The Roman’s Revenge. Caroline Storer

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       CHAPTER 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      The days had seemed endless as he’d tended to her, wiping away the fever which had consumed her, and when this morning, she had awoken and asked him his name he had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was a turning point he hoped, one which would СКАЧАТЬ