I regret to say that we are still searching for the best way to rescue you, your son and Elira. Clearly, force cannot be used, and the number of guards within the palace means that subterfuge will not work either. We need a way to get you all into the city proper. My friend says that if this becomes possible, your escape is certain.
Her gaze roved down the remaining lines, to Hanno’s signature. Each of the phrases ‘stay strong’, ‘the gods will protect you’ and ‘we will meet again soon’ felt like hammer blows to the last of her hope. Publius was gravely ill, and they would never leave this place. She would be at Hippocrates’ mercy until he tired of her. After that, Agathocles — whom she had already had to couple with once, hurriedly — would want his share of her flesh. Despairing, she let the tears that often threatened begin to fall.
‘What does it say, mistress? Is it bad news?’
Aurelia wiped her eyes. ‘Not so much that, more that nothing has changed. Hanno can find no way to break us out of here. For now. But we are not to give up hope.’
‘That’s easy for him to say!’ spat Elira. ‘He’s not the one who has to lie with Hippocrates every night.’
‘He’s doing what he can.’
Elira’s temper vanished, leaving in its place sorrow. ‘I know, mistress. It’s so hard, though. Just waiting, waiting, all the time.’
Rather than improving as Aurelia had hoped, Publius’ condition took a sharp turn for the worse. In the ensuing hours, his fever rose and rose until his entire body was burning hot to the touch. Seizures followed: horrifying wild jerks and spasms of his limbs that terrified both women. It was fortunate that the surgeon had warned them of this possible development, or Aurelia might have thought him possessed by a demon. Instead, she knew that trying to lower his temperature might help. There was no ice to be had, so they had to make do by repeatedly bathing Publius in cool water. When the fits finally stopped, Aurelia hoped he might have turned a corner. Instead, he lapsed into complete unconsciousness. Then an area around one knee, which had banged against the floor during a seizure, developed into what looked like a bruise. Soon it was apparent that there was bleeding under the skin. At this point, Aurelia threw caution to the wind and went to the guard who stood outside their door. Prepared to do just about anything, she was relieved when he agreed to send for the surgeon because her child was seriously ill. She had no doubt that it was due in part to Publius’ cheerful nature and admiration of the guards’ every move. He had charmed a good number of them. More than one had smuggled in extra food and sometimes even a small wooden toy for her son.
The surgeon’s poor humour at the hour of his summons fell away the instant that he saw Publius.
‘Why did you not call for me sooner?’ he asked, and then sighed. ‘You don’t need to answer that. Tell me what he’s been doing.’ Calling for more light, he knelt by the bed and listened to Aurelia’s explanation. He immediately subjected Publius to a close examination, placing his ear on the boy’s chest to monitor his breathing, checking his pulse and the colour of his gums, and lifting his eyelids to examine his conjunctivae. The process made Aurelia so nervous that she had to take hold of Elira’s hand.
At last he was done. ‘When did the child last pass urine?’
Aurelia regarded the surgeon blankly. ‘Urine? I don’t know. A long time ago. Six hours? Eight?’
With another sigh, he checked Publius’ pulse again. When he looked up, his expression was sombre. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can do.’
Aurelia felt as if someone had punched her in the solar plexus. She gasped, and sank to her knees. ‘What do you mean?’ she heard Elira ask.
‘It’s classical, severe malaria. A high fever, followed by seizures and other nervous signs. I suspect that he fell into a coma after that. This mark on his knee shows that his blood is not clotting. From what you say about his urination, I suspect his kidneys are also failing.’
Aurelia could not speak. She stared at Publius, at the surgeon, at Publius.
The next time she looked, the surgeon’s face had softened further. ‘He’s dying, I’m afraid. There’s nothing that can be done.’
‘Dying?’ she repeated.
‘Yes. I’ve never seen an adult recover once this stage has been reached, let alone a small child. I’m sorry.’
‘Will it be long?’
The surgeon shook his head, sending Aurelia into a daze of grief. She scarcely noticed his light touch on her shoulder as he walked out.
Sinking on to the bed, she enfolded Publius in her arms. Unbidden, a lullaby came to mind, one that she’d crooned to him as a tiny baby. Aurelia began to sing it, very softly. Over and over she sang it, until her voice gave out and she had to hum the melody. Grief overwhelmed her, and it wasn’t long before the sheet had been saturated by tears. Apart from an occasional deep breath, Publius didn’t move or stir. She was grateful that he no longer seemed distressed. It was easy for Aurelia to fall into a fantasy that he was sleeping off an upset stomach, and that she was comforting him. She was still enmeshed by this pleasant fiction when sleep took her.
When she awoke, it took no more than a heartbeat for her mother’s intuition to tell her that Publius was gone. With infinite tenderness, she laid his head back on to the pillow. His eyes were half open, but his colour had changed from the angry pink of earlier to the grey of the freshly dead. Aurelia placed a finger on the large vein in his neck. By the time she’d counted twenty, there had been no pulse. It was a little late, but she put her mouth to his, to allow his soul to exit his body. ‘Forgive me, my little darling,’ she whispered. ‘The gods grant you a safe passage to the other side. Let them reserve their punishment for me.’
‘He has gone.’
Aurelia looked up at Elira, whose cheeks were running with tears. ‘Yes,’ she said dully.
‘May all the gods bless him and look after him. He was a wonderful child,’ murmured Elira, her voice breaking.
‘We must see to the funeral arrangements. They won’t deny me that, will they?’ Aurelia felt her fragile façade begin to crack.
‘I don’t know, mistress. If they do allow it, this might be our chance to escape.’
It took a moment for Elira’s implication to sink in. ‘You mean, if we were to be allowed out of the palace?’
‘Yes, mistress.’ Elira’s eyes glistened. ‘Can you write a reply to Hanno? The soldier said that he would be at the baker’s again today. I can persuade the guard who’s on duty this morning to let me out. If Hanno knows about the funeral, he might be able to act.’
‘But we don’t know when they might let us hold it.’
‘I know, mistress, but some information would be more useful to Hanno than none, surely?’
In that moment, Aurelia did not care about escape, or about Hanno. Her mind was full of Publius, and how desperately she would miss him. But she knew that this might be their first and last opportunity to get away. However she felt herself, it was not fair to condemn Elira to a lifetime of enforced prostitution. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of the future. ‘Very well. I’ll do it.’
Chapter XII
After a discussion with Kleitos, Hanno had decided to take the soldier’s place by the bakery that morning.
‘It makes sense to change the person who does it,’ he’d argued. ‘People might remember your man from yesterday.’ So now he was standing a few paces from the baker’s, a warm loaf in his hand. Gods, but it was good to eat it fresh from the oven, he thought. There weren’t many things that tasted better.
Yet his pleasure couldn’t dispel his nerves. Despite the bravado he’d shown Kleitos, it was hard to act normal, and even harder not to be continually looking up and down the street for signs of trouble. Fortunately, nothing gave Hanno cause for concern. Housewives congregated by the door of the bakery, chattering. Slaves who’d been sent out by their masters saw their chance and slipped past them to jump the queue. A well-dressed youth emerged with a bag full of loaves, and two stray dogs sniffed up and down, hoping for a dropped crust from the customers who ate what they’d bought.