“They always are,” Felix bit out, hating the anger in his tone and letting it pour out anyway. “When you heard the project was cancelled, why did you stay away? Why didn’t you come home?”
Pater ignored his anger and kept to his calm tone. “By the time I learned of the cancellation, the pipes were already in production, and I could not cancel the order. I traveled all across the Mediterranean trying to sell them in other cities. Then I had to winter in Rhodes, and you know letters don’t travel well in winter. I returned as soon as I could.”
A breath of relief released the tension in his chest. “You sold them, then? You have the money? You can repay the creditors?”
Pater coughed. “I sold a few lengths of pipe. Not nearly enough to cover the loan. A—a payment or two, perhaps.”
“And the rest of the pipe?” Felix ran his tongue over his teeth, an unnatural rush of frustration coursing through him, hot as bathhouse steam.
Pater shifted. “On supply ships in the harbor. But I’m sure, given enough time, I can find buyers.”
He needed air. The tiny room had grown too hot. Felix turned and flung open the door, before he said something they would all regret. He dropped down the uneven stairs as quickly as he dared, cool air meeting him in a rush. It did little to temper his anger. The confusing jumble of feelings. Anger and disappointment wrestled for dominance, squashing any joy and relief he should have felt at knowing his pater was alive and not face down in the Tiber.
A year’s wages spent on pipe was sitting in the harbor of a city about to be sacked by Visigoths and whose emperor had left.
Felix strode to the abandoned fountain and splashed water over his face. It cooled his skin but did little to assuage his anger, nor the guiltnipping at its heels. He should have been a better son, been kinder, more forgiving, but he just... couldn’t. Perhaps if this had been Pater’s first offense, but not after all the other things, the restaurant, the failed horse trading, trash removal, buying into a share of the inns that had turned out to be fake.
Felix gripped the edge of the fountain, staring at his reflection, blurred by the droplets trickling from his chin. So Pater was back. And without any money. What was he to do with that?
Perhaps the only relief in the matter was that with Pater back, Felix couldn’t be sold to pay his debts. And that seemed a selfish relief.
XX
9 DECEMBER, AD 403
Steam clouded the air around Adel as she stripped off her trainingstrophiumandsubligaculumand left them in a tangled heap of strips and strings on the warm travertine tiles of the bathhouse floor. Female voices wafted in the steam, perfumed with eye-watering mint and soothing lavender that was supposed to cover the sharp odor left from training. In two steps she eased her sore muscles into the small caldarium pool until her chin rested just above the water.
She closed her eyes, after all this time still not quite convinced that hot water was a “luxury.” It soothed the aches from her overworked muscles, that was true, but something inside still longed for the rushing tug of a river’s current. For the refreshing shock of clean, cold water that was not swimming with a layer of oil and grime from dozens of other bodies.
The cut on her arm had healed into a thick pink line. Felix’s gentle attentions and ministrations had worked. She’d not seen much of him lately. Not in a way that allowed for conversation, at least. Just glimpsesacross the training grounds, his face in the clinic window. Not that she missed him. It would be ridiculous to miss a medicus. No one ever wanted to see a medicus, no matter the terms or how handsome he might be.
Handsome. She scoffed. More like meddling and nosy. No one liked a meddler.
She had never let another man take up residence in her mind—not after Eadric. And yet... Felix had wedged himself inside, just a step. Just enough to make her tell him the slightest truth and admit her arm had hurt. It was the smallest thing she could offer. And from his expression, she might as well have launched herself into his arms and kissed him. Perhaps she should have, because in her experience, physical affection was the surest way to make a man leave you alone forever.
Ignoring the film on the water, Adel let her head slide beneath the steaming surface. At least the water burned her cheeks so she didn’t feel her blood doing the same. Her people had only been allowed refuge within Rome’s borders so long as every male served in Rome’s legions. The men were allowed rare leave to return home, but Adel could only recall years of her atta’s absence, of hunger and cold. But at least they had a man to provide a military pittance for bread. Other women starved. Lacking both husband and bread. By the time Adel was grown and then creeping past the age of eligibility, the only men in the village were elderly men and young boys.
Eadric had turned the heads of many girls in the village when the Visigoth legion came home on a brief leave. He was handsome and strong, capable. And she’d been flattered by his flirtations. Welcomed them with the foolish imaginings of a husband and home of her own on their heels. Some called her foolish and naive, but there were so many other women, younger, prettier. And God forgive her schemes, but she’d known exactly what Eadric had wanted when he invited her to walk with him. His honeyed words had melted into impassioned kisses and things not meant for a man and woman with no covenant betweenthem. She had not resisted. Atta would make them marry. If this was her only chance to acquire a husband and avoid a life of starvation and want, she’d do whatever it took.
Adel’s lungs burned for air. She’d never told her family what she and Eadric had done. Never needed to. Eadric had alerted the whole village on his own easily enough. Laughing circles of men had begun eyeing her as she passed. Calling out crude, intimate details they should not know about her. When her atta confronted Eadric, he had announced his betrothal to the chieftain’s eldest daughter. He refused to break it over a sheepherder’s loose one. His words had cut deeper than any blade could.
When Eadric had returned to Rome’s legions, Adel bottled up her parents’ disappointment, adding it to the village gossip and her own shame, and held it close. She’d been stupid, naive, to believe in words and promises with little action to back them up. There was nothing keeping her in the village when the call came for soldiers and war-daughters to join Alaric’s rebel army. She’d leaped at the chance as quickly as her atta had. If she could not earn back her honor and worth, then perhaps she could earn wealth and security of her own.
Unable to suppress the burning in her lungs, Adel pressed upward, gasping in a breath and sluicing water from her eyes.
A male voice echoed from somewhere above. “Amazon, you’ve been chosen tonight.”
The voices of the other gladiatrices hushed instantly, each no doubt holding her breath in hope that her name might be called next.
Adel tipped her head back to see Jovan’s assistant standing over her at the edge of the pool. She sank to her chin, crossing her arms over her chest as her stomach dipped further in dread.Not another one.
The assistant gave an impatient jerk of his chin. “He was supposed to get you for free after you bled on his floors last time, but he paid fine coin to have you last minute, so hurry up. You do not have much time to prepare. He requested you wear blue. I’ll inform the costumer.You.”He snapped his fingers at the bath slave, massaging scented oil into Dreda’s hair. “Stop that, and see that the Amazon is taken care of first.” He turned back to Adel. “You are the after-dinner entertainment, but he wants you there early to eat with the guests.” With that, the man turned away and disappeared into the steam.
Adel made the mistake of looking at Dreda. Her lips tightened and eyes narrowed as the bath slave left her and scrambled to obey. She’d worked hard to be chosen, and week after week had been overlooked. It was not uncommon for spectators to pay to watch their training sessions, nor was it uncommon for one or more to be picked out, hired to provide an evening’s entertainment at a party. Gladiatrices were a novelty, especially after free women had been banned from volunteering for such a spectacle. Now it was a role reserved only for prisoners. That, apparently, only added to their allure.
Oil trickled over her scalp and the slave massaged it in before combing it through her hair and then rinsing it. She should enjoy the luxury more than she did. It was the duty and desire of all gladiators to clamor for attention. Attention brought food, riches, fame. A future of her own making. But there would be no future at all if she were stabbed in the back. A risk easily diffused.
“What should I request, if I win?” Adel opened one eye.
