Read Online Roman Dusk by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online Page B

of them. If you were still at your villa, there would have been no expectation of bringing you to help her, but as you are now living inside the walls, she has been urging me to seek you out since sunset. I know that you believe you have an obligation to us through my uncle, but I am certain we have presumed upon your friendship so much in the last month.” She made an abrupt upturn of her hands to emphasize the futility she felt. “I tried to help her without imposing on you at so late an hour, but my mother insisted, in spite of all my efforts. Nothing will ease her but your presence, or so she says.” She stared at him. “I gave her the tincture you prepared, but it seems to have made little difference, and she will not be soothed, no matter how much I do for her, or what the slaves do for her.”
    “Have you tended her all day?” Sanct-Franciscus could see how darkly her eyes were ringed and how tired she was as she moved toward him.
    “She needs someone to care for her; her weakness keeps her in her bed unable to lift a cup; her hands shake when she touches her blanket,” said Ignatia, answering him indirectly. “And she doesn’t trust our slaves to do what she requires.”
    “So the answer is yes, you have been caring for her all day.” Sanct-Franciscus moved a few steps nearer to her. “You would like me to come and treat her, in part so you may have a little rest for yourself.” There was only kindness in his observation, but she winced.
    “I am not a feckless or ungrateful daughter,” she said sharply.
    “No, you are not,” said Sanct-Franciscus, his hand extended to her. “You are devoted to your mother, as you were taught to be. But that does not mean that you … that you can continue to wait upon Adicia without aid or respite. You look worn out, and if you are, it will mitigate against the quality of your care.”
    Ignatia nodded fatalistically. “You have the right of it; twice I measured out the wrong amount of the syrup of poppies, and that could have been dangerous to her,” she admitted.
    “Who gave you the syrup of poppies?” Sanct-Franciscus asked, thinking that while it might calm Adicia, it would not benefit her for long.
    “Xantheus the Athenian; Octavian brought him to the house a week ago, and he recommended syrup of poppies.” Ignatia’s face grew red with embarrassment. “I told him we should have sent for you, but when Octavian takes a notion, he can be stubborn.”
    “Octavian?” Sanct-Franciscus repeated, surprised. “I would not have expected him to do anything so conscientious.”
    “He did; Xantheus is one of the Christians Octavian spends his time with,” said Ignatia. “He has embraced the teaching, and believes all Christians are more worthy men than those who worship other gods.”
    “How has your brother dealt with all this travail your mother endures, given his new religion? Beyond bringing Xantheus to minister to Adicia? I had heard Christians are merciful.” He could tell that there was a lack of concern in Octavian, and that troubled him.
    “My brother does not handle such misery as our mother experiences very well. It was unusual for him to bother to fetch the apothecary; ordinarily he leaves such things to me. He came to pray for her before he left for the day, but he has refused to take a turn waiting upon her. He says it isn’t fitting for a grown son to tend to his mother in such intimate ways.” She looked away from him. “If you cannot come, then I suppose I must try to find Artemidorus.” Since the death of Galen, this Greek physician was much in demand among Roma’s nobles, and known for his autocratic ways and exotic prescriptions. “Not that he is likely to call at so late an hour.”
    Knowing he was being goaded, Sanct-Franciscus said, “I will get my case and come with you. If you will allow me to summon a slave?” He clapped his hands, and in answer to this, Tigilus came into the atrium. “I am going with this young woman to