the bed and took Valeria’s hand in her own.
Her mother’s touch was gentle but firm as were the words she spoke. “This behavior must stop,” she said, and Valeria knew Prisca was serious. Not that it mattered; Valeria had no intention of stopping anything. She would lie there in bed, neither eating nor drinking nor speaking to anyone until she starved herself to death or died of thirst, whichever came first. That was not actively committing suicide, was it? It was simply dying of a broken heart.
“Valeria, you must look at me.”
Valeria was torn between respect for her mother and the grief that had become such a part of her. Even opening her eyes was more effort than she wished to exert, but when Prisca repeated her command, Valeria finally conceded.
She lifted her lids only enough to be obedient and peeked at her mother. She was astonished at the dark circles under Prisca’s eyes. It had not even occurred to Valeria that her mother was also a victim of Diocletian’s madness.
“Are you … all right?” Valeria managed to croak, her voice as unfamiliar to her as the light of day she had tried so hard to avoid.
Prisca’s eyes filled with tears. “How can I be all right when my husband has lost his mind and my only child has withdrawn from the living to mourn the dead?” Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Oh, my dear Valeria, you must not allow yourself to continue in this devastating depression. I cannot bear it!”
“I am … sorry, Mother.” Valeria swallowed, her tongue thick and her throat parched, each word an effort. “I did not mean to … hurt you.”
Prisca stroked Valeria’s face. “Do you not understand, dear one, that you are my heart? When you hurt, so do I. If your father were in his right mind, he would be hurting too.”
When Valeria stiffened at the mention of her father, Prisca withdrew her hand and held up a finger. “Stop. I know you need someone to blame for what has happened, and I do not deny the horror of it. But do not turn on your father. He loves you more than you can know, and it is his anguish over this situation that has driven him mad.”
“He caused it,” Valeria said, still straining to speak. “He and his cohorts ordered Mauritius murdered. How can I not despise him? I never want to see him again!” Valeria felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks onto her neck and hair. “How can I ever forgive Father for what he has done? My life is over, and my father is to blame. As for marrying that horrible Galerius, the subject is not open for discussion, so do not even think about broaching it. I love you, Mother, and I am sorry my grief has caused you so much pain. But not even for you will I consider such an unthinkable suggestion.”
Valeria felt exhausted, having delivered in moments more words than she had spoken in days, but at least her mother knew where she stood. And she had no intention of acquiescing.
Slowly Prisca released her daughter’s hand and rose from the bed. “I understand your feelings, my dear,” she said, her voice still soft but more composed now. “But you are wrong about one thing. Your father’s announcement that you are to marry General Galerius is not a suggestion. It is a command, one that neither you nor I can disobey.”
With that, Prisca turned and walked from the room, leaving Valeria in tears to consider the words that had sealed her fate.
8
E ugenia poked her head through the doorway of Valeria’s bedroom. “Good morning,” she chirped and pushed back the heavy damask draperies that surrounded the ornate bed.
Valeria again wondered if Eugenia had a sixth sense about her. Only seconds before, Valeria had awakened from a dream of Mauritius that even now continued to hold her captive with its sweet memories. She sat up, her disheveled hair about her shoulders, realizing that the man in her dream was gone. Eugenia’s singsong greeting cheered her still-aching heart.
“I stopped by earlier but you were asleep,”
Her mother’s touch was gentle but firm as were the words she spoke. “This behavior must stop,” she said, and Valeria knew Prisca was serious. Not that it mattered; Valeria had no intention of stopping anything. She would lie there in bed, neither eating nor drinking nor speaking to anyone until she starved herself to death or died of thirst, whichever came first. That was not actively committing suicide, was it? It was simply dying of a broken heart.
“Valeria, you must look at me.”
Valeria was torn between respect for her mother and the grief that had become such a part of her. Even opening her eyes was more effort than she wished to exert, but when Prisca repeated her command, Valeria finally conceded.
She lifted her lids only enough to be obedient and peeked at her mother. She was astonished at the dark circles under Prisca’s eyes. It had not even occurred to Valeria that her mother was also a victim of Diocletian’s madness.
“Are you … all right?” Valeria managed to croak, her voice as unfamiliar to her as the light of day she had tried so hard to avoid.
Prisca’s eyes filled with tears. “How can I be all right when my husband has lost his mind and my only child has withdrawn from the living to mourn the dead?” Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Oh, my dear Valeria, you must not allow yourself to continue in this devastating depression. I cannot bear it!”
“I am … sorry, Mother.” Valeria swallowed, her tongue thick and her throat parched, each word an effort. “I did not mean to … hurt you.”
Prisca stroked Valeria’s face. “Do you not understand, dear one, that you are my heart? When you hurt, so do I. If your father were in his right mind, he would be hurting too.”
When Valeria stiffened at the mention of her father, Prisca withdrew her hand and held up a finger. “Stop. I know you need someone to blame for what has happened, and I do not deny the horror of it. But do not turn on your father. He loves you more than you can know, and it is his anguish over this situation that has driven him mad.”
“He caused it,” Valeria said, still straining to speak. “He and his cohorts ordered Mauritius murdered. How can I not despise him? I never want to see him again!” Valeria felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks onto her neck and hair. “How can I ever forgive Father for what he has done? My life is over, and my father is to blame. As for marrying that horrible Galerius, the subject is not open for discussion, so do not even think about broaching it. I love you, Mother, and I am sorry my grief has caused you so much pain. But not even for you will I consider such an unthinkable suggestion.”
Valeria felt exhausted, having delivered in moments more words than she had spoken in days, but at least her mother knew where she stood. And she had no intention of acquiescing.
Slowly Prisca released her daughter’s hand and rose from the bed. “I understand your feelings, my dear,” she said, her voice still soft but more composed now. “But you are wrong about one thing. Your father’s announcement that you are to marry General Galerius is not a suggestion. It is a command, one that neither you nor I can disobey.”
With that, Prisca turned and walked from the room, leaving Valeria in tears to consider the words that had sealed her fate.
8
E ugenia poked her head through the doorway of Valeria’s bedroom. “Good morning,” she chirped and pushed back the heavy damask draperies that surrounded the ornate bed.
Valeria again wondered if Eugenia had a sixth sense about her. Only seconds before, Valeria had awakened from a dream of Mauritius that even now continued to hold her captive with its sweet memories. She sat up, her disheveled hair about her shoulders, realizing that the man in her dream was gone. Eugenia’s singsong greeting cheered her still-aching heart.
“I stopped by earlier but you were asleep,”
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