The big man looked more shocked than he had before. His eyes darted back and forth between us.
“I-I don’t want freedom, sir, but-Coir, I-”
“Well, you have it anyway. You can either go or not go. It’s up to you.”
I looked down at her. Her cheeks were red, her head held high.
I said softly: “You’ll both have your freedom, even if I have to proclaim it to the governor himself. Now get out of my sight.”
She walked, in not too great a hurry, to her room. I heard the door clack shut.
“Dominus-I-”
“No explanations necessary, Draco. You’re welcome to stay on in the house as a freedman. If you follow her, though … be careful. Be very careful.”
He nodded with a dim recognition.
“Go on and eat.”
He nodded again and backed into the kitchen. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and sucked in my gut. Time to meet my wife.
* * *
I reached my-our-bedroom door. I waited, unsure of whether to open it and fling myself at her or knock. I knocked.
A small voice said: “Come in.”
My eyes traced the line of her face and body, from her blond hair to the delicately formed feet. After the initial shock I always felt on seeing her, I noticed some details: She’d lost weight. Her cheeks were pale, thinner, more drawn. Her hair was askew, not neatly tied up in back. Her face was etched with pain. God help me if I made her feel like that.
She sat up and smiled weakly. “Hello, Arcturus.”
I sat down and took her hand. Clammy, cold, almost lifeless. I squeezed it. She smiled again, not unfriendly, not unwelcome, but distant, as if she and I and the room and my hand and her hand were not really there, not really connected.
“I-are you surprised?”
“No. I heard voices earlier, and saw you were talking to Coir.”
“Gwyna, I’m-I’m sorry.” So trite, so meaningless, so little. Some blood stirred in her hand, and she pulled it away, then very tentatively reached fingertips to brush my cheek.
“You shaved?” She was a little surprised. “You always come home in a state. I thought I’d-well, no bother.”
“I stopped by the baths before I came home. I wanted to be clean-for you.”
She smiled again, and the blue of her eyes was misty and covered over with something I didn’t recognize. Something was very, very wrong with my wife. She saw the look on my face and changed the subject.
“How was the trip? Any rain?”
I stared at her. “No. No rain. Gwyna, what’s happened? How did Coir-my God, what happened?”
For a moment I saw the old Gwyna. Then the blue was swallowed up by the same misty miasma, and she turned her face to the wall.
“Nothing, Arcturus. I’m just tired. I didn’t feel like ordering anyone about. I suppose Coir just took advantage.”
“Took advantage? She refused to do anything!”
She shrugged as if it took a great deal of effort.
“She’s never liked me. She was always jealous of you. It was-it was easier this way.”
“Was it easier to let Bilicho take care of Hefin?”
Her body jerked up as if it had been stung by a jellyfish. The eyes glinted a little, but any anger was trapped by the fog.
“No. I told you I was tired. Bilicho and Stricta did it as a favor to me.”
I didn’t say anything. I took her hand again and noted her pulse was faster. She was frightened of something.
I took her face and turned it to mine. “Gwyna, what is it?”
Once more, I thought I saw her. Then she put the smile back on.
“Nothing, Arcturus. I’ll be fine. You won’t have to divorce me.”
I bent over and kissed her cheek. She let me, but that was all.
“I’m sorry. Sorry for hiding in my own world, sorry I left you, in body and spirit. Sorry for letting my weakness hurt you. I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you, Gwyna, and I will do everything I can to make up for it. I love you more than anything in this world or any other. Please give me a chance to show it.”
I kissed her lips, gently. She lay back on the bed.
“I’m-tired, Arcturus. If you don’t mind…”
I nodded. She avoided my eyes, turning toward the wall.
Somewhere beneath this drawn, apathetic woman was my Gwyna-and she was screaming.
* * *
Coir and Draco left before breakfast. I’d miss Draco. Hell, I’d even miss Coir. I was sorry it ended like it did. Freeing people is generally a happier event. Draco was practically in tears, but I didn’t know my own way and could hardly tell him his. I told him he was welcome in my home anytime-as long as she wasn’t with him.
I asked Venutius to find another house slave, preferably an old woman. That was all the thought I could give to domestic arrangements. It was time to talk to Bilicho.
Typically generous gesture of Gwyna’s, to give them her father’s house to live in. I stood and looked down the street where I’d walked last December, trying to find the beautiful blond woman who needed my help. The neighborhood looked the same, the house better than I remembered it.
I knocked on the door, finally getting the kind of welcome I hoped for.
“Arcturus!”
He hugged me hard enough to fuse my lungs, then held me at arm’s length.
“You’re thinner.”
“I am not-I’m fatter.”
“No, you’re not. You’re thin and troubled, and I know why.”
We walked into the surprising center of the house: a round-house triclinium, the Roman exterior hiding the native interior. I smelled food in the kitchen, like the first time. Except this wasn’t chickpeas and pork, it was lentils and bread.
“Stricta! Look who’s back!”
A dark, wraithlike woman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel tied around her waist. She held out her hands toward me.
“Arcturus! It is so good of you to come by! When did you get home?”
Her Latin was stronger, less inflected with an Egyptian accent, and she’d finally gained some weight. She insisted that we all keep using her old slave name, even with the dark memories. Bilicho told me with a blush that she wouldn’t change it because that’s how he first knew her.
“Yesterday. Where’s Hefin?”
Bilicho whistled, and a small blond missile flew out of what used to be Gwyna’s room and struck him in the stomach. He started to laugh and almost fell down, as Stricta tousled the boy’s hair and straightened out his tunic.
Hefin stared, then recognized me, putting on his best haughty look, so much like his father. “Hello, Arcturus.”
“Hello, Hefin. How are the studies?”
He shrugged. “Stricta’s teaching me some Greek. I want to learn to read the old Egyptian writing, though. She’s promised to teach me that if I can get through Aeschylus.”
His eyes bored into mine, trying to command me. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here.”
He was exactly like his father. A lot like his sister, too. Or like his sister when I left her in May. The words hurt more than I thought they could. Stricta noticed the look on my face.
“Go on now, Hefin, back to your room. Arcturus and Bilicho and I have to talk.”
He shrugged again and walked to the corridor.
My mouth was dry, and the words felt heavy when they came out. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your meal.”
Bilicho drew his eyebrows together. “This is me, Bilicho, your freedman and assistant. The man who helps you think. Actually, the man who does your thinking for you, as I’ve been telling you for years. Don’t be such a goddamn stranger!”
The tension deflated. Thank God for Bilicho. He always made it easier on me than I deserved. Stricta left and came out again with a plate of soft-boiled eggs, cheese, and a lentil-chestnut stew. She joined us, and I relaxed a little. So this is what it felt like. A family.
“You get rid of Coir?” Bilicho asked.
Stricta was reproving. “Let Arcturus eat. And do not speak with your mouthful, Bil-i-cho.” He swallowed and grinned at her.