Chapter Twenty-Five
Phile was indeed expecting me, and I was shown in to the house by an elderly slave. He led me to the courtyard, where a platter of soft, salted cheeses was laid out on a table with fruit and dried nuts, the likes of which I had not seen since the days when my mother-in-law still lived.
The slave smiled at his mistress before shuffling out of the courtyard, leaving us alone.
“Come.” Phile beckoned me in. “Tell me, how is the training going? Hirtus says you have some way to go yet to build up your strength but that you are determined to do so.”
“I am,” I said earnestly.
“I am certain you are.” She smiled. “Now let us eat.”
We did not mention hunting as we ate. Instead, Phile asked me about my life, and I told her of my childhood and the early years of my marriage.
I told her of the loss of our fortune and my mother-in-law’s coldness.
Phile, in turn, told me stories of her youth—the years before her first marriage, as she called them.
This was the first time I had spoken to Phile in such a manner, not as my employer but as another woman.
Perhaps even a friend. Several servants filled my cup with water and hastened away the empty plates.
Silence drifted between us, and though my eyes still lingered on the food, my belly was far too full to consider reaching for anything.
“Why do you not take a bath, then rest?” Phile said. “You will be out late tonight, and I still expect a full day’s work from you tomorrow. Come. Let me show you where you can wash and sleep.”
“Thank you.”
I followed Phile through the house, marveling at the quantity of leather used to decorate the spaces.
There were as many leather rugs as there were woven ones, and several seats and couches had been upholstered with it.
The warm, musky smell of the material filled the air, although when we reached the chamber, the aromas were concealed by the scent of lavender, which rose in clouded swirls from scented oils.
A heavy tapestry of greens and yellows hung from the wall, while fresh flowers had been placed in terra-cotta vases. Beside the window stood a stone bathtub, where steam spiraled up from the warm water.
“Relax. Treat this as your home.” Phile reached out her hands as if to clasp mine.
Rather than letting her, however, I took a step forward and planted a kiss on her cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“It is my pleasure, Otrera. Always.”
It had been many moons since I had slept while the sun was still above me, and normally such times followed one of Morsimus’s beatings.
This, however—resting merely because I was tired—was a luxury in which I wished to indulge.
Once I had soaked my tired muscles, my intention had been to stay awake and remind myself of the instructions Hirtus had given me in preparation for our hunt—or at least carry out the stretches he insisted I practice each night.
But as I lay my head down on the soft cushion of the couch and the tension rolled from my body, sleep took hold.