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Chapter 14

“You must listen to reason,” Augustus told me. “This plan is foolhardy and doomed to failure.”

“Why? Because it is my idea?” I spat. “Or is it because I’m only a weak and foolish girl—is that it?”

Augustus sighed and looked to Dorcas for help. “Aurelia, dear,” she offered, “you must listen to him when he says it is simply too dangerous for a young woman to travel all that way alone—with no guide, or friends along the way.”

“Think what happened on the road last time,” added Augustus. “And even then you travelled with an armed guard. . . .”

“Take that back!” I snapped. The memory of that attack and its aftermath was still too raw.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia, but it’s true,” he replied. “You would have no legionaries to protect you this time. Your safety . . . your life would be at risk every step of the way.”

He was right, of course. And he meant well. I took a moment to compose myself before saying, “What else am I to do?” I looked to Dorcas, who was biting her lip. “Tell me. What am I to do? I have nowhere else to go!”

“You could stay here until we find a better place for you,” she answered. “The domina has said—”

“Queen Velvinnia hates me!” I snapped. “She has made it exceedingly clear that I am welcome here only as her household slave. I tell you the truth, both of you, I would rather die than serve that pair of preening magpies.”

I saw the hurt in Augustus’ eyes and realized I had gone too far.

I have agreed to stay on and serve them,” he said quietly.

I reached out and took his hand in both of mine. “I’m sorry.” I pressed his hand.

“He said he would value my experience and opinion.”

“As did my father,” I told him. “And I am certain you will prove your worth a thousand times over. But, can you not see that it is different for me? They look at me and see only a half-deaf scullion—an orphan, a nuisance to be tolerated that they will doubtless cast off at the first opportunity. After last night, they don’t need another excuse to do it.”

Augustus and Dorcas heard me then at last; they regarded one another in silence for a moment, then Dorcas said, “How do you know this woman—this legate’s wife in Deva will have you?”

I sensed their objection beginning to soften. “She has told me so,” I answered quickly. “She invited Tullius and me to sojourn with them in Deva while he healed from his injuries.” I lowered my eyes and added, “If only we had accepted her offer my father would still be alive today.”

“Don’t say that,” Dorcas chided. “Don’t even think it.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Nothing in life is ever so forthright as that,” she countered. “Only our Wise Redeemer knows what the future might bring. We must trust the one who holds our destiny in his hands to know what is best.”

“Are we in church now?” I grumbled. “You sound like Bishop Bevyn.”

Oh, I knew she meant well, and spoke the simple truth. But I could not admit it. At the time, all I could think was that we had ever trusted the wisdom of God and look where it had gotten us: my father dead, and myself hostage to unfeeling usurpers. Either hostage or homeless—which was it to be?

Homeless, perhaps, but not hopeless. I would go to Helena and Aridius, and they would take me in. And if not? Well, then at least I would be free of the self-important tyrant and his insufferable despot wife, free to make my own decisions. One way or another, I would begin a new life in a new place.

There was more discussion after that, but in the end the two of them agreed they would help me with what I now thought of as my escape. This help was not long in coming. I endured three more days of senseless humiliation at the hands of my tormentors. Then, as the sun was lowering on the fourth day, Augustus burst into the cookhouse where I was standing at the fire stirring a bubbling pot of pease-porridge trying to keep it from burning.

“Good news! I have just come back from the harbor,” he announced, holding a brace of sleek mackerel by a string through the gills, a fine meal for someone’s supper—but not mine. “I have spoken to my cousin and he says he has a ship being loaded now and soon ready to sail north.”

I looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Your cousin?”

“A trader—a local man, named Drustan. He knew your father. You might have seen him. He came here sometimes for taxes and permits and such.” He saw my uncomprehending expression and waved it away. “You’ll remember when you see him. Anyway, he is taking some goods to Deva Vitrix. That’s were the legate lives, yes?”

I nodded. “Aridius and Helena, yes.”

“Well then,” Augustus rubbed his hands. “I have begged a place for you to travel with him and he has promised to look after you and deliver you to the legate’s door.”

“He agreed to this?”

“Happily. Drustan said your father helped him—some difficulty about a license or something a few years ago—and he said he would be delighted to repay the debt.” He beamed. “Is that not good news?”

“I am to go on a ship?” I asked, still trying to take in what it meant. “Truly?”

“They hope to depart tomorrow or the next day,” he continued, glancing around the cramped cookhouse, “You won’t have to be a kitchen slave any more.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Or possibly the day after,” he confirmed. “They are waiting for some supplies and then they’ll be ready to sail. We’ll have to get you ready, too.”

Beaming broadly and humming to himself he scurried off to attend to other duties, leaving me with word that he would make all the necessary arrangements and that I would only have to gather the things I wanted to take with me. “Leave all the rest to me,” he said as he hurried away. “I’ll see you right, never fear.”

Long wooden spoon in hand, I stood staring at the green sludge boiling away in the iron pot, and that now-familiar feeling of sudden desolation swept over me once more. It stayed with me most of the day—which is why I crept off to see Tomos at first opportunity.

“Forgive me, Aurelia,” he said, his lips pursed in benign confusion, “but I cannot for the life of me see any difficulty here. It is your desire to go, is it not?”

We sat alone on a bench in the yard outside the little church—not far from where my father had been buried. I glanced toward the still-fresh grave. “Maybe,” I allowed. “But I won’t see you anymore, or Augustus or anyone else again.” I moaned as the thought occurred to me. “I’ll never see Venta again.”

“Why think that?” he asked. “You will. Of course, you will. How not? When you are settled, older maybe, you can come back from time to time to visit us.” Tomos, smiling at me and willing me to put off my unhappiness, said, “Little Venta will always be here, Aurelia.”

I thought about this for awhile, then said, “Will you come to see me away? Please, Tomos, will you?”

“Let anyone try to stop me.”

And this is how I came to be standing on the rough timber dock in the tiny harbor on the great Hafren estuary, waiting for a leaky trading ship—bravely named Epona—to depart.



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