“She’s fine, Tribune. You can leave now,” Max barked at him from overhead.
Quin moved her hair out of her face. Her skin, always fair, was even paler than usual.
“Now, Tribune.”
Quin rose, slowly. He turned to face the much shorter man; he glared down at him for a long moment. It wasn’t as if he could have carried her. What right did he have now to order him away as if he were a servant?
Max flinched almost imperceptibly.
Quin pushed past the smaller man, bumping his shoulder with his bicep, and left the house.
But the image of her, so small, so vulnerable on that mat would not leave him.
What had happened to her? Would she recover?
He marched directly to Lydia’s house, one street over. Pounded on the door until Lydia opened it, her usual smile in place.
“Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”
Expecting him? Again? Perhaps Paulos should warn him ahead of time and avoid these heated conversations. “Where is he?” He barged past her.
She pointed down the hall.
“What was that? Explain this to me. In a way I can understand!” Quin spoke before he even entered the room.
“Quin. I’m sure you have many questions. Please sit.” Paulos gestured to one of the couches.
“I’ll stand.” He paced in the center of the room between Paulos and Loukas.
“You really must calm down if we are to have a rational conversation.” Loukas rose and crossed the room to a table. “May I pour you some wine? Are you hungry? Sometimes food can do wonders to help us think more clearly.”
Was he serious? The man wanted him to eat? Now? “Wine, maybe.” Just to quiet him.
Loukas poured a glass of honeyed wine and brought it to him, along with a slice of warm bread. “Eat the bread too. Trust me. You’ll feel better.”
Sighing, he sat and stuffed the food in his mouth, nearly swallowing it whole, then washed it down with wine. When the wine was gone, he set the cup aside and fixed his gaze on Paulos. “Now, will you please tell me what happened?” He paused, reliving the scene. “I heard you say, ‘I order you to come out of her.’ To whom were you speaking?”
Paulos studied his hands for several moments before he spoke. “I was speaking to the spirit that I believe was controlling her. It became clearer every day that she was losing more and more of herself to that spirit.” His voice was soft. It was obvious the incident had affected him deeply. “As she cried out, I could see the battle on her face. She tried mightily, every day, to keep from saying those things. I hated seeing her devastated, humiliated each time she lost that fight. She was growing weaker.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “I’m very sorry this happened to her.”
“Why did she collapse?”
“That is unusual, I admit, but I have seen it before. Most of the time when a spirit leaves, the person feels free, completely liberated. But this was a different sort of spirit. The spirit was not harming her physically, so it operated in a very different manner. I really don’t know.”
Loukas offered Quin another piece of bread. “It may be that the constant battle she was fighting just exhausted her, and when it suddenly ended, all that energy was no longer needed. She may just need some true, deep rest.”
“I’m sorry, but what do you know about this?”
“Loukas is a medicus.”
Quin stared at the man sitting across from him. He’d always thought he was a scholar, a philosopher of some sort. But a physician? Then why wasn’t he with her now, helping her? “Shouldn’t you go tend to her then?”
Loukas chuckled. “What makes you think they would allow me in the house?”
Wouldn’t he even try?
Loukas leaned forward. “Quintus, I am sure she will be all right. If she isn’t, trust me, they will summon a physician. She is too valuable to them.”
He returned his attention to Paulos. “You keep saying spirit, but she said she talks to her goddess. How can a goddess be in someone?”
Paulos drew in a long breath. “Let’s leave the question of whether it’s a goddess or spirit alone for now. You said you saw her that first day she called to me. You saw the terror on her face and you said you’d never seen her afraid before, yes?”
Quin stood to pace again. “I was in Britannia for six years. The women fight alongside the men. They never show fear.”
“So it had to be something very powerful to frighten her.”
“True.”
“Or . . . control her.”
“Maybe . . .”
“So whether it was in her, or controlling her, it needed to leave her alone. Agreed?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Agreed.”
“I told it to leave her alone.”
“And it just obeyed you?”
“It didn’t obey me, it obeyed God, the one true God, the only living God.”
Paulos had made sense until that point. But the spirit leaving just because Paulos told it to, whether Paulos spoke on behalf of his god or not, that was too much to ask him to believe.
Gods didn’t obey other gods. Gods fought other gods, argued with other gods, tricked other gods. They fell in love with each other, grew jealous of each other, hated each other.
And only one God? How could there be only one?
13
“At that moment the spirit left her.”
Acts 16:18
Gallus stared at the number he’d pressed into the wax and tossed the stylus to the desk. The quarterly task of reviewing all fines for minor and medium offenses had his head reeling, his stomach rumbling. He could finish this tomorrow. Better yet, make someone else do it for him. The senate only wanted totals. He could just make up numbers and they’d never know the difference.
Shoving the tablet to the side he stepped to the door and called for his slaves. A rest and some food before a bath and perhaps a lecture would do him some good. Nicanor knelt and removed his sandals, then slipped Gallus’s feet into his outdoor boots and tied the laces. Leonidas helped him arrange the bulky purple-bordered toga over his shoulders, around his torso, and back over his arm.
On his way out of the building, Helios stopped him, a wax tablet in hand. “Domine. I have the rest of that information you requested.”
“Finally.” He glared at the scriba.
Helios looked over his shoulder. “Do you want me to tell you here, out in the hallway?”
Gallus huffed. “Back in my office.”
The Greek closed the heavy door behind them. “Their apparent leader is Paulos, a Jew of Tarsus. He is also known by his Hebrew name Saul. It seems that trouble follows this man and his companions. His fellow Jews rose up against him about a year ago in”—he scanned down the tablet—“Pisidian Antioch and Derbe; both the local residents and the Jews attacked him in Iconium, and the Jews then chased him to Lystra where they stoned him. He’s also caused trouble on more than one occasion in Jerusalem.”
“And who are the men with him?”
“The Greek is Loukas, a local physician. He travels a great deal but does own property here. That is the only reason I got the information so quickly. Otherwise I would have had to wait for it to arrive from the cities themselves. You will need to be very careful with him since he is well-respected. The youngest is . . . umm”—he again checked his notes—“Timotheos. His mater was Jewish, but his pater was Greek.”
Gallus strolled to the window. “Is his family important?”
“Not that I know of. Of Lystra. He came here with Paulos.”
“And the fourth?”
“A Jew named Silas of Jerusalem. Traveling with Paulos for the last year or more. From what I can tell his family is of no importance.”
“Where were they before this?”
He checked the notes once more. “Lystra. Before that, Derbe, and before that, Iconium.”
“Again? Where they were stoned and run out of town?”
“Apparently so. They seem to have
visited without incident this time and brought the young man Timotheos with them.”
“How long do they usually stay in each place?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month or two. Not long.”
“That much is encouraging, at least.” Perhaps they would move on soon, without causing the commotion they had elsewhere. He waved his hand. “You may go.”
This was a great deal of new information, and he would need to consider it carefully, balanced with the rest of his knowledge. He needn’t move too quickly and make a mistake. Better to wait, and watch. Time was on his side, not theirs.
He crossed the forum on his way to his domus. Nearing the end of the morning, shopkeepers were eagerly trying to complete that last sale before going home for their midday meal. Calling for customers, flooding the forum with their grating voices. If he could find a way to make it illegal, he would. At least he had managed to move all the shops down onto the market and keep those with the most nauseating smells farthest away from his domus and the basilica.
Quintus huddled at the east end of the marketplace, deep in conversation with those troublesome visitors.
Normally Gallus would ask his chief lawman to keep an eye on these visitors, but Quintus seemed to be enthralled with them. Just how friendly was he with those foreigners? He’d been with them that day, when that slave girl collapsed. How involved was he in that? Was he trying to create problems for Gallus, for Philippi? Trying to get revenge for losing his land?
Surely Quintus wasn’t aware of the connection between Gallus, and Cassia and Max, nor could Quintus be certain that Gallus had stolen the land, however many suspicions he may have.
Maybe Gallus needed to have a conversation with him, see exactly how involved with those Jews he was. After all, Quintus worked for him, whether Gallus liked it or not. He may as well make use of it.
Quintus could continue his friendship, spy on them for Gallus and keep the Jews in line, and Gallus could keep the peace in his little kingdom.
Everyone would get what they wanted.
After changing his clothes and trading his red army cloak for his dark woolen one, Quin sped along the western edge of the forum. Taking the steps all at once, he landed on the walkway of the market. His gaze quickly moved to the center, finding Max’s shop. Only one person in line. He headed there, trying not to look like he was in too much of a hurry.
An old woman rose from the seat just as Tia came into his vision. A young girl took her place. He watched Tia take the girl’s hand, smile, speak with her like she was the only other person in the world. There was genuine concern on Tia’s face.
Would she talk to him like that? Talk to him at all?
Did she even know he was the one who had carried her home yesterday?
The girl left and he stepped forward.
He waited by the doorway, waited for her to acknowledge him.
She pasted on a weak smile. “Please come in.”
Sitting on the stool, he gave her his hand. “It’s clear you don’t want me here.” He kept his voice low. “Why invite me in?”
“My owners wouldn’t like it very much if I turned away a paying customer.” She glanced at Cassia. “You are paying, aren’t you?”
He chuckled softly. “Of course.”
“And what is your question for the goddess today?” She spoke loud enough for Cassia to hear.
The question seemed to take him by surprise. He hadn’t bothered to formulate one. “I don’t really have one. I guess I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see if you were all right. After yesterday.”
She leaned near, her blue eyes flashing. “You have to at least pretend you have a question.”
She closed her thumb—the only part showing from underneath his larger paw—over the back of his hand. The fingers of her other hand wandered on his skin, sending sparks of heat through his body. Her eyes closed, her head swaying gently as she waited for the messages. She was entrancing. He could sit here forever, watching her, letting her draw circles on his hand.
She frowned.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Nothing.”
“You frowned.”
“Shh!” She glanced at her owners at the entrance. “Do you try to get me in trouble, or does it just happen that way whenever you are around?”
“What are you talking about?”
For a brief moment, fear contorted her beautiful face. “I can’t hear her,” she whispered.
“Can’t hear who?”
“My goddess, Brigid. I’ve been making things up. And I’ve been punished once already for giving a false reading.”
Noticing the still discolored skin beneath her sleeve, he squeezed her hand. “Just tell me anything.”
“Do you swear you won’t get me punished?”
“Of course not.” Why would she think that? “I would never hurt you.”
She glanced over his shoulder at her owners and shook her head.
“No. Ask me something. Anything.”
“Where in Britannia are you from?”
“What makes you think that’s where I am from?”
“I hear things. Philippi is a small town.”
“I lived on the coast.”
“What people?” His voice harsher than he intended.
“What do you know about Britannia?”
“As much as any other Roman,” he lied. “What people? Who was your chief?”
She shifted her weight as she glanced toward Cassia.
“Hold my hand. Pretend you are telling me more about my future.”
“Why do you need to know so badly?”
“I just do. Please?”
She turned his hand over and skimmed her fingers across his palm. “We lived far to the southwest, on the sea. My father is—was—our chief.”
His heart almost stopped. How was that possible? Vespasian had moved the Second Augusta north, coming to truce with the fierce warriors of that area. It didn’t make sense. “How did you end up here?”
“The Roumani attacked. Before dawn. They k—” She paused and breathed deeply. “They killed my parents, and anyone else who would be of no use to Rome. They captured me and many of my friends and sold us to someone on a ship. We traveled for many weeks until we were brought to a market, where we were sold again.”
“I’m sorry.” A weak platitude. His heart ached for her. But would she believe him if he told her that?
“After we made peace with them, after Vespasian swore we would be safe, swore we would never be attacked, they came for us anyway. He lied. I knew we never should have trusted him.”
The army regularly sold war captives of defeated peoples. But they wouldn’t act the way she described. They must have been slave traders, dressed like Roman soldiers. “But they couldn’t—”
Her glare could have sliced though him. “You’re a Roumanos. You must have slaves. Have you never thought where they came from? That they had families? People they loved?”
She pulled her hands back, rested them in her lap. “You haven’t, have you? I’ll bet you never even thought of them as people.”
“That is not true.”
“Your time is up. Pay the other Roumanos on your way out.”
“But wait—”
“Go.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came forth. What could he say?
She was right. Mostly. He knew slaves were people. That they had families, loved ones.
He just never cared enough to think much about it.
Tia waited. No matter what she did, all that came now was stone-cold silence.
Was this because of what that man Paulos did? Said?
What was she supposed to do?
What if her owners found out? If they punished her before . . .
A young woman perched on the stool across from her, a baby in her lap. Her eyes bright, her face expectant.
“Is this your baby?”
“Yes.” She lifted him so Tia could see hi
m. The baby cooed in his mother’s arms, one tiny foot escaping from the blanket he was bundled in.
Elantia’s heart clenched. How could she let them down? “He’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. Can you tell me what the gods have planned for him?”
“May I hold him?” Maybe if she held the child, something would come to her. Maybe the goddess would be merciful to one so small.
She rose to scoop the infant from the woman’s arms. The babe’s weight felt good, comforting against her. How long had it been since she held a baby? Since Britannia, at least. And even there, not in some time. He grabbed for her hair. Pink cheeks. Dark curls. Chubby fingers.
Would she ever have one of her own? Not likely. Not since they believed she had to be pure. She’d never even marry.
Brigid, talk to me, I beg you.
Still nothing came. But he was an infant. Almost anything would work. He had a lifetime to make it happen.
“I see a great life for him. He will be a leader of men.” What else? Anyone could say that. A loving aunt would say that. You need more to make this convincing.
She held her finger close to the baby’s fist, bumping it until he wrapped his tiny fingers around hers. The gesture warmed her heart. Why couldn’t she see what good things the gods had for him?
“Is that all?” The mother’s voice startled her.
“Hmm?”
“Isn’t there more?”
“O-of course. I was just distracted by how perfect he is.” She blinked back a tear. “He, he . . .” She tried to recall how the leadership in this town worked. He couldn’t really be in government unless he was born to it, if she remembered correctly. The mother might not want him in the army. So what would be left for him to lead? “He will be successful in the marketplace. And in anything else he tries. He will be a very wealthy man.” Why not?
The woman’s face lit up. “Successful? Wealthy?”
“Yes.” She placed him back in his mother’s arms.
“Thank you.” Smiling gratefully at Tia, she tucked the blanket around her precious bundle. She paid Max and left.
Max stepped into the tent as soon as he had the coins in his greedy hands. “Why did that one sound so much different from your other messages?”
Sold Into Freedom Page 13
