Page 78 of Of Love and Treason
STOMACH JITTERY,Iris rushed for the bakery, shivering in the predawn darkness. She’d not slept well. The deadline for their debts would be upon them in two days, and while she’d not seen Tribune Braccus since the encounter outside the carcer, his imminent presence hung over her future like a shroud. She’d walked her father home from the tavern more than once this past week, too drunk to hold a proper conversation. All she’d been able to deduce was that the plan he’d once had for their escape had fallen through. They would have to do something today, but what? Her father would not make it out of the city on foot, even if he were sober.
What could she do? She’d tried praying. God had not answered her. Perhaps she should go to Valentine again? Yet he’d told her once before that the same Spirit in him was in her. Valens did not hold God’s ear more than anyone else. God had simply chosen to answer his prayer in a rather big way.
Iris’s eyes felt gritty. Traffic had been extra busy on the Alta Path that morning, the wide street clogged with refuse carts hauling animal dung out of the city, and then there had been the undertaker in his scarlet cloak hemmed with bells, warning everyone to stop and make way for the dead. She moved quickly through the darkened corridors of the market, determination marking her strides. Iris and her pater had tried solutions on their own and failed. She would tell Paulina everything. Perhaps she could help.
The Markets of Trajan were mostly quiet. Screeches and clanks came from inside a few of the shops, the only hints of life within the sleeping complex. A few shopkeepers called greetings to her as they propped awnings above their doors and arranged displays of wares on narrow tables outside the shops. Outside of Yanni’s Silk Slippers, a pair of sandals dyed a deep vermilion snagged her eye, prickling her with a longing she shoved away. Now was not the time to think about shoes.
Warmth washed over her as she stepped inside the cozy glow of the bakery room.
Epimandos kept his back to her as Iris crossed the room.
“Good morning!” Her voice sounded strange and forced, her belly knotting with nerves over her task. Paulina did not part with money easily. Especially if there was no return on it. Iris tossed her palla on the peg by the door and reached for her apron. Her fingers met with empty air. Epimandos didn’t offer his normal objections to her “good” morning. Odd.
“Where’s my apron?” Iris turned around as Paulina entered the back room, a wiry teenage boy in tow. Iris’s apron was wrapped around his middle. Epimandos paused his mixing, lips twisted in discomfort as he looked from Iris to Paulina.
At first no one spoke. Then Paulina took a breath and stepped forward, lifting her chin. “Iris.” She clasped her hands in front of her, unsure and uncomfortable. “I’ve bought a new slave.”
Iris looked at the boy, who wore a bewildered and half-panicked expression as his gaze swung around at all the work to be done. He would enjoy the work eventually. Perhaps in time, he would do the deliveries. She thought Epimandos should look a little more pleased than he did.
She smiled. “Hello, I’m Iris.”
“I won’t need your help anymore.”
Paulina’s words froze the smile on Iris’s lips. The announcement was more shocking than it had a right to be since Iris had wrestled with how to tell Paulina she would be leaving. Her mouth dropped. Iris glanced from Paulina to Epimandos, who, for once, looked sorry.He stared at her, the lamplight catching the shine of his scalp beneath his prickly black hair.
“I don’t understand.” Her thoughts began to spin. If Paulina let her go, would she refuse Iris’s request for help as well? “Have I done something wrong?”
Paulina shook her head. “The Severan policies are in full effect with several new additions. The market manager is very devout and is forcing all merchants in the Markets of Trajan to prohibit the sale of goods to and from known Christians. I—I’m sorry. Since everyone knows you’re a—well, you’re a liability now.” She twisted her hands together, looking pained. “What has happened to you is miraculous, truly. I’m thrilled for you, but I have my business to think about. I’ve sacrificed much for it already.” Paulina looked away.
Iris couldn’t respond. She’d known of the policies but it had never occurred to her she might lose her job because of them. Shehadbeen excitedly vocal. But who wouldn’t have been? Everyone in the market had heard of her miraculous healing at the hands of the Christian God.
She’d been prepared to tell Paulina she’d be leaving. She should be relieved. Instead, her words seemed stuck behind the growing lump in her throat.
“I see.”
“You understand then?”
Iris gave a single nod.
“Good.” Paulina turned and rummaged through her coin box. “You’ve been a good worker.” She skirted the proofing oven and held out a small bag of coins.
Iris’s vision blurred and Paulina’s eyebrows wrinkled.
“I wish you well.” Paulina pressed her lips together and took a step back, her voice taking on a forced brightness. “Besides, now that you can see, I would have lost you anyway—some man’s bound to come along and swoop you up.”
How right she was. Iris fought the urge to spill the meager contents of her stomach, her arm waving toward the hook on the wall that held her palla. Now that the shock had worn off, her mind beganrunning, calculating. The coins would be enough to bribe a delivery cart to carry her father out of the city at dawn. Iris could trot along beside it. They would not get far, but perhaps there would be enough to get them to a place where they could hide and work while they saved a bit to go farther. A foolish hope, but all they had. Iris took her palla and tucked it under her arm. After twelve years, she left the shop with a scoop of small coins and a dazed goodbye.
She bumped her way through the scrambled chaos of the early morning market, hardly paying attention to the citrus seller with the familiar voice and strange face who called out a greeting. She left the Markets of Trajan through the back entrance that opened to Quirinal Hill. Low clouds spat mist as she left the covered arcade of the Via Biberatica and moved up the street where women and slaves heaved water jars to the nearest fountain and children hurried to school—or at least gave a good impression of doing so. A bump from behind sent her stumbling into the path of a slave herding three oxen through the middle of the street toward the meat market.
It was too much. Iris scrambled out of the way, squeezing her eyes shut against the swirling colors and people whirling in all directions. The darkness calmed her with its familiarity. She began walking, her fingers trailing along the wall as she moved away from the market entrance. Propping herself against the damp stone wall, she balled her hands at her sides.
“What now?” She could hardly manage the words as heat rose hard and tight in her chest and forced tears from her eyes. She sucked in a breath, swallowing back the emotion. She wouldn’t cry. Not here.
A light touch on her shoulder. “Iris?”
She opened her eyes. Beatrix’s face, creased in concern, leaped into view, shadowed by a rose-colored palla.
“Are you all right?”
