Jars of Clay by Lee Strauss Page A

disinclined to do. He found the notion unsavory, and his brother’s accusations against her ridiculous. A secret lover? Their Helena?
    However, many days before his encounter with Gordian, Cassius had spotted her fleeing a covered area in the garden brush, in the region Gordian had mentioned. When he had gone to investigate, the place was vacant, but the grass was worn and pressed down. It was a place visited often by someone. He wondered at the time why his sister would go there, but the idea that she was meeting someone had never crossed his mind. Until Gordian planted the seed there.
    Could Helena really have a lover?
    This last thought brought him much consternation, for he was not the only one to notice how his sister had grown into a woman.
    He had talked with his father about her shortly afterward. She was of age, and it might be to her benefit to have a marriage arranged soon.
    Cassius had arrived at the market. He never went on the busiest days, the days when the slaves were sent to restock the house. Nor did he consciously intend to go now. Yet here he was. It must be the will of the gods. However, it wouldn’t do to be seen talking overtly with the girl.
    Her name was Priscilla. He knew this because he had overheard her being called by her mother. Her family owned and operated a fruit and vegetable stand, a large wagon they pushed out from their modest home early in the morning, onto the street.
    Each time he approached the stand, he played the part of the wealthy student with leisure time to scope the market for a midday snack.
    He wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice and see a spark of recognition and respect in her clear, sapphire eyes.
    Cassius straightened out his toga and rubbed his youthful chin while casually glancing around. Not that he had to worry about being spotted. It was very normal and proper for someone like him to buy a piece of fruit. But what if he said the wrong thing? What if he sounded stupid? He didn’t want anyone he knew to overhear.
    He swallowed, annoyed that his throat was dry. His stomach felt strange too. By the gods, he was nervous.
    “May I help you,” she said. Her voice was as pleasing to his ears as a brook splashing over the cobbles.
    “Uh, yes, um two figs, please. And a pomegranate.”
    He watched her move gracefully as she gathered the goods, weighed them and declared the price. Her lips were red and full, but not sensual. Though beautiful, Priscilla wasn’t flirtatious like the other girls he knew. She was sensible like Helena. Maybe that was why he was attracted to her.
    “My name is Cassius,” he blurted, not wanting to lose her attention.
    “Yes, I know,” she said.
    “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
    “I quite agree.”
    She didn’t talk like one who was uneducated, and this pleased Cassius. For although he knew she was a member of a lower class family, perhaps she was not quite so low that his father would object.
    “Well, I’ll see you again,” he said.
    “I hope so.”
    He left for home happy. She seemed to like him well enough.
    Cassius hadn’t seen the perplexed look on her face when he left, nor did he notice the sign of the fish on the window of her home.

Chapter Eighteen
    HELENA
    Gordian was returning to the army, so their father called a family dinner. Helena couldn’t be happier to see her brother go. Ever since his threats to her in the alcove, she had studiously avoided him, dodging the blackness that settled on the room the moment he entered.
    He was already lounging in the dining patio when she arrived. Of course, he would be early for his own farewell party. He wore his armor—the strips of metal that over-lapped each other like the shell of an armadillo made his shoulders appear unnaturally wide, and chainmail peeked out from underneath.
    Helena found his outfit pretentious. He was dining, not going to war.
    The oil lamps cast eerie shadows across the room, across Gordian’s face. His eyes bore into hers and she felt a tremble of