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It was late by the time they returned to their own garden, the moon high, and promises exchanged to look after Rania and Flavia if Mettius would look after their house and their food stores. Even so, they would move much of it to the insula, cutting into their precious space, but preserving their peace of mind against raids.

Safinia leaned her spear against the doorway while Attice, Anesia, and Ores prayed to the household gods and gathered their things. She watched the black hills, layered by trees and distant mountains, her memory making detail out of the smudges in the dark. She wished they could have had one night, here, before she had to share news from the south. Her muscles burned with exhaustion, and her mind was unmoored, thoughts coming scattered and with no focus. She could not risk losing her vigilance once they were inside the walls. Rome was there in the city, too, like a rot eating through a tree from its center.

VI

When Safinia woke, her muscles ached with stiffness. There was a bathhouse on the same street as Orestilla’s apartment, but the prospect of standing in line, surrounded on all sides by the smell of sweat and humidity, didn’t appeal to her. The room they’d slept in was stuffy enough. She couldn’t even open the shutters without letting in noise from the street.

Better a wall than a curtain between her sisters and the Romans, though. Safinia rolled onto her back and pulled each leg against her chest in turn, digging her thumbs into her muscles until she felt like she could walk.

It had been too late and everyone too tired to poke around in Orestilla’s space last night; they simply laid out mats and went to sleep. Now, Safinia crept down the stairs to snoop. Orestilla’s place belonged to her alone, but it was dingy and, set in the middle of the street, got almost no light. The top floor was one room, with Orestilla’s personal things shoved to one side. She had a few pieces of furniture, but nothing like Safinia would have expected. There were no sofas for entertaining or eating—only a small table under the window, and some cushions for comfort.

The bottom floor was more interesting. There was a back door that led into a courtyard shared by the surrounding apartments. The stairwell bisected two rooms; one was plainly storage, but the other was a jewelry workshop, with massive, slatted shutters that could be opened and pushed up into the ceiling so that Orestilla could do her work in view of interested potential customers.

Safinia wandered to the desk and picked up a necklace, holding it to the morning light that streamed between the shutters. It was a simple piece by some standards, but the carving in the stone—an image of Minerva—was almost as detailed as Livy’s ring.

“Do you like that one?” Orestilla asked from behind her.

Safinia jumped. “I was just looking around.”

“I know. I don’t mind.” Orestilla took the necklace from her hands and held the pendant close to her eye, frowning. “Minerva is Hersilia’s patron, you know. I’m making this for her, but I think I might start again.”

“I think it’s exquisite.”

“Then have it,” Orestilla said. “Consider it part of your payment for going to Crustumerium for her.”

“I’d rather have food and salt, if it’s all the same,” Safinia said, but she didn’t protest when Orestilla took her wrist and put the pendant in Safinia’s palm. Her hands were rougher than when they’d first met, Safinia noticed. Safinia felt a surge of gratitude for the slight woman before her. She put her other hand on top of Orestilla’s, holding it and the stone between her own. “How are you doing?”

Orestilla closed her eyes as if it would be too much effort to look at another person. “If I’d only told her my fears sooner, she might have been prepared. She might have gotten away before they came for her,” she murmured.

“You can’t regret being the one who escaped,” Safinia said.

“Anesia said the same thing. She told me the whole story while you were gone, about you and Attice.”

Anesia felt guilty? She’d never, not once, spoken to Safinia about how easily she could have been taken instead of Attice. Safinia retreated now, her hands pressed against her sides. She no longer wanted to be touched. “That was luck. Luck and chaos.”

“I don’t know that that’s true,” Orestilla said. “You and Attice had bad luck. You refused to accept it though.”

“Even so.” There was a blush creeping up Safinia’s neck. They were standing far too close to be talking about what happened to Attice. “You’re alright, then? About your sister?”

“Yes, I’m alright,” Orestilla said. “Our father will get Hersilia back.”

Safinia paused. There hadn’t been time yesterday for her to share her suspicions. Delicately, she reminded herself. She still has some loyalty to him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Orestilla turned away to begin opening the shutters, not looking anymore at Safinia. “You’ll need to beg audience with him to tell him all you know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he summons you today, anyway, to settle whatever rumors he’s been brought from the outskirts. I would call on him myself, but he’s not likely to respond. His obligation to me is filled after paying my grandfather every month.”

“That’s horrible,” Safinia said.

Orestilla shrugged. “It’s the way of it. He is my family, but I am not his. And legally, we are nothing to each other. I can count on him to bring her home, though. And in the meantime, you’ll teach me how to thrash some Romans.”

“Oh, I will?” She wanted to stay on the topic of Numa, ask if Orestilla really trusted a man who dismissed her so easily—but she was already pinning her braid to the back of her neck in a style that was normal for the outskirts and unfashionable for a city girl, and Safinia felt another squeeze of appreciation.

“You will,” Orestilla said, tying her skirt at the knee and smiling up at Safinia. “It’s in your nature.”

Training went by quickly; Safinia had fifteen girls and two boys in her charge, plus Orestilla, and she thought she could work with most of them. A few had some fundamentals down; the rest were at least eager to learn. She could see in their eyes the excitement of this new task—raiding had become a memory to many of them, especially the girls who lived in huts shoved right up against the wall.

None of them would win single combat against a Roman. But Safinia wasn’t likely to, either. The point of the spear was to create distance enough to find an exit.

It was early enough that they had no audience in the circus. But in a few days, the grass would be trimmed, fences erected around the field, and canopies set into the slopes that surrounded it for wealthy families to picnic under while they watched the Games. The circus had been dug out and seeded years ago, since the city was too hilly for a natural arena. It wouldn’t pass muster for chariot races, but all of Cures could fit itself somewhere around this massive oval. Safinia’s family had always been relegated to the southern slope, which was rockier and pockmarked. Orestilla would join them for these Games, but had said that for a few summers in her childhood, Hersilia had invited her to the superior viewing tents.