Without moving, she squinted at the figure leaning against the closed door and prepared herself.
“I’m impressed, Thracian. You’re a hard one to sneak up on.”
Albinus.
“You walk like an elephant,” Attia said. “What are you doing here?”
“With Xanthus away, I could ask you the same thing.”
“And yet I asked first.”
“And yet I don’t care,” he said.
They stared at each other in the darkness.
“Truce?” he said after a while.
“For now.” She sat up on the edge of the bed and hugged Xanthus’s pillow to her chest.
Albinus took a seat on the chair by the door. “So what are you doing here?”
“This is where I sleep. Didn’t you know?”
“Even when Xanthus is absent?”
“I can’t stay in that house.”
“Because of the concubine.” It wasn’t a question.
Attia bristled. “What do you know about Lucretia?”
“I know that Timeus likes to hurt her just as much as he likes to bed her. The man has a twisted idea of a good time.”
“How long has she been here?”
“I’m not really sure. She might have come before us or after.” Albinus shrugged. “I didn’t notice much in the early days.”
“Timeus deserves to die,” Attia said.
“Careful, Thracian. It’s one thing to take down Ennius, another to speak of assassinating your master.” Despite his words, Attia heard a note of amusement in his voice.
“You never answered my question,” Attia said. “What are you doing here?”
Albinus chuckled. “Gareth—well, Xanthus—asked me to watch over you.”
“I’m surprised you call him that. I’m surprised he lets you. I’ve wondered if that name is more of a curse than anything.”
“Memories often are,” Albinus said. “For some of us, at least.”
“I once knew a man who said his loved ones’ names every night like a prayer, and I knew another who said the names of his enemies. I suppose remembering makes us who we are.”
“Hmm. Perhaps.” Albinus stood up and nodded to Attia. “Good night, little Thracian. Try to stay out of trouble.”
*
The rain came down in sheets, beating an unforgiving cadence against the walls of the villa. In the past, Attia had found downpours like this soothing. Winters in Thrace were wet, and it had rained like this on the night she was born. But it had also rained like this the morning the Romans invaded.
It was the sound of the rain more than anything else that called her to the upper level of the villa. The sky wept, and she wanted to see it. It was really only by chance that when she looked out of one of the windows, she turned and saw Lucretia.
At the easternmost balcony, Lucretia leaned over a narrow railing, hands braced on either side, black hair dripping heavy around her face. Below, the frothy waves swirled and tumbled, wrestling with each other and the current. Attia could only imagine the sharp rocks and boulders that waited beneath the surface. She called out, but her voice was swallowed by the wind.
One of Lucretia’s hands slipped, and she pitched forward suddenly, her torso crushing against the balcony. Her face pinched with pain, but her eyes never strayed from the waves.
Attia ran as fast as she could down the hall, her feet skidding across the marble floor. She burst into the room and shouted Lucretia’s name again.
The other woman finally turned around and looked over her shoulder.
“Lucretia, come back,” Attia said, trying to sound calm. “You … you’re too close to the edge.”
Lucretia slowly swung one leg over the stone balcony. “Am I?”
“Come back.” Attia extended her hand. “Please.”
Lucretia smiled painfully. “What for?”
Attia didn’t have an answer for her. Really, what did Lucretia have to live for? A household that scorned her? Fellow slaves who resented her? A ruthless, violent master who would inevitably kill her?
Ennius told Attia that Xanthus loved her, but maybe she’d already forgotten what that word meant. She’d loved her mother, her father, her unborn brother, and her people. She’d loved them in a way that meant she would kill or die for any one of them. Was that what love was? The willingness to step before a blade and bleed?
Then what would she call this? What do you call the willingness to step over a ledge and jump?
“Lucretia,” she said again, her throat tight and achy. “Please. Come back.” Attia closed the distance between them and gently pulled Lucretia’s shivering body into her arms. The other woman felt as cold and brittle as ice.
“Almost,” Lucretia said through chattering teeth. “I was almost able to do it.”
“Let’s get you warm.” Attia half carried her to Sabina’s small room. This time, she didn’t leave her side.
*
“It was intentional, wasn’t it?” Xanthus asked Kanut. “Letting Fido’s men take us. That’s what you were scouting for, not a clear road. You wanted to find them.”
“Yes,” Kanut said. “And now we know what he knows. Well. Knew.”
“You could have told me.”
“It was more amusing this way. Besides, you’re not a particularly convincing liar.”
Xanthus knelt down in the middle of the road. It had rained earlier that morning, softening the dirt and showing telltale signs of a caravan—horses, men, wagons.
“A group of fifty, at least,” Kanut said. He looked up and down the road, squinting his eyes. “They couldn’t have passed more than a few hours ago.”
“They’re going south,” Xanthus said.
“To Pompeii.”
“Do you have any idea who they are?”
“Well, they could be men, women, children, old, young, sick, healthy, soldiers, merchants—”
“Thank you, Kanut,” Xanthus said. “Your insights are illuminating as ever.”
“It’s a caravan, gladiator. Probably one of the patricians moving to a warm villa for the winter. Why does it matter?”
“We should know who’s on the road with us.”
“Ah, but we are not on the road,” Kanut said with a chuckle. “We’re over there in the trees, remember?”
“Do you know who the patrician might be?” Xanthus asked.
“From the size of the caravan, perhaps a magistrate or a senator. Perhaps it is Tycho Flavius.”
Xanthus turned sharply. “Timeus said he wasn’t expected for another two weeks, at least.”
“Oh, of course,” Kanut said. “Silly of me to think that the House of Flavius would ever show disrespect for the schedules of others.”
Xanthus stood. At his full height, he towered over Kanut so that the other man was forced to crane his neck and look up. “What do you know?”
Kanut shielded his deep gray eyes from the sun and smiled. “I know that Naples is less than a day’s ride away. We should continue our mission, gladiator. Unless, of course, you don’t think Spartacus is actually in Naples. Are you ready to share your secrets?”
“I said that I don’t know anything about the man. Not everyone has secrets, Kanut.”