The Saint's Mistress Read Online Free PDF

people.”
    Now I understood. The Donatists leadership publicly disavowed the hut people, but found
    them useful for intimidating both non-Christians and other Christian factions. They carried clubs
    which they called “Israels,” and were known to attack and beat rich landowners and tax
    collectors. The hut people never worried about punishment or reprisal because they believed that
    to be killed doing the Lord’s work would earn them a martyr’s crown in heaven. Now I
    understood Miriam’s fear.
    “I guess we’re in for a long day,” I agreed. “We have to keep the children in and I doubt
    gathering outside the little church of Saint Cyprian.
    “You can go home if you want to,” Miriam offered.
    “No, I’ll stay. We won’t be busy today. I’ll mind Peter and Lucy, so you can get some
    weaving done.”

    The day crawled by, without even the slash of yellow sunlight to mark the hours. Miriam
    worked at her loom in the back room, while I tried to amuse the children with stories and waited
    on the occasional customer. But, I was right: trade was slow and as the heat built up like a
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    physical presence without the relief of the threatened rainstorm, the children drifted off to sleep
    in the front room.
    All day, we had been hearing shouting from the forum. Peter kept peering out the window,
    trying to see what was going on. “Will they fight now?” he kept asking.
    Now, with the curious boy finally asleep, I sat in the workroom with Miriam, watching her
    nimble hands and feet at the loom, and chatting with her in low tones.
    “How’s your well-educated boyfriend?” she teased.
    “He’s not my boyfriend.”
    She was silent a moment, shifting her heddles and sending her shuttle flying through the shed.
    Without looking at me, she finally said, “You know he can’t marry you.”
    “He’s not my boyfriend,” I repeated, “so I don’t know why you think I care if he can marry
    me.” I tossed my head and moved closer to where Miriam worked. I picked up the beater stick
    and gave her a questioning look. When she nodded, I used the stick to firmly comb upward
    Miriam’s last several weft threads.
    “By Roman law, their noble class can’t marry a peasant,” she continued. “He’d forfeit all of
    his property. He has to marry somebody of his own class.”
    “Doesn’t that figure. The rich people get to keep the money all in the family that way. Not
    that I care,” I added.
    She smiled. “Leona, you sound like the hut people. You shouldn’t hang around with them.
    Most women would run the other way from a big ‘israel’ – and you a virgin,” she teased. I liked
    how Miriam joked with me about men, just as if I were a grown woman like her.
    “But, seriously,” she continued. “You’re almost 16, and your father will be able to make a
    better marriage for you if you’re still a virgin. And you know there’s always the chance of a
    bastard. Don’t throw yourself away on this boy, Leona,” she urged, looking me in the eye for the
    first time.
    “I’m not throwing myself away,” I insisted. “I’m learning to read Latin for free. That’s all.” I
    leaned over without looking at her and combed her threads up again.
    “I doubt it will really be free, Leona,” she replied. “Please be careful. You know I love you
    like a sister. I don’t want to see your heart broken and your life ruined. You’re a pretty girl. Use
    that and get yourself a nice husband who won’t work you too hard.”
    I smiled, relieved to get off the subject of Aurelius. “I will then. And I’ll have three little girls
    and name them all Miriam.”
    She laughed.
    “Where’s Peter?” called a small voice.
    We both turned to see Lucy in the doorway rubbing her eyes.
    “He’s right in there with you,” I assured her, “sleeping in the corner.” I raced back into the
    sales room towards where I’d last seen Peter. Miriam was behind me.
    I spun my head to every corner of the room twice, unwilling to