The scribe cleared his throat, continuing. “You asked who had been helping him with the weddings and when he didn’t respond, you told Titus to tear out his fingernails. The prisoner said, ‘Love “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.”’”
The scribe read the words in monotone, but Titus heard them accentuated with Valentine’s groans. The way the words were forced through his teeth as if he couldn’t help but speak them. Valentine’s eyes never left the scribe as he faithfully copied his words. He’d done it on purpose, knowing they’d later study every word he spoke for clues.
“Should we leave him for now, sir?” Titus hoped the tribune would not require Valentine to be revived so they could continue.
“It would probably be best.” Braccus rose and tossed the knife on the chair. He looked at Valentine. “You can try again tomorrow. He’ll be good and sore then. Didn’t last very long.” He shifted his gaze to Titus. “I thought you were better than that.”
Titus replaced the instruments in silence after the tribune left. He had underestimated Valentine. Not only had he not said a single name, he’d never once begged for mercy nor cowered as others often did. The eyes that had stared him down with apprehension before he’d begun had grown determined, then steady—calm even, as if nothing Titus could do would break him. Instead of growing weaker with every blow, closer and closer to breaking, something in Valentine had grown stronger, more solid.
The scribe cleared his tools and left. Titus turned to Valentine, hanging in the center of the cell, knees buckled beneath him. Unless he needed the room, Titus usually left them where they were. It had never mattered before whether someone would take them down.
This time, Titus unlocked the shackles and caught Valentine over his shoulder as he dropped. He trundled him out and asked the lanista with the keys for an empty cell. He deposited Valentineas comfortably as he could on the bare floor and, as he left, told the lanista to give him bread and water when he woke.
It was everything he could do.
And it was nothing at all.
LV
“ONE MORE.”IRIS PEERED INTO THE BOWLon Quintus’s lap. Quintus obediently took the last bite and swallowed. The effort exhausted him, and he sank back against the curved arm of the couch. He looked from Iris to Beatrix, who unwrapped the old dressings on his cut leg.
“Thank you.” The words came out on the back of a long sigh. His head ached. He’d felt better since coming here, but the worst had been in the Praetorian prison. He’d paced his cell, agitated and confused, falling in and out of rages and bouts of sobbing. The guards had thought he was going mad. Quintus worried he already had. The dreams had been horrible. Nightmares left him screaming and sweating. But those had gone since he’d come here. He closed his eyes.
What he wouldn’t give for just a little drink.
“Can I... have a drink?”
Iris lifted a cup to his lips. At the first taste of water, he turned his face away. “A bit of wine,” he corrected. “It would help my head.”
Iris spoke gently. “Cato said you might ask. He also said you weren’t to have any. He said too much wine is what caused your problems in the first place.”
He shook his head, ire growing. “Tribune Braccus caused my...” He trailed off, suddenly too tired to argue.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Pater.” Her eyes brimmed with tears.
He forced his lips to tip into a slight smile.
Beatrix smeared honey over the gash on his leg with her fingers. “You’re making wonderful improvement.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t wonder if a bath and a shave would perk you right up. I have some lovely soap and a new men’s scent that’s wonderfully attractive with a hint of mystery.” She used the back of her hand to brush springy curls away from her large brown eyes and smiled at him. He doubted his body could make a trip to the nearest bathhouse, but he’d go through the effort if it meant she’d keep smiling at him like that. He’d even eat another bowl of whatever that horrible brown mash had been if she’d keep smiling.
“Where did you go this morning, Beatrix?” Iris gathered his bowl and the plates from the dinner she and Bea had eaten at his bedside and stacked them on a tray. “You left and no one knew where you’d gone.”
Beatrix paused her ministrations on his leg. “I went to Val’s grandfather,” she admitted in a low voice.
“The chief augur?” Quintus’s voice rasped and cracked. Beatrix’s eyes flew to him and she gave a single nod.
“And?” Iris sank down across from Beatrix. “Will he help Valentine?”
“No.” Beatrix blinked and renewed her focus on Quintus’s leg. “He said he’d already warned Valens something like this would happen. He’s washed his hands of him.”
“How could he do that to his own flesh and blood?”
Beatrix wiped her fingers on a rag and motioned for Iris to lift Quintus’s foot so she could wind the new bandage around his calf. “Valens is a liability to Gaius now. If word spread that the chief augur tried to help his traitorous grandson, he’d lose everything. He’s not willing to do that.”
Quintus shut his eyes and listened to them fuss over his cuts. He was more sore than hurt, but he let them worry over him. Better they had something to distract them from worrying over Valentine.
The silence stretched. His eyes stayed shut but he did not sleep.
“Are you afraid, Beatrix?” Iris asked.
