grabbed Annia roughly and jerked her away. Fortunately, in his surprise, the blacksmith let go of her.
Marcus pulled her away, berating her all the way, “You curly-haired vixen, what did you think? Were you thinking I wouldn’t catch you? You wait until I get you home....”
Annia let out a small yelp when he pretended to slap her face, and the men circled around them and laughed.
“Thank you, sirs,” Marcus said, putting a hand over Annia’s mouth. “This little one has run away one too many times. I may have to sell her at market.”
“I’ll buy her,” the blacksmith said. “How much will you take?”
“Well,” Marcus said, “she actually belongs to my father. But give me your name and where you conduct your business, and you will be the first one to know when we put her up for sale.” Marcus shot the man a charming smile. “I would shake your hand, but as you can see, mine are quite full.”
The men parted to let him through.
“Suetonius Rufus,” the blacksmith called. “My shop is three streets over near the baths. I’m a blacksmith,” he continued.
“Thank you, sir,” Marcus said. “I will remember you by your red hair.”
The man touched his hair, and Marcus pulled Annia safely away around the corner, out of the man’s line of vision.
When they reached the safety of the baths, Marcus took his hand off her mouth.
“You did me no favors,” she spat. “I would have escaped on my own.” And she unsheathed a tiny dagger to prove it.
“Really?” he said, pulling her into the dark recess of the inner fountain. “Well, domina, next time, I will let you defend yourself.”
She was shaking and held the dagger to his stomach. “Where is she?” she hissed. “Where did you take my baby?”
“Put the dagger down, and I will tell you,” he said.
Chapter Two
He must take her for a fool. How many other women had this handsome man lured into believing he was saving their babies, when in truth, he was selling them into slavery?
She had to be very careful with this one. He was strong, he was smart and he seemed determined.
Well, she had fought fierce warriors in Britain, hadn’t she? Surprising them with her strength?
He would not be surprised. He had already gauged her strength. She would have to be very clever with Marcus Sergius Peregrinus. Very clever indeed.
“So tell me,” she said, sheathing her dagger, “where is this place you have my baby?”
He looked into her eyes, gauging them for sincerity, she suspected. “If you will come with me, I will show you. I don’t have much time. I have to get back to my men soon.”
“Ah,” she said. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”
He cocked his head, a question. “You are coming with me, yes?” he said.
“Certainly,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “How else could I get to my baby? Only you know where she is.”
They walked civilly, side by side, down the dark street. It was a few hours before dawn, and the streets were now quiet. Even the merchants’ carts had stopped, having already delivered their wares.
The only light came from the uncertain moon and the pitch-smeared torches illuminating sacred images at a few street corners and crossroads.
She didn’t trust this man. She knew better than he where her baby was. He had taken her to the place of exposure where the slave traders circled like hawks. Annia meant to get there.
She had to get away from him first.
The silence was broken by the cascading water of a neighborhood fountain. When they reached the fountain, the statue of a small boy—his arms reaching out in supplication, a stream of water flowing from his mouth—was illuminated by a single flame placed strategically at the water’s edge.
During the day, this same fountain was busy with women, children and slaves taking turns filling their wash buckets and water jars to carry back to their homes.
But tonight, it was eerily silent, the only sound the soft rush and gurgling of the water.
“Are you thirsty?” Marcus Sergius asked.
Annia was thirsty, incredibly thirsty. She ignored his offer of help and reached up to the trickling water, cupping her hands and drinking deeply.
Marcus waited for her to drink her fill and then reached up to drink.
When he did, she took her chance. She ran.
Apparently, he had expected her to run and he caught her before she even reached the pavement at the edge of the fountain.
They both went down on the hard stone, he on his back and she atop.
He grasped her arms, and she kneed him in the stomach. She pulled away and unsheathed her knife.
Both on their feet, they circled each other. His breathing was heavy, as was hers.
She jabbed, but he pulled back and then reached for her knife.
But she was quicker.
His eyes widened. She was used to it. He hadn’t expected her to be this good with a weapon. What proper Roman matron could wield a knife with such dexterity?
The look on his face now was one of respect. What had he recognized? Before she could move again, he had countered. He seemed to know exactly what she was going to do before she did it, and now he was holding her wrist, tightening his grip until she was forced to drop the knife.
“Trained in the wilds of Britain, as well?” he said, his voice ragged.
Now it was her turn to stare wide-eyed at him.
Fury strengthened her. She poised to run as soon as she had the chance.
“I would rather not do this,” he said, “but you leave me no choice.”
With the dexterity of a battle-trained legionary, he caught her wrists in a leather thong and pulled it securely. Her wrists bound, she was forced to walk humbly behind him.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked. “I know your type,” she said. “Ready to make a gold coin off anything possible.”
She could tell from the set of his shoulders that she had angered him. He said nothing.
“I have money,” she said. “I can buy my child from you. I can get you all you need.”
“I don’t want your money,” he said.
“I’ve
