Free A Noble Captive by Michelle Styles Page B

its religious buildings.’ She halted, her skirts swishing softly about her legs to reveal neat ankles. ‘If your wound pains you too much, I can go slower or we can postpone the tour until another time.’
    ‘My wound does not trouble me.’ Tullio decided not to take the gamble on Helena repeating the offer.
    ‘Very well, you know your body best.’
    Helena’s sandals struck the stone floor with quick impatient steps as she led the way past the small paved courtyard where his men sat in the sunshine, throwing knucklebones and counters, down a cool corridor and out into the large, immaculately kept vegetable garden.
    Tullio tried to concentrate on anything but the curve of her hips and the swell of her firm bottom under her robes. He had to concentrate on who she was and what she could do for Rome. He could not afford a repeat of this morning, when she had rebuffed his mild flirtation. He had to remember what his primary purpose was and how he was going to achieve that. He could not let the hopes and fears of thousands be ignored in favour of the desires of his body.
    If anything, the tour so far had shown him how powerful the temple was. Altars with inscriptions from kings and potentates around the Mediterranean filled every nook and cranny of the labyrinth of rooms and public spaces.
    ‘And this is where the temple gets most of its fresh vegetables.’
    A low hum of bees, and the smell of freshly tilled earth intermingled with the sweet scent of thyme and rosemary greeted him. The greenness of the fields contrasted sharply with yellowed hillsides that surrounded the temple. Several temple guards were hard at work with hoes, weeding.
    At first glance, except for the glimmer of deep blue on the horizon, this place could be on any of his estates. Then, Tullio’s eye began to notice the general shabbiness of the buildings, the half tumbled-down walls.
    ‘All of this is yours?’
    Helena paused on top of a small hillock. ‘The fields to the sea are ours. My uncle’s seafaring house owns the other ones.’
    ‘You have fertile soil here. I am impressed with the way you keep your bees. They are spaced to prevent drifting and robbing of the nests.’
    ‘My people know how to till the soil.’ A sad smile played on her lips. ‘It is a skill passed down through the generations. We honour good husbandry. Kybele is above all a goddess of the earth.’
    ‘Now you do surprise me. I would have thought that your people would have been fishermen. That your gods would have been of the water.’
    ‘The ways of the sea are hard. When men pray, they want more understanding gods.’
    A faint breeze captured a lock of hair and blew it across her mouth. Tullio forced his fingers to resist the temptation to smooth it away. He had to concentrate on the administrator and not the woman. If he touched her, he would be tempted to draw her into his arms again.
    ‘On land, crops fail. Animals get sick,’ he said.
    ‘Neptune is apt to turn angry at any time. We have always been farmers…in our souls. Some of greatest pleasure comes from working the land. You should taste the quality of our grapes.’
    ‘You mean your people did not always fish?’ Tullio leant forward. Perhaps there was an opening here. Romans were far more at home on land than on the sea.
    She moved away from him, and drew her shawl tighter about her body.
    ‘My people chose to support Carthage.’ There was a bitter twist to her mouth now.
    Tullio stared at Helena. There was such passion in hervoice. Her eyes gleamed at old wrongs. She obviously believed in the truth of her story. Tullio pursed his lips. He knew of other stories, of the perfidy of Carthage and how Hannibal had crossed the Alps, living off the land, taking what he wanted. Even his family’s northernmost villa sported a blackened doorway where Hannibal’s fire had touched.
    ‘And which would you rather they be—farmers or fishermen?’
    ‘It is not a subject for discussion. Kybele has decreed what