An Echo in the Darkness(107)
“For you, my lady.”
His grave sincerity dazed her briefly. He spoke as though he was indeed sorry. “Sorry?” she said, taking defense in her intellect. For what reason? Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I’ll bet you’re sorry, Prometheus.” She tilted her head back slightly, studying him coldly. “You’re sorry now because you know what I can do to you.”
“Yes, my lady. I know.”
It was a simple statement, uttered with complete acceptance. He wasn’t afraid to die.
Just as Hadassah hadn’t been afraid to die that day she walked out onto the sand.
Julia blinked, trying to flee the memory. “Why did you come back?”
“Because I’m a slave. I had no right to leave.”
“You could be a thousand miles from Ephesus by now. Who would know if you were slave or free then?”
“I would know, my lady.”
She wondered at his answer, for it made no sense to her at all. “You were foolish to return. You know very well I despise you.”
He lowered his eyes. “I know, my lady. But it was right that I return, whatever the consequences.”
She shook her head. Crossing the room, she sat down weakly on the end of her sleeping couch. Cocking her head to one side, she studied him. “You’re very different from what I remember.”
“Things have happened to change me.”
“So I can see,” she said with a mocking laugh. “For one thing, you’ve completely lost your mind.”
Amazingly, he smiled. “In a manner of speaking, I gave it away.” His eyes shone with an inner, unfathomable joy.
Julia felt her spirits lift slightly just looking at him. A strange, soulful hunger filled her. Struggling against it, she studied him from head to foot and back to head again. She liked what she saw. He was like a marvelous work of art.
His smile died at her intimate perusal, and his cheeks deepened in color.
“You are embarrassed,” she said in surprise.
“Yes, my lady,” he said frankly.
How was it possible, after all he had done with Primus, that he could be so sensitive? She was touched. “I’m sorry to stare, Prometheus, but it’s clearly evident the gods have been very good to you. Beauty and good health.” Her smile grew wistful. “The gods have not been so kind to me.”
“Can nothing be done for you, my lady?”
His question was clear acknowledgment of her sad physical state. She didn’t know whether to be angry at his impudence or thankful she didn’t have to try to keep up a false front. She shook her head slightly. Anger took strength, and she had little to spare.
“I’ve tried everything,” she said, amazed at her own frankness. She spread her hands and shrugged. “As you can see, nothing has done much good.”
Prometheus looked at her openly then, assessing her in a way that made her want to weep. “Do they say what’s wrong with you, my lady?”
“One said it was a wasting illness of some kind. Another said it was Hera’s curse. Another said it’s the Tiber fever that comes and goes.”
“I’m sorry, my lady.”
There it was again. He was sorry. For her! How pathetic she must be that even a lowly slave should feel pity! Chilled, she stood and drew her robe more tightly around her.
She walked toward the balcony, concentrating on moving with grace and dignity. Marcus once had said she walked like a queen. She stopped beneath the archway and turned to face him. Lifting her chin slightly, she forced a smile, a cool smile full of womanly awareness.
“You are very beautiful, Prometheus. Well built. Strong. Very male. I might find interesting use of you.” Her words were calculated to cut him, and she saw they did. His wounds must still be very raw that she could manage it so easily. Or had she become as adept at wounding others as Calabah and Primus? The thought disturbed her greatly. She had expected to feel in control of the situation. Instead, she felt ashamed.
She let out her breath softly. “Do not look so distressed,” she said gently. “I merely wanted to see your reaction, Prometheus. I assure you, my interest in men has long since waned. The last thing I want or need right now is another lover.” Her mouth curved wryly.
Prometheus was silent for a long moment. “I can serve in capacities other than—”
“For example?” she broke in wearily.
“I could be a litter bearer, my lady.”
“If I had a litter.”
“I could be a message carrier.”
“If I had someone to whom I wanted to write a letter.” She shook her head. “No, Prometheus. The only thing I need now is money. And the only thing I can think to do with you is take you down to the slave market and have you auctioned off. There are any number of men like Primus in this city who would pay most handsomely for a young man who received the specialized training you did.”