The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,24

we were about to retire to our respective quarters when there came a knock at the front entrance. The soldier Betto admitted a dark, bearded man wearing one gold earring and long robes striped blue and purple. He was followed by two of his own protectors. Rome was not a safe place to be out and about at night.

Livia, a small bag slung over her shoulder, came running up to her mother. Sabina hugged her daughter fiercely and would have remained till dawn in that embrace had not Livia gently broken free. “Good night, mother. Will I see you soon?”

Sabina’s chin trembled and her eyes widened in that trick we use to keep the tears from falling. “Soon,” she managed. Livia turned toward the strangers, but Sabina reached to trace her hand down the full length of her daughter’s outstretched arm. As Livia moved away Sabina let the fabric of her daughter’s tunic pass through her hand, then the softness of her child’s arm till at last only their hands touched, fingers intertwining. Finally, fingertips shared the last brief spark of connection. Livia giggled at this little game, then ran to the stranger.

“Can we not keep her,” Sabina asked, “at least till the end of the Saturnalia?”

“She is promised elsewhere,” the dark man said with a compassionate tilt of his head. His accent was strange. He smiled down at the girl and held out his hand. She took it. They stepped back out into the night. As the front door was being barred shut Livia began to whistle. In a few moments the sound receded into silence.

Dumbstruck, I stood staring at the closed door. “What just happened?” I turned toward Sabina, but she had fled. Betto, the young door guard was standing at his post, fussing with a strap on his leather breastplate. “Who was that?” I asked.

“Boaz. A Jew,” he said, his head bent in concentration over the lacings. As if that explained anything.

“And?”

Betto looked up at me, irritated. “He has a contract with the house.” I had no idea what he was talking about. “Boaz is our slave merchant,” he said as if talking to one of those pitiful god-touched souls wandering aimlessly through the stalls of the Subura market. He spoke in sharp-edged barbs of rising inflection. “He owns the girl. She was only here on a rental.”

***

Earlier in the day Sabina had shown me where I would be sleeping from now on. It was near the end of the servants’ hallway; a small room right next to Pío’s much larger quarters. I limped there now, stung, numb and so very tired. It was very dark and I had to feel my way. Pulling the curtain aside I saw absolutely nothing. I had to stand there for a few moments until my eyes regained some of their sight. There was a shape on one of the two sleeping couches. Nestor faced the wall; I could not tell if he was asleep or feigning; either way I doubt he wanted to engage in conversation. Fine by me. A narrow table stood between the beds; trunks sat at the foot of each. That was all. There was barely a foot between the two couches. No window. No ornamentation. Home.

I undressed and slipped beneath the heavy blanket. Sleep would not come. I tossed like a beached fish, stared at the ceiling and replayed all that had transpired that day. Finally, I decided my foul mood needed company. “Nestor,” I whispered. No response. I tried again, louder this time. And a third, louder still.

He whipped around to face me. “What do you want?” he hissed. “Are you crazy? Do you know the time?”

“To talk. No. Yes.”

“Leave me alone.” His tone sounded more frantic than was called for by the occasion.

“Yes. No.”

“You are insane. The master should lock you away and make you eat hellebore leaves till you come to your senses.”

“Why did you not acknowledge me earlier today? I thought you would be happy to see me.”

“This is my home. My position. I asked for it first. I don’t need you.”

“Well, we won’t go into the manner of your ‘asking,’ beyond acknowledging that shoving me out of the way was a rude and inelegant gesture from one Greek compatriot to another. Be resigned, Nestor, I am here. I am not your enemy. We can help each other.”

“Really?”

“Yes! We are fellow countrymen. Does that not count for something?”

“Did it count for anything when we were in chains? Did we ever pass so