Out of Galilee

By Rita Toews

As a Roman, Marco's first allegiance was to Rome, and Rome imposed her will through the force of the sword. But he was a man first, and as a man, where did his allegiance truly belong? To Rome? To honour? To truth?

As High Priest, Caiaphas' authority was through the temple, and the power of the temple and the power of the Jewish nation were one and the same. Now a Nazarene was leading the people away from the traditional teachings of the Torah. What was one trouble-maker's life when the Jewish nation as a whole was at stake?

As Procurator of Judea, Pilate's duty was to maintain peace. Political unrest would result in not only lost Roman lives but lost taxes as well. But what about integrity? His integrity seemed locked in a bitter battle with his self-interest.
As Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea, Herod deserved respect from his wife and his people, however he received little from either. Now the Nazarene's followers claimed he was the long-awaited Messiah and Herod's subjects were turning to the false prophet in droves. Rome needed to deal with the problem.

When the Nazarene's body disappears from the tomb the only explanation is that his followers removed it to promote the false claim that he was resurrected and therefore the son of God. If his followers were discredited, the teachings of the prophet would fade away. No alternative was acceptable.

What was needed to return peace to the region, and the minds of so many was a simple confession from a soldier. The charge was not an onerous one and the punishment could be kept to a minimum, yet this man chose to stand for the truth as he saw it. But did Marco, like the Nazarene, have the courage to give up his life to defend his integrity?

The trial is a farce, and those participating in it an equal corruption. The proceedings have nothing to do with justice and everything to do with serving the perceived needs of the individuals pushing for conviction. The priesthood fear their loss of control over the Jewish religion and the tetrarch fears diminished control over the people. And Pilate? He fears not only for his own welfare but for that of Procula, his wife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rita Toews
• Release date: Oct 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9780973622454

Book preview

Although a work of fiction, Out of Galilee is not based on speculation.

Historical evidence indicates that Lucius Aelius Sejanus, chief administrator of the Roman Empire for emperor Tiberius, probably appointed Pontius Pilate governor of Judea just before, or shortly after, Emperor Tiberius retired to the island of Capri in 26 AD. Sejanus was known to be anti-Semitic, and Pilate's treatment of the Jews would fall in line with Sejanus' policy.

When Sejanus' plot to overthrow Tiberius was uncovered in 31 CE, Sejanus was executed and over the next three to four years Sejanus' family and co-conspirators were hunted down and executed. Since Pilate owed his appointment to Sejanus, Pilate would have undoubtedly been under suspicion.

Prior to the fall of Sejanus, Pilate had a record of tormenting the Jews--possibly at the prompting of Sejanus. By the time of the trial of Christ in 36 A.D., however, it was evident that Pilate was reluctant to pass judgement on the prisoner, a move that would be in line with the Emperor's edict of 32 CE. Only after Pilate was reminded that he was not a friend of Caesar's (an implied threat that he could be linked to Sejanus) did he pass judgement.

The fact that Pontius Pilate, an insignificant member of the second class of Rome, was even elevated to the office of procurator of Judea was unusual. Also unusual, and even contrary to Roman custom was the fact that Pilate's wife, Claudia Procula was even in Judea. It was uncommon for a woman of the noble Claudian house, one of the oldest and most famous clans of Rome, to be married to the governor of a backwater province. It was even more unusual that she would follow him to a remote corner of the Empire, and then express a close interest in the fate of the local prophet, especially someone who was officially regarded as a troublemaker.

Although most of the individuals mentioned in this novel have a place in history, as the author I have taken great liberty with the dates and circumstances mentioned. This novel is purely a work of fiction.

The Author

Winnipeg, 2021

SECTION ONE

Anno 767 Ab Urbe Condita

August, 14 A.D.

Chapter I

At Nola

Seven paces forward, seven paces back. The confines of the villa's small courtyard added to Tiberius' frustrations. His sleeveless tunic clung to his body in a damp mass that did little to lighten his mood. Nola was near enough to the sea that a breeze should be blowing from the water to cool the night, but the air, the land, and the sea were quiet, hushed as if creation were holding its breath in anticipation. Girding itself for a coming tumultuous event.

And well it should. Emperor Augustus, the Guardian of the Imperium, the Father of the Nation, had left his earthly domain to take his place among the immortal gods. The thought caused a quiver behind Tiberius' ribs. Finally, in his fifty-sixth year, he would be ruler of Rome.

Where is that woman? His mother, Livia, had asked--no, demanded--that he meet her here an hour after cena. The evening meal was over long ago. The gods curse her and her scheming!

Already rumours were spreading that Livia had hastened the death of Augustus to ensure her son became head of the empire. It didn’t help matters that Tiberius was known to have hated Augustus, and Augustus bore no love for him. It was common knowledge that Augustus had anointed him as successor only after the more favoured heirs had died. A tray with cooled wine, a jug of water, and two cups sat atop a nearby table. Tiberius crossed the space with a few long strides, splashed wine and then water into one of the drinking vessels and raised a toast to the heavens. "Vade in pace. Go in peace. To a swift passage, Augustus."

The wine washed some of the bitterness from his throat.

It would be hard to follow in the footsteps of a leader who had ruled the empire so efficiently. If only Augustus had managed his daughter, Julia, as well as he had the business of the Empire.

Tiberius' thoughts turned to Julia, his errant wife, and his mood darkened even further. Yes, he had hated Augustus. And that hate extended even into death. The man had forced him to divorce Vipsania, a woman he adored, to marry Julia. It drove him to the point of insanity to know an empty-headed senator had then claimed the woman he loved. He gripped the neck of the fragile cup harder in his large hand but stopped just short of crushing it. He suspected his mother's manipulative hand in the forced divorce and marriage.

And he had given up his beautiful wife for a harlot. Julia's conduct since their wedding day had humiliated him. Their hatred for each other was mutual, and her weapon of choice in the war between them was her sex. A steady stream of men passed through her bedchamber and rumours were rampant that she held orgies in their country home. She had even made a mockery of him in the Senate. The whole of Rome took delight in his embarrassment.

When Julia had finally pushed him beyond disgust, and he felt he must either kill her or descend into madness, he had preserved his sanity by abandoning Rome for the distant island of Rhodes. His mother protested, arguing that the move could weaken his position with the Emperor.

Reconsider, Tiberius, she begged. If you go through with this self-imposed exile Augustus may pass you by and favour one of Julia's sons as his successor.

At this point, Mother, I don't care. If I leave Rome, Augustus will be forced to deal with her. He’s demanding the Senate pass reforms for public morals while his own daughter’s behaviour goes against everything he's trying to achieve. If I bring it to his attention yet again he’ll continue to turn a deaf ear. I’ve had enough. Let someone else do it. Then maybe he will act.

It gave Tiberius no small pleasure to know he had been proven right. In the end, Julia's behaviour became so scandalous even Augustus could no longer overlook her antics. He had banished her for life to the barren island of Pandataria with only her mother for company.

Tiberius ceased his pacing as he struggled to keep control. Deep breaths calmed his ragged breathing. Once Augustus' will is read and the Senate confirms my succession, the first thing I will do is cut off Julia's allowance. Yes. Let her live off her mother's income.

The churring of a nightjar cut the heavy air, then fell silent.

Caesar, he would finally be called Caesar. What should he say when he stood on the Senate floor? Perhaps he should display hesitancy in accepting the title? Augustus had done that and they had given him even more power.

Although still weary from his recent travels, his mind raced over the future that now lay before him, beginning with the problem his mother insisted they discuss. But first, another drink. He returned to the table and poured a cup of the ruby liquid. This time his hand bypassed the water jug. He had been a moderate drinker in the past, moderate in everything in fact, but only because he felt the watchful eyes of his stepfather peering over his shoulder. Now, finally, he could relax. He drank the unwatered wine and savoured the full-bodied taste of it, then withdrew the scroll from his belt.

While on route to Illyricum he had received the dispatch from his mother telling him Augustus had fallen ill and lay dying. When the courier overtook him on the road he had read it hastily, just enough to get the essence of the message. Augustus is ill... return immediately... imperative that your presence...

Now it was time to give the communication a more thorough reading. He unrolled the parchment and settled on the edge of the fountain where the air was cooler.

Tiberius Claudius Nero Imperator... the scroll began. As he whispered the words they fell sweet on his ears.

My dear son, the dispatch continued. I write in haste, that the message may reach you before you have travelled many leagues. It grieves me to say that my beloved husband, and your father, the Imperator Augustus is ill. He is most certainly on his deathbed and is asking for you that he might formally appoint you his heir and successor. You must return immediately to Nola...

He had returned to Nola, but too late. Livia had met him at the entrance to the villa.

He's gone. Word has been sent to Rome, but all is well. There were witnesses to his statement that you are his successor. He also has a will that is in the hands of the vestal virgins. She glanced about quickly and seeing no one near continued. There is one small problem. Meet me in the garden tonight after the evening meal. We must discuss it.

A dry laugh escaped his lips. For his mother, a problem was never a permanent obstacle; it was merely a bump on the road to her ultimate goal. 'Exitus acta probat - the outcome justifies the deed,' she often said.

I know your ambition, my dear mother, and I know you're possessed of an unscrupulous nature. You'll use whatever means you can to ensure I reach the goals you've set for me.

Years earlier, the deaths of two of Julia's young sons by her former husband had made the people of Rome suspicious. Those familiar with Livia's lust for power on behalf of her son were especially cynical. After all, the existence of Julia's children was very inconvenient for Tiberius' advancement. But there was no proof of foul play and Augustus’ trust in Livia remained undiminished.

Trust. The word stuck in Tiberius' mind. Whom did he trust? Not many people and least of all his mother. The woman was quite possibly mad.

He heard her step on the paving stones and rose to meet her.

Ah, there you are Tiberius. Have you had a chance to rest? She kissed his cheek but it was for form only, there was no warmth to the caress.

No, not yet. And I'm tired. You said there was a matter of importance you wanted to discuss. He noted she was dressed for mourning. With her tattered dress and her thin grey hair left uncombed and falling about her shoulders, she presented the picture of a grieving widow.

Livia poured a generous measure of wine for each of them and led him to the fountain where the sound of the water would distort their conversation should ears be listening. The matter was clearly a sensitive one. Another intrigue no doubt. The realization did not surprise him. A breath of cooler air made a swift passage through the courtyard then was gone. A temporary and fleeting reprieve from the heat.

It's a small problem really, she waved a dismissive hand. One that, if handled swiftly, will remove a greater danger down the road. A week ago I would have handled it myself, but since you now hold the reins of power I felt it important that you know about it.

She rearranged her skirt, and then lifted her hair from the nape of her neck. The gesture exposed the skin on the inner part of her arm. It hung loose, a slab of white, dimpled flesh. She has become an old woman, Tiberius thought, and old women became desperate when they felt power slipping from their hands.

Livia brushed a fine line of perspiration from her upper lip and continued. A certain man by the name of Clemens has surfaced in Ostia. By all accounts, he's a former slave, yet he's claiming to be Postumus Agrippa.

The shock of her news stilled Tiberius’s breath. Julia's son by her marriage to Agrippa -- alive? Word from the island of Planasia, where Postumus had been banished, said he had died there. From the look on her face, Tiberius judged Livia was certain that Postumus was dead - possibly as a result of her own actions. His mother’s paid spies and assassins darkened every corner of the empire.

As Livia continued, a note of petulance crept into her tone. Of course this man's claim is ludicrous, but the rabble in the harbour listens to him. Were he truly Julia's son, he would have a legal claim to your throne. That could make things … shall we say … difficult. Steps must be taken to silence the impostor. She raised her cup and smiled at him over the rim as she drank.

For the first time, Tiberius wondered if the question of his succession had even been discussed on Augustus' deathbed. If it was, why was his mother so eager to eliminate a potential threat?

As Livia lowered her cup, he read the smile for what it was. Her eagerness to eliminate the potential contender to the throne was a warning. She had no intention of withdrawing from the position of power she enjoyed under Augustus.

He smiled back - a forced effort. My scheming mother! Very well, I will continue to play the role of a dutiful son. But only until there is no longer a need to. Do you know there is no love for you in my heart? No love and no trust. Your ambitions center solely on yourself.

To be able to trust someone he would have to know that person would give up his life for him. But where would he find such a fool? What could a man gain by offering his life for that of another? There were no rewards in death. Nothing lay beyond death but darkness. Death was the end of everything -- unless of course, you were a god to whom death did not come.

Chapter II

City of Ostia

The thug shot out an enormous arm to halt Marco's passage, then leaned closer to narrow the gap between them. Everyone with business on the docks has need of protection. You would be wise to reconsider if you wish to breathe another day.

Despite the quiet delivery, Marco felt a tightening in his stomach. I tell you again, I have no need of your services. Let me pass. The assailant stood his ground and Marco cursed silently. If he had been more vigilant he would have altered his path to avoid the idler near the slave warehouse.

As master of the grain shipments for the house of Claudius, Marco had been summoned to the isolated warehouse to complete the purchase of eight new slaves to work with cargo transfers. The memory of the stench of unwashed bodies and the fathomless vacant stares of the wretched men shackled there had managed to distract him. It was a dangerous, possibly even fatal error to let your guard down in this quiet area of the docks.

He met the challenger's eyes with the strength of his own and took a step forward. He noted a slight wavering in the man's confidence. Move aside or I'll summon the guard, Marco stated with force.

As the man lowered his arm, Marco noticed three fingers of his hand were missing. A retired gladiator. Maimed fighters who could no longer compete were released from service and often frequented the port area, offering protection, intimidation or even assassination. Being hired by a Senator as a bodyguard was the best this man could hope for. Marco closed his ears to the curses and continued toward the more populated area of the waterfront.

Overhead gulls mewled and cried, their strident voices blending with the noise of the busy harbour of Ostia, Rome's outlet to the sea. Here, physicians who vowed they knew the cures for all sicknesses plied their trade. Thieves, murderers, and prostitutes mingled with merchants, sailors and vendors. Rome was the centre of the world, so all manner of men gathered at Ostia either for their journey into the city or on their departure to seek their fortunes.

Marco worked his way through the thick crowds around the food vendors' booths, allowing the energy of his surroundings to drive away his gloomy thoughts. Strange languages from far-away places fell like music on his ears. His steps slowed. Some day, if Fortuna smiled on him, he would visit those lands.

The pungent smells of the market gave way to the sharp, salt-laden air of the sea and then, as he continued on, the stench of shoreline at low tide.

Although past its peak the sun remained hot and its heat lay as heavy as a mantle on his shoulders. By this hour, and if all had gone well in his absence, the grain barges should have departed with their cargo. He set his footsteps toward the quay; it was time to concentrate on his duties.

Shielding his vision from the sun's harsh glare, Marco focussed his attention on the river mouth that spilled into the harbour. Several flat-bottomed barges formed a ragged line to enter the shallow waters of the Tiber, the watery causeway that led to Rome ten leagues away. Each craft bore the mark of the house of Claudius on its hull and rode low in the water, a sign they were heavily laden. A measure of tension left his body. The loading had gone well despite the shortage of labour. By the time the next grain shipment arrived from Egypt the newly purchased slaves would be put to good use.

Thought of the new slaves, purchased from a trader from the island of Delos, returned. What whim of the gods decreed that he, the son of a slave, should be given his freedom at an early age while others were bound to servitude until released by death? In recognition of his father's faithful service their master, Claudius Nero had freed the entire family when Marco was in his fourth year. After his father's death, Marco had been allowed to follow in his footsteps as administrator of the grain shipments.

Sixteen sacrifices to his genius natalis had been made to celebrate his birth date since his manumission, twenty sacrifices in total since the time of his birth. Fortuna continued to smile on him.

Satisfied that the grain shipment was safely on its way, Marco turned his back on the sea and returned to the market. The aroma of fried chickpea balls stirred the juices of his stomach. Following the scent, he found a food stall where he purchased a piece of flatbread stuffed with three of the fragrant morsels. For the price of an extra coin, the vendor added slivers of cucumber and onions. Savoury meal in hand, Marco set out on the dusty road that led home, to the Claudius family's estate.

Spurred by impulse, several hundred yards before the estate gate Marco stepped off the road to follow a path that wound around the estate to a small cove. The trail was well worn, used by man and beast alike to traverse the property. The cove was his favourite destination when he needed time alone to work through a problem or unsettling situation. Now that labour for the grain shipments had been secured, the recent death of the estate's master moved to the forefront of Marco's mind.

Soon after the old master's funeral his nephew and heir, Tiberius, had arrived from Rome. His decisions concerning the estate were swift and made without consultation with the estate's residents. He had no interest in the Ostia holdings and had appointed the estate's steward for the day-to-day running of the property.

Marco's position as administrator of the grain shipments was confirmed, but the new master's hasty decision to transfer all slaves on the estate that required constant supervision to his holdings in Rome threw the Ostia estate into an acute labour shortage.

Today's purchase of new slaves was a timely acquisition. For weeks now Marco had been forced to use hired help to shovel grain from the holds of the ships to the estate barges. It was hot, suffocating work, and those who signed on for the task demanded top wages.

Thoughts of Tiberius, the adopted son of Emperor Augustus, brought back memories of the man's curious rise to power. It was a scandal that shook the very roots of the Roman aristocracy, a group well accustomed to unfaithfulness and divorce in their ranks.

I don't care if she is the wife of the Emperor. Livia had those children murdered! His mother's indignation had cut through each word. She threw herself at Augustus to advance her own fortunes, and those of her precious son, Tiberius. Her sole purpose in life is to ensure Tiberius rules the empire one day. And don’t think she’ll stop at the murder of Julia’s sons!

Yes, it was conceivable that one day Tiberius would rule far more than this estate. He could rule the Roman Empire.

With his back against a warm rock, Marco marked the sun's descent. The peacefulness of the little cove stilled some of the restlessness churning within him. As a child, Marco often stood at his father's side when he met with shipmasters to negotiate the purchase of grain. The stories of the men who plied their trade upon the sea enthralled him. He suspected they were exaggerations, but even so, they called him to journey east in search of the truth.

Marco sighed and threw a pebble into the water. He wouldn't be leaving on that journey anytime soon. After their father's death, Marco's brother had entered the Roman Legion leaving Marco the sole care for their mother. But his mother’s days were predetermined and in time her life here would end. Then he would be free to follow his dreams.

He rose and brushed the sand from his tunic. Darkness came swiftly at this time of the year. It was time to return home.

Twilight had settled on the compound. No chickens scratched around the freedmen's quarters, and the goat that scavenged for table scraps from the garden mound had found somewhere to bed down. As he approached the entrance to his quarters he became aware of shouts from the direction of the main gate, then the whinny of a horse. Visitors to the estate were rare; it could only mean trouble.

Marco sprinted across the dirt compound and rounded the end of the servant quarters then drew up short at the sight of a small crowd gathered at the main entrance of the estate. Light flared, and a torch shone on a group of mounted soldiers, their horses lathered from hard riding. One man's ornate helmet and enormous mount set him apart from the rest. Gilded armour and a red cape marked him as a member of the Praetorian Guards. Marco gaped in awe, then elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. Never before had he set eyes on a member of the elite guards who were the power behind the throne. Even the Emperor courted their favour. What business did they have here at this remote Claudian estate?

The leader roared with a voice accustomed to being obeyed. Why are you idling here? Have you not heard my message? Go! Start the preparations for the funeral. An estate this size will require the sacrifice of at least an ox. Notify your master immediately.

Marco had missed an important announcement. One that rendered those gathered at the gate dumb. Swallowing his unease he addressed the Praetorian. Whose funeral do you speak of?

Surprise registered on the soldier's face. His eyes glittered in the torchlight as he fixed them on Marco. With a sneer, he demanded of the gathered crowd: Who is this young cock that dares to address the Praetorian Guard?

Before anybody could answer in his stead, Marco replied, A freedman, and foreman to Mistress Claudia Procula. If there are instructions to be given to the house of Claudius, let me hear them.

The veteran nodded in recognition of both the name of the patrician household and the authority in Marco's tone. When he replied there was no sarcasm in his voice.

I bring unhappy news from Nola where we were in attendance upon Emperor Augustus. You must start the necessary preparation for a funeral sacrifice. The First Prince, the father of the Empire, Julius Augustus Imperator departed from this world to take his rightful place among the immortal gods. We have been ordered to Rome with instructions to notify all towns and communities along the way. Since you now know who died, go and give the news to your household.

With a yank on his horse's bridle, the Praetorian turned the mount and led the group out the gate. The thunder of hooves marked their passage as they disappeared into the night.

A frozen silence followed the announcement. Marco felt himself descend into that numbing stillness where sound and sight cease to exist. The stillness slowly gave way to fear. Thick fear that stole the breath from his lungs.

Chapter III

Dust stirred by the departing Praetorians hung in the air as Marco turned to the group gathered at the gate. Their faces mirrored his fear. Among the crowd, he was able to pick out the pale features of his mother beside his childhood friend, Chlora.

Emperor Augustus was the symbol of stability and security for all on the estate. For the slaves, his laws meant protection from senseless torture. For others, his rule meant the assurance of daily bread. Augustus symbolized the Empire itself, and now Augustus was dead.

Marco realized all eyes were on him. He was the one who had addressed the messenger. He was the one given the final charge to relay the message to his mistress. He forced his limbs to move and the crowd gave way.

What did he know of a state funeral? Nothing. But the Praetorian had mentioned the need to sacrifice an ox. Without further hesitation, he shouted orders. The sound of his voice quelled his uncertainty.

Gabillus, run to the harbour and spread the news. He singled out another slave from the group. Find Heraclitos. Tell him what's happened and ask which butcher will sell us the best ox. Is he going to look after that, or does he want someone to go and buy it? If every patrician house on the hill wanted a prime beast for the sacrifice, the prices were sure to double overnight.

His mother, with Chlora and the old slave woman Euribide close at her side, pushed her way through the thinning crowd.

Could it be true? Flavilia gasped when she reached him. First Claudius Nero - and now the Emperor dead? Death surrounds us. She wrung her hands. If only Rectus was here, he could tell us what to do.

Resentment seared its way through Marco. His mother's thoughts were for the missing son, not the one who remained to fulfill his duty. Rectus had not communicated with the family since leaving for service in the Legion two years earlier. Although Marco knew that members of the units were encouraged to forget their blood family and adopt their comrades as their new family, it galled him that his brother had never contacted them.

Euribide moved from Flavilia's side and turned to face the rising moon that was partially obscured by ragged clouds. Arms flung wide she spoke in a hushed tone, The Light in the West is fading, the Light in the East is rising. Death comes to the rising light, then it shall shine as never before.

At the sound of her words, the small hairs on the back of Marco's neck stiffened. It was her manner more than the words that struck him. Gone was the hunched-back old woman who shuffled between the slave quarters and the vegetable garden. In her place was a vigorous woman in her prime, firm of back and limb, standing tall with outstretched arms.

The cloud dissolved, revealing the newly risen moon in stark clarity. As it cleared, the Euribide of old was back. A chill worked its way down Marco's spine and curled around his scrotum. It was whispered that Euribide could see into the future.

His mother plucked at his sleeve but Marco cut her off before she could speak. You had best go back to our quarters. I must speak with mistress Procula, so it will be a while before I return. He strode off without waiting for a reply.

Midway along the gravelled path to the house, he paused at the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. A soft voice called his name; it was Chlora. His initial reaction was irritation. He needed time alone to collect his thoughts. Then, as her face became more distinct in the light of the moon, warm comfort filled him at the thought of her presence.

Marco, wait. I'm also going to the house. May I walk with you?

She must have just come from her bath; the scent of lavender hung about her. In the half-light, her hair framed her face like a dark veil, but he knew the sun could pick out the copper strands woven throughout the soft mass. As she joined him her ready smile was absent, replaced by a pinched look of anxiety. She had sought him out for reassurance, but he had none to give.

The path led uphill, and although she was struggling to keep up by the time they reached the ancient olive tree, she didn't complain. He shortened his stride when the path branched into paved walkways bordered by boxwood hedges. One led to a small meadow and another to a grove of dwarf plane trees. It was the third that Marco chose; it bisected a formal garden of topiary and flowerbeds before continuing to the villa.

Chlora grasped his hand as he started up the stairs to the side entrance. As tense as he was he still felt a shock at her touch. Everything will change now, won't it? It was more a statement of fact than a question.

Marco remained silent. In all likelihood Tiberius would become Emperor and the estate would suffer for it. At the very least it would feel his absence. It might even be sold, or broken up. If so...

He stopped his chaotic thoughts from travelling in that direction.

Let me talk with the mistress. He gently pulled his hand from her grip. Then I'll meet you on the garden terrace.

She nodded.

As he turned to leave sadness washed over him. The carefree companionship of their childhood years was gone, replaced by an acute awareness of each other's presence. An added pressure came from his mother's suggestions that Chlora would make an excellent wife.

Twenty minutes later he left the villa.

Procula's initial reaction to the news had been shock, and then stillness settled over her. Dread? Resignation? It was impossible to tell. She had turned her back to him and whispered thank you by way of dismissal.

He found Chlora huddled on a small bench on the terrace. The warmth of the afternoon sun had leached from the paving stones and been replaced by a chill that crept through the leather of his sandals. Beside him, Chlora shivered. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

What's going to happen to us now, Marco?

We don't know anything will change. Let's not invite the mischief of the gods by giving them ideas.

Things will change. Already I feel a difference in the air. Euribide spoke of death...

As though summoned by her troubled