Bee Among the Clover (191 page)

As he drifted off to a restless sleep, he wondered if he should try and free Roman. The letter was probably simply to let his father know he was alive and well, not a plea for rescue. Roman was happy where he was; perhaps he should let him be. And yet he missed those dark eyes, and some selfish part of him insisted he could make Roman happy, if he could just have him to himself.

Aron hated the indecision that plagued him. In the morning, he drew out the letter, his finger tracing the strange lines that flowed across the page. Within those symbols lay Roman’s mind and heart, what the slave really wanted, and he had no way of deciphering them. With a sigh, he tucked the letter back into his pack. Mayhap Roman’s father would be inclined to share his darkling’s wishes with him.

His darkling. Never before had he so little right to call him that as he did now. With an angry glower, Aron swung the packs onto his back and shimmied out of the loft. As he opened the barn door, he froze as he saw a group of armed men making their way past the croft. He recognized them as the king’s own guard. It was unlikely anyone would have noticed him enough to remember his face, but still, it was a reminder that he’d better be wary.

Tensely, Aron waited until the men were out of sight and then made his way out of the barn, avoiding the other people bound to the croft. Mayhap he had been unremarkable enough that no one would remember the details of a young man who had spent several hours here. He wished it was still cold enough that he could pull the hood of his cloak up without causing comment, but it was warm with the promise of summer to come, and people would surely think he had something to hide if he did. With determination, he set out in the same direction as before. The further he traveled today, the closer he would be to a place where nobody could lay a claim upon him.

Several days later, he came across one of the roads the Roman Empire had laid down. Aron’s worries lightened. What was it that Roman had said, that all roads led to Londinium? The reminder of his darkling cast his spirits low again, and it was with a heavy heart that Aron trudged toward his new life.

A
RON had never seen so many people in one place before. The closest thing he could recall was the trip to the king’s, but the keep and its vast extension of camps didn’t come close to this madness.

He didn’t like it. He felt crowded and closed in even when he wasn’t inside. The markets overflowed with fruits, spices, and foods he’d never seen, merchants selling fabrics and rugs from the east, pots and other things he had no idea why someone would need to buy.

In addition, upon arriving in Londinium, Aron became aware of a problem he’d never considered on his entire journey. How was he going to find Roman’s father? He hadn’t expected people in these numbers, and there was no thane to go to in order to find him.

At a loss for what to do, he wandered, searching for something familiar. The people were an interesting mix of races and languages. He even saw a couple of people from his own lands, but those he avoided out of habit. Occasionally, he fingered the letter he’d placed in the pouch around his waist with the few coins he’d managed to garner.

Aron had stored his packs at lodgings he’d found down near the river, but he wasn’t sure about his own or his belongings’ safety if he remained there. It was a mean-looking place, but it was all he could afford.

He wended his way through the crowd toward the gates. He’d seen the centurion soldiers guarding it late last afternoon and those, at least, were Roman’s countrymen. They might be able to point him in the right direction.

Aron held his head high as he approached the guards. He wasn’t a thrall any longer, and he had as much right as anyone to speak with whomever he chose. He was unwilling to admit he was a bit intimidated, and the risk of speaking with someone in authority, even if they were Roman and would hold no worth to Wulfgar’s claim on him, made him nervous.

Unfortunately, they didn’t seem inclined to help him, sniggering at his rough speech and sending him on his way. Aron considered mentioning Roman’s father’s name, maybe even showing them the letter, but the fear of them taking it from him deterred him. It was all he had of Roman, and he didn’t want to think of what he might do if they tried to take it.

Aron drew his brows together and wandered back through the market. He ought to have asked Roman to show him how to do his scribblings. Then he’d be able to see what Roman had written. Mayhap it would help him know what he should do.

Sighing, he leaned back against a wall, paying little attention to his surroundings as he reached into the pouch and pulled out the letter. He handled it as if it were a fragile piece of glass as he traced his fingertip over the flowing lines on the parchment.

He missed his darkling. So much he could barely breathe around the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest. This city was full of thousands of people, yet he was alone. It didn’t matter where he went or who he met, he knew he’d always feel alone without Roman. He would mourn the loss of his darkling until the day he died.

Aron’s head jerked up, and he quickly stuffed the letter away in the pouch, meeting the speaker’s gaze. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw a woman of his own race standing before him with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine,” he replied.

The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head, tugging on one long, red braid. “You’ve been standing outside my shop for quite a bit of time now, looking like you haven’t a friend in the world.” Her eyes narrowed shrewdly, taking in his ragged appearance. “You a runaway?”

A stab of panic hit Aron, but he forced himself to keep from bolting at her accusation. His eyes were cold and hard as he returned her gaze. “I think not,” he said, arrogance and pride in his voice.

She chuckled under her breath. “Of course not, but even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. Roman law is what matters here. Come on, you look famished.” She turned and ducked back through the doorway a few feet away from where he stood.

Aron hesitated, brow furrowed. He looked around, but no one appeared to be paying him any mind. Glancing at the doorway to the shop, he chewed on the corner of his lip before slowly stepping inside. Wary, he scanned the cluttered room, almost expecting Wulfgar or Osric to burst from the shadows. At this point, he wondered if he might actually mind, he missed Roman so much.

The woman, who couldn’t be any older than Roman, gave him an arch look at his skittishness and waved her hand to the small table. “Come, sit down. It’s not much, but from the look of you, it’s better than you’ve been getting.”

Aron hesitated, but the smell of freshly baked bread and the fruit on the table was too tempting to resist. He sat, his eyes sharp and watchful, before coming to the decision that she was no threat, at least not at the moment. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for some of the bread.

She dismissed his gratitude with a wave of her hand and sat down across from him, chin propped in her hand, and looked at him in curiosity. Finally, she spoke. “My name’s Cate. You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”

Aron paused in chewing, then nodded. “Yes.” He offered nothing else.
Cate smiled and shook her head. “Well, you’re certainly not very talkative, are you? Go on and eat.”
Aron ate ravenously, flushing under her scrutiny. He knew his manners were not up to par, and he attempted to slow down. He looked around her shop, noting this time the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling, their pungent smell mixing with other scents he didn’t recognize.
Cate met his questioning look. “I’m a healer.”
Aron sat back, putting the apple down, and regarded her, his suspicion raised again. “You’re a wicce?”
Cate huffed, her eyes narrowing in anger and impatience. “No, you dolt. My craft has naught to do with that superstitious nonsense. It’s about skill, care, and knowledge.”
Aron opened his mouth to argue, but then he remembered how Roman was often met with fear and suspicion when he tried bringing his salves and unguents to someone who was ill or injured. Absently, he rubbed his wrists, which still carried faint scars, remembering how his darkling had tended him with nothing of witchcraft in his care, despite what other people might mutter. He found himself looking at her with a new curiosity. How did she end up here so far away from home?
“Thank you, Cate, for the food.” He hesitated, wondering what he could offer her in return for her kindness. Mayhap there was something she needed done around her shop or home he could aid her with, if it didn’t take too much time away from finding Roman’s father.
He still didn’t know where to start. Aron noted the many books that Cate had on shelves. More were open on a table and sheaves of parchments with the same scribblings Roman was so fond of.
His face brightened, and he glanced back at her. “You can read?”
Cate shrugged. “Yes, my father taught me when I was young.” There was a somewhat ironic smile on her face.
His fingers shaking, Aron reached into the small pouch and withdrew Roman’s letter, fingertips running over the single sheet of parchment reverently, before looking up at her. “I’m looking for someone, to deliver this letter, and….” He was hesitant to relinquish the precious connection to Roman, and his hand trembled slightly as he held it out toward her. “Could you read it for me?”
He questioned whether he should; it wasn’t his letter, and Roman wasn’t his at all. He had no right. But he had to know what it said. These were the last words of Roman’s he’d ever know, and the need to hear them was tearing him apart.
Cate took the parchment from him and glanced down at the signature, a frown marring her brow. “I’m….” She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and her expression softened. “Of course,” Cate murmured, patting his hand, and began to read. As she did so, suddenly things made much more sense.
Father,
It’s with much trepidation I write this missive. I know it was my failure to abide by your rules that landed me in my current predicament. I’m also aware that it was, in all probability, my lack of care and wood skill that led to the ambush of your men on that dark day. I know not what became of the few who survived with me, and I can only hope they somehow managed to make their way home over the years. You’d find it to be quite ironic that Wulfgar keeps me far more sheltered than you ever did. He’s managed to tame my rebelliousness, though I fear I’ll always have a somewhat restless nature.
The man who delivered this letter to you means more to me than mere words could ever express. Despite all of the things that have been done to him on my account and our conflicting natures, he’s been a true friend to me when I so desperately needed one. The longer I’ve stayed with Wulfgar, the more that my life before my captivity seems like nothing more than a fevered dream. I feel myself changing, slipping away, and each month it becomes easier to think of staying and harder to remember home.
When Aron first came to Wulfgar’s hall, he frightened me. He upset the natural order of things I’d become accustomed to and threatened the peace of mind I’d managed to attain. He did this unknowingly, just by being the person that he is. He’s so alive. I think that might be the best way to describe him. He has the strength, determination, and intelligence to go far beyond the borders of his world, and I know that he will, some day. He reminds me of the person I used to be and makes me want to be him again. Please, if you do nothing else, see that he’s well and taken care of; mayhap then a portion of my debt to him will be repaid.
The hardest decision I’ve ever made was letting Aron leave without me. Desire almost overcame reason when he asked me to go with him, but I know quite well the nature of the man that holds my bond. While he is honorable and has shown me as much kindness as he knows how to, he won’t let go of something he believes belongs to him. I am guilty for the deception that we are to play upon the thane, but it’s the only way I could think of to keep Aron safe and to give him the time he needs to get to you.
I know it’s not my right to ask for ransom after all the trouble and worry I’ve caused you. I know there’s a truce between our people now, so mayhap Wulfgar will be open to the idea, but if he is not, then don’t try to retrieve me by force. Wulfgar’s hall is far from Londinium, and he has many allies, and it would grieve me greatly to have any more blood shed on my account on either side. I hope this missive sees that you are well, and mayhap one day we’ll see each other again. Until then, know I’m healthy and taken care of. I’ve managed to carve a role out for myself I can be content with.
Your son,
Marcus Naevius Atellus
Aron couldn’t breathe as Cate began to read. Then he went from being unable to breathe to being unable even to think, about anything but the fact that he’d left Roman… Marcus… behind. His darkling had wanted to come with him. It was a fist to the gut, it stole his breath, and he made a soft, strangled sound, staring at the floor, horror filling him.
Cate set the letter down and reached for his hand. “Aron, are you all right?”
Shaking his head sharply, Aron rose from his chair, not even noticing that it toppled over. Painful tears burned in his eyes, and his chest felt like bands were closing around it. Gods, no, what had he done? He’d left him. He should’ve taken him, whatever Roman said to the contrary, he should’ve taken him with him, by force if necessary.
Something else reached through to crystallize in his mind, the words of the letter repeating over and over in his head. His darkling loved him, not Wulfgar. He knew he did. There was no other way to interpret his words. By the gods, he was a fool, and even now, his darkling was paying the price for it.
“No….” Aron lifted agonized eyes to Cate and shook his head. “No. I’m not all right….” His voice cracked, and he clenched his eyes shut against the tears. “I’ll never be all right.”
“Calm yourself, Aron. All isn’t lost,” Cate said, her voice crisp and certain as she righted the chair Aron had knocked over.
“How can you say that?” Aron cried out, opening his eyes again and fixing the woman with a glare. “You don’t understand anything.” He was torn between anguish and outrage at her ignorance. She mustn’t understand the depth of his crime. Oh gods, his darkling, it hurt to even think about what he was going through in his absence.
“Sit.” Cate took Aron by the shoulders and pressed him down into the chair, and Aron didn’t have the strength to fight her. She put her hands on her hips and looked him over. “You abandoned him,” she stated, and Aron flinched back from her bald words. “Or at least, in your eyes, that’s what you did.” She sighed and shook her head. “Think, Aron. What was Marcus’s purpose for giving you this letter? Think you his father might be able to help?”
Aron shook his head, making a soft, choked sound as he fought against the pain and the tears. “I don’t know. Roman was taken four years ago, and no one’s ever tried to get him back.” Why was that? How could a father leave his son to that fate? Irrational anger rose in him toward the man who had abandoned his son, which only served to compound his own self-rage, because he’d abandoned Roman as surely as his father had.
He looked up at Cate, too overwrought to even try and hide the depth of emotion he was feeling. “He loves me and I left him. I should’ve made him come, should’ve tied him and thrown him over my shoulder if I had to.” He buried his face in his hands, then fisted his hands in his hair, staring sightlessly down at the table.
Darkling, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.
A swell of determination filled him, and he lifted his head, eyes hardening.
He’d get him back. Whether Roman’s father helped or not, Aron wouldn’t rest until he’d freed him and they were together again. He didn’t know if Roman could forgive him for leaving him like he had, but if nothing else, he’d give his darkling the freedom he craved.
“I need your help, Cate. I need to find his father. If he won’t help, I’ll do it on my own, but I have to try, and I have to give him this letter. I promised Roman I would.” He wouldn’t break another promise to him.
Cate contemplated Aron quietly before nodding. “Aye, I’ll help. His name is familiar to me somehow.”
Aron sighed in relief. This was at least some direction to go in, more than he had an hour ago. “Thank you, Cate. I know not how to thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Aron. Mayhap you can tell me your story one day, but for now, fetch your things from wherever you’re staying. You cannot appear before the magistrates the way you are now. They’ll laugh you out of the hall.”
Aron rose quickly from the table. “It’s down by the docks. It won’t take me long.” His hands were trembling as he carefully tucked the letter back in his pouch, his fingers caressing the parchment.
“Aron,” Cate called out, and he paused in her doorway, looking back at her. “Have you given it any thought that your Marcus did this deliberately? Take care, Aron. You wouldn’t serve the sacrifice he made for you if you did something to get yourself under your former master’s thumb again.”
Aron said nothing for a moment, his jaw clenching, and nodded. “I know he did it deliberately. And I know exactly why. Now I have to fix it.” And he would. He knew now that Roman hadn’t said no because he loved Wulfgar, or because he wanted to stay, or because he wanted Aron gone from his neat and orderly life, no. Roman had said no and deceived him into believing he didn’t want to go because he’d known that the two of them had a slim chance at best of escape. One alone could have a far better chance.
His darkling had made the ultimate sacrifice for him, trading his chance at freedom for Aron’s, because Roman loved him. Aron would do no less for him in return. Determination hardened his expression, and he left the shop. There was no time to linger.