“Benefactor …” I said in confusion.I had no benefactor that I knew of.
“The person responsible for your freedom.He has followed your career, noting every victory, and decided you deserved to walk away from the games a champion.I have been sent to tell you that.”The man eyed me with some disparagement.
“Who is he?Who areyou?”
“I am called Hesiodos.You need to remember that name because I can give you no other.”
Hesiodos carried the slightly pompous sneer many Greeks did—Rome was still rustic backwater to a man from mighty Athens.
Hesiodos wore the garb of a freedman, but I guessed he’d begun life as slave.His contemptuous regard told me he didn’t want me making comparisons between us.We were both freedmen now, but I wasinfamis, the lowest of the low.All gladiators were, current and former.
When I said nothing, he continued, “What I mean is, I am forbidden to give you your benefactor’s name.”
I’d find this odd if I could think more clearly.Most Romans who assisted others wanted the fact shouted far and wide, so all would admire their generosity.The recipients of their charity would be obligated to the benefactor for life.
But perhaps the man—or woman—might not want it known that they’d raised a gladiator from his bondage.We were animals fighting for the pleasure of others.No pride in rescuing one.If it were a woman, she would definitely keep it a secret.Hesiodos had said “he,” but he’d just admitted he was hiding the benefactor’s identity.
I gave Hesiodos another nod to show I understood then jerked my thumb at the door behind me.“I owe Floriana a sestertius.Pay her, if you will.”
Hesiodos didn’t move.“You misunderstand.This person has not bestowed a legacy upon you.You will have to work for your pay, as any other freedman in this city.Your benefactor has provided you freedom, a place to live, and a slave to serve your needs.”
This benefactor sounded less and less reasonable.“What place?And I don’t need a slave.”
“Your benefactor seems to think you do.Someone to keep an eye on you and report to me.”He flicked his fingers toward a corner of a wall across the street.
A bundle of clothes that had crouched in a sliver of shade made its way across to us, stepping carefully in the damp street.It was a woman, swathed and cloaked like a patrician matron, but her plain palla and sandals told me she was a slave.
“This is Cassia,” Hesiodos said.“She will not belong to you—she too is in debt to your benefactor.She will look after you, and provide you anything you need.”
The woman reached us.Instead of bowing her head and cowering behind Hesiodos, she moved a fold of her palla and looked directly at me.
Brown eyes regarded me from the face of a young woman I would guess not far past her twentieth year.
I saw in those eyes, beneath the fear of being handed to a gladiator, a determination that blazed forth more potently than any I’d beheld in the brutal fighters I’d faced in the arena.
Chapter 2
Icouldn’t see much of Cassia other than the eyes that skewered me and a tendril of very black hair that leaked from beneath the cloth.She had a round face and light brown skin of the peoples of the eastern shores of the Mare Nostrum, but beyond that I could tell nothing about her.
Hesiodos observed this meeting without expression.“Cassia will lead the way to your lodgings.Settle in and wait for instructions.”
“Instructions.”I jerked my head to him.“For what?”
Hesiodos gave me an indifferent shrug.“Time will tell.Good day.Cassia knows how to send word to me.”
Without a nod, gesture, or any other farewell, he turned on his well-fitted heel and walked away, quickly swallowed by the crowd of a Roman morning.My hand tightened around therudisas I watched him go.
I looked at Cassia.Cassia looked at me.
Around us, Rome surged.Men and women, slave and free, strode the streets to the markets for vegetables and fish, and to the bakeries to take their grain to be made into bread.
The stream of humanity was too busy to push us aside and so flowed around us as though we were two boulders on the pavement.Water trickled along edges of the street, Rome’s fountains overflowing to drain to the sewers and the river.
I’d never had a slave before.Theludusused slaves to clean up after us and fetch and carry, but they belonged to Aemil, not the gladiators.Rumor had it that we practiced killing on unfortunate slaves, but that rumor was false.We were trained to fight other killers, to put on a show to please the multitude.The slaves were there to change our bedding and bring us food.
Cassia wasn’t at all the sort of slave I was used to.The man at theluduswho’d cleaned my cell ducked his head as he dragged out my slop pail and did his best to remain invisible.The women at Floriana’s were trained to please men bodily and made an art of enticement.
Cassia simply stared at me with the imperious gaze of a patrician’s wife and made no move to do anything.
