by Tanya Bird
‘Mother says they will not even scar,’ she said casually, turning to him with a vague smile.
He did not reply immediately, his rage palpitating inside of him. His hands went into his hair and he saw Mila take a step back, shielding her sister. ‘I’m buying your freedom,’ he said, trying to remain calm.
Mila stared at him, confused. ‘What?’
He took a step back, not wanting to be close to her when his hands were curled into fists. ‘I’m getting you out of there!’ He pointed to the house. ‘No more of this.’
She handed the basket to her sister and crossed her arms. ‘And how do you plan on raising the coin?’
‘In the arena.’
She was speechless for a moment. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You are not fighting. You already risked your life once for me.’
‘And I’ll do it again.’
She closed her eyes. ‘You do not understand. I cannot leave now.’
Remus stepped closer. Dulcia pressed against Mila, who did not move a muscle. ‘This was your plan.’ He pointed a finger in her face. ‘You wanted to buy your freedom, and then your sister’s and your mother’s—’
‘That was before I almost died. And before this.’ She gestured between them. ‘Before I knew better.’
‘Mila, they will hear you,’ her sister whispered.
‘Let them hear,’ Remus hissed.
‘Lower your voice,’ Mila said, straightening.
Remus ignored her. ‘Just let Aquila try to lash you when I’m around.’
Mila glanced at the house and shook her head. ‘I was wrong about everything.’ Her hands fell to her sides. ‘I could have returned here with enough denarii to sink a ship, and Rufus probably would have said no.’ She looked down. ‘He saved my life for my mother. He brought me back here, knowing what people would say, knowing what his own wife would say. I cannot turn my back on them now.’
He stared at her. ‘You want to stay a slave for your mother?’
‘You do not understand.’
‘I understand. You’re giving up.’
‘She just got me back.’
Remus took hold of her arms, but the terrified look on Dulcia’s face made him let go. ‘What are you saying? You’re choosing this life now? Really?’
‘I do not expect you to understand. How could you?’ She went to reach for him and stopped herself. ‘I am sorry.’
He stared at the road.
‘It would not work. I cannot live free while my mother and sister remain slaves, glimpse them from across the street, follow them to the market to steal a few fleeting moments with them.’
He understood. She was choosing her family. He had been expecting too much. One look at Dulcia hiding behind her sister confirmed it.
Stepping back, he let out a heavy breath. ‘What do you want me to do, then? Leave you alone?’
She glanced at the house before answering. ‘I want you to live the life you had planned for us. Stop living as though you are still a slave.’
Of all the answers he was expecting, it had not been that one. ‘What?’
‘You are no longer Brutus’s property. You earned your freedom, and you owe that man nothing.’
He took another step back. ‘I know that.’
‘Do you?’ She stared at him. ‘What would you think if my dominus handed me my freedom and I chose to stay here in this household?’
He sucked in a breath. ‘You are choosing to stay.’
‘For my family. You are like a dog raised in a cage, choosing to remain in the cage long after the door has been opened.’
He shook his head and began to pace, watching her as he did so. ‘I’ll ask you one more time. What do you want me to do?’
She pressed her lips together and blinked back tears. ‘Leave.’ Her hands were limp at her sides. ‘Go live a free life for both of us.’
He stopped pacing and they stared at one another.
‘Mila, the door,’ Dulcia said, pulling her sister away.
They both looked across the street to where Aquila Papias stood on the step, barking instructions at her slave as she prepared to leave the house.
‘I have to go,’ Mila said, ushering her sister across the street.
He watched her cross, saw her take back the basket from her sister. She stopped at the bottom step, eyes on her feet, waiting for her domina to pass before entering the house. Only when Aquila had disappeared into a waiting litter did she turn at the door to look at him.
There was a part of him that wanted to cross the street, to go to her. But then what? She had made her wishes very clear.
He turned and walked away.
Chapter 33
Nerva remained at their villa in Antium with his father, away from the city’s wagging tongues, submerged in political discussions and offers of marriage from families seeking a foot up on the social ladder.
Mila spent the majority of her time trying to avoid Aquila, which was not easy in the same house. It seemed whenever her domina attended a social gathering, she returned in a foul mood, no doubt reminded by one of the guests about her husband’s illegitimate daughters. Each time, she would have Mila brought before her and vent her feelings on the subject. Mila did not mind. If anything, she was enjoying Aquila’s public humiliation.
What she did not enjoy was the way her mother could not look her in the eye afterwards, and the way her sister clung to her silently for the rest of the day. It was a constant reminder that she was a slave and had no control over her life. It chipped away at hope until there was nothing left. She could have become despondent or bitter, but instead she chose to be grateful. She was with her mother, her sister; she was alive, fed, safe. That was what she told herself, because otherwise she might have to admit the truth—she was numb.
Her best coping mechanism was to fill every waking moment. She helped in the kitchen, the laundry, ran errands, mended, cleaned, swept, scrubbed. Anything to keep her mind occupied and hands busy. It was all fine during the day, but then at night sleep failed her. She would lie awake with all her thoughts. While the rest of the household slept, she would sneak out into the garden and sit by the wall, listening to people pass, talking to one another, imagining their lives. Occasionally she thought she heard Remus, and she would stand, palms on the wall, her pulse racing. But there was no reason for him to visit her region anymore. She would sink back down to the ground and sit with her disappointment. Often she nodded off mid-thought of him and felt the vibration of his voice, his breath on her neck, against her ear.
One morning she woke in the garden to someone shaking her. For a moment she forgot where she was, what point of time she was existing in. She snatched up the hand and pulled hard, eyes snapping open. For a moment, she was a gladiator, feeling for her sword.
Tertia’s sharp intake of breath pulled her back to the present, and she looked down to see her mother slumped on her hands and knees, surprise frozen on her face. Mila leapt to her feet, helping her up.
‘I am sorry,’ she whispered.
Tertia sat down on the ground, her back against the wall. Mila sat beside her, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder, her hands like ice as she rubbed them together.
‘This has to stop,’ Tertia said, pressing her lips to Mila’s hair.
‘I fell asleep again.’
‘I am not talking about the sneaking out. I am talking about the pining.’
Mila sat up. ‘I am not pining. I am adjusting.’
Tertia looked sceptical. ‘Adjusting to what? This has been your life forever. Everything is the same.’
It had not been her life forever. There had been Remus once. They had planned a very different life.
Her mother sighed. ‘Tell me about Remus.’
Mila was not prepared to hear his name aloud. She jumped at the sound of it. ‘He was my trainer.’ Gods, he was so much more.
‘And you fell in love with him.’
She shivered. ‘Yes.’
Tertia smiled
. ‘Well, you are not the first girl to fall in love with a gladiator—’
‘Stop.’
‘And you will not be the last.’
Mila stood, brushing debris off the back of her garment. She would not have everything she felt reduced to a childish fling. ‘You do not know what you are talking about.’
Tertia tilted her head. ‘I understand love.’
‘You know nothing about love.’ The words came out blunt and cruel. She stilled, looking down at her mother. ‘What I mean is loving a child is different.’
Tertia stood also, looking around the garden before speaking. ‘If you think I know nothing about loving a man, you are wrong.’
Mila struggled to look at her mother. ‘I only meant that—’
‘I know what you meant.’ They watched one another for a moment. ‘Do you think I have never loved a man? That I have not been loved in return?’
Mila studied her. ‘All right, tell me, then, who have you loved?’
Tertia shrugged. ‘There have been other men over the years, but nothing that could survive this life.’
This life. Mila was not sure if she could survive this life either. ‘You said “other men”. Other than who?’
Tertia frowned. ‘Other than Rufus, of course.’
Mila wrapped her arms around herself, shielding her skin from the cool air, and the words of her mother. ‘You have never loved Rufus. He is your dominus, not your lover.’ This was what she had known, had believed her whole life.
‘He gave me you two girls and this life.’
‘So? That does not equate to love.’
Tertia blinked. ‘I have grown to love him over the years.’
‘That is not love.’ She stepped back. ‘That is obligation.’
‘Mila—’
‘Keeping a roof over your head and inviting you to his bed does not equate to love.’
Tertia raised her chin. ‘Rufus has his faults, but he has proven himself to be very loyal.’
‘Not to his wife.’
Tertia drew a shaky breath. ‘I am not pretending our relationship is not without complications.’
She wanted to block her ears. ‘It is not a relationship! He bought you as a fetish, impregnated you and then denied us a father.’
‘He was married to another woman. What would you have him do?’
Mila made an exasperated noise. ‘Be faithful to his wife?’
Tertia exhaled and looked up at the pink sky. For a moment it seemed as though she had given up on the conversation.
‘He married who his father told him to marry, but his heart was elsewhere.’ Her gaze returned to Mila. ‘I was not a fetish. I thought being older now, you would understand.’
Mila swallowed, her mouth dry. ‘And yet you do not understand,’ she whispered. ‘Remus loved me.’
Tertia stepped closer. ‘What he did for you during the execution is remarkable. I will forever be grateful to him for keeping you alive until Nerva arrived.’
‘I feel a “but” coming.’
Tertia brushed loose hair from her daughter’s face. ‘Aquila is waiting for you to make a mistake, waiting for an excuse to be rid of you again. You must let go of that life.’
‘I did let go. I sent him away. He came here, prepared to do whatever it took to see me free, and I sent him away.’ Her words choked her. ‘It will never be enough for Aquila.’
‘If you work hard and—’
‘I have never worked harder in my life, and still that woman beats me.’
Tertia flinched. ‘As soon as Rufus returns—’
Mila threw her hands up. ‘Ah, yes, the protective father. A true role model for the young men of Rome.’
‘Mila—’
‘What?’
Tertia took a calming breath. ‘This might be difficult for you to hear, but this arrangement is best for all of us. Here we are together. Here we are safe, protected by his name. Out there…’ She paused. ‘Out there you would just be the gladiator’s whore.’
The words hurt more than any beating from Aquila. ‘Remus is not like that.’
‘He is a gladiator.’
As if that summed up everything about him.
‘You do not even know him.’
Tertia reached for her arm. ‘Even if I am wrong, one thing is for certain. You are safest here with your family.’
Pulling her arm free, Mila hissed, ‘Here I am a slave!’ She leaned closer to her mother. ‘Here I am powerless—like you.’
Here I am without Remus.
Tertia stood wide-eyed. ‘Do you think I do not feel every beating you receive? She does not hurt you out of hatred, but out of her own pain.’ Silence. ‘When Rufus returns, things will return to normal.’
Mila winced. ‘I am not sure if you remember, but normal did not work out very well for me.’
‘Things are different now. You are different now.’
She wondered if that was true, and if it was a good thing.
Lowering her voice, Tertia said, ‘Everybody needs someone looking out for them. Your sister has you, I have Rufus, and I am here to watch out for you.’
Mila’s shoulders fell. Remus had looked out for her once. He would never have sat idle while she was beaten. He had come to her prepared to do anything, still looking out for her. And she had pushed him away.
Mila’s eyebrows drew together. ‘If you asked for your freedom, would Rufus give it?’
For a moment her mother was speechless. ‘It is a much harder life out there.’
‘That was not the question.’
Tertia’s mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find words. ‘If it was what I truly wanted, I believe so.’
Mila closed her eyes. All this time she had assumed they wanted the same thing. ‘Then you are choosing this life. Worse than that, you are choosing it for me, and for Dulcia.’ She took another step back, her legs suddenly unsteady.
‘Here you are safe,’ Tertia said again, her eyes welling up. ‘Look what happened out there. You took a woman’s life. You were sentenced to death. Rufus saved you, and still you cannot see.’
‘No,’ Mila said, holding up a hand. ‘Remus saved my life. He fought for me. He wanted me to be free.’ She drew a breath. ‘Rufus took everything I had worked for, months of training, months of hoping, months of loving, and put the shackles back on.’ She shook her head, missing Remus more in that moment than she could ever have thought possible.
A few tears ran down Tertia’s cheeks. ‘You are chasing things you do not understand. Freedom, love. You cannot comprehend how these things work in the real world. You are a dreamer.’
Was a dreamer. Now she was nothing.
Mila pressed her palms into her eyes. ‘I know I love him. I know that. I understand how I feel with him, how I feel without him. I may as well have died in that arena.’ Her breathing shortened, her thoughts pulling together with such clarity. ‘You are right about one thing. When I went in search of freedom, I did not understand what that life would look like, but I know now.’ Tears ran down her cheeks and she brushed them aside. ‘We had a chance at a real life. No ridiculous expectations, conditions, concerns about political advantage or wealth. No crushing others along the way. Just two people choosing a life together.’
The soft clink of pots drifted out into the garden. The day had begun.
‘Go eat,’ Tertia said, her voice flat. ‘Be thankful that every morning begins with food, that you are not left wondering if your father has gambled everything away.’ She paused. ‘Including his only daughter.’
Mila’s gaze fell to her feet.
‘And wake your sister, so she might linger in the kitchen, licking honey-covered spoons, free to be a child for as long as she wishes.’ She shook her head. ‘Instead of looking at everything you are missing, spend a few moments appreciating what we have. Be thankful that Dulcia is not expected to open her legs every time her dominus taps her on the shoulder, that she is not stuck in a mine doing hard labour, or in a cheap bro
thel like many her age.’
Mila swallowed down her shame and left to wake her sister.
The clapping of wooden swords had come to sound like the clapping of hands next to Remus’s ear. Each day his agitation grew and his fuse shortened. No one worked hard enough, or progressed fast enough. No one had Mila’s spark, her determination, her stubbornness to push past the nausea and pain. Not one man wanted that chance at freedom like she had.
But that girl was gone.
Whenever he tried to reconcile those images, the ones of her training to the point of collapse in the arena with the girl he had seen returning from the market the previous month, they did not fit together. The light had gone out, or perhaps she had smothered it, desperate to be the person her family wanted—meek, humble, grateful.
‘Get up!’ he shouted at the men wrestling in the sand, their weapons now out of reach. ‘You’re gladiators, not children. Pick up your weapons!’ The slaves scurried to retrieve their swords. Frustrated, he glanced over at the portico where he found Brutus watching him, arms crossed over his chest, feet apart to balance his large frame.
‘Again,’ Remus said, turning away. His voice was quieter this time.
The weeks slipped by. Nothing really changed except the weather. The sun disappeared behind a bleak, grey sky, his breath visible as he stood in the cold, confronted with another day. He pushed everything unrelated to training from his mind—including Mila. At least he tried to. If he let her in, he found he did not have room for anything else.
And yet every ninth day he found himself at the nundinae, wandering aimlessly between vendors, both afraid to see her and desperate for a glimpse. He was curious how she would react to him, what he would discover in her face, or what was missing. He told himself that if he saw her happy, healthy, her toned frame replaced by soft curves, her callused hands softened by laundry and house duties, her back healed, he would be able to let her go. Then he could go back to that time in his life when he wanted for nothing because he did not desire anything. In many ways she had ruined him, woken something within him that might never sleep again.