The Saint's Mistress

The Saint’s Mistress

by

Kathryn Bashaar

ISBN: 978-0-7443-2132-6

Cover art by Jennifer Givner

Copyright 2014 by Kathryn Bashaar

All Rights Reserved

Published by SynergEbooks

www.synergebooks.com

Author’s Note:

This is a work of fiction. History tells us almost nothing of Saint Augustine’s long-time mistress,

with whom he did indeed have a son. The facts of Augustine’s life, on the other hand, are very

well-established, and I have used those facts as accurately as possible in my story. The basics of

the opening scene in the pear orchard were described by Augustine himself in his
Confessions
.

He did teach in Carthage for a few years, and was converted to Christianity in Milan. He had

friends who were very like Amicus, Quintus, Nebridius and Urbanus, although I have changed

some of their names. But I had the pleasure of inventing Leona on my own. I hope my readers

will enjoy her story.

Dedication:

This book is for my husband, Allen Bashaar, who did extra work around the house so I could

focus on the book, who served as my photojournalist in Milan, and who always encourages me to

believe that I can do anything.

Acknowledgements:

I don’t know how anyone writes a good book without the tough love of other writers. I offer my

heartfelt thanks to my writer’s groups at the Beechview and Pleasant Hills libraries here in

Pittsburgh, especially Audrey Iacone, Claire Coyne, Kathy Hillen and Genea Webb.

THE LOVER

Thagaste, North Africa,

Anno Domini 371

Later, Aurelius was called a saint, but I first knew him as a thief.

My sister Numa and I walked barefoot the dusty couple of miles between the town of

Thagaste and our family’s hut in the shadow of the mountains. We knew a shortcut through

Urbanus’ orchards that avoided the foul-smelling suburbs. Dusk was falling, a time of release:

the dirt path releasing the day’s heat, the pear trees giving over their perfume to the evening

breeze. My mouth watered as I inhaled, imagining the soft flesh of pear on my tongue, the bits of

grit, the tough skin, the juice filling my mouth. I was hungry, looking forward to home and

supper.

Numa and I always gossiped on the walk home from town, dissecting the little events of our

day.

“Ariana will find herself pregnant soon if she doesn’t watch out,” Numa predicted. “During

the noon rest, her and Tracchus, when they thought everyone was sleeping, right in the

courtyard. Like dogs,” she whispered, although nobody was near enough to hear.

“Dogs?”

“You know: her on her knees and him behind her.” Numa made a motion with her hands as if

holding on to something in front of her and thrust her hips forward and back a few times. At 16,

Numa was only a year older than I, but she paid more attention when she heard gossip, and

always seemed to know more about secret things.

“Oh.” I blushed and felt a tingling between my legs, pleasant and uncomfortable at once. I

teased, “Maybe you want Tracchus for yourself.”

Numa looked away from me towards the pear orchard, tilting her chin. “Not like that… not

like his bitch.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Tracchus has scars, and I don’t like his teeth. I want someone

handsome.”

“You shouldn’t be so particular, Leona,” Numa scolded. Her smooth brown face folded into a

frown.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t be particular about the person I’ll spend my whole life with…

and have children with. I’m pretty. Men look at me.”

Numa scowled at this. “I know they do, and you enjoy it too much.”

I knew I was pretty, and I did enjoy knowing that men looked at me appreciatively. I was

compact and muscular, with a narrow waist and small, high breasts. I had my Berber father’s

light skin and my Aitheope mother’s full lips, broad nose and large eyes. I saw no reason why

this shouldn’t work to my advantage in a world where girls had few advantages of any kind.

“I don’t want children who look like Tracchus.” I said, drawing my lower lip below my top

teeth to imitate Tracchus’ overbite.

“Father will marry you off to whoever offers him the most anyway.”

“I’ll make myself look hideous and act like a shrew, so the ugly ones won’t want me. I’m

waiting for someone handsome and good-smelling and smart. And I want a man who really loves

me, not just somebody who’s looking for a drudge to cook his porridge and milk his goats.”

Numa snorted. “Good luck.”

1

She started to say more, but we both heard the noise at the same time: the slap of sandals in

the orchard and the bark of laughter. Three boys burst out of the trees at us, bags slung over their

shoulders. They wore the bordered tunics of aristocrats.

One of the boys crashed into Numa, knocking her to the ground and dropping his bag,

scattering pears on the path. He kept running.

“You ignorant barbarians!” I yelled. “Watch where you’re going!”

Another of the boys stopped and hesitated over Numa, shifting the bag on his shoulder.

Finally, he let it drop and leaned over her. “Are you all right?” he asked. He looked like a young

colt, all bulbous joints and round, dark eyes.

His friends stopped now, too, several feet away. “Aurelius! Come on!” called the big one who

had knocked Numa down. “Who cares about some pleb
lupa
?”

“Are you all right?” Aurelius extended a hand to help her up.

“Of course she’s not all right,” I spat. “Your friend knocked her over, you stupid Gaul!”

Numa took his hand and rose to her feet. “I’m fine,” she said, but she glared at Aurelius as she

released his hand and brushed the dust off her tunic.

His friends came trailing back over. “Aurelius! Come on!” the big boy urged. His face was

scarred, like Tracchus. He sauntered closer to us and pinned me with his eyes. “Wait a minute,

wait a minute,” he drawled. “Maybe we’ve come across something more interesting than fruit.”

He dropped his bag and picked up a pear and held it in front of my face. His eyes were blue, a

rare color in our part of the world. I was repelled and fascinated by those eyes, could not look

away, could not move.

“I’d like to squeeze the juice onto your teats,” he hissed at me, “and lick it off.”

I took a half step back, still trapped by those pale eyes.

He turned to Numa. “On the other hand, I’ve never had a blackie before.” He grabbed Numa

around her waist and held one of the pears up to her. “Want a bite? Or would you rather bite

something else? Not too hard now.” He dropped the pear and reached into his tunic for the item

he had in mind. Numa made a face and twisted away from him. He caught her by the wrist and

kicked her legs out from under her, and she fell to the ground. Immediately, he knelt on top of

her, tugging at her tunic.

I pounded at his back with my fists. “Let her go!” I screamed.

Holding Numa to the ground with one hand, he swung the other and hit me in the chest so

hard I fell.

He ripped the front of Numa’s tunic and started pawing at her breasts. She shrieked and tried

to twist away.

“Help us! Please!” I called to the other boys, but they were standing there gaping at Numa’s

bare breasts.

I got up and ran at the attacker. I slammed my fist into his ear.

“Ow! You she-wolf!” he snarled. He stood and put one hand to the side of his head. Numa

saw her chance and wriggled away from him, her face and her dark curls covered with dust.

I ran towards my sister. The boy grabbed my wrist to stop me. He raised his other arm and

slapped my face.

This finally woke up one of his friends, a small, girlish-looking boy. “Marcus, come on.

Leave them alone,” he said.

“Stay out of it, Amicus. I intend to give this bitch a whipping,” Marcus snarled. I noticed,

with satisfaction, a red trickle from his right ear.

2

Now Aurelius, the boy who had first stopped, spoke up. He placed a hand on Marcus’s

shoulder. “Marcus, let’s just go.”

“Stay out of this, Aurelius,” Marcus snarled. “Go home to your mommy, you teat-sucking

baby.”

Aurelius flushed, but it seemed he had found his courage. “Marcus…” he held his friend’s

shoulder and looked him in the eye, “remember our vow? We weren’t going to touch women

until we’re eighteen, remember?”

Marcus frowned at me, as if his dilemma were entirely my fault. “I didn’t take a vow not to

kill any stupid peasant woman who pounded me in the ear,” he complained.

“Leave it, Marcus,” Aurelius urged. “Don’t act like a peasant yourself. We’re supposed to be

better than that. She was just trying to defend her sister.”

I tried to pull away from Marcus, but he tightened his grip on my arm and twisted it. “They’ve

probably been had by half the plebs in town already in their little mud hut in the hills. I wouldn’t

dirty myself with them,” he said, twisting my arm more firmly. “But I reserve the right to

personally beat this one until she screams.”

Amicus stepped forward. “You’ll have to beat me first.” He was pale and thin, much smaller

than Marcus, but his gaze was as solid as the mountains.

Marcus looked from him to me, and thrust me to the ground. I landed in the dust on my

bottom again. “The hell with you, then,” he said. “Stupid she-wolf!” he spat in parting. Marcus

straightened his tunic and he and Amicus started across the next field. Aurelius once again

hesitated, taking my hand to help me to my feet. I shook my hand out of his grasp.

Numa’s hands were trembling as she tried to pull the torn ends of her tunic over her shoulder

and knot them.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“No thanks to you,” I replied.

His eyes widened and he opened his arms in plea. “But I helped you.”

“No, you didn’t. I looked to you for help and you just stood and stared. You didn’t come to

our defense until your friend spoke up.”

“But I talked him out of it.”

“Talk,” I sneered. “Talk about some stupid vow when two women were getting beat up. Who

offered to fight for Numa in the end? Not you. It was your friend, who’s half the size of you and

that ape dressed up like a gentleman. And look at these perfectly good pears you left lying in the

road. You didn’t need them. You stole them just for the fun of it.”

Aurelius flushed again and hung his head. “Well, then. Goodbye.” He turned to catch up with

his friends, but looked back one final time and said, “I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” Numa called, as he disappeared into the now-dark field.

“
Thank
you?” I spat at her. “Why
thank
that pig?”

She shrugged, but she was shaking. Tears left wavering tracks in the dust on her face. “He

helped us.”

I masked my own trembling with angry words. “Big help. Those boys are trash, making

trouble for nothing. Look at this fruit they wasted. Rich boys with good names and nothing better

to do than steal to prove they can do it. I hate them!”

Numa put her arm around my shoulder and said, “Come on. Father will be angry if we’re late

getting his supper.”

Our bare feet began padding their clouds of dust again on the path, now cool against our soles.

We walked a little in silence and then Numa said, “No point mentioning this to father.”

3

“What good would it do?” I replied.

“Yes, exactly.”

“They get away with everything.” Hate rose in my chest like a jagged stone.

“It’s the way of the world, Leona.”

My long life has since taught me that she was right.

4

A teardrop of whey hesitated on the goatskin bag. I squeezed the bag and the last of the whey

dripped into the clay bucket on the dirt floor of our two-room hut. I hefted the bag from its hook

and emptied the cheese into a trough.

I had taken over the cheese making as soon as I could be trusted over a fire and was strong

enough to lift the goatskin bag. Numa and I had shared the kitchen tasks since our mother died of