by Nhys Glover
I had already discovered how easy it was for me to pass as a slave. The truth was, few people who lived on Pater’s estate had ever seen me up close. I stayed in the villa or travelled in a closed carriage or litter if we went into town. Only the house slaves knew me by sight.
And what distinguished me as a girl? I looked down at my gown and braid. My clothes and my hair. If I wore a tunic and had short hair, no one would know I was a girl. Not until I reached my first blood and my breasts began to grow. But that could be a year away, if not longer. I was small for my age, after all, so Minerva told me.
By the time I became a woman I would have proven my worth, and even Pater would have to accept my choice of activities. I would never be a proficient spinner or weaver, but I could sew well enough, and I could certainly sew flesh and skin together. I had proven that to myself already. Why should I not be a healer, as well as running a household, when I grew up? Surely such a skill would make me even more marriageable.
Not that I cared about marriage. But I knew it was in my future, just as my Wolf Pack knew being gladiators lay in their future. Yet there were many kinds of wives, even amongst the nobility. I would know how to run a gladiator breeding program and how to keep those gladiators healthy and fit to fight. That had to be a valuable asset to my father and then my husband, whoever he might be.
What I planned to do was audacious. Pater would be shocked and refuse to let me do it, if he were here. But once I had done it, and proven myself, he would have to change his mind. Would he not?
As I said to the boys last night, I let nothing stand in my way. Or I would not, now I was a part of Pater’s beloved Wolf Pack.
I spent the rest of the morning penning my own missive on the finest vellum we had. I would normally write on wax tablets telling Pater of my nonsense days. Wax melted easily and the wooden frames were heavy and might easily break in transit. So important missives were not written on such a surface. An important message like this, which would be carried by a dispatch rider using the cursus publicus, would not have to risk being melted, broken, or slowing down the rider with its weight.
‘Dear Pater
I write about a serious worry that has been brought to my attention. The new doctores, Lucullus, has been misusing the boys badly, changing your training program so it resembles that of a grown gladiator’s. I asked our physician to give me a list of injuries incurred since you left. I have included that list here so you can see this is not idle gossip or made up complaints. Ariaratus was reluctant to bother you, but I insisted you would want to know how blatantly and dangerously your new slave is ignoring your program.
I am well and hope you are too. I also hope you do not mind that I have sent this by military dispatch. I knew you would need to hear about it as soon as possible.
Your loving daughter
Ennia”
Though I made several ink droplets on the vellum, on the whole, I was pleased with the result. It was the most grown-up message I had ever written. Several times, I had to rack my brain to find adult words to use. I might know what incurred means, but I would not usually use it.
Although, I realised suddenly, I had been speaking more like Pater ever since I started going to the Wolf Pack. I think it was because it made me more... acceptable. Not such a little girl. More and more these days, I was resenting being young and a girl and... and even a patrician.
When Ariaratus returned just before midday, his vellum list in hand, I read through it as best I could—some words were unfamiliar to me— and I was left quite horrified.
“This is bad. After only a few weeks, this is very bad,” I told him crossly.
He nodded. “Until I sat down to write it, I had not realised just how severe the problem had become. I’m grateful you found out and wished to address it. It will come better from you.”
I knew what he meant. Everyone knew how Pater favoured me. I was as good as any son to him.
Once I put the list with my own missive, I rolled them both up and applied our wax seal. Next I sent for our messenger and told him what I wanted done with my missive. He would take it, along with the emperor’s authorisation certificate, to the nearest military post and from there it would go to Londinium by the fastest route. In nine or ten days, if the weather and roads were good, my missive would be in Pater’s hands. After that it would be up to him. I just hoped he would act before it was too late.
For the next few days I considered my other issue and how I could solve it. The way the physician had reacted to my authority told me I had more power than I had previously believed. It might be possible to use my authority for more than just addressing the problem with Lucullus.
But even if I convinced Ariaratus to accept me as his assistant, others would be less willing to allow a noble girl to see their injuries and illnesses. Authority only went so far for someone my age.
By the third day after my last visit to the Wolf Pack, I had formulated my plan.
I knew that a whole wing of the slave quarters was dedicated to washing, mending and making clothes for everyone on the estate. Even my clothes were sewn by those clever hands. I therefore sent Minerva to fetch me several new tunics meant for the boys in the barracks.
Though Minerva looked perplexed by my order, she followed it wordlessly, and soon I had three boys tunics made of homespun, creamy-grey cloth. While Minerva watched me in horror, I tried them on.
“What are you doing, Little Mistress. You are no boy. What do you want to be dressing up as one for?” Minerva demanded in exasperation.
“I have my reasons,” I told her in my most superior tone. If it worked on the physician, it could work on Minerva.
I was right. She closed her mouth and, with a huff, left me to my odd play.
From the chest in the main area of my apartment I withdrew a pair of shears. They were used for spinning and weaving, but they would serve me well enough.
Before Minerva could see what I was about and stop me, I cut off my long braid. I studied myself in my silver mirror. It was small, but at least I had one now, having inherited it from my mother.
I studied my face in the shining flat surface. Did I look like a boy now?
Fluffing my hair out and pushing the ends behind my ears, I looked more closely. Yes, I did look like a boy. I was sure of it.
When Minerva saw what I had done she dropped the gowns she was carrying. Clearly, she had been planning to tempt me into wearing some of my mother’s cut-down clothes to remind me how pretty I could be. Or would be, one day, when I grew up.
Instead, she was greeted by a boy who looked just like her mistress. She let out a wail I was sure could be heard all the way to the slaves’ quarters down the hill.
“Oh, Lady Ennia! What have you done? What have you done?” she cried, wringing her hands as if I had stabbed the shears into my belly instead of using them to cut my hair.
“Did Mater not have a wig she wore for special occasions?” I asked, trying to sound unaffected by what I had done.
Yet I could not hide from myself the enormity of it. My heart was pounding and my hands shook. I wanted to cry.
But I could not. If I was going to win, I could not cry like a baby.
Minerva stared at me as if I had spoken some foreign language. Or babbled like a mad child.
“Minerva. Mater had a wig. Where is it?”
Her face paled visibly and her hands shook more than mine. “I... I will go and find it. What... What will you do with it?”
I had a feeling she thought I might set it alight or put it on the head of a goat. Clearly, I had lost my mind, as far as she was concerned.
“I will wear it, of course. A young lady such as myself cannot be seen with the hair of a boy, can she? Even by her own house slaves.”
Minerva suddenly looked a lot better. “It was an accident. Your hand slipped and you accidently cut off your braid. Never mind, dear girl. It may seem like a terrible tragedy, but I’m sure we can make the wig work.” She was tutting again and hustled backward and fo
rward across the room, one minute stopping to touch my accidentally cut off braid and then to finger the rest of the boy’s tunics on the chest, as if trying to come up with a way I had accidentally asked for them.
“Your mother’s hair was a similar colour to your own. The wig will make it seem as if you are growing up and taking more effort with your hair. Maybe I can find a way to include your hair from the braid. Young girls wear their hair down, not up, as you know. I might even be able to fashion a wig more suitable... given time. It will take some time for your hair to grow back...”
Her eyes were darting from side to side as she counted on her fingers. Was she trying to count how long it would take to make a new wig or how long it would take my hair to grow back? If I had my way, I would not be growing my hair back for quite some time.
By late that afternoon, Minerva had found the wig, a little too elaborate and large for a girl my age, and begun to fashion it into something simpler, with my own hair glued in under the mass so it could hang as it always did almost to my hips.
Once it was done and we tried it on, I looked at myself in the silver mirror again. I looked rather regal, and most definitely a noble girl. It was still more ornate than someone my age would normally wear, but at least it fitted and looked real. No one would think it was not my own hair. People saw what they wanted to see, after all. I had learned that lesson well enough in the last few weeks.
By the time I was ready for another night beside the fire, I was ready to try out my new disguise. The Wolf Pack did not want a girl in their midst? Well then, they would have a boy instead.
Chapter Six
TYPHON
Another week and we could barely lift our arms to hold a stylus, no less a dagger or sword. And we were not the only ones. Boys were dropping like flies, and the infirmary was filled to overflowing.
There had been more than one loud argument amongst the doctores about the state of affairs, but nothing had been done. The Master had appointed Lucullus for the field training, so who were they to tell him nay?
I wanted to lead a revolt against the bastard, kill him, and throw his body down a deep ravine, where it would never be found again. I wanted to cut him into little pieces and feed him to the pigs. I wanted to do even worse to him than that, but my body was so exhausted I could do nothing more than dream up even more colourful and violent ways to end my deadliest enemy.
It was our night to go out. We had talked of forgoing it. We knew we wouldn’t enjoy it as we normally would. If we could even make it up the hill, that was. But the snares would likely have creatures in them, and we didn’t like to leave them to die slowly. Killing for food was one thing. It was natural and good. Leaving a creature to die for no reason. That was another thing all together. No warrior or hunter would do such a thing.
And then there was Accalia. She would come tonight and bring more food with her. I wasn’t sure what interested me more, the girl or the food. I was starting to think it was the girl. I kept wondering what she would say next. What she would do next.
I wasn’t the only one.
In the end, though we could barely stagger up the hill, we did make it to our campsite. Orion checked the snares and, while the rest of us looked on, he freed the rabbit and mole we’d captured.
“I have no energy to skin and cook them,” he told us tiredly. We nodded in agreement.
Even our fire was a pathetic display, as we had collected little in the way of branches on the way up the hill.
Collapsing in exhausted sprawls around the fire, we didn’t even have the energy to talk. When a strange lad slipped out from the shadows to join us, we barely lifted our heads.
“Who are you?” Orion demanded, trying to sound threatening.
“Do you not recognise me?” the boy asked, oddly pleased with himself.
I looked closer. He seemed familiar, but I knew he came from neither the barracks nor the breeding compound. Then it dawned on me as I watched the boy’s grin grow more mischievous with every passing minute.
“Accalia?” I croaked out in astonishment. “What have you done?”
She laughed, pleased her disguise had fooled us. “A girl cannot assist the physician, so I am going to be a boy. Clearly, my appearance fooled you.”
Talos groaned, bent his elbows, and rested his head on his fists. “The emperor himself could fool us tonight. We can barely keep our eyes open.”
She looked concerned then, noting for the first time that no rabbit cooked over the fire and that we were lying on the ground, not sitting on rocks.
Dumping her sack into the dust, she began rummaging inside it for treats. Silently, she handed out an even bigger bounty than the week before. That lifted our spirits. We dragged ourselves into sitting positions and began eating.
“You look terrible. Is Lucullus still working you too hard?” she asked us as she sat on her rock.
It was odd, talking to what appeared to be a boy and yet knowing she was a girl. I was starting to think she really was addled. How could she get away with dressing as a boy when she was the mistress’ handmaiden? Had she gone so far as to cut her hair? A slave could be beaten for less.
“We’re the ones who are still standing. Although for how much longer, I don’t know,” Asterius mumbled around a mouthful of pear. “The younger boys are all sick or suffering broken bones. One has a dislocated shoulder. We’re still only being fed what we used to get, so we’re losing weight. Starving, in fact.”
Accalia sighed heavily and shook her head. It felt good to be telling her of our plight, even if she couldn’t do anything about it.
“A missive has been sent by military dispatch to the Master. He should get it soon. Then maybe something can be done. If you can just hold out for a while longer.”
Orion’s head shot up. “A missive to the Master? How do you know? How does anyone even know where he is?”
Accalia smiled indulgently. “The Master maps out his whole journey before he leaves and gives it to his daughter so she can write to him. The physician has written a list of ailments and injuries that this awful man has caused, and it has been sent to Londinium where the Master is currently staying. It takes about nine days or so to get there. So, as I said, in the next few days he will have it. Then he can reply with his new orders. Another two weeks. It will all be resolved in another two weeks.”
“How do you know all this?” Orion insisted.
She huffed and threw up her hands. “I told you I am a friend to the Little Mistress. When I told her what was happening she sent for the physician, and from there it was done... She... She is a kind girl and cares about her father’s program. She does not want to see it ruined by this evil man.”
We boys exchanged looks, trying to decide if she was telling the truth or living in a fantasy world. The others must have come to the same conclusion I did. This odd girl had said she would bring food from the Master’s table, and she had. So, maybe, if she said a message had been sent about our plight, it might have been.
What her shorn hair had to do with any of it was anyone’s guess.
“Why are you dressed as a boy?” I ask, determined to find out more about this odd girl.
“You were right. A girl cannot learn to be a physician. So I decided not to be a girl anymore.”
Our mouths must have fallen open because she grinned impishly at us, pleased by our reaction.
“You can’t just decide not to be a girl anymore,” Orion said patiently, running his fingers through overlong curls that draped over his forehead.
In the barracks our hair was kept short. Once every two months a man who must shear the sheep came in and cropped our hair to our heads. For most of us, two months was just long enough to keep us neat, but Orion’s hair grew faster than most, and his hair started to curl and hang over his forehead about six weeks into every two months.
That’s when he started combing it back off his face with his fingers, as he was doing now. It was a nervous gesture. If he’d known he was doing it, he
would have tried to stop, seeing it as a sign of weakness. But as there was little about Orion that was ‘real’, the rest of us didn’t tell him. We liked it that he could sometimes appear as human as the rest of us.
Of course, even he was showing his weaknesses after the weeks we’d had with Lucullus. How the other doctores hadn’t tried to do something before now was a mystery. Sure, he was in charge of the physical training of all the boys in both barracks, but we had other tutors for our letters and strategy. It required more than just physical fitness and skills to make a warrior.
And though our other tutors had continued to instruct us, I’m sure they could tell very little of what they were teaching us was getting in. An exhausted body made for an exhausted brain. They would have to stand up to the bastard sooner or later, surely. It couldn’t all be left up to a twelve-year-old girl. Even if she was the Master’s daughter and a patrician.
“I can. The Little Mistress will tell Ariaratus he has to train me, and my disguise as a boy will get me into places like your barracks. I will be able to learn to be a healer. Even if I am a girl.”
She sniffed and grinned triumphantly.
“The Little Mistress has approved this?” Orion sounded unconvinced.
I didn’t blame him. I found it hard to believe as well. But then, I hadn’t believed she was the friend of the Little Mistress in the first place.
“She has. She does not need me. She has her old nurse. And she will enjoy hearing about my adventures. Her life is very... dull.”
Ice pooled at the base of my spine. “You will tell her of your adventures? You haven’t told her about us, though, have you?”
Her eye flew open in surprise. I saw a wisp of guilt that made the ice creep up my spine a little further. “No, of course not. It would be against the rules for me to do this.” She whipped a hand around the small clearing so we knew what she meant. Us, this fire, the food... all of it.
“You can’t tell her, Accalia. No matter how much you think she can be trusted. She can’t. Our lives are at risk if you tell her,” Talos cried, a little of the desperation we all felt there in his voice.
