True Freedom

by Carol Ashby

  His mouth twitched. He had no power of life and death over himself. “If it’s God’s will, mistress.”

  He closed his eyes. He couldn’t promise what she wanted, and he didn’t want to watch her panic because he couldn’t.

  God, if she needs me that much, please leave me here to help her.

  Chapter 28: God of Leander, Please!

  By evening, Leander’s fever was running high. His leg pulsed with pain, so the infection probably started there, but it didn’t really matter. It had a strong hold on him now. His face too hot even while he shivered. His heartbeat a trotting horse, not a walking one. If he turned his head too fast, the room swirled for a moment.

  He’d watched a man die on the Crassus estate when he’d been flogged for running away and his shredded back infected. It hadn’t been quick, and for most of the several days it took for him to die, the man was raving or unconscious.

  If he were a betting man, he’d bet this infection would kill him, too.

  He watched Mistress Calantha glide across the room. She was caring for him herself, wiping his face with a wet cloth, trying to cool him.

  It wasn’t working.

  His mouth turned down. The mistress was depending on him. How much longer before his mind clouded and he’d be no use to her?

  She had no idea how to take care of herself. She wouldn’t know how to get back to her father if left to figure it out on her own. Only he knew who she really was. Only he knew where she lived. Only he knew how to get her safely home...and he wouldn’t be alive to do it.

  Calantha came back with a fresh bowl of water and sat down beside Leander. She wrung out the cloth, folded it, and drew it across his forehead. His eyes were staring at her when the cloth moved past and she could see them again.

  Her breath caught. Those eyes radiated a hard brightness far different from the fevered dullness that had been worrying her.

  “Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you.” His voice was forceful. “You must do exactly what I say.”

  Her eyes popped. He’d stopped calling her mistress, but to speak like he was the one in charge? He’d only done that when the man came to buy the ram and wanted her instead.

  “Wait two weeks longer than when you think your father should be home, just in case he’s delayed. Go back to Servilia. Tell her your father’s name, and she’ll find out where your house is. Ask her to find someone who can go to your father and tell him―and only him―that you want to meet him at one of the public baths where your friends don’t go. I always carried you to Trajan’s, so maybe go to Titus’s.

  “Don’t go in your own clothes. You don’t want anyone you know recognizing you. You don’t know who you can trust. Maybe Servilia can go with you like she’s your mother. No one from the noble orders will pay attention to a low-class mother and daughter. If your father hasn’t come home yet, come back here. Ask Servilia to send you word when to try again.”

  Her spine straightened. “Why are you telling me this? You’re going to take me back yourself when it’s time.”

  Fear flared in her eyes.

  Leander longed to tell her he would, but he couldn’t. The blood loss hadn’t killed him, but the infection probably would.

  His forehead felt too hot even to his own hand. “I don’t think so...but you’ll be safe if you do what I’m telling you.”

  Her breaths came faster. “Yes, you will. You belong to me, and you have to do what I tell you. You’re going to get better and take me back yourself.” Her lip quivered as her eyes swam in tears.

  “I’ll try.”

  “You won’t just try. You’ll do it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, Leander. Don’t leave me alone.”

  She slipped her hand into his, and he could feel it trembling. He tightened his grip around it. The trembling stopped.

  His heart clenched. I don’t want to, but it’s not my choice. Her rapid blinks betrayed the terror lurking near the surface. She’d never had to face any problem alone. She couldn’t handle the truth about what he expected to happen. Please, God, if there’s any way it can be Your will, heal me so I can take care of her and get her home.

  He managed a weak smile. “I’ll do what I can, mistress.”

  He closed his eyes, and his smile faded. His gentle grip on Calantha’s hand relaxed, and his hand fell away. Calantha dipped the cloth in the water again, wrung it out, and wiped his flushed face one more time.

  Why had he called her mistress again? He was talking like he wasn’t going to obey her, like he was ready to give up and die.

  With her other hand, she brushed away the teardrop that had escaped and trickled down her cheek.

  You can’t die. You just can’t. She stared up at the ceiling. Please, god of Leander, don’t take him from me. I need him more than you do. Her gaze locked once more on his shuttered eyes. He’s such a good man. Don’t let him die because of me.

  It had been many hours, and his fever still burned. Calantha still wet the rag and wiped his face, but he hadn’t opened his eyes in the longest time. She watched his chest rise and fall. It stopped for a moment, then it began to move again.

  What if it stopped for good?

  Her chin started to quiver, and his face blurred. First one, then another teardrop trickled down her cheeks. Her chest jumped once, then twice. She fought against making any noise as the trickle turned into a steady stream.

  She jumped when Marcella placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time you take a break for a little while. I’ll watch him.”

  Calantha’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “No. I can’t leave him. He needs me to help him get better.”

  Marcella took her hand. “Come outside. I need to tell you something.”

  Calantha tipped her tear-streaked face to look at Marcella’s warm eyes. “But he needs me here.”

  “He can spare you for a moment. He’d want you to take a short break.” She gave a gentle tug, and Calantha rose.

  Marcella led her outside, then turned to face her. “I’ve done all I can. You’ve done all you can. Dacius is still alive, and God still might heal him, but you need to accept that it might not be God’s will for him to live. He belongs to Jesus. His death will take him to be with Jesus forever. He wouldn’t want you to be broken-hearted over that.”

  Before Marcella could say another word, the dam broke, and hiccupping sobs shook Calantha. Marcella drew her into her arms and held her until the torrent subsided.

  Calantha stepped back and fixed anguished eyes on the kind woman who’d taken them in, no questions asked. “It’s all because of me. My brother hired kidnappers, and when they grabbed me, Dacius came to save me. He’s only here dying because of me.” A few more tears trickled down her cheeks. “He fought to free me, and they stabbed him and they shot him and he still kept protecting me...and I didn’t even know his name until after all that.”

  Marcella’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t know his name?”

  “No! I only saw him as a slave who carried me around the city. I never spoke to him. I never looked into his eyes. I couldn’t even have told you which place he stood by the litter. And now he’s in there dying because he came to save me.”

  Marcella’s eyes softened as she pushed a strand of hair behind Calantha’s ear. “And it doesn’t matter to him that you didn’t know his name then. He’d willingly do it all over again if he had the choice. Jesus tells us to love each other as we love ourselves. He said there was no greater love than to lay down your life for another.”

  Calantha’s voice quavered. “But I don’t want him to die for me. I want him to live.”

  “I know, and he still might.”

  Calantha bit her lip “What am I going to do if he doesn’t?”

  “You’ll grieve, and you’ll go on. It’s all any of us can do.”

  “But I don’t know how to go on. He was going to take care of me until Father returns.”

  Marcella drew
her back into her arms. “We’ll take care of you until you know how. He hasn’t left you all alone.”

  She whispered into Marcella’s shoulder. “But I want him to live.”

  “And he still might. While he breathes, there’s hope. I keep praying for his healing, and God can heal anyone of anything, even death itself when it fulfills His purpose.”

  Marcella eased Calantha to arms’ length. “Now, let’s have no more tears. They don’t help him at all. If he wakes to see you’ve been crying, he’ll be worrying about you, and that won’t help him heal. You need to take a short break. Wash your face, walk a little, and then you can sit with him again.”

  Calantha nodded. Marcella squeezed her hand before turning to go inside.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks and swallowed the lump still rising in her throat. Please, god of Leander, heal him, like Marcella says you can.

  She squared her shoulders and headed toward the well.

  Chapter 29: Mistress, Not Calantha

  It was a quarter of an hour before Calantha’s walking calmed her enough to return to Leander. The door stood open, and she found Gaius and Marcella kneeling beside his bed. Gaius’s hand rested on his ankle, Marcella’s hand on his forehead.

  Gaius’s words reached her. “We give you thanks and praise, Father.” Then both said, “Amen.”

  Calantha remained in the doorway until they rose. When they turned at the sound of her footsteps, her head bounced back.

  Leander lay dying on the bed. How could their eyes and smiles look joyful?

  Her gaze locked on his motionless form. Then his chest rose and fell, and her frozen breath released.

  Marcella wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You can go rest now. He’ll be fine.”

  “But he’s so hot. He needs me to cool him.”

  Marcella left her arm around Calantha as they walked to his bedside. “It isn’t his time to die. God is healing him. The fever has broken, and he’ll recover.” She squeezed Calantha. “You can help me take care of him while he does, but you need your rest for that.”

  Calantha laid the back of her fingers on his forehead. Still warm, but the fiery heat of the fever was fading.

  Marcella rested her hands atop Calantha’s shoulders and turned her toward the hallway. “To bed with you. He’ll awake in the morning, and he’ll want to see you looking well when he does.”

  Calantha paused at the door to her room. Back by the table, Gaius held Marcella in his arms. Peace surrounded them. And for some reason she couldn’t explain, that peace wrapped around her as well.

  They called their god “father,” and he heard and answered their prayers. And maybe the god of Leander had listened to her prayer, too.

  Day 22

  Calantha came from her bedroom to find Marcella stirring the porridge. But it was Leander who drew and held her gaze.

  “He’s fine, just sleeping.” Marcella held out a bowl. “You can watch over him for me when he awakens. I have work to do in the garden.”

  Calantha took the bowl and sat at the table. “I’ve never cared for a sick person before. How long until he wakes up?”

  “Whenever he’s rested enough. I have some bread and fruit there for when he’s hungry. You’ll only need to give him food and drink as he asks. Anything more, come get me or Gaius.”

  Gaius came through the door and walked to Leander’s bedside. “On the mend.” A smile curved his mouth as he settled into his chair and took the bowl Marcella offered.

  When Marcella joined them, the couple bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Calantha copied them.

  Gaius spoke. “Thank you, God, for this food and this new day. Thank you especially for healing Dacius. Let him soon join us at this table. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  If someone had asked her what herbs had seasoned the porridge, Calantha couldn’t have answered. Her thoughts kept following her eyes to rest on the man who’d risked his life to save her own.

  It was some time since Marcella and Gaius left the cottage. Leander had begun to stir, but his eyes remained closed. He was close enough to awake, and Calantha couldn’t wait any longer.

  She sat on the bed beside him. Then she rested her hand on his cheek and stroked his stubble with her thumb. He no longer felt hot. She ran her fingers through his hair until his eyelids parted and she could see his quiet gray eyes.

  “It’s gone, Leander.” Joy bubbled up and curved her lips. “Your fever’s gone. Marcella said your god could heal you, and he has.” She took his calloused hand in hers and held it against her cheek. “You’re going to live.”

  His lips curved to mirror her own. “It appears so, mis…Calantha. You won’t have to try to get home alone. It’s almost a month before your father returns. I should be healed enough to take you back then.”

  She hadn’t planned it, but she couldn’t resist. She dropped her head to his chest and slipped her arms around him. “I’m so glad you didn’t die because of me. I can never thank you enough for coming to save me.”

  His chest was solid with work-hardened muscles, and she felt the rhythm of her own heartbeat blend with his. Each th-thud lifted her spirits a little higher. After watching him hover so close to death, to feel the life beating within him made her heart dance to its rhythm.

  The slow sweep of Mistress Calantha’s fingers through his hair had pulled Leander out of the dream. As good as the gentle stroking felt, he was sorry. It had been years since he’d dreamed about his childhood with his sister Ariana.

  In the dream, Ariana was singing to him before she rested her hand on his cheek and whispered, “May God give you blessed sleep, Diegis. I love you.” Her eyes, blue-grey like the sky of a cloudless dawn, glowed with love for him. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. As she straightened, her eyes shifted from blue to light brown, and her tawny hair darkened until it was a shimmering nut brown. Her face blurred, then refocused. It was no longer Ariana but Mistress Calantha smiling down at him.

  He cracked open his eyes, only to discover it really was Mistress Calantha, not Ariana, running her fingers through his hair.

  Her eyes sparkled as she told him the fever was gone and he would live. When she lifted his hand to her cheek, he was too stunned to move it away.

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. Thank you, God, for letting me stay to help her. Now she’ll get home safely to her father.

  No reason for her to be afraid any more. She knew it, too. Her joy at him telling her that he would get her home lit her whole face.

  Then she shocked him.

  Leander’s pulse leaped when Mistress Calantha rested her warm, soft cheek against his chest and slid her hands across his skin until she had him wrapped in her arms. It was the last thing he expected...and the last thing he wanted her to do.

  It was a big problem, and the biggest part of the problem was that part of him was thrilled to have her so close, touching him as if he were a free man who was dear to her.

  It took all the self-control he had not to wrap his own arms around her and hold her in a gentle embrace. Instead, he placed his hands on her upper arms and pushed so she would sit up.

  He couldn’t let her get in the habit of touching him like he was anything more than a slave. If her father were to suspect that he saw her as a kind, beautiful woman instead of the mistress who owned him, the master would never believe he was only a loyal slave fulfilling his duty to protect her. He’d believe the lies about him being in league with the kidnappers and think he took her because he wanted her as a woman. Vilicus would enjoy using that whip before he was sold...or worse.

  When he’d only carried her litter and watched her from a distance as she played with her sister’s children, he’d managed to control his thoughts and keep her in his mind’s mistress box...for the most part. But she’d been so kind as she helped Marcella care for him, and that had changed everything. In his weakness, it was impossible not to see her as Calantha, the gentle woman who s
aw him as a person, not property.

  But now that his fever had broken, she wouldn’t have to help him as much, and he’d be able to see her once more as a noble mistress instead of a lovely woman who cared for him.

  At least he’d try. God, please give me the strength to do it.

  Calantha sat up when he put gentle pressure on her arms. He’d been so strong when he lifted her into the basket. He seemed so weak now. He couldn’t lift her if his life depended on it...or hers. Father would be back in a month, but how fast does a man recover from almost dying?

  “It will be wonderful to get back to Father, but maybe we should wait for a couple of weeks after he’s supposed to be home, like you said I would need to if I went alone. You might not be ready for such a long trip in only four weeks. If you aren’t completely well then, we’ll wait until we can do it without it being hard for you.”

  Calan―no, Mistress Calantha ran her fingers through his hair. Leander was torn between knowing he should tell her to stop and wanting her to do it again.

  “I’ll be ready to take you back as soon as you want me to.”

  How kind she was to put what was better for him above her own eagerness to return to living as a noblewoman with her father in Rome. His smile warmed as she ran her fingers through his hair one more time.

  Then it cooled. It was becoming much too easy to think of her as Calantha without the Mistress. The thought of a few days longer with her pretending to be an ordinary woman and him a free man gave him too much pleasure. This was only play-acting. It couldn’t last, and he’d better keep that at the forefront of his mind. When he took her back, everything must be as it was before he ran into the abandoned house and saved her.

  He shut his eyelids so she wouldn’t see the deep regret in his eyes. She mustn’t ask him what was wrong. How could he ever explain what it meant for a man who’d tasted the sweetness of freedom to once again have to live as a slave?