How was he going to handle this? He couldn’t take her back to her domini—he couldn’t let her be hurt any more than she already was. He also couldn’t shirk his duty. And if he didn’t find her, and the slave hunters did . . . the thought of the letters fug carved into her forehead as a warning to other slaves made him sick.
He paced inside the jail, his stomach in knots, his mind in tangles.
Was there anyone he could trust to help him figure this out?
The men arrived in ones and twos. He needed a plan, fast.
Stolos neared him. “Quin, what’s the matter?” he whispered.
“Wait until all are here. I don’t want to explain twice. And keep Numerius here at the prison to keep watch.”
“Our newest man?”
“We need our best men for this. There aren’t any difficult prisoners. He can handle it. You’ll be here.”
Quin knelt at the cistern in the corner and scooped a cup of water to buy some time. After he splashed some on his face, he rose.
“We have been ordered to find an escaped slave.”
“Don’t the fugitivarii do that?”
“Usually. But this is an incredibly valuable slave to her owners—the girl who prophesies in the forum each day. They don’t want to wait for the fugitivarii.” He held his hand up level to his shoulders. “Blond hair, about this tall, blue eyes. She knows no one here that they know of, so she shouldn’t have any accomplices. Look everywhere you can think of that someone might hide. Cisterns, alleys, carriages, trunks, etc. Gallus Crispus is friends with the owners, so this is a high priority. Work in pairs. Stolos will assign each pair an area so nowhere is left unsearched. Questions?”
“What do we do if we find her?”
“Bring her here. If I’m not here, wait for me. Anything else?”
Silence.
“Good. Work fast but be diligent.”
The men reported to Stolos and headed off in pairs, each to a different part of the city.
“What about me?” asked Stolos.
“You wait here. If they bring her back, take her to Gallus and then come back here and wait for me.”
“Yes, Domine.”
But by all the gods, even the god of Paulos, he prayed no one found her before he could.
Tia kept her steps through town light, afraid any noise would attract an owner, a guard, even another slave. Euodia had said to go all the way to the end of the street and turn right, then look for the Marsh Gate. Most of the townspeople were still asleep, so there should be no one out. If she did encounter someone, hopefully she saw them before the full moon’s light allowed them to see her. Maybe she could hide behind one of the shrubs adorning the walls.
When she reached the Marsh Gate, she breathed a sigh of relief and ran as long and as far as she could. Fear of being caught outweighed the pain.
Heading southwest, as best she could figure, was her smartest option. The marshes there would conceal her the rest of the night and tomorrow if she was careful. Then she could head east for Neapolis, try to slip onto a ship headed . . . anywhere.
Every step was sheer agony, every breath a torment. She kept one arm around her ribs, but it provided little comfort. Her bare feet slipped on the damp grass and she fell more than once as she ran through the night. Her feet burned, her knees stung, bruises formed on top of bruises.
She couldn’t keep this up much longer. Her foot hit a wet spot and slid out from under her. Her entire body ended up in the air before it came crashing down hard on the muddy ground. The air was knocked from her chest, and she couldn’t draw any more in for what felt like far too long. Just when she thought she might suffocate, she sucked in a chest full of air with a loud excruciating gasp.
Tia rolled to one side, hugging her midsection. Cuts on her feet, her arms, and her legs all demanded attention. Her back, her ribs, and her knees were sore, and she was beyond exhausted. When was the last time she slept? Or ate?
It would be easy to just give up, go to sleep. Maybe she would starve to death. Maybe some animal would get to her.
Or maybe someone even worse would find her.
It would be hard to imagine someone worse than Cassia and Max, but she’d heard horrible stories . . .
Some warrior she was. She’d already abandoned Tancorix. His death would never be avenged. Should she lie here and take whatever Max and Cassia and Philippi handed her as well? Or would she stand up and fight it like the warrior she was taught to be?
Groaning, she rolled to her hands and knees and sat up. Extending her hands, she felt the ground around her. Damp and somewhat muddy, but not soggy. Wherever there was grass, the ground was less wet, better for walking.
She pushed herself up slowly. Careful to place her feet where the grass grew, she made her way to the center of the marsh. If she could get to where the grass was the tallest and thickest, perhaps she could find a spot that wasn’t too wet, where she could hide until tomorrow night.
Could she get back to Britannia? How long had it taken to get here? Weeks. She might be able to slip unnoticed onto a ship and get away from Macedonia, but she would eventually be found out and put ashore. Then what would she do? How would she support herself? She wouldn’t be able to earn enough to feed herself, let alone enough to buy passage back home. Was there any reputable profession a woman—
Her head slammed against the ground again. She should have been paying closer attention instead of thinking about the future. This time she fell onto a rock. She rolled over and grimaced as she felt her left side, hissed as her fingers found yet another wound. Her ankle ached too. She must have landed on it awkwardly.
She glanced up. The grass was well over her head. Perhaps she should stay here for the night. She was well hidden. She was too tired, too hungry, and too beat up to walk any farther.
The morning wouldn’t fix a single one of those problems, except for her exhaustion. She would still be hungry and sore, and it would be light out and easier for her to be found.
But for now, what else could she do? Rested, she might be able to think more clearly. She’d deal with tomorrow’s problems tomorrow.
16
“He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me.”
Psalm 18:17
Sunlight poured onto the couch where Tia slept. Why was her room so bright? She tried to stretch, but unimaginable pain gripped her body. Her head pounded. Movement was impossible.
“You’re awake.” A beautiful woman stood beside the couch.
Who was she? She looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m going to help you sit up, and yes, it’s going to hurt.” She slipped a hand under Tia’s right arm, placed the other one on her left to steady her, and pushed her to a sitting position.
Tia tried to help, but everything hurt. She moaned as the muscles in her stomach worked to right her, but soon enough she sat up and the pain subsided. Most of it, anyway.
“Loukas left a little medicine for you. What he gave you last night has worn off. We’ll give it a little time to work, then we have to clean you up.” She picked up a bottle with a small amount of liquid in it, removed the top, and handed it to her.
Tia smelled it. She held it up and stared at it. Was it poison? She didn’t even know these people. Should she trust them?
Would it really matter if it was poison?
“Drink it. It will take your pain away.” The woman had such a kind smile. And Quin obviously trusted her. He could have taken her to Max and Cassia, but he’d brought her here. She uncorked the tiny container and poured its contents into her mouth.
The woman replaced the bottle on the table. “Excellent. Now, I have sent all the men to the forum so we can give you a bath with no fear. Syntyche?” She called into the main house. “Can you bring the supplies?”
“Of course.”
“Syntyche is going to help us. You’ll like her.”
“And you?” Moving her jaw nearly brought tears to her eyes.
; “Oh.” She laughed softly. “I never told you my name. I’m Lydia, and this is my house. Quin brought you here last night.”
“I remember.” She spoke keeping her teeth together.
“What else do you remember?”
“Being beaten. Escaping. Hiding in the marsh. Then Quin found me.”
“How did you escape?”
“I just did.” She was not going to get Euodia in trouble.
Lydia shrugged. “All right.”
A young woman about her age carried a large bowl of water to the table. She had dark eyes and darker hair. A much younger girl set down a platter of soap and cloths and oil and left.
“That was Zenobia. Both Syn and Zenobia work for me.” She dipped a cloth in the water and drew it over Elantia’s face.
She flinched. The water was warm and felt good, but her face was so sore that any pressure at all was painful.
Lydia shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts, but we have to get all this mud off you. We have to keep your wounds clean, and make sure there aren’t any we missed.” She rinsed out the cloth. “Syn, hand me the knife.”
A knife? What did this woman intend to do?
Lydia gently cut the tunic off Tia’s body. “Quickly, Syn. Burn this one, and bring me a clean one for her.”
The girl sprinted down the hall.
Her torso was bluish-purple blobs, melding into one another.
Elantia took slow, shallow breaths while Lydia washed and patted dry her abdomen, arms, back, and legs, then applied honey to the cuts. By the time she was done, Syn had returned with a fresh tunic and a pair of sandals.
“Here we are. You’ll have to lift your arms once more, but we’ll try to be gentle.” She raised her arms over her head, sending stabbing bolts of pain through her ribs. She fisted her hands to avoid whimpering.
“Finally. We’re done. Now, you must be hungry.”
“I’m not sure I can eat.”
“Nonsense. You have to eat. You need your strength. Even if you don’t feel hungry, you must eat.”
“No, I mean, I can’t open my mouth.”
“You can’t . . . what?”
Her cheeks heated and she looked away. “It hurts too much.”
“Syn, do you think you could find us some juice? We need to get something in her.”
“What kind?” The girl looked at Tia as if she must eat something other than normal food.
“Anything. Whatever you like.”
She nodded and left again.
The woman certainly was friendly with her slaves.
Lydia sat beside her, studied her. “Did he kick you in the face?”
Tia shrugged. “He punched me. Maybe, I don’t know. I blacked out.”
Lydia took her hand. “I’m so sorry. No one should be treated this way. I forget how badly slaves are treated sometimes.”
Syn set two pitchers on the table next to them. “Apple and grape.”
Turning to Tia, Lydia reached for a cup. “Which do you prefer?”
She shrugged. Did it matter? Would she be able to taste it?
“Grape,” Lydia whispered.
The girl poured a large cup.
Elantia held the cup to her lips and winced, pulling it back. She touched her mouth with her other hand. Her lips were badly swollen. How many times had Max punched her?
She tried again, more gingerly. The grape juice was cold and sweet, and satisfied a hunger she hadn’t felt until the juice hit her stomach. She drained the cup and asked for another before the pain medication started to work. “I’m feeling sleepy.”
“That’s the medication Loukas left for you.” Lydia rose and grabbed a beautifully embroidered blanket from another couch. “Lie down.”
Tia lay back as Lydia covered her with the blanket. As she drifted off, she heard Lydia and the slave girl talking.
“Were you ever beaten like that?” the girl whispered. What was her name? Elantia couldn’t remember through the medicine’s haze.
“Never. I was flogged, but never like that. You?”
“I was beaten many times, but not that badly.”
“Come, dear. Let’s let her rest.” Footsteps retreated, a door closed.
She spoke so sweetly. Why couldn’t Lydia have bought her instead of those horrible people? Why couldn’t she just stay here now? Was that possible?
Too many questions.
One thing she was sure of—she was never going back to Max. Because she would either kill him, or herself, before she let that happen.
Quin sprinted to his house. His tunic was filthy, wet, and splotched in blood. There was no way to explain all of that by saying he was only searching—unsuccessfully—for Tia. He needed to change into fresh clothes. He needed a bath, too, but that would have to wait.
Could he trust Epaphras? Or the girl? They hadn’t been with him long. It was hard to tell. He slipped through the door, crept through the atrium and into his cubiculum before he could be seen. After tossing his cloak and leather belt to the floor, he jerked off his tunic and rolled it into a ball. Fresh water and a cloth sat by the door, as usual, and he washed the blood and dirt from his arms and neck. The memory of her cradled against him, however, remained.
The new tunics from Lydia lay on his couch. He untied the ribbon and held the first one up by the shoulders. Inspected it, shook it out. It was no wonder she had so many customers from places so far from here. The work was exquisite. He pulled it over his head and belted it.
He turned around to find his tunic had disappeared.
He padded into the kitchen. The girl—Charis?—stirred chopped apples into a huge bowl of porridge. The fire was going well, and Epaphras stood over it, the bloody tunic in hand. The Greek glanced at him briefly before tossing the garment into the fire. The cloth did not catch fire, and Quin froze for a moment. Finally, it exploded into bright orange flames. The fire consumed it quickly and left no evidence.
Without a word, Charis picked up a small bowl, ladled some porridge into it, and handed it to Quin along with a piece of bread.
“Thank you.”
She glanced at him but remained silent.
“Let me wash your feet and get your sandals. Please sit,” Epaphras said.
Quin shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Domine.” His eyes dropped to Quin’s feet.
“What?” He spoke with a mouthful of food.
Epaphras pointed at his feet.
To appease him, Quin held his bowl to one side and looked down. His feet and boots were caked with mud up to his shins, with splashes higher than that. How would he explain a perfectly clean tunic—obviously freshly washed—and muddy boots?
Quin sat while the young servant prepared a bowl of warm water and carefully washed his feet. Epaphras reached for a bottle of olive oil and dabbed some on each of the cuts on Quin’s legs. “Are you leaving again? I think you must wear your sandals. Your boots must be cleaned.”
“All right. I’m to visit the duovir and then I’m going to the prison.”
“Very well.” As he dabbed oil on the cuts on Quin’s arms, he glanced up at Quin through his lashes. “You did not return home all night. I trust everything is all right?”
Quin sighed. “No, not really.”
“May I do anything to help you, Domine?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“I’ll get your cloak. There was some mud at the bottom, which I brushed off, and a little blood on the inside, but I don’t think anyone will see it. I’ll wash it later.” Epaphras returned quickly, sandals, cloak, and belt in hand. “I shall pray for you. As I do every day.” He smiled and left.
Quin finished his porridge and then jogged across the forum to Gallus’s villa. Pray for me. To whom, I wonder? And could he trust Epaphras to keep his mouth shut about the bloody tunic?
A servant unlocked the gate of Gallus’s home and ushered Quin into the atrium.
Quin avoided pacing as he waited for the magistrate. He mustn’
t appear concerned in any way.
Gallus plodded into the room. His blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes belied his clean toga. Must have been a late, wine-soaked night. Even after the discovery of Tia’s escape.
“Quin. What news do you have for us? I trust you or your men found her.”
He bowed. “I must apologize. We searched all night. I just returned myself. We found not a trace of her. I had fourteen men on the detail, each assigned to a specific area so no part of the city would go unsearched. We looked in every area that could possibly hold a person. We found nothing.”
“Nothing?” The ruler rubbed his palm over his stubbled cheeks. “She couldn’t have left the city, do you think?”
“Where would she go, alone? She would be recognized as a runaway instantly. Her Latin is good but heavily accented.”
“True. And a girl like her could never survive in the marshes or the mountains.”
Quin bristled. She’s not a girl; she’s a warrior. You have no idea what she’s capable of. “Perhaps she had an accomplice.”
He brightened. “Then we shall post a reward. Maybe someone noticed something and will come forward. It really doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter?”
“Max and Cassia say she isn’t worth anything to them now.”
“Because she ran away?”
He laughed. “By Jupiter, no! Because she can no longer tell the future.”
“She can’t?”
“That’s why she ran away.” He accepted a goblet of wine from a servant and sipped from it.
“I don’t understand.”
“And it isn’t necessary that you do. You may call off the search, but keep your men on the lookout for her.”
“They’re not just giving up such a valuable slave, are they?”
“They’re not certain what to do yet. I’m meeting with them later today.” He took a long draw of wine.
So much wine, so early in the morning.
“Why are you still here? I’ll let you know when I need you.” He waved his hand toward the gate.
Sold Into Freedom Page 16
