Page 66 of Of Love and Treason
Titus questioned the ex-soldier only until it was clear the man did not know the identity of The Cupid. Before, Titus might have pressed harder out of frustration, out of duty. But the man was not a slave, and therefore capable of speaking the truth without torture. Titus did not need the truth anyway. He needed a cover-up.
XXVIII
IRIS CLUNG TO HER PATER’S ARMas they followed Valentine’s directions. Her stomach tumbled with nerves. Valentine seemed certain his friends would accept them, that they would gladly teach them more about Jesus. But would these strangers let them in? Would they talk to the carcer jailor? She sneaked a glance at Pater to see if the same questions plagued him. She could not read his expression, but he wore only a plain brown tunic and regular sandals. Nothing about him other than his posture might betray him as military, unless one already knew.
Outside the Servian Walls, gated villas and shop fronts lined the Via Flaminia. Iris devoured the sights, marveling at tattered furniture in the secondhand shops, a potter’s simple red-glazed dishes, a tavern and bakery on the same corner that housed a public courtyard lined with a dozen ovens. Farther down, sagging-headed donkeys made endless laps, revolving a huge millstone round and round over heads of grain. A moneylender’s office painted the color of summer palms stood beside a strong-smelling salon. A few workers were still employed on the street, lacquering nails, while dyes, curls, and braids were applied to heads inside.
Iris sidestepped to let a slave loaded with sacks of chickpeas grumble by. Ahead, a sign hanging over the street announced a clinic. The sign and the door had the symbol of a snake draped not over therod of Aesculapius, but around a cross. A strange symbol of healing if she ever saw one.
Pater knocked twice. A young man dressed in a Roman tunic with Persian embroidery opened the door. His dark eyes flickered between the two.
“Can I help you? I’m afraid the clinic is closed now, but if it’s urgent...”
“We are looking for Marius.” Pater’s voice faltered. “We were told there was a meeting here?” He tilted his head back to look at the sign, as if to be certain they were at the right address.
“Valentine sent us,” Iris added in a soft voice. She felt Pater’s arm tense beneath her hand as if in warning.
“Val?” The man’s eyebrows shot up and he swung the door wide. “Come in, come in.” He stepped back and gestured them inside. “Is he with you?” He glanced out at the street as if expecting Valentine to be right behind.
Pater shook his head. “I am Quintus Magius.” He touched his chest and gestured to Iris. “My daughter, Quinta Magia.”
The young man shut the door. “I’m Abachum. Marius is my father. No one’s heard from Valens in days. How is he?Whereis he?”
Pater looked down uncomfortably. “I cannot say.”
“The whole thing’s strange.” Abachum shook his head. “But welcome. Any friend of Val’s is a friend of ours.”
Iris wasn’t so sure.
“Your timing is wonderful. The meeting hasn’t yet begun.” Abachum led them quickly through a cluttered clinic, chattering all the while.
Iris’s shoulders released some of their tension. She’d not expected so quick and kind a welcome. The door in the back of the clinic opened into a large square courtyard with a bubbling fountain and the rustle of date palms overhead. Two shrieking blurs of black curls and matching dresses raced across the courtyard toward them, barreling into Abachum’s knees.
“Uncle Bach, have sweet?” The littlest one spoke first, then hidher face in his shoulder when he scooped her up and she noticed the strangers.
“Not this time, Rue.” He glanced toward Quintus and Iris. “We have new friends. Can you say hello?”
“My name’s Lalia.” The older one grinned at Iris and Quintus as if bursting with exciting news. “I amfour.”
Abachum grinned too. “These are my nieces, Lalia and Rue. Now come, I’ll introduce you to the others.”
Iris did not notice the rest of the house as Rue, slung over her uncle’s shoulder, locked dark eyes on her and stared, unblinking and unsmiling. She wrapped one arm around “Uncle Bach’s” neck and popped two fingers in her mouth. Iris smiled at her. Rue buried her face and peeked through the tangle of ringlets. Pater suppressed a chuckle.
At the far side of the courtyard, Abachum swept through an open doorway and stepped aside, revealing a group of people in a dining room crammed with too many couches and an odd assortment of chairs, as if they’d been gathered from every corner of the house. The chatter went quiet as they all turned to stare. Iris’s face heated and her stomach tightened.
Abachum did the talking. “This is Quintus Magius and his daughter, Quinta Magia. Val sent them.”
“Iris?”
Her gut plummeted at the voice. No. It couldn’t be.
No one else got a chance to speak as an unfamiliar figure, dressed in turmeric yellow and sunset pink, rose from a couch near the window. Iris struggled to make her mouth work as all the air seemed sucked from the room. The figure might be unfamiliar, but the voice was not.
“Beatrix.” The blood drained from Iris’s face.
The woman crossed the room, springy salt-and-pepper curls frizzing around her temples. A smell, overpowering and floral, came with her.
“You’ve seen Valens?” Dark circles bagged beneath Beatrix’s eyes. She glanced at Pater and her expression froze with her feet. Iris’sthroat closed. They would surely be turned out. No one would accept them once they knew what they’d done to Valentine.
