A Noble Captive by Michelle Styles Page A

would they take it?’
    ‘Do you know of another way? A way which would allow my people to live, to feed their children? Do tell me.’ The flicker of hope in her face died almost before Tullio could register what it was. ‘I thought not. Words are easy, but deeds are much harder. Others have made similar promises throughout the years, but always the same thing—the only thing we can truly count on is the sea.’
    Tullio regarded the top of his right sandal, the one which Rufus had patched three days before they set sail. He had no alternative to offer Helena, only words. But for a people who did not shirk work and who loved the land, there had to be more than piracy.
    ‘Your walls are precariously balanced,’ he said, changing the subject. There was no point in arguing over what mightor might not be. He had to do something practical. He had to show her that his words did have meaning. ‘Your roofs need retiling. Let my men do some of the repairs.’
    ‘Why? Why would you do this?’ Helena’s face showed her absolute amazement.
    ‘To show you that Rome has good intentions,’ Tullio replied smoothly. ‘We wish to help those who aid us.’
    ‘The temple has no need of favours from Rome.’
    ‘This would be a repayment. You saved the life of my man last night. I am in your debt.’
    ‘I will consider it and let you know my decision. But for now, you had best rejoin your men.’ She turned on her heel and left him standing by the sun-baked field.
    Tullio smiled to himself. A small step forward. In time, he’d win her over—for Rome’s sake.

Chapter Six
    T ullio’s men were now clustered in dispirited groups when he returned. Three or four played a quiet game of latrunculi with improvised pieces, but most simply sat, staring off into space, doing nothing, not even playing knucklebones.
    Had one of the men accosted Helena’s maid? Tullio wondered, recalling the conversation with Helena before Androceles and her aunt appeared.
    Could one of them have broken the dictates of hospitality? He found it hard to believe. He knew his men—where they came from, who their sweethearts were and how many children they had. There were one or two other unpredictable like Quintus, perhaps, but they were Roman legionaries, fired in the same crucible. They knew what was expected of them.
    At the sound of his sandals, the group struggled to their feet. Quintus smartly saluted him, bustled up, giving the impression of the ultra-efficient centurion. Tullio dismissed his earlier suspicions as unworthy. Quintus would never do anything to jeopardise the men.
    ‘How are the men behaving?’ Tullio asked Quintus in an undertone.
    ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle, but what I’d give to handle the woman who brought the medicine.’ Quintus gave a distinct leer. ‘A little older than the ones in Ostia, but what shape. She was taken with me. A few more encounters like the last one and she will be like fresh clay in my hands.’
    ‘Did you make some comment to her? Something she might have found offensive?’ Tullio struggled to keep a leash on his temper. He had given his word to Helena, and Quintus was bragging about his conquest.
    ‘Me, sir? I complimented her on her dress and other things. I know how to talk to the women.’ There was a distinct swagger to Quintus’s posture. ‘A regular honey pot, I am. Just being friendly-like, but the girls can’t help themselves.’
    A general guffaw erupted from the men. Tullio raised an eyebrow, and the room became silent.
    Honey pot was not the term he’d use for the centurion. But he had to give Quintus the benefit of the doubt. He had not intended to upset the woman. And could he severely reprimand Quintus, when he himself had nearly stolen a kiss from Helena?
    ‘The lady in question may not share the same opinion of your charms. Remember we’re guests here. Their customs are different.’
    ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ A worried frown appeared between Quintus’s brow. His