well, one of the consequences of a slave population that outnumbered its citizens four to one is that no widow of childbearing age was allowed to remain unmarried for more than two years after her husband's death. For herself, she'd lost count of the tricks she'd had to resort to, to thwart this imperial order, but the law was the law, and even though Rome might not know about Salome's freed slaves, there would be a record of Stephanus's death. Which meant that someone, somewhere, would have followed this up ... and would keep following it up until Salome remarried.
'Sorry to interrupt.'
An elfin face framed by a cascade of waist-length walnut waves poked itself round the door.
'But the tanner's wife is back.'
'Jarna?' Salome's face dropped. 'Don't tell me he's been beating her again!'
The elf nodded grimly. 'Only this time she's pregnant.'
'Lora assists me in the treatment room,' Salome explained. 'Lora, this is Claudia, who's come all the way from Rome to consider the King's proposal of marriage.'
An unspoken message flashed between the two women before Salome turned to Claudia and tutted over the beaten wife's plight.
'And the Histri still cling to the theory that if a woman has a husband, she's made!'
For someone who believed in equality and freedom herself, there was nothing Claudia could say. Especially since she
needed to maintain the pretence of weighing up the King's proposal.
'I'm going to have to see to this poor woman,' Salome said, rising from the couch, 'but you're welcome to come along, if you like.'
Claudia could not have been any closer behind her, had she been Salome's shadow.
Eleven
The treatment room turned out to be a converted cattle shed.
At one end, a panopoly of leaves, petals, roots and seeds were in varying stages of being decocted, infused, macerated or pulverized, while at the other end shelves were stacked shoulder to shoulder with jars, bottles, phials and pots, and beneath the shelves stood a table on which ointments and poultices were in the process of being mixed from recipes anchored down at the corners with stones.
It was to these tasks that the elfin Lora returned, pausing only to tickle the ears of a grey kitten snoozing on a pile of cypress or occasionally stroke the plump, black torn curled up on the stool. Indeed, she barely glanced at the bench on which a pale creature sat with her bloodied and swollen head bent, and where two small, frightened children clung to each side.
'Jarna, Jarna, Jarna,' Salome chided softly, kneeling at the woman's feet and taking both hands in her own. 'One of these days that bastard's going to do some serious damage, you know that.'
'As long as iss only me,' Jarna lisped through her cut lip. As long as he don't start in on me kids, I can cope.'
'Can you indeed,' Salome replied, tilting the woman's chin to examine the cuts and swellings. 'Show me your ribs, please.'
The children stared at their feet as their mother pulled down her tunic to reveal a torso with barely an inch of undamaged skin.
'He drinks,' Jarna told Claudia, as though that explained everything.
'He wouldn't be able to swallow, if I got hold of the bastard,' Claudia replied, as Salome laid on a compress of decocted dewcup leaves to reduce the inflammation. 'Why don't you leave him?'
The woman indicated the tots sitting white-lipped beside her. 'Where would we go?' she asked wearily.
'You can come here.' Salome rubbed in a cream made from balm of Gilead and calendula to relieve the pain. 'I've told you time and again, Jarna, any time, day or night, my doors are open.' She ruffled the youngest child's head. 'Look, you two. Why don't you go and collect some eggs for your mother?'
Two pale faces looked at each other, then nodded.
Salome called, 'Naim?' and immediately a jolly, big-busted girl with corkscrew curls poked her head round the door.
'That's me,' she quipped to Claudia, with a broad wink. 'A rose by any other Naim.'
The feathers in her hair proclaimed her as
'Sorry to interrupt.'
An elfin face framed by a cascade of waist-length walnut waves poked itself round the door.
'But the tanner's wife is back.'
'Jarna?' Salome's face dropped. 'Don't tell me he's been beating her again!'
The elf nodded grimly. 'Only this time she's pregnant.'
'Lora assists me in the treatment room,' Salome explained. 'Lora, this is Claudia, who's come all the way from Rome to consider the King's proposal of marriage.'
An unspoken message flashed between the two women before Salome turned to Claudia and tutted over the beaten wife's plight.
'And the Histri still cling to the theory that if a woman has a husband, she's made!'
For someone who believed in equality and freedom herself, there was nothing Claudia could say. Especially since she
needed to maintain the pretence of weighing up the King's proposal.
'I'm going to have to see to this poor woman,' Salome said, rising from the couch, 'but you're welcome to come along, if you like.'
Claudia could not have been any closer behind her, had she been Salome's shadow.
Eleven
The treatment room turned out to be a converted cattle shed.
At one end, a panopoly of leaves, petals, roots and seeds were in varying stages of being decocted, infused, macerated or pulverized, while at the other end shelves were stacked shoulder to shoulder with jars, bottles, phials and pots, and beneath the shelves stood a table on which ointments and poultices were in the process of being mixed from recipes anchored down at the corners with stones.
It was to these tasks that the elfin Lora returned, pausing only to tickle the ears of a grey kitten snoozing on a pile of cypress or occasionally stroke the plump, black torn curled up on the stool. Indeed, she barely glanced at the bench on which a pale creature sat with her bloodied and swollen head bent, and where two small, frightened children clung to each side.
'Jarna, Jarna, Jarna,' Salome chided softly, kneeling at the woman's feet and taking both hands in her own. 'One of these days that bastard's going to do some serious damage, you know that.'
'As long as iss only me,' Jarna lisped through her cut lip. As long as he don't start in on me kids, I can cope.'
'Can you indeed,' Salome replied, tilting the woman's chin to examine the cuts and swellings. 'Show me your ribs, please.'
The children stared at their feet as their mother pulled down her tunic to reveal a torso with barely an inch of undamaged skin.
'He drinks,' Jarna told Claudia, as though that explained everything.
'He wouldn't be able to swallow, if I got hold of the bastard,' Claudia replied, as Salome laid on a compress of decocted dewcup leaves to reduce the inflammation. 'Why don't you leave him?'
The woman indicated the tots sitting white-lipped beside her. 'Where would we go?' she asked wearily.
'You can come here.' Salome rubbed in a cream made from balm of Gilead and calendula to relieve the pain. 'I've told you time and again, Jarna, any time, day or night, my doors are open.' She ruffled the youngest child's head. 'Look, you two. Why don't you go and collect some eggs for your mother?'
Two pale faces looked at each other, then nodded.
Salome called, 'Naim?' and immediately a jolly, big-busted girl with corkscrew curls poked her head round the door.
'That's me,' she quipped to Claudia, with a broad wink. 'A rose by any other Naim.'
The feathers in her hair proclaimed her as
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