by Lynne Gentry
Lisbeth closed her eyes and let the tension drain from her body. A moan escaped her lips. “That feels fabulous.”
Cyprian leaned forward and kissed her lightly. “Wait here. I’ll get a towel.” He went to the hook on the wall and retrieved the fresh linen. He lifted her foot and gently patted it dry. Pain shot from her heel to her knee.
She shifted so he wouldn’t notice her flinch. “That’s better. Thanks.” Cyprian stood and tossed the towel across the room. He took her hand and drew her to her feet. He kissed her again, this time pulling her against him.
Her fingers worried the knot of her sash. Butterflies, bigger than the ones she’d battled on their wedding night, fluttered in her womb. Since the last time they were together, only a few days had passed for Cyprian. Her gaze toured his chiseled contours of shadow and light that danced in the lamp’s flame. He hadn’t aged at all. No new wrinkles. His waist was still trim. This man beckoning her to his bed looked exactly like the man of her memories, the one her dreams had called forth night after night for the past thirteen years. Examining him now was like looking at a picture of someone taken in the prime of his life and forever frozen in a state of perfection.
From the way Cyprian’s eyes canvassed her body, drinking in the shape of her curves, Lisbeth wanted to believe she too had not aged. That her husband still thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. That her fears of disappointing him were unfounded.
But reality kept her belt knotted.
She didn’t need a mirror to know time had taken its toll on her body. Lisbeth let her gaze drop to her hands. Thirteen years older. Veiny. Red and rough from years of scrubbing in for one surgery after another. Her biceps had softened from lack of time at the gym. Fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled into crow’s-feet whenever she smiled.
“Blow out the lamp, please,” she whispered.
“Not tonight,” he said softly. In two steps he was so near that his breath warmed the top of her head. He lifted her chin and cupped her face with his hands. “I can’t pretend to know how hard it has been in your world. How long our days apart have been for you. How frightening and difficult it must have been to raise our daughter alone.” He kissed her nose, never taking his eyes from hers. “All I know is from the moment I sent you away until the moment you returned, it has been as if a thousand years have grieved my heart.” He gently lowered his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly. “It was selfish, I know, but I wanted you back before I even let you go.”
Tiny quivers, rhythmic as the distant waves rolling upon the shore, rippled from the heat of his lips. “I love you,” she whispered. “Forever.”
A hint of a smile curved his lips and he kissed her again. She drank in the salty taste of him as his kiss deepened. Her mind traveled to their last night together. The treasured memory was suddenly clear. She could feel the pergola tiles beneath her, see the bats leave their roost in the pergola’s beams, and feel Cyprian’s desire meld with hers. Having the memory securely in place settled her, steadied her breathing, and sent fear sailing. All too soon circumstances would rip them apart. But for tonight, they were together. And she refused to leave here with a single regret. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into him, and loved him as if they had all the time in the world.
* * *
SQUAWKING GULLS outside the open window awakened Lisbeth from her first sound sleep in years. Still drowsy, she dragged her leg over Cyprian’s. It was true. He was actually here. Not just a dream. She kissed his shoulder. He mumbled something unintelligible and drew her close. Though the room was warm, they’d clung to each other all night, soaking up the proof of the other’s existence.
Outside their door, coughs and sickly moans rose from the crowded halls. Lisbeth’s patients would need her soon. She closed her eyes and prayed for one more minute of bliss. One more moment of not having to think about what would happen to these people when she had to leave. When she couldn’t stand their cries for relief any longer, she started to rise.
Cyprian pulled her back. “Wait. Do you hear that?”
Maggie’s lilting voice seeped through the cracks. Soothing. Graceful. Naive.
Pleasure spread across his face. “Our daughter is a good girl. Thanks to you.”
“That’s just it. If I let her see what is about to happen in this place, she won’t be a little girl for long.”
21
LISBETH KISSED THE SCOWL from her husband’s forehead. “Maggie’s going to need some help.” She slid out of bed and went to the basin.
Cyprian rolled on his back, stretched lazily, then pillowed his clasped hands behind his head and watched as she emptied the sponge on her bare shoulders. “She’s fully capable of changing Eggie’s water pot.”
“And if he’s taken a turn for the worse?”
“Trust her to let you know.”
“I do trust her.” Lisbeth glanced over her shoulder, irritated at his implication.
“She says you hover.”
“Really? Then how did she escape me long enough to come here?” She shimmied into her tunic. “It’s not easy being two parents at once.”
“I’m not saying you haven’t done an excellent job raising our child. You have. It’s because she is such a fine young woman that I think you can—”
“Don’t let those big blue eyes of hers fool you.” Lisbeth freed her hair from her collar. “Nothing is ever easy with our daughter.”
“Or her mother.”
“You should have married Diona Cicero if you wanted easy.” She chuckled at his surprise of her knowledge of his broken engagement to Titus’s daughter and planted a kiss on Cyprian’s forehead. “Come find me after you’ve prepared to face the praetor and we’ll pray.”
“I thought you weren’t speaking to God.”
“You’re the one I’m not speaking to.” Lisbeth smiled and slipped out the door just as Cyprian launched his tunic at her head.
She hurried down the stairs. Determined not to hover, she intentionally turned opposite the sound of Maggie’s voice.
Titus’s house was even larger and more spectacular than Cyprian’s. Situated on prime real estate that overlooked the harbor, the structure had been strategically placed to maximize the breeze, which would be helpful for clearing the halls of the stench of sickness. Lisbeth dashed into the kitchen, stuffed her backpack with herbs, and wrapped her stethoscope around her neck. Her restocking complete, she could no longer put off her rounds or dealing with Maggie.
Lisbeth hoisted her bag and bustled toward the measles hall.She stopped at the door. Maggie was already dressed and filling Eggie’s vaporizer pot with bubbling hot water.
“You’re up early.”
Maggie flashed a triumphant smile. “I think his fever has broken.”
“Really?” Lisbeth set her bag beside Eggie’s bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Tried to get this goddess to hold my hand, but she acts like I have the plague or something.” Eggie pushed up on his elbows. “Her hair is the color of Scythian gold. Her eyes are jewels set in alabaster.”
Lisbeth’s gaze cut to Maggie. “How long has he been talking?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Too long.”
Lisbeth couldn’t help laughing. “Let’s take his temperature.”
“I don’t think he can keep his mouth shut long enough to get an accurate read.”
Lisbeth reached into her bag. “Don’t worry, it’s a rectal thermometer.”
“Mom, that’s gross.”
“Just kidding.” She kissed Maggie’s cheek. “See, I can step out of the sterile box once in a while and have a little fun.” Lisbeth removed the thermometer from her pack, watching Maggie cautiously consider the possibility. “Open wide, Eggie.”
One of Titus’s stable boys skidded into the room, waving his arms. “Come quick.”
Lisbeth left Eggie with a thermometer hanging out of his mouth and scrambled after Maggie and the servant. “Well, what is it?” Lisbeth asked when
she arrived at the front door.
The wild-haired servant licked his lips and became suddenly very interested in his shifting feet.
Lisbeth insisted. “Speak up.”
The boy raised his dirty face. “When I helped the fishmonger water his horse at our troughs, he told me his daughter was ill.”
“And?”
“I might have mentioned we had a healer.” He undid the latch and slowly pulled back the carved wood. “I’m sorry.”
Lisbeth gasped.
“Where did they come from?” Maggie blurted.
Fifteen new measles cases waited on the tiled portico and twenty more spilled out into the courtyard.
* * *
BY SUNDOWN Maggie and Naomi had helped Lisbeth add so many new sleeping mats they could barely pick their way through the atrium.
Titus was beside himself, shouting threats from the kitchen door. His rants alternated between warning Diona and Vivia he’d cut off their shopping funds if they set foot in the sick-ward and begging Lisbeth for medicine to keep his family safe. “I’ll pay anything,” he pleaded.
“I gave you what I have, Titus. But the typhoid vaccine will not protect you against measles. Stay out of here and wash your hands often.” On her last visit Lisbeth planned for the measles epidemic and transported a few rounds of the vaccine in a small cooler. Unfortunately, most of it had spoiled. She’d been left with no choice but to throw out the unused vials. While packing her bag for this trip, she’d opted to use her limited space for the nonrefrigerated typhoid blister packs. Titus and Vivia had received the necessary doses. It would be several more days before Lisbeth knew whether it had been given early enough to preempt their exposure to the bacteria that had nearly killed their daughter and sickened Mama.
Long after dark, Cyprian brought a tray of cold lamb, warm cheese, and several rounds of crusty bread. “You need to eat.”
“So far we’re just seeing measles,” Lisbeth said. She took a glass of wine from the tray. “If we start getting typhoid patients, I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’ve given Barek, Naomi, and Pontius the typhoid vaccine, but even if they manage to stay healthy that won’t be enough help. I’ll need Mama.” She gulped the dark red wine. A tingling buzz traveled all the way to her aching feet. “Titus has graciously allowed his cook to assist Naomi with the oral hydration solutions and he’s secretly opened a grain silo to keep us in bread, but even if we could handle the influx, I’m afraid as word spreads through the city that we have food and medical care they’ll storm the villa.”
“Sit with me for a moment.”
Cyprian’s grave face jerked her from her duties. “Has something happened to my mother? Tell me.”
“Pontius delivered food and fresh water to the prison this morning. He reports she chided him for risking his life on such a fool’s errand and that she and Kardide are making great improvements.”
“Of course she would say that. I won’t believe it until I see her again.”
“Sit. You are exhausted.”
“I don’t have time.”
His brows rose. “Now is all we have.”
Her gut lurched. Lisbeth clung to her wineglass and let Cyprian lead her to a bench hidden in a small alcove.
Tempting as it was to beg him to keep on walking, Lisbeth settled in beside him. Another time and place this might have been the perfect spot for a romantic interlude, but the coughs and cries for mercy echoing in the corridor were more than mood killers. They were raw reminders of what she was up against . . . again. How had she allowed this to happen?
“Has it ever occurred to you that God may have sent you back for a reason?”
“God didn’t do this. Maggie did.”
“Just hear me out, please.” Cyprian took the cup from her and then wrapped her hands in his. “What if you are the hope for the future—not me?”
“Me? That’s ridiculous. According to everything I’ve read, you’re the tragic hero.”
His wan smile indicated his refusal to be sucked into her fears. “Tell me what you need to make a difference while you’re here.”
“While I’m here?” she whispered against the pressing inevitability of her departure. She’d made her position clear. She wouldn’t stay and watch him die. So why did the acceptance in his voice constrict the air flow to her lungs? Lisbeth swallowed the acid mix burning her throat. “Same as before: the ports closed and the cemeteries opened. Lime to cover the bodies. Clean water for the tenements. More herbs for the oral hydration solutions and vaporizer tents. A hall cleared for possible typhoid patients. My staff is just a bunch of kids. Somebody has to relieve them before they drop from exhaustion. And somehow I’ve got to make time to check on my parents, while stealing every moment I can with you.” She caught a shallow breath. “That’s my short list.”
His faint smile was lined with weariness. “Everything will be as God wills, my love.” Cyprian folded her into his arms, drawing her against his chest. Scents of ink and parchment clung to his clothes. He’d been in Titus’s library for hours poring over legal documents, searching for any loophole that would eliminate the necessity of his request for the reinstatement of his legal privileges before the Senate.
Though Lisbeth knew she shouldn’t let herself be drawn into the problems of Cyprian’s people again, she could more easily quit breathing than pull away from the steady beat of his heart. Each thump sank deeper into her soul, plowing through the crust she’d nurtured these past thirteen years. Softening her up. Preparing her for the moment they both knew could no longer be delayed. Tomorrow Cyprian would officially make his presence known in the city. He would stand before the praetor, beg the reinstatement of his rightful place, and officially set into motion events neither of them could stop.
“You have the note?” she whispered.
“I have the note.”
“And you’ll tell Xystus to explain to the Senate that Aspasius set you free—”
“I’ll tell him.” Cyprian’s finger skimmed her cheek. “I’ll seek an expedited decision and press to go to trial immediately.”
“And if Xystus refuses your requests?”
“I’ll remind him of my father’s generosity to his family over the years.”
“But a trial may not go—”
Across the atrium, someone rapped on the door. Lisbeth couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that stirred the hair escaping her loose braid. “More sick have found us.”
Cyprian planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’ll get it. You rest a little longer.”
“If it’s an emergency—”
“I’ll call you.”
She heard Cyprian open and close the peephole, then throw open the door. “Metras!”
Metras? Lisbeth peeked around the pillar. The old man who’d stuck by them while the rest of the church followed the traitor Felicissimus out the door was shaking Cyprian’s hand.
“Tappo!” Cyprian turned and offered his hand, but the Egyptian stonemason tromped in without a word. After him came twenty more adults and at least that many children, Cyprian’s pleasure growing with each guest. “Thank you all for coming.”
Lisbeth left her plate and went to investigate. “What’s going on?”
These were not new patients. In fact, it was easy to see none of the new arrivals crowding into the atrium were even sick. Some she recognized as former patients she and her mother had already nursed to health. All of them were members of the church who had at one time or another served alongside Ruth and herself.
Metras made his way to the front of the group. “Lisbeth, you look worn out,” he said with a gummy smile. “Good thing I brought some help.” The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Except for Metras, these people had abandoned her husband and left him to face the Roman soldiers alone. She never wanted to see these traitors again. She opened her mouth to express those very sentiments when an exhausted sigh drew her attention. An emaciated woman suddenly slumped into Metras. Her sunken cheeks were flush with fever. I
n her arms, she clutched a bundle in the shape of an infant. Lisbeth would have thought her another pleb from the slums except for the expensive clothes on her back and the gold jewelry draped around her neck. “And who is this?”
“Don’t know.” Metras shifted his cane to better support the weight of the woman swaying from his arm. “Found her wandering the street not a block from here. If the rich coward who left his family isn’t dead, someone ought to kill him.”
“You were right to bring her to us.” Cyprian led the woman to a bench. “Lisbeth, this woman could use your help.” The room went silent. “Lisbeth?”
All eyes turned on her. This woman was a patrician. She could bring trouble. Lisbeth willed her feet to move toward the bench. “What’s your name?” she asked the woman.
“Arria.” The bundle in the woman’s clenched arms didn’t move.
“Can I see your baby?”
Arria gave a cautious nod and eased her grasp on the child. Lisbeth pulled back the blanket and peered at a tiny blue face not more than a month old. The woman had come too late. Lisbeth lifted her eyes to deliver the bad news, but Arria’s anxious eyes compelled her to run the stethoscope bell under the bindings and listen for a heartbeat anyway.
Lisbeth swallowed the sting that always swamped her when someone died, and she tucked the bindings back in place. She gently touched Arria’s arm. “Wait here.” She caught Cyprian’s eye and cocked her head toward the alcove. He excused himself and followed after her.
“I hate to throw cold water on your excitement,” Lisbeth whispered. “But that woman with Metras is obviously somebody important. Perhaps even the wife of one of the senators who voted in favor of your exile.”
He brushed her lips with his. “I seem to remember someone I know rather well proposing we care for anyone who was sick.”
“A lot has happened since then and you know it.” Lisbeth’s rising volume caused everyone to turn and stare. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Her baby is dead. If the praetor sends you to face the senate, you don’t need to give them reason to blame you for the death of one of their children. And I’d hate to think what would happen if she dies and—”
