Turning her face up to the light, Attia tried—for a moment—to forget where she was. But even without looking, she could count the footsteps of Timeus’s private guard and distinguish the vigiles from ordinary citizens. She could smell the odor of crowded bodies. She could sense the nearly empty space in the plaza just to the west.
Attia scrutinized the fa?ades of the buildings and measured the distance between the main road and the tiny alleys that branched off in every direction. She could run there, then there. She could use that window and that ledge. That fat vigil wouldn’t be much bother, though the young one next to him was fit and athletic.
But this time, the impulse to escape was tamped down by another darker urge. Timeus had to die. She trained her eyes on the back of the old man’s head and let her hand brush against the fold in her tunic where she’d hidden the little knife. She knew she couldn’t—wouldn’t—run while Timeus still drew breath. Besides, if she tried to escape now, it would be like the day of the auction all over again—she’d be hunted through the streets by every vigil in the vicinity, witnessed by hundreds. The only way she could safely run from Timeus’s household was if she killed the man first. With no one to chase after her, she could then focus her rage on Crassus.
Consoled by her plans, Attia forced her thoughts back to the present, looked up, and got her first clear look at their destination.
The Coliseum was a massive circular structure, freestanding and made of a neutral-colored stone. The top of it pushed at the clouds, and flocks of birds dipped and dove around its edges. Hundreds, thousands of miniature arches marked the face of it like so many eyes, and a muted roar echoed from its center.
“Gods,” Attia whispered.
Valeria sat up in her litter and drew her veil aside. “Construction was completed just last summer. It is a true wonder.”
Attia couldn’t disagree. Before she came to Rome, she never would have believed that men could build something like this. What a shame that such a magnificent achievement was done for such a bloody purpose.
The caravan reached a high archway at the base of the Coliseum, where a round man greeted Timeus with open arms. He wobbled as he walked and looked like he hadn’t been sober in years.
“Timeus, Lucius! And lovely Valeria,” he said in what he probably thought was a deep voice but only reminded Attia of a cow passing gas. He took Valeria’s hand to kiss it.
“Sisera Trevana, a pleasure,” Valeria said, smiling graciously even as she pulled her hand away and wiped it subtly on Attia’s sleeve.
They passed through a short tunnel before the group began to split off. A few guards and house slaves accompanied Timeus, Lucius, Valeria, and Sisera to a set of stairs. The rest of the guards, the gladiators, and the slaves who carried the litters turned toward a descending ramp that seemed to lead deep into the bowels of the Coliseum.
Attia turned to Xanthus, hesitant and awkward. Sunlight reflected off a pendant that hung on a leather cord around his neck—a silver crescent moon—and Attia stared at it, not quite willing to meet Xanthus’s eyes. She had no idea what to say to him. And she certainly didn’t know what to do when Xanthus leaned toward her and kissed her temple. The light caress was so tender and so wildly unexpected that Attia felt a fluttering sensation deep in her belly. Then he turned away and followed the other gladiators down the ramp.
Attia stared at his retreating back until Ennius called her name. Together, they slowly climbed up several flights of shallow stairs to the shaded upper level of the arena.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve had to climb up to some veranda or balcony to watch my boys fight,” Ennius said.
“Too many?” Attia suggested.
Ennius smiled bitterly. “Yes. Too many.”
A dozen armed guards lined the last few steps, and even more arranged themselves in strategic spots around the veranda. Timeus, Lucius, and Sisera reclined in gilded seats behind a man whose face Attia couldn’t see. Valeria and a few women sat behind the men, and Lucretia stood just a few feet away, still as a statue. The rest of the slaves lined the back wall. Attia positioned herself near the edge of the balcony and looked down into the heart of the Coliseum.
It was magnificent. Three stone levels rose up around the arena with smaller rows of seats that doubled as steps. The veranda occupied prime position at one end, not too high nor too low, with heavy awnings to shield its occupants from the sun. The marble railings were ornately carved, and the whole space smelled of incense, probably to mask the copper tang of blood.
The sections closest to the veranda were populated by men in immaculate white robes. Attia guessed they were members of the Senate. Another section was filled with patricians in brightly colored clothing and sparkling jewels. The largest section—the rows farthest from the arena floor—jostled with dirty, hungry people who reached over their neighbors to catch the bread being thrown upward by a row of armed guards.
Panem et circenses, as the Roman poet said. Bread and circuses. Attia had never realized how literal the phrase was.
A short blond-haired woman nudged Attia’s arm. “Don’t fall over,” she said. “I almost fainted the first time my dominus brought me up here to the primum. But perhaps you are made of sterner stuff.”
“Your dominus?”
“I belong to Sisera,” the woman said. “And I’m guessing you belong to Timeus.”
Attia wanted to hit something. “I don’t belong to anyone.” She felt like she’d said the words a hundred times since she arrived in Rome.
The woman gave her a sad smile. “But you do.”
Attia turned her face away.
“They call me Aggie,” the woman said. “What do they call you?”
Her choice of phrase struck Attia, who tried to remember where she’d heard it before. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Well, I wasn’t born with that name,” Aggie said. “I come from Gaul.”
And then Attia remembered. Xanthus had said something like that to her. They call me Xanthus. It had sounded odd at the time, but Attia hadn’t thought of it again. Not until now.
Attia looked back at Aggie. “Then what was your name before?”
“It was Galena. I’ve always liked it for all that my mother wasn’t particularly original. You?”
“I am Attia.” But she frowned as she said it. Had Sabina been renamed? What about the other slaves in the household? Her eyes drifted to Timeus’s concubine. Had she been given a new name as well?
The man sitting in the first row of the veranda threw something over the rail—a piece of fabric—and motioned to Timeus.
“Start it already,” he said. “I’m getting bored.”
Attia still couldn’t see his face, but she saw the gold circlet nestled in his auburn hair and the massive ruby ring on the smallest finger of his left hand.
“Who is who?” the man asked.
Timeus looked at Sisera. “We hadn’t decided that yet.” He produced a gold coin from a pocket in his robes and looked at Sisera. “You choose.”
“Heads,” Sisera said.