Brigand's Blade by Joyce Holt

Author:Joyce Holt [Holt, Joyce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-05-16T22:00:00+00:00

32 – Doubt and Fear

CIVITAS LUGUVALLUM 948 A U C

(AD 195)

In the morning Aria donned her white linen gown, still damp where she'd dabbed away spots of blood from her lashing. Wrapped in Rhian's old shawl, she padded silently through the courtyard and down the hall to the atrium, patrifamilial writ clutched tight. No one was there. She stood against the wall near the main entrance, farthest from Fabinius' reception seat as was proper for a client of low-class.

Rain fell, pattering on the roof and plinking in the pool below the skylight. Had her mother made it safely to Drysi's hut? How wet had she gotten on that tramp in the stormy dusk? Soaked? Chilled? Aria shivered.

Another worry came to natter with the first. How could she call Eleri when Rhian went into labor? How to send a summons?

Her gaze wandered along the geometric patterns in the tiles underfoot. How like the designs in the floors of her childhood home, that warm safe place. There, even the growling watchdog mosaic had been a delight, a protection from harm, from outsiders. Here, she was the outsider, and the bone-white teeth seemed bared at her.

She heard footsteps. It was the undercook, carrying a platter of bread and cheese for the master's breakfast. Rhian would be next on his route, and the children. Rhian would save a portion for Aria and the ornatrix, the way she had shared her cold morning meal with Eleri every day the past week.

Aria sighed. There at least lay some comfort. Her mother would eat heartier meals. Drysi would cook a warm porridge for breakfast, and nurse the ailing healer with the good medicinal herbs of Bryt lore.

The clerk arrived next, bustling about the office wing of the atrium, dusting the seat, setting out an abacus and wax tablets at the desk. He hardly glanced at Aria in her simple Roman attire as he went down the entrance hall, discharged the watchman from duty, and stepped outside to welcome any waiting clients.

There were no visitors this early, and Fabinius did not bother coming to the atrium at the appointed time.

Aria had bitten two nails to the quick by the time he finally arrived. All that waiting, and he barely glanced at the vellum sheet Aria handed him. He gave it back and dismissed her with a wave of his hand, turning to the business at his desk.

In her room Aria rinsed out the vial she had smuggled under the noses of the master and his guests last evening, and examined it in the morning light. There was a small bubble in the glass near the base. Not the lucky one.

She brewed a tea of milk thistle, poured a little in the vial and stuck in a cork. Then with the incriminating bag of herbs tucked far under the bed frame along with her bright-hued mountain plaids, and the secret vial stashed with the writ in her pouch, she took the remaining cupful of tea up the stairs to Rhian's chamber.

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