Journey of the Pearl. A. E. Smith
is it?” Adas was excited that she had a gift for him.
“It is a speculum cuprinus, and I’m giving it you.” She handed him the polished copper mirror. “For generations my family has passed this mirror from father to daughter, and mother to son. Some say the first owner gave the mirror to her eldest son because he was very handsome, but he had a mole on the side of his face. She wanted him to remember he was not perfect and to embrace humility. With humility comes wisdom.”
“What does humility mean, Mother?”
Marsetina knelt on her knees and re-laced his sandals. “Even though this is a job for a slave, I do this for you out of humility, Adas. There is no love more powerful than to put the needs of others before your own, even if the task is lowly.”
“Is this why Misha is my nanny? Because she has humility?”
“Yes, Misha loves humility, but she loves you more.”
“Why does she love me?”
“Because Misha has a pure heart. She loves you and me more than she loves herself. She gave up everything to be with me. More than once, she would have sacrificed her life to protect me. Only the purest of heart are willing to die for someone.”
“Did she almost die?” The thought scared Adas. “Who saved her?”
“Your Father saved both of us at great risk to himself. Your Father is the bravest man I have ever known. Never forget that, Adas. He loves both of us very much.”
“Does Father have humility, too?”
Marsetina’s eyes twinkled. “Not as much.”
“Does he have wisdom?”
“Yes, he has wisdom because he has courage. Not only did your father rescue me, he rescued my heart. If your father had not saved me, you would never have been born.” She showed him the back of the mirror. “What does it say, Adas?”
“Never relinquish your dream. What does it mean?”
“Never accept less than your goals. Don’t settle for something because it is easy.”
“What is your dream, Mother?”
“My dream now is for you to love and be loved. There is no greater treasure than those we love.”
“Is Father your treasure? Are you his treasure?”
Marsetina smiled. “You do understand.”
Adas jumped to his feet to run from the room. “I’m going to show Father my beautiful mirror.”
Marsetina’s smile vanished. “No, Adas. Don’t ever tell your father about the mirror. He won’t understand why I kept it. This is our secret. Not even Misha knows I kept it.”
Adas put the mirror back on the wall. He longed for the day his mother would meet Dulcibella and know her dream had come true. Adas studied his reflection and frowned. His four-day-old beard could not hide the evidence of violence. Under his left eye was the beginning of a purple bruise which extended across his entire cheekbone. The cut along the underside of his jaw was long and surrounded with bruising. The bandage across his forehead revealed the wound had bled in his sleep. Tentatively, he pulled the bandaging off. There was a gash above the left end of his eyebrow and across his temple. Dark purple bruising fanned away from the injury and disappeared into his hairline. He tossed the bandage in the fireplace.
Adas remembered that Valentius wanted an apology before the third hour, but it was close to noon, judging by the shadows from the window lattice. Adas pulled his ruined tunic off and threw it on the floor. He put on a fresh tunic. He found papyrus, a pen, and a clay inkpot, which was almost empty. It would have to be a short “apology.”
Five minutes later he left his quarters and crossed the quad to Valentius’s office. He knocked and Valentius called out to enter. Adas stood at attention while Valentius stamped documents with his seal ring, carefully placing each one in a neat line across the top of his desk. He would adjust a sheet, study it, and re-adjust it. Finally he blew out the sealing wax and put his ring on his hand. He scowled at Adas. “What did I tell you last night?”
“Sir, you told me you wanted a written apology on your desk before the third hour.”
“Yet here you are after the fifth, with an excuse I’m sure.”
“I have none, Sir.”
Valentius circled around his desk. “You don’t offer an excuse when I know you have a perfectly good one. Why don’t you say it? Afraid of getting my slave in trouble? How touching. Demitre told me he gave you a dose of his sleeping potion. A man will sleep through a battering ram at his door with that potion.” Valentius put his hand out for the scroll. “Go check the duty wall. You have today and tomorrow to recover. Report for duty Wednesday. Dismissed.”
Hiding his surprise at the leniency, Adas turned to leave.
“Oh, one more thing, Longinus. You got a letter from your father.” Valentius reached into a set of shelves and pulled out a scroll. The wooden spool was damaged and the seal was broken. Adas took the letter without comment and turned to go.
“Aren’t you going to ask why it’s broken?”
“No, Sir. Will that be all, Sir?”
“No, it will not. I’ll tell you anyway. The tabellar swears he received the letter in that condition. Isn’t this your father’s personal seal?”
“Yes, Sir.” Aquila had never written to him before now. How did Valentius know what Consul Longinus’s personal seal looked like? His father had sent only one other letter to the Antonia, addressed to Tribune Salvitto, to request Adas be transferred to Jerusalem.
Do you wish to file a complaint against the tabellar?”
“No, Sir”
“Why not? Are you afraid of getting him in trouble?”
“No, Sir. It is not worth the effort. Sir.”
“Does your father know his letters are ‘not worth the effort,’ Longinus?”
“You would have to ask Consul Longinus, Sir. Would you like me to request his presence? Then he could answer your questions, in person. Sir.”
A red flush started up Valentius’s neck. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, Sir. Why would my father’s presence be a threat to you? Sir.”
“Go!” Valentius thrust a finger at the door. “Get out of my office!”
Once outside, Adas smiled to himself. Apparently, the commander was not unmindful of Consul Longinus’s authority, after all. He crossed the quad to the officers’ cafeteria. When he entered the building, most of the conversation stopped, but he was too hungry to care. Ignoring their stares, he sat at his favorite table. After seeing Adas, the men were growing suspicious of the report presented by Valentius. They certainly knew the difference between injuries from drunkenness and injuries from a fight.
Several men walked over to Adas. “Mind if we talk with you?” asked one of the decurions. Adas gestured to the empty table and they sat. “Valentius said you were drunk yesterday and hit your head. Hitting the ground didn’t make that cut under your jaw, and none of us have ever seen you drunk. What’s the real story?”
Adas took a slow breath. “I wish I knew the real story. Something hit me, and the next thing I knew, I came to alone.”
The men grumbled vague comments. They rejoined the others to add fuel to the rumor mill. A young slave approached and asked for instructions. The boy tried to ignore Adas’s injuries, but was forced to confront the eyes of a wolf.
“You must be new,” Adas addressed the child. “How old are you? What is your name?”
“I am nine, Sir. My name is Onesimus, Sir.”
“Onesimus,