“No, Tribunus,” she lied.
I chuckled again and once more winced as the skin of my side pulled against the rough stitching holding me together. Every movement seemed to bring more pain throughout my body though the injury was only in my side.
“You shouldn’t speak,” Aia said. She placed her hand on my bare chest to still me. “You must save your strength so you can heal and return to battle quickly.”
This time I restrained my laughter. She was a sly one; I could see that. She knew exactly what words I would want to hear to encourage me to do as she said. I continued to stare at her, and her blush returned.
“You speak, then,” I said. “Tell me of yourself.”
“There is little to tell,” she replied with a shrug.
I narrowed my eyes, reached over, and grabbed her hand in mine.
“Do you want me to be quiet and still?” I asked harshly.
“Yes, Tribunus.” Her eyes went wide as she answered me.
I swallowed once, knowing that anger—like laughter—was likely to cause more pain.
“Then tell me of yourself,” I commanded. “And since you are staring at me nearly cock-out, you may refer to me as Faustus.”
I was rewarded with another blush from the beautiful girl. It turned her skin such a lovely color, and with my anger forgotten, I began to consider other ways to bring about the same reaction.
She started to sit back on the bench, but I kept my grip on her hand so she couldn’t move from my side. When she leaned forward again, I laced my fingers between hers and held her hand to my chest. Her fingers were warm and soft on my flesh.
“I assist Sergius, the doctor, whenever he needs it,” she said in her soft voice. She stared at our hands clasped against my skin.
“So I have gathered.” I looked down to our entwined hands and noticed some of the blood from my skin had transferred to hers.
“I’ve learned much from him.”
“Such as?” I rubbed my thumb along the edge of her hand, wiping away the red streak.
“How to know when a wound is infected,” she said, “and what to put on it to help it heal. He’s shown me which herbs are good for helping with pain and those that are good for keeping a person healthy.”
“Do you treat many Roman soldiers here?”
“Yes,” she said. “I thought you were going to remain quiet, Tribunus.”
“I thought you were going to call me Faustus.”
“Apologies,” she replied. “Faustus.”
I liked the sound of my name on her lips and fought against the desire to have her call me Lucius. It would have been most improper for a slave to address me in such a way, but the desire to hear my first name spoken with her voice remained.
“You talk,” I said. “I will remain quiet.”
Aia nodded and her fingers twitched in my hand.
“I don’t know where else to begin,” she started, “so I will begin with what I first remember. My earliest memories were of a small house near a wheat farm. There was a terrible drought, and though I didn’t know what it meant at the time, the crops were failing, and my father was very worried. By the autumn harvest, there was little to gather in the fields. I remember a young man who served my father being given to an old man, who lived in a villa on top of the hill, in order to help pay for the things my mother and I needed.”
“The next spring, I woke to hear my mother and father arguing. I didn’t understand most of what was said, but I remember my mother crying and holding me tightly. Later that night, the breadmaker from the market came to the house, and I was taken away."
“You were sold to cover your father’s debts?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“That defies Roman law,” I growled.