Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [319]
Quentin LeClerc insisted on escorting us to the Tadeii villa. At my request, he'd already dispatched several of his men to assist Publius Tadius and the Lady Beatrice in restoring order to the estate. One of his men dismounted with a bow and proffered the reins of his mount. I watched the other surviving members of Barbarus squadron limping through the streets and shook my head.
"I'll walk."
Instead, Eamonn rode. It seemed fitting to me. He was our leader; Captain Barbarus. I walked beside his horse's head. A few of the men raised their hands in salute to him as we passed, weary and proud. All throughout the city, we saw the extent of the damage the flood had caused; debris and rubble, animal carcasses beginning to bloat.
Although dusk was only beginning to fall, the Tadeii villa was ablaze with lights, a welcome beacon. I felt the full extent of my exhaustion as I plodded toward it. My legs were leaden, the muscles of my arms aching with exertion. The courtyard had already been cleared, but the grounds were floodswept, the grass flattened, bushes uprooted. I peered toward the rise of high ground and found it empty.
"Is the Bastard safe?" I asked the D'Angeline guardsman who met us.
He blinked at me. "Your highness?"
"My horse," I said wearily. "The spotted one."
"Oh, the hellion!" He grinned. "Aye, your highness. In the stables. The straw's sodden, but the grain is dry."
"Good." I rubbed my eyes. "Good."
Quentin LeClerc spoke to me about plans to safeguard the villa and the city, the disposition of his men and the Tiberian company, plans for our swift return. I nodded, listening with half an ear, until he took pity on me.
"Rest, your highness," he said. "We'll speak on the morrow."
Inside the villa, the Lady Beatrice laughed and wept, covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes shining in the lamplight. She would have fallen upon us had I not begged off with an apology. She wore a gown of finespun wool, dyed a rich saffron hue, and I was acutely aware that Eamonn and I were besmirched from head to toe with things best left unmentioned.
"What…" she whispered. "What of my son? They said he lived."
"Your son." I drew myself up and bowed, formal and deliberate. I bowed once to her and once to Publius Tadius, silent in the background. "My lady, your son, Lucius Tadius da Lucca, is a hero today. I imagine he will be here presently."
"And Gallus Tadius?" Publius' voice was rough.
"Gone," I said.
True and not true.
His shadow would always be there, lurking behind Lucius' eyes, carved into his features. It would hang over the city he had conquered as a living man and defended as a dead one. It dwelled beneath the marble slab that covered the mundus manes, and in the scorched, stubbled fields outside the walls. It would live in the memories of ordinary men who had been transformed into the Red Scourge. I didn't think any of us would forget him.
I wouldn't.
Still, it was only a shadow.
The private baths were filled with murky floodwater, but the kitchen had been scoured and fires lit in the stoves. Lady Beatrice had ordered vats of water heated and a tin washtub dragged into the guest quarters. I let Eamonn have the first turn at it, while Beatrice found salve and hunted up clean linens to use for bandages. They had sent for a chirurgeon, but all of them were busy tending to more urgent needs. Afterward, the servants refilled the bath and I tied a fresh bandage around Eamonn's head. He ate a bit of black bread and hard cheese, drank a good deal of water, and went straightaway to bed.
Lady Beatrice had offered her attendants, but I'd declined them. Alone at last, I stripped with care. The woolen shirt and breeches I'd worn were stiff with dried blood, some of it mine. I was half afraid to see what lay beneath my clothing.
The washtub steamed invitingly, smelling faintly of roses. Someone had scattered a handful of dried petals in the water. It made me think of Lady Denise Fleurais' garden sanctuary, and I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to Blessed Elua at finding