Nino

My son found me sitting on a rock wall, studying my problems instead of the sunlit clouds.

“Yes?”

“Can a boy have two fathers?”( Read more... )

“Nuns, or monastics,” I corrected him.

“I always call them lady monks and they like it,” the caravan leader said. “Safe journey. You’ll be there by nightfall.”( Read more... )

Our slaves were brought, one by one, to answer questions. In some moment of inspiration, each slave spoke to a different judge, with no other slave able to hear the others’ stories. Beata brought us water and a cloth to wipe our faces, but no one else spoke to us until Linus returned.

“I got him, Amma! He was just coming to the city gate when I found him!” I thanked him quietly and sent him off to Ila, whom Beata was fussing around with more water and a cup.

At last the questioning was done, and one slave was called back. The rest were dismissed. Ila should have gone with them to open the bathhouse, but dispite Beata’s best efforts, my sister-in-law did not move.( Read more... )

Late February, 460 A.D. Bitumi, Egrisi

Rakkal had heard about the letter addressed to me through whatever channels she always heard the gossip. The merchant hadn’t been reticent in asking around the marketplace for my home and she had personally brought him to my door and waited as I paid the man a gold coin for his services.

“Well? Who is it from?”

I took the letter into my garden and sat under the pergola. She followed me and stood with her arms crossed.

Without a choice that wouldn’t insult my oldest friend, I popped open the wax seal and unfolded the scroll.

“It’s from Sister Makrina,” I said, half surprised. I’d not had a letter from her for five years.( Read more... )

News of the betrothal spread through the town. Most of my friends promised to come to the marriage service in front of the church, but Bulyar declined to invite anyone but my family to a feast. “You will spend all your time weeping for your friends at our wedding,” he groused. “I don’t want a weepy bride in my bed.”

Abba chuckled and Mother looked shocked. I was too giddy to do anything but agree. ( Read more... )

Chapter 1

“I saved a woman’s life once,” I answered slowly. The question wasn’t what my mother prepared me to expect. The man my father had picked for my husband should ask about my sewing skills – moderate – and my cooking skills – don’t lie, but don’t tell him how bad they really are. He wasn’t supposed to ask what was the most important thing I’d ever done.

Bulyar smiled under his mustache, and I relaxed. “Saved a woman’s life? I’d say that that’s a pretty remarkable thing to do.”( Read more... )

Margar would not bargain for pearls he already owned. I could end up dead.( Read more... )

I was no less furious.

Arkat smiled and simpered at me when I brought her bread to her room. She thought she would win this battle and I thought she was right. But the betrayal had to be dealt with.

“What’s so bad about some salt in the bath water?” Margar growled at the servant who offered him wine.

“It’s not very cleansing,” I repeated. “But the problem is not the salt. That has already been cleaned out. The problem is that Arkat has been commiting these acts of vandalism. She’s costing you money.”

As I expected, that got Margar’s attention. ( Read more... )

Hadn’t I done everything I could to get the money to go to Constantinople? I’d worked until I collapsed. I’d nearly died to open this business and Margar came in, took a look around, and pocketed every copper I’d managed to save as profit.

We didn’t even have enough to buy food to eat.

I had two choices, I thought, as I stood in front of the icons, blind to their entreating eyes. I could sell some pearls or I could call on Callia.

“Nino?” Father Photius joined me from his work across the square. “I saw you come in.”

I kissed his ink-stained hand. “Good day, Father.”( Read more... )