Page 87 of Of Love and Treason
The note from Valens had given him the hope that the drink couldn’t. He’d taken the note to the Calogarus villa instead, with news and renegotiations of his own.
Now he unlocked the apartment and let himself in. Iris waited for him—slumped against her loom snoring, but she’d tried, anyway. He shook her shoulder.
“Iris? Go to bed.”
Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright, startling him. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”
Her panic struck fear in his core. He darted a quick glance around the darkened apartment. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked twice, clarity coming over her features. “Nothing. I thought—I must have been dreaming.” She groaned and arched her back, rubbing a kink in her neck.
His heart returned to its normal rhythm and he limped to gather a few splinters of wood and stuff them into the small clay brazier. Iris finished the row and tucked the shuttle of thread where it wouldn’t get tangled.
“Valens sent me a note.” He lit the wood with a flint, breathing life to flames before shifting a chipped pot of water on top.
Her footsteps shuffled across the room. “What did he say?”
“The church members approved the money being used to redeem us.”
Iris gave a little cry and murmured a prayer of thankfulness that seemed natural on her lips.
He shut his eyes, keeping his back turned. “I just met with him and told him I couldn’t accept.”
“What? Why?”
He gripped the edge of the kitchen worktable and studied the jars on the shelf above it. He’d been elated at first, everything forgotten in the wake of his covered debts and the promise of freedom. But when he’d returned from the tavern, with the cries of the children echoing on the other side of the iron door, Quintus knew he could not take the money.
“The Christians in the prison.” He turned and forced his gaze to meet hers. “They were tried and taken to the theatre for execution.”
Her lips pressed together.
“I could do nothing for them.” Sudden emotion swelled in his throat. “But the children—they’ll be sold at auction today, and I cannot accept my own freedom at the expense of theirs.”
Iris dropped onto the couch, hands clasped in her lap, brown eyes drilling him. “They will use the money to buy those children instead?” She gave a slow nod, accepting, agreeing with his decision.
He sighed and set two cups on the table. They were dirty, but the calda was hot. He dropped a few crumbled leaves of peppermint into the bottom of each cup and poured the water over. “I spoke with Marius. He’s agreed to hide us until his next ship returns to port. When it leaves, he will smuggle us aboard and take us away.”
Iris nodded again but said nothing. He sat next to her, holding out the second cup. She took it and leaned her face over the steam.
“It is not without risk. Marius’s ship is not due until the ides of Februarius. That’s two weeks away. The tribune could still find us, but perhaps not.”
“You could not let those children be sold. What you did was right.”
“If I am taken, you must—”
She turned to him, eyes sharp. “You won’t be.” Her chin lifted. “We’ve prayed about this. God will not let you be taken. He healed me. He has great power—we know this.”
Quintus hesitated, then nodded. “Yet we’ve learned that God is not a magic charm, to do with as we please, to direct as we will, but rather, He directsus.”
“And He directed you to save those children. He won’t punish you for it.”
“God is not the one executing Christians.”
“What are you saying, Pater?” Iris lowered her cup to her lap and stared at him.
His stomach sank. “It is easy to trust in God when He works miracles, but will we trust Him even if He does not?”
Iris slumped against the arm of the couch, as if realizing the depth of what he asked. Quintus wanted to answer with a resounding yes. He knew he should. But would he? Would she?
