Page 51

“There is not enough time to do that in just a few short days.”

“But you think about it?”

He was halfway finished with his soup, now dipping bread into it and taking big bites. “Mayhap a wee bit,” he said. “But the time for travel is not now. The time now is for work. It sounds strange, but when I was first released from Culroy, I felt… lost. Lost until the Ludus Antonine gave me a sense of belonging. It gives me a sense of security, of purpose. This is my home. My friends and I were speaking about it today – we are a clan. We are brothers, if not in blood, in spirit. It is the time now tae be with them.”

She understood what he was saying, in theory. “I envy you,” she said. “I do not belong to anyone or anything, which is why I immediately started working here. I need that sense of purpose, too. I want to feel as if I belong, at least for the time I am here. That reminds me – have you asked around to see if anyone needs to learn to read and write?”

He sopped up the last of his soup with the bread. “Not yet,” he said. “But I will.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. He was almost done with his food so she jumped up, taking his bowl away. “Let me bring you more.”

He waved her off. “Not now,” he said. “I am going tae sleep a few hours before the bouts tonight. I’ll eat a little when I awaken.”

She nodded, setting the bowl aside so she could rinse it out. Titus was finishing off the last of his watered ale when he noticed the bowl with flowers in it. Then, he noticed the crippled bumblebee. Setting his cup down, he peered into the bowl.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Esme went over to him, standing next to him as he took the bowl from the ledge. “That is my new friend,” she said proudly. “He is missing a wing and cannot fly. I put him in the bowl so he would not be eaten by birds.”

As Titus watched, she put her hand into the bowl and the bumblebee climbed into her palm, scooting around. Titus leaned over, watching the bee as he moved around.

“And he doesna sting ye?” he asked, incredulous.

She grinned. “Nay,” she said. “I think he likes being in my hand. It is warm and comforting. I think he likes me.”

Titus watched as she crouched down next to the table, holding the little bee in her hand and speaking softly to it. In truth, his gaze was on her and not the bee. He’d never seen anything so sweet and lovely and nurturing, pure in every sense of the word. He’d never known a woman like Esme and, more and more, he was becoming enchanted by everything about her.

The rescue of a bee seemed like something small and insignificant but, in truth, it was not insignificant at all. It reflected a compassionate nature that he had never seen before, someone with so great a heart and soul that even a little bee meant something to her.

For a moment, he just sat there and stared at her. He couldn’t seem to do anything else. Then, he gently grasped her chin, leaned over, and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

It was a thanks for showing him something he’d never seen before.

Beauty in its finest form.

“I think he does, too,” he whispered.

Without another word, he headed into the smaller chamber to sleep, shutting the door behind him.

It took Esme a solid hour to catch her breath.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The fights that night had been full of dust and sweat and blood.

In the fading heat of the August night, the torches of the Fields of Mars were ablaze and the arena seats packed with patrons. It was so crowded that people were sitting in the aisles. The purses were big this night because it was Theme Night, meaning the warriors had selected a favored country or favored legendary hero, and they were fighting on behalf of that country or hero.

Clegg de Lave had returned to his primus venue and the man walked the arena floor before the fights began like a conquering Caesar. He was swathed in white robes and a turban on his head in the style that Esme had seen in her youth when caravans would cross from the Mediterranean coast on their way to Portugal. Clegg lifted his hands benevolently and the crowd cheered wildly for the man who made this entire way of life possible.

Esme didn’t see much of Clegg because he quickly retreated into his private box above the staging area where he could watch the fights unimpeded. The bouts soon began, and she discovered that there were a good deal of Englishmen in the lists this night. When a young warrior by the name of Warenne de Soulant, fighting for English honor, won his first bout against a novicius Scotsman, the English patrons erupted in victory, which turned into a brawl with the Scots patrons.

That happened three times.

Seated over on the left-hand side of the arena with the rest of the warriors’ women, Isadora and Lilia and Esme laughed at the fighting going on. It was sheer ridiculousness. Isadora was feeling much better after having rested all day and, at one point, she ran over to the fighting and clobbered some hapless Englishman on the head. It was all great fun to her, this former warrior woman, and she returned to her friends quite happy and satisfied at having gotten in a lick on a fight.

But her joy was short lived.

Cam had been in the lists, breaking up the fights with some of the other doctores and sentries who kept order at the Ludus Caledonia, and he saw his wife get in a good belt. When the crowd had settled down, he came over to her, giving her a look that suggested she was in a good deal of trouble, and pulled her out of her seat.