they sat by the water’s edge, the waves of the sea lapping gently at their feet as they watched the setting sun. They both knew that the time was approaching when they would have to leave.
“Is there no way you can start sculpturing properly? You have such talent it is a waste to see your sculptures washed away by the incoming tide.”
Justina smiled sadly. “My father is only a poor baker. He – we - work incredibly hard, there is not much money left over for luxuries such as letting me train as a sculptress. Besides, it is a male dominated world, I doubt very much whether anyone would take me on as an apprentice.”
“But-”
Marsallas stopped short, but she knew what he was going to say. They’d had this conversation before, on quite a few occasions in fact, during the past few weeks of their acquaintance. He was going to argue the point that surely her father made a decent enough living as the town’s best baker, to afford to let her train as a sculptress.
But thankfully, this time he said nothing. Instead, she saw him lean over and rummage in a small cloth sack he had brought with him.
“I nearly forgot,” he said, taking out a small wooden box and handing it over to her, murmuring softly, “Happy birthday, Justina.”
Her eyes shot to meet his sparkling blue ones, “You remembered!” She exclaimed, as she took the small box, her hands trembling.
“Of course I remembered. It’s not every day a girl has her sixteenth birthday.”
“What is it?” She asked, looking down at the small wooden box she held in her open palm.
Marsallas smiled, “Why don’t you open it and find out.”
Justina looked down at the box, then back up at Marsallas. She smiled, a radiant smile that lit up her face. Then she looked down and carefully opened the box, unable to contain her gasp of shock when she saw the ring inside. Hesitantly she took it out, and stared entranced at the beautiful gold and ruby ring that sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine.
“It was my mother’s. Do you like it?”
She knew how much he had loved his mother, and how he had been devastated when she had died when he was just ten years old. So giving her a ring that must have been so precious to him, seemed to forge the bond between them even closer. Even more so, as Marsallas knew that Justina too, had lost her mother when she was only a baby.
Now as she lifted tear filled eyes to his, she breathed, “Oh Marsallas, it is beautiful. I have never seen anything so lovely.” Then she frowned and shook her head slightly. “But this is too precious to give to me. It was your mother’s. Are you sure? I mean-”
“Justina. It’s yours,” he said interrupting her, his tone firm but gentle. “My mother would have loved you. She would have been proud for you to have it. Truly.”
The tears Justina had been trying to hold back fell, and Marsallas groaned, pulling her into his arms, “Don’t cry. Please.”
“I am crying with happiness, Marsallas.” Justina hiccupped, “Thank you so much, I will treasure this always,” she said placing the ring on her middle finger, before she looked up at him.
Marsallas smiled down at her, but then his smiled faded, as he leaned forward and kissed her passionately. Eventually they pulled away to stare at each other, and Marsallas whispered, “I love you, Justina.”
Justina smiled up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, “And I love you as well Marsallas, with all my heart.”
Marsallas groaned again, and pulled her back into his arms. Without conscious thought Justina’s arms wound around his neck, and they kissed with such passion, such longing that neither of them heard the man approaching until it was too late.
“Justina! What in the name of Jupiter are you doing, girl?” The booming voice directly behind her registered immediately, but before she could react, she was wrenched unceremoniously away from Marsallas with such force that she gasped in pain.
“Father!” Justina moaned, staring up in disbelief at the angry man who loomed over her, and Marsallas, his hand clamped like a vice around the softness of her upper arm as he pulled her away from Marsallas.
“But I don’t understand, father? Where are we going?” Justina cried, moments later as her father dragged her away from Marsallas. She saw through pain filled eyes that Marsallas was being restrained by a giant of a man - a slave most probably - as he tried to wrestle free from his grip and come to her defence.
“Marsallas!” Justina cried, seeing the desperation on his face as he struggled ineffectually to get away.
Justina was aware that she was being taken, not to their home in the centre of the town, but along a path to a large marble villa.
“Quiet girl,” her father had growled, shaking her as she struggled once again, and Justina, afraid by the anger that had consumed her father, stopped her struggling and said nothing until eventually they reached the gate of an imposing villa. As if they were expected, the gates swung open, and they were met by a silent slave who led them into the opulent villa, through magnificent high ceiling rooms, until they were finally left alone in the tablinum. Justina turned to her father, begging him for an explanation, but he had remained mute, refusing to answer her questions, his face pale and his hands shaking.
Eventually, after what had seemed like a lifetime, the door had opened, and a man of around fifty entered the room. He was tall and thin, and wore a toga of the finest linen.
Justina knew instantly who it was. Marsallas’s uncle. Quintus.
Even if Marsallas had not described him, she would have known who he was. Quintus was his uncle on his father’s side and she could see the family resemblance. Like Marsallas he had piercing blue eyes – but his were as cold as ice - and she couldn’t control the shiver of fear that went through her as he stared at her.
“Have you told her?” He asked her father, never once taking his eyes off Justina. Justina saw her father shake his head, sweat popping out on his forehead. “No.”
“Good.” Then saying nothing more, Quintus arranged his toga before he sat down on one of the luxuriously covered chairs. Taking some grapes from a golden platter, he waved his hand for them both to sit down.
Justina’s father sat down heavily in another chair, and Justina realising that she didn’t have much choice, slowly sat down next to him.
“I can see why my nephew is besotted with you. You are very beautiful. Come over here and sit beside me.”
Justina blanched at his words, and looked across at her father, “Father, please-”
“Cease!” Quintus shouted at her, before he swivelled his eyes to her father and bit out, “You should keep your daughter under control, man. She has too much freedom, too much tongue in her head. Now I said come over here.”
The colour drained from her face as Justina realised that her father seemed powerless to protect her, and reluctantly she rose and went over to sit next to Quintus. A shiver of revulsion coursed through her when he took her hand in his, his cold, thin fingers, rubbing the softness of her palm. Glancing over to where her father sat, Justina saw his shoulders slump in defeat, totally crushed by whatever hold this man had over him.
Once Quintus was sure that he had the upper hand once more, he continued speaking, his voice matter of fact and totally impersonal. “Your father is in a lot of trouble, Justina. He owes me a tremendous amount of money, his gambling has got out of control I’m afraid.”
At his words, Justina glanced sharply across at her father, desperate for him to deny what the older man was saying. But when she saw her father's face visibly age in front of her, she couldn't help the feeling of sickness that assailed her, “No.” She whispered, her head shaking from side to side, refusing to believe what she was hearing.
Looking up at her, his face