After months at sea, Valentin found himself still unconsciously swaying to the nonexistent roll of the ship. The scent of rain in the air and the low dark clouds didn’t help his mood. Southampton was an unimpressive port, the waters of the bay dark and stinking, the population not much better. He’d never thought he’d miss anything from his days in the brothel, but at least he’d bathed regularly in the plunge pools the Romans had left behind in the ancient city. He shivered and shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed coat. It was odd that he had absolutely no recognition of this place, this supposed homeland of his and Peter’s. The voices around him sounded coarse, their language indecipherable, and far less melodious than those he’d become used to. God, had it come to this? Was he homesick for captivity and slavery? “Val? Are you coming?” He looked over at Peter and saw his own vulnerabilities reflected in his best friend’s angelic features. They were being escorted to an inn near the waterfront to await news from London.
