He glanced at Clodia and found her looking back at him, with something in her expression that brought the blood to his face like a boy’s. She winked at him before turning back to help Cornelia, and he felt strangely uncomfortable. He knew he should be going out to see the workers who waited for his orders, but he sat and took another slice of bread and ate it slowly, hoping she would look his way again.

Aurelia swayed slightly and Tubruk moved quickly to her, taking her shoulder. She was incredibly pale and her skin looked waxen. He felt the lack of flesh under her stola, and the always present grief swelled in him.

“You should rest,” he said quietly. “I will bring you more food later.”

She did not reply and her eyes had taken on the lost gaze. She moved with him as he walked her away from the table, her steps faltering and weak. He felt her frame shiver against him as the trembling began again, each time leaving her weaker than the last.

Cornelia and Clodia were left alone with the child, who pawed at Cornelia’s dress to find a nipple.

“He is a good man,” Clodia said, looking at the doorway they’d gone through.

“A shame he is too old to make a husband,” Cornelia replied artlessly.

Clodia firmed her jaw. “Old? He is still strong where it matters,” she said, her voice sharp. Then she saw Cornelia’s bright eyes and blushed. “You see too much, my girl. Let the child feed.”

“She is always hungry,” Cornelia said, wincing as she allowed Julia to attach herself, pressing her little face deep into the breast.

“It helps you to love them,” Clodia said, and when Cornelia looked up at her tone, Clodia’s eyes were lined with tears.

*                                                      *                                                      *

In the cool dimness of the bedchamber, Tubruk held Aurelia tightly until the fit had finally passed from her. Her skin burned against him and he shook his head at her thinness. Finally, she knew him again and he lowered her back against soft cushions.

He had held her first on the night of her husband’s funeral, and it had become a ritual between them. He knew she took comfort from his strength, and there were fewer bruises on her these days, with her thrashing limbs gripped tight in his arms. He found he was breathing heavily and wondered afresh how it was possible that she could have so much strength in such a wasted body.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes half open.

“It was nothing. I will bring you a cool drink and leave you to rest.”

“I don’t want you to leave me, Tubruk,” she said.

“Didn’t I say I’d care for you? I will be here for as long as you need me,” he said, trying to force cheerfulness into his tone. She opened her eyes fully and turned her head to him.