Once Paco came back with a bucket of fresh water, the family settled in for the night, and Lucius’ wife, Servilla, cleaned up a sleeping mat for me. All the while, I’d nervously mapped out the space and where each of us might lie for the night. Ollia already had her own area and wouldn’t be expected to move. Lucius and Servilla would share a large mat on the other side. That would leave just a tiny area for Paco and Merula in the middle and I would have to stretch out by the entrance flap. I could even poke my feet or head out into the cool night if it got too stuffy.

  What about Gaius, though? He hadn’t shown up yet and I figured he must have other sleeping arrangements. If he slept at all. From what I’d seen of him, he was a night stalker. He seemed the type of man who would have business or hobbies in the dark rather than in the day. On the other hand, his friend Marcellus reminded me of Hurek.

  As I lay in the darkness of my new abode, and before sleep came to me, I thought of Hurek. Was he alright? Should I have gone to him instead? Question after question lulled me to sleep. And eventually my dreams took me to task, and in them I saw Hurek curled up in the corner of the palace barracks, with moonlight lit on his back, and even though I couldn’t see his face, I felt an immense sense of foreboding and loneliness emanating from him.

  ***

  The morning came and went. I gasped awake as I usually did, feeling the eyes of a thousand vengeful furies on me. Forgive me, Minerva!

  Wide eyes stared down at me, shadowed against the noon sun shooting rays through the tent patchwork. “Are you dying?” Paco asked me. “You can’t die here. We have chores to do.”

  “Chores?” I grumbled. Merula’s face was there as well floating above me, and I shooed the children away so I could get up and gather myself. Images of last night floated in and out of my mind as I rubbed my eyes. “What chores?” I finally asked, hoping to distract myself.

  “We have to take the laundry to mom,” Paco said.

  “Fine,” I said, “I’ll eat and help you carry the bags.”

  As I’d expected, the tent was empty save for the children. Everyone would be out working at this hour, as a laborer’s life allowed for little else during the day. I pictured Ollia hobbling around the yard, helping her fellow washmaids as best she could given her condition. Only a soft-fingered socialite like me could afford to sleep until the sun glared directly down at me.

  I rolled up my mat and stuffed it in the corner with the others. There was a bit of porridge in the stove-pot which I scraped out with a wooden spoon. Merula and Paco watched me with amusement as I searched haplessly for a bowl. Since when had I become an idiot that scooped up food before having somewhere to put it? “Some help here?” I said to the children.

  Merula bounced up happily and procured a bowl from a trunk. She brought it to me as if presenting a votive to an altar. The children then began stuffing a pile of clothes into a burlap sack while I gobbled up my breakfast.

  “So this is my life now, eh?” I remarked to no one in particular. I wondered what the city, all the nobles and the craftsmen and the entire collegium, would think if they knew their new city master was sitting cross-legged in a tent somewhere in the slums chugging down diluted porridge. And yet, I didn’t feel bitter at all.

  I had escaped the crazy bitch. She’d tried to do me in after all, and I’d survived, found a place to be safe, and slept with people I could call friends. The tent, as meagre a dwelling as it was, proved that there was a home in Palmyra for me. So I slurped down the last of the porridge and helped the children finish up the laundry bag.

  “Lead on then,” I told Paco. The small boy, accompanied by Merula, led me into the yard where washmaids were working for their masters and households with practiced efficiency, a swirl of colors and flowing skirts punctuated by wagons of supplies being dragged through the mud to and fro the caravanserai. I knew there was a frontier village nestled along the caravanserai, made up of mostly farms and grazing grounds. There were several springs located along the northern grassland, and it was one of the first locations where a trading outpost had sprung up.

  From what I’d gathered, Chief Abed belonged to an Arab Jewish tribe which had hosted the first caravanserai which now dominated the wall, and after years of growth, the family had connections across the known world. Abed himself, though, was a black sheep–an ostracized brothel owner up until just a few years ago when he’d become the patriarch after his father and elder brother perished in a lion attack. With his inns and brothels burgeoning from new tourists, and then the addition of his father’s empire, Chief Abed could have made himself the most important member of the High Council, even more than Atia and Governor Gaius Julius. But you can’t teach a pig not to eat shit.

  The unrepentant gambler had no nose for politics and maintaining relationships. He’d spent no effort in filling his household with loyal family members and building alliances. The recent failure of his champion Ibn Ghassan had been the final nail in the coffin for his reputation and reliability. I wondered how much the Bedouin tribes had invested in buying a ranked fighter like Ghassan? I was sure the anger behind that failed investment is what drove the riot after the tournament, and not the juvenile emotions of the poor as the nobles liked to believe. It was all Abed’s fault, and no one seemed to care.

  “Right here,” Paco pointed to a rack where a familiar woman worked. Servilla. So this was her workplace, I thought, looking around. We’d arrived behind a small mudbrick inn or popina situated in the main road through the tent city. Servilla kneaded sheets in a tub with vigor, elbow deep in soapy water. She glanced at us, then when she noticed me holding the bag, she jumped up. “Oh Master Cicero, didn’t expect you to still be around,” she said.

  Her tone wasn’t as cold as Gaius’ but it was clear she didn’t share Ollia’s and Lucius’ warmth when it came to me. Honestly, I didn’t blame her. She was Paco’s mother, and would naturally be worried for his future. And the only future I’d promised this family so far was death in the arena.

  “I’ll be leaving soon,” I lied, as I had no intention of going to the Forum today. It was part fear of showing my face without proper bodyguards, and part decorum. It just wasn’t proper for a nobleman to be sitting behind a desk like a bureaucrat. I may have been lower Eques in Rome, but here in Palmyra, I would have to build myself as a proper patrician. Besides, Diram could hold the reins himself of the daily dealings and directing the militia. I would be expected to attend meetings and work with councilors and citizens over lunch rather than over a wax tablet. My absence wouldn’t be noticed, I hoped.

  Sevilla turned back to her work after taking the bag, muttering a few more demands to Paco and… where was Merula? My heart skipped as I searched for her around the yard. Between the animal shed for patrons, several troughs and the laundry space, there wasn’t much to interest a young girl, so I hobbled around to the main road. It was strange to be worrying after the girl now, considering this was her daily life while I’d lounged around in the palace this whole time.

  I couldn’t find her. But I did discover the most beautiful baker powdering her buns. A middle-aged woman in a leather apron carefully worked a tray lined with bread rolls. She wiped sweat from her brow, and I was sure it seasoned the loaves a bit too, but that only made me step closer like a man approaching the entrance to a magisterial estate.

  Closeby, myrrh incense burned on a bust of the goddess Rumina, and its wisps of smoke obscured the baker’s face, making it difficult to catch her eye. “I… salve, mistress,” I said.

  The baker finally tore her eyes away from her cutting and powdering, and gave me a once over that alerted me of my bare feet and dirty tunic. I must be quite a sight, I thought. But the woman was gorgeous–from her slender milk-white neck to her red lips, to a few locks of curly brown hair that fell through her cap, just lightly brushing her blush cheeks. Oh mitte, is that powdered sugar on her left earlobe?

  “Good morning!” the woman replied warmly, but quickly turned her attention to a passerby, a portly servant type, who’d stepped in front of me and quickly read off a bunch of items from his tablet. The baker rushed off, leaving me with the man who spared a curious glance at my bare feet. He awfully reminded me of Atia’s head servant, the one I’d beaten.

  I waited for as long as I needed to wait. Several men and women broke off from the passing crowd and waited with me. They grew impatient and began calling for the baker, but a quick glare from me eased their restlessness. The baker finally returned, she threw a towel over her shoulder and surveyed her new customers, and when her eyes landed on me, she said, “you were first, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, dear,” I replied, “but I’m not here for bread. I just wanted to say hello.”

  The woman smiled, “Nice to meet you, sir…?”

  “Marcus Titus Cicero,” I replied. “And you?”

  “Hm, Hera,” she replied. I caught the hesitation in her voice. Perhaps she was taken aback by a barefoot man throwing around a Roman family name in the middle of the slums.

  “Hera,” the manservant called, “I’ve got–

  “Oh hush,” Hera said, “I’m talking to our new customer.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have any coin on me,” I began but Hera waved me off.

  “That’s fine, here,” she said and poured me a small cup of milk, the kind of gesture you would offer a homeless person outside your home. But what could I possibly say? Correct her that she was in fact talking to a public official? I accepted the cup gratefully.

  “Rumina’s blessing,” she said.

  “On you,” I replied, but before I could take a sip she made a noise.

  “My mother thinks you’re a gentleman,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Sorry?”

  “My mother,” she pointed beside me to no one in particular. “She likes you.”

  There was no one there, not unless a pile of old firewood had raised this fine woman. “I’m sorry, did I miss her?” I said, looking behind me.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said as she turned to help her actual customers. “She passed years ago.”

  So that was the catch, then, I thought. I knew it was too good to be true. Here was a woman who was beautiful, warm, kind, but she also happened to see dead people. If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t have entertained such a delusion. But I admit. On Hera, delusion was rather charming.

  “Ah, my apologies. And give my thanks to your mother,” I replied sincerely, and nodded in the vague direction of Hera’s mother’s ghost.

  “Good day, Marcus. Come by again,” she said, and I knew she meant it.

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  ***

  The day concluded with a family dinner, and I received the invitation while I was busy hunting down the beggar who’d accosted me last night. Paco jumped out of the crowd, and snapped his fingers in my face. “Master, dinner time.”

  I tore my eyes away from the party gathered outside the brothel where I’d had my bout, and towards Lucius’ son who was already fighting the urge to run away with the energy of a thousand suns. “Dinner, come!” he hopped impatiently.

  “Where’s Merula?” I said.

  Paco ran off.

  I trudged after him, weaving in and out of the crowd to get there quickly. Hurek’s absence was a handicap when it came to walking around. I’d gotten used to people naturally stepping out of my way when they saw him. Also the ground here was perpetually muddy, due to the unkept canals and streams that trailed in from the eastern arm of the riverbed. Dirt caked my feet all the way up to my knees and decorated the hem of my tunic that was once white.

  When I arrived outside their tent, Gaius and Marcellus were already there, heads together in a heated argument. Gaius’ hands were calloused and bloody, but that was from working in the brick kiln all day. Marcellus’ situation wasn’t too far off either, but he was a blacksmith and the work he did was his own choice. How had they become friends again? Gymnasium, I recalled.

  “Master Cicero, maybe you can settle our debate,” Marcellus called.

  “What debate?”

  “Gaius here thinks babies are ugly,” Marcellus said, “but I just don’t see how.”

  Gaius crossed his arms, shrugging as if he was above this debate, but he’s the one I’d interrupted mid-sentence had he not? He had an opinion about this, and it made me chuckle.

  “How can you say that, Gaius?” I said, “You’re about to have another nephew, or niece.”

  “When I see them sleep,” Marcellus continued, “I just want to shrink to their size and squeeze in next to them.” The muscular blacksmith scrunched his shoulders as he mimed the idea.

  “That’s just stupid,” Gaius said, “The baby would look monstrous from that view. Their head is bigger than their torso.”

  “He’s right,” I said, “Imagine if my head was twice the size.”

  “You’re playing both sides,” Marcellus accused me and I couldn’t deny it.

  “Ollia’s back?” I asked instead.

  Gaius opened the tent flap for me as I entered. Sevilla was preparing the stew as Lucius massaged his sister Ollia’s legs. They were swollen, along with her feet that were like balloons. An unfortunate symptom of late pregnancy.

  I ducked underneath dried coriander hanging from the ceiling, and offered to help cut up the two onions sitting next to Servilla’s feet.

  “Master, you shame us with helping,” Servilla hissed, “Please wait over there and I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

  I was going to retort but after spending the day doing nothing but simmering a petty grudge against a homeless man, I felt I’d exhausted my mental energy at that moment. “I understand,” I said softly.

  “Master, do you have knowledge if Hurek join us?” Ollia asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied, “I sent Marcellus to poke around the Palace, and it looks like they’ve kept him holed up in the barracks the entire day. Atia will want a personal leash on him now that I’m gone.”

  “You’ve angered her that much?” Lucius said.

  “Her wine steward tried to slice me up in my chambers,” I growled, “Yes, I believe she is angry. But no matter, I’ll gather the militia around myself and continue my service to Palmyra, as anointed by the council.”

  “You are buying slaves to fight for you?” Servilla asked. It seemed news had spread of my plan, or Gaius had told them. Either that or Diram was already buying up able-bodied warriors in Abed’s slave market. My goal was to bring the militia back up to strength with slave-warriors that would be loyal to me and me only. Not the council, or even the city.

  “I will free them after a year,” I explained, “All of them. They will get salaried positions in the militia following that.”

  “Gaius and Lucius can–

  “I’m sorry,” I said before Ollia could finish her sentence. I knew she would ask for me to take the Merkov brothers too once she’d heard my plan. But the Nokchi men were slaves of the Maazin patriarch Matanai, and he would not so easily part with them. He’d sold Hurek to the governor at a high price even as a young lad. “I will try to convince their master, but I don’t think he will sell them.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Lucius added. “Hurek needs your help.”

  “I have not seen him,” Ollia said.

  So they’d noticed Hurek’s change as well. That must mean he’d gotten less social with his own family and friends, in addition to the strange aura I felt from him everyday. With my ties to Atia severed, how could I possibly keep a close eye on him? My heart dropped as a flood of reality seeped in. This was it, then, wasn’t it? My ability to stay close to Hurek during his training. I had to figure out a way to get to him, at least during the tournament if not before. Maybe I could get Merula to sneak back into the palace at some point to communicate with him.

  “By the way, is Merula around?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her since morning.”

  Lucius had settled in beside me, taking out a small knife and mending his sandals. He paused, and looked up to think. “She runs away to the graveyard sometimes. I think I know where to find her. I’ll send Gaius now.”

  The young Merkov stepped inside hesitantly when Lucius called him, clearly not on good terms with Ollia as he ignored her request to join dinner. “I’m fine,” was all he said to her, before nodding to Lucius.

  “Can you find Merula?” Lucius said, “she should be near that tomb we found her last time.”

  “Is she drawing again?” Gaius asked, flustered. “She’ll get herself in trouble.”

  “Drawing?” I asked Lucius as Gaius rushed off.

  “She was caught drawing pictures of cats on gravestones a couple days ago,” Lucius said, his explanation creating more questions than it answered.

  “What did you do with the money I gave?” I asked instead. There was no delicate way to ask, and even if there was, I didn’t want to beat around the bush. I’d given the family a few denarii to sustain themselves, perhaps improve their standard of living in some way, and seeing them huddled inside a slave tent was a step in the wrong direction. Had they squandered the coin?

  “We got silo,” Ollia said as she shifted to a more comfortable position. Sevilla had finished pouring the bowls and blew on Ollia’s to cool it down before helping her eat.

  “Silo?” I asked.

  “We bought six months of grain and lentils, and rented storage in the Greek quarter,” Lucius explained. “It’s under Marcellus’ name since he is a citizen.”

  “I understand,” I said, trying to wrap my head around the decision. Of course, I thought of assets and quality of life when it came to spending coin, but for people of the land who had nothing, the correct decision was to secure food for the season, especially for Ollia after the baby. It made sense. I hadn’t given them that much either, barely a month’s stipend on my part in return for adopting Merula, and I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  Paco returned with a fresh pail of water for the night and the tent brightened a little as we finished our stew. A few minutes later, Gaius returned with Merula, and Lucius convinced him to stay and eat with them as well. Marcellus stayed too. Before long, the tent was filled with all of us gathered around the small fire, shoulder to shoulder, listening to Marcellus explain why Ollia’s baby might be a boy. Lucius believed it was a girl, and Merula was very excited to hear that.

  Ollia would smile, laugh, ask questions about everyone’s day, but occasionally her face would contort with pain. The frown disappeared before I could address it. Her labor could start any day now, I thought.

  “Master,” Ollia said, catching my glance. “Have you heard anything of the Persian fighter?”

  “Baba Haza?” I asked, genuinely surprised at the random question. “You know him?”

  “No, I think of the fight and the riot and he come to mind,” she explained. “Is he… imprisoned?”

  “Yes, he will be,” I said, “And he will be forced to fight again. Possibly the highest ranked fighter in Palmyra, Flamma.” But don’t worry, I answered silently, I will train him.

  Ollia nodded, a flash of something crossing her features, but it was gone as soon as another labor pain surfaced.

  “It’s better than hanging him and calling the Persian councilors traitors,” I said. “We avoid the city breaking into civil war.”

  “At the fighting man’s expense,” Lucius said.

  I nodded to agree but before I could reply, Gaius cut in, “Mazda keep him, he will do fine. That’s what a fighter does, no? Fight.”

  “No, Gayev,” Ollia snapped, “No more fighting.”

  Servilla put a hand on her sister in law’s shoulder, indicating this wasn’t the first time this matter had come up. It was expected, I thought. Every Nokchi man had fought in the tournament and had won their debut unranked fights in the first bracket. I’d missed them, having only been present during Hurek’s, but from what I’d heard, they’d been the most dominating; Gaius, Lucius, Septimus, and of course Hurek, all proving their worth. If it wasn’t for Septimus’ death, the family would have an undefeated record. The tournament gave meagre rewards in the first bracket, but I imagine it would be enough to make it worth another bout.

  Except now, Lucius seemed to side with Ollia. “Show respect, Gayev,” Lucius said to Gaius, “we listen to her. We work hard, that’s it. No more fighting.”

  “Uff, I am not doing this again,” Gaius put down his bowl. I fixated on the last bit of porridge in my bowl, and I poked at it with my spoon. Ollia had lost her husband and her brother to the tournament in the span of a couple months. It was a wonder that she still tolerated my presence given my involvement in one way or another. I didn’t deserve an opinion in this matter. If she didn’t want her family members in harm's way anymore, who was I to judge?

  Marcellus begrudgingly followed Gaius out of the tent with a quick apology to Ollia and the family. “Good night, and thank you for the dinner,” he said before turning to me. “And Master Cicero, do you mind speaking with us for a minute?”

  ***

  I listened to Gaius make a case for himself and Marcellus to get a ranked fight in the third bracket. Every time his voice rose, I cringed, afraid that Ollia might hear the argument and assume that I was planning for yet another brother of hers to fight to the death. Marcellus stood back, heavy arms crossed over his leather patched blacksmith’s tunic. He had messy brown hair that looked fiery in the sunset. Gaius was clean shaven, and he rubbed his head repeatedly as he rushed through his speech.

  According to Gaius, the next step for me was to arrange a ranked fight for both of them, so he and Marcellus could take on Brutus and Ibn Ghassan respectively. He believed he should fight Flamma, and I tried to cover my snort with a cough, but then after hearing Baba Haza’s fate, he switched to calling out Brutus of all people.

  “Well, what do you think?” he finished.

  I waited a few breaths, giving the impression that I was thinking it over, then I said, “No.”

  “No?” Gaius repeated, his features slowly twisting in confusion and anger.

  “It’s clear to me that your sister feels–

  “Did you have fun today, Master Cicero?” Gaius cut in.

  “Sorry?”

  “Did you enjoy yourself dipping your toes in our misery, walking our streets, sleeping in our tent, eating our gruel? It’s a simple question, Master.”

  I put up my hands defensively, “Listen, I know you’re angry,” I began and looked towards Marcellus for help, but the blacksmith had his head down and was staring at his feet.

  “My family is living in the dirt like livestock, and my nephew is about to be born in a fucking tent!” Gaius declared. I backed away and almost tripped over a tent-peg. “You don’t get to draw lines for me because you’re afraid to look bad in front of my sister, do you understand? Everybody is going through their day like everything is fine and normal, but it’s not. This is not normal. Living like this is not–”Gaius took a moment to catch his breath as Marcellus laid a hand on his shoulder– “Brother Septimus was the only one who understood, who was trying to make a difference, and now that he’s dead, everyone’s lost their spine. My sister is pregnant, Master Cicero, and my elder brother might as well not have a brain. I will go out there and fight for us, with or without you. Ranked or unranked.”

  A few people poked their heads out of their tents around the yard, either angry at Gaius’ yelling or anticipating something worse. I realized Gaius was right that I cared too much about how I was perceived. Ollia’s love had a tendency to blind me, her warmth made me feel like I was someone good and helpful. That I had another purpose other than to find victory in the arena and to eventually goad the Empire and stick it to the emperor if given the chance. The heat emanating from Gaius was the only thing that mattered. And I agreed with him on a logical level, too. The Nokchi family couldn’t live like this. Hurek couldn’t be held prisoner by Atia. Everything had to change, and I couldn’t get complacent just for the sake of comfort and keeping my conscience clean. Be the boldest of them all, I muttered under my breath.

  “What?” Gaius said, leaning in.

  “I.. I can’t promise anything, Gaius,” I said. The thought of Ollia’s reaction still kept me at bay. And after everything I’d put the family through, I just couldn’t muster enough courage to think about this any further. “I need some sleep. Let me think about it, please.”

  Gaius’ lips pursed, and he shook his head but fortunately relented. Marcellus smiled as his friend stalked away, just simply happy the argument was over.