Valley of Decision (6 page)

“Let someone take care of you for a change, Magdalena.” He exited the filthy hole beneath the arena and slid a silver coin into the soldier's open palm. “Remember, Brutus, the new proconsul will be counting on you to keep the healer alive.”

“No one listens to me much, but I swear on Jupiter's stone I'll do my best.”

“Your word is good enough for me.” Cyprian clasped him on the shoulder and then set a brisk pace for home.

The sun would be up soon. He would have to hurry to avoid an encounter with the increased number of patrols. He couldn't risk being incarcerated before he had an opportunity to retrieve the note that could save Magdalena. His boots pounded the cobblestones leading to the heart of the city.

Cyprian rounded a corner. The market was deserted. A piece of paper fluttered from a lamppost—a notice of some sort. Hungry
for the latest news, he ripped it down. Breathing hard, Cyprian held the sheaf to the moonlight. His face was sketched at the top of the page. Beneath his picture was penned a proclamation declaring Cyprianus Thascius a cursed man, with a handsome reward offered for information leading to his immediate arrest. He gulped air trying to counter the collapse of his lungs. Lisbeth had been right. Aspasius had been coming for him.

Vivid images of Lisbeth thrusting several papers into his hands upon her return from the proconsul's palace flashed in his mind. She'd brought him a stack of these posters, saying, “He lied. Aspasius lied.” Cyprian wished he'd taken a moment to read one, or at the very least understand what Lisbeth had been trying to tell him.

Cyprian slowed his racing thoughts in an effort to sort through the chaos of those last frantic moments with his wife. An expensive piece of paper had been stuck in with the cheap posters. What had he done with it? He'd been so intent on saving the lives of his family that he'd failed to notice Magdalena's note or the blood that must have covered Lisbeth's tunic from helping her mother perform surgery. Bloody evidence that would have landed his beloved wife in prison right alongside her mother had he not sent her back to her time.

Magdalena's sacrifice in all of this was not lost on him. That dear woman had stayed behind so Lisbeth could escape the palace. The cost had been great, and yet when Cyprian told her he hadn't seen the note, he'd felt nothing but peace in her presence. If there was a note, some kind of deathbed proclamation signed by Aspasius, it might negate Cyprian's trouble with the law and make it possible for him to help Magdalena. But where was it?

Trudging up the broad avenue that led to his home, Cyprian noticed someone sitting by his front gate. His steps stuttered to a stop. Had a guard been posted to watch for him? He squinted.
No. Too small to be a soldier.
Who then? The predawn light made it impossible
to identify this trespasser with any certainty. Firm hand on the dagger tucked in his sash, Cyprian advanced cautiously. As he neared, the sobs of a woman reached his ears. A young woman. Face buried in her hands. Blond curls spilled out from under her scarf. Probably a plague victim disappointed to learn his deserted home was no longer a place of refuge and healing. How he wished Lisbeth were here to handle this situation.

Cyprian released his dagger. Weariness weighted his advance and made his approach less than stealthy, but the girl seemed too distraught to notice the scuff of his boots. He stopped a few paces from her and called out cautiously, “Hello?”

Her head shot up. “Who's there?”

“Easy.” He raised his hands and tried to speak in a soothing tone. “Are you hurt, woman?”

“Daddy?”

Cyprian gave a slight shake of his head. “Has fever addled your thinking?” He hated the suspicion his choices had seeded in his soul, but with his face plastered all over town this could be a trap. “There's no help to be found here.”

“Daddy!” She scrambled to her feet. “It's me. Maggie.” She threw her arms around his neck.

“Woman, please.” He peeled her loose.

She stepped back. “Aren't you glad to see me?”

He'd just put his child down the time portal a few hours ago. This fully grown woman was not his little girl. Yet her greeting was strangely reminiscent of the small girl who'd burst in a few weeks ago and changed his life with those very same words. A daughter he didn't even know he'd had. He'd mishandled the whole ordeal. What he wouldn't give to take back the pain his reluctance had inflicted upon everyone.

“Maggie?” Cyprian wished for better lighting. “How can this be?”

“Don't freak out.”

“Freak out?”

“You know, like, go crazy. Mom does it every time things don't go according to her plan.”

“Maggie?” He repeated her name slowly, choosing his next words carefully. “How did you get here?” He really wanted to ask,
How have you aged ten years in the blink of an eye?

“It's a bizarre combination of luck and physics—which I'm really hoping you don't make me explain, because that's one thing Mom
is
right about. Math and science aren't my strong suits.”

“But you're all grown up.”

“I wish Mom could hear you say that. She still thinks I'm a kid who needs full-time supervision.” She crammed her balled fists onto her slender hips, an action that mimicked the five-year-old who used to stomp around the gardener's cottage in Ruth's heels.

“You should have seen her when she took me to college. All of the other mothers helped their daughters unpack, and then they left.” She hoisted a bag that looked similar to the one Lisbeth had had on her last visit. “Not Mom. She stayed the
entire
weekend. Insisted that she and G-Pa get a hotel room, so they could help me find a church on Sunday, like she didn't trust me to go on my own.” She grabbed a quick breath and continued, “I know this sounds bad, but I chose a college on the other side of the country because she hovers so much I can't breathe.”

G-Pa.
Only one person used that term. But how could Maggie possibly be here now? And perfectly healthy. In the time it had taken him to run from the well to his villa, send the rest of his family to safety, and then visit Magdalena in prison, his little daughter had recovered from typhoid and matured into a beautiful young woman. This was a miracle he would never have believed if Maggie and her mother hadn't reappeared out of thin air just weeks ago.

Wild heartbeats thrashed Cyprian's ears. Maggie's return
meant Lisbeth wouldn't be far behind. He couldn't contain his smile. “Where's your mother?” His gaze searched the empty street behind Maggie.

Maggie shook her head. “She's not coming.”

“She let you travel the portal without her?” His raised voice roused the neighbor's dog. “Why would she allow you to face such danger alone?”

A flame flickered to life in the house across the street. Cyprian took Maggie by the elbow. “We can't stay out here.” He led her inside and bolted the door. “Don't move.” When he returned with a lit lamp she was holding a small pink box in front of her face. Light flashed, and for a second he couldn't see anything. “What is that?”

“Camera phone.” She clicked a button, and the light flashed again. She held out the box. “See? It's a picture. Of you.” Her finger traced his captured image. “It was getting harder to remember what you looked like.” She slid the box into her bag. “Need to save the battery.”

Cyprian's eyes and ears told him what his heart already knew. This woman
was
Maggie. Even more disconcerting: she'd somehow managed to find her way to his door. If she could locate him so easily, so could anyone else who'd seen him at the prison or happened to gaze upon those blasted posters.

“Maggie.” Hands trembling, Cyprian reached for a rogue curl that had fallen across her face. “What were you thinking, coming here again?”

Her round eyes filled with hope. “That my father needed me.”

It was his need to save his child that had sent him rushing to the portal with her feverish body less than twenty-four hours ago. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that a glimpse of his grown daughter would increase his protective desires tenfold. “You can't stay here.”

“Who's going to help you clean this up? Barek?” She looked around the room. “Where is he?”

“Safe for now.”

“What about Uncle Larry, and Junia, and—”

“All are safe.”

She released a jagged sigh. “Good. I was afraid . . . well, the door was open, so I came in earlier. No one was here, but I could see something awful had happened while I was away.” Tears rimmed her lashes. “It scared me. I thought I was too late and that everybody I loved had, you know . . . died.”

Cyprian clasped her shoulders. “Listen to me. It's very dangerous here, Maggie. You can't stay.”

“I may have been just a kid, but I remember a lot.” She wiped the wet trails from her cheeks. “I Googled third-century Carthage. Things are going to get worse. That's why I came for you, Daddy.”

For a moment, Cyprian let himself feel a rush of fatherly pride. Maggie had grown into a young woman every bit as stubborn and courageous as her mother. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “In a perfect world, we could all be together, but I'm going to have to send you back to your mother.”

She jerked her hand free. “There's only one way to keep Mom from killing me when I get home, and that's to have you with me.”

Cyprian's blood ran through the veins of this exquisite creature, and yet he'd missed so much of her life. How could he bear to miss a minute more? “That can't happen, Maggie.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because God has called me to
this
place and
this
time.”

“I swear, you sound just like Mom.”

“Your mother's a wise woman.”

“If she's so smart, why didn't she make you come with us? She knew what was going to happen.”

“I chose to stay.” He could see his admission was a verbal slap to her face, for she took a step back.

“Why would you do that?”

“God has called me to do what I can for the people of Carthage. Your mother didn't like it, but she understood.” He couldn't bear the disappointment swimming in his daughter's eyes. “As soon as I find what I came for tonight, I'm marching you right back to that well.”

“If you've got everyone else stashed someplace safe, then why can't I stay with them? Please.”

“Your grandmother doesn't have time for me to stand here and argue with you.”

“What's happened to Jaddah?”

Cyprian instantly regretted his slip. “Right after I sent you and your mother home, I found out Aspasius was dead.”

“Aspasius?” She wrinkled her nose. “The guy who sent you away and carved up my Jaddah's face?”

“Yes.”

“If he's dead, doesn't that mean you're safe now?”

Cyprian scowled. “No.” He hesitated, not sure how much to tell her. “Your grandmother has been accused of his murder. I am going to defend her.”

Maggie's mouth fell open. “My Jaddah saves lives. She wouldn't know how to take one.” She hoisted the strap of her bag to her shoulder. “Where is she?”

“Prison.”

“Then we'll have to bust her out and then—”

“Not
we
,” Cyprian said. “Defending Magdalena will require me to present myself before any enemies I still have in Carthage. I can't do my best job for your grandmother if I'm worrying about you.”

“I can help.”

He shook his head.

Maggie crossed her arms. “Well, I'm not letting you do this alone. You can push me down that hole, but I'll just come right back.” Her lips were pursed, and she lifted her chin in defiance.

“You are your mother's daughter.”

“Funny, whenever I stand up for myself she says I'm just like you,” she countered.

“My house is not safe.”

“You're here.”

“I only risked coming back to get a piece of paper that will prove your grandmother's innocence.”

“You're going to need help to find it in this mess.” Maggie lowered her bag.

“Maggie—”

“Light another lamp. I'll search the hall where Mom kept the typhoid patients.” She shrugged off his protest. “The doctor promised my shots would be a lot more effective this time.”

Before Cyprian could stop her, she disappeared down the hall. Maggie returned a few moments later, paper in hand and a big smile on her face. “See. You need me.” She held the paper to the light. “You won't believe what my Jaddah got Aspasius to agree to.”

“You can read Latin?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously you've never met my grandfather.”

Cyprian held out his hand. “Give me the note.”

“I'll make you a deal.” Maggie whipped her hand behind her back. “I'll give you the note, we save my grandmother, and then you come home with us.”

“Absolutely not.” He didn't have time for a standoff and from the set of her shoulders she was prepared to dig in. He let out an exhausted sigh. “I'll let you say good-bye to everyone.”

“It's better than nothing.” She slowly held out the note.

He'd won. Why didn't he feel relieved? Because this was the same girl who'd agreed to let him work out the logistics of retrieving a doll from the slums, then took matters into her own hands. If the stubborn child he'd known a few hours ago had simply grown taller and even more beautiful, this wasn't over. He tucked the note into his pocket. Voices outside snapped their heads toward the door. “Quick. The lamp.” He clamped her arm.

“My bag.”

“Hush.” He dragged her out the back door.

C
LOAKED IN THE SAFETY
of a predawn fog, Barek padded barefoot along the private fishing pier of Titus Cicero. The salty air weighed as heavily as his new responsibilities. If Cyprian's visit to Magdalena's prison resulted in Cyprian's arrest, the care and protection of Laurentius, Junia, and Naomi would fall to him. He would labor to keep them housed and fed. If it took the rest of his life, he would work to earn their trust.