Valley of Decision (23 page)

Eggie scanned the hall, including a brief glance over his shoulder, and grabbed her hand. “Come on.” He led her through the maze of mats and out to a shady corner of the courtyard. “When is this trial?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Then we've no time to waste.”

“We?”

“Your father forbade you to go to the trial, right?”

“Didn't I just say that?” she said with a sniff.

“Think.” Eggie was asking a lot considering he was still holding her hand. “Did he say you couldn't go into the market for more herbs?” His insistent squeeze flipped a mental breaker, and what he was asking registered.

Maggie's smile was not from her surprise at Eggie's suggestion, but rather her astonishment of how much they thought alike. “Now that you mention it, he didn't.”

“While I was filling the pots for those two we just picked up, I noticed we were running dangerously low on eucalyptus.”

Maggie nodded conspiratorially. “My father wouldn't want Quinta or her grandbaby to suffer because we lacked supplies.”

Eggie's gleaming eyes were intoxicating. “In Rome, vendors line the path to the Forum. I'm sure it is the same here. If the herb vendor's booth happens to be within earshot of the witness stand, can you help what you overhear?”

Maggie smiled. “It would be a dereliction of my duty to let our
supplies run low because of what I
might
overhear.” She rose on her tiptoes, kissed Eggie's cheek, and whispered, “Too bad you will never be emperor.”

“Ah, but then I would never have gotten that kiss or this one.” He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her on the lips.

Maggie took a step back. She knew his lips, had watched the various changes in coloring during his illness, and saw now that they were healed. Yet somehow she didn't feel much from his kiss, not the way she would have hoped.

She stepped away from him in surprise, but Eggie just smiled and offered his crooked arm. “The moment the coast is clear, we shall head to the market. Shall we peruse the supplies and make our shopping list?”

She threaded her arm through his. “You're a good friend.”

B
AREK SEARCHED THE HALL,
the steaming pot of hot water he was lugging burning against his hands. “Eggie, can you . . . Eggie?” The man had been right behind him a moment ago. “Eggie!” Barek headed down the hall, past the open door to the courtyard. Laughter wafted to his ears. He stopped and surveyed the shadows. Movement caught his eye.

Eggie.
And he was with someone.
A woman. No. Maggie.
And she was planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Maggie!” Barek dropped his jug of boiling water, unconcerned by the sizzle of his flesh, and stormed to the secluded corner of the garden. “What are you doing?” He unwrapped Maggie from Eggie's arms and dragged her clear of his reach.

“Barek.” Maggie pounded on his arm. “Let me go.”

“If he tried anything, I'll—”

“Stop acting like an older brother.”

He didn't know why he should be surprised by her flippant attitude, but he was. “Somebody's got to watch out for you.”

“I can take care of myself.” Maggie jerked her arm free. “Not that it's any of your business, but I was thanking a friend.”

“Thanking him for what?”

“Helping her empty chamber pots,” Eggie said, grinning.

Barek wheeled and poked Eggie in the chest. “I've had enough of you and your starry-eyed advances toward this girl.”

“Advances?” Maggie shouted. “Are you trying to be my dad too?”

Barek's forehead creased and he studied her more carefully. “Have you been crying?”

“What's it to you?” Maggie defended.

“Did
he
make you cry?”

“No.”

“Someone made you cry!”

Maggie held up her palms in surrender. “Okay. Mom and Dad said I can't go to my Jaddah's trial tomorrow and I was crying about it.” Her lifted chin dared him to keep on with this line of questioning.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Go ahead. Call me a baby.”

“I didn't say you were a baby.”

“You're treating me like one.”

“A mature person would probably understand your parents' concern and agree there's no point of putting you in danger.”

“I can keep her safe.” Eggie dropped his playfulness, and Barek could see he wasn't going to be easily bullied.

“You know nothing of keeping her safe and even less about politics.” This fellow hadn't been in Carthage a week and he was acting as if he was an expert on everything, including Maggie. “No one knows what to expect from the new proconsul.”

Eggie squared off nose to nose with Barek. “The man Valerian sends will be obligated to follow his orders and—”

Maggie stepped between him and Eggie. “I didn't come all this way to nurse a bunch of sick people. I came here for my Jaddah and father. I'm going to that trial.” She wheeled and snatched Eggie's
hand. “And lucky for me, I have a
real
friend who's not afraid to help me.”

Barek snagged her arm. “You're not going anywhere with him.”

“What are you going to do, chain me in some dungeon and tell my mom?”

What was it about this girl that made his blood boil? “No.
I'm
taking you.”

I
THOUGHT LISBETH WOULD BE
here by now.” Lawrence smoked his pipe, pacing like the caged cats next door. “That Pontius fellow made it sound as if she'd come as soon as they had a plan.”

Magdalena drew in a deep breath of the fruity, soothing aroma of her husband's Erinmore. “You made it clear that she was to go home.”

“She never listens to me.” He stopped and raised his brow. “Does she listen to you?”

“She'll come when she can.” Magdalena coughed and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, knowing her inability to get warm meant she needed more Cipro to break her fever. She patted the stones upon which she sat. “You know how unpredictable medicine can be.” Their gaze met and for a moment she knew they were wishing the same thing . . . for a way to rewind the clock and reclaim all of those nights lost to her operating schedule and his excavation adventures in faraway places.

“You're still coughing.” Lawrence quit his pacing and came to her side, concern knitting his white brows. Time had taken a toll on him as well. “Pontius said Lisbeth was bringing more meds.”

“And Maggie.” She coughed into the crook of her arm.

“I wish she wouldn't risk my granddaughter.”

“She's my granddaughter too, Lawrence.”

He dropped to his knees beside her. “I only meant—”

She put a finger to his lips. “I know what you meant. It's all right. I knew you wouldn't let Lisbeth raise our granddaughter alone. It's why I sent her home to you.” She felt a cough coming and drew the crook of her arm to her mouth again. “I'm sorry you—”

“No regrets.” Lawrence kissed her forehead. The keys rattled in the lock. “I told you she'd come.”

Both of them turned hopefully toward the door. The sound of a shoulder pushing against the heavy metal was followed by a grunt, which was followed by the creak of the door and torch- light. Brutus tromped toward them with a large jug tucked under one arm and a flaming bundle of sticks in the other.

“Are you alone?” Lawrence asked.

Brutus waved the torch behind him. “You see anyone else?”

“We were expecting—” Magdalena coughed again. “Never mind. It doesn't matter.”

“Your fool coughing is wearing me out, woman.” Brutus set the jug at her feet, lifted the gourd hanging from a string around his neck, and plunged it into the water. “Had this brought up from the well.”

“You didn't drink any, did you, Brutus?”

“ 'Course. A man can develop a powerful thirst standing about in the heat.”

“Oh, no.” Magdalena struggled to stand. “Lawrence, give him those tablets.”

“I took the pill your friend gave me,” Brutus said.

“Your vaccine hasn't had enough time to become effective. The Cipro's an added precaution.” Magdalena waved her hand. “The decision is made.”

“No. You need them,” Lawrence protested.

She laid a hand gently on his. “I'm not going to need them.”

Lawrence's eyes darkened with worry and she knew he'd caught her meaning. If her trial went well, she would be free. Any Cipro Lisbeth had left she'd pump into her, no matter how many times she'd beg her to give it to someone in greater need. If her trial went badly, she would die in the arena that same day. In either case, whether she was cured of typhoid right this minute was a moot point.

Lawrence reluctantly pulled the brown plastic bottle from his pocket and handed it to Brutus. “Take one now and one with your lunch.”

Brutus's eyes grew wide as he looked to Lawrence and then to her. She could see the color slipping from his cheeks. “Do I have what she has?”

If this stocky guard passed out again, she didn't think she and Lawrence could handle his limp body on their own. “Some of the wells are contaminated.” Magdalena pointed at the jug. “No point in taking any chances.”

“How long before my insides turn wrong side out?” A loud gulp accompanied his attempt to swallow his fear.

“They won't if you take these tablets.”

Brutus's face bunched into a confused puzzle. “You're giving me your medicine?”

“I think it will help you.”

“Why would you help me?”

“It's what Christ would do.” Magdalena held out her empty hands, palms up. “Help is all I have to give.”

“I can't pay.”

“You don't have to. It's free.”

“You're some of the strangest people I've ever met.” Brutus fumbled with the childproof cap. “How do you get into this thing?”

Lawrence showed him how to press and turn at the same time.
Brutus's thick fingers didn't cooperate, so Lawrence opened the bottle and emptied a tablet into the guard's dirty palm. “One now. One later.”

“You wouldn't be trying to trick ole Brutus, now would you?”

“Been giving the same thing to my wife.”

“Like I said.” Brutus tossed the pill back and swallowed it without water. “Strangest people I ever met.”

M
AXIMUS STORMED INTO THE
torch-lit palace aviary still huffing from the stiff, uphill walk from the theater. “Kaeso!”

His roar sent the caged field fares, ortolans, nightingales, and thrushes into a screeching flurry. Like ambitious senators determined to be heard over the other, the brightly colored birds he'd inherited from his predecessor fluttered to higher and higher perches.

Filthy birds and their messes were not all he'd inherited. Since his arrival, a small parade of senators had burdened him with multiple complaints. He was tempted to herd all those white togas into gilded cages and have them carted off to the tunnels beneath these marbled floors.

Maximus stuck his index finger through the gold bars and smiled at the parakeet pecking at his large ring. “Kaeso!”

His servant slipped from the shadows of the garden wearing a perturbed expression. “Bellowing does not become your station.”

Maximus shook the bird from his finger, slammed the cage door, and plopped down upon an upholstered sofa inlaid with tortoiseshell and gold. “How can I be expected to prepare for my role as judge when these unnecessary interruptions continue to cut my acting lessons short? Epolon says I have some work to do.”

“The freedman will have to wait. Titus has requested an audience.”

“Again? What could that infuriating baboon possibly want now?”

“Baboon?” Titus strode into the atrium from the open door of the center courtyard where he'd obviously been waiting. The depth of his scowl indicated he'd been waiting long enough to hear himself referred to as a hairy primate.

Maximus offered Titus a seat next to him, but he remained standing. “A term of endearment where I come from.” His delivery of the quip failed to soften the frown drawing Titus's brows. “A sense of humor would broaden your appeal greatly, Senator.”

“What I have to say does not require humor.” Titus's chin jutted like a pointing finger at Maximus. “My lord, I'm asking you to seriously consider recusing yourself from presiding over the murder trial.”

“Absolutely not.”

“At the very least, you should reinstate a new praetor and follow the rule of law.”

“And why would I do that?”

“The trial of the healer of Carthage is a very delicate matter, my lord. One that perhaps is best understood by someone local.”

“A healer who is a murderer. Strange combination.”

“You're presuming her guilty before you've even heard the case.” Titus paced with such an interesting gait. Maximus could not wait to apply this hip-forward lope to a characterization he'd been working on with the protégé of Terence. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were implying me inept, Senator.”

“I have only
your
best interest at heart.” Titus's beady eyes glared at Maximus. “The people adore the healer. No sense starting your tenure on the wrong foot.”

“Your concern is gratifying, but I intend to have a very public presence during my stay in Carthage, and I think the trial of this
murderer is a matter better understood by a ruler who would prefer not to have his leg sawed off in his royal bed.” Maximus held up his palm and silenced Titus's argument, proving he was indeed a quick study of the art of ruling well. He couldn't wait to get back to Rome and try his hand at shutting his mother-in-law's mouth with a simple gesture. “I shall have my chariot deliver me to the trial of this impudent slave in the grandest of fashion. I assure you, Titus Cicero, my debut entrance as ruler of Carthage will be one this city will never forget.”