The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,64
laces that ran up the top of each sandal.
“I did not know how to express my feelings to you.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“And I was afraid.”
“Of course you were.” She began pulling the leather tongues away from my feet, applying a colloidal solution of honey, crushed lavender and silver as she went. I winced as she passed over one of the worst burns on the outside of my left heal. She did not apologize.
“I’ll tell you why you were afraid. You knew if you came to me that no matter how much I cared for you, no matter how grateful I am to you, I would never condone such a match. You would never receive my blessing.”
“Why not, Sabina? I would never harm her. I would care and provide for her, I would ...”
At that moment, little Marcus and Publius came stumbling in, tripping over each other in their haste. Nine year-old Marcus said, “We’ve come to thank Alexander ...”
“For saving Father,” his six-year old brother blurted.
“I was telling it!” Marcus said, infuriated.
“Ooh, that’s discussing,” Publius said, wrinkling his eyes and nose at the sight of my feet.
“Disgusting, you dolt,” Marcus said. “But he’s right, you know. Will you have to cut off his feet?”
“Boys, go ask cook for some honey cakes and leave me to my work. Or I might slip and accidentally cut a toe or two right off, right before your eyes. Can you imagine the blood?” Two little jaws dropped in unison. They moved in, hoping for a display of carnage.
“Sorry, boys, no fountains of gore here today,” I said, trying to sound confident. Go, my little warriors. Let the healer concentrate.” Pleading, followed by reluctance and resignation.
“Mother said she hopes you know what you’re about,” Publius declared as Marcus led him out by the hand.
“You’ve got a mouth as big as Polyphemus,” Marcus said.
“Oh yeah? Well, you’ve got a pimple as big as his horn! Ow! Well, you do. Right there! Ow! Can I pop it? Hit me again and Father shall hear of the missing lora. So can I pop it? Please?”
When the sounds of their discourse finally faded, Sabina said, “It’s obvious how you feel about each other. And it grieves me to deny you, but I must.”
“I could go to dominus. Crassus could give his blessing to a contubernium between us.”
“But you would never do that.”
“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.” Wouldn’t I? “I’ll just have to find another way for you to find favor in the match.”
“I won’t. By Vesta’s eternal flame, Alexander, if things were different, no one would be happier than I to tie the knot of Hercules about her waist on the day of your joining. But even if dominus gave his blessing, it cannot and must not be. Soon I will have enough to buy my freedom. I have already negotiated a price with the master. He will allow me to continue to work on the estate, free of rent. Then, in two years, maybe three, I will have earned enough to release Livia.”
“And Ludovicus has already bought his freedom. Do you love him?”
Sabina hesitated. “I am doing the best I can.”
“You will leave us?” I could barely get the words out.
Sabina had been wrapping my feet in washed linen. She stopped to look at me. “That has not yet been decided.”
How could this be happening? This woman, my oldest friend in this place, was building a wall between my love and me, a wall neither logic nor force could breach. “I have a ring,” I blurted. “And a fibula. They are very valuable.”
“Oh, Alexander, you are wise in so many ways, but in this you are a babe on the altar. Don’t you see, Crassus will never let you go; you are too valuable to him. My daughter must marry soon. By the time I have bought her freedom, she will already be past the prime age for union. She and I may never be anything more than freedwomen, but her children will be born free, citizens of Rome. You want that for her, don’t you?”
I exhaled the long breath that heralds tears. “Of course I do. I just ....” Sorrow choked off words and dammed my eyes, raising pools that blurred my vision. How could I argue with a plan for freedom? Especially for Livia. She would leave, and marry, and bear free children. And I would be left behind. The tears crested and rolled down across both temples as I lay on the gurney, thin wet