The Roman. Caroline Storer

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      She had got the idea for the sculpture from a fresco she had seen on the wall of the Basilica, and had been itching to sculpt it ever since she had seen it a few days ago. She had memorised the drawing, but obviously not well enough. But then, she realised, perhaps she was being too hard on herself. She had never actually seen a real deer, so maybe she hadn’t done too bad a job after all!

      Turning away from the sculpture, she made her way down to the water’s edge and sat down on the damp sand removing her handmade straw hat and sandals before wriggling her toes in the cool water. She leaned her head back, letting the last of the afternoon sunshine wash over her. It would soon be time to leave, and she relished the small amount of freedom she had here.

      As she sat there, she was vaguely aware of the stillness of the afternoon air being broken by the sound of splashing water, and her head lolled forward, her eyes searching out the noise. Squinting, she made out a dark shape in the dark blue waters, and for a moment she thought it was a dolphin, but as she focused on the shape she realised that it wasn’t a dolphin but a swimmer, a very powerful swimmer she thought, as she watched him cleave his way through the water, his arms strong and measured as they cut through the waves.

      He was a very good. Maybe he was in training for some upcoming games? Perhaps the celebration of the birthday of the late Emperor Augustus which was next week she mused to herself. But her thoughts were cut short abruptly, and she tensed, drawing her knees up to her chest, when she realised that the swimmer had changed direction and was swimming straight towards her!

      Not sure what to do, she stood up and watched the approaching swimmer, every sense she possessed on alert. Then, making up her mind she turned abruptly and started to walk away.

      “Wait! Please. I won’t hurt you.”

      His words, spoken directly behind, sounded as if he was slightly out of breath and Justina stopped short. For a moment she hesitated, undecided what to do. How had he got to the beach so quickly? She thought in amazement. She turned around slowly, and when she saw him she swallowed the lump in her throat as she stared open mouthed at the young man who had called out to her, and who was now walking slowly towards her. The intensity of his eyes on hers was disconcerting, and she quickly looked away. But then, as if he held some sort of hold over her, she looked back up at him.

      He looked like a young Neptune, rising from the waves, as he came out of the water towards her. He was naked apart from his subligaculum. The leather loin cloth moulded his hips snugly, and Justina’s eyes looked away from there, quickly shifting to his muscular bronzed torso. His chest was hard and smooth, and she had the strange urge to stroke her hands over it to see if it was as strong and powerful as it looked.

      Her artist’s eye took in the perfect proportions of his body. His long muscular legs, narrow hips, his flat stomach, then up once more to his chest, and then finally, her wide eyed gaze settled on his broad shoulders. She had to acknowledge that he was a perfect specimen of manhood, and secretly her hands itched to sculpt him, to feel his muscles, to-

      “My name is Marsallas.”

      The words were spoken softly, and effectively acted as a splash of cold water to Justina’s wayward thoughts. Instantly, her eyes shot up, and met his twinkling blue ones. Realising that she had been caught staring at him, she blushed bright red when she saw the humour reflected in his gaze. Mortification surged through and she turned away from him.

       Oh no, how could she have been so blatant? What must he think of her?

      She turned slightly, and looked at him from under her lashes. She could see that he was standing there staring at her, waiting for her to say something. “Justina,” she finally said, aware of the huskiness of her voice. “My name is Justina.”

      Marsallas nodded slowly, and smiled at her, his perfect straight teeth a startling white against the bronze of his skin.

      “Hello, Justina. Will you sit with me?”

      She hesitated, aware of her hands twisting together nervously, “I…I…”

      He must had sensed her hesitation, because he said quietly, “You are a very good sculptress by the way,” he said nodding at the sand sculpture next to her. “Please. Stay for a little while,” he begged.

      Justina glanced up at him, chewing her bottom lip in indecision. She really should leave. The day was growing late, and her father would expect her back soon. But seeing the earnest expression in his deep blue eyes she made up her mind to stay. So she nodded slightly, and noted in surprise that his shoulders slumped, as a look of relief passed over his face when she accepted his request.

      “How old are you?” Marsallas asked, once she had sat back down on the sand, and he had joined her.

      Justina was slightly taken aback by the question, “Fifteen,” she answered slowly, and when she saw him frown, she added, “But I’ll be sixteen next month.”

      “So young,” Marsallas said, almost to himself.

      “And you? How old are you?” She murmured, noticing the husky edge to her voice once more.

      “Eighteen.”

      “So old!” She said, her tone gently teasing.

      Marsallas smiled at her, and grunted softly before he raised a mocking eyebrow at her in recognition of her answer. Justina couldn’t help but smile back, and at that moment they both relaxed, as an understanding flowed between them. For the next hour they talked, tentatively at first, as strangers do when they first get to know each other, but after a while they talked easily, as if they had known each other for years, each of them sharing a little of themselves.

      “My father is Aulus Justus Phillipus, he is the town’s baker. Do you know him?”

      Marsallas shook his head as a sudden bleakness washed over his face. “No I don’t. Unfortunately, I don’t get out much.”

      Justina looked up at him, as she noted the dark undertone in his voice when he said the last sentence.

      “Oh. I…I see.”

      Marsallas smiled at her, his voice gentle, “I don’t think you do, Justina. But it is of no consequence.”

      Not sure of what to say in response to that, she decided to change the subject. “Do you live nearby?”

      “Umm. Over there,” he said gesturing to his right, to where the large marble villas stretched along the shoreline of Herculaneum. Justina’s eyes widened in surprise, she knew that the villas along the beach were owned by the patricians, the rich and elite of Herculaneum. Just who was Marsallas, and why was he interested in her? Then before she could stop herself she blurted out, “Are you a slave?”

      Marsallas threw back his head and laughed for what seemed the longest time. Justina wondered why he found what she’d asked so amusing, and when he finally stopped, and looked over to where she sat, he must have noticed the small frown of annoyance on her face, because he took pity on her and finally answered her. “No I am not a slave, Justina. Although I might as well be one.”

      Justina opened her mouth to ask why, but never had the chance to voice her question as Marsallas leaned forward and placed a finger on her lips. “No more questions, Justina. Please.”

      Seeing СКАЧАТЬ