by Lynne Gentry
“When did you grow a heart?”
“Cyprian was my friend.”
“I never really put much stock in friendships.”
“Neither he nor the Christians are a threat to you now.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. As long as Cyprian is alive, so is their hope. And hope is far more dangerous than any man.” Aspasius waved his hand. “Kill him.”
Surprise flashed across Felicissimus’s face as a soldier’s dagger stabbed him through the back.
50
LISBETH’S EYES FLEW OPEN with a start. Patches of light and shadow freckled the pergola tiles. Cyprian slept curled around her, his arm resting across her stomach. She smiled and inhaled deeply. It was true. Last night was not a dream. They had spent the hours exhausting themselves with apologies and forgiveness.
Lisbeth listened to the deep rhythmic satisfaction of her husband’s respirations and suddenly remembered Maggie. She carefully lifted Cyprian’s fingers. The sticky sea breeze whisked away the warmth of his touch and this moment of security. Fighting the temptation to stay put and return his palm to her belly, she rose and gathered their scattered clothes, dressed hurriedly, then covered Cyprian with Caecilianus’s toga.
Lisbeth retrieved the bishop’s hat tumbling in the waves farther downshore. She shook out the sand, returned to the shelter, and placed the limp felt beside Cyprian’s peaceful face. No matter how much she wished otherwise, the toga and the hat suited him. As did the office of bishop. Ruth was right. Cyprian was the perfect man to restore the church of Carthage. To ask Cyprian to become anything other than the strong leader the church needed would be like asking her to stop thinking and acting like a doctor.
She couldn’t possibly ask him to leave.
*
LISBETH WAS fresh from the bath when the door to her chamber banged open. “Tabari?”
Her mother’s friend struggled for breath, her eyes urgent and her hands waving. “Magdalena needs the bone saw.”
Lisbeth’s heart rate quickened. “What has Aspasius done to her?”
Two soldiers stepped from behind the door and shoved Tabari out of the room. “Come with us.”
Lisbeth recognized the redheaded one ordering her about as the same soldier who’d taken Mama.
There was no way Lisbeth wanted to help that monster holding her mother captive. On the other hand, there was no way she would miss this unexpected opportunity to rescue Mama. She couldn’t believe that God had opened this door and opened it so fast.
“I need my backpack.”
“Get it.”
She ran to the chest beside the bed and snatched up everything she could cram into her bag. “I need the herbs from the cupboard in the kitchen.” There weren’t many left, but she’d take what she had just in case.
“No.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong or what I’ll need.” She added flint to her voice. “You want the proconsul to die because you didn’t let me bring the right drugs?”
The redhead weighed her request. “Make it fast.”
“If you haven’t had measles you might not want to follow me.”
“Move it.” Their hobnailed boots clicked on the tiles as they trailed her to the kitchen.
Maggie’s laughter floated down the hall. Lisbeth panicked. Soldiers dragging her off would scare Maggie to death. That was not the last memory she wanted left in her daughter’s mind.
“Wait out here. I don’t want to have to explain things.”
The redhead grabbed Tabari and held his dagger to her throat. “Try to get away, and she won’t be the only one who dies.”
“Just give me a minute.”
Lisbeth found Maggie and Junia helping Naomi roll out barley rounds.
“Look, Mommy.” Maggie held up a circular piece of dough. “If you stab the bread with a fork it doesn’t puff up in the oven.” Maggie’s smile was a deflating prick to Lisbeth’s courage. “You look pretty, Mommy.”
What if this was a trap? She could be walking into an ambush. Then what would happen to Maggie?
Lisbeth’s chest constricted, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
“You okay, Mommy?”
She moved to block Maggie from seeing the glint of the soldier’s blade. Mama wouldn’t want her to leave Maggie, no matter what kind of evil Aspasius was inflicting on her. But if Lisbeth didn’t go, that ambitious soldier would kill all of them right now and probably be rewarded for it.
Options raced through her mind. The fire poker was the only available weapon. Her attempt to defend them would put Maggie and Naomi directly in harm’s way. She could scream. Draw Cyprian into the fight. But without a sword, he’d quickly be cut to bits.
In the end, she conceded, her only option was to give herself up to Aspasius and pray she had the opportunity to beg for Cyprian’s life. Lisbeth had been raised by her father. If Cyprian was free, Maggie could be raised by hers. She’d rather have her daughter grow up without a mother than not get the chance to grow up.
“Can I go with you, Mommy?”
“Not this time, baby.” Lisbeth pulled her backpack tight to conceal the cracks forming in her resolve not to snatch her child and run.
She opened the herb cupboard. Besides her backpack and an extra dose of courage, she wasn’t sure what she needed. She grabbed a few bundles of eucalyptus and crammed them in her bag. “Naomi, I’m going out for supplies.”
Naomi’s face puzzled. “Is Cyprian going with you?”
“No.” Lisbeth closed the cabinet. “He’s busy getting the church back on track and shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“What about Barek? You shouldn’t go alone.”
“You need the help here.” Steeling herself at the prospect of leaving Maggie, Lisbeth gathered her daughter and held her tightly. “I love you, baby.”
“Mommy, I can’t breathe.”
“I’m so sorry. For everything.” Swallowing tears, Lisbeth squeezed one last time. “No matter what, never forget I love you.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You take care of Daddy, okay?” Lisbeth willed herself out the door without a backward glance.
*
ASPASIUS HAD doubled the guards throughout the city, but from the eerie silence there was no reason. Corpses left unburied in the streets weren’t going to cause any trouble, and the occasional old man crouched in a shady corner wasn’t healthy enough to raise a ruckus or rally an uprising. As for the rest, those who weren’t covered in rashes or stuck on the latrine were too frightened to come out of their houses.
The soldiers took Lisbeth and Tabari to the front entrance of the palace where a retinue of bored troops entertained themselves with a game, throwing dice carved from the anklebones of goats against the outer courtyard fence. Lisbeth felt their leering gaze.
The redhead shoved them into the atrium. “Remember, we’re right outside.”
She and Tabari hurried past the birdcages. The click of Lisbeth’s sandals, along with the terrifying memories of the last time she was in this place, followed them down the hall. If her mother hadn’t risked everything to save her six years ago, she would be the one trapped in Aspasius’s bedroom.
Tabari knocked on a heavy oak door. Lisbeth could hear muted voices and the shuffle of feet.
Pytros peered into the hall. When it registered who had come knocking, he threw the door open. “Finally.”
For a brief moment, the scene beyond the threshold stood frozen, captured like an old black-and-white photo. Danger magnified Lisbeth’s senses. The stench, a primordial soup of bacteria, ammonia, and denatured proteins, hit her nose. The sound of ragged breathing reached her ears. Her eyes lit upon the horrifying sight of a thin, wasted man lying in the middle of the huge ivory bed.
This couldn’t be Aspasius. The man who’d taken her hostage after he sent her husband into exile had plump sausage fingers and disgusting jowls that swayed whenever he had a point to make. This man had sunken cheeks and dull gray eyes where coal-black embers had once sizzled. This
man was dying. Maybe she had a shot of getting her mother out of here alive after all.
“Lisbeth?” Mama sprang from the couch beside the bed. “Why are you here?”
Pytros peeled back to allow her passing. She ignored the accusation etched in the scribe’s stare and went straight to her mother’s outstretched arms.
“Mama, are you all right?”
Her mother nodded. “I told Tabari to fetch the saw. Not you.”
“The proconsul’s soldier boys must have had other orders.”
“Felicissimus is dead,” Mama whispered in English. Her eyes cut to the body on the floor. “Last night.”
Lisbeth’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Look what the wind has blown in.” Aspasius tried to push up on his elbows but fell back on the pillows. “How nice to have all of my property returned to me.”
Lisbeth thrust aside the conflicting emotions of Felicissimus meeting the tragic end he deserved and the possibility that they could shortly meet the same fate. She stepped forward, refusing to be cowed. “This is just a house call. After we do what we can for you, I’m not staying, and neither is my mother.” She moved in for a closer examination of the proconsul’s swollen leg. Mama had already done a simple incision to encourage drainage and promote healing. The foul odor indicated the necrotized tissue had not been saved. A more aggressive treatment was necessary. “He needs antibiotics and possibly an amputation.”
Aspasius coughed. “No cutting.” A fevered flush smoldered on his cheeks.
“I think we can get by without your antibiotics.” Mama’s guarded look warned Lisbeth to agree.
“She has medicine that will save our master?” Pytros moved in beside Mama. “Then you will use it.”
His razor-edged threat only served to strengthen Lisbeth’s resolve. “After all you’ve done to us, why should we do anything to save him?” She took her mother’s arm.
Pytros lunged for Mama, wrapped his arm around her neck, and put a knife to her throat. “The medicine, or she dies.” His eyes were feline, the pupils vertical slits rather than healthy circles. “Now!”
“Don’t do it, Lisbeth,” Mama said through gritted teeth.
“Mama!”
“Stand back,” Pytros threatened. “The medicine, or I kill her.”
Lisbeth’s eyes flicked from Mama to Aspasius to the knife Pytros pressed against Mama’s jugular. Her hand tightened on the backpack strap on her shoulder.
These antibiotics were her backup plan … a safety net for her daughter. She’d only packed three rounds for the trip down the portal. Shortsighted for sure, but she hadn’t counted on Diona’s emergency, which had used up the first round. Giving aid to a stranger. Then, of course, she’d pumped the next round into Ruth without giving it a second thought. She would have given her own blood to save her friend. But to give the last of her security to an enemy? God forgive her, she couldn’t do the very thing she’d expected Cyprian and the church to do.
“Give me the medicine!” Pytros shouted.
A trickle of red slid down the olive skin of Mama’s neck.
The air thickened in Lisbeth’s nostrils. Lord, help me!
“This is how they’ll know you are my disciples.”
God, I can’t. What if … ?
“Just as I have loved you …”
“Okay. Calm down, little man.” Lisbeth fumbled with the clasp on the backpack straps. “Let her go, and I’ll get you what you want.” She struggled out from under the bag’s weight and dug out the pills. She shook the package. “I said let her go.”
Pytros cocked his head. “Put them on the bed.”
“Do as he says,” Aspasius whispered.
Lisbeth tossed the pills on the bed, buying her mother’s release with a Z-Pak. Pytros stepped back, and she and Mama raced into each other’s arms.
“He nicked you.”
Mama refused Lisbeth’s attempts to stop the bleeding from the tiny gash. “You shouldn’t have done this.” She gathered the antibiotics.
“Those pills don’t come close to repaying all that you’ve done for me,” Lisbeth whispered in English. “You sure you want to operate on him? I don’t think he’ll make it.”
“We could let nature take its course, but neither of us could live with ourselves, could we?”
Lisbeth released a pained sigh. “‘This is how they’ll know you are my disciples.’”
Mama’s eyes glistened.
Lisbeth withdrew the serrated saw from her backpack. “Let’s do this.” The stainless steel blade sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the shutters.
“Pytros, the pills will not be enough. I’ll have to operate,” Mama ordered. “I’ll need a large, flat surface. Have Kardide clear the office table, and have Iltani boil water. Lots of it.”
51
ASPASIUS HATED TO ADMIT the huge relief he felt at having Magdalena once again flank him. Even with the sharp reproof on her lips and a very large knife in her hand, her presence would steady his off-kilter stance and have him back on his feet in no time. Magdalena possessed more than competent skill with healing herbs. She also oozed a bewitching power of discernment and eased his strained mind. This strange, strong-willed woman had cast an unbreakable spell on him.
He would make certain she never left him again. “I need a moment with my scribe.”
“Make it quick.” Magdalena stepped back. “This infection should have been dealt with days ago. No telling how far it has spread.”
Aspasius motioned Pytros to him.
“I’m here.” The eager scribe leaned in close, his hands trembling. “How can I serve you further, my lord?”
“Sacrifice to the gods on my behalf and then …” Aspasius whispered his brief instructions. Pytros nodded his assent and hurriedly backed from the room.
Aspasius waved Magdalena close, and she returned boldly to his side. He shifted carefully. Despite the pain, he stretched across the span and took her hand.
Though he could tell she preferred they not touch, he couldn’t detect so much as a tremble.
Magdalena was the only person in the world who wasn’t afraid of him.
His only true friend.
He knew this woman. And most importantly, he knew of the son she’d hidden from him all of these years. That she had saved the imperfect result of their union was the very reason he knew she could do him no real harm. On more than one occasion, she’d had ample opportunity to add something fatal to his sleeping potions. He’d always awakened. It wasn’t in her nature to cause harm. Magdalena was a healer. And though she may hate him, the point of her blade would be well placed, and her hand would remain steady. This woman would do everything within her power to see that he lived.
Aspasius raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”
Magdalena’s mouth opened, then closed.
He’d always loved the thrill of sending a shocking blow through her body. His unexpected words of kindness hit her harder than his hand ever could. For once, she had nothing to say, and he found her stunned silence deliciously arousing.
His enjoyment of the moment was interrupted by the beautiful young healer pushing up to the table. “What did he say?”
“Thank you,” Magdalena whispered. She withdrew her hand and stepped back. “He said thank you.”
Lisbeth’s perfect brow creased. “Did you already give him something for pain?”
It was all Aspasius could do not to laugh out loud. These two were so much alike.
Magdalena shook her head, never taking her eyes off of him. “No.”
Aspasius chuckled low and to himself. With his healer’s confusion seared into his memory, he closed his eyes in peace. The proconsul of Carthage would wake up a well man.
*
“I DON’T understand why you insisted we operate in his office.” Lisbeth helped Kardide pour scalding water across the top of Aspasius’s giant desk, taking a bit of sadistic pleasure in watching the finish on the burled mahogany warp. “The last time I
was in this room I was forced to stand naked before the entire Senate.”
“Trust me in this, Lisbeth.” Mama directed the soldiers carrying the proconsul on a sheet. “Set him down carefully.”
Though the room was large, Lisbeth felt compressed between the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the wall mural of a chariot racer whipping his frightened horse. “Mind if I open the shutters?”
“We don’t need the flies.” Mama handed their patient antibiotics.
Aspasius greedily washed down Lisbeth’s last line of defense with an herbal sleeping cocktail. What have I done? She gripped the edge of the desk to keep from stuffing her hand down his throat and taking back what was hers.
It didn’t take long for the proconsul’s eyes to cloud over. Once he drifted off, she and Mama rolled up their sleeves, scrubbed in, and gloved up. While Mama arranged her freshly sterilized instruments, Lisbeth made a mental list of all the things making her nervous. So many obstacles were stacked against their success. Aspasius was not a healthy man. Even if he was, he could suffer a heart attack, heart failure, or blood clots during or after the excruciating procedure.
Say, by some impossible miracle, Aspasius survived the surgery, one Z-Pak was slim protection against possible infection at the operative site, pneumonia, or the need for further limb reduction if this initial tissue removal didn’t arrest the gangrene. Lisbeth lifted the proconsul’s gown out of Mama’s way. The outline of his ribs was shockingly pronounced. Lisbeth plugged the stethoscope into her ears and listened to the rise and fall of his chest. Lungs a bit congested. Heartbeat slightly irregular. If he lived through this gruesome ordeal, there was no way he would survive another round of surgical trauma and blood loss.
Lisbeth draped the stethoscope around her neck and stated her biggest fear of all, “If he dies on the table, we won’t make it out of here.”
“If we do nothing, he’ll die in his bed.” Mama glanced at the soldiers stationed at the door. “You saw him whispering to Pytros. How far do you think he’d let us get?” Her face transmitted a determined calm Lisbeth didn’t understand. “Either way, we’re in too deep to jump ship now.”
