Return to Exile: A Novel (The Carthage Chronicles, Band 2) - Softcover

Gentry, Lynne

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1476746362 ISBN 13: 9781476746364

Verlag: Howard Books, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

How far would you go to save the ones you love?

Six years ago, impossible circumstances forced Dr. Lisbeth Hastings to leave behind the love of her life, not just in another country, but in another time. Her work as a top-notch epidemiologist and parenting her little girl helps alleviate the pain, but at night when her exhausted head hits the pillow, images of her beloved Cyprian haunt her sleep.

Cyprian Thascius returns from political exile a broken man. He’s lost his faith, the love of his life, and his purpose. He attempts to move on, to face the danger that is looming over Carthage, but when Cyprian’s true love suddenly reappears, his heart becomes as imperiled as the fledgling church he seeks to save.

Have the years that kept Lisbeth and Cyprian apart created too wide a chasm to bridge? In the midst of a new epidemic and rising oppression, will their love be the most costly fatality? Filled with gripping action and raw emotion, this spellbinding adventure of star-crossed lovers captivates with every turn of the page in this electric continuation of The Carthage Chronicles.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lynne Gentry has written for numerous publications. She is a professional acting coach, theater director, and playwright. Lynne is an inspirational speaker and dramatic performer who loves spending time with her family and medical therapy dog.

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Return to Exile
1

Curubis

THE SALTY BREEZE TASTED of chum left to rot in the African sun.

Cyprian tugged at his damp tunic. The coarse wool sanded his sun-burned flesh. Chapped skin was only one of many indignities he’d suffered since a Roman freighter dumped him in this dank ­little fishing village. Twelve long months of exile had given him ample time to consider how far removed he was from Carthage and his former life.

While his friend and fellow exile Pontius penned angry protests to Rome in the shade of the crude lean-to they’d constructed from scavenged deadfall and fishing nets, Cyprian paced the endless stretch of sand. To think, only a year ago Aspasius, the ruler of Carthage, had reclined at Cyprian’s wedding table. The heavy-jawed proconsul had sipped imported wines, debated the merits of slum renewal, and plotted treachery behind Cyprian’s back.

How smug the foul proconsul would be if he could see the ­solicitor of Carthage now. A flea-bitten pleb. Forced to live in conditions far worse than those of the city’s poorest tenement dweller. Disgraced. Banished from friends. Separated from his new bride.

Jade swells tumbled ashore, gobbling up large chunks of beach the way Aspasius devoured anyone who got in his way. Cyprian waded in and scooped water into his cupped hands. His eyes and face stung with the splash of salt. What had become of his wife? The worry was eating him alive.

Lisbeth had proven his equal. Smart as he in every way and far brighter when it came to healing. But did she have the cunning ­required to free herself from Aspasius? The thought of Aspasius dragging her into his lair haunted his dreams and drove his plans to escape.

Come spring a ship would sail into the harbor, and when it did, he intended to slip aboard, return to Carthage, and rescue his wife from the clutches of Aspasius Paternus.

“That’s enough for today, Pontius.” Cyprian rolled the papyrus his resourceful secretary had woven from reedy dune grasses. “We’d better work on catching our supper.”

“I’m determined to finish your petition, along with your response to the note from Felicissimus, before the next freighter comes.” Pontius dragged a whittled stick through the soot of last night’s cooking fire, a poor substitute for the expensive octopus ink turning rancid in the gold-trimmed ram’s horn in Cyprian’s old office. “Rome will not survive if it continues to allow injustice in its provinces.”

“We haven’t seen a ship port in this rat’s hole for months.”

“Today could be the day of our salvation.”

“I pray you are right.” Cyprian scanned the empty horizon. “Last night, my dreams once again revisited Carthage. Lisbeth stood on the proconsul’s balcony, crying my name, but before I could get to her . . . I awoke to the truth that Aspasius now rapes my wife.”

“A wrong your appeal will right.” Pontius took the scroll.

Cyprian clasped Pontius’s bronzed and sturdy shoulder. “Friend, even if I am released, I’ll need help to rescue my wife, and there is only one way to squelch the ugly rumor floating around Carthage that I hide in Curubis out of fear. Find the man who told Aspasius where my wife would be that day the soldiers took her and Ruth. Find him, and expose what he’s done, why we’re stuck on this godforsaken beach.”

His thoughts returned to his argument with Lisbeth, a moment in time he remembered with absolute clarity.

“I’m not about to let Aspasius keep me from doing my job. I need those supplies,” she had argued.

“Let me or Barek run your errand.”

“You’re still convalescing. And Barek wouldn’t know a eucalyptus leaf from a mustard seed.”

“At least take Barek with you.”

“If it will help you sleep better.”

“No heroics. Promise.”

“Straight to the herbalist and back. I promise.”

Cyprian rubbed the throbbing scar on his upper arm. He’d let a little injury hinder his judgment that day. And his weakness had changed all of their lives.

Could he have stopped her? Doubtful.

They’d only been married a few weeks, but the one thing he knew for certain about his wife . . . nothing altered her path. Once Lisbeth set her jaw she would not be deterred. Perhaps women from her time counted bullheaded determination as admirable, but failing to heed wise counsel was a dangerous gamble in the world of Roman Carthage.

Her time?

Would the ludicrous idea that his wife came from another time and place always leave him so unsettled? Months of having nothing to do but contemplate the impossibility of falling in love with a woman from the future had brought him no closer to ­understanding his destiny. No closer to how or why their different paths had crossed. Or why he’d failed to make the most of such a miraculous blessing.

Although his regrets included the years he’d wasted serving pagan gods, failing to keep his wife from harm topped his shame. She hadn’t fully understood his sacrifice. He’d seen in her eyes the possibility she’d even hated him for the choice he’d made that day to stand firm rather than deny his faith, to give up the power and standing that would have kept him from exile and her from ­Aspasius’s grip.

“Who could have tipped the proconsul to Lisbeth’s plans?” Pontius’s question tugged him from the horrors of that day.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

“I would be no friend to you or our dearly departed bishop if I didn’t remind you that vengeance belongs to the Lord and—” ­Pontius abandoned his preaching in midsentence and charged past him. “Look! A scarlet topsail.” He directed Cyprian’s gaze seaward. In the distance a tiny blood spot smudged the cerulean horizon. “Who would dare travel the seas this time of year?”

“Someone with no choice.”

Without another word, Cyprian and Pontius snatched up their letters and raced toward the imperial frigate drifting into the lagoon. Water lapped the dock’s warped planks beneath Cyprian’s bare feet. Word of an approaching ship spread quickly among the villagers. Soon a host of neglected savages pushed them toward the water. Every man rank with the odors of outdoor living and desperate for a crock of wine and a few handfuls of grain.

The teakwood ship creaked into the substandard quay. The boat’s lofty goosenecked stern, decorated with an intricate carving of the bearded face of Neptune, blocked the sun. In the shadow of the fierce-eyed god, Cyprian muscled to the front of the crowd, anxious for the advantage of being recognized for the powerful man he was . . . used to be.

“Stand back.” The port’s lone stevedore pressed the crowd from the gangplank landing.

Upturned faces, every one of them as scraggly and sunken-cheeked as Cyprian’s, searched the ship’s deck. Instead of the usual hustle of a crew eager to make landfall, not a soul stirred onboard. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. What was taking so long? Why weren’t the slaves lowering the gangplank? Where was the security detail that...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Howard Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1476746362
• ISBN 13: 9781476746364
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar