The Saint's Mistress (4 page)

man in the grip of this, “the strongest of emotions, can bend his mind to thought, regain his

reason, or indeed…”

“Concentrate.”

“Concentrate on anything?’

“Excellent, Leona. Now read me the whole thing again, and remember to place emphasis on

the important words.” He leaned forward, close to me. His breath had a sweet, fruity wine scent.

“I don’t know why you always say that. All of them are important.”

He pointed to the scroll. “Look, for example, here Cicero is contrasting the pleasures of the

body to the pleasures of the mind. You want to emphasize the words body and mind.”

“Oh.” I didn’t really understand, but I knew I could read the whole passage now without

hesitating. “Are the pleasures of the body to be sought, which Plato describes, in all seriousness,

as ‘snares and the source of all ills’? The prompting of sensuality are the most strong of all, and

so the most hostile to philosophy. What man in the grip of this, the strongest of emotions, can

bend his mind to thought, regain his reason, or, indeed, concentrate on anything?”

“Oh, well done,” Aurelius applauded.

My face warmed with pleasure. I told myself I still hated him, that I was just using him to get

something I had never dreamed of getting and that my father would deny me if he could. A part

of me knew I was lying to myself. Now, I inhaled the clean, upper-class scent of him, and

noticed the black hairs on his bronze arms, coarse and wiry like the hair of a wild boar. I had an

impulse to run my hand lightly over those hairs and watch the pimples rise on his skin.

“Now,” he continued, “stand up and try to recite it from memory, and put hand gestures into

it.” He stood and demonstrated, one arm held stiffly at his waist.

“Why?”

“Because that is what great orators do.”

The spell of his scent and his springy black hairs was broken, and he just seemed silly to me.

“I’ll never be a great orator. I’m a woman,” I reminded him.

“Then maybe I can make you a better scold.”

I squinted at him, ready to be angry, until I saw a smile pulling at his full lips. I slapped his

arm. “You’re an idiot,” I told him.

“Yes, but I hope not to be one forever.”

“I have to go anyway. It’s getting late.”

He took Cicero from my hands and we walked to Urbanus’ garden gate. Herbs grew by the

gate, and the sharp scent of rosemary tingled in my nostrils.

We didn’t notice Numa standing outside the gate until we almost bumped into her.

She stepped in front of us, arms crossed.

“Hello, Numa,” I said casually.

“Hello. Care to introduce me to your friend? Oh, wait, I think I know him already. He’s that

pear thief and assaulter of innocent peasant women.”

Aurelius bowed. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted.

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“Numa, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—” I began.

“Please at least tell me this wasn’t already going on that day,” she said.

“No, no, we never met before that day,” I said. “After that, he came to Miriam’s shop and we

started talking and it’s not what you think. He’s teaching me to read Latin.”

“Yes, I’ll bet that’s all he wants to teach you. Since we already know him to be a man of great

virtue who would never harm a woman.”

“Numa, really,” I pleaded. “He did help us that day.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Join us,” Aurelius said suddenly.

“Join you?”

“Yes,” he continued. “If you’re worried about my intentions towards your sister, join us as her

chaperone. And you could learn to read Latin, too, if you like. I want to be a teacher, and a

teacher needs more than one student to make a living.”

I felt a stab of panic. At that moment I finally had to admit I wanted him to myself.

“I can’t pay you anything,” she said impatiently.

“No, of course not. It’s free. I’m practicing.”

Numa shook her head, her lower lip protruding, her arms still crossed. “What good will it do

me to read Latin? What good will it do you, Leona? You’ll work for Miriam until you find a

husband, and then you’ll be busy raising children and milking goats. Reading will only make you

want things you can’t have.”

I couldn’t find the words for what I wanted to say. I knew Numa was right. I also knew I

could not give up my hours in the garden with Aurelius and Cicero.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “I won’t tell Father. But you mark my words.” She narrowed

her eyes and pointed to Aurelius. “He wants more than to just sit in a garden and read books with

you. And when you find yourself carrying a bastard, don’t expect me to help.” She swung around

dramatically and walked down the path away from us. I had to smile a little. Even in her

righteous anger, Numa’s gait was leisurely.

“I better follow her,” I said to Aurelius.

“Will we still meet tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded and ran after my sister.

14

The next morning, black clouds bore down from the direction of the distant sea. Miriam’s

shop and workrooms were dark and close when I arrived at work.

“No!” I heard her say sharply to Peter. “You need to stay here in the shop where I can see you

today. A big storm is coming. No running around the town today.”

“Hello,” I called. I entered her work room to find Peter sitting at her feet, pouting.

“Well if it isn’t Erebos the god of darkness,” I commented. He looked up and gave me an

even darker pout.

“There’s nothing to do here,” he complained.

I gave Miriam a questioning look.

“The provincial governor and two bishops are coming into town today,” she whispered.

“Why are we afraid of bishops?” I asked. I was unsure what a bishop was, some high official

in the Christian Church, I thought, but I didn’t think church officials were known to be

dangerous.

“It isn’t them we’re afraid of,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “It’s the rioters.” She

turned her attention back to her work, clicking her heddles forward and back, sending her shuttle

flying between them.

“Rioters?”

“The governor is here to decide who will control the church in the center of town, near the

well. It’s always been Caecelian, but it’s been infiltrated lately by Donatists.” She paused and

twisted her mouth. “Nice how they don’t want to associate with us until it’s time to try to take

over our church.” Miriam never took her eyes off her work as she spoke, now pausing to pack

the weft thread with her shed stick.

I shook my head and prodded her to go on. “I still don’t understand how this makes it unsafe

for Peter to be on the street.”

“The Donatist bishop petitioned for possession of the church and the governor has come to

hear arguments from both sides. Each side will send their best speakers to present their

argument, of course, but they’ll also each try to have the biggest loudest crowd on their side. And

the Donatists will bring the hut people.”

Now I understood. The Donatists leadership publicly disavowed the hut people, but found

them useful for intimidating both non-Christians and other Christian factions. They carried clubs

which they called “Israels,” and were known to attack and beat rich landowners and tax

collectors. The hut people never worried about punishment or reprisal because they believed that

to be killed doing the Lord’s work would earn them a martyr’s crown in heaven. Now I

understood Miriam’s fear.

“I guess we’re in for a long day,” I agreed. “We have to keep the children in and I doubt

gathering outside the little church of Saint Cyprian.

“You can go home if you want to,” Miriam offered.

“No, I’ll stay. We won’t be busy today. I’ll mind Peter and Lucy, so you can get some

weaving done.”

The day crawled by, without even the slash of yellow sunlight to mark the hours. Miriam

worked at her loom in the back room, while I tried to amuse the children with stories and waited

on the occasional customer. But, I was right: trade was slow and as the heat built up like a

15

physical presence without the relief of the threatened rainstorm, the children drifted off to sleep

in the front room.

All day, we had been hearing shouting from the forum. Peter kept peering out the window,

trying to see what was going on. “Will they fight now?” he kept asking.

Now, with the curious boy finally asleep, I sat in the workroom with Miriam, watching her

nimble hands and feet at the loom, and chatting with her in low tones.

“How’s your well-educated boyfriend?” she teased.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

She was silent a moment, shifting her heddles and sending her shuttle flying through the shed.

Without looking at me, she finally said, “You know he can’t marry you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I repeated, “so I don’t know why you think I care if he can marry

me.” I tossed my head and moved closer to where Miriam worked. I picked up the beater stick

and gave her a questioning look. When she nodded, I used the stick to firmly comb upward

Miriam’s last several weft threads.

“By Roman law, their noble class can’t marry a peasant,” she continued. “He’d forfeit all of

his property. He has to marry somebody of his own class.”

“Doesn’t that figure. The rich people get to keep the money all in the family that way. Not

that I care,” I added.

She smiled. “Leona, you sound like the hut people. You shouldn’t hang around with them.

Most women would run the other way from a big ‘israel’ – and you a virgin,” she teased. I liked

how Miriam joked with me about men, just as if I were a grown woman like her.

“But, seriously,” she continued. “You’re almost 16, and your father will be able to make a

better marriage for you if you’re still a virgin. And you know there’s always the chance of a

bastard. Don’t throw yourself away on this boy, Leona,” she urged, looking me in the eye for the

first time.

“I’m not throwing myself away,” I insisted. “I’m learning to read Latin for free. That’s all.” I

leaned over without looking at her and combed her threads up again.

“I doubt it will really be free, Leona,” she replied. “Please be careful. You know I love you

like a sister. I don’t want to see your heart broken and your life ruined. You’re a pretty girl. Use

that and get yourself a nice husband who won’t work you too hard.”

I smiled, relieved to get off the subject of Aurelius. “I will then. And I’ll have three little girls

and name them all Miriam.”

She laughed.

“Where’s Peter?” called a small voice.

We both turned to see Lucy in the doorway rubbing her eyes.

“He’s right in there with you,” I assured her, “sleeping in the corner.” I raced back into the

sales room towards where I’d last seen Peter. Miriam was behind me.

I spun my head to every corner of the room twice, unwilling to believe my eyes the first time.

Surely he was there, curled up in a shadow somewhere. But, Peter was nowhere in the room. My

heart started pounding so hard I could hear the blood in my ears.

Miriam’s face had gone pale. She knelt and took Lucy by the shoulders. “Where did he go?

Did you see where he went?”

“I was sleeping.” Sensing her mother’s panic, Lucy started to cry. Miriam folded her daughter

in her arms and looked ready to cry herself.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was supposed to be watching him. I’ll go look for him.”

“I’ll go,” she said.

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“No,” I insisted, “You stay here with Lucy. He might come back,” I pointed out. “It’s my

fault he got out. I’ll find him.”

The street outside our shop was deserted. I knew Peter would have gone straight for the

excitement at the forum, so I ran in that direction.

I slipped through the narrow alleys and found myself in the fringe of a restless crowd.

“Have you seen a boy?” I asked the man nearest me. “A little boy, about six, by himself?”

He shook his head. I tried a woman next, expecting more sympathy. I tugged on her robe.

“Excuse me. Have you seen a little boy by himself? About six?” I held my hand about four feet

from the ground to indicate his height.

“No,” she replied, and went back to craning her neck to see what was happening in front of

the church.

I couldn’t resist asking, “What’s happened?”

“The arguments are finished. The governor hasn’t made his decision yet.”

“How will we know when he does?” I asked, stretching my own neck. We were far from the

front of the church, and the space in between was packed solid with bodies.

She expelled a short, snorting laugh. “Oh, we’ll know well enough. One faction or the other

will be roaring in rage and itching to start some trouble. What do you think those legionnaires are

for?”

I saw that the front of the church was guarded by a line of armored legionnaires with swords

at their sides. And then I saw something even more ominous: a small crowd of men emerged

from one of the small streets that fed into the forum, attracted to trouble like dogs to garbage.

They were carrying the israels of the hut people: the same staves peasants in the olive groves