It was a good dream.
“By the gods,” Sabina was saying, tugging at Attia’s blanket, “I never realized how lazy you are. Wake up!”
“Is it morning?”
“Yes, and you need to help me prepare for the feast tomorrow night.”
Attia let her limbs go slack. “Oh, I think I’m falling asleep again,” she mumbled.
Sabina finally pulled the blanket right off, leaving Attia shivering in Sabina’s cool room. She wrapped her arms around her legs, curling up and trying to conserve her last bit of warmth.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Attia groaned. She opened her eyes and looked up to see Lucretia standing just behind Sabina, her eyes already glazing over with the cold and the numbness. She suddenly felt like a profound ass.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m awake.”
And so she spent the day trying to help Sabina and Lucretia prepare to entertain Tycho Flavius.
Trying.
Attia ruined another bouquet of flowers while she watched Lucretia practice a dance in the middle of the great room. Sabina clucked her tongue and shoved Attia’s hands away to fix the arrangement.
Lucretia finished her performance with her hands extended upward and her still-bruised face expressionless.
Attia shook her head. “It’s too pretty. Try extending your fingers like this and then bringing your hand down near his neck,” she said, flattening her palm and making a striking motion through the air.
Lucretia sighed. “It’s a dance, Attia. Not a fight.”
“We can fix that,” Attia said earnestly.
“You’re not being helpful at all,” Sabina scolded.
“I can help by painting Lucretia’s face for the banquet.”
At that, Lucretia actually smiled, her hands falling to her side. “Oh, gods help me if I ever let you anywhere near my face.”
A deep, melodic voice called from the doorway. “Having fun?” Ennius asked.
“Have you come to rescue me?” Attia said as Lucretia started the first steps of the dance again.
“Do you need rescuing?”
“From Sabina and her wretched flowers? Absolutely.”
Ennius inclined his head toward the hallway.
Attia followed him out, suddenly wary. “What is it?” she asked.
“The freemen have sent word—Fido is dead.”
Attia raised a brow. “Good. But how?”
“I don’t know. By the time the message came, the freemen were already on their way to Naples, which isn’t far from here. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Attia, come back in here and make yourself useful!” Sabina called from the room.
“She’s a harder taskmaster than I was,” Ennius said.
“Harder than you and all the furies combined,” Attia said, loud enough for Sabina to hear.
“If it means you’ll actually come in here and help a little, I’ll take that as a compliment!” Sabina shouted back.
Attia went back into the great room, pretending to help Sabina while she watched Lucretia practice. Her eyes drifted over the wounds that covered Lucretia’s body. She could already imagine the sounds of drunken festivities wafting down the hallways of the villa. She could see Sabina and other slaves helping Lucretia dress for the evening. She could feel the familiar anger simmering just below her skin.
“What else is going to happen tomorrow night?” Attia asked. “You dance, they celebrate for no reason, and then what?”
“Why do you ask?” Lucretia said over her shoulder.
“I’ve never been to one of Timeus’s parties. I’m curious.”
Sabina and Lucretia shared a brief glance.
“Attia, if you can help it, just stay away tomorrow,” Lucretia said. “I’m sure you’ll find it all rather tedious.” The words were spoken lightly, but Lucretia’s face had tightened. The mask was back.
“She’s right, Attia,” Sabina said, ushering them both out of the great room. “Stay with the child tomorrow night.”
Attia frowned with suspicion but followed Sabina and Lucretia back to their sleeping quarters.
“Ah. It’s finished,” Sabina said as they entered the room.
A long gold gown hung from two hooks on the wall. It was more translucent than any of the stolas Attia had seen Lucretia wear before. The sleeves were long, but the back was completely open down to the waist. Lucretia lifted the thing from the hooks and held it to her shoulders.
Attia stared in shock. “That’s what you’re wearing? You’ll practically be naked. Why bother wearing anything at all?”
“I won’t be wearing it for long,” Lucretia said, holding the gown so that Sabina could examine the hem. “I’ll take it off as I dance.”
Attia had to fight the sudden urge to gag.
“It’s a common enough performance,” Lucretia said. “I’ve done it plenty of times. What did you expect, Thracian?”
Attia felt so sick she could barely speak, but through clenched teeth, she managed to say, “I hate him.”
“Stay with the child,” Sabina said again.
Attia knew she was talking about the night of the party, but she couldn’t stand to see Lucretia “practice” any longer.
She turned on her heel and left the room. Neither Lucretia nor Sabina tried to stop her.
*
They found shelter in Naples’s Red District.
Naturally, Xanthus thought.
It seemed the mercenaries enjoyed surrounding themselves with women of the night, even if they didn’t partake in what those women offered.
“They keep better secrets than most,” Number Two explained.
“Wasn’t it one of those women who told you about Fido’s men?”
Number Two shrugged. “She liked my face.”
They all bedded down on the third floor of an abandoned insula. The poorer districts had lost numerous tenants in recent months, due in part to the massive taxes Titus had levied to pay for the construction of the Coliseum. Xanthus didn’t understand the point of eviction; no one paid rent on empty insulas anyway. He settled into a corner of the room while Kanut’s men perched themselves at the windows and the doorway. Always watching.
Xanthus looked around. “Why don’t the rest of you talk?”
“Maybe we’re like Spartacus,” one said. “Mute.”
The one Xanthus had punched in Capua said, “Or maybe we just don’t like you.”
Xanthus shrugged. “I suppose your leader talks enough for all of you.”
“Capua was a dead end,” Number Two said, ignoring the banter. “And I have a feeling we won’t find much more here.”
“Are you ready to amend your previous statements, gladiator?” Kanut asked.
“About?”
“About the giant with seven wives and a home in the far east.”
“Seven sons,” Xanthus corrected.
“And that’s why we don’t like you,” said the mercenary with the smashed nose.
“The feeling is mutual,” Xanthus said.
Number Two smiled. “That hurts our feelings, gladiator.”