send her to the arena if she didn’t deny her illegal sect, but they wouldn’t pay for the privilege. He knew what the other man was up to. Aulus thought he had designs on the girl’s virtue and would pay any price to have her. “I’ll give you fifteen hundred for her.”
Aulus laughed. “Oh, no, you won’t cheat me this time. I’ll take three thousand, nothing less.”
“I cheat you? It will cost me a fortune to fatten up those wretches you sold me. Fifteen hundred is an expected price for any female slave.”
“Ha! This isn’t just any female. Virtue is rare these days. Three thousand, nothing less.”
“Seventeen hundred.”
“Three thousand is my final offer, Bone Grinder. Take it or leave it, it matters not to me. I’ll have my profit from you or the authorities. Either way, she’ll end up in the ring.”
The girl moaned, drawing a concerned glance from Caros. A voice in his head warned him not to let her go. “You know the authorities will pay you nothing.”
“Perhaps.” A triumphant smile tugged at the trader’s lips as though he sensed Caros weakening. “If they won’t, a brothel will. There are few uses for a woman, but something tells me I’m bound to make a profit off this one.”
His pride chafing, Caros realized he’d fallen into the weasel’s trap. If he paid the three thousand denarii, Aulus would walk away with the exorbitant amount he’d originally demanded for the slaves and a healthy profit from the girl.
After another glance at the pitiful creature in the wagon, he didn’t even mind being bested. Why her plight touched him when he was surrounded by a sea of human tragedy confounded him, but he had to have her.
Calling for Gaius, he gave him instructions to fetch the necessary funds. Once Gaius ran to carry out the order, Caros took the torch from Aulus and returned to the wagon. Chains rattled as the other three women tried to scatter from his presence, but he ignored them. His newest slave consumed his concern.
He reached over the wagon’s side and caressed the girl’s flowing dark hair before examining the egg-sized bump on the back of her skull. With great care, he lifted one of her hands in his, noticing the fine bones and the soil caked under her fingernails.
“Master?” Gaius said, out of breath when he returned with a large bag of coins. “Shall I tell Lucia to prepare a mat for the new slave?”
The slave’s hand still in his grasp, Caros nodded. “Tell her to fix one of her herbal concoctions as well. When the girl awakes, she’s going to need relief from her pain.”
As soon as his steward walked away, Caros heard Aulus’s knowing laughter erupt behind him. “You’re already besotted with the wench, no? I wonder what she’ll think of you when she learns the number of Christians you’ve slain.”
Chapter Two
Angry, unfamiliar voices penetrated Pelonia’s awareness. Floating between wakefulness and darkness, she couldn’t budge her heavy limbs. Every muscle ached. A sharp pain drummed against her skull.
The voices died away, then a woman’s words broke through the haze. “She wakes. Fetch the master.”
Hurried footsteps trailed away, while someone moved close enough for Pelonia to sense a presence kneel beside her.
“My name is Lucia. Can you hear me?” The woman pressed a cup of water to Pelonia’s cracked lips. “What shall I call you?”
Pelonia coughed and sputtered as the cool liquid trickled down her arid throat. Swallowing, she grimaced at the throbbing pressure in her jaw. “Pel…Pelonia.”
“Do you remember what happened to you? You were struck on the head and injured. You have bruised ribs. From the swelling, one or more may be cracked, but I believe none are broken. I’ve been giving you opium to soothe you, but you’re far from recovered.”
Her eyelids too heavy to open, Pelonia licked her chapped lips, hating the rotten taste in her mouth. Uncomfortable heat warmed the right side of her face.
Gradually, her mind began to make sense of her surroundings. The warmth must be sunshine because the scent of wood smoke hung in the air, yet she heard no crackle of a fire. Her pallet was a coarse blanket on the hard ground. Vermin crawled in her hair, making her itch. Dirt clung to her skin and each of her sore muscles longed for the tufted softness of her bed at home.
Home.
Her muddled brain latched on to the word. Where was she if not in the comfort of her father’s Umbrian villa? Where was her maid, Helen? Who was this woman Lucia? She couldn’t remember.
Icy fingers of fear gripped her heart as one by one her memories returned. First the attack, then her father’s murder. Raw grief squeezed her chest.
Confusion surrounded her. Where was her uncle? She remembered the slave caravan, his threat to sell her, but nothing more. Had Marcus succeeded in his treachery, or had someone come to her aid?
Panic forced her eyes open. Light stabbed her head like a dagger. She squeezed her lids tight, then blinked rapidly until she managed to focus on the young woman’s face above her.
“The master will be here soon.” A smile tilted Lucia’s thin lips, but didn’t touch her honey-brown eyes. “He commanded me to call for him the moment you woke.”
“Where…am I?” The words grated in her throat.
“You’re in the home of Caros Viriathos.”
The name meant nothing to Pelonia. She prayed God had heard her plea and delivered her into the hands of a kind man, someone willing to help her contact her cousin Tiberia.
The thought of Tiberia brought a glimmer of hope. Somehow, she must contact her cousin at the first opportunity.
Her eyes closed with fatigue. “How…how long have I…been here?”
Lucia laid her calloused palm to Pelonia’s brow. “Four days and this morning. You’ve been in and out of sleep, but now it seems your fever has broken for good. I’ll order you a bowl of broth. You should eat to bolster your strength.”
Her stomach churned. Four days and she remembered nothing. Tiberia must be frantic wondering why she’d failed to attend the wedding.
As children, she and her cousin had been as close as sisters. They’d corresponded regularly and maintained their deep friendship ever since Tiberia’s family moved to Rome eight years past. When Tiberia wrote of her betrothal to a senator, that the union was a love match, no one had been more pleased for her than Pelonia.
She opened her eyes. “I must—”
Lucia placed her fingers over Pelonia’s lips. “Don’t speak. Rest is what you need. Now that you’ve woken, Gaius, our master’s steward, says you have one week to recover. Then your labor begins whether you’re well or not.”
“My cousin. I must.
“You don’t understand, Pelonia.” Lucia hooked a lock of pitch-black hair behind her ear. “You’re a slave in the Ludus Maximus
