My arms strained under the weight of the tray, carrying bowls and a large pot of steaming soup, which I’d made a little heavier than intended by dropping a few eggs into the mixture minutes before serving. The hot mist from the pot burned the underside of my chin.

“Someone take this!” I cried as I rushed into the barracks. Lucius was at my side just a moment before I expected to send the hot liquid splashing across the dirt floor. “Thank you, son.”

Lucius nodded, easily taking the tray with one hand and guiding me to the nearest stool. To my surprise, Ollia was smiling. I followed her gaze across the dim-lit room to Hurek, who stood over a strawman target, and held it firm as little Merula smacked it with her pestle-club. She grunted with effort as Hurek guided her to properly hold and swing the tool. It didn’t do much, but seeing the strain and bloodlust from the little devil, you’d think the straw was flesh itself being torn from the target—which was twice her size to begin with.

“Heart of a warrior,” Lucius remarked, and Ollia nodded in agreement. “Lionheart,” she added.

“She spends most of her time with Hurek here, so I’m not surprised,” I said. “He’s the only one who treats her like the child she is.”

“And you,” Ollia said.

Not as well as you think, I wanted to say but held my tongue. “I see you got the wine.” I pointed instead to the clay jug on the table; it had dark stains on the side, a reddish color, and I figured it was good wine. Not the posca drink that slaves were forced to have.

“Yes, Master,” Ollia said, but her smile seemed almost apologetic, “We used some on Hurek,” she made a dabbing motion, “for other cuts.”

“Sorry about that,” Lucius added, “we hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

I was thoroughly confused by the confession and their tone. What’s there to be sorry for?

“I can bring another jug, if you need,” Lucius said, no doubt mistaking my confused expression for frustration. I’d been made aware many times that I had a resting face of, as my son once called it, annoyed rumination.

“What are you on about, my good lad?” I asked, forcing a smile.

“Your wine—”

“That’s for you!” I cried, finally understanding their self-inflicted embarrassment. These poor slaves could not even imagine that a jug of wine could have been sent for them. Hadn’t the wine steward made them aware? Or had that brat not realized it himself? Oh, mitte.

“But—”

“Drink, please,” I said, and tried to snatch the jug but Lucius was quicker. Ollia brought over three cups—thankfully—but they poured into my cup first. It was filled completely to the brim and splashed a few sips as Ollia pushed it towards me. “I don’t think I’m going to drink that much. But it would be nice…”

At this point, my eyes drooped, my mind threatened to black out any moment, Merula's battle-cries lulling me to sleep. I accepted the bowl of vegetable stew from Ollia with a mumbled thanks and took a sip--I fully expected it to taste awful. But the mint, mixed with thyme, gave it a wonderful scent that woke me up for a minute. The warm, savory flavor was acceptable, almost as good as the ones the maids would make. The heat spread from my stomach and into my aching bones, and I shivered.

"It's done... very well," Ollia said. Lucius nodded along and reached for his cup of wine. His fingers were gentle, a contrast with the way they looked, bony and calloused, with strong wrists and tattoos mimicking a slave bracer etched into his leathery skin. At first, I thought it was calligraphy in another language, but given their illiteracy, I doubted the palace slaves would be adorning themselves in rebellious verses. No, it just seemed to be a swirling pattern of ink and scars from the process. They couldn't possibly have access to proper tattoo utensils.

Lucius sipped at the wine gingerly, then set it down in front of him and stared into the dark liquid. He sniffed, and I wondered what the man was thinking. He had Hurek's quiet demeanor. Were they brothers? I'd forgotten several times the Nokchi relationships, and had to start from the beginning. Hurek was Nokchi but was only a cousin to the family that was Ollia, Septimus, Lucius, and Gaius. I supposed Jirikoy had been a cousin as well who'd eventually married Ollia. There were other Nokchi clansmen in the slave retinue as well, from what I'd heard, and I made a mental note to ask Hurek if he had any immediate family working the kiln as well.

"Septimus would have loved this," Lucius finally spoke, and woke Ollia from her own reverie. She blinked, watching Lucius take another sip from the cup and lick his lips. "There wasn't a single day where he didn't complain about posca. We'd make plans to steal some Greek wine from Matanai cellars. We never went through, no... but plan we did."

Stolen story; please report.

The Nokchi man gripped the cup tight, threatening to crumble the hard clay in his fist, and chugged the rest of the wine in one powerful gulp. When he looked back at me, his eyes were bloodshot, “Give me a chance, Master Cicero,” he said, and I spared a quick a glance at Ollia, who seemed a little worried.

“Give me a chance at Brutus, and I won’t let you down,” he finished.

“I think it’s time we think of ourselves,” Ollia said quickly before I could reply. She placed a gentle hand on her brother’s shoulder, which seemed to hold his tongue, and prevented me from hearing what else he might have had in mind. But it was a simple request, in essence, the man was grieving and wanted revenge, as one would naturally want given the ordeal the family had gone through. The tournament offered that chance at justice, especially for a man of no value in society.

But even if I could squeeze Lucius into a ranked match with the slave-hunter, it would open the door to making the arena an avenue for criminal trial and due justice for commoners. The collegiate would mark this as retaliation, the Senate would call this an upending of their right and jurisdiction. What would Atia’s Temple call it? Maybe with religious backing, however, I could—

No, it would be a political mess for sure.

Suetonius’ death was bound to be revealed sooner or later. My plan wasn’t much of a plan to begin with. Everyday had been a struggle with only one purpose; the faint possibility of seeing Emperor Nero humiliated at my hands. Who was I to begin playing politics and tip the status quo of this gods-forsaken edge of civilization?

I sipped my stew quietly, hoping my tiredness would absolve me of providing a proper response. Thankfully, Hurek had returned with a sweaty Merula, and Lucius returned to his quiet brooding.

Ollia tended to Hurek’s bandages immediately. I poured a bowl for Merula. She shook her head but I shoved the stew in front of her either way, “eat, girl, that’s an order.”

I watched the servant-girl prod the floating vegetables hesitantly. She stirred the stew, took a spoonful of it with a couple mushrooms and blew on it several times until the steam disappeared. For the next few seconds, her horrid slurping filled the barracks.

It didn’t bother me. For the first time since I’d met her, there was no anxiety in the back of my mind for her sake. I didn’t mull over a barrage of questions in my mind about her origin, her state of mind, and her possible future; questions that I feared would have no answers revealed.

For the first time, I felt that she was safe and well-fed. Here, with Hurek and his family, and with something of sustenance for her that I could provide.

A slow thought bloomed. It began as a vision, with Merula playing happily with Paco, surrounded by a family that would care for her and give her something she could never have here. A future.

“Ollia,” I said suddenly, “May I ask you a favor?”

“Of course, Master, anything,” she replied without hesitating. Both Hurek and Lucius glanced at me curiously. I was a little taken aback by the sudden answer. There was no pause, no moment of cynicism or ‘aha! Here comes his catch!’.

Such simple folk, I thought and felt all the more comfortable in my request. “Would you be able to take Merula with you?”

“Home?”

“Yes, and… well, permanently,” I said.

This certainly made the family pause. Lucius’ brow furrowed, as if still not understanding what I was asking. Ollia nodded slowly, perhaps already planning what that would look like. Hurek smiled from ear to ear, his tiredness gone in an instant.

“She will be away from here,” Hurek said, getting to the crux of the matter.

“Precisely,” I replied, and offered a gentle smile of my own—hoping it didn’t come off as a grimace. I couldn’t really feel my face anymore.

“And before you worry,” I said to Ollia, “please take this as her support.” My coin pouch, with a dozen or so denarii, rustled as I slid it across the table towards her.

Lucius was the first to react, placing a rough hand that blocked the pouch. “No, we cannot take this,” he said sternly.

I understood his sentiment. While the amount was meager—barely a few months wage of a working freeman—any amount of Roman coin must be staggering to a slave. And every man had his pride.

If I were in Lucius’ position, I would not accept such a charity so easily. I had to be delicate with this offer, and perhaps frame it in a certain way. “It’s for her,” I emphasized, and nodded to Merula, who finally realized we were talking about her. She stared between us and blinked at the pouch I was trying to push towards Ollia.

Suddenly, she screamed. The servant-girl threw her spoon away and reached for the pestle-club. When Hurek tried to calm her, she screeched even louder. “No sell! No sell!”

She thinks I’m buying her! “No, Merula dear, please, this is not... I am not—

Ollia was with her in an instant, pulling her close and shushing her until her wailing subsided. “You’re safe, vovochka, you’re safe. Come with me.” She held her tight and away from my sight.

For the next few moments, the barracks was filled with Merula’s quiet sobbing as Ollia hummed a lullaby I didn’t recognize. The Nokchi woman looked over her shoulder at Lucius and nodded.

She must have given him permission as Lucius sighed and took the pouch in his calloused hands. “For her,” he repeated.

“Yes,” I said. “To clothe and feed her as you would your own.” Lucius probably figured that was all the coin would be used for. But I hoped Ollia would be wise enough to save some for the tough year ahead and her own expenses now that her husband was gone.

I wished I could give them more, every single stipend I received from Atia. All my needs were met here at the palace, after all. But my stipend was tied heavily with the winnings from each bracket, and went directly to Atia’s clerks before I could itemize it for myself. If I was to help anyone, by Jupiter, had to help myself first. Power is the only currency that would give me the freedom I needed. Hurek’s latest win was in my favor, no doubt, but the day’s events also had to certainly offer some opportunities. I just had look carefully.