Return to Exile (37 page)

For a brief moment, the scene beyond the threshold stood frozen, captured like an old black-and-white photo. Danger magnified Lisbeth’s senses. The stench, a primordial soup of bacteria, ammonia, and denatured proteins, hit her nose. The sound of ragged breathing reached her ears. Her eyes lit upon the horrifying sight of a thin, wasted man lying in the middle of the huge ivory bed.

This couldn’t be Aspasius. The man who’d taken her hostage after he sent her husband into exile had plump sausage fingers and disgusting jowls that swayed whenever he had a point to make. This man had sunken cheeks and dull gray eyes where coal-black embers had once sizzled. This man was dying. Maybe she had a shot of getting her mother out of here alive after all.

“Lisbeth?” Mama sprang from the couch beside the bed. “Why are you here?”

Pytros peeled back to allow her passing. She ignored the accusation etched in the scribe’s stare and went straight to her mother’s outstretched arms.

“Mama, are you all right?”

Her mother nodded. “I told Tabari to fetch the saw. Not you.”

“The proconsul’s soldier boys must have had other orders.”

“Felicissimus is dead,” Mama whispered in English. Her eyes cut to the body on the floor. “Last night.”

Lisbeth’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Look what the wind has blown in.” Aspasius tried to push up on his elbows but fell back on the pillows. “How nice to have all of my property returned to me.”

Lisbeth thrust aside the conflicting emotions of Felicissimus meeting the tragic end he deserved and the possibility that they could shortly meet the same fate. She stepped forward, refusing to be cowed. “This is just a house call. After we do what we can for you, I’m not staying, and neither is my mother.” She moved in for a closer examination of the proconsul’s swollen leg. Mama had already done a simple incision to encourage drainage and promote healing. The foul odor indicated the necrotized tissue had not been saved. A more aggressive treatment was necessary. “He needs antibiotics and possibly an amputation.”

Aspasius coughed. “No cutting.” A fevered flush smoldered on his cheeks.

“I think we can get by without your antibiotics.” Mama’s guarded look warned Lisbeth to agree.

“She has medicine that will save our master?” Pytros moved in beside Mama. “Then you will use it.”

His razor-edged threat only served to strengthen Lisbeth’s resolve. “After all you’ve done to us, why should we do anything to save him?” She took her mother’s arm.

Pytros lunged for Mama, wrapped his arm around her neck, and put a knife to her throat. “The medicine, or she dies.” His eyes were feline, the pupils vertical slits rather than healthy circles. “Now!”

“Don’t do it, Lisbeth,” Mama said through gritted teeth.

“Mama!”

“Stand back,” Pytros threatened. “The medicine, or I kill her.”

Lisbeth’s eyes flicked from Mama to Aspasius to the knife Pytros pressed against Mama’s jugular. Her hand tightened on the backpack strap on her shoulder.

These antibiotics were her backup plan . . . a safety net for her daughter. She’d only packed three rounds for the trip down the portal. Shortsighted for sure, but she hadn’t counted on Diona’s emergency, which had used up the first round. Giving aid to a stranger. Then, of course, she’d pumped the next round into Ruth without giving it a second thought. She would have given her own blood to save her friend. But to give the last of her security to an enemy? God forgive her, she couldn’t do the very thing she’d expected Cyprian and the church to do.

“Give me the medicine!” Pytros shouted.

A trickle of red slid down the olive skin of Mama’s neck.

The air thickened in Lisbeth’s nostrils.
Lord, help me!

“
This is how they’ll know you are my disciples.
”

God, I can’t. What if . . . ?

“Just as I have loved you . . .”

“Okay. Calm down, little man.” Lisbeth fumbled with the clasp on the backpack straps. “Let her go, and I’ll get you what you want.” She struggled out from under the bag’s weight and dug out the pills. She shook the package. “I said let her go.”

Pytros cocked his head. “Put them on the bed.”

“Do as he says,” Aspasius whispered.

Lisbeth tossed the pills on the bed, buying her mother’s release with a Z-Pak. Pytros stepped back, and she and Mama raced into each other’s arms.

“He nicked you.”

Mama refused Lisbeth’s attempts to stop the bleeding from the tiny gash. “You shouldn’t have done this.” She gathered the antibiotics.

“Those pills don’t come close to repaying all that you’ve done
for me,” Lisbeth whispered in English. “You sure you want to operate on him? I don’t think he’ll make it.”

“We could let nature take its course, but neither of us could live with ourselves, could we?”

Lisbeth released a pained sigh. “‘This is how they’ll know you are my disciples.’”

Mama’s eyes glistened.

Lisbeth withdrew the serrated saw from her backpack. “Let’s do this.” The stainless steel blade sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the shutters.

“Pytros, the pills will not be enough. I’ll have to operate,” Mama ordered. “I’ll need a large, flat surface. Have Kardide clear the office table, and have Iltani boil water. Lots of it.”

51

A
SPASIUS HATED TO ADMIT
the huge relief he felt at having Magdalena once again flank him. Even with the sharp reproof on her lips and a very large knife in her hand, her presence would steady his off-kilter stance and have him back on his feet in no time. Magdalena possessed more than competent skill with healing herbs. She also oozed a bewitching power of discernment and eased his strained mind. This strange, strong-willed woman had cast an unbreakable spell on him.

He would make certain she never left him again. “I need a moment with my scribe.”

“Make it quick.” Magdalena stepped back. “This infection should have been dealt with days ago. No telling how far it has spread.”

Aspasius motioned Pytros to him.

“I’m here.” The eager scribe leaned in close, his hands trembling. “How can I serve you further, my lord?”

“Sacrifice to the gods on my behalf and then . . .” Aspasius whispered his brief instructions. Pytros nodded his assent and hurriedly backed from the room.

Aspasius waved Magdalena close, and she returned boldly to his side. He shifted carefully. Despite the pain, he stretched across the span and took her hand.

Though he could tell she preferred they not touch, he couldn’t
detect so much as a tremble.

Magdalena was the only person in the world who wasn’t afraid of him.

His only true friend.

He knew this woman. And most importantly, he knew of the son she’d hidden from him all of these years. That she had saved the imperfect result of their union was the very reason he knew she could do him no real harm. On more than one occasion, she’d had ample opportunity to add something fatal to his sleeping potions. He’d always awakened. It wasn’t in her nature to cause harm. Magdalena was a healer. And though she may hate him, the point of her blade would be well placed, and her hand would remain steady. This woman would do everything within her power to see that he lived.

Aspasius raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”

Magdalena’s mouth opened, then closed.

He’d always loved the thrill of sending a shocking blow through her body. His unexpected words of kindness hit her harder than his hand ever could. For once, she had nothing to say, and he found her stunned silence deliciously arousing.

His enjoyment of the moment was interrupted by the beautiful young healer pushing up to the table. “What did he say?”

“Thank you,” Magdalena whispered. She withdrew her hand and stepped back. “He said thank you.”

Lisbeth’s perfect brow creased. “Did you already give him something for pain?”

It was all Aspasius could do not to laugh out loud. These two were so much alike.

Magdalena shook her head, never taking her eyes off of him. “No.”

Aspasius chuckled low and to himself. With his healer’s confusion seared into his memory, he closed his eyes in peace. The pro
consul of Carthage would wake up a well man.

*   *   *

“I DON’T
understand why you insisted we operate in his office.” Lisbeth helped Kardide pour scalding water across the top of Aspasius’s giant desk, taking a bit of sadistic pleasure in watching the finish on the burled mahogany warp. “The last time I was in this room I was forced to stand naked before the entire Senate.”

“Trust me in this, Lisbeth.” Mama directed the soldiers carrying the proconsul on a sheet. “Set him down carefully.”

Though the room was large, Lisbeth felt compressed between the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the wall mural of a chariot racer whipping his frightened horse. “Mind if I open the shutters?”

“We don’t need the flies.” Mama handed their patient antibiotics.

Aspasius greedily washed down Lisbeth’s last line of defense with an herbal sleeping cocktail.
What have I done
? She gripped the edge of the desk to keep from stuffing her hand down his throat and taking back what was hers.

It didn’t take long for the proconsul’s eyes to cloud over. Once he drifted off, she and Mama rolled up their sleeves, scrubbed in, and gloved up. While Mama arranged her freshly sterilized instruments, Lisbeth made a mental list of all the things making her nervous. So many obstacles were stacked against their success. Aspasius was not a healthy man. Even if he was, he could suffer a heart attack, heart failure, or blood clots during or after the excruciating procedure.

Say, by some impossible miracle, Aspasius survived the surgery, one Z-Pak was slim protection against possible infection at the operative site, pneumonia, or the need for further limb reduction if this initial tissue removal didn’t arrest the gangrene. Lisbeth lifted the proconsul’s gown out of Mama’s way. The outline of his
ribs was shockingly pronounced. Lisbeth plugged the stethoscope into her ears and listened to the rise and fall of his chest. Lungs a bit congested. Heartbeat slightly irregular. If he lived through this gruesome ordeal, there was no way he would survive another round of surgical trauma and blood loss.

Lisbeth draped the stethoscope around her neck and stated her biggest fear of all, “If he dies on the table, we won’t make it out of here.”

“If we do nothing, he’ll die in his bed.” Mama glanced at the soldiers stationed at the door. “You saw him whispering to Pytros. How far do you think he’d let us get?” Her face transmitted a determined calm Lisbeth didn’t understand. “Either way, we’re in too deep to jump ship now.”

“We were in too deep the day we fell through that hole.” Truth was, the secret of the Cave of the Swimmers had destroyed any chance of a normal life, and they both knew it.

Mama whispered a prayer, pressed her feet solidly to the floor, then leaned in to the task. Lisbeth helped her cinch a tourniquet high on his thigh. Mama cleansed the wound site with an antiseptic wash of ground leaves and barks.

While comparing the appearance of Aspasius’s diseased limb to his other leg, Mama discussed with her the best place to cut. Determined to maintain as much of a functional stump as possible, Mama opted to saw below the knee. First, the tedious task of removing most of the dead tissue. Within seconds, the office smelled like a stagnant pond. The soldiers standing guard clamped hands over their noses and fled while Kardide and Iltani stood fast. Sometime during the transfer of Aspasius to his office Pytros had decided to make himself scarce. It was just as well. The scribe’s all-seeing eyes made Lisbeth’s skin crawl.

Mama set her jaw, lifted the saw, and gave Lisbeth a curt nod.

Other than moral support, Lisbeth didn’t feel she had much to
offer. She was an epidemiologist, not a surgeon or an anesthesiologist. If Mama’s patient crashed, Lisbeth didn’t know how much she could help past performing CPR. Her gaze ping-ponged between Aspasius and the sheer strength Mama was expending to carve through bone. No wonder most ortho surgeons were the size of linebackers.

“I can take a turn on the saw, Mama.”

Her mother used her forearm to brush hair from her sweaty forehead. “I’ve about got it.” She straightened her back, twisted the exhaustion from her shoulders, then put her weight behind the dulling blade.

As the minutes dragged by, Mama continued her precise back-and-forth movements until the leg had been completely severed below the knee.

While her mother tied off veins, Lisbeth fought the sour taste in her mouth. Caring for her enemy was ten times harder than caring for the strangers who came through the doors of the county hospital.

When the last bleeder had been sutured, awareness that she and Mama had done the impossible drained the adrenaline from Lisbeth’s limbs. Only one thing could explain their success. For some reason God wanted this monster to live.

52

B
AREK BROUGHT IN THE
load of driftwood he’d scavenged after spending the night weeping for Natalis at their favorite fishing pier. He’d tried and failed to find the slave trader who’d shackled him to his treachery. Which was just as well, since he was the one who deserved to be beaten. Today he would pack a few things, tell Cyprian the truth, and cast himself into exile.

He closed the door to the kitchen with his foot and dumped the sun-bleached sticks next to the oven. The wad of parchments Felicissimus had given him slipped from his pocket and fell to the floor. He hurriedly gathered them, but not before Naomi turned from her bread making.

“Where have you been?” The doe-eyed servant girl wiped flour from her hands.

“Out.”

“You left with those who broke Cyprian’s heart.”

He didn’t appreciate the way Naomi kept tabs on him or the way she looked at him now. “I needed air.”

It was like she’d somehow discovered what he’d done and didn’t approve. He didn’t need her judgment to make him feel bad. He already felt lower than a sand viper. If he would have taken the time to think things through a little better, he would never have agreed to help Felicissimus. His anger over his mother’s death had blinded him. Made him a fool.