Titus lifted a brow. “Are you privy to all the happenings in the Castra Praetoria then?”
“Titus,” Iris censured. “Cato is my friend and kindly allows me to stay here with his family in safety. There’s no call for rudeness.”
Cato stood silently waiting as Titus tried to order his words into something less condescending.
“There are private auctions held in the Castra Praetoria from time to time, for quarry and mine owners only,” Titus explained. “These auctions ensure the harshest terms of service for the prisoners sold.”
“Harshest terms?” Iris gripped her hands at her waist.
Titus hesitated. “Worked to death as soon as possible.”
Iris pressed fingers to her lips.
“And you can get me inside?” Cato asked.
Titus gave him a cursory glance and shook his head. “Not you. Someone older, rougher-looking.”
“The only older person here is my pater.” Cato shook his head. “But he’s unwell.”
“I’m fine,” an older man grumbled as he pushed open the door and shuffled inside, lifting his chin. “I’ll go.” The look in his dark eyes dared the others to argue.
Cato took the challenge. “Pater, you can’t go. You can barely walk across the house.”
“I’ll take the sedan chair. Your brothers can carry me.What other choice do we have?”
Cato’s lips tightened. “Audifax is at the warehouse. Abachum and I will carry the sedan.”
Iris faced Titus, worry lining her forehead. “How much will he cost?”
“Not much. These are not long-term workers. And with Quintus’s condition, he’ll be cheap.”
The Calogarus men moved quickly to fetch the money, the other brother, and the sedan chair.
While they waited, Iris gripped her elbows, turning a troubled look on Titus. “Will Marius be all right?”
Titus shrugged. He wasn’t confident in the old man’s ability to walk into the saleroom, much less perform the part of a slave purchaser. But Cato was too polished, his physician hands slender and smooth, and the other brother was too young. Marius had to do it. They didn’t have another option. “For your pater’s sake, I hope so.”
She touched his arm, tilting her chin up with an imploring look. “They are my friends, Titus. Take care of them.”
He committed so much as a nod. The door banged open and Marius and sons reentered, shuffling the sedan between them, curtains swaying from side to side. Marius had changed into a paint-splattered tunic and an old belt. Not a perfect disguise, but it would have to do.
Iris threw her arms around Marius. “Thank you. Know we will be praying for you all.”
Titus rolled his eyes and led them out. What good had their god done Quintus? It was Titus who would save him, not their god.
Once outside, the old man climbed into the sedan chair and Cato and Abachum lifted the poles extending from the front and back.
“Take him to the Porta Principalis Sinistra; the guards will let him through there.” Titus reached through the curtain and gave the wooden tile to Marius. “Show this to the guards and they’ll direct you to the right place.” He peered through the curtain, giving the man a hard look. “You don’t know me, and you’ve never seen Quintus. Remember that well or you will not leave the fortress.”
With those warnings, Titus headed toward the Castra Praetoria at a run, intending to arrive long before they did.
Titus ducked into the Praetorian gymnasium, trailing a pack of bored guards attending the auction with intentions of betting on the sale price of each prisoner. Racks of weights and wooden swords and training spears of varying sizes had been shoved against the walls to make room for the platform erected in the center court in anticipation of the auction. Titus shifted out of the gambling group and slid into the shadow of one of the pillars ringing the center court where he could see the auction and bidders without being seen. He spotted Marius hunched among the bidders and inwardly cursed himself for not being able to find anyone else. The man was old enough but lacked the ruthless vigor of the other slavers.
The auction began with no fanfare, just a guard shoving a prisoner onto the platform amid shouts and jeers. Titus searched for Quintus in the throng of prisoners prodded through the back entrance and held at spearpoint against the far wall. From where he stood, it was impossible to discern him. The first prisoner sold, then the second and third. When the fourth prisoner shuffled onto the platform, Titus recognized Quintus only by the limp. Sweat broke out beneath his arms as he squinted at the battered form on display. What in the name of Mars had happened to him?
The bidding started with laughter. Titus kept his gaze fastened to Marius, as if by his will alone the old man’s hand would lift, no oneelse would bid, no one would notice the odd slaver purchasing only a single, battered prisoner.
“Liberare?”
