

Tullio's men were now clustered in dispirited groups when he returned. Three or four played a quiet game of latrunculi with improvised pieces, but most simply sat, staring off into space, doing nothing, not even playing knucklebones.
Had one of the men accosted Helena's maid? Tullio wondered, recalling the conversation with Helena before Androceles and her aunt appeared.
Could one of them have broken the dictates of hospitality? He found it hard to believe. He knew his men---where they came from, who their sweethearts were and how many children they had. There were one or two other unpredictable like Quintus, perhaps, but they were Roman legionaries, fired in the same crucible. They knew what was expected of them.
At the sound of his sandals, the group struggled to their feet. Quintus smartly saluted him, bustled up, giving the impression of the ultra-efficient centurion. Tullio dismissed his earlier suspicions as unworthy. Quintus would never do anything to jeopardise the men.
'How are the men behaving?' Tullio asked Quintus in an undertone.
'Nothing I couldn't handle, but what I'd give to handle the woman who brought the medicine.' Quintus gave a distinct leer. 'A little older than the ones in Ostia, but what shape. She was taken with me. A few more encounters like the last one and she will be like fresh clay in my hands.'
'Did you make some comment to her? Something she might have found offensive?' Tullio struggled to keep a leash on his temper. He had given his word to Helena, and Quintus was bragging about his conquest.
'Me, sir? I complimented her on her dress and other things. I know how to talk to the women.' There was a distinct swagger to Quintus's posture. 'A regular honey pot, I am. Just being friendly-like, but the girls can't help themselves.'
A general guffaw erupted from the men. Tullio raised an eyebrow, and the room became silent.
Honey pot was not the term he'd use for the centurion. But he had to give Quintus the benefit of the doubt. He had not intended to upset the woman. And could he severely reprimand Quintus, when he himself had nearly stolen a kiss from Helena?
'The lady in question may not share the same opinion of your charms. Remember we're guests here. Their customs are different.'
'Are you trying to tell me something?' A worried frown appeared between Quintus's brow. His shoulders showed the slightest of hunches before righting themselves. 'She liked it. I could tell. I have a sixth sense about these things.'
Tullio hooked his thumbs through his belt and hoped his advice would be heeded. Quintus had only spoken a few words, tried a little coarse flattery. Nothing more.
'Watch your step, centurion. Do not let your desire outrun your common sense. We are guests here and must abide by the rules of hospitality. You could jeopardise everything we have worked for. There still might be an opportunity to save our mission. I refuse to allow any banter to put it at risk---not from anyone, especially not a highly decorated centurion who should know better.'
'My mind is always on my duty...to Rome.' Quintus stood to the strictest attention but Tullio could tell that he had taken the kindly meant words as a gross insult. 'It is not my fault that my mouth is not perfumed like a bath house. I ain't had no fancy education or nothing. But I am a Roman soldier, good and true.'
'Be careful, Mustius Quintus. Remember that there is more at stake than your personal desire.'
'It is never far from my mind.' Quintus tucked his chin into his neck. 'But still she was a pretty thing, not in the first blush of youth, mind. Mature, the way I like 'em. I fancy my chances.'
Tullio stared at Quintus. The centurion was close to insubordination. If they were on Roman territory, he would not hesitate to punish him, but out here he needed all the men he could get. Punishing Quintus would only inflame the situation and he didn't dare take the risk of allowing Quintus to apologise. The image was not a pretty one. His earlier apology to Helena would have to suffice.
'You will desist, centurion. That is a direct order.'
'Very good, Tribune.'
'The gods have granted us an opportunity and I for one intend to take it.
'What do you think this island is, Tribune?'
'It is an important staging post for the pirates' captured goods. Helena showed me some of the warehouse complex.' Tullio looked Quintus directly in the eye. 'There is a possibility of turning the temple towards Rome. Neither the sibyl nor Helena appear to be overly enamoured with the pirates.'
'The sibyl is in with the pirates up to her pretty neck. You remember that, Livius Tullio, next time you speak to that assistant of theirs.' Quintus's low voice just reached Tullio's ears. 'Do you understand what that lady is mixed up with? Think about that before you think about your nether regions. Always one rule for the officers and another for the enlisted men.'
Tullio advanced towards Quintus. His shoulders were square and his footstep firm despite the pain in his leg. He only knew that he had to reassert his authority or face more insubordination. Quintus seemed determined to challenge his leadership. He did not want to fight Quintus, but if he had to, he would. 'Who is the tribune here, Quintus?'
The centurion took a step backwards. 'I was only joking, Livius Tullio. Can't you take a joke?'
'We are in a very dangerous situation, Quintus. I have looked into the jaws of Hades because of your mouth. You will obey me in this matter. This is the Army, not the senate.'
Tullio stared at Quintus, daring him. The centurion looked away. 'As you say, sir.'
'Very well, if there are no other objections, we shall play this my way.'
Helena slammed her stylus down. She had hoped several hours of hard work would clear her mind, but her thoughts kept straying back to Tullio and his offer. Without a doubt, the temple could use the manpower. The seafarers had first pick of all the villagers and there were a thousand jobs that should have been done six months ago. But she had to beware of Romans bearing gifts.
Anything the Romans did to help the temple could be misinterpreted by Androceles. But all it would be was an excuse. He had made no secret of his desire to influence temple policy.
Helena pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, trying to will away the pain. She had never thought her simple masquerade would result in so many problems, force so many choices.
She rose and tapped on her aunt's door. Once she heard Galla's answering call, she entered, carefully closing the door behind her.
A single oil lamp burnt by the side of the bed. The familiar scent of cinnamon mingled with the less familiar one of alum creating a heady atmosphere that made Helena's head spin. Galla put her finger to her lips and shook her head, but Helena chose to ignore the maidservant. She walked over to the bed and touched her aunt's unlined hand.
At the touch, the sibyl's eyes fluttered open and her lips curved upwards. 'Helena?'
Helena's heart leapt. Her aunt had spoken. A whisper to be sure, but clear and unmistakable. Tears pricked her eyelids. Aunt Flavia had returned. She would recover...in time. She wanted to laugh out loud, but contented herself with clasping her hands together.
'You can speak. This is marvellous news, Aunt.'
'Hush, child, control yourself.' Her aunt's voice, although weak, held some of its old command. 'Dignity.'
Helena swallowed hard and stood up straighter. Her aunt gave a small nod. 'Tell me everything. Galla tells me less than nothing.'
Helena hesitated, wondering how best to approach the problem. 'Aunt---'
'We had visitors,' Aunt Flavia said, cutting off Helena's words.
'The Lady Zenobia and Captain Androceles, but I answered their questions.' Helena forced her voice to sound light, as if it were a problem with fish sauce. A twinge of guilt passed through her. She knew she should say something about Androceles's request for a prophecy, but her aunt was too weak. She could barely sit up, let alone lift her arms for long. Helena had six days. When her aunt was stronger, maybe tomorrow, she would tell her and then they could decide together the best course of action. For now, her aunt had to recover.
'Together? Androceles and Zenobia? This is worrying, Helena.' Aunt Flavia struggled to sit up. 'Those two hate each other. Bad blood from childhood. Cilicians hang on to their grudges.'
'Androceles was stirring up mischief.' Helena rearranged the statues on the bedside table. She had to make her aunt understand the danger they faced. 'He twisted the story about how the Romans came to be here.'
'Typical. Sails close to the wind, that one.'
Aunt Flavia collapsed down on to the pillows and her head moved from side to side. Helena's heart contracted. Her aunt was not supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be the strong one. Galla pointedly cleared her throat. The interview needed to end.
Helena squeezed Aunt Flavia's hand. How much had she understood last night? Did her aunt know that someone else had worn the gold mask?
'I need to go, Aunt. There are things that must be attended to.'
'Should never have let the Romans land.' Aunt Flavia's fingers reached for Helena. 'You should have woken me. You don't have the knowledge.'
Helena leant forward and brushed her lips against her aunt's forehead. Cool to the touch. No fever, thank the goddess for small mercies. She rocked back on her sandals and regarded the ornately carved bed. 'It was all my fault. I know that. I am doing my best to make it right.'
'It will be Kybele's will. Listen to what she says. Follow Kybele.'
Helena's throat constricted. She should confess now that Kybele did not speak to her. How could she trust the goddess, when she was given no clue as to how to proceed? All the hours she spent in prayer and ritual, but not a single sign, and with a mind that increasingly turned towards Tullio's legs.
Her aunt made everything sound so simple. She should tell Flavia the truth, but now was not the time. She refused to cause more distress.
'Sleep, Aunt Flavia. Get your strength back. The temple needs you.'
No response but a gentle snore.
Helena tiptoed out of the room.
Follow Kybele.
Helena was no clearer on what Aunt Flavia meant. She hugged her pile of tablets and scrolls to her chest. She had taken the long way round to avoid any possibility of encountering the Romans again. She'd ignore them, and the whole thing would begin to fade.
Helena stopped dead. Her mouth dropped open. Gradually she became aware she was staring, but she was powerless to do anything else.
Tullio's arms gleamed bronze in the sunlight. He had discarded his cloak at some point, Helena noticed, and was working in only his tunic and sandals. The tunic was short enough to reveal the entire length of his leg from thigh to calf as he positioned the next rock in place. The angry red mark on the limb had subsided, and he moved with more grace than she thought possible for someone who had been wounded. His tunic strained to contain the broadness of his back as he placed yet another stone on top of the wall.
She had not expected the Romans to be repairing a wall, let alone Tullio to be leading them. What was worse was that she found she was watching him not as a disinterested person, but as a woman.
There was a certain lithe grace in the way he moved. She had expected a Roman to be flabby and soft, unaccustomed to hard work, but his arms and legs were knotted with muscles. She wondered what the muscles would feel like under the palms of her hands. She drew in her breath sharply.
As if he sensed her presence, Tullio paused in his work, turned and his eyes locked with hers. Time stopped. Sounds faded. Helena glanced away first, then recovered.
'What are you doing?' She gestured towards the stone.
'Repairing tumbled-down walls.' He jumped down off the wall, wiped his hands against his tunic and nodded towards his men to continue.
'Who told you to repair it?'
'No one, but the stones had fallen, and we have hands and strong backs. I asked you earlier and you did not expressly forbid it.' He stared at her, his dark eyes meeting hers once again. 'My men need to work, Helena. Idle hands cause mischief. We are keeping within the bounds you gave us.'
Helena tried to think. She could not fault his logic. She had wanted that particular wall repaired for months, but there always seemed to be something more pressing to do. But what did he expect in return?
'You should have asked first.'
'The guards had no objection. They seemed to be quite pleased with the idea.'
'No doubt.' Helena rested a hand on her hip. The wall had collapsed during storms from two winters ago. Some of the capping stones now sported moss and grass. It was one of those little jobs she was going to have someone do, some day, when there was time. And there was never enough time.
She was not sure who she should be more annoyed at---the guards for allowing this to happen or at Tullio for simply going ahead and fixing something. All she knew was that she did not feel in control, and she had to be in control not only for her own sake but also for Aunt Flavia's. 'You should have consulted me first.'
He crossed the distance between them in three steps and stood so near her that she could see where sweat had soaked his tunic, turning it darker and making it cling to his body. A curl of warmth wound around her insides.
'I wanted to show you what we were capable of.' His voice soothed and caressed. She could feel its silken lures being cast out, urging her to agree with him.
'I know the destruction you are capable of,' Helena said, forcing her mind back to the stories that were told at the end of banquets, and the stories women told their children in whispers to keep them safe and quiet at night. 'I have heard tales of that.'
'But have you ever seen any? Has Rome ever attacked these shores?' His eyes narrowed. 'Or have you ever seen the aftermath of a pirate raid?'
'I told you before, none of the seafaring houses connected with this island make raids on Italy.'
His eyes seemed to probe deeply into her soul.
'I have seen the destruction, Helena. Recently.'
'Prove it was one of the five seafaring houses, and the sibyl will do something about it. We must have proof, not Roman rumours.'
Helena waited. He had to understand what sacrifices were made. If what he said was true, then it was all the more important that Aunt Flavia's condition was not known. The risks to the community were too great. She held her breath and waited to see what proof he would offer.
'Destruction is destruction whoever causes it.' He gave an elaborate shrug. 'The important thing is to build and to make the world a safer place for those who find it difficult to defend themselves.'
Helena heaved a sigh of relief. An open break with a seafaring house was not on the horizon. Her aunt would have time to recover before Tullio could find any concrete evidence.
'Do you always repair walls before obtaining permission?'
'The wall had fallen down.' A smile tugged at his lips. 'Walls, in my experience, are generally there for purpose. If you need them, they should be sound. If not, you should demolish them.'
'Your logic is flawless.'
'And sometimes, you only think you need walls.' He gestured towards the half-rebuilt wall with one hand. 'Which is it with this one? Demolish or repair?'
His face had such an intent look that Helena wondered if he was speaking about something more than this stone. 'This wall is supposed to help keep the sheep and goats out of the temple gardens.'
'Then it should have been rebuilt at once.'
Helena shifted once more in her sandals, hating the feeling of inadequacy. The legionaries, along with a thousand other problems, plagued her mind. There was no one to ask and everyone wanted an answer. Until now, she hadn't realised quite how much Aunt Flavia had done. Always there with a helpful word, or the correct ritual, Aunt Flavia had allowed Helena the illusion of control.
Repairing the temple benefits you as well, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind.
'If you do work, you will not be paid for it. The amount of money you owe will still be the same. The seafarers took a great risk rescuing you.'
She watched his face. Only a muscle jumped briefly in his jaw. No other emotion was displayed.
'We would go faster if we had some proper tools to build with, and a guarantee of proper rations.'
'You eat what we eat. The temple makes no distinctions. Plain but enough to fill.' She hesitated. This was a delicate matter. She was under no illusion what a few men could do armed with hammers and hoes. If the Romans attempted to escape, there was little her guards could do to hold them. She had to trust that the display of strength had convinced the Romans and the seafarers alike. 'As for tools...'
'You can trust us. We have given our word as soldiers, as Romans.' His voice was low and intense. 'You need this work doing, why not put your faith in us?'
'As you have started, you might as well finish.'
'Thank you, my lady.'
Tullio returned to his men. Helena watched for a little while. To make sure they were fixing the wall properly, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the man directing them, or the temptation he presented.
Tullio kept an eye out for Helena the rest of that day, and the whole of the next, but she did not reappear. The only sign she might be softening towards them was a pile of tools and a wooden tablet listing the jobs she wanted doing. This temple and its list of repairs was worse than Hercules's encounter with the Augean stables.
Most of the men were glad to use their muscles during something other than training. Quintus, however, grumbled and moaned that they were being treated no better than slaves. But he had not disobeyed the direct order to work.
As Tullio and his men laboured in the sweltering heat, a crowd of villagers would often gather round. Most stood silently with hostile faces. One, a young girl dressed in a ragged tunic, held out a jug of water, which Tullio and his men took with grateful thanks. She gave a shy smile and then ran away. Tullio watched her go. A small start, but still a start.
After that, the faces appeared to be less hostile, the crowds not as large. The villagers were letting them get about their business. Not helping, but not hindering. With each passing hour, the faces grew watchful rather than suspicious.
Tullio put the final stone on the second boundary wall they had rebuilt that morning.
'You and your men work with admirable speed,' Helena said behind him.
Tullio wiped his hand on his tunic before he risked turning around and facing her. Who would he see this time? The woman or the administrator? He hated the way his blood jumped at the sound of her voice. He had to remember the stakes. Keep in mind his oath to Rome and his obligations. Quintus was correct. A dalliance could do more harm than good. But his breath quickened as he saw the way her gown hinted at her curves and the way her pearl-drop earrings drew attention to her long neck.
'My men and I are unafraid of hard work.'
'I can see that.' She paused, started to say something, but changed her mind. There was speculation, even admiration in her eyes. The tension eased slightly in Tullio's shoulders. It bothered him that he wanted her respect. 'I hope you've had little trouble from the villagers. They are not used to seeing Romans. Many have come with prayer requests for the sibyl, simply to get a better view of the legionaries.'
'They have been most kind. One in particular---a girl with big brown eyes and a ragged dress---brought a jug of cool water. She has become quite a favourite with the men and me.'
'When was this?'
'Earlier.' Tullio ran his hand through his hair. Was he now about be reprimanded for accepting a jug of water? 'She held out the jug. It seemed churlish not to accept. She then refilled it twice from the well, but would not speak. The sun is quite fierce and, while not as refreshing as the vinegar we normally drink, the water was welcome. Hopefully you have not received any bad reports.'
'No one has complained. I've heard nothing but praise.'
'I'm glad to hear it.' He leant forward slightly. 'I should like to thank the girl. It was an unexpected kindness. My men were parched. But she vanished before I had a chance to say anything.'
Helena's teeth caught her bottom lip for a heartbeat. Then she shrugged. 'Yes, that would be an idea. If you would follow me.'
Tullio motioned for Quintus to keep the men working on rebuilding the wall. Quintus grimaced, but moved to obey the order.
Helena led the way to a small pasture of rough grass where the young girl sat, stick in hand, tending geese. Catching sight of them, the girl gave a cry which sounded more birdlike than human. 'Is that the girl?'
'Yes, that is the girl. What is her name?'
'Niobe.' Helena made large gestures to the girl who started towards them. 'She lost the power of speech. She was a happy baby, toddling about, chatting to everyone and everybody. Then she caught a fever and fell silent. The villagers whispered that demons had stolen her soul and left a changeling. In desperation, her mother came to the sibyl. The sibyl decreed Kybele had touched Niobe. Her speech will return when the goddess decides. Since then we have provided a home for her, doing what we can. Her brother is our goatherd, Pius.'
The girl stopped, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Her eyes grew round.
Without waiting for Helena to make any more introductions, Tullio knelt down. He hoped he could reassure the child that he came in peace. Having seen the pirates in action, he knew they would not be kind to the child. He held out his hands and kept his voice gentle and that his lips clearly formed each word.
'Greetings, Niobe. Do you look after the geese? They are very healthy and well fed. I wanted to thank you for the water you brought me and my men earlier. It was you, wasn't it?'
She returned his smile and nodded enthusiastically. She gave the imitation of a goose. Tullio attempted a honk and the girl burst out in a fit of giggles. She bowed several times and then raced off to rejoin her flock.
'You have made a friend.' The pinched look on Helena's face was gone. Her eyes held a new expression---as if he were some backward pupil who had just completed a difficult conjugation of a Greek verb.
'A little kindness never did anyone any harm.' Tullio concentrated on readjusting his cloak. Here was no heartless statue. Her concern for Niobe was real.
'The sibyl is of a similar mind.'
'The sibyl exercises great power.' Tullio stared after the now distant figure of Niobe, rather than at Helena's lips. The memories of the fights he had fought to protect his sister crowded in. 'No doubt there were many in the village who argued for the girl's destruction.'
'My aunt believes that the gods made each one of us. She has been a great force for good on this island and I intend to keep it that way.'
'But for how much longer?'
She gave him a panicked look and Tullio knew he had hit a raw nerve. She was less sure about the temple's position than she pretended. 'What do you mean by that?'
'The pirates grow stronger in this region of the Mediterranean.' He leant forward and dropped his voice. 'How much longer until they decide they don't need your aunt or her portents? How long until they take what they need with force?'
Tullio watched her face intently to see if there was any sign that she was listening, that she understood. All he could hear was the distant honks of the geese.
'It is certainly something to consider.' She pointed back down the track. 'I believe your men will be waiting for you.'
Tullio started back. When he turned slightly she was standing there, the breeze whipping her gown about slim legs, a thoughtful expression on her face.
Could she trust him?
The question reverberated through Helena's mind as she walked back towards the sibyl's chambers.
Niobe, who hid when any strange man approached her, was not afraid of him.
His assessment of the situation was much the same as hers. As the seafarers grew bolder, their respect for the temple grew less.
How much longer before they decided to challenge the sibyl's authority with an attack on the mainland?
Or, worse, stopped paying tribute altogether?
The minor insults were clear to anyone who had eyes. Androceles was determined to challenge the sibyl's authority. Why Aunt Flavia had not chastised him when he first tried to deliver the mouldy grain, Helena had no idea. But each time, the house of Androceles dared that little bit further.
She hated the fact that Tullio had wakened these fears. She also hated the fact that she kept finding reasons to seek him out. She told herself that it was to make sure he and his men behaved properly but each time she saw them, it only served to show her how wrong she had been.
Lying on the table was another scroll from Androceles. Helena rapidly scanned it. Like the three that preceded it, Androceles respectfully reminded her of her promise. This time, he asked after the sibyl's health. A subtle hint that, like Tullio, he had realised Aunt Flavia was not well?
Helena's mouth went dry. He was guessing. He had to be. If he had solid proof, he'd have acted before now. But she had to do something.
'We have finished repairing the southern enclosure. What else would you like my men to do? The warehouse looks like its east wall is missing stone.'
Helena glanced up and saw Tullio standing there. His frame filled the doorway. The sun had tanned his skin to a deep bronze. His tunic touched the mid-point of his thighs. Solid, reassuring and something else that made her blood sing.
Helena became aware she was staring, and rapidly rearranged the tablets in front of her. He would have to appear when she was at her most vulnerable.
'The sibyl is grateful for what you and your men have done. She is relieved that you are obeying the rules of hospitality.'
'We are grateful to be given the chance.' His eyes seemed to bore into her. 'When the sibyl has a chance to inspect, I look forward to the opportunity of showing her all we have done.'
'When she has time,' Helena replied quickly. Too quickly. She drew a breath. 'The demands on the sibyl are great at this time of year.'
'The loose stone is almost exhausted. I fear someone has found another use for it. The repairs to the southern granary need more stone if it is to withstand a fierce storm.'
'I already told you that is impossible.' Helena released a breath of air. She had to cope with this request. 'You and your men must stay within the confines of the temple. We must ensure your safety.'
'Our captivity, you mean.' Their eyes locked. Tullio crossed the room in three steps, and his warm hand covered hers. A tingle ran up Helena's arm. 'What is it, Helena? What are you frightened of? Confide in me.'
His whole being exuded strength and calm. Helena's hands trembled. Did she dare trust him? She had to trust someone. She had to speak with someone or lose her reason. She remembered how Niobe had turned to him. Her aunt always said that Niobe was the closest to the goddess, that she understood the goddess's will.
Was she being nudged towards the Romans?
The only thing she knew was that, if she stayed in this room, she'd be tempted. And this was not a burden she could share. However, she owed him more than a curt dismissal. The only thing to do was to take him to her refuge and hope the goddess offered more guidance.
'Come with me, please.'
Before Tullio had a chance to ask more or even consider why she might be reacting in this way, Helena had left the room and started down a corridor. She hurried along and then, when he thought they had reached a dead end, she pressed a hidden latch.
Tullio heard a click and a door swung open, revealing a passage hewn out of rock. He carefully noted where she had placed her fingers. Two indentations, so small he would have missed them if he had not known where to look. He tried to keep the rising sense of hope from bubbling over in him. The work he and his men had done had begun to bear fruit. This was his chance to bring her over to Rome's side. Silently, he wished that he was more of a silver-tongued senator than a blunt-speaking soldier. This might prove to be his best chance.
Helena put her foot on a small ledge. Tullio peered closer. Several narrow steps were cut in the rocks and she started to climb. Tullio caught the glimpse of a neatly turned ankle and the memory of her warm body from that first evening jolted him.
'Where are you taking me, Helena? I would have never found this track without you.' He asked only in an effort to turn his thoughts back to the present. He had to look towards what benefited Rome, rather than his own desires. He did not dare risk offending her inadvertently.
She didn't reply, but continued to climb the track. At several places, it levelled off, only to turn again and then begin to climb once more. In some places, his bulk was almost too big for the passage.
Tullio wondered briefly if this way could be used to escape and then rejected the idea when the path turned a final time and they came out on top of the tallest tower's roof. Below their feet, the entire complex lay spread out. Above them to the right, the stone-strewn mountain peak rose to meet the azure blue sky.
The view confirmed his earlier suspicion---the temple was virtually inaccessible, a perfect fortress for whoever controlled it. He wished Quintus could see it and then his grumbling about the need for escape plans would stop.
It was little wonder that the sibyl wielded so much power if her temple commanded the headland of the island. He could see what must be the palace of one of the seafaring houses further down the hill and then the harbour with its gaily coloured triremes, their prows painted with hawk's eyes---the better to see their prey---and fishing boats festooned with nets.
Tullio stroked his chin. He had given his word not to escape, but he had never said anything about regaining the tribute. He was determined that the pirates would not benefit from it. They would be punished and brought to justice.
The island expected an attack from the sea. The watch towers were positioned that way. Was there another route? Tullio turned and looked in the other direction. A sheer cliff dropped down to the sea. Small white waves played on the tiniest of shores. A possible anchorage? He lent over the parapet and tried to examine the shoreline closer---maybe a small boat.
A movement attracted his attention, made him forget all thoughts of the future and concentrate on the now.
Helena stood, her hands clinging on to the parapet so tightly that her knuckles shone white. The breeze whipped her gown about her ankles and flattened it against the curve of her breast. Gone was the self-confident priestess's assistant who had faced down the pirates and in her place was a young woman with wary eyes. Rome no longer mattered. Tullio longed to draw her into his arms and cradle her, whisper to her that he would take care of her troubles, fight her battles as long as it brought no dishonour to Rome.
'Is there any way to get down there?' he asked, his voice coming out as a rasp.
'The only way on or off the island is through the harbour. Remember that.' She gave a laugh, half-strangled and yet grateful, and turned to face him. 'There is a tale about a lover of a sibyl escaping down this cliff, but I think it is just a story. I searched and searched, but never discovered a path. Then the sibyl told me that the cave was bewitched and only those people who truly needed the path could find it. You can only go down, but never up.'
'Another one of the shadows and mirrors used to fool the unsuspecting.'
Her mouth formed a startled O and her shawl slipped slightly, revealing the creaminess of her throat.
Had she even realised that he knew about her trick with the bronze mirrors?
He ran his hand through his hair. If he was going to gain her trust, he would first have to tell her that he knew she was in trouble.
'You know about that?' Her hand plucked at her gown, twisting the folds and then smoothing them down. 'How?'
'My sister was ill like Niobe and my mother sought a cure. I have been to many temples, Helena. I have seen many tricks and sleights of hand.'
'The seafarers believed.'
He took a deep breath, and the same tightening of his belly that immediately preceded battle plagued him now. It was a risk, but one he had to take. He stared her directly in the eye and willed her to tell the truth.
'You are lacking men and the sibyl is gravely ill,' he said, choosing each word with care. His eyes were trained on Helena. The colour drained from her face and she swayed where she stood.


