The vein in Timeus’s forehead was bulging again. “Lucius…” he said in a dangerously low voice.
“Xanthus is the Champion of Rome,” Lucius said. His voice hardened and his expression became unreadable. “Let him fight, and if he lives, you give us what we want. If he dies…” Lucius shrugged. “You keep whatever we have left. Simple. But I think we can all agree that Xanthus is the best fighter in Rome. He’ll beat any man you have and then some.”
“Really?” Fido said with a slow grin. “Any man?”
“Any,” Lucius said again.
“And then some?”
“That’s right.”
Fido looked at Timeus.
The old man glared back. “That’s our offer.”
Fido’s grin widened, and he spread his arms to the Ardeans gathered around. “Do I have any volunteers?”
Every single Ardean man let out a loud shout. The sound reverberated against the darkened sky.
Fido clapped his hands. “He fights until dawn. If he survives, so do you.”
*
The cart lurched and rocked on the uneven road. Rory still had her arms wrapped around Attia’s waist, and Attia could feel her tiny body trembling. At least an hour passed before the cart stopped, and then it took yet another hour before someone opened the outer door. Attia leaned out to take in their new surroundings.
Timeus’s guards paced warily around the cart. Tall, bright torches lined the road on both sides. Empty insulas rose up around them, the windows dark and the doors thrown carelessly open. A row of silk awnings had been erected from the back of the cart to a pitted wooden door on ground level.
It seemed that Rory’s cart had been driven down a street that curved through the city of Ardea, right up to the door of a small, windowless room that had been allotted to the Mistress Aurora Bassus and her nursemaid.
Biting back her questions, Attia carried Rory inside. A fur rug covered the hard-packed earth floor, and old tapestries hung crookedly on the walls. Against the far wall, a bed of blankets, pillows, furs, and other soft things had already been prepared. Water steamed from a copper tub in the middle of the room, filling the space with the scent of lavender.
“Do I have to take a bath?” Rory asked, her head resting on Attia’s shoulder. “I’m not the least bit dirty.”
“Then it shouldn’t take very long, should it?” Attia said.
She tried to make a game of it—frothing up the soap and water so that a thin layer of bubbles coated Rory’s pale skin. The poor thing must have lived quite a boring life; she was so easily amused. She laughed and giggled and made little splashes in the water until Attia declared she was quite finished.
“You’re going to look like a prune if you stay in the water much longer.”
“Mother loves prunes,” Rory said.
Attia hid a smile before pulling a sleeping tunic over the girl’s head and tucking her into the blankets and pillows. Within moments, the girl was asleep, and Attia knew from experience that nothing but the falling sky could wake her now.
Sabina entered the room a few minutes later. Her face was damp with sweat. She walked to the copper tub and splashed water onto her forehead.
“There are people everywhere,” she said. “The Ardeans were hiding—waiting for nightfall.”
“Clever of them.”
“Timeus has arranged for us to stay a while, but the soldiers have to wait at the gates. They aren’t allowed into the city.”
“So Ardea has seceded after all.”
“It certainly looks like it,” Sabina said. She looked toward the bed, and seeing Rory already asleep, she smiled sadly. “You’re good with her. You’ll make a fine mother.”
Attia shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. She felt more affection for the child than she thought she could ever feel for any Roman. But Attia wasn’t the tender kind, and she only had a few memories of her own mother. How could she ever be one? Especially now?
“You kept her safe, too,” Sabina said, almost to herself. “Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”
“Timeus’s men would have intervened.”
“If you thought so, then why did you bother?”
Attia didn’t respond, and neither of them said anything for a while.
Somehow, despite the fire, the room had gotten colder. Attia could even see her breath. The burning coals shot little sparks of red up the shaft in the wall that served as a vent. An unexpected funnel of cold air swirled through the room.
Attia turned, and her eyes settled on the door before she even realized why. It was only a dark, ugly thing separating them from the guards who paced in the street. Heavy and pitted, it blocked out all of the light from the lanterns outside, except for one bright, narrow crevice along one vertical edge. Attia stood and began walking toward it.
“There’s something I should tell you,” Sabina said, though her voice sounded far away. Attia’s gaze was focused solely on the door. “The dominus, he’s agreed to … Attia, what are you doing?”
Attia stood before the door, reached out, and pushed gently.
The unlocked door swung open.
*
Xanthus stood alone in the middle of a pathetic excuse for an arena. Fewer than thirty yards across at its widest point and bordered all around by rotting wooden boards, it held over five hundred spectators. The ground was nothing but dirt and excrement, and squeaking critters raced along the edges.
It had taken less than an hour for the news to spread throughout the city: The Champion of Rome was among them and ready to fight. Borrowed swords in hand, Xanthus waited in the center of the arena as Timeus introduced him.
The old man’s long face had calmed, but there was an edge to his voice as he forced the familiar words out of his mouth. “Rome’s champion needs no introduction,” the dominus shouted. “Call his name! Release his fury!”
The crowd screamed.
Finished, Timeus met Xanthus’s eyes, and for a split second, an emotion that Xanthus had never seen crossed the old man’s face. If Xanthus didn’t know better, he would have thought it was regret. Then it was gone, and the first of his opponents entered the arena.
The Ardean seemed to think he was some kind of dancer. His feet moved in ridiculous, circular movements, and he bobbed his head to music Xanthus couldn’t hear. He made a big show of edging around Xanthus but staying just out of reach. His comrades cheered him on.
Even if Xanthus wanted to look that stupid, he couldn’t afford the luxury. According to the terms of Timeus’s agreement with Fido, Xanthus had to fight until dawn. To do that, he needed to conserve his energy as much as possible. So when the man finally charged at him with a shout and a lazy swing of his sword, Xanthus simply ducked. He smacked the broadside of his weapon against the man’s thigh before moving calmly to the other end of the arena.
The Ardeans weren’t expecting that. They began laughing and pointing in delight while Xanthus’s opponent reddened with embarrassment.
From the balcony above, Timeus muttered, “I hate when he does this.”