XXIII
ADEL SHOULD HAVE KNOWNcalling for the guards would only result in them holding her down so Felix could apply salve to her face. Traitors. They’d proved that twice over this night. And yet, though Felix had every right to, he’d said nothing about the scalpel. She might have been flogged for drawing a weapon on him, dragged to the windowless cells below the ludus as punishment. Killed even. But he’d accused her of nothing and quietly wrenched the scalpel from her fingers before the guards entered.
Brutus had simply walked her to the hall of cells and taken his usual seat at the end, waving her on alone. “Your door is open. I’ll close it on my rounds in a bit.”
Adel nodded and kept on alone. Her face throbbed. Body ached. Heart bled.
Felix’s words had given a beating worse than the dominus’s, and it left her nose burning with tears.
They are using you. Drugging you. They do not love you.
For all the things she could claim to admire within the ludus, it didn’t change the truth that she’d been a prisoner of the Roman army, beatenand used, marched to Rome with a troop of women, children, and battered warriors. Sold at a slave auction. Even her cell was locked—or soon would be. For her protection, they said. To keep any guards from entering at night. But wasn’t it the guards who held the keys? And Ignacio—he’d praised her, cajoled her, trained her, befriended her... Was he truly drugging her and the other gladiatrices to keep their performances high? To keep himself in good standing as a magister? She’d known whatever was in the cup wasn’t simply wine, and yet, to believe he’d done it for his sake rather than hers shattered everything.
Voices clucked and warbled from the other cells, drowned out by the memory of Felix’s low voice.
God is gracious that I don’t know who it was who hurt you. Because if I did, I would stop at nothing to hunt them down and make them pay.
Coming from a man opposed to violence, one who’d taken an oath of committing no harm, his declaration was enough to steal her breath. Never had a man spoken to her like that. Looked at her like that. Like she was someone worth fighting for. Those words echoed again in her mind, this time in Telemachus’s voice. And it didn’t matter how desperately she wanted to believe them, because at every turn, there was the single fact that no one had ever fought for her before. And if there had ever been an appearance of it, it was only enough to raise her hopes and let her fall flat on her face.
Well, there was only one way to find out if Felix was telling the truth.
She paused at the door of Dreda and Tilla’s cell and knocked, murmuring a quiet command. She repeated the same for the Hildas, and then knocked at Berit’s cell.
“Berit?” she whispered. “It’s me, Adel.”
A rustle inside. Then Berit’s voice against the door. “Are you going to stay with me tonight?”
“I cannot.”
“Can’t you please? Just once? I can’t bear it, Adel.” Berit’s voice cracked.“Are the games really going to be death matches? I can’t do that. I’ll never make it—”
“Shhh. No talk of that. It is rumor only. Like I said before, we are too valuable. Jovan will never let that happen.” And yet, her assurances seemed to grow thinner by the hour.
“I’m so afraid.”
“No more talk of it. But I need you to do something for me.” Adel’s mouth went dry at the strangeness of the request she was about to make. At what the request may prove, or not.
“When Ignacio brings you wine tonight, do not drink it.”
XXIV
10 DECEMBER, AD 403
“Wait a moment and I’ll go with you.”
Felix tried to quell the sinking of his gut at his father’s request. He paused at the door and waited as Pater located his cloak and wrapped it securely around his shoulders to ward off the winter chill. The temperatures had been damp and cold, and while Felix was glad to be reunited with his family, there was something to be said for the mild dryness of Egyptian winters.
“All set.” Pater hurried toward him and Felix opened the door and stepped out of the apartment and onto the narrow walkway that met a set of rickety wooden stairs at the corner. Pater pulled the door shut behind them and trotted after Felix. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
Felix sighed, knowing Pater hadn’t meant the words pointedly but feeling their sharpness all the same. He slowed his pace and concentrated on keeping the frustration from his tone. “Where are you off to today?”
“I thought I’d head to the forum, put my ear to the ground for any word of construction projects.” The sparkle of determination in his father’seye was both encouraging and baffling. After all the failed attempts and dead ends, he would not be thwarted. Not in attitude at least.
And yet things had been stiff and awkward since Pater’s return. Felix had avoided spending time at the apartment, opting for sleepless nights on an empty bed in the infirmary instead of going home. He’d offered the obligatory apology for his initial outburst, which seemed to placate Mater, but the underlying frustration had remained. That Pater was alive and had returned was a relief, but the creditors still had to be paid. Sooner or later he was going to have to air the frustration before it putrefied.
They were halfway down the stairs before Pater spoke again. “I would be frustrated too, if I were in your place. It isn’t right for a father to leave his son responsible for his mistakes. And I didn’t mean to. There were circumstances beyond my control.”
Felix didn’t repeat his earlier sentiment that thingsalwaysseemed to be beyond Pater’s control, because it hadn’t done any good the first time he’d said it either. And because it wasn’t quite fair. There were people in the world who worked hard. Who had good attitudes and persevered. And who, no matter what they did, always seemed to meet with trouble. Unfortunately, his Pater happened to be one of those people.
