“No, leave her unmarked. Volusius will be pleased with this one’s beauty.”
The second man leered. “As well he should be. Perhaps he will keep this one for himself. She is too good for the likes of the gladiators.”
The first shook his head, saying as though Abigail could not hear him, “Asinius ordered her to be given to the fighters, so she shall be. Volusius would not dare to anger him.”
The second laughed roughly. “If it is defilement of her he seeks, perhaps we should get started now.”
Abigail felt the Spirit descend upon her, and she came to a halt in her path, surprising them enough that they stopped, too, rather than simply yank her forcibly along. She looked one in the eye, then the other. Calmly, she said, “Touch me, and forsake your lives. Are we understood?”
They tried to laugh off her threat, but she saw the shiver of fear run through them, saw something within them balk, scream, and shrink further inside.
She mentally said a word of gratitude to her God.
*
Phillip had not managed to escape from Roman soldiers once without having learned quite a bit about the art. It took no thought to remember the skill. When Abigail looked at him with that darting glance, he had known exactly what she expected of him; keep himself from being killed so that he could see to the protection of her children first of all, and then figure out a way to free her from Caius’s schemes. The very thought of his mistress in the arenas . . . it did not bear thinking about.
He had remained still for long enough that the grips on him had begun to relax. He waited until he heard the door from the atrium open, knowing that meant they would be taking Abigail outside. That was his cue to break free–if he waited for the sound of the door closing again, it would be too late, since that would be when they decided what to do with him. So at that perfect moment, he lunged, so quickly and powerfully that no one saw it coming. He heard shouts behind him, but he did not pause to look over his shoulder. Instead, he ran out into the corridor and headed for the masters’ rooms, ducking into another room first so that they would assume he had gone out or at least toward the side door. He went out a second entrance of that room, then through the servants’ hall until he reached Abigail’s rooms. He entered quietly and addressed his words to Panther.
“Caius has sold Abigail to the arenas. There were eight men lying in wait for me, but I just broke free. Take Miriam and the children to your mistress, I am going to follow mine. Have a loyal slave waiting for Andrew outside with the news, and get everyone to him and the villa as soon as possible. Do not let Caius know what you do. Understood?”
Panther had time only to nod his dark head before Phillip climbed out of the window and wound his way to the street. He barely glimpsed Abigail’s head as she was lifted into a cart, but it was enough. He would follow, see exactly where they took her, and do all in his power to get her out again.
His power had never felt so lacking.
“God of my mistress,” he breathed in a tongue he had not used since he had been taken from the land that taught it to him, “if you are there, now is the time to act. She speaks of you as just and merciful; mercy would see this undeserving punishment pass from her head. Justice would see her tormentors punished instead.” He felt his jaw clench, his heart contract in pain. “Protect her, if you are the loving God she claims. Protect her where I cannot.”
*
Volusius did not look up from the scroll he was reading as soon as he heard them enter. It never hurt to make his underlings wait a little longer to achieve whatever business they were there for. After all, he was the one in charge, so he would do things at his leisure. He took his time in deciphering the writing before him, then rolled it back up neatly and put it aside. Only then did he look up to see who had entered. Spotting the two he had sent out an hour earlier to the Asinius house, his eyes fell with expectation on the small woman between them.
“This is she?” He rose from his seat so that he could stride toward them. At his approach, his men dropped their hands from her arms. He noted that they had been careful enough not to bruise her alabaster skin, and he gave them a nod for their trouble.
“Yes, sir,” the senior replied.
Volusius studied the woman. She was young, as he had expected, and beautiful, as were all the women that made their way here from that particular house. This one surpassed the others, though. He had never seen such features, and her hair was absolutely breathtaking: long and thick and glossy, dark and smooth. He stepped closer and put a finger under her chin to tilt her face up. It was unmitigated perfection, minus the defiance in her eyes. That would fade soon enough, though.