“Then it is as a priestess that I answer you. I will do what I can, Con, but you must understand that there is a natural rhythm to our lives that not even the gods can deny.”
“Then they are evil gods!” muttered Constantine.
“My heart cries out against this as loudly as yours, but it may be that all I will be able to do is to help him let go.”
The chair scraped loudly as he stood up and gripped my hand. “Come—” He pulled me to my feet, and scarcely waiting for me to wrap my palla around me, drew me from the room.
“He stirred a moment ago,” said the physician on watch as we appeared in the doorway. “I think he will wake soon.”
The Emperor lay on his bed, his upper body raised on pillows. I paused, making an effort to pull myself together. Constantine was right. The wife and mother would dissolve in tears, seeing her beloved lie so still. It was the priestess that was needed now.
I came to the bedside and stretched out my hands above Constantius’s body, extending my awareness to sense the energy flow. Above the head and brow the life-force still flowed strongly, but the aura above his chest flickered weakly, and lower down, though it was steady, it was not strong. I bent close to listen to his breathing, and could hear the rasp of congestion inside.
“Does he have fever?” I did not think so, for his skin was not flushed, but abnormally pale; however, I had hoped it might be, for the lung-fever, though serious, was something I knew how to fight. The physician shook his head, and I sighed. “The heart, then?”
“I have made up an infusion of foxglove, for when it pains him,” said the physician.
“That is well, but perhaps there is something we can do to strengthen him. Do you have a trustworthy man you can send for the following herbs?” As he nodded, I began to dictate my list: motherwort and hawthorn, nettle and garlic, and Constantine’s grim look eased.
Then the man on the bed stirred and sighed, and I knelt beside him, chafing his cool hands between my own.
Eyes still closed, Constantius smiled.” Ah, the goddess returns…’
“The Goddess was always with you, but now I am here as well.” With an effort I kept my voice firm. “What have you been doing to yourself, to get in such a state? Is it not the place of the Augustus to sit in his palace and leave the fighting to younger men?”
“I have not even opened my eyes, and she is scolding me!” he said, but in truth I think he was not yet certain I was real.
“Perhaps this will take the sting away,” I leaned over to kiss his lips, and as I released him, he looked up at me.
“I have missed you,” he said simply, and read my answer in my eyes.
Throughout the week that followed, I dosed Constantius with my potions, but though Constantine talked loudly of his improvement, I began to suspect that he had used up the strength that remained to him in holding on until I arrived. Constantine and I took it in turns to sit with him, holding his hand as he rested, or speaking of the years we had spent apart.
One day, as I bathed him, I noticed a livid scar up the side of one thigh and asked when he had risked himself so foolishly.
“Ah, that was in Gallia, three summers ago, and I assure you I did not intend to run into such danger!”
Three years, I thought, and the scar was still red and angry. It had not healed quickly or well, a sign that his circulation was failing even then. I could have given him medicines to strengthen his heart, if I had known. But perhaps it would not have mattered. It was not Theodora who was my rival. Constantius had given his heart to the Empire before he ever offered it to me.
July was drawing on, and even in Eburacum the days were warm. We opened the windows to let in fresh air and covered the sick man with a light woollen cloth, and the chirring of the crickets blended with the rasp of his breathing.