A Stray Drop of Blood (13 page)

“
Jason!” Menelaus jogged his direction with a grin. “My friend, where have you been? I have not seen you since we arrived.”

Jason smiled and turned to clasp his friend’s wrist. “Menelaus. You look well. I have been with my family, letting my mother suffocate me to her heart’s content.”

Menelaus laughed and fell in beside the other man in the direction he had been headed. “When will you grow tired of it? Lentulus and I have been exploring, but your native eye would be welcome.”

“
You should have caught me yesterday, my friend. I am on watch tonight, so am off today. I could have taken you around last eve had I but known.”

Menelaus sighed but was obviously not distressed. “Next week, perhaps. And have you seen Titus?”

“
I see him every day, at least in passing. I would not be surprised if he were around now, actually, I believe our schedules are the same.”

They both looked around, as if expecting the other to appear, but he was not within sight.

“
I will keep an eye out for him,” Menelaus said after a short inspection of the marketplace. “In the meantime, just point me in the direction of women. I cannot go another day without the pleasure of soft lips on mine, warm flesh under my hands–”

Jason cut him off with a chuckle. “No need to go into detail, Menelaus. I am aware of its delights. And I believe if you just follow this street–” He motioned to an avenue nearby– “until it intersects another, and follow that one to the right, you will find all you need to be satisfied at a fair price.”

Menelaus looked that way as a starving man eyed a feast. “Perfect. What of you? Coming?”

Jason stood for a moment before shaking his head. “I would rather spend my money elsewhere. And I believe I can find my satisfaction in my own home. My mother has this slave, Abigail.” He paused, turned up his lips. “Her beauty puts Titus’s women to shame, Menelaus. She is young and fair and unspoiled. I shall greatly enjoy making her mine.”

Menelaus’s eyes narrowed. “This is unfair, Jason. You get to live in a house, with a cook and slaves to wait on you, and even one to warm your bed. I shall write Caesar with complaints of such blatant inequality among his officers.”

Jason punched his friend lightly in the arm. “Go ahead. I would like to see his response.”

Menelaus pushed Jason in return, then shifted once more to look in the direction he had been pointed. “Well, I will call on you next week, perhaps, if the invitation from your parents is still open.”

“
Indeed.”

“
And I would like to see this slave of yours. To make certain you are not exaggerating.”

Jason laughed. “What cause would I have to exaggerate?”

Menelaus shrugged. “You are a wretch. For now, I will take my leave. I can hear sweet lips calling me–”

“
And your wages,” Jason finished for him with a smile. “Go on your way, my friend. I will see you soon.”

Menelaus started walking away. “Give Titus my greetings. And Apidius, if you see him.”

“
I will. And you give Lentulus mine.”

They parted with hands raised in farewell, but Jason did not long think on his friend. There was a particular pair of sweet lips he would like to hear calling him too.

~*~

Abigail stepped out of the small tub, humming the psalm she had heard Dinah singing minutes earlier. Morning stillness bathed her as surely as the water had and brought peace to her soul. In a few minutes, the day would truly begin. Breakfast preparations, helping Ester rise, seeing to the daily tasks. But for now, she was alone.

She wrung out the sopping mass of her hair, then straightened with a start when a creak disturbed her peace. It sounded almost like someone entering the house . . .

The young master–he would be returning from his night watch, and she had completely forgotten. Panicked, she grabbed her tunic and pulled it over her head. The hem settled into place just as the shuffles that had replaced the creak solidified into a tired-looking Jason.

He looked a bit surprised to find her in the empty kitchen, and the way his gaze trailed over her made her uncomfortably aware of the way her tunic clung to her still-wet figure. What must he think of her? She quickly veiled herself with her hair, face down.

“
I have interrupted you, I think.” A smile saturated his voice, but Abigail dared not look up to see it.

“
My apologies, Lord. Dinah and I always–that is, we forgot . . . . You must be famished. May I bring you food in the triclinium?”

“
I will await my parents, thank you.”

He said no more, but still she felt his gaze on her. Hot, more intense than ever. Certain her cheeks had turned scarlet, Abigail averted her face and prayed he would leave.

Instead he motioned to the tub. “Shall I dispose of that for you?”

The offer, though more thoughtful than she would have expected of him, unsettled her all the more. Why did he not just dismiss her as usual and go to his chamber? “No, Master, but thank you. Simon always takes care of it after Dinah and I are through.”

“
Ah. I shall leave you to it, then. I trust you will bring fresh water to my room once you have . . . dried out a bit?”

Could her mortification increase any more? She thought not. “Of course, Lord.”

Thankfully, he started toward the kitchen’s exit, though he paused in the threshold. “Abigail?”

“
Yes, Lord?”

Again, his voice was smiling, teasing. “You have lovely hair.”

She covered her face with her hands as he left, groaned into them. A more humiliating experience she could not recall. Best not to dwell on it. She knocked on the door to Simon and Dinah’s chamber to signal she was finished, then quickly dried off, changed. Her hair she left loose, otherwise it would still be wet this evening.

Back in the kitchen, she put water over the fire for the young master. Dinah entered with a smile. “Good morning, Abigail. Have you started the meal?”

“
Not yet. This is for the young master.”

Dinah paused with her hands on a stack of bowls, eyes wide. “We forgot! He did not walk in on you, did he?”

“
No, but barely.” Her heart stuttered again at the mere mention of it.

Dinah covered her mouth with her hand. “We shall not forget again, hm?”

“
Certainly not.”

Cleopas then stuck his head into the room. “Abigail, my wife did not sleep well last night, but she is finally resting. Let her sleep for another hour or two, if you would, before bringing her breakfast.”

“
Of course, Master.” She nodded, though it made nerves light up in her stomach. She had hoped for an excuse to postpone tending to Jason, but now she had none.

When the water was hot, she poured it into a jar and headed for his chamber. He answered her knock with his usual “Enter,” and she slipped inside. Perhaps he would spare her further embarrassment and ignore her.

She poured the water and headed to where he sat on the edge of his bed, working out a knot in his sandal. As she knelt, she wondered again why he had not replaced his personal slave. Surely a master did not enjoy such menial tasks as washing his own feet.

But since it fell to her for now, she went about it silently. Or would have, had he let her.

“
Did my mother not need you yet?”

“
She is still sleeping. Your father said she had a restless night.”

“
Does that happen often?” It was not concern that colored his tone. Curiosity perhaps, but more, it sounded as though he merely wanted to make conversation. A strange thing, given it was with her.

“
Occasionally.” One foot clean, she dried it off and guided the other into the basin. “Enough that it is not odd. Not enough to be alarming.”

“
You serve my mother well. She depends much on you.”

She could smile at that. “It is no chore to serve her. All I do for her is out of love.”

“
The perfect slave.” Was that amusement, now, in his voice? “Such virtue is usually only pretended. Though it does beg the question–were you taught it, or is it the condition of your soul?”

An answer sprang from her lips before she could censor it. “I suppose it depends on if you ask Meno or Protagorus.”

His spine snapped into alignment. Calling herself a fool, she glanced up to see the shock on his face. He shook his head, incredulous. “You are familiar with Plato?”

How had she forgotten even momentarily her concerns about his opinion of her education? She set her gaze back on his feet.“Your parents often wish me to read his dialogues to them of an evening.”

His finger hooked under chin and forced her head back up. Perhaps his touch was gentle, but his eyes were not. “You
read
?”

She would have preferred to nod, but he still held her face captive. “Yes.”

“
Greek?”

“
Yes.”

“
Hebrew?”

“
Yes.”

His hand fell away, his eyes went blank. “Latin?”

She nodded now, and stifled the urge to apologize for the affirmative. “Your father willed it.”

“
My father willed it,” he echoed. He shook his head, amusement sparking life back into his countenance. “I am realizing anew, fair one, was a strange family I was born into. A mother educated as the son of the high priest rather than the daughter, married to a Roman who has adopted Jewish law, both of whom educate their slaves better than most do their children.”

“
They are the best of people.”

“
They are arcane.” At least he smiled. “But yes, very good. They have certainly done well by you. My mother has shaped you into the paradigm of womanhood. Beautiful, modest, humble.”

And very uncomfortable. She dried off his foot and prayed she could make her escape without the need to respond.

He stayed her with a finger under her chin once again. “You are learned, apparently more so than most women I knew in Rome. Yet I wonder how knowledgeable you truly are. Have you known a man?”

Shame at the very suggestion fired her cheeks. “Of course not.”

He grinned, even chuckled. “I assumed as much. Your eyes are innocent, for all their reading. You have no idea how alluring that is. I would wager you have never even been kissed.”

She would have fled, had it been an option. But he had not dismissed her, and he still restrained her with his touch. Then his head inclined toward hers. She wanted to find some clever words to say to halt him, to deflect the intent in his eyes, but she felt frozen in place. It was the talk of Socrates, perhaps. The man, centuries dead, had managed to sting her with his torpedo fish venom just as he had his friends of the day. She could not think, could not move, was nothing but a paralyzed victim of rhetoric that had led her into a trap.

His lips touched hers. A stroke, a caress. Soft but nevertheless terrifying, especially when he slid his hand to the back of her head and anchored her there with his fingers woven through her hair. He parted her lips, deepened the kiss.

She did not respond. She knew not how, and would not have, even if she did. It felt so strange, that sensation of another’s mouth on hers, nearly repulsive. It made an unwelcome heat singe her spine, spike down her legs. Her hands shook, but she dared not reach for support, as he was the only thing close enough to grip.

He urged her up, then to a seat beside him. She tried to reclaim her mouth, but he followed her in her retreat and pushed her down into the pillows. Overtaken by panic, she tore her lips away from his. “Master, please. I cannot do this.”

Jason’s smile was far too confident. “You will learn.”

“
No.” She held him away as much as she could with hands pressed to his chest. “It is wrong. Your parents have not given me to you–”

“
No fear.” In another situation, the lopsided grin may have been charming. At the moment, if felt more like a threat. “I am perfectly capable of taking you without their assistance.”

“
Master–”

“
That is right.” His tone went hard, cold. “I am your master. You are a woman–and less, a slave. Will you object to me?”

She clamped her mouth closed, but a veil of tears blurred her vision.

He kissed away the drop that spilled over, but any tenderness inspired by that vanished when he slipped a hand onto her leg. “Hush now, beloved. I will not hurt you. This is a good and normal thing.”

With a wild shake of her head, she struggled to slip away. An impossible goal, given the way his body pinned hers to the bed. “It is a sin.”

“
If so, it is mine, not yours.” He sounded unconcerned by the possibility. “You have no choice in this, Abigail.”

As if to prove it, he took her mouth again. It did not distract her from the hand he moved upward. Pain blinded her, but her whimpers earned no response. Then something else happened, a pleasure that underscored the pain.

It was wrong. She knew it was wrong, wanted nothing more than to find an escape. But she could not move, and confusion swirled inside her with each kiss he gave her. She did not want this . . . so why did her body respond of its own will to his touch? Torment and desire twined inside, one overtaking the other only to be overtaken in turn, until she gasped in shock at the sensations crashing through her, then sagged at their ebb.