Marei - book one. Part three: Shadow. Chapter 19

I awoke in the pale gray of dawn. From the quality of the light outside the windows, the sky was still overcast and as I came into full consciousness I was able to hear the sounds of a much lighter rain still falling on the roof. Grandmother and Gurek’s breathing was still deep and slow so I knew I was the only person awake.

Through the wooden wall that separated the two rooms I could hear the rustling groan of the bed ropes stretching and moving. As I strained to hear more Grandmother stirred in her bed and sat up, slipping out from under Gurek’s arm. She stepped to the edge of the pallet and smiled down at me. Grinning I got out of bed and followed her into the common room for the morning’s preparations.

Our usual silent ritual of morning seemed imbued with sacred energy that morning. Putting logs in the fire I would think These will help him stay warm. Collecting eggs and milking Troll Bait brought thoughts of cooking for him, providing for his bodily needs. My thoughts strayed into the many variations those bodily needs could take and how I could help to fill them as I methodically filled the milk bucket.

Cleaning in the common room as Grandmother began the breakfast preparations I lingered over his clothes where they had been piled on the floor. They were still soggy and stained so I scooped them up, careful not to drip cold rain water on myself, and dumped them in the wash basin. Going back for Gurek’s I reached up to the rafters where their cloaks had been dripping dry. Both were still damp, but neither was fully wet any more. I leaned my face forward into the stranger’s cloak and breathed in the smell of him; a mix of sweat and an unidentifiable combination of spices. The combination was enticing and I breathed it in again, slowly savoring the scent.

Gurek emerged from the bedroom as the smell of cooking oatmeal filled the kitchen. He sauntered over to Grandmother and hugged her from behind, placing a small kiss on her neck as she stirred. “I’ll go see to our guest, M’khindẻǽ. He may still need help walking on that ankle, even if it’s not broken.” With another kiss, he disappeared behind the curtain to the smaller bedroom where the stranger was beginning to wake.

I strained to hear their quiet voices as they chatted. Only a few minutes later, both men joined us in the common room, the stranger limping slightly but walking unaided on an ankle that was only slightly swollen. They crossed the room to the door looking for their footwear to venture outside to the outhouse but found only the severed sandals and Gurek’s waterlogged boots.

Gurek laughed loudly as a veritable stream of water cascaded from the boot he had overturned. “We might be better off just braving the mud in our bare feet, lad. It looks as if we’re going to get our feet wet either way.” He grinned at the stranger who looked down shyly and then smiled back at Gurek. Together they went outside into the morning drizzle.

They were gone an agonizingly long time during which I kept looking over my shoulder at the door, expecting to see them at any moment. My jittery hands clanked the mugs together and almost spilled a pan of eggs while I was dishing them onto the plates. Thankfully Grandmother brought over the bowls of hot oatmeal while I tried to carefully pour tea. I succeeded in getting the tea into the mugs and not all over either the table or myself, but only by the tightest rein on my imagination.

When they did return the sound of the door latch made me jump in the chair where I was sitting. I turned to look at them as they came in the door. Because of the light but steady sprinkling of rain they were both damp, their sleeping robes adhering to their bodies as they walked. The stranger was still limping slightly, favoring the injured ankle, but smiling now as he came into the warm dry common room from the still chilly outside. They each took a towel from a pile that had been left near the door and dried off their hair and faces, bringing the towels with them to place on the seats of their chairs.

As he sat, the stranger looked around at the kitchen and at the three of us already sitting at the table, the line of tension in his forehead easing slightly as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Gratefully he sank into the chair that Gurek had pulled out for him. Grandmother reached her hand to both Gurek and the stranger for the food blessing that began each of our meals. I held out my hands to them too and as Gurek’s rough weathered hand closed around mine, I looked at the stranger.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly and his lips pursed, but he reached his hands out toward our expectant ones, sliding soft fingers against my eager palm.

“God and Goddess, we thank you for seeing our loved one and our future friend safely home in the maelstrom. We are grateful to be sitting together, whole and safe within this holy House. We give thanks to the creatures who gave us our food this morning and wish for their, and our, continued health. As above, so below.” Grandmother gave the hands she was holding a light squeeze and released them, taking up her mug of tea for a warming sip. Reluctantly I released the stranger’s hand.

He watched, puzzled, as we all dug heartily into our food, hungry and thirsty from the exertions the night before. “But you do not even know my name. Should I not announce myself to the Steward before we eat? I have already overstepped my welcome by sleeping here without being known.”

Gurek and Grandmother exchanged glances before Gurek answered him. “Lad, there’s plenty of time to get to know each other after our bellies stop growling. I don’t think you’ll be rushing off down the hill for at least another night with your ankle the way it is. We don’t stand on social ceremony here at the House on the Hill. We have other ceremonies that are far more important,” he gestured at the table full of food in front of him, “such as sharing a thankful morning and a fine breakfast.

“You’ll not be harmed here, and we judge that you have no intent of harming any who dwell within these walls, so we count you as a friend, regardless of who birthed and raised you, or how many fancy titles you may hold. You are welcome to eat at this table, rest by this fire, and sleep soundly beneath this roof for as long as you have need. The Steward of the House does not turn away anyone who has come questing without a fair listen and a few days to think upon an answer.”

Gurek shoveled a heaping spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth and sighed happily. “Eat, lad.”

The stranger laughed; a loud braying sound that was startling in the quiet morning air. After a moment of surprise the three of us laughed along, sharing in the simple joy of the morning. A bemused smile lingered on his face as he ate breakfast, curiously watching the unspoken romantic interactions between Grandmother and Gurek; how his hand would linger on hers, or how she would brush her hand along his bearded jaw.

Peering sidelong at him from under my eyelashes I watched as he carefully ate the food Grandmother and I had prepared for him. I was the only one who saw him sigh wistfully as they two lovers leaned close to share a kiss as they dined. My heart warmed; was he longing for a lover who could so tenderly minister to his needs? Whenever he looked in my direction I hastily averted my eyes so he wouldn’t notice that I was staring.

Breakfast was peacefully finished and I cleared off the table with Grandmother, being careful to appear graceful though my heart was hammering and my hands must have been shaking. Standing with my back to the table as I poured hot water into the dish basin I imagined I could feel his eyes on me, but I was afraid to be wrong so I didn’t turn around to see.

Gurek disappeared behind the curtain of the magick room door to investigate the leak and the amount of damage that would have to be repaired. He returned shaking his head. “It’s a wonder that hole didn’t flood the whole House last night. You were smart to place the large cauldron beneath it M’khindẻǽ. I should be able to repair the hole from inside, at least well enough for another night, two at the most, until the sky clears and I am able to scale the roof to fix it properly. The window paper seems to have held up to the worst of it. Did any more leaks form last night while I was gone?”

Grandmother shook her head no, then spoke to me. “Marei, please fetch the wet clothes. Let’s get them cleaned and hanging before the fire so our guest can wear something besides a borrowed night robe.” At that statement, the stranger looked down at himself and blushed bright pink.

He began to stammer, repeating the same sound over and over until Grandmother put a hand on his shoulder in apology. “Please don’t feel awkward. If you were more comfortable naked I would suggest you spend your time here without clothing. I only meant that you would undoubtedly be more comfortable in the clothes you brought and are used to wearing than in something not designed for your body. I was not attempting to shame you, or cause you to feel less than adequate.”

He nodded his understanding and sipped his tea as I brought a bucket full of wet and muddy clothes. I dumped them into the wash basin and brought back another pan of hot water from in front of the fire place. Working quickly in the steaming water, Grandmother and I scrubbed lye soap against the stains, working them loose from the fabric. When each garment was as clean as we could get it, we each took an end and twisted the fabric until most of the water had been squeezed out.

We strung a log line of rope, similar to the clothesline outside, from the cauldron’s hook to the door and draped the damp but clean clothing on the line. The clothes closest to the fire immediately began to steam. Grandmother refilled the water pot and brewed more tea before she sat down at the table with the stranger. Behind them, listening so hard to their conversation that my ears must have swelled, I began to shape the bread for the morning.

“Now that we are all fed, and our safety and security within the house is being seen to, we are free to spend the dreary day discussing the business you bring here.”

The stranger looked confused. “Should we not wait for the Steward to join us before we begin?” He glanced towards the magick room where the sounds of Gurek’s work were still very much in evidence.

“I am the Steward of the House on the Hill.” Grandmother inclined her head slightly, almost as if bowing as she introduced herself.

He shifted in his chair to face her. “A woman is the Steward?” When she nodded he sank back in his chair, muttering to himself in his raspy voice. “I had heard that women were leaders on the Island, but I did not believe it until now.” He ran a hand through the curls at the back of his neck. “Nevertheless I must try and present my case to who ever is the Steward of the House.

“You said that you do not stand on formalities, but I feel I must fully introduce myself before we continue. I am Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, called Claudius to distinguish me from the current reigning Emperor, may he live forver. I am son of Nero Claudius Drusus and Antonia, grandson of Marcus Antonius.” His voice creaked as he spoke the names of his lineage and when his it broke like a young boy’s at the name of his grandfather his neck and cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

Grandmother stood and fetched the honey from its place on the shelf, adding a large dollop to Tiberius’ tea. “Honey will sooth your throat, make it easier for you to speak.”

He shook his head sadly, “my throat and the painful sound of my voice to the ears of any who listen is not a spring malady, to be cured by teas and tinctures. I have sounded this way from the very first cries of my birth. This reason, among many others, is why I have journeyed to visit you, Steward.”

“Steward is my title, not my name. I have been remiss in my hospitality: I am Láidáin, most recent of the Stewards of the House on the Hill, and Priestess of the Grove of Thirteen Trees. My companion is Gurek.” She gestured to the magick room.

He nodded, taking a sip of the sweetened tea. “And your serving girl? Does she speak or is she a mute?”

“That girl is both my granddaughter and my student.” Claudius flushed again, stammering into an apology, but Grandmother broke into his attempt. “Do not apologize; you do not know our ways. Her name is Marei and she can speak, though she has taken a vow of silence for the turning of a year while she is learning the ways of the druid trained.”

Claudius considered her statement and his brow furrowed in contemplation. “I have read of certain philosophers who required their students to take a vow of silence for a number of years – they were only allowed to speak when spoken to, and then only in direct answer to the question. I often thought that was a very intelligent way to teach someone how to listen. Often those who seek to fill positions where speaking is a requirement only do so because they enjoy hearing the sound of their own voices. They do not often realize that it is the sound of another person’s voice that makes a conversation.”

Grandmother smiled openly at his last statement. “Precisely. We believe that in order to properly serve the Gods and those people who most need your wisdom you must be able to listen well, not only to those who can speak, but to those who cannot speak for themselves. However, during this year of silence, the initiate must act as a shadow and exhibit no show of individual will. This truly prepares them to set aside their own ego and agenda and work exclusively for the will of the Gods.

“But I feel we will have ample opportunity to discuss our cultural beliefs at length. Please continue your story; we believe that a person’s story is how you know that person, and that listening is how best you can help them. And since you have obviously come here for help, hearing your story is what I would most like to do.” Grandmother refreshed both of their mugs of tea, and mine as I set the bread to bake in the oven holes next to the fire place. I slid into my chair next to him at the table as he began to tell his story.

“As I said before, I am called Claudius. I am a second son of a second son, so I should be devoted to our Magesty’s Army, medalled and war scarred. Yet I have never seen the training of a battle field, never been given the knowledge of the warrior’s blade. I have never been conscripted or served my Emperor in combat, and most likely never will. I am also of the royal Claudian house; since I am not fit to serve in the Roman army, I should be serving my fellow countrymen by serving a post of esteem in the senate, or by advising the Caesar, who is of my blood. Yet twice have I been refused even the most rudimentary position of leadership, even those that others would scorn for being unworthy of such highly respected lineage.

“I have brought nothing thus far but disgrace to my family; a family whose lineage is second only to the Julii in prestige and accomplishments. I should have been decorated or killed in battle, with titles and responsibilities befitting my birthright but instead I am only a cripple, a sorry shell of a man.” With a grimace of scorn he gestured to his injured ankle.

I was amazed at this statement; how could such a beautifully designed man think so poorly of him self? Did he not know how attractive he was? How his eyes and lips could lure a woman to flights of fancy that kept her mind constantly wandering? I wanted to protest his disgust and let my better opinion of his physique hold sway over his mind. Instead I held my tongue, still playing the part of shadow and watched Grandmother; she must argue his statement. I was certain she would disagree, but she only nodded and asked him to continue.

“I was born early, under an ill omen; within that month the full moon glowed red as blood. My mother considered me cursed because she had suffered great illness during her pregnancy with me. My infantile cries for love and affection sounded harshly against her delicate ears, and she was reluctant to hold me, for fear of inviting scorn upon our family. But the sound of my voice was the least of her worries.

“As I grew older and began to learn the new skills that all children must learn in order to grow into men, began to try to feed myself, crawl and walk, it became obvious that more was wrong with me than just the sound of my voice. As I tried to force my betraying hand to hold a spoon or later to hold a quill my muscles would shake and the utensil would fall to the floor, useless. As I tried to stand, tried to make my body obey my commands, my legs would shake and like the utensils I could not grasp, I too would fall to the ground.

“Eventually I trained my less dominant hand to be responsive to me, because though it was not the hand I was more comfortable writing or serving myself with, it was strong enough to hold a quill or fork. Though I will never be considered dexterous, I was able to force my weaker side to do my bidding adequately enough to accomplish what I needed. But it was years before I learned to walk with any sense of confidence and even now in times of stress my right foot will weaken quickly and waver, which is why I had fallen and injured myself on my way up the hill; I was already struggling against the hill and my own fatigue when the storm started.” He shifted in his chair, arranging himself so his injured foot was stretched out in front of him, almost touching the rungs on my chair.

“My father died when I was only a year old and my mother never recovered from her sorrow at both her loss of her lover and her misfortune at birthing what she repeatedly called “a monster”. She passed me to my grandmother, Livia, when I was old enough to not need an immediate maternal influence. Livia did no better for me; having already raised her own children to adult hood, and having seen two of their deaths already, she was not accommodating to the needs of a small child who required additional attention. She had far higher aspirations than nurturing a weakling. I was not even allowed to eat at her table; she claimed the sight of me disgusted her so greatly that she could not retain her appetite.

“One of my grandmother’s former mule drivers was hired to keep me disciplined.” His lip curled in disgust and his voice rose in volume, becoming more like a croak as his temper rose. “That moron was not a disciplinarian; he was an abusive drunkard who delighted in beating me with the leather whip that used to the mark of his trade. Both he and my grandmother were convinced that my symptoms were not any form of physical malady, but were only due to my laziness of mind and body. If I could be beaten often enough they felt sure that I would overcome my reluctance to physical exertion and all of my symptoms would miraculously vanish.

“But my symptoms never did vanish, regardless of the number of beatings or the amount of harsh chores heaped upon me. When I began to change from boy to man my voice also went through changes and for a time it seemed as if I would outgrow this cacophonous scraping I must call my voice. It was during this period of growth that I learned to move without showing the shaking at my knees, and how to control, as best as any could, the timbre of my voice.

“Even though I was learning to become master of my body and voice, I was not allowed to be seen in public, not acknowledged as a legitimate heir to the Claudian Family legacy. While others in my family; cousins, brothers in law, my elder brother, were allowed to officiate at ceremonies and games hosted for the public by our family, I was not. When I was sixteen years of age, the age of the threshold of manhood for a Roman man, I was not celebrated in a public Toga Virilus ceremony; instead my ceremony was hastily done after dark, and only among close family members and friends.

At Grandmother’s questioning look he explained further. “The Toga Virilus is a ceremonial observance of a boys change from youth to adulthood. It celebrates the age at which a boy can begin his formal military training, or become eligible for a wife. The ceremony itself is usually a day long feast and large party during which the young man is stripped of his child’s dressing gown and wrapped in a man’s toga by his father or another elder family member if his father is not present. Other boys his age are invited to witness this. If there are enough friends around him he may be presented to those who have already attained the Toga Virilis for a raucous bar and brothel crawl to fully initiate him into the ways of being a Roman Man. It should be a very public and applauded night in a young man’s life, especially if that young man is a member of a royal family in high standing, as I am.

“For me, since my father was long dead, my grandfather and uncle were responsible for stripping me from my childhood and robing me in the toga of adulthood. I had no friends, no peers who would associate with me, so there were none invited, and none to take me caterwauling into the wee hours of the night. Neither was the hall filled with all the male members of the family that could be found; the only other persons in attendance were my mother and grandmother. My Toga Virilus was not performed in the open, during the day, with a feast and barrels of wine; it was done at night, at the house of my grandparents where I was staying, and there was no change in the meager dinner offered that night.

“Now that I was a man, I hoped to be allowed to attain higher levels of education, since I knew already that I would never bee strong enough to serve in the military. In an uncharacteristically charitable maneuver, Livia noticed my interest in history and obscure cultures and hired an amazing man to tutor me in history and eloquent written compositions. Titus Livius was a short, pointed looking man who was not attractive to look upon, but was a joy to be with whether you were a learned person or not. Both his speech and his writing were fluent and poetic – instead of having to utilize great skill in attentive listening it was an honor and pleasure to either read or hear his words.

“Livy had been a tutor to royalty before and had even had the courage to criticize the current rules under the guise of satire. Never the less, whatever works he composed were instantly met with great acclaim, even by his peers. I was honored that he had been chosen to tutor me, and more than a little bit skeptical at the motivation that caused him to be hired for me, regardless of the strength of my familial ties.

“Every day I learned as much and as quickly as I could, feeling as if I were waiting to be discovered, feeling an almost guilty pleasure at being allowed to stretch my mind and converse with someone who was actually interested in what I had to say. I excelled in my history lessons, and in my composition of oratory, if not in my actual verbal speech. For the first time in my short and miserable life, I was praised on a daily basis and showed my true colors as a scholar. I found solace and peace in the annals of the libraries and, with Livia’s permission, accompanied my tutor Livy to as many as could be reached within a few days ride. It was during this time I learned how to compose oratory and how to overcome my stammer when my speech was prepared, or when I was relaxed. Though my stammer will appear when I am nervous or upset, I am able to control it, for the most part, when discoursing on familiar topics.

“Through the time of my tutoring and blossoming, I was engaged to two different women. Apparently, though my family was too embarrassed by my presence to afford me the typical respect and accolades due to someone of my birth rank and station, they still assumed that I would be beneficial to them as a marriageable asset. Perhaps my affliction was not hereditary; certainly none of my predecessors had displayed the same confining tendencies towards weakness as I had. Certainly I had the possibility of securing an advantageous political alignment or at the very least a decently sized dowry from my intended.

“My betrothals were kept among distant relations who might not have been informed of my malaise and would not have that excuse to refute me. I was first engaged to a distant cousin of mine whom I had never met. We exchanged letters and it seemed she was amenable to the agreement, but the arrangement was nullified when her family fell out of favor with the Emperor.

“I was next betrothed to the daughter of the Emperor’s consul, a woman who shared the same name as my grandmother. I did not hold this against her, however, and began a written courtship of this lady. I found to my dismay that she was categorically repulsed by any physical deformity and lived in an almost debilitating fear of illness and contagion. She was fastidiously clean, and seemed to me to be a woman obsessed with removing all signs of impurity from her sight. I did not see how such a woman as that and such a monster as myself could possibly be a successful wedding, but I did not protest the wedding for I did not wish to incur my Grandmother’s formidable wrath.

“On the day of the wedding, we met in the capitol city to discuss face to face the terms of the marriage contract and the dower portion, as well as to put faces to the written words we had been exchanging. I learned later, as I was preparing myself with the traditional ceremonial toga, that my future bride had suddenly taken ill and died, only a few hours after our meeting. Though no thought of foul play was ever mentioned, I have often wondered if the punctilious germophobic had found such terror at the thought of wedding someone who was as obviously incompletely formed as myself that she poisoned herself rather than go through with the wedding. I’m sure she could not bear the thought of submitting her chaste, pure body to the depraved body of a crippled half man, and it was far too late to refuse gracefully, even if her parents would have allowed it.”

Again I found myself gaping in amazement. I had heard stories of the atrocities of the Roman world; all children heard the tales of the inhuman way in which they conducted themselves. This was all too much proof to me that they were indeed true; any culture that would overlook someone like Claudius, or produce women who would rather die than know his caress had to be verging on complete insanity.

“My family waited almost a year before they attempted to engage me to another woman. When they did, she had been picked for more than just her favor with the Emperor. Plautia was the daughter of a woman my grandmother had used as her closest confidant for years. Certainly this young woman knew what manner of man she was to marry, however, in order not to scare her away, we did not meet in person until the wedding ceremony itself.

“The wedding was moderately austere, with enough pomp to satisfy my future wife whose main goal was to advance herself and her prestige by marrying into the Claudian dynasty. In that I could satisfy her, though she made it plain as had my mother and grandmother before her, that I could not satisfy her in any other manner. She performed her legally required wifely duty and no more. There is no love between us, and no children, for how can I sire a child on a woman who scorns me and my attempts at intimacy?

“And so I seek elsewhere, to those who do not mind that my voice rasps, or my leg shakes. I am still a man, with a man’s desires to fill.” His hand banged on the table top as he emphasized his frustration. I watched with fascination as the muscles in his jaw twitched, imagining what it would be like to be the one he was seeking; to be the one who could show him how much he was appreciated.

With effort that was admirable to watch, he slowed his breathing and released his clenched fist, turning an open palm to Grandmother. “I also seek out those who are renowned for healing. That is why I am here, in your House, on this morning. I had heard that the Druids of this Island could perform miracles of sorts with magick and with medicine. I heard tales of how a tincture specially prepared had wrested a child shaken with fever chills from the brink of death and into health. I heard tales of the lame walking, the barren conceiving, the deaf hearing, the possessed walking free of torment.

“I had hoped,” his voice wavered even more and broke with emotion as he lowered his eyes. “I had hoped that there would exist in your lore and knowledge something that might cure me of this malady that has p—p-plagued me for all my life. Something that could smooth my horrifying voice and strengthen my right side so that I might walk tall and proud as a man should, grip a sword and prove myself worthy of being a son, husband and man.

He leaned forward suddenly, eyes glowing with an almost feverish light and grasped both of Grandmother’s hands in his. “P-p-please, lady. I b-b-beg of you; if you know of anything I might try to relieve my shame and revive my uncooperative body, p-p-please tell me, show me. I submit willingly to any ritual you might devise, regardless of content or deity invoked. I will p-p-perform any exercises, drink any p-p-potions, learn any spells or hexes and repeat them every day until I die. I no longer care what method must be employed to heal me, I only conclude that the ends will justify the means.”

Grandmother sighed heavily, as if shouldering a great burden. “Claudius, what you are asking for may not be possible. Yes, we know the ways of the earth and have knowledge of the healing plants of the earth. We have studied for most of our lifetimes and have learned the studies of those who walked before us and know that there are some maladies that can be cured with a mixture of herbs or liquids; yet even some of those maladies will not succumb to our ministrations and be healed. Even beyond the physical symptoms of a disease there are other factors that we must acknowledge and attempt to understand. Inside each of us is a spirit that not only drives the force of our actions and lives, but manifests itself and its will through our bodily functions and symptoms.

“Sometimes an illness that should easily be cured with an herbal remedy lingers and destroys the body because the soul refuses to release the disease from inside. To that end, we have learned methods of magick that communicate with the soul itself, drawing on the energies of a higher power and relying on the divine intervention of deities who have learned and experienced far more than anything which our mortal shells can conceive. But even with their intervention, not all of our cures will work. There must be the accompanying desire for the healing that goes far deeper than skin and bone.”“I have that desire!” Claudius burst up out of his chair, knocking it backwards with a loud bang. His voice boomed as he fumed, his hands gesticulating wildly. “I have that desire and more! If you tell me I must cut off my right leg and replace it with that of a cow, I will do it! If you tell me I must never know a woman’s flesh again, I will become a eunuch so I am never again tempted.”

He banged with both hands on the table in front of Grandmother. “Just tell me.” He slammed his hands on the table again as he sank to his knees next to Grandmother, laying his head in her lap. “Just tell me, and I will do it. Anything. Please. I want to be whole, a whole man.”

Grandmother raised her hand to signal to Gurek who had come quickly from the magick room when he heard banging and raised voices. Though he stood protectively on the other side of the room, ready to spring into action if needed, he did not advance on the two as they froze in a scene that would be forever etched into my heart’s memory.

Claudius’ shoulders were shaking. Grandmother soothingly smoothed his short, curly hair as if he were an injured child who had skinned his knee. I felt warmth and wetness on my face and realized that I was crying at his display of hopelessness and desperation. The entire scene and story were still unbelievable to me; this man had struck such a chord within me with his physical and spiritual presence that I still could not believe that any woman with working eyes would look on him with scorn, or think his romantic advances only a duty to be endured. I could not fathom that he felt himself to be less than perfect, as he was created. Foolish Romans; their kind always seemed to deify the warrior and ignore or ridicule the poets and scholars among them. I had seen the empty eyes or violent tempers of warriors who had come home from battle scarred to their souls but without a mark on their skins. Surely a woman of knowledge would prefer a man of gentleness and knowledge to a boastful braggart with rough hands and a cold heart.

Grandmother met eyes with Gurek over Claudius’ head and I realized that his shaking shoulders were not in response to his illness but because he too had been overcome with emotion and was crying on Grandmother’s lap. Gurek moved forward towards the table and picked up the overturned chair, setting it on its legs again. Seeing my tears, he patted my head fatherly, then motioned towards the fireplace where, from the smell that had filled the House unnoticed, the bread was finished baking and would soon burn if not tended.

As I rose, I wiped my wet eyes on my sleeve. Fetching the folded cloth I used to keep from burning my hands, I removed the fragrant fresh bread from its warm hole in the side of the fireplace and carefully carried it across the room to the counter to cool. I approached the table as Gurek gently placed a comforting hand on Grandmother’s shoulder, offering her his emotional support while she counseled the bereft young man in her lap.

“Claudius,” she began, stroking his hair again. “I will do what I can to discern if we can heal any part of your afflictions, but you must remember that we do not always know the full plan of the divinity that designed us. Please remember that there may be a reason for your suffering that you may not know until hindsight lends you her untarnished view.”

“There can be no reason for this torment,” his voice was muffled as he talked into her dress. “You must heal me; no others have been able to; not in Greece, Thessaly or Attica, nor any of those who claim to be doctors in Rome. All they offer is leeches to cure me of a defective humour in my blood or bitter drinks that leave me weaker than before; so much weaker that I question whether or not they are trying to poison me.”

“Claudius, I will make no promise to you except that I will try.”

His whisper was almost inaudible as his shoulders shook again with sobs of relief. “Thank you.”