There were a few moments of disorientation while the guards from the mines yanked me back to reality. I immediately yelled for Caela, but other guards already had her in ropes and were trying to control her thrashing about.
Privately, I was angry with myself for falling asleep. Hadn't I learned by now that sleep was dangerous? Those who let down their watch for an instant were the ones we never heard from again. And yet, I had done exactly that.
I should've noticed the creak of the wagon as it approached the berry patch. I should've heard voices, or footsteps jumping to the ground. Had I really been that deeply asleep? Or was this group of guards so cunning that I could never have hoped to escape?
They weren't all that smart, I decided, as the first guard swatted me back to the ground with the side of his arm. I recognized him from the mines. His brutality made Sal look like a nursemaid. These men were rats. Getting caught was my fault, which probably meant I was a rat too. But they were ugly rats, and that was worse.
"Trying to escape?" one guard asked. "You must think you're pretty clever."
If I had been trying to escape, I wouldn't have lain out in the middle of a strawberry patch. And no, at the moment, clever was the last word I'd have used to describe myself.
"I was helping General Radulf." I rubbed the back of my hand against my mouth where he had hit me, but when I pulled it away, I couldn't tell if it was strawberry juice or blood. My mouth stung, though, so I didn't get up. I didn't want to risk him hitting me again.
"The griffin is getting away," one of the men shouted just as Caela angled her body sideways, slapping the man to the ground with her long tail.
"Then kill it," the guard standing over me ordered.
"No!" I cried, earning a kick to my side.
But the man who had been hit was preparing to obey the order. He reached into the nearby wagon for a bow and a handful of arrows.
I stood and yelled at Caela, who was squawking with fury. "Stop fighting them! Caela, stop this or they'll kill you!"
Either she couldn't hear me or she didn't care. The man nocked his arrow.
Ignoring the threats of the guards, I ran between the man's bow and Caela, and put a hand on her side.
"You have to stop fighting," I told her. "Caela, please, you won't win here."
She came down to all fours and was staring at me again. I was sure she could understand me, which was no surprise since she had once belonged to the gods. But understanding my words wasn't the same as obeying them. She cast an angry glance toward the guards, then screeched so loud it made my ears ring. But she stopped fighting. The bow was lowered and the other men surrounded her with more ropes. I could only hope she would allow them to safely take her. They grabbed me next, rougher than was necessary considering I wasn't fighting either.
"Be careful, you brutes!" a voice said from behind me. "Don't hurt him!"
At first I had to twist to see who was speaking, but it was a boy not much older than me. He marched to my side, forcing the guards' hands off me. He was tall, with curly golden-blond hair trimmed neatly around his face. I had no sandals at all to compare with his fine leather pair, and my tunic was plain, oversized until I grew a little more, and torn in the back where the griffin had scratched me. The boy's fine clothing was perfectly white with purple trim, and for good luck, around his neck he wore a golden bulla. It wasn't too different from the one hidden beneath my tunic, though I doubted his bulla glowed.
"Crispus, you shouldn't have run up here! Stay back from that animal!"
Another man came forward in a similar white-and-purple toga. Only senators, or their sons, were allowed to wear those robes, but what was a senator doing out this far from Rome? I noticed his shoes next: high buckskin boots colored black, rather than the red ones or sandals other, lower-ranking citizens wore.
He had kind eyes, and thinning blond hair that seemed to be graying sooner than it should. His face was a series of worry lines, though he also seemed to have an easy smile.
But Crispus nudged his head toward me. "I told you I saw a griffin, and this boy controlled her. You should've seen it, Father!"
The guard next to me stepped forward and bowed. "This boy is an escaped slave, and must be punished, Senator … er …" "Valerius." He walked closer to me. "Did you run from your master, boy?"
"No." Not this time.
A guard grabbed my arm again, but Valerius brushed it off and ordered the guards to stand back. "Why are you here, then?" My eyes darted away and he asked, "Did they hurt you?"
I glanced at Crispus, who looked genuinely concerned, and I wondered about his life, so different from my reality. I'd never met someone of his status who cared about anyone of mine. Maybe all patricians weren't the same.
I wasn't injured, but Valerius lifted my head with both hands anyway, which I hated. When he turned me for further inspection, he noticed the tear in my tunic. "What happened there?" he asked.
"It's only a scratch," I mumbled. Why couldn't they go away already?
He pushed a finger through the rip to examine the scratch, and then drew in a breath. Once he did, he whispered, "Crispus, come see this."
His son obeyed, gasped, and then asked, "What is that?"
A scratch, I wanted to say. The senator and his son were thin-skinned people who probably considered dressing themselves as a form of physical labor. I'd received plenty of scratches before, and this wouldn't be my last.
Perhaps such strange concepts as bruises, cuts, and scratches were entirely unknown to soft patricians like them.
Valerius started to question me, but I cast my eyes away, instinctively not wanting to talk about it. It wouldn't take much to guess that Caela had given me the scratch, and then they might start asking why. The bulla against my hip felt warmer than it had before, almost like a warning against me letting those secrets be discovered.
Before he completed his sentence, however, another senator walked up behind them, dressed in the same white-and-purple toga. He was a round sort of man. Round eyes, round nose, and a round belly that probably consumed more cakes in a day than I had seen in a lifetime. Valerius greeted him as Senator Horatio, then quickly faced me forward again. He placed a hand over my torn tunic, covering the scratch. It sparked when he pressed down on the wound, and I winced, but with his other hand, he squeezed my arm, warning me to stop moving.
"How much is it to buy this boy?" Valerius asked the guards. "Who is his owner?"
"You wouldn't want him," Senator Horatio said, speaking of me. "This boy is filthy. Show us your teeth."
I'd heard how slaves were treated at auction, and this small taste of it was bitter in my mouth. They didn't even bother talking to me, and spoke about me as if I wasn't right in front of them, hearing every word they said. I clamped my mouth closed and tried to turn away, but Valerius's hand was still covering the scratch on my shoulder and he pulled me back. I wished he wasn't holding me so tight — the sting in the scratch was getting worse — but he wasn't giving me any room to squirm free.
One of the guards stepped forward. "He belongs in the mines south of this lake. We must bring him there for punishment."
Senator Horatio's only interest was in punishing me now. "Show me your teeth!" he demanded.
"Show me yours," I muttered. Once we returned to the mines, Sal could give me whatever punishment he wanted. It would be a pleasure compared to any service of this gasbag ructuose pig.
Despite both Valerius and Crispus persuading him to move on, Senator Horatio was becoming angrier. "I am the presiding magistrate of the Roman Senate," he said. "You will obey me!"
"He isn't worth your trouble," Crispus said dismissively. "If this boy was obedient, he wouldn't be here right now."
That caused Horatio to pause, and privately, I rejoiced. If my lack of obedience caused him to leave me alone, then it had just become my finest trait.
Without another glance at me, Horatio arched his neck. "Senator Valerius, this entire day has been a waste of our time. Those rumors of a discovery of Caesar's treasure were clearly false. I will return to Rome at once."
"Of course." Valerius gave him a curt bow but still did not release me.
After Horatio was gone, Valerius then stepped toward the guards. "Perhaps we can arrange a deal. For enough money, you might forget you ever found this boy, or saw me here."
The guards blinked at one another as if they were considering his offer.
Not that I had much choice in the matter, but I was considering my options too. Sal was at the mines. But then, so was Livia.
One of the guards finally brushed the senator's hand aside. "We'll return this boy for his punishment, or else we're the ones to receive it. You can negotiate for him back at the mines."
"Very well." Senator Valerius leaned down to me and whispered, "I am your friend, but do not trust that anyone else in Rome will feel the same way.
I will try to get to the mines before dark. Until then, understand that the mark on your back is no scratch. It doesn't matter how you got it, only that there are people who will kill you if they see it."
Despite the rudeness of looking directly at him, my eyes met his. "Why?"
I asked. "What's there?"
But there was no time for him to answer, for the guards grabbed my arms and pulled me into the wagon. The last thing I saw before we rounded a corner was his son, Crispus, who merely shrugged apologetically at me.
Maybe because of Horatio's rude behavior. Or more likely, because he knew his father had just attempted to buy me in order to save my life. And failed.