As she carried Caleb over to the couch, Atretes saw she was barefoot. Her feet looked dirty and sore from days of walking. He noticed other things as well. “How did you tear your tunic?”
“I caught it on a briar when I was coming back from the stream last night.” She sat on the couch, a little less relaxed than she’d been a moment before. She was dirty and felt unkempt. And why was he staring at her like that? She sat Caleb on her knees. “I’ll go back to the baths later when it’s quieter.”
“Over my dead body.”
“If you insist.” The look he gave her lacked all humor. “Atretes, I need to bathe. So does Caleb. I’ll wear my tunic, if it puts your mind at ease. I might as well wash it while I’m washing myself.”
He saw she was determined and, looking her over again, he thought she was right. “How long before the throng leaves?”
“Most of them will be gone in a couple of hours. There’s a small room reserved for nursing mothers. I would’ve gone in there.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“You didn’t give me the opportunity. Would you please sit down? You’re making me nervous pacing like that.”
He paused to pour himself some wine. His heart was beating fast. He was nervous, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. He wished Theophilus had returned with him. Whatever he might feel about the Roman, his company offered distraction from his feelings about Rizpah. Being alone with her now made him remember what he had done in the hypogeum. Was she remembering as well?
“Don’t Germans bathe?”
He turned and glared at her. “Yes, Germans bathe, but not in mass, men and women together. Germans have a sense of decency.”
She thought it best to change the subject. “What was Ania like?”
“Ania?”
She hadn’t meant to ask, but now that the question had come without forethought, she pursued it. “Your wife. You said her name was Ania.”
“Why do you want to know about her?”
“It might tell me what you were like before Rome made a gladiator out of you.”
“She was young.”
“Just young? That’s all you remember?”
“I remember. I remember everything about her. She was beautiful. Blonde. Fair skin. Blue eyes.”
She blushed at his pointed perusal. She had never been so aware of her black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes.
“She died in childbirth,” he said and drained his goblet. “My son died with her.” The pitcher was empty. He slammed it down.
She closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t asked him anything. She thought of Shimei and Rachel and how her heart still ached for them. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
The compassion in her eyes made him soften and relax. “It was a long time ago.” The truth was, he had lied. He couldn’t even remember Ania’s face. Worse, the pain he’d once felt over her death was gone. Not even a twinge remained. They had been together in another time and in another world—one far removed from Rome. He cocked his head toward her. “Tell me about your husband.”
Her mouth curved and she stroked Caleb’s hair, putting him down again so he could move about at will. “He was kind, as kind as John and Theophilus.”
Atretes’ jaw tightened. He reclined on the couch, forcing himself to appear relaxed. “Just kind? That’s all you remember?”
“Baiting me with my own questions?”
“If you like. You’ve never said anything about him. I’d like to know what you were like before you became the mother of my son.”
He was in a strange, pensive mood. She wished she had kept silent, for there were currents of emotion running between them that could suck her down. “He was a master mason and worked very hard at his trade. Everything he did, he did for the Lord.”
“I suppose he was handsome and built like Apollo.”
“He wasn’t beautiful at all, not by most people’s standards. He was short and stocky and losing his hair. But he had beautiful eyes. That was one of the things that struck me about him when he first spoke to me. Have you ever had people look at you and there doesn’t seem to be anything behind their eyes? They look at you without ever really seeing you?”
Atretes had. Many times.
“Shimei was different. When he looked at me, I felt loved for who I was.”
Something about the way she said it piqued his interest. “Who were you that people looked at you without seeing you for who you were?” When she lowered her eyes, he frowned. Whatever she had been before marrying, it was something she was hesitant to share with him. “Maybe I should ask what were you?”