Dying for Rome: Lucretia's Tale: Short Tales of Ancient Rome, #1

By Elisabeth Storrs

Dying for Rome: Lucretia’s Tale retells the historic story of the tragic girl whose death inspired the men of Rome to rise up against a tyrant king and establish the Roman Republic. Was she a victim or a champion? A pawn in political schemes or the catalyst for rebellion? In this vivid short story, Lucretia’s character is explored to reveal a tender portrait of a young girl misused by men who transforms into a woman with a passion for justice.

Dying for Rome: Lucretia’s Tale opens Short Tales of Ancient Rome, a new Elisabeth Storrs’ short story collection investigating the legends and history of Rome from a fresh perspective. Those who have read Storrs’ three novels, The Wedding Shroud, The Golden Dice and Call to Juno in the Tales of Ancient Rome saga can once again delve into the world of early Rome, while those unfamiliar with her work will enjoy discovering her compelling portrayal of the lives of women of the ancient past.

The first book in the Tales of Ancient Rome series, The Wedding Shroud, was judged runner-up in the 2012 international Sharp Writ Book Awards for general fiction. The Golden Dice was named as one of the top memorable reads of 2013 by Sarah Johnson, the reviews editor for Historical Novels Review. The third volume, Call to Juno, was endorsed by Kate Quinn and Helen Hollick, and was selected as Editor's Choice in the Historical Novels Review.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cornelian Press
• Release date: Mar 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9780987340740

Book preview

A Brief Word Before You Begin . . .

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For those of you who enjoyed discovering the world of the Etruscans in my Tales of Ancient Rome series, this short retelling of the famous foundation story of the Roman Republic is set in 510 BCE, one hundred years before the hostilities between Rome and Veii described in The Wedding Shroud, The Golden Dice and Call to Juno.

There were three Etruscan kings who ruled over the Romans, not through conquest, but through political maneuvering at a time when aristocrats migrating from different city states managed to gain supreme office in Rome. The Romans also elected two kings from the neighboring Sabine tribe in a similar fashion. Nevertheless, a perpetual tug of war for possession of Etruscan, Sabine and Roman territories between these three peoples continued to play out for centuries.

And so begins Lucretia’s tale . . .

LUCRETIA’S TALE

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I remember how drunk the master was. He and the prince of Rome. Sextus Tarquinius. Together with that idiot, Brutus, son and nephew of the king. All three burst through the outer door shoving aside the porter. Then they stumbled into the atrium, laughing. The stink of wine and the odor of horse sweat invaded the room, overpowering the aroma of fresh basil drying in bunches by the hearth fire.

They were wearing armor; their breastplates dirty, their tunics grubby, arms and legs thick with the dust of the road. In the half-light of a room lit by a few lamps and the fire, their shadows loomed, voices slurred and jarring, laden with curse words and jokes.

Startled by their sudden arrival, I dropped my spindle as I stood and curtsied. The wooden distaff clattered as it hit the tiled floor. I found my hand shaking as I reached to retrieve it, mindful I was tangling the newly spun yarn. I glanced across to young Manius. The skinny porter was clearly in awe of the soldiers, his mouth agape as he waited to collect the visitors’ weapons.

Prince Sextus stood no more than three paces from me. I had never seen him in such close proximity away from the splendor of the royal court. He was known for his cruelty. As was his father, King Tarquin the Proud. I stared at the long ringlets spiraling down his back as he removed his helmet. Despite his coiled locks, there was nothing girlish about him. He was heavy-set and muscled with a short-cropped black beard. His right bicep was marred by a jagged scar. There was no mistaking his heritage. The almond shaped eyes. The straight nose and brow. His thick-lipped Etruscan leer. Arm slung around Brutus’ shoulders, he scanned the room before settling on my mistress, raking her with his gaze.

Collatinus did not seem to notice how his guest was ogling his wife. He swayed slightly as he slipped his baldric over his head and handed it and the sword attached to Manius. His face was grimed above his beard. He also had an Etruscan profile for he was from Tarquin stock. But, lanky and lean, he seemed ungainly beside the self-assured Sextus.

Brutus was grinning, a trickle of purple running from the corner of his mouth down his stubbled chin. The neck of his tunic was sodden with wine. It made me wonder if he’d spilled more than he’d imbibed. He was clearly eager to have been included in the others’ exploits, giggling at his two cousins’ ribaldry. There were fewer traces of an Etruscan heritage in his features. He had his father’s Roman eyes, not the sly cat shape of his regal mother.

The sight of the soldiers in high spirits heralded news. The siege of Ardea in the south had lasted for months now. Yet another Latin town must have submitted to the yoke of Rome. I found it hard to welcome the thought. My people, the Sabines of Collatia, had also been subjugated by the Etruscan rulers. I was a slave because of them.

Lucretia rose from her stool. No frown. No sign of surprise that rowdy masculinity had interrupted the quiet industry of women. As always, her posture was poised, her manner formal, although her eyes had brightened at seeing her husband returned. She was careful not to brush against the warp weights as she stepped from behind her loom and moved to Collatinus’ side. She drew her palla shawl over her head in modesty as she stood beside him. Next to his bulk, she appeared tiny, her head only level with his chest. Husband, I was not expecting you, she said. Acknowledging her royal visitors with a bow, she added, Nor such honored guests. Her voice rose slightly. Is the siege ended? Is Rome victorious?

The master pulled off his helmet and felt cap. His short hair was plastered to his head with perspiration. He did not touch her. Never in public. No, wife. Ardea remains unconquered. We are here to settle a bet. He laughed, turning to his companions and extending his open palm towards them, voice thick with gloating. Pay up. I told you we would find Lucretia attending to her wifely duties. Night has fallen and yet she is still weaving with her maid, unlike your wives, whom we found tipsy at a banquet.

I gasped, causing the mistress to glare at me. Yet how could she retain composure? I doubt she was pleased to be the subject of a drunken wager even if it appeared she had passed some unknown test.

Sextus pushed Brutus aside, then slapped Collatinus’ palm with a laugh before seizing and gripping it tightly. Fairly won, cousin. I will have my manservant deliver your winnings on the morrow. He spoke over his shoulder to Brutus. And what say you, dullard?

Brutus grinned and nodded, his tall frame hunched as if in perpetual obeisance. I’ll pay, too. I’ll pay, too. Tomorrow.

The master laughed, disentangling his hand from the Etruscan’s and clapping him on the back. Then it was worth pushing our horses to ride through the dark. Ardea to Rome by dusk, and then here to Collatia before midnight. A lengthy but rewarding journey.

I wondered what the mistress would make of such foolishness. How had these men managed to keep their mounts given their state? And what kind of officers were they, riding off on a lark while their troops were left to hunker down outside an enemy town? A common soldier would be beaten or worse for doing the same.

My lady’s expression remained neutral, although her face seemed pale in the lamplight. I always found her Roman aloofness disconcerting, but I admired her now for keeping her temper with these boors. Especially her husband.

Her tone was cool. Come, my lords. You must be weary. Why not remove your breastplates and take your places in the dining room. I’ll arrange for refreshments.

Excellent, said Collatinus, ushering the soldiers into the adjoining chamber. I have a taste for olives and some salted fish—something to encourage a thirst. And tell the majordomo to choose some wine from the cellar. The best vintage. He has the keys.