Read Online The Master's Quilt by Michael J. Webb - Free Book Online

interrupt us again.”
    The woman did as she was told. Then, without
a further word or glance, she left them to their business.
    Deucalion stared after her, watching her long
black hair dissolve into the darkness. Her voice sounded like silk
rustling in a gentle breeze, and the appraising look he had seen in
her eyes made his heart pound. “Who is she?” he asked, amazed at
the effect the woman had upon him.
    Doras studied Deucalion a moment before
saying, “She’s a married slave.”
    Something in the abruptness of his tone
warned Deucalion that Doras was lying, but he could think of no
good reason to tell him so. Instead, he stared into the darkness
that had absorbed the woman and wondered about the truth.

CHAPTER SIX
     
     
     
    D eucalion left Doras’
house well after midnight, and his thoughts were like miniature
ships tossed about upon a choppy sea of dandelion wine. Doras had
shocked him with his revelation of the conspiracy between himself
and Antipas. Yet, in spite of the significance of that piece of
information, the Praetorian could not shake the vision of the
incredibly stunning black-haired woman.
    Who is she, really? he wondered.
    He did not believe for a moment she was a
slave. She was far too beautiful, too noble. Besides that, the look
she gave him before Doras had commanded her to leave had not been
the glance of a married servant. She was no timid wife stealing a
glance at an unusual houseguest. Her eyes had shined. They radiated
a lustrous, but soft light that seemed to push back the darkness.
And in the few seconds of eye contact he had seen interest and
excitement in those sparkling eyes. His curiosity had been roused
to the point of distraction. Or maybe it was the dandelion
wine.
    Suddenly his head exploded in pain.
    He was knocked to the ground, gasping for
breath. In rapid succession he received several harsh kicks to his
ribs. He tried to stand and fight, but was repeatedly knocked to
the earth. The wine dulled his reactions and made him easy prey. He
tried to focus on his attackers, but all he saw were four blurred
figures. What he could see, however, caused him to gasp.
    Centurions!
    His mind raced. Why would members of the
Legion attack him? What madness possessed them?
    Once more he tried to stand and fight, but
was again pushed off his feet. More humiliated than hurt, he rolled
himself into a tight ball. He had to protect his head and ribs.
    His attackers remained silent throughout the
beating. Upon his submission to their punishment, the blows became
less pronounced, even cursory.
    As abruptly as it had started, the attack was
over.
    He lay in the dust, groaning. Blood trickled
out of the corner of his mouth. His right eye was swollen shut, and
struggled to breath, as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a
horse.
    One of the attackers reached into his robe
and pulled out a small purse of gold and silver coins, then threw
the bundle into the dust near Deucalion’s face. The bag of money
landed with a soft thud , sending a small puff of dust into
the air.
    Deucalion coughed and spit red saliva. One of
his teeth was loose, and he fought the nausea constricting his
stomach.
    From the darkness to his right came a harsh
voice. “You will take the money, Praetorian, and you will not make
trouble.” A different voice, this one on the left, said, “All of us
except you agreed to take the money and be silent. We do not want
to hurt you further, but we will do what is necessary if you
persist in challenging the inquest’s findings.” A third, muffled,
voice came from behind him. “There was no resurrection . You
saw nothing unusual at the tomb. The body was stolen by thieves,
perhaps even by the stranger you encountered when you arrived at
the tomb.”
    The fourth assailant spoke, and his was the
only voice that sounded vaguely familiar. “Enough! Remember,
Praetorian, the investigation is concluded. You’ve been
warned!”
    With that, the four assailants disappeared
into the