Page 11 of Of Love and Treason
“The empire won’t give property or business ownership rights to a woman who is not legally a widow.” Marius nodded. “And Pastor Lucca has no problem with this?”
Valens brushed the pie crumbs from his hands. “He thinks it won’t be a problem within the church since we take care of our widows. And while I agree with that—”
“There are still scores of women outside of our churches who wouldn’t have the same protection.” Cato sent a warning glare across the courtyard. Lalia, racing along the path, stopped at her father’s look and walked in slow, exaggerated steps.
Valens sighed. “And so we spent the rest of the time arguing whether to speak against the edict or stay silent.” He glanced at the fading light overhead and stood. “It’ll be dark soon. I should get home before Aunt Bea gives me another lecture.”
“On why you still haven’t married Hannah?” Marius smirked.
“On why I shouldn’t be walking home in the dark.” Valens shot him a sharp look and glanced around to ensure Hannah hadn’t overheard. The lovely young woman with overt designs on Valens stood near the fountain with her back turned, visiting with the bride.
“Getting all the tips on how to snag you.” Cato elbowed Valens’s ribs. “You’re getting old, Val.”
“I’m still younger than you.” Valens looped his satchel across his chest.
Cato laughed. “Yes, but at your age, I’d already had three children—” He stopped, and they all went quiet. Valens felt his chest compress as pain flooded Cato’s face. His friend pressed his lips together, with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, you know what I mean. I’ll walk you out, Val.”
Valens said his farewells and met Cato in the clinic at the front of the house. He stood with his back to Valens, hands braced on the edge of the stained operating table.
“We all miss Peter.” Valens closed the door behind him. “But I’m sure a father feels the pain more acutely than the rest of us will ever know.”
“All the babies, and now Peter—” Cato sucked in a breath and kept his back turned. “I should have made him come with me. But he wanted so badly to play with his friends—I didn’t think it would—”
“You couldn’t have known what would happen. He was a good helper, wasn’t he?”
“The best.” Pride shone in Cato’s voice. “He never batted an eye during an amputation.” He ran a hand over the battered edge of the table. “Unlikesome.”
Valens felt his stomach lurch. “Don’t talk about it.”
Cato looked over his shoulder. “You going to vomit again?”
“There’s a good chance.”
“If you do, use the bucket this time.”
They laughed. Cato opened the front door and pulled Valens into a hug. “You’re a good friend, Val.”
Valens slapped Cato’s shoulder as they parted. “You’ll see your son again, Cato. And in the meantime, Peter will never have to witness any more of the brokenness of this world.”
Cato nodded. “Greet Beatrix for us all.”
The apartment Valens shared with his aunt sat above the upper levels of the Markets of Trajan. Overlooking Trajan’s Forum with all its colorful statuary and the towering white column outlining Emperor Trajan’s victory over the Dacians, the view was stunning and almost worth the number of stairs.
Aunt Bea hovered on the balcony, bent over a high table strewn with ornate glass and clay bottles. Draped in a garish orange-and-pink chiton trimmed in yellow embroidery, she looked as if she belonged in one of her flowerpots. With the assistance of a funnel, Bea filled a small blue glass bottle from a larger amphora, stoppered it, and looked up with an energetic smile.
“Valens, come and smell this. I’ve made a new thing.” She pushed her fingers into the bundle of springy salt-and-pepper curls tied low at her neck. The short curls ringing her face sprang upright againas she bounced on her toes, waiting for Valens to smell her latest concoction.
His aunt and uncle had owned a perfumery in the Markets of Trajan for as long as Valens could remember. After Uncle Lucan’s death, the shop’s ownership had legally transferred to his widow. Aunt Bea had taken over with the same gusto she’d used to match most of the singles in her acquaintance. A fact she pointed out to Valens often.
Valens took a tentative sniff and prepared for another instant headache.
“It’s pomegranate, rosemary, and a hint of citron!” She bit a knuckle. “Well? What do you think?”
“It smells like a summer holiday.” The closest thing to a compliment he could come up with.
Bea squealed, triumphant. “Doesn’t itjust? And the perfect time of year for it too, I think—with everyone lamenting the start of autumn, this’ll be just the pickup!”
“It’s nice, Aunt Bea.”
