We made our way down to the docks on the River Tiber in pairs and small groups and, once there, used the cover of the merchant stalls and the constant, crowded flow of foot traffic to our best advantage, boarding the craft Cai had procured at inconspicuous intervals. The vessel was a low-slung, dragon-prowed affair with a tattered, faded sail that looked as though it had once belonged to some less-than-prosperous northern raiders. Its side rails were festooned with the ragged-edged sea-bleached shields of its former shipmates, and it looked thoroughly disreputable and barely seaworthy. I suspected that no one would think to look twice for a gaggle of fugitive gladiatrices sailing aboard her.
Still, I would breathe a sigh of relief only once we’d made our way past the docks of the port city of Ostia, with wind filling the sails and the boat bounding through the waves of the Mare Nostrum, heading west toward Corsica. And, I prayed to the Morrigan, my sister.
We’d agreed before setting out that Elka, Ajani, and Gratia would each take a couple of the newer girls. Elka, her tattered palla pulled up over her head, walked bent over like a crone, accompanied by Devana and Nephele. The disguise gave Elka an excuse to lean heavily on a “walking stick”—a long wooden staff that, in her hands, was almost as lethal as her customary bladed spear. Just in case she and her charges ran into any trouble.
Ajani took Kore and Thalassa and had to hide the small bow Leander had found for her beneath the heavy veils she wore. It was a cheaply made thing, almost a child’s toy, but it was accompanied by two full quivers of arrows. Ajani had spent days oiling the bow and sharpening the arrows, gently straightening every single shaft over a brazier so they would fly as true as her aim.
Gratia, accompanied by Vorya and Anat, went unequipped. In a street brawl, her bare hands would probably be just as effective as anything else, I reasoned. Whatever other weapons we’d amassed, the girls hid them in boots or packs or under wraps. It wasn’t hard—we were still light on arms all around, and what we’d been able to scrounge were mostly long knives and short swords. I counted myself extremely fortunate, under the circumstances, that I had my oath swords, strapped to my hips under my cloak.
The day grew long and I fidgeted with the hilt of one blade, leg muscles cramping from stillness, as Meriel crouched beside me in the shadows of a cloth merchant’s stall. She carried only a thin-bladed dagger tucked away in her boot, and I desperately hoped she wouldn’t have the opportunity to use it. Because whoever she bloodied with that blade would have to be less than her arm’s length away. I shifted uneasily at the prospect of a fight. We’d been lucky so far. Over the course of the last hour or so, as the sun sank toward the hills across the river, she and I had waited.
I glanced back toward the wharf. It was close to deserted now, save for a few late cargo porters and a scattering of gulls searching for scraps. I looked to the ship but couldn’t see Cai or Quint in the prow yet. At irregular intervals, one of them—both still dressed like merchants—would appear standing in the prow of the docked boat, and that would be a signal for one of our little groups to make their way onboard. The bustle of the wharves, even that late in the day, helped mask the activity. Our little bands of travelers blended into the crowds, only to disappear up the gangplank onto the ship, where they stayed out of sight.
Meriel and I were the last, waiting out of sight in the gathering purple shadows as dusk gave way to a deeper dark and the first stars pricked their holes in the fabric of the sky. Antonia and Neferet, along with Leander and Arviragus, had gone aboard not long before. Now the wharf traffic was almost down to nothing, and it wouldn’t be long.
Meriel nudged my shoulder. “There’s our signal.”
“Let’s go.”
We were so close. A spear’s throw—less—when they came out from between the pillars of the merchant’s guild pavilion. A half dozen vigiles, all bristling with armor and waiting, clearly, for me to show before they made their move. We’d walked right into a trap.
“That one!” one of them shouted, pointing at me. “It’s her!”
We ran, Meriel turning the air as blue as her tattoos with curses. “I’m useless with only this bloody cheese knife!” she exclaimed, brandishing the little blade she carried as her only weapon.
Within a stone’s throw of the ship, three more vigiles stepped out from behind a stack of crates—blocking the way between the gangplank and us. Between freedom and us. Meriel skittered to a halt and turned to me, eyes white-rimmed. I drew my swords and offered her one.
She reached to take it—and then lunged past me, shouting, “Never mind!”
“Meriel!”
“Better idea!”
The docks were full of ships and boats and all manner of associated paraphernalia, including fishing gear. A neat stack of it: crab pots, nets, and a bundle of fishing spears. In the arena, Meriel fought retiarius-style, with a trident and net. The spear she snatched up had only two tines instead of the three, and the net was hung with bits of seaweed, but I don’t think she cared in the moment. She turned to jam her shoulder up against mine, and together, we faced the advancing vigiles.
As constables of Rome, the vigiles were tough and they were brutal, an effective force in keeping the peace in the city. But when they fought, they fought like thugs. A few of the senior officers were legion-trained, but the majority of the men who patrolled the actual streets, navigating the treacherous rivalries of the district merchant guilds and their gangs of enforcers, were simple brawlers. Big, strong, they outweighed and outmuscled us.
And two of them went down like sacks of grain the instant they attacked.
I didn’t have time to think about how it felt to have to wrench my sword out of human flesh again, twisting as I did to avoid slipping in the hot, red rush of blood that followed, painting the cobbles beneath my sandals. I only thought about the lives of the girls on the boat behind me. Of Sorcha waiting for rescue . . .
“Fallon!”
Meriel shouted and I ducked without thinking, slamming my knee painfully onto the ground and rolling over onto my back. The setting sun flashed red on the blade descending in an arc toward my head. I thrust out an arm to block the coming blow but suddenly the sword was gone, caught in the barbs of Meriel’s fish spear and swept aside. The blade flew through the air, and its wielder cursed and lurched after to retrieve it.
I sucked in a breath and scrambled clear of the melee, gasping a thanks for the save. Meriel grunted in response and grasped my wrist to drag me up to my feet.
“Down, Meriel!”
I shouldered her aside and slashed my swords overhead as the vigile behind her raised an axe over his head, screaming as he swung the weapon back for a killing blow. He screamed louder when he realized that he no longer had an axe—or an arm—to swing.