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“Attice?” Safinia whispered. There was another hand on the back of her head—gentle, stroking her blood-matted hair. Somehow she was on her knees.

“Yes. Stay here. Look here, look at my eyes.” Safinia did. She watched the almost imperceptible way they flicked between Safinia’s pupils, left and right. Attice released her shoulders and held Safinia’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should—I should have tried harder.”

“Never,” Safinia said automatically. But hadn’t she cried by herself, in the woods, remembering the moment she’d found Attice and thought, Now everything will be okay? “You couldn’t help it.”

Attice pulled her to her feet. The hand in Safinia’s hair slid to her shoulder—Orestilla, a quiet and steady bulwark to lean on.

“Focus just on me.” Orestilla’s face crystallized before her. “What are three things that must happen?”

“Anesia,” Safinia answered. “Mettius. Escape.”

“Good. Where do we find them?”

“Climb something.”

They were treating her like she had battle shock, Safinia realized. Her mother had told them about this before. A slap can help jostle a man’s instinct, she’d said. That’s fine if you just need him fighting. But if you need him thinking, you need to get him calm.

“That’s right,” Orestilla said, her voice low, as if Safinia were an animal. “We find something to climb. Then, even if we can’t see either of them, we can guess where they might go to hide or escape.”

Safinia nodded. The blood that had rushed to her head was returning to the rest of her body; she no longer felt so tipped sideways. She shook off Orestilla’s and Attice’s hands, squeezed both their shoulders. All was not yet lost. “We could try and climb Palatine Hill?” If they stayed on one side of the Regia, they might go unseen by the Romans congregating at the front.

“Maybe,” Attice began, but they were both cut off. “Mettius!” Orestilla screamed.

Safinia and Attice turned, following her pointed finger.

He grappled with two Romans, one in a headlock, the other underfoot and trying to get to his feet while a small figure stamped on his fingers. It had to be one of the twins. Their feet threatened to tangle in the stampeded remains of a tent. Safinia and the others took off at a run.

Mettius and Rania—it was Rania, though in the chaos it took a moment for Safinia to tell—had the situation in hand by the time the women arrived. One man ran; the other was slumped on the ground, his neck broken, while Mettius panted for breath. His eyes were wild.

“Metty!” Safinia had to yell several times before she had his attention.

“These fucking filth tried to snatch Rania,” he said, his voice broken with fury. “And I can’t find Flavia anywhere. I think—I think—”

Attice scooped up Rania. The girl was too shocked to do anything else but cling to Attice’s neck. Safinia put a hand on Mettius’s chest in hopes she could impart some calm, if she had any to give.

The fighting in the market was changing shape. Some Sabine families were organized enough to find each other and form defensive circles around their women. The clusters gave a place for strays to run to. Hopefully Anesia and Flavia were inside one of them. The Romans, though, were peeling off, in twos or threes, to take whichever woman was closest. Safinia’s heart sank when she saw a flash of blue silk over a man’s shoulder. At a distance, Tarpeia was recognizable. But she was too far to do anything about it.

A Roman rode at them, taking their small, mostly female group as a target. Attice screamed, but Mettius yanked the man from his saddle and beheaded him with a stolen gladius in one swift motion.

He shared a grim look with Safinia. It was hard to forget the crunch of bone under blade.

“We have to get to the palisade,” Safinia said. Groups of Sabine were fighting their way to the edge of the marketplace and circus, where Rome’s defenses were little more than a fence. “Have you seen Anesia?”

Mettius shook his head. “Aulus is with her.”

Aulus had stood aside while Numa had her choked. But Safinia prayed he would do better by Anesia. “Mettius,” Safinia said. He was close enough for her to smell the drink on his breath. “Can you get the girls to the palisade and help them take it down? I can look for the others and follow as soon as I have them safely with me.”

Mettius nodded. For a moment, it looked like Orestilla and Attice would protest—but Rania had to be heavy in Attice’s arms. Safinia put her hand on the small girl’s back—her fingers could spread and hold the entirety of her rib cage. “Be careful,” she told them. “Ores, pick your targets. Don’t bother throwing if you don’t know whether you can hit.”

They only had to cross a little bit of field. Not even a mile. They would be fine.

She leaned forward and kissed each one—Attice’s forehead, Orestilla’s and Mettius’s cheeks. Rania got a pat. There was no time for more. “Go fast,” she said, and turned.

As small as Safinia was, it was impossible to get an accurate view of things. There was a cluster of huts nestled up to the marketplace and forum that were not yet burning; Safinia scrambled up one of them, putting her foot through a thatched roof before she found the beams that would support her.

She risked standing. No one was bothering with arrows yet, though they surely would soon, when the Romans figured they had enough captive women and could turn to outright battle. They had to know that any Sabine man killed tonight was one less arriving at their door for war.

Sabine still outnumbered Roman. But Safinia saw no more of Tarpeia’s class—the action had turned to every man for his own abduction. They focused on seizing women, putting a blade to their necks instead of fighting their husbands, lovers, fathers. Many of these men had to be thinking ahead to the inevitable war and negotiations that would take place. The richer the man, the more likely he was to let his woman go. It was revolting.