Free Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) by Elle Strauss, Lee Strauss

left to die, or worse picked up by men who made their trade in
prostitution. A few short years, and they made a handsome return on patrons who
preferred children.
    Helena knew that Lord Ursus already had several daughters. He
wanted a son, and heir. “I must go to her.”
     
    Helena had their slave Patrobius drive a carriage to Tatiana’s
villa, just west of her own home. Though Patrobius was a careful driver the
carriage still rocked and shooked over the rough cobbled roads. Helena gripped
her abdomen tightly, wanting to keep her babe as still as possible. The child
kicked. Helena massaged the lump in her side, the shape of a tiny foot, until
it relaxed and eased away.
    She could breathe with confidence that Brutus would never leave
her child to the elements to die, no matter the sex of the child. Her heart
went out to Tatiana.
    Finally, the bumpy ride halted and Patrobius opened the
carriage door to assist her.
    “Thank you,” she said. “Wait here.”
    She hadn’t been to the home Tatiana shared with her husband. It
was vast, almost as large as the house of Vibius. The sun shone brightly,
ricocheting off the red tiles of the roof, and shimmering along the sides of
the white walls encasing the property. Helena said a prayer and approached the
front door, thankful there were none around to notice that she did not bless
the gods of the property or the doorways or gates. No need to stir up extra
consternation at the moment.
    A household slave acknowledged her knock. Helena stated her
name and her request to visit Lady Tatiana.
    “One moment. I will see if she is available.”
    Helena waited, tapping her sandals on the tile floor, taking in
the colors and sights of the atrium. Like many other wealthy Roman homes, the
walls were covered with colorful murals, and like most, these paintings
depicted scenes of everyday life in Rome; meals, hunts, the games. In each
corner of the room was an elaborate marble or stone statue of some god or
another. Helena recognized Jupiter, always the largest in any given group, as
well as Minerva. She lost track of the many gods, and was not the only Roman
guilty of this type of confusion, although since her conversion, she thought
little of them.
    Soon she was greeted by Tatiana’s personal slave, Nesta.
    “Nesta, it’s so good to see you again!” she said warmly.
    Nesta bowed and expertly erased a flash of surprise from her
face at Helena’s unconventional greeting to a slave.
    “Please follow me.”
    Helena followed Nesta to the tablinum where Tatiana was seated,
stiff and unsmiling. The room had just a few candles burning and the only
window had its wooden shutters loosely closed.
    “Tatiana,” Helena said softly, “I heard.”
    “Yes, well I’m sure the news has traveled beyond Carthage by
now,” Tatiana replied tersly. “You know how Romans love gossip.”
    Helena noted her friend’s long, dark tresses were no longer
shiny and well-groomed but pulled roughly into a knot at the back of her head.
Her eyes, once bright and wonder-filled, were dark and brooding. The set of her
jaw was hard, her smile thin and forced. She was no longer beautiful, and
Helena wondered if it was a purposeful attempt on Tatiana’s part to repel her
husband’s future advances.
    “I came by to see you, to see if you needed anything?” Helena
settled into the lounge offered to her.
    “That is very thoughtful of you; such a kind friend you are
Helena.” Her eyes dropped down to Helena’s round stomach, rested there momentarily
before darting nervously around the room. “But I ask you, what could you
possibly offer me that my own dear husband cannot afford to present to my
disposal? Surely you are aware of his great wealth and respected position.”
    “It is true that he has material wealth. That cannot be
denied,” Helena answered.
    “Is there another kind? And please, don’t go on about happiness
and contentment and peace of mind. I couldn’t take it just now.”
    “I know this must be