Unless Spoken To

"It's not your fault –"

The lanistas hauled him off balance and dragged him back to Darius's cell, locked him in.

Dael clung to the bars. "Flavia!"

The only response was the other fighters and inmates hooting.

Darius lashed out with his club. Dael recoiled sharply, barely missed having his fingers smashed. "Do not speak unless spoken to."

Dael opened his mouth to retort, but then Darius turned, calling out a jovial greeting.

Avery had survived against the Lion, if barely. He was limping, favoring his left side. His eyes were devoid of emotion.

"Well done, Breton," Darius said. "Maybe some more Roman matrons will come for you."

Avery stumbled into the cell. Dael caught him.

Alive How?

Darius's lanistas growled. "Keep moving."

Dael twisted in his grip. "Flavia!" She was alive? How?

Surely she and Angelus had been tried and condemned --

Condemned.

She was condemned to die in the arena.

"Dael, I'm so sorry. I'll get you out of this, I promise." Flavia clung to the bars, gazed at him with fever-bright eyes.

"Where is Angelus?" Dael asked. The lanistas tried to drag him, but he planted in a solid stance.

"Escaped. Fled."

"He abandoned you?"

"Escaped. Now go. Survive. I will free you from this." Flavia's expression was full of sorrow. "I am so sorry. This would not have happened to you if not for me."

One of Darius's lanistas released Dael, prowled closer to Flavia.

Jeopardy

Master Angelus surrendered. To Flavia, he said,

“Are you mad? To jeopardize our position, after working so hard to build –”

Flavia responded in that language she shared with him that none of the servants had ever before, and her tone was angry, abrupt, but when the soldiers restrained her, she didn’t fight.

One of the soldiers knelt beside the dead man, the foul-breathed man who’d wanted Flavia to share Dael with him, and Dael backed up a stead, bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, hoped no one would notice him.

Flavia whispered as she was dragged past, “Run!”

What Happened Next

What happened next, Dael would never be able to properly describe, because he didn’t really know. One moment the nobleman was lunging at Flavia, the next he was on the ground, scrabbling at the hilt of his knife where it protruded from his chest. Flavia was breathing hard, her hands up before her spattered with blood.

One of the maids screamed first.

And then a little weasel of a woman who’d been at the nobleman’s side cried, “Murder! Murder by a non-citizen!”

The cry was taken up on the other side of the curtain.

And then the soldiers came.

Capable

“What know you of battle, foreigner?” the nobleman spat. He drew the blade on his belt.

“I know that for all you Romans have conquered nations and peoples, I’m still standing,” Flavia said.

The nobleman turned to Master Angelus. “You would let her speak this way? A woman?”

“If I’m just a woman, why did you draw your knife?” Flavia was taunting him.

Dael was torn between kneeling to clean up the spilled wine and moving to stand beside Flavia.

“To gut you like the foreign mongrel you are,” the man spat.

Flavia beckoned and said, “If you are capable.”

Standing Ground

The nobleman raised his eyebrows. “You speak brashly, for a girl. What would you know of war?”

A smile played at the corner of Flavia’s lips; it wasn’t a nice smile. “I know if war were to strike this house, I’d be able to run.”

Anger and embarrassment crossed the nobleman’s face. “A true warrior stands his ground!”

“He’s not a warrior if he’s standing because he has not strength to run.”

Master Angelus winced. “Cousin –”

The nobleman dropped his goblet. It clattered on the marble stair. Wine splashed everywhere. The laughter on the other side of the curtain died.

Spoils of War

“Surely,” the man said, leaning in, and Dael couldn’t help but turn his face away, “you are willing to share.”

The silence that fell was immediately shattered by a, “No.”

Dael lifted his head so fast he almost collided with the nobleman, but he, too, was looking at the source of the flat denial.

Flavia’s hands were curled into fists, and Dael recognized the silent slide of her feet as she shifted stances. She was ready for a fight. But she had no sword.

“What my cousin means –” Master Angelus began.

“Is the spoils of war are for warriors alone.”

Fortunate, Unfortunate

Master Angelus, who had risen from his place at the table, came to stand behind the nobleman, shielding the scene from the rest of the nobles who were craning their necks like curious chickens.

Dael felt himself trembling with the effort of forcing himself not to wrench away from the foul man.

“We were fortunate to obtain him at a reasonable price,” Master Angelus said. “Mostly because I caught this one myself.”

“And brought him back as a gift for your cousin? Such a generous man you are.” The nobleman’s smile changed, and Dael felt horror crawl up his spine.

Specimens

The noble who stood at the edge of the curtain, wine goblet in hand, was fat and positively ancient. Dael had heard some of the other servants joke that he was still alive only by virtue of the fact that he’d pickled himself with all the wine he drank.

Wine was rancid on his breath when he loomed over Dael, placed a finger under his chin, tilted his face up.

“It’s understandable, and frankly, enviable,” the man said.

Dael swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

“You don’t find specimens with this coloring, do you? At least, not alive.”

Second Nature

Dael reached up, slid a hand around the back of Flavia’s neck, and kissed her.

Cerdic was right. It was dying and coming alive all at once.

It was all the times he’d been breathless after sword practice, and the sweetness of the orange fruit she’d shared with him.

It was –

“Fascinating. The lady of the house taking up with a servant.”

Dael wrenched himself back. Terror curled through his limbs, and instinctively he stepped back, bowed his head, and when had being servile become second nature?

Out of the corner of his eye, Flavia stood tall.

“What of it?”

His Chance

“It’s a wonder no one was struck blind, you mean,” Dael grumbled. Then he cleared his throat and straightened up, inclined his head at the perfect angle. “My lady, I live to serve, and serve I must, if I wish to live.”

Flavia reached up and stroked his hair. “We never imagined we’d have a golden-haired servant with eyes quite like yours.”

“Are you saying I’m odd-looking as well as hideous?” His words had no sting.

“I’m saying your beauty was beyond our imagination,” she said, and leaned in.

This was his chance. He had to take it.

Wonders

It wasn’t until after the entire formal meal had been served and cleared that Dael had to face Flavia and her smirk. He’d been tempted to spill wine or some of the smaller, neater finger foods on her, but he didn’t want to risk the lash.

Flavia gave an elaborate speech about how she was glad to have the fat, belching, powdered and coiffed nobles dining in her home, and then she excused herself to arrange for the entertainment, a gang of acrobats in the courtyard.

She stopped Dael in the kitchen.

“That tunica does wonders for you,” she said.

Household Colors

The duties for formal banquets, as it turned out, were numerous and complicated, and Dael supposed he should have paid better attention instead of smiling at Flavia, because the tunica Quintus was trying to force on him was hideous.

“They’re the household colors,” Quintus insisted. “All who serve at table will be wearing them.”

“A corpse wouldn’t be seen wearing them,” Dael said.

“You have to wear it, it’ll be the lash for you.” Quintus waggled the tunica warningly.

Dael sighed. “Fine. I’ll wear it.”

He pretended he didn’t see Flavia stifle laughter when he stepped into the dining room.

Her Happiness

Dael could only sputter wordlessly, but then Flavia turned and walked away, and Quintus came to tell him Tertius was looking for him.

Later, when Tertius was informing Dael he’d been restored to his former duties, Dael spotted Flavia with Tertius’s lieutenant, reviewing the guest list. Her expression was grim, and there was an air of exhaustion about her.

Tertius had just started in on Dael’s extensive list of duties for formal banquets when Flavia looked up.

Dael caught her gaze and smiled.

She smiled back, her happiness emerging from her exhaustion like the sun from behind a storm cloud.

Size Isn't Everything (Reprise)

He swallowed carefully, then straightened up. “It is sweet,” he said.

Flavia smiled, pleased. “Do you think it’s sweet enough to catch tadpoles?”

It was Dael’s turn to be confused. “Perhaps, but...it’s too big, don’t you think? It might crush the tadpole.”

“Maybe.”

Flavia leaned in, gazed into his eyes, and he swallowed hard.

“But remember,” she said, “size isn’t everything.” And she patted the top of his head.

Dael knew the condescending gesture, had endured it from his brother all his life. “Oy! I’m not short!”

Flavia’s eyes were bright with suppressed mirth. “I never said you were.”

Juice and Skin

Dael caught it easily. “Do you wish to play a game?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It had a pocked surface, was spongy.

Flavia laughed softly and came toward him. “No - it’s fruit. From Hispania. You must peel it before you eat it. Watch.”

Dael handed the ball back to her and watched her sink her nails into the surface, peel back to a layer of pale whiteness. And then a translucent orange wedge fell onto her palm. She offered it to him.

“Try it - it’s sweet,” she said.

He leaned forward, tasted juice and her skin.

Something Sweet

Dael said, “You might try a net, or perhaps a treat. What do tadpoles like to eat?”

“I don’t know,” Flavia said.

“Maybe something sweet?” Dael suggested.

Flavia shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”

Someone shouted from the kitchen, and both turned back to the house.

Dael hefted his water jars. “I’d better get moving.”

Flavia nodded. “We both have duties.”

“Farewell, Flavia. For now.” And Dael headed for the well.

Later that afternoon, he spotted Flavia as she returned from sword practice. She trotted up the veranda and paused, called his name.

She added, “Catch.”

She threw him an orange ball.

Size Isn't Everything

Flavia looked up. “Pardon?”

“The face on the surface of the water is beautiful,” Dael said quietly. “You keep destroying it.”

At first, Flavia was confused; then a cautious smile settled over her features.

“I’m trying to catch a tadpole,” she said.

Dael didn’t know the word, and Flavia explained with gestures and sound effects. Eventually, Dael realized she meant a baby frog.

“They’re tiny,” he said, peering into the fountain.

“Makes them hard to catch,” Flavia said, and met his gaze briefly before turning back to the water.

Dael said, “Size isn’t everything,” and lifted an eyebrow.

Flavia laughed.

Images Marred

The day after that, when Dael rose early in the morning and started for the well with water jugs under each arm, he saw Flavia again. This time she was sitting in the garden, on the edge of the fountain, staring at her reflection. Every once in a while, she’d reach out, hand darting fast as a snake, and thrust her hand into the water.

Each time, her hand came out empty.

Dael came to stand beside her, curious.

On the surface of the water, he saw her reflection.

She struck the water again.

“Why mar such a lovely image?”

After the Banquet

The next day, while Dael was hauling jars of water into the kitchen, he spotted Flavia on the veranda again. He knew from the glow of her skin and her tousled hair she’d been out practicing with her sword. She was leaning on the railing and gazing out at the garden, eyes distant.

He paused beside her a respectful distance away. “My lady.”

She slewed him a sideways glance.

He corrected himself. “Flavia.”

She half-smiled. “Dael.”

“I hope practice was well,” he said.

Her smile brightened. “It was very well. Perhaps,” she said, “after the banquet, you'll join me.”