavern and with any luck, Claudius will have the gumption to meet us there."

"Excellent plan, Hadrian, except you never told him the name of the place. And what if Claudius is discovered? Should we not warn him?"

Hadrian considered that. "Damn. Let's hope that Avaritus does not suspect that there is another and well, we'll still go there but we should wait until dusk. And then, I can go and find Claudius while you wait."

"While I wait? Thank you, but I am quite able to find Claudius on my own. But what then? We cannot wait long before we make our next move. As long as we stay in Portus Tarrus and Avaritus knows we are here we put everyone in danger." Calista frowned in thought. "I don't know what to do. I have, for so long, dreamed of winning Portus Tarrus back but now it appears as if it will never happen—the middle was never planned out really well. I had thought everything would fall into place and now as the impossibility looms even greater before me, suddenly, my existence seems unimportant, my purpose absent."

Abruptly, Hadrian said, "I think you should leave Portus Tarrus and your mad fixation on killing Avaritus."

An image flashed before Calista's eyes: her hand bearing down on Avaritus, attempting to crush his head against the floor and faltering. But Hadrian did not know what Avaritus had done to her, he could not feel the pain she had when her father had been murdered. He could not hope to understand. "I can hold Portus Tarrus until the Senate sort things out once I manage the rest of it; that's the least of it really."

"And how do you plan on doing this?"

Calista shrugged. "Do you not think me capable of doing this? I have gotten this far, you know." I have killed to get here. Am I any better than Avaritus? Killing to meet my ends?

Hadrian groaned loudly. "Calista. Do you not think you are swimming against the impossible at this point? How will you do whatever you plan to do? How do you plan on taking back Portus Tarrus, especially now? It cannot be done. Or if done, then only at a very steep cost to lives. If I thought it were something that were safely possibly, I would carry your banner with my own hands. I doubt your mother, your brother, even your father, wish you to kill yourself in a mad quest for revenge."

Calista's eyes narrowed to blue slits. "What do you propose I do then?" she asked frustratedly.

"We need to escape from here. With your family. And Claudius," he added grudgingly. He looked very much like he would have liked to suggest something else, but seeing the dangerous glint in her eye, he kept silent.

"But how? We do not have enough horses for all of us and then where do we go from there? Rome? We do not have enough money to do anything. I...do not know what to do." She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and the momentary black was overcome with bright flashes of aquamarine, magenta and gold. It was all crumbling around her and she did not know if she had the strength within herself to rebuild everything once more. Things kept on breaking, no matter how hard she tried to reforge them, and she was tired of fighting, almost too tired to go on...

"We do what we must and we will see what can be done when we get there. Look, I still have the money from selling the horse." He jingled the money in front of her. "We can ask the innkeeper to buy the horse back and then we will have three. And then we can double up on horses. See? Everything will be fine."

"Perhaps. But you sure are placing a great deal of faith in the hope that the innkeeper is hiding Pyp and Mother and that they will be willing to help us when we tell them of our dilemma."

"You can believe what you will but I would like to believe that everything will fall into place."

Calista shot him a scornful look. "Your faith is charmingly naïve. Perhaps it is because you have never had all of your hope stolen from you."

CHAPTER XXVII

Hadrian and Calista crisscrossed the paved streets of Portus Tarrus that were lit only by muted lanterns, which cast everything into an indistinct fuzziness. Although she felt as if sheer gauze lightly obscured her senses, Calista attempted to be wary as she walked beside Hadrian. Pretending they were conversing casually, Calista studied every surrounding direction, alert.

As they neared a small space between two buildings, Calista spotted an armed man, wearing the soldier's traditional tunic. Intent as Hadrian was on finding the inn, he did not perceive the soldier marching down the street, straight towards them. Thinking quickly, Calista yanked Hadrian into the dark crevice, covering his mouth as the man passed by. She peeked out and once he had vanished, she led them out again.

"Avaritus probably has soldiers out looking for us," Calista realized. "I cannot believe I didn't think of that! We idled away hours and that thought did not occur."

He paused and then replied, "Maybe that's good, because surely the search was most fierce when we'd just left. I would have assumed that the fellow we just saw is the remnants of what must have been a thorough hunt."

Calista released a held a breath in relief. "That makes sense. But! What if they found Mother and Pyp in your inn?"

"We may as well check now that we're out," said Hadrian but some of his optimism had been replaced by bleakness. Regardless, he continued on his remembered path, passing fallen fruits and vegetables, the only remnants of this morning's stalls. Hadrian squinted through the dark and discerned the recognizable sign swinging on the entrance. "Here it is."

Calista studied it carefully. "I don't see my mother frequenting this sort of establishment."

Hadrian snorted. "Really? From the conditions she has become used to over the past year I am sure she will view this place in the kindest of lights."

She bit her tongue as Hadrian pushed open the door. The tavern was as she had imagined: darkly lit and frequented by the lower classes consorting with whores. But the dimness provided a cover against the handful soldiers sprinkled around the establishment. She closed her eyes. Please, please, please let them be here. Please.

When she opened her eyes, Hadrian was weaving through the tables as if searching for a suitable one. Avoiding the soldiers, he arrived at the door to the kitchens. He spoke in a hushed tone to a plump woman who watched him warily and then led him and Calista to a private room. Ledgers were lit by the wavering light of an oil lamp.

"As I promised, here is Calista."

"Bonum vesperum," Calista said politely.

The woman looked Calista up and down. "Well, you look like her. Tell me the name of the cook over at Portus Tarrus."

"Koisis!" Calista exclaimed. "Is he here?"

The woman gave Calista a measured look. "Koisis cooks for Avaritus now so I expect he is there. You need to get your brother and mother out of here."

"Really? No!" Calista drawled sarcastically but then immediately regretted it. After all their allies, even grudging ones, were few and far in between—not to mention that they were risking their lives to help them. A hot nervousness spread from her core to fingers and Calista asked, "Can you take us to them? And thank you for all your help."

Potita ignored her thanks. "They sent men searching here and only the fact that soldiers patronize the inn saved them from being discovered. You have to get them out of here. Whatever Koisis says, I will not have them over my head."

The woman ushered them out of the room and then locked it firmly behind her. She took them through the kitchen again and Calista noted that the cook and the helpers kept their eyes deliberately averted. They were aware that something was afoot and had no desire to be a part of it.

"Has another man come in?" asked Hadrian. "He has hair and eyes like hers. Tall."

The woman shook her head emphatically, ending any further discussion. "No such man has come in. Now, if you go down these stairs..."

Not waiting to hear the rest of it, Calista eagerly stumbled over the alien, shadow-draped steps and a flash of memory coursed through her: another set of stairs, a fall, nearly killing Avaritus, surely killing Panos.

"Calista? Caly?"

And at the sound of the tentatively hopeful voice, her morbid thoughts vanished. "Pyp!" she exclaimed, tripping forward to embrace the dark, familiar figure. She could feel his thinness, the bones of shoulders jutting uncomfortably into her chest. The hair she buried her face into was no longer silky but brittle. Longer and unkempt though they were, the curls were still there and she playfully tugged one.

"Calista?" Another voice, softer. "Can it be you?"

"Mama!" Calista wailed, feeling her heart grow weaker and Olympia rushed to her children, cradling them both. She ran her hands over Calista, feeling her hair, her face. Tears rained onto her head, slid down her cheeks. Beneath the huddle, she struggled for breath but there was no thought in her mind to leave the warmth of her family's embrace. Her chest was so heavy, her head so light that it felt like a strand of seaweed bobbing in the waves. Relief. Love. The twin emotions flooded her, driving away guilt and apprehension. This was why she had done it, the warm softness that surrounded her and there was nothing or no one in this world, Atlantis or beyond that was comparable. Laying her head on her mother's yielding bosom, Calista felt awash with a third emotion: a lifetime of hugs, affection, laughs passed before her eyes in a blink and the feeling of security wrapped around her like a favorite blanket. She fervently wished that her father were there with them to complete this huddle. Fiercely, Calista whispered, "Never let me go."

"Never darling. Oh my brave girl, I will take care of you."

"Mama, what do we do?" she asked, oh-so ready to give up the responsibility that had been bowing down her shoulders.

With a small smile, Olympia said, "Well, how about you introduce me to your friend."

Calista turned around to discover that Hadrian was, very politely, studying the barrels around him with deep interest.

Still not releasing her mother and brother, she said, "This is my friend Hadrian and he has been absolutely instrumental in my return. Hadrian, this is my mother, Olympia, and my brother, Pyp."

Niceties were murmured all around. With bright interest in her tired eyes, she asked, "Calista, where have you been? Where could you possibly...? How could you...? That ship, the storm."

"I-I," Calista giggled self-consciously. "Atlantis."

Her mother gaped at her in shock and Pyp chimed in, "You didn't believe me, Mama, remember? Remember when I told you? You said I was being silly."

"Atlantis?" Olympia murmured in shock. "Tell me..."

Calista suppressed a flare of remorse that tickled her chest. "Later, Mother. When we have time. It is a long tale." Thinking of Evadne, Calista face tightened.

"What is it, dear?" Olympia asked concernedly.

"I..." Calista paused. "I am not your daughter, am I?"

Olympia grasped Calista's chin. "Beloved, you are my daughter as much as Pyp is my son. We are a family, and I know you know this." She wiped a tear from Calista's cheek. "There now, stop this foolishness, child."

Calista smiled weakly, but the confirmation, to hear it from her mother's lips, wiped the last of those doubts away.

Pyp, peering around the cellar, asked, "Where is Claudius, Caly?"

Not revealing her worry, she answered, "We left him on the beach after Avaritus captured us. I expect he will be here soon."

Both Pyp and Olympia gasped. "Captured by Avaritus!" Olympia's voice was shrill with shock and something like disappointment wove through her face.

Hadrian rose slowly. "Caly, we haven't much time. I shall go and find Claudius, and buy the horse back. In the meantime, explain the options. Potita?" he said. "Is there a back entrance through which I can leave?"

"Through the kitchens," she said, adding, "I'll send food your way." She bustled out, leaving Hadrian to follow her.

Pyp pulled on Calista's filthy peplos. "Calista, what does he need the horses for?"

"Hadrian...says that since Avaritus knows we are here now and that he will be prepared for virtually anything we attempt. He says that our one advantage against overwhelming odds was surprise and that we have lost that now so we may as well surrender."

"Surrender?" Olympia said, shocked.

"No, not that exactly," she explained unwillingly. "He said that Avaritus is doing a good job managing Portus Tarrus and that for us to leave now would not harm it. I supposed we could petition the Emperor and ask him to intervene." She snorted. "If we could convince him of the truth of it, I think Emperor Augustus would be more than willing to oust Avaritus." But then vengeance would be the Emperor's not hers. He would execute Avaritus not for Lucretius, but for the Empire, and surely, surely her father deserved justice in his own name.

Olympia mulled the option over silently and Calista was aghast. "You cannot actually be considering it! We must stay here and fight, Mama. You said you had a plan! You said you would take care of this."

She shook her dark head sternly, her curls trembling. "My idea was contingent upon surprise."

"Well, what was it?"

"To assassinate Avaritus and that abomination Panos but now that Avaritus is expecting you, it makes it nigh on impossible. Are you truly so eager to break the family apart again that you would risk my death?"

A part of her smiled at the similarity of their thoughts. "Mama, firstly, I would do the business. Secondly, I have already killed Panos." Shock crossed Olympia's face and Calista took a grim satisfaction in it. "Finally, it is doubtless that Julius Caesar knew that every step he took there was a chance of assassination, of death. How much surprise could there have been in that and yet they managed it."

"Calista, a vague threat is much more difficult to answer than a specific one and Avaritus now knows whom to look out for." Olympia ran her hand across her daughter's face in wonderment. She had never thought to see her again in this life.

"So you agree with him?" The warm feeling of family was vanishing quickly, a bubble that popped as soon as it was touched. "You would let Father's death go without vengeance?"

Pyp piped up, "I don't think Father would want us to die for him."

Calista threw up her hands in despair but did not say anything. Hearing a tread of footsteps on the stairs, she started but it was merely Potita, carrying braised fish stuffed with vegetables, as well as cheese and bread. She also carried bandages and salve for Calista's foot. "Well?" asked Potita. "What has been decided?"

"We are still working towards a decision," Calista mumbled through a mouthful.

However, Olympia said, "Potita, you have been more than kind to us and I am afraid all we could do was bring danger upon you. If you could prepare food for us to travel with, we will be leaving shortly."

Potita thudded up the steps with satisfaction.

"Mother," Calista hissed. "We cannot! We cannot! We can still do this. We can!" Her father's face flashed before her eyes, the small creases which gathered around his eyes when he laughed, his warm solidity when he embraced her, his gentle words when she was raging...

Disagreement etched lines into Olympia's face. "I will not throw away this family for revenge. Listen, Calista, I too wanted to avenge your father. We had worked upon it, Koisis and I. We were going to assassinate Avaritus, however futile and difficult it may have been but I realize now, as you must, that to attempt any such thing would be tantamount to suicide! I do not want to leave that man drawing breath any moment longer than necessary but neither would I have our own breaths halted in the quest for mindless retaliation."

Rapidly, a plan formed in Calista's mind, springing into it, full-born, like Minerva from the forehead of Jupiter. "Very well, Mother," she assented, trying very hard to hide her own thoughts.

* * *

Hearing a clatter, Calista looked up from her nest of pillows and blankets, thinking that it was Potita. Instead, she was shocked to see Hadrian wearily stumbling down the steps, supporting a bleeding Claudius. A gash in his arm gaped vulgarly, leaving a thick, crimson ribbon down his arm. Thin scarlet rivulets flowed to his hands, following the lines of his phalanges.

"Dear Juno, what happened?" asked Olympia, rising quickly. "Captain Claudius?"

Hadrian gently leaned him against the barrels before answering. "Potita is getting bandages and poultice to tie around his arm."

"After I had left, my first priority was purchasing a horse before the stalls had finally closed for the night," Hadrian explained. "The man was unwilling to give me back the horse for the price I had bought it for—so we'll likely have to steal it before we leave.

"I left, skirting the patrols by going around the town and to the beach where Claudius was waiting for midnight before he would come to the inn. We started heading back towards the inn using alleys in the darkness. Neither Claudius nor I are familiar with these streets so in our confusion we stumbled right upon one of Avaritus' patrols. One of them recognized Claudius and managed a slash at him. We had to run furiously through the woods and crisscrossing all around until we finally shook them off."

"Will he be alright?" asked Calista worriedly, eyeing the limp Claudius propped against the wooden barrels. A grayish pallor, a pearly sheen of sweat seeped into his skin.

"He has lost a great deal of blood but he should be fine," Hadrian assured Calista. "It was a little nick. As soon as Potita bandages him and gets some food in him, we should be able to ride."

"All I need...time," mumbled Claudius.

Calista realized that they were losing sight of the issue. To rescue her family was just as important as avenging them against the man who brought them to this ruin. She did not understand why no one else understood that. When she had been reunited with Olympia, she had momentarily wished to once more be a child safe in her mother's arms, but she had forgotten how little control a sheltered child had over her destiny. Observing the room one last time, she agreed. "Yes Claudius, time sounds perfect. If you will excuse me, I will be in the kitchen...I need time...to think."

As she fumbled up the steps, she heard Hadrian ask, "Is she well?"

Quietly, Olympia said, "She does not take well to the idea of leaving Portus Tarrus and pleading our case before the Senate. She doesn't understand...we tried running away, we thought to kill him but every time something goes wrong. This is our best hope. Our only hope. For now."

CHAPTER XXVIII

Calista carefully closed the door behind her and slipped through the steaming kitchens, seeking an exit and finding one where the rubbish was thrown out for later collection. Her heart beat furiously in her throat. Fingers trembling as she peered around, she discovered that Potita was no longer in sight and only a single cook turned the pot diligently. So absorbed was he in his mindless labor, that he did not look up as Calista cautiously skirted the corners, picked up a knife from a table, and slipped through the backdoor.

Her skin still tingling with anxiety, she tiptoed against the wall, which demarcated the boundaries of the inn and towards the street, and followed the dim light from the windows. There were still a few hours before dawn. She could see only the faintest outline of the bricks and streets, but it was enough to jar her into familiar recognition.

Purposefully, she walked towards the street, suddenly hyper-aware of her surroundings: the slightest motion caught her eye, the faintest noise was enough to make her jump and the somewhat frequent sight of a person nearly sent her into hysterics. She herself felt highly visible, as if a halo surrounded her, pointing her out to searchers.

She fingered the hilt of her knife absently: it was a crude utensil, the handle rough and unfinished but the blade was sharp enough. Working through the dark streets, Calista stumbled upon a stone, nearly cutting herself but, more dangerously, nearly allowing a yelp to escape her lips. Standing up and shaking the new robe Potita had given her free of dirt, she worked towards the villa. Draped in shadows, she felt the uneven walls prick into her skin as she ran her hand along the rain-slick stones to give her some sense of definition in this rapidly darkening world. The moon bobbed in and out from behind its thick, grey cloak of clouds that were only beginning to unload their burden.

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Pyp's head whipped back. Olympia was dozing, and Claudius' eyes were shut with exhaustion. It was his sister's strange new friend who spoke to him. "Just upstairs to see how Caly is," he lied. He tried to muster as innocent and childlike an expression as he could.

"Be careful," Hadrian said.

Pyp nodded and stepped lightly up the stairs. They were leaving Portus Tarrus tonight, were one horse short, and Koisis had told him his best friend worked in the stables. It had not been difficult for Pyp to work out what he had to do.

He skulked through the shadows, pretending he was Odysseus returning to Ithaca in disguise to fight Penelope's suitors. What he would give for a long flowing beard and bedraggled cloak. But no one paid any heed to the small, dark-haired boy who could have been any urchin in his rough clothes. He smelled the sweetness of hay, rankness of manure, and he knew the stable was close. He came closer and could see the horses flicking their tails in their sleep. He tapped softly on the stable door and hid around a corner.

Rubbing his eyes and yawning, a boy with straw sticking out of his black curls came to see who was knocking. Pyp rushed out and tackled him into a pile of hay. "Maro!" It felt so good and happy to see his friend again. He had almost thought that he too would become a person like Caly, like his father, who dwelled on his memory. But no! Just like Caly, here was Maro, real and in the flesh, warm to touch and with a distinctly unbathed smell to him.

Maro blinked at him blankly. "Pyp! It can't be! I heard you escaped! Where have you been?" He embraced his friend tightly.

"How are you?"

Maro shrugged. "Well enough." He dragged Pyp further into the shadow. "Be careful though! They have men that come watch me sometimes, to make sure I'm not getting up to any mischief." He smiled in his eyes crackled with some of that same mischief Pyp remembered so well. "I've been quiet as a mouse lately, and they've been watching me less. Luckily! What are you doing here?"

"We're leaving Portus Tarrus today for Rome. You're coming with us—but before then, we need to steal a horse."

Maro rubbed his hands together and grinned wickedly. "Gods, I've missed you Pyp."

* * *

Calista started as thunder resounded through the cold winter air like deep-bellied drums. She knew she had to be quick; she recognized she had only a few moments before someone checked on her. They would look in the kitchens first. And then the study. And then perhaps the rooms, and there they would discover couples in their beds and hastily close the doors. They would check the common room, and the study and kitchens again. And then they would go back to cellar and after ascertaining she was truly gone, they would head towards the most obvious destination, her target.

But would they? She was fool enough to attempt it but she would not accuse her companions of the same folly which was boiling in her blood. She would not put the others at risk. The carnage in Atlantis still unsettled her sleep, and she fervently hoped that her friends and family would not follow her. She did not want any more lives exposed to danger.

The chill night air swept goose bumps across the exposed skin of her arms and neck and the clapping of her sandals against the well-known stone streets felt loud enough to overwhelm the rhythmic sound of the waves, the muffled babble which drifted from the stables, and the occasional boom of thunder. She wished she had thought to bring a cloak. At the point she thought her heart would finally capitulate to her nerves, her burgeoning guilt, she caught sight of it: the villa.

There stood her home, so pristine in the brief flashes of moonlight, its silvery gleam on the columns that cast the arches into inky blackness. Legs trembling beneath her from anxiety and cold, she began making a slow circuit. The manor sprawled, vines crisscrossing up its walls. Warm, golden lights peeked out at her through the windows.

The feeling that if she ran in, ran straight to her parents' room, she would find them there, laughing softly and bathed in the light overwhelmed her. She could run to her father and cry and apologize for being so rude to him those last times and her mother would laugh, running her fingers through her hair and her father would attempt to be stern, telling her that he should take a strap to her but chuckle at the last moment, dispelling any threat. He would hug her briefly and say whatever he did was out of his love for her and as long as she understood she had been wrong it was all right. It was suddenly before her, the scents, the touches, the sounds so real; so indisputably authentic that she stood still, unwilling to let it dispel. Then, a fat raindrop fell on her face, followed in rapid succession by three more, and the dark clouds overtook the moon again. A whisper thin bolt of lightning raced across the sky and reality fell upon her unsympathetically.

Throat still quivering, she spotted a movement before the entrance of the manse. She fell to the ground. Through the rain, a pair of soldiers rapidly bore towards her, growing more and more distinct with each step. Now, she was utterly incapacitated. Options rapidly flooded her: run, hide, attack, scream, but her body seemed incapable of action, a horrific repeat of what had happened when Avaritus had found her and Hadrian. Lying flat on the sparse, wet grass, she hoped thinly that she would remain undiscovered, that they would by some miracle pass her by.

Calista sensed their presence, felt each footstep reverberate through her body, as if she were an anvil being pitilessly struck. Finally, some spark flowed to her fingers and she slipped a knife she had stolen from the kitchens into the neck of her stola. She hoped desperately that no one would discover it, that it would not fall out.

Please. Neptune, do not deny that you wronged me! Remedy that. Save me, she thought angrily, desperately. You are my father. She felt a raindrop on her head. Artemis, protector of maidens, queen of the moon, save me!

The vibrations of their footsteps were upon her and then suddenly silenced. Calista was unceremoniously hefted up. Dazedly, she looked at her captors, a few drops of hope dying within her. Avaritus' men: not workers of any deity.

"And who might you be, sneaking about like this?" asked one of the man, his manner neutral but his eyes eagerly devouring every detail of her.

With an unexpected burst of bravery (or bravado), Calista spat, "Take me to your master. He will want to see me."

The rain began in earnest then, pounding down cold and hard on the three of them, slicking Calista's hair to her head.

An immense flare of lightning illuminated the two men exchanging looks and the first one finally said, "Come along then," and yanked her arm. His hand slipped at the wetness from the rain, rubbing her uncomfortably—of course, that was the least of her worries. Vision blurred by the torrential rain, she stumbled upon the damp, uneven ground.

They walked along the long path which ran to the villa, past the quartered pond with its four fountains, each divide running into a path, past cypress trees that lined it. Icy moistness seeped into her toes which, like her fingers and nose, were growing numb. Thanks to the guard's hand, however, her arm was quite warm.

Suddenly, the rain disappeared. She was beneath the manor's veranda and the windows washed her in light. She blinked uncertainly as she was pushed inside, past another pair of guards who were quickly notified of the circumstances. One marched towards the barracks, doubtlessly to alert their captain of the state of affairs.

Wresting her arm free of one of the guard's grips, she ran her fingers through her drenched hair, reminding her ruefully of her attempt at grand appearances facing Avaritus earlier. Then, she had childishly believed that being well-dressed and poised would be enough to win back Portus Tarrus—now, she recognized that her action would have to be much more drastic, violent, bloody, to redress the balance. Avaritus had won through those selfsame means and she would mimic him to do just as he had done. He had won: surely there was something correct in that—something that the gods and fates approved of, something that had been lacking in her own previous attempts.

The dark-haired guard, grabbed her hand again, and she slipped across the mosaic floor. Up the stairs again and she was thrust before the door to her parents' room. Avaritus' room. She could feel the knife burning brightly against her chest, felt that everyone should know what it was there.

A guard pushed the door open, revealing a figure she had supposed dead: Panos. Panos with a bandage wound tightly about his neck. Panos, breathing. Panos, smirking. "She has returned, milord," Panos announced to Avaritus. The world spun around her, once, twice, before she managed to grasp the situation.

"You!" she gasped, and that vision of her father flashed before her eyes again, so tremulous, like a raindrop on the cusp of falling from a blade of grass. Plunging her free hand into her robe, she produced the knife and drove it into Panos' throat once, straight through the bandage. Crimson blood bloomed on the white fabric. She could feel the tearing of his cartilage resound through her bones as she slashed now, widening the wound, once, twice, thrice.

An obscene second mouth grinned at her as the mouth above bubbled blood. Her hand was restrained again, the knife wrested from her grip but she could only watch in morbid fascination as Panos fell to his knees and then onto the floor. In his last motion, he bowed before her, spilling blood on her robe. From the corner of her eye, she saw the dark ocean writhe and twist, attempting to break loose of its confines and pour onto the beach. Lightning lanced through the sky.

"Look what you've done, you bitch!" a guard exclaimed.

She fought their clutches wildly, biting, scratching, kicking, all in her attempts to break free, to the real prize, Avaritus. He stood well-beyond her reach, eyeing her carefully, and shouting for guards to act as further reinforcements.

"You stupid bastard. Guards? Let us settle this between us!" she snarled. She felt no fear. She felt no grief. She was boiling with the desire to hurt. To rip, to scratch, to tear. To make him bleed. To make him cry. She was mad with it. Thunder and lightning cracked above their heads, the villa itself trembling. Then, much to her surprise, she felt herself released. "Oh!" she breathed softly, and then ran at Avaritus.

From behind her, she heard a pair of voices call out in unison. "Calista!"

It brought her back, her hands trembling with quickly suppressed fury. "Hadrian? Claudius?" They stood behind her, both wielding kitchen knives. A crumpled form lay at their feet.

Another group of heavily armed men joined them. "Milord?" asked one, perplexed at the situation. He should not need to ask, really. Not that intelligent, Calista thought briefly. Clearly, he should be trying to kill me.

At that moment, Avaritus slid his arm about Calista's neck, her back pressed against his soft stomach. She gasped for breath: his arm was tightening against her throat and the pressure rose by the moment. Bright spots of color exploded in her vision and the world faded before her eyes.

The desire to harm surged within her again, stronger than ever. Flexing her fingers, she drove her nails into Avaritus' face, and she could feel blood seep out from the punctures. With a surprised, angry gasp, Avaritus' grip loosened. She pulled the knife from his hand and blindly stabbed it into his soft, yielding stomach. Her fingers came back warm and sticky.

Hadrian grabbed Calista, pulling her past the surprised man. They ran: down, down, turning, turning. Calista could hear mercenaries rousing, attracted by the commotion. Thunder clapped, shaking the entire manor.

Avaritus' voice cried out, "Capture them, you fool!" and she could hear her own voice, "Release me! I need to get back to him! I need to kill him!"

Bright flashes of colored tiles flooded her vision: scarlet, violet, gold, cerulean. They ran, ignoring the shouts, onto the tree-lined path which led to the heart of Portus Tarrus. Calista's legs burned, and she was overcome with a startling exhaustion but she pressed on, panting heavily. That murderous rage to which she had almost lost herself was slowly ebbing.

She could hear their pursuit, the sound of ten or fifteen pairs of sandals clopping on the ground, tapping through the mud, with furious speed and it spurred her on. Claudius was running raggedly behind them. Calista risked a look back: he was clutching his sopping bandage, his jaw clenched in pain.

Hadrian muttered angrily, shaking back his wet hair, "I told him not to come! His wound will open again. Claudius, hurry!"

Calista paused for a moment to turn to look at Claudius. As they stormed downhill, he was obviously lagging, and the bandage was turning scarlet again. Muddied, Calista attempted to give him an encouraging smile, wondering all the while when the horses would appear. She doubted Claudius could maintain this pace for too long. Blinking furiously, she tried to clear her eyes of the stinging darts of rain.

Finally, they came to a stand of trees, at the foot of the villa's hill, where a pair of horses, panicky because of the storm, were tied. Claudius and Calista swung onto them, and Hadrian clambered on behind Calista.

Before she had seated herself rightly, the horse was off. Clinging tightly to the reins she asked, "Where are Mother and Pyp?"

"Waiting upon the third horse," Hadrian answered briskly.

"A third horse? How did you get it back?"

"That honor belongs to your brother," Hadrian said.

She goaded the horse to run faster. Claudius' mount galloped parallel, and if Calista had wished it, she could have reached out to touch him. That is, if she desired to lose her seat and tumble to the ground. Another reverberating blast of the thunder followed in close succession by a slash of lightning. She shivered in the freezing storm. The sound of their hunters had faded, replaced by the sound of raindrops falling like stones. Their sweet smell mingled with the scent of the ocean, the sand. The horses dashed on, heedless of pursuers, dipping and slipping in the wet earth.

"We have lost them!" Calista crowed with delight. She ducked below the stand of trees, the trembling leaves dropping rain onto her soaked skin. She thought of Avaritus, and the wound in his stomach, and she hoped it would be his end.

Craning his neck to peer past her through the dark and the sheets of rain, Hadrian responded, "Not for long, I do not think."

At his words, a horn brayed, and suddenly, a half-formed ring of the mercenaries' horses began to secure the noose around them.

"They cannot see us yet," Calista said confidently but twitches of fear squirmed down her back.

"No, not yet," agreed Claudius.

As if purposefully proving Claudius a liar, a group of horseman emerged from the hill, charging down towards them. Very evidently, they had been spotted.

"Calista, I—" He glanced at Hadrian's arm around Calista. Tightening his mouth, he turned the horse around, galloping deep into the woods. The pounding of the rain, the squelching of his horse's hooves overcame Calista.

"What are you doing?" she screamed, bewildered, horrified. She wiped the rain from her eyes and brow. "What are you doing?"

Even Hadrian called, his dark hair wetly pressed to his skull, "Come back, man! What idiocy is this?"

Claudius ignored them as he rode, allowing himself one last telltale look at Calista. She started towards him, angry questions bubbling to her lips when Claudius burst out from the woods and headed towards the galloping line of Avaritus' men. Through the thick haze of rain and dark, they caught sight of him. He veered off in the direction opposite of Calista. The sound of his horse was muffled by the patter of falling rain.

With a final look at Claudius, tears falling into her gasping mouth, she urged the horse to gallop faster. "He could have made it! He could have! Why? We should go back, Hadrian." But even as she said it, she knew it was impossible. His deed had gained them much-needed minutes and to go back would render his sacrifice worthless, something they could ill afford, something he would most certainly have not wanted.

They galloped through the woods. The rhythm of the horse's thumping steps ran in time with her heart. She closed her eyes as branches and twigs whipped in her face, leaving lattice-like scratches across her cheeks and chin. Then, she discerned through the dark and silver pellets of rain her mother, Pyp, and another figure sitting upon a horse. She squinted and her heart leapt as she recognized the other chid—it was Maro. As soon as they were spotted, her mother urged the horse to a run. Her stola whipped in the furious wind. Wiping the raindrops and tears from her face, Calista pressed the horse onward, until she finally caught up to her mother.

"Where's Claudius?" asked Pyp breathlessly as Calista urged the horse to slough through the mud alongside them.

"Back," Calista gasped, unsure of what had just happened, of how to share the occurrences with her family. Rain and tears filled her mouth and her throat felt heavy with grief. Momentarily, she buried her face into the horse's mane, attempting to sort out the events of the past few minutes, trying to hide her tears from her family.

"What?" asked Olympia, her black eyes revealing a depth of puzzlement, of worry for the boy who looked so much like her Calista and had risked so much for them.

"He's not coming back." Calista lifted her head from the horse's warm neck and forced the words from her mouth, feeling as if keeping them back might have altered the course of events, might have kept him with her, if only for a few more moments.

She had driven him to his rash decision she was sure; she who was incapable of returning his love had forced him to end his life this way, to save her, someone who did not deserve the nobility of his gesture. Not just me, she reminded herself forcefully. Pyp, Mother, even Hadrian with whom he was so often combative. He ended his life not save those he loved but those I loved. Another sob racked Calista.

"What?" Pyp repeated, bewildered. He could not comprehend that someone would toss away his life so lightly. He did not understand that each question he asked negated Claudius' sacrifice all the more by wasting time. He did not even realize, despite all that had happened to him: the loss of his father, home, that he would never see Claudius again.

"He's not coming back!" Calista shrieked, wishing that they could leave the subject behind, desiring that they leave Portus Tarrus behind. She herself had not absorbed the matter and now having to explain it to those she loved most in excruciating detail was altogether too much to bear. "Mother, we will follow your plan!" She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and tightened her thighs around the horse and he skipped forward a step.

"Why?" persisted Pyp, still not understanding. Olympia placed a silencing arm on Pyp's shoulder but he stared at Calista, determined to receive an answer. Maro watched impatiently.

"So that we could escape!" Hadrian finally exclaimed. "We must ride! We must ride!"

She took the mare's reins and steered her east. The horses stumbled through the mud, leaving Portus Tarrus behind but before the ocean disappeared completely from view, Calista allowed herself one last, lingering look at the churning black sea, veiled by swathes of rain. Bolts of lightning cast it into ghostly relief and thunder momentarily drowned the crash of the waves obliterating the beach.

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again she thought she heard her father's soft voice: Go.

EPILOGUE

The breeze fluttered above the ocean, sighing indolently now that the storm had passed: Rome, it breathed, thinking that it had heard the word somewhere. This wind was not as salty and clean as the one at Portus Tarrus—it was far too near the city for that and it smelled faintly sour.

Below, a girl was riding, her golden hair waving like a pennant under the newly-clean sun, the sort of sun that emerges after a storm. The girl, woman—she had experienced too much to be a girl anymore—was accompanied by a group of companions, who all wore expressions as grief-struck as hers. Pressing her horse forth, she squeezed the hands of the older woman and the two young boys. They passed her brief glimmers of smiles which faded again under the shadow of some morose thought.

But, the breeze urged them with a whisk through the woman's hair, there is always hope. Whatever you have undergone, as long as there is breath in your body, there is hope, too.

The woman, perhaps hearing this, turned her sad, blue eyes upon the dark-haired man riding behind her, and shared a sad, slow smile with him. One full of memories, sorrow, and yes, hope.

