The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,67

quickly by muttering urgently to herself. As she strode away I had the misfortune to hear a single, coherent word: “barefoot.” I called loudly after her and she turned at last. I asked what was troubling her; she stared at me with hard eyes, her mouth a thin, tight line. She looked as if to speak, then thought better of it and continued on her way. I knew her well enough to let her be; hopefully whatever ate at her would sort itself out.

I saw her a second time that afternoon. Sometimes, when the mistress was in town shopping, I stole Livia away from her work in the baths to accompany me on one of my habitual walks in the western wood. That is the name I had given it, western wood. I have never been one for flights of hyperbole, or for that matter imagination. As we strolled, hand in hand, our words were feathers, light, soft, of little consequence. We worked hard at pretending nothing had changed between us, as if one of us had contracted a mortal carcinoma. Unlike most, we could see the end of our time together, and having just begun our journey; it was not enough, it was not fair. Though it was the last thing we wanted, the knowledge that one of us would go on and one of us would not became our own shared cancer. We tried to ignore it, but it lay beneath everything we did, everything we said. A growing stone between us, always pushing us further apart. For as long as I could, I delayed seeking out the master to beg my plight. I did not want to hear the finality of his answer. Of course Sabina had been right. To his credit, Crassus did not laugh. He was moved, yet unmoved. I would become rich by his side, but that would always be my place. The stone grew much larger that day.

We had taken the longest trail, a circuitous ribbon that skirted the boundaries of the little forest. As we neared the halfway point, both of us saw a flash of color off to our left, deep in the heart of the wood. We left the trail and made our way through the brush. A woman was kneeling before a small smear of blue and purple; it was the pale yellow of her tunic that we had spied. As soon as she heard our approach she spun to her feet and walked swiftly to meet us, but not before dropping what appeared at that distance like a bundle of rags.

“Mother! What are you doing out here?”

Sabina rolled her eyes. “Polishing leaves. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Sarcasm so becomes you,” Livia said. “Isn’t your herb garden by your clinic?”

“You’re right. You’ve caught me with dirty hands. Wait a moment ... by Jove’s thunderbolt, it’s awfully hard to garden without getting your hands dirty.”

“Mother, you’re acting even more peculiar than usual.”

“Actually, Sabina, your hands look lovely, as always,” I said.

“Such a flatterer. That may work with some ....” Sabina looked pointedly at her daughter.

“But why must you work so far from the house?” Livia pressed.

“What do you see in abundance here, daughter, that you find little of by the domus?” Sabina asked.

“People?” Livia said.

“Some plants prefer the shade,” I said.

“Is it any wonder the young Alexander is the favorite of the dominus?” Sabina said.

“It is no wonder at all,” Livia said, bumping me off balance with brusque affection. “He’ll have the cash to purchase ten slaves before you have bought our freedom.”

“Livia, please. Your mother toils to give you the gift of gifts.”

“He will have money,” Sabina said, “no doubt. We have spoken of this and I have no time to debate it further.”

“Those flowers look lovely,” I said, peering over Sabina shoulder. “May we have a closer look?”

“Not now, Alexander. I have three poultices to make and several balms for the baths. Perhaps another time.”

“Gratitude, Sabina. We will leave you to your work.”

“And best get back to your own,” she said. She waited with her hands on her hips, watching us until we had found the path before she returned to her herbs.

***

Attendance at the Vulcanalia was voluntary, but who doesn’t love a good bonfire? The immediate family left early to attend services at the Vulcanal, and soon after the house was almost deserted. Tessa, an Ostian, was among the first out of the domus. She grabbed a seat on the lead cart – there were twelve