Shadow of Hope

by Elsye Harwood

  Cassius let his hands slip from Cimon’s shoulders and ran them down his arms. “Because, you’re good, better than all the others we have.”

  Cimon sighed. “Thank you, for thinking of me, but I like to travel, Cassius, you know that.”

  The Roman continued to let his hands wander, and he put his head down so that it was close enough to rest Cimon’s cheek. “You will travel. The army never stays in one place. It’s a perfect way to see the empire.”

  If only Mardonius was here, Cimon thought, he would’ve found this highly amusing.

  The praefect’s face was still hovering close to his own. “I need to think about it, Cassius. I have to meet friends tonight, so give me a few days to think on it. It’s an overwhelming offer,” Cimon told him.

  “Come back tomorrow and we can discuss it further,” Cassius suggested, straightening up and moving aside to let him stand. Cimon nodded and smiled in agreement. He’d no intention of returning, but Cassius didn’t need to know that.

  Hours later he knocked at the door of a small room in the insula where he’d lived only a few months before. The door opened abruptly, to reveal Livia in a loose smock scowling at the interruption.

  Cimon smiled and held out his arms in apology. “I thought you were dead,” she snapped.

  “Clearly not,” he responded, smiling at her bluntness. How she made money selling he’d no idea, but she did and he knew it was a lot.

  “So I see. You are expecting to come in?” she asked still scowling.

  “If it’s not too much trouble.” She shrugged and moved aside to let him in. The room was similar to his old one, with a bed, a couple of tables and goods stored neatly in the corners ready to sell.

  “Your room has gone. A family of five live their now, so you can’t have it back. And your stall is now a saddle maker’s. Your clients still ask me where you went. Where did you go?” she asked, getting an amphora of cheap wine and pouring out two cups.

  “Travelling. I get bored sometimes. Are you doing well?” he asked.

  Livia handed him a cup. “It’s not as good as anything your creepy Roman has, but it’s all right. Travelling won’t make you money. You stupid Greek, you have everything going well for you and then you walk away.” She tutted and shook her head.

  “My ‘creepy Roman’ made me a job offer today. He wants me to be a medic in the army!” He grinned. She stared, nonplussed.

  “So you see him, but not me. I hope that you didn’t take the job. Your face, Greek, is your fortune and your body,” she added after a moment’s appraisal whilst sipping the wine.

  Cimon beamed at her. “Are you jealous, Livia?”

  She pulled a face and turned away. “I liked you being next to me at the baths. You were pretty to watch in quiet times. But more importantly you had customers, many of them women and they shopped with me.”

  “I heard that you’re doing well, though?” he asked indicating the goods in the corners of the room.

  She smiled then, a small sneer of triumph. “My rival… you remember: the one who stunk of perfume?” He nodded. “She died. So I got her stall and her customers. Business is good.”

  He shook his head at that; no false grief with Livia, just facts. “Why are you still here then, in this dump?” he asked looking around the damp room.

  She scowled at his clear stupidity. “It’s cheaper and it’s adequate. I have a store room at the forum. That’s more important. ” Cimon understood her reasoning, she was a business woman through and through, comfort came second to profit.

  “Are you going to set up again? You still have clients. They will pay more to have you back. It was a good idea to leave and come back. Clever. I admire you, Greek.” She studied him for a moment and Cimon waited for her next comment. “Do you want to stay? I have no other business, so I have time for you.”

  Cimon shrugged. With an offer like that he couldn’t refuse. “If it’s no trouble; I could find somewhere else to sleep?”

  “No.” She dismissed the idea immediately. “I have missed sex with you. You are very pleasurable.”

  Cimon almost laughed outright. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Good. Finish your wine,” she commanded. “It’s too expensive to waste.” He smiled and did as instructed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was so cold, her hips were playing up again despite Goodman giving her some healing before the worst of the snow had come. Mutta eased herself onto the bed and sighed. Inga watched her anxiously.

  “Do you want me to make some camomile water?”

  Mutta shook her head. “No, save it. I’ll be fine. This weather can’t go on.” She sighed and looked around the room. It had been snowing for ages now and it was so heavy and thick that for the last three days they hadn’t been able to open the gate of the village and had become virtual prisoners. Tensions were high and nerves were frayed, but at least they had plenty of food. Goodman, true to his word, made sure of that. Somehow, despite the weather he’d still been able to keep providing food for them, though the quality had gone down as the animals themselves had suffered in the extreme conditions.

  Inga tilted her head and listened. “I think Goodman’s dropped some more food off. Shall I go and look?” Mutta nodded and Inga pulled on her outdoor cloak and disappeared through the door.

  Mutta leant back against the wall. What was she going to do with Inga? The girl was desperately in love with the seizer, it had progressed from a young girl’s infatuation into something much stronger and it was clearly reciprocated. Though, to be fair, Goodman kept a discreet distance, despite the girl’s unconscious best efforts. She’d spied them together days before the snow had come, innocently talking close to the waterfall, but what she’d seen had confirmed her suspicions. Their auras flowed into one another’s as friends’ colours did, but in places where he’d human strains in his whiteness, their colour merged and seeped in together indicating the desire in both of them. She suspected that it was only Goodman’s restraint that stopped anything happening.

  And what was so wrong if they were together? She’d chosen to abstain from family life, but other herb women hadn’t and had families of their own. So was it so wrong if Inga took a lover? No, that wasn’t what was worrying her; it was the fact that having a seizer as her companion was pushing things too far.

  Inga burst back in, bringing the cold air with her. Quickly, she closed the door seeing Mutta’s annoyed expression. She was full of news as usual.

  “It’s another stag. There’s still some meat on him as well. But Helmut’s concerned that we can’t thank him because we can’t get out. He’s worried he might stop.”

  Mutta frowned. “I hope you told him it’s all right? The man knows we can’t get any honey cakes to him in this weather.”

  “Yes, but I think he needs to hear it from you,” she explained sheepishly.

  “Stupid man!” Mutta declared. “You’re the one with the link to Goodman. If anyone knows, you’ll know. I’ll assure him later, but not now. He can wait,” she muttered and settled back on the bed. Stupid men, she thought, always making complications when there weren’t any.

  ***

  Finally the door was open and the snow was melting. It ran in small torrents down the mountains making the rivers and streams rush with renewed ferocity. It was still cold and chilly, but there was a definite thaw in the air. The hunters went out first looking for recent tracks of animals and to see if the ways were passable yet for the rest of the villagers.

  Once they had given their permission, Inga went out. With the energy of pent-up frustration, she raced up the slope and into the tree line. The going was slow and wet but at least she was outside in the fresh air, such a welcome relief after the confines of the village and the annoying people. The world was still white with only a few patches of brown and hardly any green, but it was beautiful despite being cold and wet.

  There up ahead standing on the slope in his usual black, was Goodman. Sh
e grinned with delight and made her way towards him through the melting snow, slipping and sliding as she went.

  “How did you know I was coming?” she shouted to him as she got closer. Gracefully, he bounded down the slope to meet her on the flat. He smiled.

  “I’ve been watching. They’ve been over-cautious, you could have come out days ago. How are you?” he asked looking at her carefully.

  She smiled and wrapped him in a big hug, then she stood back, grinning. “I’ve missed you. It’s been so boring shut up in there. It could’ve been worse though; thank you for the food.”

  “Was it enough?”

  She nodded vigorously. “We were fine, more than enough. Oh, you’ll get your honey cakes later, is that all right?” He made a face, but she laughed and struck his arm playfully. “We don’t have the ingredients. It’ll be something to look forward to. Oh, Mutta wants to know if you managed to help the others as well.”

  He nodded. “Assure her all of them were given as much as you were.”

  “Phew, she’s been worried about that; she didn’t want Talaka moaning about favouritism.” She stopped and studied his face. He stared back, slightly baffled by her scrutiny. “You need to feed, don’t you? I can see it on your face, your lips are pale, and the skin around your eyes is thinner. I know the signs now.”

  He brushed it aside. “It’s all right, Inga, I can manage another moon, then I’ll go.” He looked away, uncomfortable at her concern.

  “You don’t have to go so soon normally. Was it the extra food you had to get?” she persevered, refusing to give up the topic.

  “It’s fine, Inga.” He was agitated and anxious to drop the subject. “What’s the bag for?”

  Inga pursed her lips, but knew when to stop. “Mutta wants some snow flowers, have you seen any?”

  Cimon smiled and held out his hand for her to take. “Yes, but you’ll need help to get there.”

  They covered the ground slowly, but eventually made it to another level stretch of land covered with skeletal beech trees. Inga could see several clusters of the white flowers up a steep slope.

  “So many, I didn’t think they’d be ready yet.” She looked to see how she could best approach the flowers.

  “You’ve been locked up and spring’s already come in some places.”

  It was a cheering sight, but the journey to the flowers had made them both breathless, and Inga had never seen Goodman out of breath before.

  She moved to stand in front of him and peered up. He stared at her clearly confused, but before he could ask, she spoke.

  “You need to feed. Take some from me, I’m not afraid. Thanks to you, I’ve eaten well and I’m healthy. I can spare it.” She placed her hand on his chest and waited for his response. He regarded her intently, but remained quiet, only a small muscle in his cheek moved to betray his tension. “Please, I want to help,” Inga urged quietly.

  After a moment a look came into his eyes and something crossed his face that took her breath away. He moved closer, continuing to stare at her with frightening intensity, then, slowly he lifted his hand, so that it cupped her cheek. She gazed back; determined to show that she wasn’t scared and that she trusted him implicitly. Silently, he lowered his head so that their lips were almost touching, and she felt his fingers tremble and his thumb begin to gently caress her cheek, as if searching for something. She gasped, when he applied the unexpected pressure below her cheekbone, and despite her confidence, she felt a flash of fear, which sent shivers down her spine. For the briefest moment she felt his lips brush hers and then they were gone.

  Abruptly he stepped away, dropping his hand. “Thank you, but no.”

  “Why not?” she burst out, in a mixture of frustration and relief. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been anything like that. Goodman had turned away from her, looking up the slope at the flowers.

  “Because, Inga, sometimes a little leads to lots. If you don’t have any, you don’t miss it as much. Once you take something, the need wakes up and you want more. You must know that?” he told her turning back to look at her.

  She could see his point and the agitation of his body language. “Well, if you change your mind, the offer…”

  “I won’t,” he snapped. She bit her lip and looked down. He was immediately contrite. “Sorry, Inga. Thank you, it’s thoughtful of you, but it’s best if I don’t. Please understand.” She nodded, but didn’t look up. “Shall I get these flowers for you? It’s easier for me. How many do you want?” he asked anxious to change the subject and move on.

  “Only three, thank you. If you get that, I’ll get the bark Mutta wants as well,” Inga answered looking around the white and snowy wood to avoid meeting his eyes.

  “What does she need bark for?” he asked and Inga finally looked up. “I found it in the scrolls; powdered it relieves indigestion.” She had the satisfaction of seeing him look surprised and impressed.

  She was rather ineffectually still picking at some bark when Goodman arrived to see how she was doing and to let her examine the flowers he’d found for her.

  For a few moments he watched as she picked at the tree, then gently whispered, “Let me, I have a knife.” Inga stopped her unproductive efforts and waited as he removed the blade from his belt. “This is too low,” he told her. “The deer will find it and tear more and possibly the tree will die. It’s best to take it from here.” He reached up to a place just above her head and with the knife cut a small flap in the bark, then carefully pulled it off and handed it to her. She was impressed and studied the strip before dropping it into her bag. When she looked up, he was gently breathing onto the raw wound in the tree.

  “What’re you doing?” Goodman finished his ministrations to the tree before answering. When he turned to her he looked a little bashful.

  “Healing it,” he admitted. “I thought that if I could heal animals, maybe I could heal plants as well.” He turned back to the tree. “I think I have,” he told her with a note of surprised satisfaction in his voice. Inga took a step closer and studied the hole in the tree. It did appear to be less raw and no sap was forming. “It’ll take time to fully heal, but it’s on the way.” He beamed, delighted by his newfound ability.

  On the way back he held her hand as they made their way slipping and sliding to the first line of the trees. She nearly fell several times, but Goodman held her securely and caught her on each occasion. They stopped at the edge of the forest.

  “Will you be all right from here?” he asked

  She shrugged. “I promise to be careful and I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

  “It was a kind offer, but I shouldn’t have been tempted.” Inga was about to protest, but he held up his hand. “Go home and get warm, Inga, that’s an order.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Goodman.” She stopped. “I feel silly calling you that, what’s your real name? We’ve known each other long enough to know each other’s names. You know mine.”

  To her surprise his face darkened. “Inga, names can be worn and discarded like clothes. To you and your people, I’m Goodman and I’ll happily answer to that. What others call me doesn’t matter; I’m a different person to them.”

  “But,” she couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. “What was the name you were originally given? The name of the shepherd?”

  He remained impassive and unmoved. “That man’s gone, so his name no longer matters. To you, I’m Goodman.”

  Inga realised that he wasn’t going to say, but she had another question. “Were you Roman?”

  He relaxed a little then. “No, I wasn’t Roman, though this body was born in Greece when it was already under Roman rule. The other soul was Greek as well, but long before the empire. Now, Inga, that’s enough questions and plenty of information. The past doesn’t matter, you have to look forward. Go home, before you get ill.”

  “Will you be around tomorrow?” she asked after a few cautious steps.

  “Onl
y if you promise not to ask questions!” he answered, smiling.

  ***

  Mutta was sweeping out the little cottage when Inga burst through the door, full of news.

  “I’ve got them,” she declared happily. “And I spoke to Goodman, he’s all right and he has been getting food for the others. So don’t worry.” Mutta took the bag from Inga and inspected the contents. “But I think it costs him, Mutta. He was looking pale and hungry, as if he needs the essence or whatever it is. I offered him some from me, but he refused.”

  At that Mutta scowled at her. “I should think he did. What on earth were you thinking?”

  Inga stood her ground. “He was in need, but he said that a little would trigger a real hunger, so he wouldn’t. He became quite tetchy about it.” Mutta shook her head, thankful for the seizer’s unending restraint.

  “He’s right. You don’t make things easy for him, do you?” Inga had the courtesy to look ashamed.

  She perked up after a minute. “He healed the tree this was taken from,” she told Mutta pointing to the bark. “Oh, and though he wouldn’t tell me his name, he did tell me that he was Greek. He said that…” Inga continued chattering, but Mutta felt something click into place. Something she’d been missing, but which had been niggling away at the back of her mind. She let Inga continue, but after a while, she held her hand up, and immediately the girl stopped.

  “I have to talk with Helmut. Can you grind the bark?” Inga nodded, surprised at Mutta’s sudden departure.

  Mutta made her way outside and took a deep breath. It all made sense now. All of it. Why he’d come here to this valley, which was so far from his own home, his interest in Inga and why they had such a strong bond. It also explained why the girl could summon and feel his return with such a basic hex. And of course she’d spoken so powerfully about his wife’s forgiveness, and then had promptly forgotten she’d done it. Even the dreams she’d had since a child, all of it fitted into place now.

  The girl’s connection to her past life was unbroken, Inga had to be that poor unfortunate woman, who he’d been forced to hurt but still loved so dearly.

  He’d hidden it and kept his secret well, but he’d finally made one mistake. When she’d told him the name that Inga had kept repeating in her dreams, his colours had flared, which was a sign he was familiar with it and he’d told her it was Greek and he knew the language. At the time, she’d taken it as simple recognition, but it wasn’t, it was his name. Mutta smiled ruefully; that was why he wouldn’t tell Inga his name. So what, she wondered, was holding him back? Why didn’t he tell her who he was? That part didn’t make sense to her. She would have to speak with him and find out his intentions where Inga was concerned. With these thoughts reeling inside her mind she stomped off to find the village leader.