Thorne and Miranda: A Tale of Roman Brittania

Plans and Precautions

"Tomorrow is the Sabbath," Miranda told her maids the next morning. "We must prepare for the Gathering. Chloe, will you please take my regrets to Maxine? I find it unwise to venture from the house today." She paused, ignoring the significant glance that passed between Thorne and Mara, though she knew what it was about. Miranda was sparing Thorne's feet from another, unprotected journey.

"And Chloe," Miranda continued thoughtfully. "Please let Maxine know that the threat we spoke of is my own." She didn't want to frighten her friends into locking themselves away too.

"Milady, you must not insulate yourself from those who care about you," Thorne murmured. "It would only make it easier . . ."

"I cannot chatter on about nothing and pretend all is well when it is not," Miranda interrupted him. "I have been the subject of enough laughter over this matter as it is. Perhaps I will join them another time, but not today." Miranda's tone was firm, but she was pleading with her eyes when she looked at him. Thorne seemed to realize that she wasn't ready to put on a brave face.

He nodded his understanding. "As you wish, Milady," he murmured, as if accepting chastisement.

Julia sighed theatrically. "So now we must have him with us the whole day? Is this not the hall of women?" It was an old complaint, delivered in such a way as to be a joke. Miranda was impatient but she couldn't call out the slave without appearing petty.

Thorne raised his voice to a ridiculous falsetto. "Would it help to speak this way?" he asked, making the women laugh. "I could wear a wig to go with the dress I sport." Even Miranda had to laugh at that. She'd almost forgotten the leggings he'd arrived in. Surely a tunic must seem like a dress to him.

"You also had a woman's long hair when you came to us," she reminded him. "But we cut it because . . ."

He interrupted. "I know, I know, against the lice." He sighed mournfully. "I still feel bald. It will take ages for it to grow again to a proper length."

"Because it was so badly tangled," Miranda finished, still laughing.

"We all had our hair shorn when we arrived," Delia informed him through her laughter. "Why should you be any different, Escort?"

Thorne eyed the woman dubiously. Her hair was up in a bun, but it would brush the middle of her back if released. "You? Bald, Delia? I could never imagine!"

"As bald as you were," Julia put in. "I myself shaved it for her."

"You shaved mine as well," Mara reminded her. "And I was glad to be rid of the lice, too." She glanced at Thorne. "I came over on a ship that was crawling with them," the young woman explained. "I never want to feel vermin crawling on me again." She shuddered.

"I will take your word for it," Thorne smiled at her. "I have never had such an experience."

"And please God you never will," Mara retorted. "I didn't sleep for days, feeling them in my hair and down my clothing. Even fleas jump off eventually!"

Delia eyed Mara as if inspecting wares at the market. "You speak as a Christian, Mara. Have you forsaken your gods entirely then?"

"I have," acknowledged Mara calmly. "The gods my father worshiped demanded fealty. We sacrificed our slaves and our beasts regularly to satisfy them, all the while afraid of their disfavor for they are thought to be fickle in their affections. The God I worship now has made the sacrifice already out of love for us and demands no other. He bids us love each other and to love Him. Why would I serve the angry, fickle gods of my father when I might have such a God as that?"

"Still," Delia shrugged. "It seems odd to have only one god when there are so many to choose from. We will miss you on our walks."

"You could join us," offered Mara. "We would welcome you."