The house was an old one, even by Roman standards. But it was in an excellent neighborhood on the Aventine. Just the place for an ambitious Plebeian hoping to continue his climb up what passed for the cursus honorem in the merchant classes. The house was rented, of course, but C. Postilius Sentis considered it a bargain since it came complete with household slaves and furnishings. The owner did not wish to sell. But he was traveling to Britannia to take a favored position on the governor's staff and saw no point in being bothered with unnecessary encumbrances. His wife was dead and he had nobody's convenience to consider but his own.

The owner had placed one unusual restraint in the lease agreement. The room on the upper floor that overlooked the peristyle garden could not be used and must remain locked. It contained the private possessions of the owner's son, who was away on the frontier with the legions. Postilius had shrugged and agreed to it. The rent was low enough and the neighborhood was good enough that he made no demur.

The arrangement did bother one person, however. Albinia, the sharp-faced young woman Postilius had married to tie himself more closely to her father's extensive banking connections, found it utterly unacceptable that she was denied access to any portion of her new home! She badgered her husband incessantly to break open the lock and permit her to inspect the contents of the room. He always refused her demands which angered her considerably.

Postilius had divorced, Curia, his first wife so he could marry Albinia. As was the Roman custom, Postilius kept his first wife's daughter. And because he suspected that Curia was a secret member of the heretical Jewish sect called "Christians," he refused to let the girl visit her mother. He had no intention of lessening his daughter's value on the marriage market by permitting her to adopt such a disreputable and pernicious superstition.

Albinia was free to deal with her step-daughter as she liked because Postilius took no interest in the household arrangements beyond demanding a hot dinner when he came home. Albinia enjoyed tormenting the girl in various subtle ways on the general theory that the child was only twelve, unprotected, and was already far too beautiful for her jealous step-mother's peace of mind.

Postilia was skilled with her needle and was assigned to handle the household mending. There were plenty of slaves to do such work. But, as Albinia explained, "My own dear mama always held that a girl must learn to do that which she'll be called upon to supervise when she marries." It pleased Albinia deeply that she could order Postilia to perform tasks normally allotted to the lowliest drudges under the guise of "teaching the child how to run a household."

It also pleased Albinia to prevent contact between Postilius and his daughter as much as possible. "Dear Caius you're so busy! And you work so hard. You shouldn't have to be bothered with the prattle of children," she commented with a sweet smile. Since this suited Postilius' own idea of home life, he made no objection. His one concern with regard to his daughter was that she must be protected from any influences that might sully her purity. And so the girl was forbidden to leave the house unless she was accompanied by her father or her step-mother. This effectively ended Postilia's contact with anybody other than Albinia or the household slaves.

Of course Albinia herself was far too busy to direct either her own household or Postilia's education. Those functions fell to Lydia, the slave who acted as housekeeper in Albinia's stead. Initially, Lydia was coldly wary of her charge. But Postilia was both tractable and competent so that Lydia eventually thawed toward her. As the weeks passed into months and the months became years, Lydia even began to rely on Postilia. There was little wonder that the girl turned to the slave for companionship.

In mid-summer of the year in which Postilia turned fifteen, Lydia requested her to assist her in cleaning the room that belonged to the house owner's absent son. The girl was surprised because she had not realized Lydia possessed the key to the lock on the door. "Is he coming home?" she asked.

Lydia stared at the girl for a moment before replying, "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"How do you know? Did you receive a letter?"

But Lydia gave no answer beyond directing Postilia to sweep the floors carefully and to mind the dust.

The truth was that Lydia had become aware of Q. Valentinius Flavus' presence. She knew that he would never return to his home. And yet he was there. She had not seen him, nor had he spoken to her. But he definitely was there. He didn't seem to be an inimical presence and he didn't frighten Lydia. She supposed that sooner or later, a letter would be sent to the young man's father explaining the circumstances of his death. But that was no concern of Lydia's. She merely wanted to ensure that Quintus could enjoy his quarters until it was time for him to leave. Whenever that might be. And so she requested Postilia to help her dust and sweep the room that he might rest contentedly and not upset the household.

It was highly unfortunate that Albinia should choose that afternoon to remain home because it was too sultry to leave the house. Inevitably she became bored and sent for Postilia. Finding fault with her stepdaughter was a diversion that never lost its charm for Albinia. When informed that the girl was in the young master's room with Lydia, Albinia flew into a rage. It was an affront that Lydia had known all along how to get into the room. Worse it was an insult! And it was intolerable that Postilia had been granted ingress where the mistress of the house had been excluded. Albinia snatched a leather dog whip from her husband's hunting gear and went in search her stepdaughter.

The scene that ensued was humiliating and painful. Albinia burst into the room and began flailing about with the dog whip. She slashed Lydia only once before grabbing Postilia by the arm and flogging the girl's back with the whip until she tired of striking her. Albinia dropped Postilia to the floor and then turned to inspect the contents of the room. A plethora of scrolls nested neatly in their buckets alongside dozens of codices and rolled maps. An ancient gladius and matching pugio hung on the wall, no doubt relicts of some long-dead ancestor. Albinia kicked one of the scroll buckets and watched as the contents spilled onto the floor. "Such trash," she sniffed. Albinia walked over to the bed and contemptuously threw its plain cloth coverlet onto the sobbing girl. "Is there nothing of value here at all? Why was this place kept locked?" She then began tossing scrolls and maps indiscriminately around the room.

Suddenly, Albinia choked and clutched at her throat. "Cold!" she cried. "It hurts. Oh, gods, it's cold!" She spun around and hurtled through the door as though pushed. Screaming in fear, the woman ran down the stairs and into her own room.

Lydia picked up the coverlet and folded it before helping Postilia to her feet. "Come, no more tears. We must straighten the room again. He won't like this disorder at all."

"He?" the girl asked dully. "My father won't care." Tears welled up in Postilia's eyes as she contemplated what her father would do after Albinia complained to him.

"Not your father, child. The young master."

"Quintus Valentinius? How would he know?"

Lydia contemplated the girl for a moment before replying, "Quintus has come home." She paused for a moment and then added. "He is here now even if we can't see him. And he apparently does not want the lady Albinia to remain in his room." She tapped Postilia's arm and added, "Don't discuss this with anybody. They would not understand."

"I don't understand it myself! But—"

"No 'buts'," Lydia shook her head. "Help me straighten out the room. He doesn't mind us being here, or he'd make us leave too." Postilia looked around apprehensively. However, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. She sighed softly and began restoring the scrolls to their proper place. As she worked, a sense of tranquility and well-being settled upon her. When the time came to lock the room and leave, the girl was inexplicably sad.

The next day, Postilia went back to the upstairs room. She could not have explained why she did so. She knew she could not get in. But to her surprise, the lock lay on the floor and the door stood open. The girl peeped into the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary. A beam of sunshine rested on a scroll that lay on the writing table. Which was very odd since she knew all of the scrolls had been placed in their proper buckets before Lydia had locked the door and sent her downstairs.

The carved chair by the table looked so inviting… and the scroll seemed to call to the girl. So she sat and read, and was once again insensibly cheered. When the sunbeam faded, Postilia reluctantly rose to leave whispering a shy "Thank you," and adding "I am called Lia."

Thus began a pattern that repeated whenever the girl could escape for even a few minutes. Each time she went to the upstairs room, a different scroll was waiting for her. Occasionally, there was a map too, illustrating the words on the scroll. As lonely people sometimes do, she talked aloud even though the room seemed to be empty. She commented on what she read and sometimes recounted household events. And she was happier than she could remember feeling since she'd been removed from her mother's care.

But all idylls end. On the day of her sixteenth birthday, her father announced that he was in a fair way to arranging a marriage for his daughter. He smiled proudly at Postilia. "I've managed to snabble a Patrician Senator for you, my girl. Mamercus Aemilius Dissignator is rich and he means to get richer. He can't be seen to openly engage in trade, of course. But a partnership between the two of us will be profitable for all concerned. He's coming to dinner tonight. You must do your best to please him so we can sign the marriage contracts immediately. The sooner you're married off the better. Shipping season is about to begin and I don't want to miss the tide."

Postilius laughed heartily at his own joke and chucked his daughter under the chin. "Albina will see that you're tricked out properly to entice the good Senator." The girl flinched away but her father didn't notice. Albinia dragged the stunned girl to her private chamber and turned her over to Chloris, the highly skilled personal maid Postilius had purchased at an extortionate price for his new wife. Chloris deftly removed all vestiges of Postilia's childhood, painfully readying her to meet the senator's inspection.

And thus it was that Postilia stood with her father and step-mother to welcome Mamercus Aemilius Dissignator ("the Undertaker") to her father's home. The Senator deigned to be pleased with what he saw. "Lovely," he murmured to Postilius. "Just as you promised." The proud father beamed. "And most strictly raised." The Senator smiled graciously. "But of course, my friend. Of course."

Albinia ushered the Senator to the place of honor and directed the girl to recline at his side so they could become "better acquainted." During the course of the meal, Mamercus Aemilius revealed that Postilia would be his fourth wife. "They keep dying in childbirth." He shook his head mournfully. "But your girl looks perfectly healthy. And she has such nice wide hips." The Senator leered and permitted his hand to stray where it had no business going. Postilia gasped in shock and the Senator laughed heartily at her confusion. "Proof of your chaste innocence, little dove." He lightly stroked her upper thigh, raising her skirt to examine the girl's trim ankles, while her father smiled complacently and raised his cup. "Here's to the hope we'll be toasting a fine son in your image before this time next year."

When the last bowl of apples was cleared, Postilia was permitted to withdraw so that the men could settle down to serious negotiations. The girl fled to the upstairs room. She had never been there after dark before. It seemed to her that the air shimmered faintly green in one corner and it was to that part of the room that she addressed the announcement of her impending nuptials. But there was no response to her tearful words. "You never answer me!" she cried despairingly. "I know you are here! I feel it. I know you could talk to me if you wanted to. Please… please Quintus, you must help me. I can't—I can't bear to have him t-touch me." She sat in the carved rosewood chair and waited. But the room remained silent.

"If you won't help me, I must help myself," she cried. "And I know what to do!" She rose and took the pugio from its mounting on the wall. "At least now I will finally see you!" But as she turned the knife blade toward her breast, her wrist was seized by an icy grip that seared her flesh. The dagger dropped from her grasp and she watched in amazement as it spun away from her as though kicked. The green shimmer flared then disappeared and the room suddenly seemed unbearably dark and cold. Postilia knew she was no longer welcome.

As the girl slowly descended the stairway to the atrium, Albinia came to meet her wreathed in smiles. "Your father has concluded a most advantageous arrangement with Mamercus Aemilius. As soon as you're married, the Senator will supply the capital to fund a whole fleet of trading ships! Your father will be able to build a villa with the profits. Think of the jewels and slaves he can buy me!"

Albinia took Postilia by the arm and thrust her into the dining room. "Here she is, Senator," Albinia exclaimed. "The dear child can't believe her good fortune."

"Is that so, little dove?" The Senator slid his arm about the girl's waist. "Come, sit beside me. Your father has taken the marriage contract we drafted to be copied. When he returns, we can sign it and then everything will be official." Reluctantly, Postilia complied.

"Oh, Mamercus Aemilius, I shouldn't do this! But I'm going to leave the two of you alone here for a moment or two." Albinia tittered conspiratorially, "Now don't take too many liberties with the child. A betrothal is not a wedding you know! You probably shouldn't take all of your privileges yet." With a broad wink, she added, "But I'll make sure you aren't disturbed until my husband returns."

When they were alone, Postilia sat stiffly beside the Senator. "So prim, my chaste little dove." He laughed softly. "You positively fill me with ardor, you know. You inflame me. I can't control my impulses!" He pulled her closer to him and forced her chin upwards. Flustered, she tried to break free but he was far too strong for her. "You're damnably seductive," he whispered hoarsely. As his lips fastened on hers, Postilia froze into a shocked and motionless rigidity. She gagged in revulsion when his tongue penetrated her mouth. She felt suffocated and faint, lost in a nightmare from which there was no escape. The man's hand thrust inside her tunica and squeezed her breast painfully. She struggled wildly in his arms but that seemed only to excite him. At length he released her from the tight embrace while retaining his grip on her arm. "

"You aren’t a complete virgin anymore, are you?" He chuckled at the girl's dazed silence and rested his hand lightly on her thigh. Slowly, he forced her downward until she lay prone on the dining couch. "Perhaps I should take you now. Why wait? We can be married tomorrow and your father will get his money that much sooner." He released his grip on the girl and stood to remove his toga. Postilia immediately rolled away from him and sprang to her feet. "Lie down, you little tease," he ordered in a menacing voice. "No!" she cried hysterically, "I won't let you touch me! Never!"

The girl left the dining room and ran across the atrium. But Mamercus Aemilius was close at her heels. The terrified girl couldn't think beyond her fear of what he intended to do to her. Without considering the consequences, she bolted through the doorway of her home and out into the street. She heard a loud shout and spun around but it was too late. An ox cart loaded with marble slabs for the resurfacing of the temple to Divi Claudius was bearing down on her. Before she could move, the oxen were upon her. She cried out as their hooves trampled her and screamed when the wheels of the heavily laden cart rolled over her. Then all was silent.

Postilia stared in confusion at the noisy scene unfolding before her. Her father was racing up the street yelling at the top of his lungs. Albinia was indulging in a hearty fit of hysterics as the frightened teamster tried to justify himself to the Senator. And all the while her broken body lay crushed and bleeding on the paving stones. She couldn't understand why nobody tried to help her.

"Lia." The voice was warm and gentle. She turned to see a man in legionary armor carrying his helmet under one arm. "I've been waiting for you for such a long time." He held out his hand to her.

"Quintus?" she asked uncertainly.

"Who else?" He laughed and nodded toward her father and Albinia. "You have no further need of them. And none of them can ever hurt you again. Come with me. You are mine now."

"Forever, Quintus?"

"Yes, dear heart." He smiled lovingly at her as she put her hand in his. "Forever."



Not all stories have an unhappy ending…