An Echo in the Darkness(29)

“Does that make a difference?” Celsus said.

Alexander took down a bronze box and removed the sliding lid. “Only in price, not effectiveness,” he said, placing the squat jar carefully into one of the internal compartments before sliding the lid closed again. He set the box back in its space on the shelf, which was loaded with other drugs and medicinal ingredients.

Turning, Alexander noticed Celsus had forgotten the discomforts of his chills and fever in his curiosity over the veiled girl. Many people stared at her the same way, wondering what she hid beneath the veil. He glanced at the girl. She was slightly stooped, her small hand gripping the walking stick. Her knuckles were white with the effort. Alexander took the stool by his worktable and placed it near the brazier opposite Celsus. “Sit and rest, Hadassah. I’ll buy some bread and wine and return shortly.”

Celsus was alarmed to be left alone with the girl—the veils made him uncomfortable. She sank down onto the stool, and he heard her soft sigh of relief. She set the walking stick to one side and rubbed her right leg. Her hand was small and delicate, with clean oval nails. It was lovely, very feminine, and young. He was surprised.

“Why do you wear that veil?” he said abruptly.

“My scars make others uncomfortable, my lord.”

“I’m a physician. Let me see them.”

She hesitated and then slowly lifted the veils, revealing her face. Celsus grimaced. Nodding once, he gestured for her to cover herself. Alexander had been cruel to rescue this girl. She would have been better off dead. What sort of a normal life could she have looking as she did and crippled the way she was? And what use was she as a servant, so ponderous and clumsy?

He started to shiver again and drew his cape around himself, trying to overcome the chills. He swore under his breath, wishing he had hired a litter and returned to his own apartment.

The slave girl rose with some effort. Celsus watched her limp to the back of the booth and bend down to take a bedroll from beneath the worktable. Loosening the thick woven blanket, she brought it back to him and placed it around his shoulders. “Would you be more comfortable lying down, my lord?”

“Probably not.” He watched her limp to the small counter. She poured water into a small pot and set it on the brazier to heat. Then she took several containers down from the medicine shelf. She meticulously measured out ingredients from several and replaced the containers on the shelf again before grinding what she had taken with the pestle and mortar. The water had begun to boil. Sprinkling in the contents, she stirred with a slender stick. “Inhale this, my lord.”

Her voice and manner were very soothing, and he was surprised by her knowledge. “Should you be making free with your master’s things?” he said as he leaned forward.

“He will not object,” came her soft rasping reply.

As he filled his lungs with a surprisingly pleasant aroma, he sensed she was smiling. “Do you take advantage of his kind nature?”

“No, my lord. The master has used this treatment on other patients with fevers. He would want you to be comfortable.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling faintly ashamed that he had criticized her when she had sought to serve her master—and him as well. He breathed in the aromatic vapor, his muscles relaxing. The weight of the blanket added to his comfort. The heat of the calidarium had drained him, and now the warmth from the brazier and the sweet vapor rising from the small pot made him drowsy. He started to drift asleep and then jerked awake as he swayed on the stool.

The girl rose and took another bedroll from beneath the worktable and laid it out on the packed-dirt floor. Celsus felt her arm ease around his shoulder and heard her whisper, “Come and rest, my lord. You’ll feel much better.” She was stronger than she looked and helped him up, but when he leaned more heavily against her, he heard the small catch of breath.

Her leg must pain her, he thought, then he sank down on the pallet she had prepared for him. As she rearranged the blanket over him, he smiled. “Nobody’s done that for me since I was a child.” She brushed her fingertips lightly over his forehead, and he felt a peculiar sense of well-being.

Rising stiffly, Hadassah limped to the stool and eased down. Sighing, she kneaded the aching muscles of her right leg. Closing her eyes, she wished she could knead away the ache in her heart as well.

Tears came unexpectedly, and she struggled against them, knowing Alexander would return soon and know she’d been crying. Then he would want to know if her leg pained her again. If she said yes, he would insist upon massaging it. If she said no, he would probe with questions she had no heart to answer.