Page 70 of Of Love and Treason
“Ah. Suddenly my comfort matters to you?”
“Valens.” Censure tightened his grandfather’s voice.
Valens dipped his head and turned to leave, Grandfather’s old steward meeting him at the door to accompany him. The nearest baths would be closed at this hour, but Valens didn’t argue. There would be plenty of that later. Only the steward walked him through the streets this time. The charade was up.
“How are you, Castor?” Valens attempted a carefree tone.
The gray-haired steward took his time responding, perhaps hoping his silence would explain his reluctance to communicate. “I am old.”
As they ascended the marble steps to the bathhouse, Valens wondered at the architect who decided marble would be a good material for perpetually wet stairs. He held out an arm for the old man, who took it as if Valens needed help mounting the steps and not him. The baths were empty, and the slaves cleaning and readying it for the morning rush took one look at Valens and were about to protest when Castor set a jingling pouch on the bench. They responded instead with a stack of warm towels and a selection of soaps, scented oils, and a strigil.
“Wash quickly. I will find out which of these slaves is the barber.” Castor shuffled away, arms held out from his body for balance.
Valens stripped, leaving his clothes where they lay. Wading into the tiled pool, heated from below by a large furnace, he breathed aprayer of thankfulness as he ducked his head under and scrubbed away the grime of the prison. He completed the circuit of the baths and steam room and was wiping scented oil off his hands when Castor reappeared, a pale-blue tunic draped over his arm and a slave in tow carrying a box of shears and razors.
Valens dropped the tunic over his head, securing it around his waist with the belt Castor provided, and sat in a reclined chair for a shave and haircut.
“Your grandfather has been worried for you.” Castor leaned against a pillar and watched as the slave wrapped Valens’s face in a hot, damp towel and began snipping away at his hair.
“Has he?” This was a new tactic of Grandfather’s: sending his steward to begin the argument. Valens closed his eyes. His grandfather would not relent, but neither would Valens capitulate to his demands. They came at each other time and again, clashing like stones thrown against a wall. Made of the same stuff, yet entirely incompatible for anything other than damage.
“He is old, and you, his only surviving heir. Should you not have pity on his gray hairs?”
“I long for reconciliation as much as he does.”
The barber removed the towel from Valens’s face and began to shave him.
“But I will not change my beliefs in order for—” He felt a pinch at his neck. The barber cursed under his breath and pressed the towel against the spot. Was he actually a barber? Perhaps Valens ought to fear for his life now that he was out of prison. He didn’t dare speak again until the “barber” finished pressing sharp blades against his neck.
As he took Castor’s arm to help him back down the steps, dawn broke over the city in cool pale light. The last few delivery carts sped through the roadways, scurrying for the gates.
“Did Grandfather order my arrest?”
Castor only shrugged. “He will explain all, I’m sure.”
This time, when Valens entered the triclinium, his grandfather waited on a couch. He gestured to the couch opposite him, a small table between. Valens reclined, his nerves coiling as they always didwhen he and his grandfather were together. An iridescent black crow perched on the back of his grandfather’s couch, eyeing the breakfast laid out on the table but not daring to make a move on it.
“I should disown you.” His grandfather broke the silence and held out a steaming cup the serving boy had filled with warmed wine. Valens took it and said nothing. “You put me in a very difficult position, Valentine.”
“I am sorry to create difficulty for you, Grandfather.” He meant it.
His grandfather did not answer right away and took his time blowing on his wine before taking a tentative sip. Valens studied him. Gaius Favius seemed much older than the last time he’d seen him. Liver spots dotted the backs of his hands and the top of his head, visible through his thinning hair; the skin under his eyes sagged. Those eyes, like pieces of glittering black obsidian, struck Valens in a piercing stare.
“I cannot continue to protect you.” He sighed. “Bribing your release from prison, sneaking you out under the cover of darkness...” His lips, like strips of dark raw meat, pressed together. “Next time, it will not be so simple. You must see that now. This foolishness with the Christian god must stop.”
“I am grateful to be released.” Valens noted that while his grandfather took credit for rescuing him, he did not admit to having him arrested in the first place. He met his grandfather’s eyes, feeling the familiar challenge rising with the tension in the room. “But you needn’t have constructed such an elaborate scheme to get my attention. If you wanted to talk, you could have sent a message instead of pretending to arrest me. I’d have come.”
“But would you have listened?”
Valens sighed. “Grandfather, I will not renounce my God. Jesus is the One True and Living God, and I would sooner die than renounce Him.”
“And you just might!” Grandfather slammed his cup on the table, wine spattering the shining wood.
Valens took a breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Then so be it. I’ve made my choice.”
“I am thepaterfamilias.” Grandfather straightened, voice snapping. The crow reared back too. “I am the head of this family and I hold sole authority over whether you live or die. I demand you give up this foolishness!”
Valens closed his eyes. “Grandfather, I cannot.”
