Shades of Surrender (3 page)

The dog wobbled for a moment, then looked at her as if to say,
Help me
.

“Brutus?” Slowly the dog’s legs slid out from under him, and he landed on his belly with a thunk. “Get water, Caecilianus. We must flush the poison.”

Caecilianus grabbed the water crock and dropped to his knees. “Brutus!” The dog began to shake violently. “Brutus, open your eyes, please, boy!”

Ruth pried open the dog’s mouth. “Water, Caecilianus. Now!”

She held the dog’s mouth open. Caecilianus poured water over the big purple tongue until it faded to pale lavender. She wasn’t sure how long they worked on Brutus, but by the time he began to perk up, all three of them were stained dark as a winepress.

Caecilianus carried drunken-acting Brutus to his mat and then helped Ruth to her feet. “You saved his life.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to shear him like a sheep if you are to ever recoup your losses today.”

He looked her up and down. “And I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave your tunic, for it, too, is now mostly covered in my best purple.”

Her chin lowered, and she took in the huge stains. She picked up a handful of snail glands and threw them at him. “Then you shall have to sell your own garment as well.”

Caecilianus flicked snail glands back at her and hit her right between the eyes.

Ruth stepped back incredulously. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Unexpected joy bubbled up from the dark pool of her soul and cascaded down her face in the form of unspent tears. “No one makes me smile like you, Caecilianus,” she said between gasps for air.

His eyes locked with hers.

They both suddenly sobered.

His eyes held her fixed in place. “I miss having you next door.”

Ruth’s breath knotted in her throat, making speech impossible. Her gaze traveled to his lips. What would it be like to taste a mouth filled with so much kindness? No, she couldn’t let her mind wonder such things. Caecilianus deserved the most special of women, someone who could serve the church as selflessly as he, someone who would not weigh him down with her debt.

Caecilianus cupped her face in his hands. Giant and rough, yet gentle as butterfly wings. Heat spread from her cheeks and warmed her limbs. His right thumb skimmed her cheek and smeared a glob of dye. “The color of royalty suits you.”

All thoughts of the perfect wife the future bishop of Carthage deserved fled her mind. She could think of nothing but the splatters of purple caught in the fine hairs around his pink lips and the safety of his touch. “And you.”

Caecilianus slowly leaned in. Ruth watched as he drew nearer, holding her breath, and suddenly they were kissing. He tasted of sea water, snails, and the sweetness of hope. Tingles spread clear to her toes. Above her the shades of a rainbow danced in the breeze.

When he released her, his eyes were moist, but the mist did not obscure his regret. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I shouldn’t have—”

She pulled back, surprised and ashamed at the intense desire his kiss had kindled within her. The desire for a husband, a home, a family as whole as the one she’d lost. “No, I am the one who shouldn’t have come here today.” She’d allowed herself to soak up Caecilianus’s generosity and kindness the way raw wool drank in his deep, rich purples. What could she ever give him in return? She was a fool who couldn’t even pay for her yarn. “I should never have left my mother,” she stammered. Then she snatched her yarn and ran from the dyer’s shop faster than a spooked rabbit.

4

R
UTH’S FEET FLEW OVER
the cobblestones. Was she really so desperate that she’d allowed her heart to hope for someone this impossibly beyond her grasp? To reach for this mirage of a happy future? Thank goodness her mother wouldn’t know what a fool she’d made of herself.

She was nearly home before she realized the burning in her throat was not from her confused tears but from the acrid scent of smoke.

“Fire!” People were pouring out of their shops and apartments, water crocks sloshing in their arms as they ran toward the black smoke billowing into the late-afternoon sky. “Fire!”

Ruth’s legs pumped faster. She rounded the corner, short of breath and perspiration dripping down her back. A gray haze made it impossible to pinpoint the fire’s exact location. Whatever was going on, she could tell this was far worse than a bakery oven overheating again.

She put her arm across her nose and mouth and pushed through the crowd. “What’s burning?”

“It’s the rug shop.” A woman thrust a jug at her. “Here, help bring water.”

“No!” Ruth knocked the jug from the woman’s hand and forced her way into the smoke. “Mother!” She pushed to the front of the water brigade. “Mother!”

“You can’t get any closer.” Someone grabbed her and dragged her away just as flames leaped from the window where she’d left her mother and their new kitten.

“My mother’s in there!” Ruth fought to break free. Intense heat singed her face. “I’ve got to get my mother!”

“The place is going to collapse any minute,” the man said.

“She can’t get herself out.” She struggled against his hold and screamed, “Mother!”

Red-hot flames shot from the door. A loud pop, followed by a large cracking sound, sent men and women scattering. Ruth looked up to see the timber trusses of their roof give way and crash into her loom.

“No!” The roof caved in with a bang.

The masonry wall bearing her
OPEN
sign cracked, then tumbled into the street. Glowing bricks and plaster rained down. Soon the entire shop was engulfed in a raging blaze.

“Mother!” Ruth’s screams shredded her throat. “Mother!” She shook herself from the man’s grip and dashed into the flames.

5

T
HE BELL ABOVE CAECILIANUS’S
shop door jangled as Ruth fled the mess he had made of things.

His shop was not the only thing kissing Ruth had altered. He was a man never to be the same.

Caecilianus plunged a wooden paddle into the horrendous stench of the dead snails he had returned to the vat. His stirring fouled the air the same way his lack of self-control had fouled their friendship. What had he been thinking? It would be far easier to coax Tyrian purple from the fermented liquor of crushed snails than to convince a beautiful young girl such as Ruth to love a clumsy fool such as he was. Of all the awkward things he’d ever done in her presence, kissing her and then acting sorry about it were the worst. He would apologize more thoroughly next Tuesday. If she allowed him the opportunity to restore their friendship, he would never again be the source of the hurt he’d seen crease her perfect face.

Shouts drew his attention to the window. People rushed by. Horror on their faces. Water jugs and crocks in their arms. He dropped his paddle and threw open the door. “What is it?”

“Fire,” huffed an overweight silk merchant. “Low-rent district.”

Caecilianus wheeled, grabbed his water jug, and sprinted toward the cloud of smoke darkening the sky. The closer he got to Ruth’s street, the more his stomach twisted. This was worse than an unattended cooking fire. Hopefully, Ruth and her mother were watching from a safe distance. As he ran, he scanned the streets for signs of Ruth’s blond braid.

He skidded around the corner and came to a dead stop. Crimson and gold flares burst through the smoke pouring out of the room Ruth and her mother rented.

His jug crashed upon the sidewalk. He raced into the throng of people, fighting his way through those running in the opposite direction.

Caecilianus grabbed a short man. “The woman who lived here. Is she all right?”

The man coughed and shook his head.

“This can’t be.” Caecilianus rushed into the blinding haze of the smoke. “Ruth!” His throat burned, and his nostrils stung with the sharp scent of burning wool and mud bricks. “Ruth!”

“Here! Over here!”

“Ruth!” A chill ran down Caecilianus’s spine despite the intense blast of heat coming from Ruth’s shop. “Where are you?”

“Caecilianus!”

He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and dove deeper into the thick smoke. “Ruth!”

“Here!”

He followed the sound of her voice, not stopping until he stumbled on something solid. “Ruth?”

Her trembling hand grabbed hold of his sleeve. “Please. Help me get Mother out of here.”

He felt around until he found the outline of a frail woman and wrapped his arms around her. As he scooped her up he noticed another body lying nearby. “Who is that?”

“It’s Metras.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes. I’ll stay with him. Take her out.”

“No. Come now. I’ll come right back.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“Woman, do you want to get us all killed?” Ruth stubbornly remained firm, and Caecilianus sighed. He stood up, skirting glowing bricks and debris, moving as quickly as he could through the growing heat. Once he was a safe distance from the smoke, he lowered Ruth’s mother to the ground. “Don’t move.”

He gulped in a breath of fresh air, then rushed back into the smoke, praying he could find Ruth again in this darkness. “Ruth!” He bumped into her trying to wrestle the limp man onto her shoulders. “I’ve got him.” Caecilianus planted his feet and hoisted Metras over his sweat-soaked shoulder. “Hang on to me, and no excuses this time.”

Her fingers dug into his arm as they fought through the raven blackness together. Caecilianus’s lungs screamed for air. What if he’d arrived too late? The neighbor girl was a thread woven deeply into his heart. A truth almost losing her made impossible for him to deny any longer. If they made it out of here, he would find the courage to tell her. He kept moving forward, hoping he was going in the right direction. It seemed an eternity before they burst into daylight, coughing and gasping for breath.

Ruth released him and ran across the street. “Mother!”

Caecilianus carried Metras to them and gently laid him out on the sidewalk. “What happened, Ruth?” He leaned in close and was relieved to see the old man breathing, albeit shallowly.

“I don’t know.” Ruth was checking her mother for injuries. “Mother may have knocked over the oil lamp. I never should have left her . . . if Metras hadn’t come along and saved her . . .”

“Ruth, I—”

“Wait, Caecilianus, do you see the kitten anywhere?” She raised her soot-covered face to his.

Caecilianus wheeled and plunged back into the smoke.

6

R
UTH PEERED THROUGH THE
closed shutters of Metras’s flat. Across the street, soldiers poked among the smoldering remains of her shop. She could feel her heart beating all the way to her toes. It was only a matter of time before they tracked down the cause of the fire. And when they did, the accused arsonist could face public punishment, maybe even death.

She glanced at her mother sitting in the corner, silently stroking the sooty fur of their new kitten. Caecilianus had risked his life for a stray. And he’d done it without hesitation. When he finally stumbled out of the smoke with her cat, it was all she could do not to throw her arms around his neck. But instead of acknowledging another debt she could never repay, she’d torched what was left of their relationship and refused his offer to use his home as their temporary shelter.

“The burns on Metras’s hands will make it impossible for him to use his cane. Someone will have to care for him, and that someone should be me.” As the words left her mouth she had known Caecilianus could tell her resolve had nothing to do with honor and everything to do with her desire to spare them the uncomfortable position of having each other so near.

Ruth dismissed the urge to run and tell Caecilianus she’d changed her mind and instead lowered the slat. Maybe she was a fool to assist her landlord’s recovery. Once he was well, he would probably turn her mother over to the authorities. Whether or not Metras did what he thought he had to do, she owed him a great debt for pulling her mother out of the way before the roof collapsed. Not until that debt was paid could Ruth worry about what would happen to her mother if it became necessary for her to die in her place. With her friendship to Caecilianus in tatters, she had no one to ask about caring for the fragile woman in her absence.

What was she going to do? Her father’s masterpiece was gone, along with his loom and all his tools. Even if by some miracle she didn’t face prosecution, she could not afford a new loom or the yarn to weave a piece replacing the one promised to the senator.

God, help me.

“Metras.” Ruth gently pressed his shoulder, careful not to touch his forearms and hands. “It’s time to change your bandages.”

His swollen eyelids made heavy by the healer’s pain herbs slowly opened. “Water.” Metras licked his parched lips. “I’m dying of thirst.”

His thirst had been unquenchable. Just as the healer had predicted when Caecilianus brought her to the flat above the tannery once the sun went down.

“You must keep the wounds as clean as you can, Ruth,” the healer had said as she cut away the remnants of the old man’s singed garment. “Smear his burns with honey and bran the first week. The mixture will work like an antiseptic and hopefully keep infection at bay. The next week, you can switch him to this concoction of pig fat, resin, and bitumen.” For the pain, she’d left a small leather pouch of awful-smelling powder. “Add a spoonful to watered wine twice a day. His burns are superficial, so you should see improvements within ten to fourteen days.”

Were blisters and peeling skin improvements? Ruth wasn’t sure. Magdalena had offered to stay longer, but Ruth had insisted the healer return to the proconsul’s palace. After all, why should Magdalena risk her life? Ruth was the one who’d left her mother sitting next to an oil lamp. Thank the Lord no one had died because of her lapse in judgment.

Ruth lifted a cup to Metras’s lips. “Not too fast. You don’t want to throw up again, do you?” She held his head while he slurped the liquid. “Now try to sleep.” She gently lowered his head to the pillow.