The Honour of Rome by Simon Scarrow

Author:Simon Scarrow [Scarrow, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2021-11-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As soon as she heard the scream, Portia shot to her feet and turned towards the yard. Parvus, who had been sweeping the floor, turned as well. The old woman scurried round the counter and down the corridor as fast as she could go, the boy close behind. As they reached the kitchen door, Denubius appeared on the threshold. ‘What in Hades was that noise?’

‘Outside,’ Portia responded, brushing past him. ‘Now!’

As they burst through the door, they saw Petronella on her knees in the snow, bent over a bloodied form on the ground. Portia realised immediately what had happened. She dashed over to Petronella and kneeled beside her, feeling her heart twist in agony as she stared down at her son. His face was disfigured and covered with smears of blood and cuts that oozed yet more blood. Beneath the gore, his skin was bruised and his eyes, nose and lips were swollen. As she ran her hands over the rest of his body, searching for further wounds and broken bones, she felt her grief turn to a raw sadness for her son, and then fear for what might become of him even if he recovered from his injuries.

Then her native pragmatism took over and she snapped out a string of orders to Denubius and the boy to clear a space in the bar and put a mattress down. As they hurried off, she turned to Petronella and took her hand.

‘Listen to me. We have to get him inside and get him warm. The gods know how long he has been lying out here. He’ll be chilled to the bone. I need you to be brave, Petronella. It’s going to hurt him when we move him, but we haven’t any choice. Do you understand me, girl?’

The younger woman pressed her lips together as she nodded.

‘Good. Stay here while I fetch some cloaks.’

While she was gone, Petronella held Macro’s head in her lap and stroked his hair as shallow breaths rasped from his throat. His right eye opened fractionally and stared up at her, then the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile and he managed to whisper her name again.

‘Shh. Don’t talk. Save your strength, my love.’

Portia returned, running across the yard, and dropped one of the cloaks beside her son, slinging the other over her bony shoulders. ‘We must move him onto that. You take his shoulders, I’ll take his feet.’

They took up position, and Portia looked at Petronella. ‘Ready? Together then . . . Now.’

Though Macro was a short man, he was solidly built, and the women had to strain with all their might to move him over onto the cloak. The task was made no easier by Macro groaning in agony as they shifted him. When it was done, he slumped back, his battered face creasing up as he fought to control the pain. Portia quickly placed the other cloak over his torso, and then each woman took a corner of the cloak beneath him and began to drag him across the yard to the back door of the inn.

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