Part 2 (1/2)
A familiar figure moved toward him from across the street. Not his delivery, but just as welcome. He waved at Isabella and could see his youngest sister brighten, even from this distance. She skipped across the three large stepping-stones, placed to raise pedestrians out of the daily rush of water that cleaned the streets, and continued toward him on his side. He lost sight of her amidst the other shoppers, but her wide eyes and big smile soon reappeared. At fourteen, she was becoming a woman. This she should not know.
He leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek, but pinched her side instead and waited for her reaction.
”Quintus!” She slapped his arm. ”I came to save you from Mother, and that's how you repay me?”
He laughed. ”Not even your wisdom could convince Mother that my plans are worthy, I'm afraid.”
”Hmmm. She was complaining before she even left the villa.”
Cato pulled his sister into the shop and didn't miss the way she lifted her own stola off the dirty floor. She was her mother's daughter, after all. Octavia raised her eyebrows at Isabella, and they seemed to share a common opinion.
”I thought you were planning to open soon.” Isabella scowled. ”This place is disastrous.”
Cato shrugged. ”We're using that as a selling point.” He spread his hands to the room. ”'Our wine is so good, even the shop is aged.'”
Isabella rolled her eyes, not amused. ”Seriously, Quintus, who is going to come- ”It was a good price, sister. Bargains come with drawbacks. Nothing we can't fix.”
Behind them, Remus cursed suddenly, and the expletive was followed by the sound of smas.h.i.+ng pottery. Cato whirled, in time to see the line of amphorae balanced on their pointed ends going down like wheat falling beneath a scythe.
”Remus!” He dove for the jars, but Remus was already there, down on one knee with his hands thrust forward to catch the next one. He righted it before it could take down another, then sat back on his heels. Six terracotta jars lay cracked on the floor, their blood-red contents leaking or surging from cracks of varying widths.
Cato grabbed two with slow leaks and balanced them against the wall before they could contribute to the mess. The rest were already empty.
”Master, I-” Remus's voice caught. Was the man near to tears?
”An accident, Remus!” He placed a hand on the man's shoulder. ”I suppose you were just getting started on our pot-breaking, eh?”
”But the wine, master-”
”Saturninus's wine wasn't very good, anyway, and we both know it. No doubt why he went out of business.” He stepped across the widening puddle. ”Perhaps it will do more good was.h.i.+ng away the grime of the floor!”
Octavia and Isabella had backed away to the doorway, and Cato didn't need to look at the two women in his life to know what they were thinking.
He and Remus set to work cleaning up the spilled wine and cracked pottery with the women looking on. ”Saturninus didn't go out of business because of the quality of his wine, master.”
”He must have been a poor businessman, then, for he was certainly bankrupt.”
Remus knelt to sop up the wine with a rag. ”Yes. But driven there. Driven to bankruptcy by the crook who owns half the city and controls the other. Gnaeus Nigidius Maius.”
”The duovir.” He had heard the politician's name muttered a few times by disgruntled citizens but knew nothing more of the elected official.
”Don't let the position fool you. The city is united in its hatred for him. He would sell his mother for a vote, and when Saturninus refused to give him a take of the shop's profits, Maius destroyed him. That's why you were able to buy everything the man owned for a sestertius on every aureus.”
Cato straightened, two shards of pottery in his hands. ”Maius forced him out of business?”
”Indeed. The man's a-”
Remus's sentence hung unfinished as the doorway darkened, and Cato looked up, still expecting his delivery. His mother and sister turned, and seemed dwarfed by the bulk of the man who filled the frame.
”Please, finish.” The large man dipped his head toward Remus. ”You have me so curious.”
Cato looked from the stylish visitor to the cowering Remus, and instinct told him that this was the man himself.
Gnaeus Nigidius Maius. Enemy of the people.
CHAPTER 3.
The journey from Napoli to the foot of the beautiful mountain had taken half the day, and Ariella was footsore and thirsty by the time Drusus called a halt to the forced march. She waited for instructions, hoping they would be allowed to rest.
The mountain-Vesuvius, they called it-had loomed to the south of the troupe when they left Napoli, looming larger until they traveled the narrow channel of land between the mountain to the east and the sea to the west. Now it was behind them, with the sun beginning to fall toward its pointed peak.
Drusus declared that they were only an hour out from Pompeii. ”But we will camp here and enter the city tomorrow.” A cheer went up from the troupe, as though tomorrow's arrival would be a triumphant procession of honored soldiers returning from victory, rather than a column of ragtag gladiators hauled in to entertain the ma.s.ses with their blood.
Drusus directed the slaves that accompanied them to begin setting up camp alongside the road. To the troupe, he called out sharp instructions. ”Take some water, men.” He pointed to an open area beside the road, bordered on one side by a grove of trees. ”We begin practice shortly.”
The collective groan was more subdued than the cheer had been, for good reason. Drusus was a harsh master, and reluctance to train only resulted in more of it.
One of the other gladiators, Celadus, nudged Ariella. ”You'd better get some water, Ari. You're not looking well.” Celadus was a bear of a Roman with his front teeth missing, but usually kind.
Another fighter chuckled without mercy. ”These young boys are more likely to fall between cities than in the amphitheatre. I don't know why Drusus keeps buying them.”
Ariella lowered her chin to hide the flash of anger in her eyes. It was difficult enough to masquerade as a young man, but to be seen as weak infuriated her. She beat back her exhaustion and shrugged. ”I'll outlast you in the arena, Paris. Larger is not always better, you know.”
”Hah!” Paris, the Greek favorite, was as chiseled as one of his forefathers' statues, but his grin held ugly animosity. ”Perhaps not against animals. Wait until you face a real opponent.”
Celadus pa.s.sed a water skin to Ariella, saving her from a reply.
The afternoon sun hammered down on her head, making her grateful she had chopped her hair off at the neck weeks earlier. With no head covering, her usual mane of thick hair would have been like a heavy blanket in the Junius heat.
Is the month still Junius? The thought wandered through her exhausted mind as she swigged from the water skin. She had lost track, which she found both bothersome and somewhat terrifying. As though she were leaving parts of herself along the sides of the road, including her awareness of time.
All too soon, Drusus called an end to the break and instructed the men to begin drills. Each of them went to the equipment wagon and sought out their personal training weapons. Ariella's wooden sword, the traditional rudis, was blackened and dented already, even though it had only been three weeks since she had disguised herself, escaped Rome and Valerius and all that made life unbearable, and fallen in with this gladiator troupe.
She secured leather straps around her left hand and turned with her rudis, waiting to be partnered for the drills. The three weeks had pa.s.sed in a blur of dogged determination to survive, alternating with periods of fatigue so severe, she had to call up angry memories of both the distant and immediate past to find the strength to continue.
And today would be no different. She would fight, and she would survive. As she always had.
But for how long?
”Ari, you're with Celadus,” the trainer called out.
She gave Celadus a half-smile, and he rolled his eyes in mock disgust. ”Not again.” He spoke so only she could hear it. Drusus had been pairing them often, though Celadus was much bigger. An apparent effort to ”broaden the boy's shoulders,” as he said, eyeing Ariella with dissatisfaction.