I passed her in my musty tunic and went down the stairs in my bare feet, my knife in the palm of my hand.
I wrenched open the door to find Merope and Gaius on the doorstep.
“Chryseis is preparing a funeral for Rufus,” Merope said, her brows furrowed in an uncharacteristic frown. “She will not let us have anything to do with it. Your lanista is providing the funeral pyre for him, but Chryseis is having a funeral of her own. Can you help us, Leonidas?”
Chapter 15
Cassia had the two upstairs and supplied with a cup of watered-down wine before I reached the upper room once more. She shared our breakfast with them as well.
I leaned against a wall, folding my arms, as Merope and Gaius plopped themselves on stools and proceeded to heartily eat and drink. Recalling their barren rooms over the popina, and the meager meal they’d offered me, I concluded they hadn’t consumed this much in a while.
“What can I do?” I asked.
Merope wiped her mouth to answer while Gaius remained deep in bread and lentils.
“Will you ask your lanista to let us come to the burning? And any feast he has after? We often dance at funeral feasts.”
“Do you want him to hire you?”
“Only if he won’t let us be there as guests,” Merope said. Gaius nodded around his mouthful of food.
“I don’t know if Aemil has planned a feast,” I told them. “He’s not extravagant when it comes to his gladiators.”
Gaius swallowed noisily. “Then at least to the pyre. We need to give old Rufus a proper sendoff. He was good to us.”
Merope rose from her stool. “We can keep the dance simple, but we want to honor him. Like this.”
She shed her threadbare cloak to reveal a tunic of thin, worn linen. Raising her arms, she began to step from foot to foot, her body bending gracefully. Gaius licked off his spoon and started banging out a rhythm on the table with the spoon and his hand.
Cassia watched, enraptured, as Merope swayed, her leg coming up to spin her around in one fluid motion. When I thought she’d overbalance, Merope finished the turn with precision and continued the dance.
I could see that she was very good. Gaius’s rhythm was exact, practiced, with the competence of a professional.
Cassia clapped along—she loved music. Merope glided to her, holding out her hands. To my surprise, Cassia took them, allowing herself to be pulled into the dance.
Cassia did not know the steps, but Merope slowed her pace, and Gaius expertly matched their rhythm. Merope demonstrated how to slide and kick, wafting an arm while she held Cassia with the other hand.
Cassia copied the movements, learning them quickly. She’d had training in music, she’d once explained to me. Likely she’d had it in dance too.
She was not as practiced as Merope and stumbled a few times, but always caught herself. Cassia’s cheeks flushed, and a smile lifted her lips, her eyes shining.
The reason for the dance was mourning, but I saw Cassia come to life with Merope’s tranquil guidance. The dance was to celebrate the man, I understood, to honor him, and there was joy in that.
Gaius sped the rhythm. Merope pulled Cassia around a bit faster, and Cassia soon adapted. The two women dipped and swayed, feet landing softly on the stone floor.
Around the room they went, returning in a sweep to the center. Merope made some signal to Gaius, who sped into a rousing, rushed rhythm that abruptly quieted and died into silence.
Merope spun to a close, drawing Cassia to her. The two ended in a pose fit for a sculpture, and everything went still.
I thumped my hands on my knees, making noise to show my appreciation, as did Gaius. Merope made a graceful bow as though it was her due, but Cassia ducked her head and rushed back to her stool.
My cheeks ached for some reason. I put my hand up to touch them, and I realized I was grinning, smiling harder than I had in a long while, since the days I’d laughed without worry with Xerxes, my closest friend.
* * *
I promisedto have a word with Aemil about hiring the dancers. Merope and Gaius departed, a bit more hopeful than when they’d arrived.
Cassia, embarrassed by her unrestrained display, opened all her tablets and pretended to be engrossed in them. I wasn’t certain whether to reassure her that what she’d done had been beautiful or pretend nothing had happened.
