Page 18 of Of Love and Treason
“As different as a cyclops and a Minotaur.”
Both were monsters. Yet what choice did he have but to choose the lesser of two beasts?
Braccus squinted. “Is my offer so despicable that you would rather your daughter be a common whore on the streets? I offer food in her belly, a roof over her head. Two things even you, her own father, cannot guarantee her.”
Quintus chose his words with care. “She does not know you as I do, sir. She will not take the news easily.”
“She doesn’t know me.” Braccus shrugged. “It matters not in marriage, nor any other contractual relationship. Why should it matter here?”
“Forgive me, sir, but her position would be more precarious than that of a wife.” A bead of sweat slipped along his spine, catching on the fabric bundled around his waist from his military belt.
“Let us dispense with formalities, Quintus, and speak plainly.” Braccus thrummed his fingers slowly on the desk as if ticking off the seconds. “Has your daughter other offers?”
The keys on his belt clinked as Quintus shifted. “No, sir.”
“In her present condition and advanced age, is she likely to receive any?”
“It is not impossible, sir.”
Braccus raised a brow. “Within four months?”
The tension in Quintus’s shoulders drooped. “No... sir.” His leg ached from standing so long.
“Have you family who would take her in when you die?”
Quintus swallowed the retort that, based on age, the tribune was more likely to die first. His lips pinched. “Not by blood, sir.”
The tribune nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. “Ah, you refer to the son of Acius Didius Liberare—may he rest in the Elysian Fields. Titus is an intelligent young man. His determination and reputation will earn him a promising career if he continues as he has.” The tribune’s eyes narrowed. “But Titus cannot marry her. Nor is he likely to when he reaches higher rank—not with her condition.”
Quintus shifted his weight off his sore leg and sighed. “Forgive my hesitancy, sir. This is a large matter to consider.”
“I need not remind you of the size of your debts. You have nothing with which to repay them, and nonpayment puts both of you in labor camps. For all your efforts to restore her sight, your daughter will be destitute. I am offering her safety. Food. Shelter.”
Shame.
“If I may be so bold, sir: Why would you do this for Iris? Whyher? You can have your pick of any other young woman.”
Braccus jerked forward in his seat, resting his forearms on the desk. “Because she isexquisite. And since I first laid eyes on her, I can think of having no one else.”
Not true—if the nightly troupe of mangled women was any indicator. How long would the tribune’s infatuation last? Quintus said nothing.
A single knock at the main door preceded the messenger who stopped on the threshold and bowed toward the tribune.
“You’re needed at the Castra Praetoria, Tribune. A matter of urgent importance.”
Braccus stood. “Think on it.” He locked gazes with Quintus. “It is her life.”
Tribune Braccus followed the messenger out. Shaking, Quintus wobbled toward the chair and collapsed into it. His mind ran circles around the tribune’s proposition. How could the man be so bold as to suggest such a thing? How could Quintus be so depraved as to consider it? Even so, the tribune was not all empty words. Iriswasexquisite, as he said. Even more beautiful than her long-departed mother, if that were possible, given the scars twisting her face. But she was also blind, and no man would ask for a wife so unlucky. Noteven Titus, though Quintus often wished he could. Quintus rubbed his hands over his face. He should be grateful that the subject of his fears could be so easily relieved. Instead, he felt sick.
Quintus sat at his desk with a half-empty amphora when Iris arrived. Markos swung the door open and Iris breezed inside, carrying with her the scents of evening dew and meat pies and bread.
“Hello, Pater.” Iris grinned and stopped just inside the doorway. “Is everything in its place?”
“It is.” Quintus tossed back the remainder of his wine as Iris crossed the room, confidence in her quick steps. She skirted the desk without so much as brushing it and kissed his cheek. Her face shone.
“Hello, my girl. How was the bakery?”
“Long.” Iris heaved a sigh. “I’ve been there all day till just now. Paulina is away; her bakers’ guild had a meeting with the Guild of Grain Millers. I worked out front.” She unwrapped herself from the dusky-orange palla covering her head and shoulders and handed him a bundle tied into one corner of it. He set out the meat pies and bread, then stood, taking her shoulders and moving her in front of the chair.
