The cousins walked down the narrow hallway and turned left. They found themselves in a wider hallway. Sunlight streamed in from somewhere just ahead.
The hallway fl oors were stone. All the doorways were arched. Beautiful white marble columns held up the plastered ceilings. Colorful pictures of animals, people, and sea battles were painted on the walls.
Beth touched one of the paintings. She felt tiny bumps of plaster under her fingertips. “My art teacher told me about those kinds of paintings,” Beth said. “They’re called frescoes.”
The cousins heard footsteps echo down the hallway. Lots of footsteps.
“It might be soldiers,” Patrick said. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want them to use me for target practice.”
They looked around. Where should they go?
Beth pointed to a staircase. “Let’s go up,” she said. “We can look out over the city. Maybe we’ll see a church.”
Beth and Patrick ran up three flights of stairs. At the top, there were more hallways and more stairs.
“This place is a maze,” Patrick said. He leaned against a wall to catch his breath.
Beth’s gaze went to marble statues lining the hallways. “Wow! It’s like an art museum!” she said.
Beth went to one of the marble figures standing in an arched window. She looked out of the window. She had a clear view of the city with its crowded rooftops, towers, and tall trees. A wall circled everything like a fortress. Her eyes went down to a large gate in the wall.
Beth gasped. “Patrick, look at this!” she called.
Patrick joined her. “Soldiers,” he said. Hundreds of them were coming into the city.
The soldiers marched in like an army of ants on green hills. They flooded the stone streets and filled the steps of the white buildings.
The soldiers wore silver helmets with crests of red feathers. Some had on red capes; others had on white tunics. They wore red tights with gold shin guards. Most of them held spears.
Along with the soldiers were people with their heads held low. Their hands and feet were in chains.
“What’s going on?” Beth asked.
“It looks like a victory march,” Patrick said. “The Romans must have won a battle. They’re bringing home prisoners.”
“But those aren’t just men. They’re women and children,” Beth said.
“The winner takes everyone prisoner,” Patrick said. He leaned forward and looked straight down. “More soldiers are coming through the gate.”
Beth looked off toward the horizon. “There’s a big building with a dome on top. Maybe it’s a church.”
“It’s worth checking out,” said Patrick.
“Let’s go.”
The cousins hurried down the hallway and found another flight of stairs. They carefully went down, being sure to walk quietly. They passed several floors. Finally they reached a doorway on the ground.
They made sure they wouldn’t be noticed and then stepped into the courtyard. They hid near a bronze statue of a man with a crown. It stood about seven stories high.
“It’s that way to the domed building,” Patrick said. He pointed down a wide road. The street was crowded with people and food stalls.
“Let’s mix into the crowd,” Patrick said. “That way we’ll blend in.”
The cousins passed buildings of wood and stone. The houses seemed piled onto one another.
The flow of people was like a strong river. The noise was like the ocean’s roar. The smell was like wet gym socks.
More than once, Patrick had to move away from a loose dog. The cousins struggled to stay together.
After a few minutes, they passed a woman selling food. Her stand wasn’t busy, and so Patrick asked for directions to the church.
“It’s near the city gate—that direction,” she said, pointing. “They call it the Bishop’s Palace.”
Patrick thanked her. The cousins were on their way.
“Follow me, Beth,” he said. “I see the dome of the church.” He used his elbows to clear a path through the crowd.
Beth followed. She didn’t want to lose sight of Patrick. She kept her eyes on his blond hair and brown robe. She was so focused on Patrick that she didn’t see the city gate ahead—or the soldiers who were coming through it.
But a soldier saw her.
He grabbed her arm suddenly and spun her around. They were face-to-face. His eyes were dark and angry. Around his frowning mouth were a short black beard and moustache.
“You, slave girl,” the soldier said. “Who gave you permission to wander the city?”
Beth’s mouth went dry. Her heart leaped to her throat.
The soldier picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
“Patrick,” she called. “Help!”
