‘Do not respond,’ Cal whispered in her ear, then plunged himself into a shadowy alcove.
‘Cal?’ she said, her voice cracking. He watched her turn.
‘Do not look at me! Face your loom. Do it now.’
Arria returned to her position, facing the array of taut vertical threads. He could see her chest rising and falling with her breaths. ‘You must not draw attention to us,’ he explained. ‘If Brutus sees me here it will be ten lashes.’
Nor could he even dream about the consequences if the governor caught them together. The man was twisted, or so Cal had learned by observing his dealings with Brutus. Though the governor rewarded the gladiators for obeying his commands, resistance was met with torturous punishment. His only softness, it seemed, was the love he had for his daughter. Cal prayed that softness translated to Arria, his daughter’s newest acquisition, though he feared the worst.
Arria was moving her fingers over the vertical warp strings as if testing a harp. She paused, stared at her hands, whispered, ‘Is it really you, Cal?’
He murmured a yes, scarcely believing it himself. When Brutus had announced that Cal and several other gladiators had been requested at the governor’s domus that evening, he had been overcome with joy. ‘It is I.’
He watched her body convulse with a sob. He wanted to throw his arms around her and hold her close. He wanted to crush his lips down on hers and tell her how much he had missed her. But she was not his any longer, not even for a kiss.
‘By what miracle did the gods send you here? On this night?’ She addressed the question to her strings. Her voice was low, incredulous.
‘I am often summoned to such gatherings—especially before games. The Artemisia Games begin in ten days, as you know.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘I came with several of my brethren. We are called “conversation pieces.”’
She emitted a small noise, then kicked her thread basket behind her and scolded herself audibly for the mistake. Clever woman. The ‘mistake’ gave her an excuse to turn around and she stole a long look at him.
It was the worst thing she could have done, because when he looked into her flickering brown eyes, the temple of resolve that he had spent hours building began to crumble.
‘I fear that I may be dreaming,’ she said. He wished she would not look at him like that. Like she wanted him still. Did she not realise they could never be together again? That even this stolen moment risked both their lives?
‘I feared I would never see you again,’ she said. ‘I feared...’
A couple arrived at the door, and Cal retreated to the shadows as the doorman directed them past Arria towards the dining hall. Cal noticed that Arria’s hands were trembling as she wove.
When the couple was finally out of earshot, Cal continued. ‘I have not fought since the New Year and Brutus refused to bring you to me without a victory to reward. When I learned that you had been sold to the governor, I—’ He stopped himself and remembered his resolve. ‘I was very happy for you.’
‘Happy for me?’ She twisted once again, craning to see him.
‘Do not turn to look at me!’ he snapped. She hung her head and returned to her loom. Anguish gripped him. ‘Yes, I am happy for you. To have a place in such a fine domus, plenty of food and rest. Heat. It is more than many could ever hope for. It will be a good life for you.’
‘Cal—’
‘Shh, do not say it. Return to your work.’ He feared her words: they had the power to unleash the creature of desire that was twisting and writhing beneath his skin.
‘Have you not missed me?’ she whispered.
An older woman draped in fine linen sauntered up behind her. ‘What is it that you are weaving, dear?’
Arria realigned her shuttle. ‘It is an image of the most beautiful woman in the world, Domina,’ she said.
‘And who might that be?’ asked the woman.
‘My mistress, Domina. The beautiful Vibia Secunda.’
The woman smiled. ‘What a good little slave you are,’ she said and patted Arria on the head before sauntering away.
Arria could sense Cal step closer. ‘Why did you just lie to that woman?’ he asked.
‘I did not lie.’
‘You did, for I have met the most beautiful woman in the world and I can tell you it is not Vibia Secunda.’
‘Indeed? Then who is it?’
‘It is you.’
Arria’s shuttle slipped from her fingers and he knew she smiled. ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,’ he added. ‘You are a goddess.’ He heard her suck in a breath. He had failed to show her the pleasures of the flesh, but at least she would know how beautiful she was before they parted for ever.
‘You did not answer my question,’ she said. Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it.
‘What question?’
‘Have you missed me?’
Cal paused. He had missed her more than the grass missed the rain. He had missed her in seconds that passed like hours and hours that passed like days. He had missed her with every cubit of his body and all that was left of his soul. But to tell her such a thing would only increase both their misery.
‘I see,’ she said after a long silence and he caught sight of a tear running down her cheek.
Curses on his very soul. He would have given anything to take her in his arms and wipe away her tear and tell her the truth: that he loved her, that he would always love her. That she was the most divine miracle to have ever graced his miserable life.
But that was not what she needed now. She needed strength, armour, a strategy. She needed to get tough, to face the coming years like a warrior. And he would help her to become that warrior, no matter how badly it hurt him. He would give her what he had failed to give his wife: a way to survive.
‘You must understand that although there are no bars or locks in your new home, it is still a prison,’ he said.
‘You think I do not understand that?’ she asked. ‘Do you know how many times I have wondered how I might get myself past the guards?’
‘Cease!’ he hissed. He lowered his voice. ‘Clearly you do not understand, or you would not be saying such things! The consequences of escape are worse than a simple beating. You are a member of the most noble domus in Ephesus now. If you attempt escape, you will shame your new familia. Do you know what the punishment is for such a thing? Execution—torturous and humiliating. Do you understand now?’
She said nothing, though he could hear in her shallow breaths that he had frightened her. ‘What I am trying to tell you is that such a fate need not be yours. If you remain in your familia’s good favour, you will be warm and safe for the rest of your days.’
‘This is not my familia. And I do not wish to be warm and safe while my heart slowly turns to stone. I wish... I wish...’
‘I know what you wish.’ It is what I wish, too. ‘But you must accept the fate you have been delivered.’
She squeezed the warps of her loom between her fists. He lowered his voice. ‘If you fight against it, your anger will destroy you, Arria. I fought against my own fate and all I earned was pain. You must forget me.’
‘I will never forget you.’
An elderly man draped in an elegant toga wandered behind Arria and paused to watch her work. As Arria moved her thread through the shuttle, her shawl slipped off her shoulders to reveal the stains of two large bruises.
A fire exploded inside Cal. Gods, no. Please not that. He held his breath until the old patrician moved on.
‘Who did that to you, Arria?’
‘Did what?’
‘Who gave you those bruises?’
She pulled the shawl back over her shoulder. ‘The governor,’ she whispered. ‘But he did not harm me. It was just a warning.’
A warning. So she had already fallen out of the governor’s good favour, if she had ever enjoyed it at all. Arria had no idea the danger she was in.
‘I would do anything to get you out of here,’ he said. He should not have said such a thing. Such words were dangerous to a slave’s soul.
‘Then tell me how we do it,’ she said.
‘It is impossible. Even if we could somehow make it past the door guards, we would be pursued on horseback. Fugitive slaves cannot hide in Ephesus. We would be immediately captured and returned for a reward.’
‘It is worth the risk.’
‘You do not know what you are saying. You do not know the governor.’
‘I think I have an idea,’ Arria said, rubbing her arm.
‘He colludes with Brutus and Oppius on the fights and games. He demands torturous and unnatural kills. He is a depraved man. You must never cross him, Arria. Your future here depends on it.’
‘It is no future worth having.’
‘I will not be a part of anything that causes you harm.’
‘Being without you causes me harm.’
He shook his head and felt another brick of his resolve go tumbling. She was still his Arria—despite the fine shawl and matching tunic. Her wit was still as quick, her spirit as fiery, her arguments still as convincing as any academic’s. It would be a long while before they broke her down, if they ever did at all. ‘You will be safe here,’ he said without conviction.
‘Freedom is more important than safety.’
Damn her. She had no idea what she was saying, what she was doing to him, to her own future.
And yet somehow he loved her for it.
‘Meet me in the garden at the first morning hour,’ she said, ‘when the moon is high and the music is loud and the guests are deep in their goblets. Then we can plan our escape.’
More bricks were tumbling now. He struggled to retrieve them. ‘Arria, you do not understand. There is no escape.’
‘If we cannot escape, then we can at least steal some time together now. Some life.’
He was shaking his head. Another brick. A dozen. ‘I have not agreed.’
‘In the garden, then,’ she said and he thought he saw the edge of a smile. ‘I will see you soon.’