Read Online One With the Darkness by Susan Squires - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Squires
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spicy Lucan sausages, an amphora of wine, olives and their fruity oil, and, for the after-course, some sweet cheese made into a cake.
“What have you been given to eat lately?” she asked her slave.
“Not enough.”
She set her lips. “This is not a promising start.”
He looked puzzled at her reaction.
Really, didn’t the man understand the basic tenets of being a slave? “You use no term of respectful address, and your response is surly and not to the point.” That muscle was clenching in his jaw again. She sighed. They must rub along together somehow. “If you can’t bring yourself to call me ‘Mistress,’ ‘my lady’ will do. And the reason I ask what you’ve been fed is so I do not give you food to which you are not accustomed. I won’t have you vomiting all over my carpets.” She raised her brows.
His fists clenched, as though it was all he could do to respond. “I was fed gruel when I was lucky, my lady , and whatever moldy bread or vegetables were left from whatthe Roman army foraged in the countryside. My belly will hold whatever you deign to give me.”
She went to the table that held the array of food and picked up a pottery bowl. He was probably right, since she avoided rich sauces. She used a large silver serving spoon to scoop vegetables into the bowl and forked several sausages into it as well, then tore off a sizable hunk of bread. How much did such a large man eat? She handed it to him. “Start with this. You can have more if you like.”
He began to pick out the sausages with his fingers immediately, wolfing them down as though he was afraid she would take the food away at any moment.
“Wait.” She handed him a round silver spoon from the table. “Go and sit on the carpet next to the table, or kneel, whichever is most comfortable.” His backside might be too sore to confront the pile of the carpet. She poured two goblets of wine and picked out some olives, some cheese and vegetables, for herself. She sat at the table and pushed one goblet over to the side nearest him. He had chosen to kneel. He was still going through his food at a furious pace, chewing and swallowing with a single-minded fervor, though now he used the spoon. She picked at her own food as she studied him. He was indeed a little lean. But he would fill out nicely with proper care and nutrition. She would have to make time to take him to the gymnasium at the Field of Mars. A man like this needed to be active. He scraped up the last juices from his bowl with his bread.
“Would you like more?”
He had that wary look again, as though he didn’t believe she’d keep her word.
“I said you could have more and you can.”
“Yes,” he said, holding out the bowl, then added, grudgingly, “my lady.”
She handed him the goblet of wine before she rose andfilled his bowl again, giving him more meat and cheese this time. “How is it that you speak Latin? Your vocabulary and your grammar are remarkably good.” She was growing used to his accent as well.
There was no answer. She turned with the bowl and cocked her head in question.
“You will not like the answer, my lady.” His eyes met hers. He set down the goblet.
“I did not ask you whether I would like the answer or not.” She handed him the bowl.
“I learned it from Roman slaves my father kept.” His gaze was steady as he gauged her response.
“Well … well, that is interesting. And how did your father come to have Roman slaves?”
“Romans do not always win. The Goths took thousands of Roman soldiers as prisoners after the battle of the Teutoburg Forest thirty years ago.” His expression was blank, but she sensed the satisfaction there. “My father brought them back from one of his trading expeditions.”
“Your father bought slaves to teach you Latin? Why?”
“They were bought to till the fields. Strong backs, though the men were small. They taught me Latin in the evenings because my father thought it would be good to know the language
“What have you been given to eat lately?” she asked her slave.
“Not enough.”
She set her lips. “This is not a promising start.”
He looked puzzled at her reaction.
Really, didn’t the man understand the basic tenets of being a slave? “You use no term of respectful address, and your response is surly and not to the point.” That muscle was clenching in his jaw again. She sighed. They must rub along together somehow. “If you can’t bring yourself to call me ‘Mistress,’ ‘my lady’ will do. And the reason I ask what you’ve been fed is so I do not give you food to which you are not accustomed. I won’t have you vomiting all over my carpets.” She raised her brows.
His fists clenched, as though it was all he could do to respond. “I was fed gruel when I was lucky, my lady , and whatever moldy bread or vegetables were left from whatthe Roman army foraged in the countryside. My belly will hold whatever you deign to give me.”
She went to the table that held the array of food and picked up a pottery bowl. He was probably right, since she avoided rich sauces. She used a large silver serving spoon to scoop vegetables into the bowl and forked several sausages into it as well, then tore off a sizable hunk of bread. How much did such a large man eat? She handed it to him. “Start with this. You can have more if you like.”
He began to pick out the sausages with his fingers immediately, wolfing them down as though he was afraid she would take the food away at any moment.
“Wait.” She handed him a round silver spoon from the table. “Go and sit on the carpet next to the table, or kneel, whichever is most comfortable.” His backside might be too sore to confront the pile of the carpet. She poured two goblets of wine and picked out some olives, some cheese and vegetables, for herself. She sat at the table and pushed one goblet over to the side nearest him. He had chosen to kneel. He was still going through his food at a furious pace, chewing and swallowing with a single-minded fervor, though now he used the spoon. She picked at her own food as she studied him. He was indeed a little lean. But he would fill out nicely with proper care and nutrition. She would have to make time to take him to the gymnasium at the Field of Mars. A man like this needed to be active. He scraped up the last juices from his bowl with his bread.
“Would you like more?”
He had that wary look again, as though he didn’t believe she’d keep her word.
“I said you could have more and you can.”
“Yes,” he said, holding out the bowl, then added, grudgingly, “my lady.”
She handed him the goblet of wine before she rose andfilled his bowl again, giving him more meat and cheese this time. “How is it that you speak Latin? Your vocabulary and your grammar are remarkably good.” She was growing used to his accent as well.
There was no answer. She turned with the bowl and cocked her head in question.
“You will not like the answer, my lady.” His eyes met hers. He set down the goblet.
“I did not ask you whether I would like the answer or not.” She handed him the bowl.
“I learned it from Roman slaves my father kept.” His gaze was steady as he gauged her response.
“Well … well, that is interesting. And how did your father come to have Roman slaves?”
“Romans do not always win. The Goths took thousands of Roman soldiers as prisoners after the battle of the Teutoburg Forest thirty years ago.” His expression was blank, but she sensed the satisfaction there. “My father brought them back from one of his trading expeditions.”
“Your father bought slaves to teach you Latin? Why?”
“They were bought to till the fields. Strong backs, though the men were small. They taught me Latin in the evenings because my father thought it would be good to know the language
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