‘Not now, dear,’ said Aurelia. Spotting Agesandros’ foot tapping, irritation took her. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘Eh?’ His face was a blank.
‘You seem impatient. Are we in any danger?’
His eyes flickered over the passers-by, came back to her. ‘No.’
Since he had slain Suni before her very eyes, Aurelia had feared Agesandros. She was still capable of interrogating him. ‘Something’s going on. What is it?’
His mask dropped for an instant; Aurelia saw the fear in his eyes.
She didn’t like it one little bit. Since Cannae, their life had achieved some kind of stability. True, she didn’t see her husband much, and Quintus and his best friend Gaius not at all, but Publius kept her busy. Life trundled by without daily trauma. No one dear to her had been hurt, or died. ‘Agesandros. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘It’s your mother,’ he said reluctantly. ‘She’s not well.’
‘I saw her a week ago,’ protested Aurelia. There had been mention of a few nights’ poor sleep, and that she had lost a little weight, but what woman complained about that? The first was the norm, and the second was always to be desired. ‘She was fine then.’
‘Sau-sage, Mama,’ said Publius, scuttling away from her towards the counter. ‘Sau-sage!’
Darting in pursuit of her son, Aurelia missed Agesandros’ reply. She retrieved a grinning Publius, who had been handed half a sausage by the jovial woman serving at the counter, and returned. ‘Well?’
He wouldn’t look at her. ‘She’s been vomiting a lot. Complaining of a pain in her belly.’
‘Something she ate, surely?’
‘I doubt it. I’ve eaten everything she has, and I am fine.’ He glanced up the street. ‘Can we go?’
Aurelia scooped up Publius and followed Agesandros. She’d seen the look in Elira’s eyes when he’d mentioned eating Atia’s food, so it wasn’t just her who had imagined the worst. ‘Is Mother worried about being poisoned?’ People’s heads turned at the mention of the word ‘poison’, but she didn’t care.
‘Not at all. It’s a coincidence that we had shared the same dishes.’
Not the food then. Her mother only ever drank water from a spring, so it wasn’t that either, Aurelia decided. ‘Has a surgeon attended her?’
‘This morning. His visit is the reason that I came to fetch you.’
Real worry began to gnaw at her. ‘Why? What did he discover?’ Agesandros didn’t answer, and Aurelia increased her stride to catch up with him. Publius bounced up and down, gurgling with delight at what he thought was a race. ‘Agesandros. What did he say?’
He regarded her dispassionately. ‘Your mother ordered me not to talk about it. She wants to tell you herself.’
‘I see.’ Aurelia’s lips set in a thin line, but inside she had begun to panic. This kind of behaviour from her mother was unheard of. She took a deep breath, bestowed a warm smile on Publius. ‘We’ll see Granny soon, my darling!’ To Agesandros, she said, ‘Let us get there quickly.’
Apart from Publius, they made the rest of the journey in grim silence.
Atia sat up in the bed as Aurelia opened the door and made an effort to smooth down the rumpled bedclothes. ‘Aurelia. Publius! How’s my little soldier?’
‘G-anny! G-anny!’ Publius hurled himself on to the bed and into Atia’s embrace.
Aurelia gazed approvingly at the reunion, but she was struggling to conceal her shock. To find her mother abed at this hour was unusual enough, but in a darkened room, and looking like this? In the seven days since Aurelia had last seen her, Atia had aged a decade or more. The poor light could not conceal her grey complexion, nor the fact that her sharply delineated cheekbones were bare of their usual dusting of ochre. Her black hair, normally held up and behind her head, hung in limp tresses on either side of her haggard face. ‘How are you, Mother?’ she said, hating the stupidity of the question.
A wan smile. ‘I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse. It will pass, with the help of the gods.’ Atia stroked Publius’ head. ‘Would you like a sweet pastry, my little soldier?’
‘Yes! Yes!’
‘Run along to the kitchen then. Ask the cook if he has anything for you.’
Aurelia let a beaming Publius push past her before moving entirely into her mother’s bedchamber. Her nose twitched with distaste. ‘It’s so stuffy. When was the last time you aired the place? It can’t be healthy for you to be stuck in here all hours of the day. Come out to the courtyard. It’s a lovely morning. Fresh air will do you good.’
Without a word, Atia lifted the blanket and swung her legs towards the floor. They too had become thin.
Suddenly, Aurelia felt old. Whether her mother realised it or not, their relationship had changed. She had become the carer, and Atia the patient. Whatever the outcome of her mother’s illness, their roles would never fully be reversed. It was a natural evolvement in the parent-child relationship, she realised, but not one she welcomed at this particular moment. She held out her hand to Atia and together they walked outside. The daylight did her mother no favours. Aurelia fought her rising concern. The bags under Atia’s eyes were as deep as craters; she stooped now rather than walked upright. It won’t be anything serious, Aurelia told herself. Mother is as strong as an ox; she’s never ill. She guided Atia carefully to the wooden bench by the step that led from the colonnaded walkway into the courtyard. The spot caught the sunshine; it was her mother’s favourite place in the house. Aurelia suspected that she thought about Fabricius here. ‘Look — the sun is still shining. It must be for you.’
‘Ah,’ whispered Atia, her eyes lighting up. ‘I have missed sitting here.’
Aesculapius be with her, prayed Aurelia. She must be as weak as a kitten not to be able to make her way this short distance alone. They sat down side by side, Atia with a sigh of relief. Publius’ shrieks of happiness could be heard from the kitchen. Overhead, a small bird trilled its optimism that winter was ending. The shouts of a mobile food vendor carried in from the street. Agesandros lingered in the courtyard, making a pretence of tending the vines, but more often than not, his gaze strayed to mother and daughter.
‘Agesandros tells me that you haven’t been feeling well.’
‘Not for a number of weeks.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ Aurelia’s guilt that she hadn’t noticed and fear for her mother came out as anger. ‘When I last saw you, you seemed fine! You mentioned losing a little weight, not sleeping that well, but it didn’t seem to be anything of concern.’
‘I didn’t think so either. I’ve had such illnesses before, when I was younger. They passed, however. This hasn’t.’
‘So you called for a surgeon.’
A weary nod.
‘Who was it?’
‘A Greek, of course. One recommended to me by Lucius some time ago.’
Aurelia felt a little relief. If the surgeon came with her husband’s approval, he wouldn’t be one of the many charlatans who preyed upon the unwell. ‘You should have had him attend you sooner,’ she scolded.
‘That’s water under the bridge. He has seen me now.’
Would she have to prise the information out with a pair of pliers? ‘So? Did he discover what ails you?’
‘He thinks so.’ A pause.
Aurelia’s impatience grew, but when her mother’s eyes lifted to hers and she saw the sadness there, utter panic took its place. ‘W-what? What did he find?’
It was as if Atia hadn’t heard her. ‘I’ve been feeling bloated much of the time, even when I haven’t eaten for many hours. Nauseous too. My skin itches for no apparent reason. Even on cold nights, I’ve been too hot; sweating as if I were in a caldarium.’
Aurelia was baffled, frustrated, scared. She wanted to shake her mother, but she reined in her fear. ‘What did the surgeon find, mother?’
Atia placed a hand on her belly. ‘During his examination, he felt something in here.’
Time stood still. Although Atia was right beside her, she seemed far away — almost as if Aurelia was at one end of a tunnel and her mother was at the other. ‘Something.’