I step closer and lower my voice. “You have a choice. You can either sell the boy to me, or I will steal him along with any other slave within—”
The slaver leaps to his feet and lunges at me. He grabs the front of my tunic. “You want your throat cut, you—”
He stops when I press the edge of a blade against his gut. The pair of guards come out of the shadows, weapons at the ready, but Maharbaal puts up a hand. They stop, but don’t back off.
“I wasn’t finished,” I growl. “I’ll free the boy, every other slave nearby, and cut the throat of any man who tries to stop me.” I narrow my eyes. “Including you.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I press the dagger harder, just keeping it from breaking his flesh.
“Your choice, slaver,” I say quietly. “I buy the boy, or I steal him.” I pause. “And don’t assume killing me will prevent him and all the others from being stolen, because I assure you, I am not working alone.”
His lip curls into a snarl. Then he loosens his grasp on my tunic. “Five hundred sestertii.”
I blink. “For a young boy?”
The snarl turns into a grin. “You want him? You pay my price for him.”
“I have two hundred,” I reply.
He shrugs. “No boy, then.”
I clench my teeth. “That’s many times what you paid for him, and what you’ll sell him for in Carthage. I’ll give you all the coin I have with me, you’ll make a tremendous profit, and I won’t give you or your camp any further trouble.”
Maharbaal silently considers my offer. Then he nods. “All right, then. Two hundred sestertii.” He holds out his hand.
I don’t move. “I want to see him first. He’d best be alive, well, and not branded.”
The slaver sighs impatiently.
“You’re getting two hundred sestertii for the boy,” I snap. “I don’t part with my money until I’m certain I’m getting what I’ve paid for.”
“Very well.” He turns his head and barks, “Akbar.” One of the soldiers steps into the tent. Maharbaal gestures past him. “Get the servant boy. The one that noble fool sold us this morning.”
The soldier replies something in a language I don’t understand, and leaves. When he returns just moments later, he has a young boy with him, and I’d know that face anywhere. He looks up at me with all too familiar blue eyes, and draws back in fear.
“Kaeso?” I whisper.
He jumps. Then nods.
I beckon for him to come closer.
Maharbaal grabs Kaeso’s shoulder. “Not yet. Where’s my money?”
“Where’s my guarantee you won’t harm the boy once you have the money?”
Kaeso’s eyes widen. The slaver doesn’t release him.
“Prove you have the money,” he growls.
“It’s all right here.” I pull out the coin purse and hold it up. “Let the boy go.”
“Akbar.” Maharbaal gestures sharply at me. “Take the money.”
Akbar reaches for it, but I pull it away.
“Let’s be clear,” I say. “The boy is so much as scratched, and I will see to it every throat in this camp is open before dawn.”
“I’m a businessman,” Maharbaal says. “Not a thief. Give him the money.”
Without taking my eyes off Maharbaal, I hand the coin purse to Akbar. As soon as my hand is relieved of the weight of the coins, my heart beats faster.
“Now let him go,” I demand.
Maharbaal doesn’t. He looks at Akbar, who opens the coin purse and riffles through it.
Finally, Akbar nods. “It’s here. All of it.”
Maharbaal shoves Kaeso toward me. “Get out of here. Both of you.”
I squat down to Kaeso’s level and put a hand on his shoulder. My gods, if ever I’d had reason to doubt Kaeso’s parentage, those doubts are gone now. The blue eyes, the features that time has already begun to sharpen; this is unmistakably the son of Drusus.
“Are you all right?” I ask. “Have they harmed you?”
He doesn’t speak, just shakes his head vigorously.
“Thank the gods,” I whisper, and beckon to him. “Come on. Let me get you out of here.”
Kaeso balks. “Are you taking me back to Grandfather? I don’t want to go—”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I take Kaeso by the hand and lead him out of the tent and into the heavy heat of the night.
“Where are we going?” Kaeso asks as we head toward the edge of the camp.
“Somewhere safe.” I glance around and listen for anyone who might try to stop us on our way out.
Kaeso doesn’t question me further. He just holds my hand a little tighter.
A flickering glow comes into view, and I walk faster. From the other side of the tiny campfire, Drusus stands, his eyes wide in the low light, and I can tell from here he’s holding his breath.
Kaeso stops. Then gasps. “Drusus?”
“Kaeso.” Drusus releases a breath. “Oh, thank the gods.”
The boy runs toward him, and Drusus opens his arms for his son. Kaeso throws his arms around Drusus, who winces painfully and sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t push the boy away. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, just closes his eyes and holds Kaeso tightly against him.
Then he releases him and draws back, looking him up and down. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“They didn’t hurt me.” Kaeso’s expression falls, and his eyes well up. “But Nan is dead.”
Drusus smooths the boy’s hair. “I know she is.”
I touch Drusus’s shoulder. “We need to get away from Pompeii. The whole city’s going to be looking for us at sunrise.”
“Right.” Drusus stands and takes his son’s hand. “We’d better get moving.”
We creep through the darkness and far away from the city. On exhausted legs—and I can only imagine the pain Drusus is in, but he refuses to stop even when every step has him cursing and gritting his teeth—we follow one of the winding roads that leads past the farmlands and into the hills outside Pompeii.
It’s nearly dawn when we finally stop to rest. Far off the road, hidden in a cave, the three of us collapse.
I awaken first, sitting up gingerly. My body, especially the tender flesh that’s trying to heal across my scourged back, protests every motion. The sun has barely risen, and my bones ache with fatigue, but we can’t risk staying here long.
Beside me, Drusus has his uninjured arm around Kaeso, the boy’s small frame huddled close with his head under Drusus’s chin.
Drusus’s eyes flutter, and he shifts a little, wincing and sucking in a breath.
“You all right?” I ask.
He nods. “Nothing that won’t heal. I’ve had worse.” He grins wryly. “I’m sure you have too.”
Chuckling, I nod. “Probably, yes.”
He looks down at his son, and tenderly runs his fingers through the sleeping boy’s hair. “Thank you, Saevius,” he whispers. He lifts his gaze. “I’ll be indebted to you as long as I live.”
I smile. “You gave me my freedom. I can’t ask for much more than that.”
He returns the smile, but says nothing.
After a while, I break the silence. “I’m curious about something.”
Drusus raises his eyebrows. “Hmm?”
“When I first arrived at the ludus, you confronted all the auctorati about a message someone tried to send out.”
A strange, mischievous grin slowly comes to life on his tired face. “Yes?”
“What did it say?”
Drusus laughs softly, watching himself stroke his sleeping son’s hair. “It didn’t say anything.”
“What?” I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
He looks at me through his dark lashes. “I was bluffing.”
My mouth falls open.
Drusus laughs again. He shifts a little, wincing as he tries to get comfortable without disturbing Kaeso. Once he’s situated, he says, “I knew there was treachery within the familia. I didn’t know who, didn’t know exactly what, but any lanista who wants to live another day knows damn well when his men aren’t as loyal as they say they are.”