by L. A. Witt
As I search, jealousy coils in the pit of my stomach. I can’t say exactly why. Yes, a flame inexplicably exists between Drusus and me, something he seems to have as little control over as I do, and it burns far hotter than anything that’s ever ignited between me and past lovers. Whatever it is, though, it compares to what he has with Verina like a lamp’s flame compares to the great fire in Rome. He may lust for me, but he loves her, and I’ve seen them ache for each other too obviously to pretend otherwise. The truth is plain, and wanting Drusus for myself won’t change it, no matter how much I wish it would.
And there she is. There’s no mistaking she’s the woman who watched her grandson play with the gladiators of my familia.
She’s beside a jeweler’s stall near the end of the block. There are plenty of women around her, and though I have no trouble picking out the Lady Laurea, it’s impossible to tell her servant from the rest.
Then Verina smiles at the jeweler and moves on to another stall, and a young woman follows her. They stop beside some vendors selling goods out of carts and rickety booths. There, Verina gestures for her servant to wait, and disappears into a butcher’s shop behind the cluster of carts.
While Verina is gone, Lucia strolls through the crowded marketplace, balancing her basket on her hip.
I give the crowd one last look for Calvus or anyone who might be watching myself or the women. When I’m as certain as I can be that I’m alone, I meet Lucia beside a vintner’s cart. “Are you Lucia?”
The woman turns, and fear widens her eyes and straightens her posture. “I . . .”
“I mean you no harm.” I keep my voice low and glance around again. “Are you Lucia, servant to the Lady Laurea?”
Eyes still wide, she draws back a little and nods. “I am.”
I slip the scroll into the basket on her hip. “Give this to the Lady Laurea.”
Lucia looks at the scroll, then at me. “Who shall I say it is from?”
“She’ll know. Tell her nothing except it’s urgent.”
“How can I be certain—”
“Please,” I whisper. “It is very important she get this message. Her and no one else.”
Lucia is still for a moment, eyeing me warily. Then she tucks the message deeper into her basket. “Very well. I’ll give it to her.”
“Thank you.”
I leave her before Verina returns, and I hurry out of the marketplace, putting as much distance as I can between me and that message.
And I pray, with every step I take back to where Arabo waits for me, that this is over.
It’s been just a few days since Drusus sent me to deliver the message to Lucia. I can only hope that now that Verina and Drusus have stopped seeing each other, Calvus will no longer have a reason to be suspicious. Though I’m not sure what my fate will be once he’s finished with me. If he leaves me here, I’m equally doomed; my back will be healed enough for me to return to fighting soon. The familiar ghostly spiders creep up and down my wounded flesh as I try to force the thoughts of my uncertain future from my mind.
I’m still in heavily guarded solitary quarters. I leave only when Drusus summons me or I see the medicus, and today, when I hear Arabo’s heavy footsteps and the rattling shackles in his hands, I fight the urge to retch. One of these outings will result in my return to the regular barracks. To training as a gladiator. To my death.
Arabo takes me to Drusus again, and I know immediately something isn’t right. As the bodyguard unshackles me, Drusus is pacing in front of the chair on which he usually lounges so casually. He says nothing until Arabo leaves and we are alone.
Without looking at me, he says, “I received a message.”
“From whom?” I ask.
“From—” He pauses. “From Verina. She says it’s urgent. Terribly so.” He continues pacing across the floor, cupping his elbow in one hand and gnawing his thumbnail. “She’s never summoned me like this before.”
“With respect, Drusus,” I say, “if the Master Calvus catches—”
“I know the risks,” Drusus snaps. He exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m . . .” He shakes his head. “Look, how much does Calvus Laurea know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I step away from the door and lower my voice so it won’t carry outside. “He told me only that his wife was having an ongoing affair with a man within this ludus. He didn’t know a name, and he gave me nothing else.”
“And no other politician’s wife has ever bedded a man from this ludus,” Drusus growls. “And paid for the privilege, for that matter.”
“Is it possible . . .” I hesitate.
“Is what possible? Go on, speak.”
“Is it possible Master Calvus knows you’re the one his wife is involved with?”
Drusus halts. His eyes lose focus, and he digs his teeth into his thumbnail. “I . . . suppose. I never thought he knew about it at all, but if he knows she’s . . .” His eyes dart toward me. “If he knows she’s involved with a lanista . . .” He stops, rubbing his forehead and releasing a long breath. “Gods, that must be it. He wouldn’t go to this much trouble if he thought she was just bedding slaves like every other woman in the city.”
Drusus runs an unsteady hand through his short hair. This isn’t the man I’m accustomed to. He’s not calm and eerily collected like always, not poised to offer an unsettling smirk or a threat he’s more than willing to carry out. He’s nervous now. Confused. Uncertain.
“Are you going to meet her?” I ask quietly.
“I have to.” Drusus swallows. “I have to see her.”
“Drusus—”
“I have to,” he whispers with a degree of desperation I never imagined him capable of. “Something is wrong, and I need to see her.”
“And you could be walking into a sharpened blade. Drusus, I know I’m out of place here, but—”
“What choice do I have? I can’t explain everything, but if Verina says it’s urgent, then I need to see her.”
“I can’t stop you. You’re my master.”
“You’re probably wiser on this matter than I am.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead again. “If I lose any more of my sense, I’ll go right to the house of Laurea to see her.”
“I assume she’s asking to meet elsewhere?”
Drusus nods. “At sundown, among the whorehouses by the amphitheatre. It’s a place we’ve met before.” He shifts his gaze toward me. “I don’t dare go alone. I called you in here to ask if you’ll accompany me. As one of my bodyguards.”
“I’m at your command,” I say in spite of the nervous flutter in my stomach. “If you order it—”
“I’m not ordering it.” His voice is soft now, gentle and nearly pleading. “I won’t order you or either of my bodyguards to accompany me for something like this. I can only ask.”
“Yes,” I say. “I will. Of course I will.” I shift my weight. “But I’m not in any condition to fight. Not yet. My back . . .”
Drusus winces. “I know. But Arabo is, and he’s agreed to come with me. Between the three of us . . .”
“Whatever you need me to do, Drusus.”
“Thank you.” He touches my face, and after a moment’s hesitation, rises up on his toes and kisses me. Barely pulling away, he whispers, “This is more dangerous than you probably realize.”
My heart quickens. I don’t know if he means going to see Verina, or if he means . . . this.
Whatever the case, he’s right.
“I know it’s dangerous.” I rest my hand on his leather-covered waist. “But, with respect, why are we . . .” I hesitate. “What of Verina?”
Drusus trails calloused fingertips down the side of my face. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Saevius.” And he kisses me again.
Frustration burrows itself deep in my chest, and I want to shove him away as badly as I want to drag him even closer.
You have Verina, I want to say. Don’t raise my hopes, Drusus. Please . . .
But I kiss him and hold onto him anyway. T
he breastplate keeps my hands from his skin, so I slide them up to his neck and hold both sides as I kiss him harder. I know, and I’m certain he knows, this can’t last beyond this moment, but I savor it for what it is and as long as it lingers.
Eventually, Drusus pulls back, and he touches his forehead to mine. “Gods, Saevius . . .”
I shiver at the need in his voice, the need that matches mine completely.
“We can’t do this now.” He breathes hard against my lips. “Verina. I . . . have to see her.”
Jealousy tries to claw its way to the surface, but I just nod and step back. Whatever business he has with Verina, it can’t wait.
“Let’s go, then.” I gesture toward the door.
He takes a deep breath and nods. He starts for the door, but I stop him with a hand on his arm.
“Drusus.” I close my eyes and exhale. As I open my eyes, I whisper, “I’m in no place to ask anything of you, but please, Drusus, please promise me this will be the last time. You’ll both be killed if—”
“It will be.” He reaches up and touches my face again. “I need to see her this one time. I need to know what’s so urgent. But after this . . .” He trails off, shaking his head. “After this, I can’t go back there.”
Arabo and I follow Drusus into the city. He takes us past the market, closer to the amphitheatre and its surrounding row upon row of taverns and brothels, finally stopping in front of a rundown building that looks like it’s held up by little more than the half-hearted goodwill of the gods.
“This is the place,” he says.
I look up at the building, raising an eyebrow. “It is?”
“We’ve met here before.” He gestures for me to follow him. “About as discreet as you can get in this city.”
It’s certainly discreet. The only way I imagine anyone would ever be found here is when the ramshackle place finally collapses and the Vigiles pull out the crushed bodies. The narrow hall inside winds like a labyrinth with no apparent reason to its direction, and sometimes a crooked support beam stands right in the middle of the cramped walkway. Drusus slips past with ease, but Arabo and I have a little more difficulty. An even narrower staircase leads us up to the second floor, the steps creaking and groaning beneath our feet.
All around and above us, the wood is old, dry, and splintering. The stonework was shoddy to begin with, and crumbling from time and weather.
At the top of the stairs, Drusus pushes open a half-broken door. “Arabo, you stand post outside this door. Saevius, you’ll be in here with me.” He looks at us. “No one comes in this room except for Verina. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Dominus,” we say in unison.
With the bodyguard outside the closed door, Drusus paces back and forth across the creaking floor. Neither of us speak. The building shifts and groans, as if every breath threatens to bring it crumbling down.
Voices and footsteps outside turn our heads. We both freeze when the door opens.
“In here.” Arabo waves Verina in.
She enters, and as Arabo closes the door behind her, Verina throws me a wary look, but then turns to Drusus.
“I came as soon as I could,” she says. “Your message said it was urgent, and—”
“My message?” Drusus glances at me, eyes wide. To her, he says, “I received one from you.”
“I don’t understand.” Verina shakes her head. “I sent nothing.”
All three of us exchange glances.
More voices outside. Urgent ones. Footsteps.
Slowly, as one, we turn toward the rickety door.
And that’s when the chaos erupts.
Outside the room, men shout and scuffle.
“We need to get out of here.” Drusus steps back from the door.
I look around the tiny room. “Except there’s only one way out.”
“Maybe not.” Verina brushes past us to the window. “There’s a cart below. We can—”
The door crashes open. Arabo stumbles backward, dragging Lucius with him. Drusus tackles Lucius from the side, and both men go down. “Lucius, you son of a whore!” Drusus snarls as he punches him in the jaw.
A pair of men I’ve never seen before storm in through the open doorway. One goes for Verina, but I head him off and take him down. His weapon falls to the floor. Verina snatches it up while I subdue the man.
The other invader comes after me, and I block the club in his hand, but he collides with me and shoves me away from my unconscious adversary. My wounded back hits the wall, and searing pain blurs my vision just long enough for my attacker to land a fist in my gut. I grunt, curse, and then send my elbow into the side of his head before grabbing his hair and slamming his face into my leg. His knees buckle, and I drive him all the way to the floor. As soon as he’s pinned, I snap his neck like I did Iovita’s.
I grab his club and scramble to my feet.
Verina’s pressed up against the wall, and Arabo’s got his back to her and the dagger in his hand. He’s poised like a predator, ready to lunge at Lucius the moment he gets the opportunity.
Drusus and Lucius struggle violently for control of Lucius’s weapon, and with the blade between them, they grapple and crash into a wall. The impact jolts the entire room, everything around us wobbling from the force of the blow. Drusus slams into Lucius again, and something splinters.
“Watch that wall, Drusus,” I shout. “It’s gonna give!”
He drags Lucius away from it. Lucius throws a punch.
The first attacker, the one I’d taken down when he went after Verina, isn’t as immobile or unconscious as I thought. He takes advantage of the distraction, and in a heartbeat, he’s dropped Arabo to the floor and swept a kick around to the backs of my knees, knocking them out from under me. I fall, just barely regaining awareness in time to fend off a dagger. I block his arm. The dagger hits the floor and spins across it. I clasp my fists together and sweep my arms to the side, buckling his knees and bringing him down.
He recovers quickly, though, and pulls me off balance. My back scrapes against the wall, and the pain blinds me once again, giving him the chance to pull me all the way to the floor. The dagger flashes, but Arabo attacks him and knocks him off me.
A roar draws my attention, and I look up just in time to see Lucius ram his shoulder into Drusus’s midsection, sending both men flying into the wall beside the window.
Into the wall, and through it.
Boards and supports snap. Both men scramble for something to hold on to, but the broken boards they grab break off in their hands. Drusus clambers for purchase. Lucius snatches a more solid board. They’re both dangling now, but not falling.
Arabo and I both lunge for Drusus. At that moment, Lucius throws an elbow into Drusus’s face. Drusus loses his grasp on the ledge, but he grabs Lucius’s tunic, and both men drop out of my sight.
The crash is sickening. The street below erupts in screaming and shouting.
“Drusus!” Verina hurries to the gaping hole in the wall.
The remaining attacker is on his feet, and when he starts toward Verina, I shout her name, but he’s faster than either of us, and grabs her. Light glints off metal just before he plunges a long blade deep into her side.
She gasps, her eyes widening. He jerks the weapon free, then shoves her, and before I can release my breath, she’s gone, plummeting out the same way Drusus and Lucius did.
Below, more screaming. More chaos.
I grab the attacker, and pure blind fury drives my fist into his face again and again, even after he stops fighting, and it’s only when Arabo murmurs a soft, “Oh gods . . .” that I stop and look up.
He’s looking over the ledge, his face slack.
I snap the attacker’s neck and let the limp body drop to the floor.
As I get back to my feet, Arabo says, “Let’s get down there. Quickly.”
With Drusus’s bodyguard on my heels, I hurry out of the room, down the rickety stairs and narrow hallway, and out into the street.
People a
re crowded around the base of the building. We shoulder our way through.
A few bystanders huddle around Verina and the smashed cart. She’s bleeding badly, a leg twisted at an unnatural angle, and her movements are sluggish and weak.
Drusus and Lucius, however, are gone.
“Where are they?” Arabo looks around. “They couldn’t have—”
“The others,” someone says, pointing frantically down a side street. “They went that way!”
Arabo and I both run in the direction we’re pointed. The crowd is thinner here, as the road leads farther away from the marketplace and into the less savory parts of the city, but still we don’t see any sign of Lucius or Drusus.
The road splits. Arabo goes left, I go right. It’s narrower here, with shadows and crevices in all directions where the men could be fighting, nursing their wounds, waiting to ambush us, dead.
Gods, show me Drusus. Please, please, take me to him . . .
They fell from a second floor. If they’re able to outrun us and get this far from the cart that broke their fall, they can’t be seriously wounded. Not yet, anyway. I don’t imagine they’re running away from each other.
The narrow road spills out into an intersection, and from here, roads and alleys fan away like spokes on a wagon wheel. I skid to a halt, panting as I try to figure out which way they might have gone.
Arabo jogs out from one of the side roads. “Did you find him?”
I shake my head. “Lost them both.”
“Curse it.” He looks back, then turns to me. “If they can move, they’re going to keep moving. And we’re nearly out of daylight, so—gods, Saevius!”
I blink. “What?”
He cranes his neck. “Your tunic. It’s a bloody mess.”
I reach back with one arm, and my fingers meet soaked linen. When I draw my hand back around, my fingertips are red.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
