She turned to go.
“Wait,” he said. He crossed to her and took her hand—a shocking liberty in her own house, but she didn’t pull away. “Volusia, if you ever have need of me...” As the words came out, he realized how stupid they sounded. What need could she have of him? She had a husband and an entire staff to see to anything she might require. “I’ll be at your service,” he finished lamely.
But she looked up at him with a serious gaze. “Thank you, Max.”
He dropped her hand, and she left the antechamber. As she disappeared, he closed his fist, trying to preserve the warmth of her hand in his. He would likely never feel her touch again, and these memories would soon be all he had left of her.
Chapter 8
Maxservedoutthelast day of his guard detail, and returned to normal duties. A month passed in which he saw nothing of Volusia. His days consisted of a rotation of cavalry drills, building maintenance, sharpening weapons, and patrolling the countryside. He tried to forget Volusia, to be grateful he could now visit Elephant whenever he pleased.
But thoughts of Volusia surfaced at the most inopportune times. He remembered the feel of her plastered to his back whenever he galloped Elephant, and the sight of a redcurrant bush made him think of the blissful afternoon they’d spent among the trees.
One morning, he sat in his bottom bunk attempting to shave with the aid of a blurry silver mirror. A hubbub of voices rose in the hallway outside, but Max didn’t pay enough attention to parse out the words, focusing instead on making sure he didn’t cut himself with the razor. No doubt his fellow legionaries were just gossiping about something inconsequential.
Hurried footsteps sounded, and Drusus threw open the door, poking his head into the room. “Have you heard? We’re to form up immediately.”
Max ran a hand over his chin. He was only half-done shaving. “What’s the matter? Are we under attack?”
Drusus shook his head. “People are saying…” He hesitated and came fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. “People are saying Governor Avitus is dead.”
Max dropped the razor, which clattered to the floor. “Juno’s cunt.” His mind immediately went to Volusia.What happened? Is she all right?
“I imagine Petronax wants to address everyone, to get the news out there and stop gossip from spreading. So get dressed quick.” Drusus left the room.
Max rushed to dry his half-shaven face and throw on a tunic. His mind raced. Could this be true? Governor Avitus had seemed in the best of health from the little Max had seen of him.
He tried to imagine Volusia swathed in the dark clothing of mourning, her hair left loose. Would she be distraught with grief, despite what she had shared with him about their marriage? Avitus was still the father of her child, after all.
Max hurried out of the barracks and followed the horde of soldiers assembling in measured ranks on the field before the city. He found his spot next to Drusus. At least this time he wasn’t late.
Once everyone had assembled, Petronax appeared before the crowd. As one, the legion saluted.
Petronax wore a charcoal black toga, more somber than his usual chainmail armor and scarlet cape, though gold bracelets and rings still glimmered on his arms and fingers. “I come before you with tragic news,” he said, his voice carrying across the crowd. Those at the back would have a hard time hearing, but the message would filter through the ranks. “Our esteemed governor Avitus was taken ill a few days ago, and succumbed to his illness last night.”
A murmur swept through the assembled legion.
Petronax kept talking. “No doubt he is in Elysium now, and we will honor his memory as he deserves. To turn to more mortal concerns, the Senate will be alerted of this tragic development, and they will appoint a replacement in due course. In the meantime, I will resume my role as acting governor.” A note of smugness broke the solemnity of his voice. He paused.
The legionaries stamped their feet in dutiful approval. Petronax nodded in acknowledgement, then made a gesture of dismissal. The legion saluted once more, then began to filter off the field.
“He didn’t mention Volusia,” Max muttered to Drusus.
“Why would he?” Drusus said. “The widow doesn’t concern us.”
“I was just wondering what might happen to her.”
“Well, she’ll return to Rome, I expect,” Drusus said. “Or wherever she came from. She has no reason to stay here now, does she?”
A pang of shock shot through Max, leaving devastation in its wake. Of course, it was that simple. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Volusia was going to leave Narbo, and he would never see her again.
Volusia sat at her dressing table, an open box of jewelry before her. She ran her fingers over the pieces. Each held a memory that stabbed deep into her chest. There was the carnelian ring Avitus had given her upon their wedding. The sapphire bracelet, a betrothal present. The pearl and ruby necklace for Lucius’s birth. He’d even given her a golden hairpiece when he’d been made governor of Narbo, as consolation for having to leave Rome.
The remains of her life with Avitus glimmered back at her from the silk-lined box.
She was still in shock at the suddenness with which it had happened. Not even a week ago they’d been eating dinner, herself and Avitus and Silvanus as usual, when Avitus had complained of a stomachache. Nothing odd in that, though Avitus usually boasted a robust digestion.
From there, it had only worsened. The stomachache had become a piercing pain that wouldn’t relent. He’d grown feverish and listless, and couldn’t seem to draw a full breath.
