Page 43 of Of Love and Treason
“What do you mean?” She pushed the hair away from her mouth and dug her shoulder into his armpit, hoisting him up.
“If I can arrest—who areyou?” His face turned away with the question.
Iris’s eyebrows crinkled, and she shook her head. Nearly senseless already. She needed to get him home.
“I’m Valentine.” Sand on the paving stones screeched as he approached. “But my friends call me Valens or Val.”
Iris ducked her head. Could she disappear into an open sewer vent? “Pater’s not well. Please excuse us, Valentine. I have to get him home.”
“I can help.” His voice came from the other side of her father.
“You’re sokind.” Quintus’s voice slurred toward Valentine, then swiveled toward her ear. “He’s so kind.” He laid his head on her shoulder with a sigh.
Hot anger coursed through Iris. She set her mouth in a hard line and refused to speak. This was not the time to mention to her pater that they could save more money for their escape if he would stop drinking it away. In this state, he’d never remember it. She should speak with Hector about refusing to serve him.
Iris shook her head. What good would that do? There was one tavern for every twenty citizens. At least here, she knew where to find him.
They started down the street. Her father stopped talking and grew heavier. Iris shifted her hold, reaching around his back to grip his waist. Her hand bumped Valentine’s arm, supporting Quintus from the other side.
“You don’t have to do this.” Iris raised her chin over her father’s head. “I can get him home. I’m used to it.”
“Step to the right; there’s a sedan chair coming,” Valentine directed and added in a quieter voice, “Does this happen often?”
She lifted the shoulder not lodged in her father’s armpit. “Only the nights he isn’t working.”
“Why are you yelling?” Quintus groaned. They fell silent until the noise of the cross traffic signaled the end of the street. Iris directed Valentine to the right.
“How far are you from here?” he whispered.
“Not very.” She swallowed. “If you’ll leave us at the end of Cedar Street, I can take him from there.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t press, seeming to sense her discomfort. The street dropped into cold shade, and the sharp tang of urine from Silvia’s laundry told Iris they were nearly home. She tugged her pater and Valentine to a stop.
“Thank you, Valentine.” She hunched beneath the brunt of her father’s weight as Valentine released him.
“I hope we can finish our conversation soon.”
She nodded. “Me too. Goodbye.”
He repeated the farewell, and she listened as his sandals retreated, soon drowned out by the shuffle of other feet. His leaving tightened an ache in her chest, as if he walked away with something she desperately needed. It carved a hole inside her of an unidentifiable shape. She took a breath and trundled her father toward the smell of urine and the three flights of stairs. It was foolish to think that way about Valentine’s god. Yet the logic of her mind did nothing to ease the longing in her soul.
XVIII
VALENS SQUINTED AGAINST THE GLAREof the sun and knocked at theculinadoor of Marius and Martha’s home. He pinched his eyes, wiping away the burning. Exhaustion weighed his shoulders. Where was everyone? He shifted, shaking the mud off first one foot, then the other. The rains of the past few days had left the streets a sloppy mess of dung and garbage. Yesterday’s interrogation left him anxious. If the Praetorians searched the homes of the notarii, they’d find a marriage contract in his. He’d done his best to hide it, but perhaps he should have burned it rather than stashing it under the loose floorboard.
It hadn’t helped his anxiety to discover the jailor Hector had pointed out in the tavern was Iris’s father. Was the jailor using his daughter as a ploy to find Christians? He didn’t want to think so.
Valens knocked again. One of the servants opened the door and stepped wide to let him enter.
“Hello, Phoebe.” He smiled, squeezing sideways through the door, lute in hand. “How are you?”
The servant, nearing middle age, smiled back. “I’m fine, Valens.” She closed the door behind him. “And you?”
His smile faltered. “Well enough. Is Cato home?” They crossed the kitchen, the smells of fresh bread and spiced chickpeas making his mouth water.
