Death of Trust Part Seven (Patreon)

NOTE: This part is really short, but I hope to make it up to you on the next section. :)

Giovi knelt on the floor in front of Alton. The man set a cloth, sponge and washing bowl he held at Alton’s feet. 

He slumped in his chair.

Giovi had carried Alton for at least two miles to bring him back to his domus. Then he’d placed Alton in a cushioned chair in the main living area. And now the man kneeled.

A citizen did not go to his knees for a slave.

Giovi reached for one of Alton’s bandaged feet.

“Please.” Alton pulled away.  “I can wash my own feet.”

“You can barely stand, and I’m here, so let me do this.”

Alton slid his foot back in reach and Giovi untied the bandage. The whisper of fabric, the trickle of water, a slosh when Giovi rinsed the sponge, filled the silence. Alton tightened his grip on the arms of the chair until his knuckles showed white under his skin. He needed to say something, say anything.

“Sir—”

“My son’s name was Belen.” Giovi patted Alton’s foot dry with a cloth. “He was our only child.” Giovi took a few swollen stems from the folds of one of the clothes. “He had a sharp mind, a very sharp mind.” He broke open the fat plants and squeezed out globs of jelly. “He thought way beyond the children his age.” Giovi smeared the salve on Alton’s foot. The burning scratches, cooled. “He was always asking questions, always searching for answers. And he could draw.” Giovi took Alton’s other foot. “I knew he would be a great man one day. Someone who would do great things.” He set aside the bandage.

He sat there for several long seconds holding Alton’s foot. When he moved his actions remained smooth despite the slight tremor in his grip.

“He was eight when he died.”

The boy in the drawings had been much older.

“Ho—?” Alton bit his tongue.

Giovi flicked a quick look up. Sorrow painted deep lines in his face. “A fever.” He cleared his throat. “The physicians tried everything they could. They told me to pray. Sometimes I wonder if I had it would have made a difference.”

In Alton’s experience the gods did not take pity on men. If there were gods. He’d yet to see proof except for Pavle. But the artist did not present himself as a man capable of calling up storms let alone healing the sick.

If anything Pavle was proof gods were only men capable of nothing greater than what any man could do.

Giovi drowned the sponge in the bowl. “I was gone for most of his illness but I had to see if I could find something. Anything that would help.” He washed Alton’s foot. “There are amazing treasures in our world. Everything from animals to plants. Especially the plants. Some can make a man sick others can take away their pain, and on rare occasions they can even cure.”

“And you couldn’t find anything?”

Giovi’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I collected several plants but I never got to find out what any of them could do. He died a week before I returned. I regret not being here. I should have been.

“My wife couldn’t have anymore children and the loss of Belen took something from her. She was never the same. She no longer laughed, smiled, she no longer sang. The only thing that brought her comfort was her garden. She’d tended that garden while she was pregnant, right up until the moment she went into labor.” Giovi smoothed the sponge across the bottom of Alton’s foot. Pink droplets tapped the surface of the water before disappearing. “If it hadn’t been for that garden I don’t think she would have lived as long as she did.” He paused taking far longer than he had before to rinse the sponge. “I had my wife’s garden to remind me of her. But without her, without her eyes, her face, her voice, I lost my son all over again. I commissioned Pavle to sculpt Belen how I imagined he would have been at the age of fourteen. The age he would have been the year my wife died.”

Giovi dried Alton’s other foot.

Silence fell again and Giovi remained on his knees with the bandages in his hand and his brows drawn.

Would he ask Alton where they’d come from?

And could Alton lie if the man did?

Giovi sighed and wadded up the scraps of cloth and picked up the bowl. When he stood he didn’t look at Alton when he said, “So I know you’re not my son. I never made that mistake. But I do think you are a bright young man who deserves a bright future. And if you would…” Giovi cleared his throat. “If you would allow me to give you that chance, I would be honored.”

Giovi disappeared into another room and Alton was left staring at his mangled feet, now clean of blood with red lines glowing against his pale flesh.