The Palatine Hill, Roma Mater
"You stay away from her! Ow! Leave me… get off! Ow!"
Thyatis woke to the sound of a scuffle-someone was growling and shouting-and her eyes opened slowly. There was a beamed roof, dark wood against white plaster, overhead. Sharp words hung in the air like smoke. She blinked, realizing that her back and side were stiff with pain. A soft hiss escaped gritted teeth. The mule kicked me again? she thought curiously. Who is making that racket?
"Papa, help! Yeee-owch!"
Bracing for more pain, Thyatis turned her head and saw little Ila on the floor, her face pressed into glazed tile, one arm wrenched behind her back. A blond girl-a name trickled up from hazy, wobbly memory-Betia-was holding her down, knee pressed into Ila's back. Thyatis tried to grin, but that was painful and she realized that her face was throbbing and raw. Despite ferocious efforts on Ila's part, the Island-trained girl was easily restraining her.
"Let her up," Thyatis said, her words echoed by another's voice. Anastasia was standing in the doorway, her face a white oval in a sea of black cloak, chiton and stole. "Mouse, come here."
Looking smug, Betia let go and Ila, scowling furiously, retreated to the bed, legs planted firmly, her little brown body squarely between Thyatis and these invaders. Thyatis curled an arm around Ila, making her sit. Betia faded into the shadows by the door, smirking, and the Duchess slowly unwound her stole and veil.
"May I come in?" The older woman's voice was quiet and a little sad. Thyatis saw that she had dispensed with her usual powders and creams, leaving dark circles under her eyes and knife-thin wrinkles around her mouth. She seemed very old and careworn. Even her movements seemed slow, as if her limbs were heavy. Despite this, something in her face seemed hopeful.
"Where am I?" Thyatis gave Ila a squeeze and felt the little girl's fingers wrap around her own.
"You are in the Palatine," Anastasia said. "Empress Helena is hiding us until the trouble in the city dies down."
"There's riots," Ila muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "They thought you were murdered by the Greens."
"I was…" Memory was a jumble of scenes and sensations. There was a momentary flash of brilliant pain. "I was shot from behind… an arrow as we came out of the turn?"
"Yes." Anastasia looked down at the floor. "One of… my archers shot you by mistake, trying to hit that accursed African."
Thyatis made a choking sound, then half crushed Ila trying to draw breath. The horse girl pounded her vigorously on the back and finally Thyatis was able to look up, tears streaming from her eyes. "I was shot with an arrow by accident?"
Anastasia nodded, her violet eyes smudged and pale. "I'm sorry."
Thyatis, exhausted by the coughing, lay back on the heavy pillows. "What do you want?"
"May I come in?"
Thyatis gestured weakly, and Anastasia came to the other side of the bed. Ila stiffened, then turned her back, pointedly, on the older woman. Betia remained, almost invisible, in the shadows by the door. Ila contented herself with glaring at the maid. The Duchess sat, fingers clutching a corner of the quilt.
"You'll be well," Anastasia said, trying to smile. "Helena's doctors are very good. They knitted up your ribs and drew down the swelling. Tomorrow, or the day after, you'll be up and around."
"And then?" Thyatis watched her patron curiously. She was too tired-drained, really-to muster anger. The Duchess seemed to have grown more solid, now that Thyatis looked at her closely. The glorious hair, the dazzling jewels and ornaments were gone, even her flashing eyes were dimmed. Lying in this quiet room, somewhere in the sprawl of the palace, Thyatis realized that Anastasia was just a woman, like herself, neither wiser nor more clever. Merely herself-tired, worn, disconsolate-and, perhaps for the first time, honest. How strange, she thought, once I was more frightened of her than any man with a sword.
"You can go where you please," Anastasia said, unable to meet the younger woman's eyes. "You are free of the arena, and free of Narses, and free of me."
The pale shadow of a grin lit Thyatis' eyes. Her right hand held Ila close. "What about the dreadful Prince? Don't you need me to hunt him down? To murder him?"
"No." The Duchess' hand was plucking at the quilt, folding an edge over, then unfolding it, then folding the fabric again. "My spies cannot find him. He has vanished. Narses too, though he might have been killed in the riots."
"Are you going to stop looking?" Thyatis' eyes narrowed in puzzlement.
"Yes. What could I do if I found him? He is beyond my power."
Thyatis took Anastasia's hand in hers. The Duchess' fingers felt cold and frail.
"You're tired," Thyatis said. "You should rest."
Anastasia nodded, closing her hand over Thyatis'. "I will. I will. Soon."
"Now," Thyatis said, weariness leaching into her voice. "We'll both lie down and rest for a little while, and these two"-the younger woman motioned with her head at Ila and Betia-"will watch over us while we sleep."
"That sounds nice." Anastasia's voice was faint. Her hand felt light in Thyatis' grip, as if the woman had been reduced to shadows and air. "Sleep now, dear."
"I will." Thyatis closed her eyes, smiling. "You too, Momma."
Anastasia stood slowly, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She turned the edge of the coverlet over Thyatis' hands, hiding the thin glassy web of scars. Then she bent down and kissed Thyatis' cheek. The younger woman was already snoring softly.
Ila watched the Duchess go out with a narrow-eyed glare, but when the two invaders were gone, she curled up on the side of the bed and closed her eyes. Thyatis' muscular arm, browned by the sun, webbed with old cuts and bruises, held her close.
After a moment, the little girl's eyes opened, anger replaced by mournful sadness. "I never got to ride my horses. Dumb rules…"