Jason glared at him, but his humor was improving visibly. “Have any of your women been pregnant, Titus?”
“Yes.” Titus glanced at the stalls they passed but saw nothing of interest. “Although one was sold to us because she was barren. And another became so when she aborted a child well into her term. Yet another miscarried accidentally early on; that was not so long ago. Too soon to know if there was permanent damage. And Caelia,” he said with a small smile, picturing the curves of his favorite, “has no excuse, and has long been ashamed of it. You see, my friend, when a woman knows she is competing for your attentions and affections, she will deem it a matter of pride to carry your child.”
Jason grunted. “Diversity is your answer to everything.”
“It works.” He shrugged. “You waste too much energy on your slave. The benefit to having such a woman is that she is there when you want her but without the claim to you a wife would have. But if you forsake other women, you might as well marry.”
His grimace led Titus to think that had yet again been the topic with his mother. Then he nodded. Finally. “You are right. I have been too occupied with Abigail.”
Titus clapped a victorious hand to Jason’s shoulder. “Remedy it, my friend. Take out a few coins and treat yourself to an evening on the town.”
Jason moistened his lips. “I suppose I can spare the coins.”
Titus grunted. “You seem to have enough lately. Though where you get it is a mystery.”
He seemed to consider a moment, then pasted on a lopsided smile. “Your father.”
Titus stopped midstep and turned questioning eyes on his friend. Jason’s amusement was catching, but he kept it at bay. “My father?”
Jason chuckled. “He is paying me to report anything compromising you may do.”
Titus knew dual emotions; he wanted to strangle his father and laugh with his friend. “Compromising? But Jason, we both know that when not around him, I am the epitome of responsibility.”
“And I tried to tell him it was a waste of his money. He insisted.”
“He would, the fool. Well, then, that settles it. Since it my father’s money, you must take my advice in spending it.” Then, in a mock whisper, “Just do not tell him what we do with it. He may be forced to admit you are just as human as I.”
Jason laughed along with him and followed him down his avenue of choice.
*
Abigail had expected Jason to return in time for the evening meal; when he did not, she figured he must have decided to eat with his friends, so she went about the evening as usual, catching up on some of the translation Cleopas asked of her and seeing to Ester’s needs. By dusk, when the city glimmered gold, he still had not returned, but Ester dismissed her firmly for the night.
She went to his chamber and looked around her without interest. At length she settled into a sitting position on the bed, legs curled up underneath her, and waited for Jason to return.
When the door finally opened, Jason looked over at her as if surprised to see her there. He was well on his way to drunk, if not quite there yet. Abigail sighed. He would not be very pleasant on the morrow when he had to haul himself out of bed at dawn.
“I do not want you tonight, Abigail.” He waved toward the door. “Go.”
Despondency mixed with confusion. She spoke because she was not sure he remembered, in his current condition, his commands of only that morning. “But Master, you told me not to try to sleep on my pallet anymore.”
Jason glared at her emptily for a moment. “I changed my mind. You can always sleep in here tomorrow when I have gone.”
Her emotions settled on depression. “Yes, Lord.” She slid off the bed, moving automatically to help him off with his sandals. She stopped short of him, though, her eyes widening. The scent of perfume was overpowering, decidedly feminine, and strong enough that she had to take a step back again to keep the bile down.
“What?” he asked when she recoiled.
The depression sprouted and blossomed in anger. “You smell of a woman. A cheap one.”
“And why would you care?” He yanked off his own shoes and tossed them unceremoniously to the floor.
“Why would I care?” She heard the shock in her voice, perfectly mirroring her heart. “I do not want to share my lover, the father of my child, with a disease-ridden whore!”
“And I do not want your opinion on how I should live my life. You are just a slave.”
“Yes, I am just a slave.” Her words were bitter. She spun away from him, but then turned back again, in the mood for a fight, regardless of the consequences. “But you are the one who told me I must think of your child, do all in my power to see to its health. Well, Master, how can I do that if you are passing diseases to me that you acquire from the filthy streets you have forbidden me to enter?”