After Rome Read Free Page A

isn’t any more,” she confirmed. “I already looked.”
    He turned to find her sitting on the bed. The only bed.
    â€œWhy did you have to burn all of it?”
    â€œWhat did you expect me to do, sit in the dark? You’re not much of a host, Cadogan. In fact I don’t like anything about you. Not your splotchy face, not your flabby body, not even your feet. You’re the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.”
    The man to whom she spoke was above average height, with a sturdy body sculpted by hard work. He had a clean shaven, affable face that still retained a smattering of boyish freckles, and wore his thick brown hair cropped in the Roman style.
    Puzzled, Cadogan asked, “What’s wrong with my feet?”
    She did not answer.
    He rubbed his shoulder again. “I’m tired; I’m very tired. I’ve had several bad days and I need some sleep, so I’m afraid you’ll have to sit somewhere else.”
    She raised a pair of overplucked eyebrows. “Why should I perch on a stool when there’s a comfortable bed? Dinas never told me you were brutal, Cadogan. He said you were kind. He said I could rely on your kindness.”
    â€œDinas says too thundering much and none of it true,” Cadogan growled. Taking her by the elbows, he moved her off the bed. She hung like dead weight in his hands. When he released her she flounced over to a stool and sat down. “I hate you,” she said flatly. “I always have and I always will.”
    â€œYou don’t even know me.”
    â€œThat makes it easier.”
    Cadogan stretched out on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. It was easier to ignore her than have a conversation with her. His eyes wandered around the room. As always, his handiwork gave him a sense of satisfaction in spite of his somber mood.
    Seen from outside, his home was unimpressive. A rectangular timber building with a steeply pitched roof, it melted into its forest setting. To the casual observer it might have been a woodcutter’s cabin, though it was too large for one. It more nearly resembled a small fort.
    A fortlet.
    That had not been his original intention. During construction the house had seemed to choose its own shape. By the time it was finished he realized what he had wanted all along was a fort. A building sufficient to protect its occupant from the intrusions and abrasions of the outside world.
    His first choice for the exterior walls was stone and mortar, his second choice was brick. Stone was impossible for one man to quarry and transport, and the nearest brickyard was many miles away. That left only the raw materials at hand. Cadogan had felled the trees and sawn the wood himself, learning the necessary skills as he went along. Trial and error. Axe and adze and plane. Use the mare to drag the heavy logs into place. Laboriously raise them one by one, chink the gaps with mud. For two years he had pushed his body to its limits, promising himself he would correct his mistakes later. When there was time.
    The interior of the building showed a certain refinement. It consisted of one large room whose unpeeled log walls were covered by smooth planks. The roof was supported by tree trunks shaped into columns. The clay floor had been pounded until it gleamed, then incised with patterns imitating mosaic tiles. In the center of the room was a raised stone hearth surmounted by andirons decorated with boars’ heads. Above this was a smoke hole, cleverly concealed within the angle of the roof.
    One end of the room was given over to storage. Crates and bags and boxes of various sizes were neatly stacked beside an assortment of tools, some of them handmade, all of them well maintained. Cadogan’s clothing was hung on pegs. Hunting spears leaned against the wall with their feet ensnared in fishing nets. A large iron cauldron complete with flesh hooks was stored beneath a row of shelves. The bottom shelf was crammed with tin