Blood and Sand Page 23

  “Why are you sad, Attia?” Rory asked her later that morning.

  “I’m not sad,” Attia said.

  “Yes, you are. I can see it on your face. Is it because the visitors haven’t come yet? Who are they? Will I get to see them?”

  Attia’s heart clenched. She clearly remembered Valeria’s plea to keep Rory hidden, but even if she didn’t, she had no intention of exposing Rory to the likes of a Flavian. Any Flavian. Especially not after what Lucius had shared with her.

  She tried to keep her voice light when she answered. “They’re your uncle’s guests, silly bird. But you absolutely cannot see them.”

  “Please?” Rory begged, putting her little hands together. “I never get to see anyone!”

  Attia knelt down to meet the child’s height. “Rory, you have to promise me that you’ll stay in your room and keep the shutters closed while the visitors are here.”

  “Even in the evenings? But the sunlight—”

  “It’s not because of the sunlight.”

  “Then why?”

  Attia tilted Rory’s chin up and looked into her wide blue eyes. “It’s because a monster is coming,” she said.

  The little girl gasped and her entire body froze. Her immediate fear sent guilt lancing through Attia, but she tried to calm herself with reason. It was worth frightening the child if it meant she was also protecting her. She pulled Rory into her arms.

  “I won’t let him come anywhere near you, Rory. But that’s why you have to be brave for me and promise not to go downstairs. No matter what you hear, you must stay in your room. Do you promise?”

  “I promise,” Rory whispered.

  “Promise again.”

  “I promise.”

  “Again.”

  “I promise, I promise, I promise,” Rory said, her voice muffled against Attia’s shoulder.

  “That’s three promises,” Attia said. “And I promise, promise, promise I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

  There was a knock on the door before Sabina poked her head into the room. “Attia, come. I need you.”

  Attia planted a kiss on Rory’s cheek and followed Sabina out into the hall.

  “Are you all right?” Attia asked as they hurried down the stairs to the first floor.

  Sabina looked more than a little flustered. The fine silver hairs around her temples had started to pull free of her braid. There was a light layer of perspiration on her forehead, and she was frowning. “It’s never a pleasant experience when Tycho Flavius comes to visit.”

  With Lucius’s disturbing theory rolling around in her head, Attia didn’t doubt the statement. “Does he visit often?”

  “No, not often. He sometimes brings his father, but I hope Crassus won’t be with him this time.”

  And I hope he will be, Attia thought.

  “Relations between Crassus and Timeus have always been … well, tense. You know, Crassus and Lucius Bassus—Valeria’s late husband—conspired together during the Batavian Rebellion. Vespasian became Princeps because of his generals.”

  “Rome’s politics tire me,” Attia said.

  “They shouldn’t. As the heir to Thrace, you should know—”

  “Sabina!” Attia said, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

  “Well, it’s true!” Sabina responded in a harsh whisper.

  “Do you want them to find out about me?”

  Sabina stopped abruptly, and her face softened. “Gods, no. I … of course not, Attia. I’m sorry. So much is happening. I’m not thinking straight. Just … go to the kitchens and help them.” At Attia’s alarmed expression, she sighed. “Please?”

  “They’ll just throw me out. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you sent me to the kitchens?”

  “Please just go, stay out of the way, and try not to set any fires.”

  Attia folded her arms over her chest as she watched Sabina hurry away. Then, for lack of anything better to do, she actually went to the kitchens and offered to help. The slaves there eyed her up and down and shook their heads. Attia couldn’t blame them after her performance in Rome. But in the end, they needed the assistance, so they tasked her with washing plates and cups while the ones with gentler hands laid out the food.

  Then they waited.

  The house became unnervingly still. Timeus stood at the steps leading from the courtyard to the villa. Beside him, Valeria looked like a statue, unmoving, barely blinking, pale and detached. Lucius tried to keep just as still, but he had a deep scowl on his face, and his fingers fluttered behind his back in agitation. Time passed in a blur of color—black and gray and red at the edges, like a mountain waiting to erupt.

  Soon, the sound of thundering hooves and creaking wagons echoed down the road. Most of the household had gathered in the main courtyard, and Attia watched the proceedings from the shadow of a pillar.

  She’d thought that Timeus’s caravan from Rome had been an elaborate production. It was nothing compared to the entourage of Tycho Flavius. Carts bearing people, food, chests, wine, and a few exotic pets streamed into the courtyard. There were dozens of horses, and even more slaves—all ornamented in tunics and bridles of silver and black. And there were soldiers. At least a hundred members of the auxilia accompanied Tycho’s caravan. They streamed through the courtyard and into the villa, guarding every door, window, and crack in Timeus’s house.

  Attia scanned the crowd, searching out their master. She burned with curiosity to see the infamous Tycho Flavius. But after just a few minutes, she knew that he wasn’t there. He hadn’t arrived with his caravan.

  When the soldiers had taken their places, everyone looked west to the sloping cliff that bordered the villa and the sea. Three long ships appeared on the horizon. Their hulls and sails were dyed black, the canvas fluttering in the wind like demon wings. As they came closer, Attia could see that even the men at the oars wore black tunics. The sail of the center ship bore the image of a silver, snarling wolf’s head.

  Tycho Flavius had arrived.

  The ships eventually disappeared by the edge of the cliff. There must have been some unseen pass there, because soon men emerged into the courtyard through a passage that Attia hadn’t even known existed. She was so anxious to see if Crassus had come with them that every muscle in her body was as tight as the strings on a lyre.

  The courtyard was nearly full and yet almost completely still. There were people everywhere who’d simply stopped moving, an unsettling juxtaposition to the frenetic activity of the day. Only a few men walked through the gathering. Attia strained her neck to see over the crowd, and her eyes met those of the gladiators, who stood in place with blank faces. Lucius’s eyes, which had been so dull and lifeless these past weeks, now seemed to blaze with frightening intensity.

  Attia could hear Timeus greet someone. Slowly, the small group of men approached the villa. Her eyes scanned the group, searching out the face that had haunted her dreams for months now. But it seemed that Crassus hadn’t come, and disappointment sank deep to fuse with old anger. Then another face caught her attention, and she found herself staring at another member of the House of Flavius.

  Tycho stood nearly a head shorter than Timeus. His skin was pasty white, and a cap of short, curly auburn hair framed rounded features. When he turned his head to look up at the villa, Attia noticed how small his nose looked compared to the rest of his face. Coupled with thick, round lips, it gave him a disjointed appearance, as though he was caught between the façades of two men. Only his clothing seemed to complement the Flavian name. His tunic was the color of new cream and partially obscured by the heavy drape of purple fabric that hung off of one shoulder. Attia wondered how silly he must feel—dressing for deep winter in a place that only knew the occasional rainfall. As he moved, the dying sunlight reflected off a gold torque around his neck, and something silver peeked out from under his purple sash.

  Attia frowned. Was that it, then? Was this short, pasty frog of a man the Tycho Flavius? The man who supposedly or
dered the attack on their camp? The one who seemed to inspire fear and anxiety in hundreds of people? The son of Crassus Flavius, the infamous legatus who defeated the greatest warrior kingdom in the world?

  “Mind your expression, little Thracian. You look disgusted,” Albinus said behind her.

  Attia glanced back to see that Albinus and the gladiators towered around her like mighty sentinels, all exposed muscle and hard expressions.

  “I’m unimpressed,” she said.

  “What were you expecting?” Gallus asked.

  “A man.”

  Iduma faked a cough to hide his laughter.

  The small group paused at the entryway to the villa, and Timeus snapped his fingers. Lucretia appeared at his side dressed in her black gown. The thin material barely managed to disguise the bruises that still lingered on her hips and legs. The swelling in her jaw was hidden by the way she’d styled her hair to curl about her neck.

  Attia couldn’t hear what was being said, but Lucretia bowed gracefully before Tycho. Her dark eyes lifted slowly to meet Attia’s.

  Again, that little smile appeared, but her eyes were cold. Then she lowered her head, turned, and followed Timeus into the villa.

  * * *

  By the time they arrived in Naples, Xanthus decided that he had finally atoned for his sins and now deserved the highest reward in the afterlife.

  Not for his prayers.

  Not for protecting Attia.

  Not even for saving the boy, Balius.

  But just for having enough self-control to keep from pushing Kanut off his damn horse.

  Most of the others—including Number Two—had branched off to scout through the night. Xanthus was left to deal with Kanut’s excessive conversation alone. He took a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I simply wish to state—for the record—that this is a stupid, foolish, asinine idea, if ever I’ve heard one,” Kanut said.

  “I find that surprising,” Xanthus said.

  “Who the hell taught you to be so damn spineless? We could have killed the boy and been done with it.”

  “Well, we didn’t kill him, and we’re not going to,” Xanthus said. “Consider Timeus’s bounty money adequate payment. You know, you are surprisingly ungrateful for a man who will soon be a good deal richer.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll have to find Spartacus first, won’t we? And this sniveling infant certainly won’t help.”

  “The Shadow of Death?” a small voice asked.

  Xanthus and Kanut both turned in their saddles to look at the young boy who rode with them.

  “What was the rule, Balius?” Xanthus asked.

  The boy pouted. “To keep quiet or you’d sell me to a ludus in Naples.”

  “Exactly,” Xanthus said. He and Kanut turned around.

  “The gods only know why you spared him. Or why you brought him!” Kanut said.

  “It is one thing to kill animals in the arena. But he is a child, not a gladiator. Or an Ardean.”

  “I’m no child! I’m almost nine years old,” Balius said with conviction. “I’m very nearly a man.”

  Kanut glared at him until Balius turned bright red and fell silent again.

  “Besides, he’s an orphan,” Xanthus said. “We can find a decent family to take him in, and that will be that. No cost. No blood.”

  Kanut scoffed. “He may have been free, but he was still too expensive, if you ask me. I don’t like children. They’re irritating. Obstinate. Loud.”

  Xanthus couldn’t help but smile at the irony of hearing Kanut say that.

  “I knew a feisty one years back. The little monster broke two of my ribs.”

  “I am very sorry that you let a child beat you,” Xanthus said with mock solemnity.

  Kanut surprised him by grinning. His eyes lost focus, as though he was seeing something far away. “You’ve never met a child like that before, gladiator—stubborn as a bull, but brave. So very brave.”

  “Your child?”

  “Near enough,” Kanut said.

  Xanthus waited to hear more, but now that he was marginally interested in what the man had to say, Kanut decided to drop the subject.

  “Hold on tight, young Balius,” he said. “If you fall, I won’t turn back to catch you.”

  * * *

  It was a good dream.

  Attia was in Thrace again, sleeping with her head on her horse’s flank while Jez and the others snored around her. The tide pulled at the shoreline some thirty yards away, and overhead, the moonless sky twinkled with the first sprinkling of stars.

  Then a voice called out her name.

  “Attia. Attia! Wake up!”

  Eyes still closed, Attia sighed.

  It was a good dream.

  “By the gods,” Sabina was saying, tugging at Attia’s blanket, “I never realized how lazy you are. Wake up!”

  “Is it morning?”

  “Yes, and you need to help me prepare for the feast tomorrow night.”

  Attia let her limbs go slack. “Oh, I think I’m falling asleep again,” she mumbled.

  Sabina finally pulled the blanket right off, leaving Attia shivering in Sabina’s cool room. She wrapped her arms around her legs, curling up and trying to conserve her last bit of warmth.

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” Attia groaned. She opened her eyes and looked up to see Lucretia standing just behind Sabina, her eyes already glazing over with the cold and the numbness. She suddenly felt like a profound ass.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m awake.”

  And so she spent the day trying to help Sabina and Lucretia prepare to entertain Tycho Flavius.

  Trying.

  Attia ruined another bouquet of flowers while she watched Lucretia practice a dance in the middle of the great room. Sabina clucked her tongue and shoved Attia’s hands away to fix the arrangement.

  Lucretia finished her performance with her hands extended upward and her still-bruised face expressionless.

  Attia shook her head. “It’s too pretty. Try extending your fingers like this and then bringing your hand down near his neck,” she said, flattening her palm and making a striking motion through the air.

  Lucretia sighed. “It’s a dance, Attia. Not a fight.”

  “We can fix that,” Attia said earnestly.

  “You’re not being helpful at all,” Sabina scolded.

  “I can help by painting Lucretia’s face for the banquet.”

  At that, Lucretia actually smiled, her hands falling to her side. “Oh, gods help me if I ever let you anywhere near my face.”

  A deep, melodic voice called from the doorway. “Having fun?” Ennius asked.

  “Have you come to rescue me?” Attia said as Lucretia started the first steps of the dance again.

  “Do you need rescuing?”

  “From Sabina and her wretched flowers? Absolutely.”

  Ennius inclined his head toward the hallway.

  Attia followed him out, suddenly wary. “What is it?” she asked.

  “The freemen have sent word—Fido is dead.”

  Attia raised a brow. “Good. But how?”

  “I don’t know. By the time the message came, the freemen were already on their way to Naples, which isn’t far from here. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Attia, come back in here and make yourself useful!” Sabina called from the room.

  “She’s a harder taskmaster than I was,” Ennius said.

  “Harder than you and all the furies combined,” Attia said, loud enough for Sabina to hear.

  “If it means you’ll actually come in here and help a little, I’ll take that as a compliment!” Sabina shouted back.

  Attia went back into the great room, pretending to help Sabina while she watched Lucretia practice. Her eyes drifted over the wounds that covered Lucretia’s body. She could already imagine the sounds of drunken festivities wafting down the hallways of the villa. She could see Sabina and other slaves helping Lucretia dress
for the evening. She could feel the familiar anger simmering just below her skin.

  “What else is going to happen tomorrow night?” Attia asked. “You dance, they celebrate for no reason, and then what?”

  “Why do you ask?” Lucretia said over her shoulder.

  “I’ve never been to one of Timeus’s parties. I’m curious.”

  Sabina and Lucretia shared a brief glance.

  “Attia, if you can help it, just stay away tomorrow,” Lucretia said. “I’m sure you’ll find it all rather tedious.” The words were spoken lightly, but Lucretia’s face had tightened. The mask was back.

  “She’s right, Attia,” Sabina said, ushering them both out of the great room. “Stay with the child tomorrow night.”

  Attia frowned with suspicion but followed Sabina and Lucretia back to their sleeping quarters.

  “Ah. It’s finished,” Sabina said as they entered the room.

  A long gold gown hung from two hooks on the wall. It was more translucent than any of the stolas Attia had seen Lucretia wear before. The sleeves were long, but the back was completely open down to the waist. Lucretia lifted the thing from the hooks and held it to her shoulders.

  Attia stared in shock. “That’s what you’re wearing? You’ll practically be naked. Why bother wearing anything at all?”

  “I won’t be wearing it for long,” Lucretia said, holding the gown so that Sabina could examine the hem. “I’ll take it off as I dance.”

  Attia had to fight the sudden urge to gag.

  “It’s a common enough performance,” Lucretia said. “I’ve done it plenty of times. What did you expect, Thracian?”

  Attia felt so sick she could barely speak, but through clenched teeth, she managed to say, “I hate him.”

  “Stay with the child,” Sabina said again.

  Attia knew she was talking about the night of the party, but she couldn’t stand to see Lucretia “practice” any longer.

  She turned on her heel and left the room. Neither Lucretia nor Sabina tried to stop her.

  * * *

  They found shelter in Naples’s Red District.