Chapter 1

It was on the Ides of March that Radwan Kabira was brought before the Legate Adrius Aulus Cato as his share of the campaign. An inauspicious day by common unspoken agreement, Adrius was not a superstitious man, and thus thought nothing of it. However, the day would, in years to come, prove to be memorable.

Looking down at the slight teen before him, she did not strike him as being any different from the other natives of lands bordering the Empire’s easternmost region. Indeed, her dark hair, eyes, and brazen skin were commonplace. What wasn’t commonplace was what lied beneath all that.

Normally, when female captives are brought before their captors, they are humble, probably weeping, or perhaps silent, but never nonchalant. The girl’s quiet calm irked Adrius, who was used to being feared. He stood glowering at her, half in hope that she would break, and half just to give himself time to ponder her, already more annoyed that the enigma that was the girl forced him to do so. Why wasn’t she even angry? More than likely his legionaries slaughtered her family.

“Well, what are you going to do with me?” she suddenly asked, breaking the silence. Her Latin, though not perfect, was strangely fluent.

The Roman’s brows dipped down deeper, as did his frown.

“Where did you learn Latin?” he demanded sharply.

The girl shrugged. “My father taught me some. Some I learned by listening.”

She must have been listening well, he thought privately. “And how did your father come to know Latin?”

“He’s a trader.” She answered, expression unreadable.

She’d corrected his use of the past tense. Was there something to that? Ah, she’s just a fool of a girl, Adrius thought.

“Well?” she prompted again. “Are you going to kill me, or what?”

Was she asking to be killed?

“No.” Adrius stated, willing his anger to leave him. “You’re my slave, and I’m debating sending you to the Arena, so you’re as good as dead.”

The girl arched a questioning eyebrow. Adrius grinned, hoping that would scare her.

“The Coliseum, girl. To be a gladiator.”

This did not have the desired effect. She laughed, the sound biting but beautiful in his ears.

“Women can’t be gladiators! Everyone would laugh at you.”

“You think so?” he growled, arching his own brow. The girl stopped laughing, but she went back to her airs of quiet confidence, choosing not to answer.

Her silence was more insulting than anything she could have voiced.

“You must be fond of pain, if you are so eager to be beaten.” He threatened.

The girl’s face turned enigmatic; a slight improvement.

“Septimius!” he called gruffly, eyes never leaving those of the girl’s.

From outside his campaign tent, a call answered. A moment later, a man waltzed in, saluting smartly with his feet together.

“Sir?” The senior centurion questioned.

“Pull her to her feet.”

The man dropped his salute and looked down at Kabira for a moment before gripping her upper arm – her arms were bound behind her – and doing just as he was bidden. He looked back to the Legate. “Sir?”

“What do you think of her? Is she able?” Adrius asked, more to confirm his own opinions than out of valuing the officer’s.

Septimius stood back, and the girl’s eyes followed him warily as he looked her over.

The man glanced sideways at Adrius with a grin. “For what, sir?”

The corner of his mouth flickered in an involuntary mimic of the expression. “In general, Septimius.”

The senior centurion took a fresh look at the girl, walked around her twice, then came to stand roughly between the girl and her master.

“She’s not fleshy, I’ll tell you that. Seems to be in good health. She’s got long legs – probably a quick little hellcat. She has a nice long neck too – maybe she can sing.”

“I can.” She proudly announced, drawing a surprised eyebrow from the newcomer. Behind the confidence, Adrius saw her mask flicker, as if she did not appreciate being talked about as if she were a horse up for sale.

Adrius narrowed his eyes at her, debating whether she meant her words as an excuse not to get sent to the Arena. “Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

He again addressed Septimius. “What should I do with her?”

His subordinate looked thoughtful, and used the question as an excuse to look her over again. Her dress, made of dirty brown linen, had once been finer, and probably from Egypt. Her hair and skin, too, had seen better days, but she was clearly a woman of some upbringing. Such women were wasted in the fields, and beating them would just be a shame.

“I’d say to make her watch your children, Adrius.”

The Legate looked at him sharply. “What possesses you of that idea?”

Septimius shrugged, motioning toward her with one dramatic hand while looking at his superior. “You won’t have a plebeian girl in your house, you don’t like any of the women of family that offer their services, your wife is always busy, and your older daughters are getting married. There’s no one else, and this one seems smart enough to keep ‘em on their toes.”

Adrius sniffed. “I have enough witty women in my house.”

“One more won’t hurt.” Septimius offered.

“The house, no. Me, surely.” came the Legate’s reply, wincing.

Septimius glanced at the girl. “Look at her, Adrius. What can she do?”

It was then that Kabira chose to look at the Legate, brown eyes boring into his. He dared not look away, but her gaze was like that of a gorgon. This girl could be dangerous, but he refused to be bested. He would keep her, and he would give her watch over his children. He could keep an eye on her there. Children’s eyes often saw farther than an adult’s. If and when she slipped up, he’d be waiting to take her head.

“Fine.” He pronounced, folding his arms across his chest in a businesslike manner. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Radwan Kabira. Or just Kabira.”

“Sir.” Adrius added for her sternly. “Or Master, if you prefer. You are not my equal, and you had best remember that, girl.”

He was rewarded with the slightest flinch in her blank face. Ashamed that he needed this to boost his ego, his chest inflated angrily, and he imagined his face changed color.

“Septimius,” he started, “Cut her loose, and on your way out, make sure the legionaries standing guard are on watch for any escape attempt.”

The man saluted again, drew his dagger, and approached the girl. Her eyes flickered ever so briefly to the man holding a blade at her, but kept her outward calm, at least.

The senior centurion deftly sawed through her rope binds, then faced Adrius. He saluted again, and turned to leave.

Kabira stood patiently waiting for some command, expression attentive, her hands clasped before her. He had to admit, he would be hard put to find anything to beat her about. She had etiquette enough to serve in his house.

They regarded each other for a while, Adrius wasn’t sure for how long, and the girl didn’t seem keen on offering any suggestions as to what became of her. In his thoughts, he almost forgot where and who he was. The Legate Adrius Aulus Cato did not stare down slave girls!

Wordlessly, he turned from her presence and lifted one of the cloths separating the tent into compartments. There were three of them; the first, where he had entertained Septimius and Kabira, was where he held council and took visitors, though there were few of the latter. There were two compartments behind this, separated in the middle by another cloth, where on the right side, he slept and had his meals. On the left were slaves’ quarters, and also where the food was prepared.

“Girl,” he called, setting himself down on the low couch.

Kabira was there, the attentive expectancy still on her face. He had no more energy in him to growl at her, and pointed to the wall of orange felt to his right. “Tell Sharif to bring me my flagon of wine. You’ll probably find some water and clean linen in there too. Clean yourself up, then go to sleep.”

Kabira bowed slightly, in a manner suggesting she was a little confused, based on his earlier hostility. Nonetheless, she disappeared behind the cloth, and like any good slave, her words were barely audible. Shortly thereafter, his other slave, Sharif, one of the few whom he liked, appeared with the requested flagon.

The aging man bowed politely and held forth the wine, which the Legate took gratefully. He took a long swig, his server not departing. Adrius arched an eyebrow at this.

“Have you something to say?” he asked, not entirely irked.

Sharif coughed lightly into a fisted hand. “Only, sir, if the girl will stay permanently.”

Adrius nodded wearily. “Unless she manages to run away, yes. Anything else?”

“Not at all, sir.” Sharif finalized, bowing respectfully again before he returned to the other compartment.

Adrius sighed and took another long swig. Earlier on in the evening, he’d shed his armor, so if he decided to sleep then and there, he could, comfortably. Hm. He was feeling tired. He’d used up his store of mental stability for one day, as he was sure to the next day as well, due to the latest addition to his staff. Damn the girl for her mannerism! He didn’t like it, but that was no grounds upon which to beat her. He’d have to live with the fact that, for a few years, she was destined to be part of his life as governess of his children. With any luck, they’d benefit from it, and she wouldn’t cause too much trouble. After they grew and left, he might even be able to forget about her. Something, a feeling, considered an omen by most people, flashed across his awareness, and he knew that he would never be able to forget about the slave Radwan Kabira.