Текст книги "The Left Hand of Calvus"

Автор книги: L. A. Witt

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

“You’re on.” He picks up his weapon and shield, and joins me in the circle.

I’m not paying attention to Sikandar, though. Training puts my sword and shield where they need to be to protect myself, but I only attack enough to keep him at bay, not take him down. My concentration is on Drusus and the narrowing distance between us as he wanders the training yard. He’s coming closer, probably heading over to speak to one of the other trainers or to check on the men burning Iovita.

I count Drusus’s steps. Time slows.

I curl my right fist at my side.

Drusus is near. Nearer. Nearer still.

Now!

Without warning or hesitation, I drop my sword, lunge forward, and swing my fist into Sikandar’s face.

“What the—” Sikandar stumbles back, but he recovers quickly and retaliates. He takes me to the ground, and we grapple in the sand, fists and curses flying. He hits my jaw, and the pain briefly blurs my vision, but I keep fighting. All around us, feet scramble on dirt, and shouting men close in on us from all directions. I roll Sikandar onto his back and ready my fist to hit him again, but huge hands drag me to my feet.

From beside me, Drusus shouts, “What is going on here? What in the name of—”

I wrench free from the man holding me, spin toward the sound of his voice, and swing my fist.

It connects with his face.

Every man in the yard sucks in a collective breath, and time slows as Drusus flies backward.

Before he’s even hit the dusty ground, I’m tackled by men the size of bulls. Their combined weight forces the air from my lungs as we land on the ground, and a cool, sharp edge bites into my throat.

“Stop!” Drusus commands. The men on top of me freeze. The blade is at my throat, I’m pinned, but no one moves. I swear all of Pompeii is deathly still.

Sikandar offers Drusus a hand to help him to his feet. Ignoring him, Drusus wipes blood from his nose. Spits more into the dust. Looks at me with cold death in his eyes.

“Are you all right, Dominus?” Sikandar asks.

“I’m fine,” Drusus snaps. Arabo also offers him a hand, but the lanista rises on his own. As he dusts himself off, he glares at me. Then he spits in the sand and says, “Hasdrubal, Sikandar. Take him to the pit. Now. Before I kill him right here in the yard.” Without a word, Sikandar and Hasdrubal haul me to my feet and lead me out of the training yard. I don’t have to look to know every gladiator and trainer is staring, probably wondering if I’ve lost my damned mind. Or if I’ve just gotten every last one of us killed.

As soon as we’re out of the training yard, Sikandar digs his fingers into my arm. “Are you mad?” he whispers harshly. “You’re lucky he doesn’t crucify you right in the training yard.”

“You’re lucky we don’t,” Hasdrubal growls. “You fucking fool, you’re—”

“The responsibility is mine,” I say flatly.

“That won’t stop Drusus from killing all of us.” Sikandar tightens his grip on my arm. “If the master doesn’t kill you for this, you would be wise to watch your back.”

“I’ve watched my back since the day I came here.” I keep my words terse and flat, praying they don’t betray my pounding heart.

Hasdrubal sniffs. “Then you’ll be well practiced, won’t you?”

None of us speak now. They continue half-leading, half-dragging me toward the pit. Just before we start down the stairs that’ll take us into the cellar, Sikandar lights a torch. They lead me down the stone stairs into the mostly dark corridor, and with every step we take, the torch throws a little bit more warm light on the huge wooden door up ahead.

The cellar’s dank coolness prickles the back of my neck and the length of my spine. It’s even worse when they push open the door.

I stand in the middle of the room and hold out my arms. “Just be done with it.”

Without speaking, Sikandar puts the torch on the wall while Hasdrubal yanks off my tunic. Then they both close the shackles around my wrists. They’re attached to heavy chains suspended from high on the walls on either side of me, and they hold my arms up and out.

“Nice knowing you, brother.” Sikandar claps my arm.

“Give our regards to Hades,” Hasdrubal says.

I say nothing. The men leave the pit, and I’m alone in the cool, mostly dark silence. Standing in the center of the room, bound by the unforgiving chains, I wait.

Footsteps approach. I close my eyes and breathe slowly.

The door opens. Arabo enters first. He tugs at my bindings and checks my hands for anything I could use to pick the shackles.

Then he leans out the door. “He’s secure, Dominus.”

Drusus steps into the room with his other bodyguard behind him. The lanista’s icy blue eyes look right into mine, but mine drift to the flagellum in his hand. It isn’t the one Arabo used my first night here. The lashes are longer. Stiffer. Knotted. There may even be metal or stones tied to the ends, unless it’s just the leather catching the dim, flickering torchlight.

Whatever I’ve seen in his eyes during a few strange, silent moments, it’s gone now, and the man facing me is the one who’s earned the fearsome reputation I’d heard about as far away as Rome.

Barely turning his head, Drusus says, “Leave us.”

The bodyguards don’t hesitate. They leave the room, and as soon as they’re gone, Drusus locks the door behind them.

He faces me again. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you, gladiator.” He touches his lip, then turns his hand to show me the smear of blood darkening the ends of his fine fingers. “For this, I could crucify—”

“I had to get you alone,” I say quietly. “You’re in danger, Drusus. I—”

“What?” He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine. “Speak, gladiator. What danger?”

I lower my voice. “I didn’t come to your ludus of my own free will.”

Drusus draws back, arms folded across his breastplate, fingers still wrapped tightly around the handle of the flagellum. “Explain.”

“I’m not a citizen or even a freedman,” I say. “And I didn’t volunteer. I’m a slave, and I was sent here with false documents.” I look Drusus in the eyes. “Forgive me. My master is Calvus Laurea.”

His lips part.

“He sent me to your ludus.” I shift as much as the chains will allow. “Forged the papers for my status as a citizen, and my approval from the magistrate to volunteer as an auctoratus. The money? The five hundred sestertii from the magistrate?” I shake my head. “It came from Calvus. If I spoke of him to you or anyone else in the ludus, he threatened to have the magistrate ask if you received the full seven hundred sestertii.”

Drusus laughs dryly. “That does sound like Calvus Laurea.” Then he furrows his brow. “But why did he send you into my familia?”

I hesitate, gnawing my lip. “He is certain Verina is carrying on an affair with one of the men here, and he charged me with finding that man and revealing his name.”

In a heartbeat, the hostility vanishes from the lanista’s face. So does most of the color. The flagellum in his hand slips a little. “What have you told him?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. But I believe the Master Laurea is trying to kill you or Verina. Perhaps both of you.”

More color drains from Drusus’s face.

I avoid his eyes. “An attempt has already been made. This morning. In the market.”

Drusus stiffens. He steps closer, almost touching me. “How do you know this?”

Still keeping my eyes down, I whisper, “Because I stopped him.”

“You . . .” He pauses, and I imagine his eyebrow arching upward as it often does. “You stopped him?”

“Yes, Dominus.”

He cups my jaw in his calloused hand, though he doesn’t grip it hard, and raises my chin so we’re looking at each other, which does nothing to slow my thundering heart.

“You stopped him,” he says. It isn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“So you were there.” He releases my face. “In the market.”

“Yes.” I sweep my tongue across my dry lips. “I followed you.”

“I see.”

“It wasn’t the first time,” I say. “I . . . wanted to be sure. That my suspicions were correct.”

His eyes narrow and his lips tighten. “So that you could report back to your master.”

“No,” I reply quickly. “No, I . . . perhaps when I first came here, yes, I would have, but I . . .” Gods, it’s impossible to think when he’s this close to me. “I’ve reported nothing back. I swear it. Nor do I intend to.”

“Even though you have your orders?”

I nod. “And when I realized someone else intended to do you or Verina harm, I had to stop him.”

Drusus regards me silently for a long moment. “The man who made the attempt, what of him now? Is he still a threat?”

“No. He isn’t.” I swallow. “He’s dead.”

Drusus’s eyes lose focus. “Iovita.”

“Yes.” I hesitate. “Forgive me, Dominus. I know this isn’t my place. But if you see her again, I have no doubt you’ll be in grave danger. Both of you.”

Drusus winces. “I know.” He absently touches below his nose, dabbing away some of the blood.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know how else to get you alone without rousing suspicion.”

“Suspicion?” he asks. “Suspicion of what?”

“The men. They suspect I am either favored by you or spying. Betraying them. I was warned against meeting you alone again. This was . . .” I exhale hard, flexing my wrists inside the shackles. “I needed to get you alone. Without the men believing it was to give you information.”

“And you came to my ludus to obtain information.” He looks in my eyes. “Information which you now have.” Neither his face nor his tone betray any emotion at all. “Why are you telling me and not the Master Laurea?”

I don’t have an answer. Not one I can put into words.

“Calvus Laurea could kill you for this,” Drusus says. “As could the other men in the familia.” He hesitates. “As could I.”

“I know.”

“And yet you did it anyway,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Why?”

I can barely breathe. “What else would you have me do?”

“What your master sent you here to do.” His eyes dart to one chained wrist, then the other. “Kill me if he ordered it.”

I wet my lips. “He hasn’t.”

“Not yet,” he says. “But you believe he ordered Iovita to kill me?”

“You, and possibly the Lady Verina. He may have ordered others, too. I can’t say for certain.”

Drusus’s piercing blue eyes are still locked on mine, and I wonder if I’d be able to stand at all if not for the chains holding me upright. His voice is hard but quiet as he says, “And if he does command you to do the same now that Iovita has failed?”

“I won’t.” I hold his gaze. “I swear it, I won’t.”

He’s silent for a long, long time. The tip of his tongue worries at the corner of his mouth, and the flagellum’s tails whisper against each other as he shifts his weight, but he doesn’t look away from me. I can’t look anywhere but right back at him.

Eventually, Drusus’s gaze slides toward the flagellum tucked into the crook of his arm. “The other men . . .” He glances at me. “If you leave this room without a mark—”

“I know. I knew before I hit you.” The chains rattle as I try in vain to get comfortable, and I steel myself. “Do what you must.”

Lips apart and brow furrowed, Drusus stares at me, more confused than I’ve ever seen him. “You’ve been whipped before. You know it’s—”

“Yes.” I suppress a shudder. “I do.”

We look at each other. Neither of us moves. Neither speaks.

After a long moment, he tucks the flagellum under his arm. “Thank you, Saevius.” He reaches for my face. “You’ve done more than you can possibly imagine.”

Before I can speak, he raises himself up and presses his lips to mine. We’re both still, not even breathing, until he pulls back and looks in my eyes. Then his hand curves around the back of my neck, and he kisses me again, harder this time. Gods, every look he’s given me makes sense now, as does every look I’ve ever given him, and even the fear and anticipation of pain rushing through my veins can’t temper the heat his kiss ignites.

He parts his lips, and I tilt my head as he welcomes my tongue into his mouth. His kiss is intoxicating, perhaps because I never expected it and perhaps because it’s Drusus, and I curl my hands into fists, straining against the shackles and chains, but they refuse to give. No matter how hard I try, I cannot touch him.

Drusus breaks away, and our eyes meet. He’s out of breath. So am I.

He looks at the flagellum again. “Gods help me, I can’t do this.” He releases a breath and caresses my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Not after you’ve quite possibly saved Verina’s life. And mine.”

“What choice do you have?”

He chews his lip.

“We both know you can’t let me leave here unscathed,” I say. “If you do, the men will have more reason to think there’s something unusual going on. That, or they’ll think they can attack you without consequence.”

Drusus closes his eyes and pushes out a long breath through his nose.

“I bloodied your face, Drusus,” I whisper. “I knew what the consequences would be.”

Slowly, he nods. Then he opens his eyes. He kisses me lightly, and when he backs away this time, he lowers his gaze.

My heart beats faster when he walks around me.

Behind me, he stops. His leather breastplate creaks, and the long, stiff tails of the flagellum rattle against each other.

“Forgive me, Saevius.”

Somehow, my legs are moving. My feet drag, and every couple of steps, I trip on the stones beneath me, but my legs are moving. It’s only because of the rough hands gripping my arms that I don’t stop or crumble to the ground. They force me to keep moving.

My mouth is sour. My head spins and throbs. I can’t even lift it, and just let it fall forward. Concentrate on walking. And not getting sick again. And staying conscious.

And the pain.My back. My shoulders. Every movement—every breath—brings more flames to life. I’ve given up begging the gods for death. Maybe it’ll come, maybe it won’t, but I don’t have the strength to send up another prayer.

The world is brighter now. Blinding. Heat presses against drying blood and scourged flesh. When my eyes adjust, I’m outside. There are voices nearby, clattering weapons, and all those sounds falter. Or maybe I’m fading again, spiraling from this world into—

“On your feet,” a voice beside me barks. The hands on my arms tighten. Shake me. Jolt me hard enough to clear my mind.

We stop. I’m on sand. The voices and weapons really have ceased now, and only a hushed murmur remains.

“Into ranks,” someone near me shouts. “All of you. Now.”

Feet thump on the ground. I swear I can feel every step reverberating through me. Then, everyone is still and silent again.

Another set of footsteps—only one this time—crunches on the sand behind me until they too stop.

“Turn around, Saevius.” Drusus’s voice sends chills through me.

Forgive me, Saevius, I hear him whispering what seems like a lifetime ago.

I bloodied your face, Drusus. It was so easy to say then. I knew what the consequences would be.

“Turn. Around.”

The hands on my arms let go, and I will my shaking legs to stay under me as I go through the simple but excruciating motions of a slow about-face.

Behind me, the men murmur and curse. I think someone retches, but I can’t be sure. Gods, how badly is my back wounded to make gladiators ill?

“Saevius,” Drusus says coldly. “Look at me.”

I swallow the rising bile and lift my chin. I blink a few times to bring my vision into focus.

His face is as cold as his voice. “Get on your knees.”

I hold his gaze. He holds mine.

Forgive me, Saevius.

I knew what the consequences would be.

“The master gave you an order,” Arabo barks, and before I can think, he kicks my knee out from under me. The other buckles, and I drop to the sand.

Drusus walks past me. He’s behind me again. He’s still. I shiver, bracing just as I did before the first strike in the pit.

“Look at him,” Drusus snarls. “Look at him, and remember this. Let him be a warning to every last filthy bastard among you.”

No one makes a sound. I’m not sure anyone is even breathing. Not even me.

“This will not be tolerated,” Drusus says.

The familiar rattle. Oh gods. My throat closes around my breath, and every inch of shredded flesh burns with anticipation of more, especially as Drusus says, “Any one of you attacks me like this fool did, I promise you that this will only be the beginning of your punishment.”

Whoosh.

The lashes carve fresh streaks of fire across my back. The sound that leaves my lips seems to come from somewhere else, and I fall forward onto my shaking arms.

Another whoosh warns me there’s more coming. The lashes haven’t even touched me before I vomit on the sand between my hands. My elbows almost buckle. Much more, and they will.

I barely feel the flagellum’s talons rip into my flesh this time. The pain is there, but I’m not. I’m somewhere else. Fading deeper into blackness with every vicious stroke. Every stroke I can’t even count.

Shaking.Falling.

One elbow collapses. Then the other.

Hot sand.More pain. More vomit. Blood.

A foot rams into my hip. I grunt and topple onto my side. Sand grinds itself into my mutilated back and shoulder.

I blink my eyes into focus and look up at him. He sneers down at me, but for a fleeting instant, half a heartbeat at best, his brow knits together.

His expression quickly hardens again, and he looks past me. “Get him to the medicus.” Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Forgive me, Saevius.

I close my eyes.

Hands around my arms. Someone jerks me upright.

Darkness.

The foul-smelling tincture threatens to make me retch again, but it dulls the fierce burning across my back and shoulders enough that I’ll gladly deal with what it does to my stomach. The medicus works slowly on my scourged flesh, suturing the worst of the wounds.

Finally, he’s finished. “You’re not to spar again until you have my say so.”

“Right.” I don’t think I could spar now if I wanted to anyway.

The medicus eyes me. “I mean it. Drusus has a problem with it? Send ’im to me.”

I nod, but say nothing.

Drusus. My stomach twists. My mouth still tingles with the absence of his lips and tongue, but after what feels like an eternity of my head being light from pain and all the blood I’ve lost, I wonder if I imagined it all. My lanista kissed me? Impossible.

Why are you telling me and not the Master Laurea?he’d asked. Calvus Laurea could kill you for this.

I know.

And yet you did it anyway. Why?

I slowly run the tip of my tongue across my lower lip, searching for a taste of that long-since-cooled—and possibly imagined—kiss. Why, indeed?

The medicus finishes bandaging my back and gives me one more gruff warning about sparring before I’m healed.

Arabo comes to collect me. He shackles my wrists and ankles, and neither of us say a word as he leads me out of the infirmary. We pass through the training yard. I don’t look at the men. I don’t need to. I can feel their gazes—curious, murderous—even as I keep my own fixed on the sand beneath my feet.

Their matches slow. Some stop. Whispers. Murmurs. Gods be with me when I return to my training, because no gladiator will want to associate with one who’s willing to attack the lanista. The greater distance they keep from me, the less likely they are to be killed if I try anything again. Except we all know damn well no lanista wants another Spartacus on his hands, and no gladiator wants to die because a lanista suspects a possible uprising, so the first chance these men get, they’ll be falling over themselves to be the one to kill me.

For now, though, I’m to be kept under lock and key. As far as the men know, I’m under heavy guard to keep me from committing another such offense. Just as well.

Arabo takes me to a new cell, separated from the rest of the barracks. No windows. A single door. Two guards I pray haven’t been bribed, persuaded, or otherwise compelled to kill me for the other men’s safety.

Let someone kill me. Death would be merciful now.

I settle onto the small, hard rack, cursing the straw that prickles my flesh and the bandages that press against my wounds. Gods, yes, death would be welcome. Or sleep. Some kind of oblivion.

Before long, thank the gods, darkness takes over.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been in here. Days, at least. The grimy bowl has been refilled with cold gruel . . . four times? Five? The pain has diminished, though it won’t be gone anytime soon. My desire for death or sleep has changed to boredom. Restlessness. The cell is shrinking around me, and pacing only makes it shrink faster.

At least Calvus or Ataiun can’t summon me from in here. I’m long overdue for a meeting with one of them, but I can’t as long as I’m imprisoned within the ludus.

Chains rattle, and I look up to see Arabo approaching with shackles in his hand.

“The master demands your presence.” He pushes open the door. “Immediately.”

I don’t fight him as he shackles me. It’s best for the men to see me this way as much as possible; anything to convince them Drusus and I are enemies.

Arabo leads me to that familiar room where Drusus waits. My shackles are removed, and then the bodyguards step outside and close the door, leaving me alone with the lanista.

Drusus sits in his usual chair, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s got a message in his hands. His lips are tight and eyebrows knitted together like the words are painful to read.

His hands moving slowly, perhaps even reverently, he rolls the paper into a scroll. He doesn’t look at me as he says, “Your wounds. How are . . .”

“They’ll heal.”

He runs his finger back and forth along the rolled scroll. “But you’re in pain.”

“I will be for some time.” I shift my weight. “But the worst has passed.” When he flinches, I add, “It was necessary. We both know it.”

Drusus nods. Then he pulls in a breath. “I need you to deliver this. To Verina.” With unsteady hands, he melts some wax with a candle, and I barely hear him as he adds, “I can’t trust anyone else. Not with this.”

“Of course, Dominus.”

He says nothing. He seals the scroll, but doesn’t press a signet into the melted wax. Once the wax has hardened, Drusus stands and holds out the scroll, but still doesn’t look at me.

I carefully close my fingers around the message and take it from him.

Eyes down, Drusus speaks. “The Lady Laurea will be at the market this afternoon. There is a servant who accompanies her. Lucia.” Swallowing hard, Drusus looks at the message in my hands. “Give it to Lucia, but do not tell her it is from me. If she asks, assure her Verina will know.”

“I will, Dominus.” I tuck the scroll into my belt.

“Thank you.” Finally he looks up at me, and when our eyes meet, he swallows. “Your back . . . are you sure . . .”

“It’ll heal.”

He holds my gaze. We’re close together, close enough one of us could reach for the other, but neither of us moves, and his intense eyes are unsettling.

After a long moment, he says, “I still can’t quite work out why you did what you did. You knew I would . . .” He pauses, and his face colors. “You knew you’d be scourged for it. That I’d have no other choice.”

“I’d do it again,” I blurt out. “Even now.”

His lips part. “I just don’t understand why.”

I pull in a breath. “I’m not sure I do either. But . . . I don’t regret it.”

We lock eyes once again, and I wonder if he has as much difficulty breathing as I do. My heart’s pounding as it always does when I face Drusus, and the phantom tingle on my lips says I know damn well why I can’t breathe, why my heart’s racing, and why I’d take a scourging for Drusus again without a second thought.

He moistens his lips. “Saevius . . .”

I can’t take another moment. I reach for his face, and before my hands touch his flesh, his own hands are on the sides of my neck, and he’s drawn me in until our lips are nearly together.

And here, we stop, breathing hard against each other, and I’m sure he can feel my heart thundering against his breastplate. His mouth is close enough to mine, his breath warms my lips. I’m distantly aware I’m on an entirely new kind of dangerous ground, that this is foolish, but all I can think is that I can nearly taste his wine in the air between us.

He releases a breath and draws back enough to look in my eyes. “I’m your master, Saevius, but . . . I won’t force this on you.”

I close my eyes and touch my forehead to his. “It’s your right.”

“And as your master, I’m giving you the choice,” he breathes, our lips just brushing. “I won’t have a man who doesn’t want me.” Soft desperation tinges the edges of his voice as he whispers, “Saevius, tell me—”

I cover his lips with mine.

He grasps my hair and returns my kiss. His mouth is soft, but precise; everywhere his lips touch or his tongue teases is deliberate, I’m sure of it.

He pulls me against him, and we both stumble until his back hits the wall. I curse his armor, his damned belt, the distracting wounds beneath my tunic, everything that keeps us far enough apart that I can’t feel if this affects him like it does me.

Abruptly, though, Drusus puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back half a step. He lets his head fall against the wall. “Jupiter’s balls, we can’t do this.”

I step back, but as soon as the gap between us widens, Drusus reaches for me again, and I seize the edges of his breastplate. His kiss is demanding and unrelenting, and I match his hunger and aggression. My hands drift down, and my fingers curl around the tightly fastened laces on the sides of his breastplate. Jupiter, Neptune, and Venus, what I wouldn’t give to take away these laces and feel his flesh, even through his clothing. What I wouldn’t give to get past all this—

Drusus breaks away again. “I’m sorry . . .” He meets my eyes. “We . . .”

He can’t speak. I can’t. I can barely breathe. It’s like all the air in the room is gone.

Then Drusus clears his throat and lowers his gaze. “You need to go soon. She’ll be there before long.”

“Right.” I gesture at the scroll in my belt. “I’m on my way.”

Message in hand, I start for the door.

“Saevius.”

I stop and face him again. “Yes?”

His back is to me now, his head turned so he’s only visible in profile. “Nothing happened in this room.” The cold lanista’s voice is back, but it’s not as sharp and rigid as usual. “Or in the pit. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Dominus.”

Barely whispering, he says, “Dismissed.”

Arabo shackles my wrists again, and we leave through the ludus’s front gate. Men watch. They whisper. The gods only know what they suspect now, if they wonder whether I’ll return alive or at all.

Drusus’s bodyguard stays with me, a hand on my elbow until we’re well out of sight from the ludus. Then he opens the shackles.

“I’ll wait here,” he says.

I nod. “I shouldn’t be long.”

I check again to be sure the scroll is still safely tucked beneath the tunic that’s scratching and irritating my scourged, sutured back. It’s there, just as it should be, so I hurry down the street toward the marketplace.

My heart beats faster as I pass the Forum. Men in togas swarm this place, politicians coming and going, clustering here and there to discuss whatever it is politicians discuss. By the distinct purple stripes on more than a few togas, there are senators out here. And where there are senators, there are other politicians. Any one of whom could be Calvus Laurea.

The crowded marketplace offers relief from that fear, and I search less for Calvus and more for his wife and her servant.

The streets here are choked with people, and many are noblewomen and their servants. I’ve only seen Verina a few times, just when she’s visited the ludus and then the occasional flash of her face from beneath a hood as she slipped in or out of a rendezvous with Drusus, but I’ll find her.

As I search, jealousy coils in the pit of my stomach. I can’t say exactly why. Yes, a flame inexplicably exists between Drusus and me, something he seems to have as little control over as I do, and it burns far hotter than anything that’s ever ignited between me and past lovers. Whatever it is, though, it compares to what he has with Verina like a lamp’s flame compares to the great fire in Rome. He may lust for me, but he loves her, and I’ve seen them ache for each other too obviously to pretend otherwise. The truth is plain, and wanting Drusus for myself won’t change it, no matter how much I wish it would.

And there she is. There’s no mistaking she’s the woman who watched her grandson play with the gladiators of my familia.

She’s beside a jeweler’s stall near the end of the block. There are plenty of women around her, and though I have no trouble picking out the Lady Laurea, it’s impossible to tell her servant from the rest.

Then Verina smiles at the jeweler and moves on to another stall, and a young woman follows her. They stop beside some vendors selling goods out of carts and rickety booths. There, Verina gestures for her servant to wait, and disappears into a butcher’s shop behind the cluster of carts.

While Verina is gone, Lucia strolls through the crowded marketplace, balancing her basket on her hip.

I give the crowd one last look for Calvus or anyone who might be watching myself or the women. When I’m as certain as I can be that I’m alone, I meet Lucia beside a vintner’s cart. “Are you Lucia?”

The woman turns, and fear widens her eyes and straightens her posture. “I . . .”

“I mean you no harm.” I keep my voice low and glance around again. “Are you Lucia, servant to the Lady Laurea?”

Eyes still wide, she draws back a little and nods. “I am.”

I slip the scroll into the basket on her hip. “Give this to the Lady Laurea.”

Lucia looks at the scroll, then at me. “Who shall I say it is from?”

“She’ll know. Tell her nothing except it’s urgent.”

“How can I be certain—”

“Please,” I whisper. “It is very important she get this message. Her and no one else.”

Lucia is still for a moment, eyeing me warily. Then she tucks the message deeper into her basket. “Very well. I’ll give it to her.”

“Thank you.”

I leave her before Verina returns, and I hurry out of the marketplace, putting as much distance as I can between me and that message.

And I pray, with every step I take back to where Arabo waits for me, that this is over.

It’s been just a few days since Drusus sent me to deliver the message to Lucia. I can only hope that now that Verina and Drusus have stopped seeing each other, Calvus will no longer have a reason to be suspicious. Though I’m not sure what my fate will be once he’s finished with me. If he leaves me here, I’m equally doomed; my back will be healed enough for me to return to fighting soon. The familiar ghostly spiders creep up and down my wounded flesh as I try to force the thoughts of my uncertain future from my mind.