The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,87
nothing like it under the heavens. Like bread, it will not be made with flour or water alone; the recipe requires both. Guarding each other’s vulnerability provides the yeast that makes it rise, and salt from the tears that caring brings lends the finishing touch.
Because of this, it would be contradictory to assert that I was slowly falling back in love with Livia, but I will say this: whenever our paths crossed, I made ready to inhale the scent of her, a smell like cut grass or the sun on saltwater. I will say that her smile would melt ice, her laugh entice songbirds from the air and the green jewels of her eyes throw armies into confusion. Her body, now long and lithe, was an arrow taut and tense, awaiting release. When Livia filled my head, there was room for little else. In her presence, study, philosophy and debate were confounded. What was thought or contemplation compared to the pounding in my chest?
There was a word I had banished from my vocabulary these many years: hope. Unbidden, and almost unnoticed, it had crept back into my dreams and from there into my waking hours. From whom did I receive permission to slowly unbuckle my heart’s armor? From she who had given me a glimpse, no matter how brief, of what elation may be possible in this life, feelings so strong they made any thought of a life beyond death superfluous. Livia did not offer up any form of encouragement, no. This emotion, this non-love which I could not stopper nor contain, was released by a thaw in her own conduct. Little by little, year after year, Livia’s demeanor relaxed from disdain to neutrality, from contempt to disinterested. It took fourteen years; who knew what the next decade might bring? I was content, for now I had hope.
Today, as always, I glanced furtively in her direction. Her long, auburn hair fell in two rivers down the gentle slope of her breasts which were covered by a simple, beige peplos. She had thrown a deep blue shawl about her, and I cursed her gently for hiding the alabaster of her shoulders. She spoke again. “Good morning, atriensis.” Polite and respectful. I cursed this Caesar, for had he not been present, she might have used my name. Then, to him she said, “My lady Tertulla requests but a little patience from my lord. My masters will rejoin you presently.”
Caesar looked up from his couch and for the first time took note of Livia’s presence. His eyes roamed over her as if she were a leg of sweet, roast pork and he were a man condemned to a diet of rancid goat. “Patience, charming girl?” he said, rubbing his cheek where Tertulla had slapped him. He took hold of her hand. “Patience withers before such beauty.” To me he said, “Didn’t your master tell you to see to my every desire?” He pulled Livia down onto his lap. “Leave us.” For an instant, she looked up at me in terror, then lapsed into the posture of submission every slave learns to assume with shameful expertise.
“That’s better,” he said, completely ignoring her distress, cupping her left breast, testing the weight of it. He raked his fingers lightly over her nipple, seeking the involuntary response that he could falsely interpret as desire. Her face was averted, but I could see her tremble, lips crushed together, eyes shut tight.
“I thought I told you ...”
It was a difficult angle; fortunately Livia saw it coming and ducked. I punched Caesar in the face, connecting with the left side of his cheek and jaw. It wasn’t a vicious blow, but what it lacked in force it redeemed in astonishment. Shared by everyone in the room. The vile man fell backward into the pillows; with my left hand I pulled Livia up and off of him. For just that instant he was too stunned to grab her.
“Go!” I urged, pushing her out of the room. She ran sobbing in the direction of the master suite. I turned back to Caesar, and stood with my hands trembling at my sides. At least half a dozen other servants had stopped what they were doing to stare at us. I tried to resign myself to my fate and summon what little dignity I could. My knees shook uncontrollably.
Caesar rose slowly. He stood directly in front of me, looking up into my eyes, searching for any remaining glint of contumacy. There was no light