Sabina busied herself by the fire, but her eyes kept flicking back toward Attia.
“So that she can protect her people,” Attia finally said, swallowing hard. “This princess—well, her father taught her that the most important thing in her life was protecting her people. He taught her honor and glory and pride. But most of all, he taught her duty. It was her job to remember all of those lessons, no matter what.”
Attia paused again, this time blinking against the moisture that gathered in her eyes. It was probably from the perfumes in the air. The night was cool, but the tent was stifling in its finery. Attia cleared her throat and opened her arms so that Rory could climb onto her lap.
“Was she a good princess?” Rory asked.
“She tried to be.”
“Was she a great warrior?”
“She tried to be.”
“Did you know her?”
Attia closed her eyes and rested her head against the little girl’s hair. “Yes,” she whispered. “I knew her once. A very long time ago.”
As Rory fell asleep in her arms, Attia focused her thoughts on the days ahead.
Ardea. That’s when she’d get her chance. Outside of Rome’s authority, she would finally be able to make her move, and she promised herself that she wouldn’t fail. As soon as they reached the province, she would escape. She would kill Timeus, take what supplies she could, and finally go after the man who had ruined her life. Even if it means leaving him. Xanthus.
No. Gareth.
Attia fell asleep with his name on her lips.
CHAPTER 12
After a full day and a night of travelling with little rest and even less food, Xanthus expected more. But all that greeted them when they finally reached the outskirts of Ardea were ghosts and dust. The city looked entirely deserted sitting atop its gentle slope—all stone outcroppings and high, crumbling walls. No men. No flags. No movement. The paved Roman road leading to Ardea’s rusted gates had been hammered away, leaving behind an uneven dirt path littered with discarded stone. It was as clear a confirmation as any of Ardea’s rumored secession.
Timeus and Lucius exchanged heated words at the head of the caravan as they argued over what to do. They could backtrack to the fork in the road that led on to Pompeii, but they would lose a full day in the process. They had no more food, no supplies, and now they were more than three days away from Rome. But they couldn’t stay where they were. Even an idiot knew better than to camp on an open road, and the soldiers and guards were already paranoid after the attack in the clearing. Their eyes continually scanned the hills and woods to the east. With daylight waning, anxiety began to seep through the caravan.
The setting sun sparked like fire on the flat expanse of the sea. Deep reds and flowering oranges flickered and flashed, though they couldn’t quite compensate for the gray stillness of the city above. The glare of the water made Xanthus squint as he watched Timeus and Lucius argue. But all too soon, night fell, and with it came a gloomy darkness that blanketed the road in shadow.
Then Xanthus saw it—movement. Too much movement. He hurried toward the front of the caravan, his eyes trained on the rise of the hill and the seemingly abandoned walls of the city.
Except they weren’t abandoned anymore. Men—and women, too—had appeared like wraiths, all strapped with blades and bows and clubs. The people of Ardea looked more like a colony of outlaws, and within minutes, more had appeared from the forest to surround Timeus’s caravan.
They were trapped.
Lucius glared at his uncle even as he rested a hand on his sword. When he saw Xanthus, he spoke in a low voice. “Do you think these are the thieves from the clearing?”
Xanthus shook his head. “No. I doubt these would have run.”
Timeus scowled. He looked more irritated than frightened. “They’re rabble in need of a bath. Nothing more.” The man was too proud for his own good.
Xanthus tried not to look back down the road, at the cart where Attia rode with the child. If he’d learned anything these past few days, it was that the Thracian could take care of herself. At any rate, he knew he’d have other things to worry about soon enough.
The Ardeans’ leader emerged from a break in the city’s wall. He was a blob of a man with black hair that hung in strings around his face. His rounded belly bulged against his tunic as he shuffled toward the caravan.
“At least they don’t seem to be short on food,” Lucius quipped.
Xanthus actually smiled.
The man walked right up to Timeus, who was still atop his horse. “Well. Who in Pluto’s name are you?”
“I am Josias Neleus Timeus. And who”—he looked over the man’s body with barely concealed disgust—“are you?”
“Fido. I am master of this city, and you are uninvited. But since you’ve already walked down my road, you’ll have to pay the toll.”
Xanthus glanced back at his brothers, who’d come to stand a few feet behind him. The gladiators weren’t restrained this time. But they didn’t have weapons, and they could all count.
“Five to one,” Lebuin murmured. “At least.”
Albinus’s hands twitched at his waist.
“The Princeps has not instituted a toll to use his road,” Timeus said.
The Ardeans laughed.
“Neither your Princeps nor any Roman has standing here,” Fido said. “And we are a simple people. You pay the toll, or you die.”
Everyone in the caravan knew they had little to offer. The whole point of coming to Ardea was to seek shelter and try to resupply. Whatever debts they incurred would have to be paid at a later date. At least, that was Timeus’s plan, and he said as much.
“I can give you whatever price you wish. After we reach Pompeii,” he said.
Fido shook his head. “I don’t want gold,” he said. His eyes turned to Xanthus. “I want him.”
Timeus didn’t even blink. “A single slave?” he said, infusing his voice with skepticism.
Fido shook his head and clicked his tongue. “I am not stupid, and we are not so removed from the Republic that I can’t recognize the Champion of Rome when I see him. His reputation precedes you all, and he’ll be worth more than any price you can pay once I put him up for auction. Give him to me, and in exchange I’ll offer shelter and whatever else you need.”
Timeus narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“You’re hardly in a position to deny me,” Fido said. “But if you insist, then you can leave. Without your property. Without your horses. Without your women or your guards or your slaves. Just you—walking off into the sunset on your way to … Pompeii, was it? Do you think an old man like you can survive a week on the road alone? Choose carefully, Josias Neleus Timeus. If you want to keep your household intact, the champion is the price.”
Timeus looked ready to tear Fido apart with his bare hands.
But then Lucius spoke up. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Let Xanthus fight.”
Fido cocked his head, considering.