An Echo in the Darkness(76)

As she entered the small room, the children gathered around her, tugging at her tunic and competing to be heard. Laughing, Phoebe gathered the smallest in her arms and sat down with the child on her lap while the mother put an extra piece of wood on the brazier.

Iulius set his burdens down and scooped beans, lentils, and grain from one sack into a basket. He dispensed enough to last the family for a week while listening to Phoebe put the woman at ease and talk of children and womanly things. She set one child down and took another, until each had received an embrace and moment in her arms. It was clear the children adored her.

His mouth flattened as he thought of Marcus, so caught up in his own pain that he failed to see the suffering he caused his own mother. And when was the last time Julia had bothered to visit her?

Phoebe gave the woman a new shawl and a small pouch of coins. “This is enough to pay your rent and provide you with a few essentials.”

The young woman began to weep. “Oh, my lady, how can I ever repay you?”

Phoebe cupped her face and kissed one cheek and then the other. “It will not always be like this, Vernasia. When your circumstances change for the better, help someone as I’ve helped you. That will be thanks unto God.”

Phoebe and Iulius left the tenement apartment and walked down the narrow, stinking alley to another tenement closer to the harbor. Prisca lived on the top floor. Her husband had died several weeks before, and Phoebe had been told of the old woman’s dire circumstances by a woman who had sought her out.

“I have heard of how you help widows, my lady. I know of one old woman who needs help desperately. Her name is Prisca. Her son sailed on the Minerva two months ago and won’t be back for a year or more. Her husband worked thirty-three years caulking ships, and he died on the deck of one a few weeks ago. She’s lived in the same apartment for twenty years, but now she’s unable to pay the rent, and the landlord’s going to cast her out in the street. I’d help her if I could, but we’ve hardly enough to feed our own family. I don’t know what’ll become of that poor old woman if someone doesn’t help her. Please, my lady, if you can . . .”

Phoebe had grown very fond of Prisca. The old woman was amusing. The hardness of life hadn’t embittered or cowed her. She sat by the small window, “taking in the air” and watching the activity in the streets below. She was in full possession of her mental faculties, taking in the news of what went on in Ephesus and imparting her own ironic wisdom concerning it. She was too old to worry about propriety and treated Phoebe with the affection and frankness she might have reserved for her own daughter, had she ever had one.

Phoebe tapped at the door and entered when she heard Prisca call out to come in. The old woman was sitting by the open window, her forearm resting on the frame as she peered out. Smiling, Phoebe crossed the room and bent down to kiss her cheek.

“How are you today, Mother Prisca?”

“As well as an old woman of eighty-seven can expect.” She captured Phoebe’s chin as one would a child and studied her with a slight frown. “What’s the matter?”

Phoebe drew back slightly from Prisca’s scrutiny and forced a smile. “Nothing’s the matter.”

“Don’t tell me nothing’s the matter. I’m old. I’m not a doddering fool. Now, why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Tired and upset.”

Phoebe took the old woman’s hand and patted it as she sat upon a chair Prisca kept close by for her visits. “Tell me all you’ve done since last I saw you.”

Prisca glanced up at Iulius and saw the way he watched his mistress, as though she was a precious Corinthian vase about to be shattered. “Very well, change the subject,” she said somewhat testily. “I finished the shawls and gave them to Olympia. She delivered them to the women you mentioned.”

“That’s wonderful. How did you ever finish them so quickly? Iulius only brought you the wool last week.”

“Save your accolades. What else does an old woman have to do with all this time on her hands?” She stood. “Would you like a cup of posca?” The drink, enjoyed by the poor and soldiers, was a refreshing mixture of cheap wine and water.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said. She took the cup and smiled as Prisca poured another for Iulius. Prisca took her seat again, sighing as she relaxed once more.

Phoebe remained an hour. She enjoyed hearing Prisca retell the tales her son had told her from his voyages.

“Decimus always returned home from the sea tanned and full of life,” Phoebe said wistfully. “I used to be jealous of the allure travel had for him. When he was younger, he was so hungry to explore, to open new trade routes, to know what was happening in the farthest reaches of the Empire. Sometimes I’d see this look on his face and I’d feel like an anchor.”