Squeezing her eyes shut, she let her good hand drift over her forehead, rest on her cheek. Trying in vain to convince herself it was her aipei’s comforting touch. That she could open her eyes and be staring into her mother’s. Heat prickled up the middle of her chest like a thousand fire ants. Her throat burned and she pressed the edge of the blanket against her eyes. The Ludus Gallicus was a place of strength, courage, dominance. It was not a place to cry. To miss your mother in a way that stole the very breath from your lungs.
Following the men to war is a wise choice, daughter. Care for them as they fight for us, and perhaps when you return, tongues in the village will have forgotten their tales.
Fight for usindeed.
When Rome answered the Visigoth call to fight, it was the war-daughters who’d been forgotten. Left behind as scarlet and leather and polished helms crashed across the river toward the camp. To their credit, the Visigoth men had put up a valiant fight before abandoning everything and running for the forest. But in the end, even the monk, Telemachus, had disappeared when Adel, Berit, and several other women had caught up their own swords, prepared to defend each other to the last breath. They’d only meant to stand their ground. Instead, they’d been caught up in the crimson tide, carried away to the gleaming marble of Rome where they’d been sold and separated at a slave auction.
She might have escaped had she run. Or she might have been cut down like so many others. But something inside told Adel it was the fighting that had saved her, even so. She and several others had been sold to a gladiator school, not a brothel. And that was something. Not that her family or village would care. They would no doubt add this failure to her shame as well. The best life she could hope for, then, was what she made of this one.
But next week’s fight was slipping from her fingers like her gladius. She didn’t want to fight at the Dacian School. Sheneededto fight. Needed to be there, at the very least. Because if she wasn’t... Life in gladiator ludi was fickle and fragile. She could be famous one day, and the crowds could call for her blood the next. If she was not the best, she was nothing.
Telemachus would refute that notion if he were here. Assure her of her worth, of God’s steadfast love—a love that endured when others’ love did not. And yet God had seemed especially distant here. Had He drawn away when she’d come to the ludus? A good Christian would never set foot in a gladiator school. Perhaps God would not either.
Adel rubbed the rough blanket across her eyes, swallowing her loneliness with the rest of the tears. Life among her enemies wasn’t as terrible as she’d once imagined it would be. At least here she was respected, cared for, guarded and protected, beloved by those who watched her fight.
At least here, she was worth something.
The lock on her door clinked. Adel jerked upright, hastily smearing the last traces of tears from her eyes.
“Amazon?” Ignacio’s low voice was muffled by the wood. “Are you awake?”
Her breaths came quick and unsteady. If he came in to check, she couldn’t feign sleep. She pushed to her feet, the room swaying in the darkness. “Yes.”
The door creaked as it opened, and Ignacio stepped to the threshold and paused, holding a lantern and cup. “I brought you this, to help you sleep.” He held out the cup. It was not unusual for him to do so, after a hard-won fight, or slight injury. A familiar rush she could only assume was gratitude washed over her as she took the cup.
“It is only my arm, Ignacio. A flesh wound—it will heal quickly. They always do.” Even as she voiced the excuses, she knew she would not refuse this kindness.
He stayed in the doorway and glanced into the hall. “That is what I told Jovan. He will offer prayers for you to recover quickly.” He shifted. “But we can’t have our Amazon in pain. You are too valuable.”
His words were a balm, soothing the hot ache in her chest.
“Thank you.” She took a sip of the warmed wine, swirling with spices and something bitter.
“Down the hatch.” He motioned for her to finish.
She obeyed and handed the cup back to him. He gave a final smile and backed out of the doorway.
The key turned in the lock, and Ignacio’s footsteps faded down the passage, leaving Adel’s room somehow emptier than it had been before he’d come. But she would not think on that.You are too valuable.Adel crawled back onto her bed, allowing the sentiment and wine to warm and weight her limbs and eyelids. She would think no more of home.
IV
CRICKETS SANG IN THE SHADOWSat the edge of the street as Felix pushed the door open and stepped into the not-quite-square courtyard of theinsulaapartment that towered six stories above his head before opening to the pink evening sky. He let out a breath, tension already beginning to slip from his shoulders. No creditors had followed him home this time, though he’d had the distinct feeling of being watched.
He crossed the courtyard, avoiding the few women still waiting for their turn to heat their evening meals at the braziers set up around the central fountain. An inconvenience, perhaps, but not as inconvenient as a fire from firepots kept inside the apartments. A quick scan of the women told him his family’s meal was already done—or that there was no meal to heat. Most likely the latter.
The door of their ground-floor apartment, which shared a back wall with a secondhand shop on the street side, stood ajar. He’d told the girls dozens of times to keep it shut and barred, but letting in light and neighbors always seemed to trump safety. He sighed and stepped inside, blinking the sudden dimness into focus. The main room was crowdedwith the family loom, low dining table, and his bedroll stuffed into a corner. Two doorways along the side wall were hung with curtains and hid his parents’ sleeping chamber and one for his three sisters. His eyes barely adjusted before he was accosted on all sides. There was no place in Rome like home.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” His ten-year-old sister latched on to one arm. “Felicia is unbearable today and it’s not my fault!”
“Hello to you too, Oppia.” He ruffled her head, mussing her braids, then shot a wink toward his twelve-year-old sister, Cassia, who returned it with a look of apologetic warning as she continued to silently slice bread at the worktable.
“Felix, Oppia is ruining my life!” Felicia sprang up from her stool, where she’d been bent over stitching near the courtyard window.
“What happened?” He glanced around the room again. “Where’s Mater?”
“She met a man!” Oppia sang, swinging on his arm.
Felicia balled her stitching and hurled it at Oppia, who ducked. The embroidered shawl flopped against Felix’s shoulder. He caught it and frowned.
