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Rufus eased her back to a sitting position and braced her carefully against the wall, making certain she wouldn't topple to the floor the moment he let go. When he stood up and started to limp back toward the doorway, she lifted bound hands involuntarily and caught his arm.
"Wait—"
He didn't turn back, but he stopped. And waited while she marshaled her scattered thoughts.
"I... Rufus, I'm ... I'm very confused," she finally managed. "I can't remember anything at all. Everything about myself, about... the very world, is black. Empty. Almost... It's like I came from nowhere, to a place I've never been. When I hear you, or that man you called Xanthus— When you talk about things that should be familiar, I just feel lost. And when I try to remember, even little things..." She swallowed too quickly. "You've seen what happens. Please help me, Rufus."
She tightened her fingers on his arm, felt the unyielding muscles knotted like so many steel cables. "At least tell me where I am. What I am. Where I'm going. Who Publius Bericus is. I need to know something."
His sigh was more shudder than exhalation. She felt the muscles beneath her fingers relax again into flesh. "Publius Bericus," he answered gruffly without turning to face her, "is the man who plans to buy you. He will be here again today, to... examine you."
She swallowed a little too sharply and discovered a lump of pain in her lungs that made breathing all but impossible. Examine her? How were... slaves... examined?
"A trader named Antonius Caelerus brought you in, said you were from one of the colonies. Iberia. I think that's somewhere far to the west, but I—" His cheeks flushed, surprising her. "I don't really know where it is. Caelerus asked Xanthus to hold you for a special customer. The sale had already been arranged. Caelerus just needed someplace to keep you, to let you recover from the journey. You were... drugged."
He hesitated, then added woodenly, "And you were—are—beautiful. Yesterday, after Bericus and Caelerus left... Xanthus could not keep his hands off you. He wants to handle your training. Bericus may not permit that. I am sure whoever trains you will enjoy the work," he added bitterly.
She swallowed hard. "Training?" She had already guessed, didn't want it confirmed. But she had to know.
"Bericus owns quite a stable of beautiful women. And beautiful boys." A shudder contorted his shoulders; he visibly fought off some unfathomable memory.
He finally faced her. His jawline was set, his expression grim. "And if you are too ill to please him, Bericus will beat you. And Xanthus will probably kill me in a fit of anger. He has already threatened it. Xanthus can easily afford to replace me."
Her own predicament seemed curiously unreal. A side effect, perhaps, of whatever else was wrong with her mind. "What happened to you?"
His laugh was short and hard. "I'm told I killed a man. The close friend of someone important."
That struck her as an odd way of putting it.
Rufus glared at the wall, avoiding her eyes. "That was before Xanthus bought me, before the school bought me. Before many things..." She shivered, wondering what he was remembering. "Xanthus has uses for me, even though my leg does not work as it should. I can still fetch and carry and clean shit from his slop buckets." Abruptly he straightened and pulled his arm free. "And if I am caught alone in your room again, he will castrate me."
This time, she didn't try to detain him. He limped to the door, dragging his left leg awkwardly, then bent to retrieve his crutch. Rufus leaned against the door jamb, facing out into the corridor, and settled himself to wait for Sextus' return. After several blank moments trying to assimilate everything he'd just said, Aelia finally regained control of her chaotic thoughts.
"Rufus?"
He eyed her from across the room, his expression closed.
She sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do that."
One shaggy, red eyebrow rose.
"I just wanted to say thank you."
He blinked. Started to speak, thought better, then shut his mouth again. Finally Rufus said, more gently than she'd expected, "No one thanks slaves, Aelia."
She stared at the filthy, broken floor, trying to sort through that. At length, she lifted her gaze again and found him staring at whatever lay beyond her prison. His jaw muscles had bunched up under the scar. He reminded her of a feral dog that's been shot at once too often for trust.
Even more gently than his last comment, she said, "You've helped me, Rufus. I owe you thanks for that."
He shook his head without looking at her. "No. I have merely done my job."
"Just your job?" The sharpness in her voice brought a dull flush to his cheeks. "There was no need for tenderness, Rufus. A bucket of water across my face would have cleaned up the mess. And you didn't need to say a single word. But you did. At considerable risk to yourself," she added pointedly.
He didn't answer. She pressed on. "Whoever you were, whatever you have or have not done..." She shrugged. "You didn't need to show me kindness, but you did. You can't know how grateful I am for that. I'm lost in a strange place. I have no memory at all, no idea what to expect. Perhaps it isn't much, but if the friendship of a slave counts, you have mine."
His hands clenched almost as tightly as his eyelids. "May Bericus rot..." His breath came out as a harsh rasp. "You just don't know."
"Then tell me," she said quietly.
His head came up. His eyes had filled with angry denial. "No. It is too ugly—"
"Ugly or not, I'll be the one living in it!"
He blanched and turned away again.
She softened her tone. "If I am to be his... property"—the word was difficult to say, as though the concept itself were utterly alien—"then I have a right to know."
He actually flinched. Then said something in another language. The words seemed oddly familiar, yet brought no recognition. Worse, the warning lurch of pain started behind her eyes.
Rufus finally grated out, "You are right. I... I will tell you what I can." He still hadn't looked at her. "I am sorry, Aelia, but tell you is all I can do. I ca
A chill crept up her spine. He finally looked up. The memory burning behind his eyes was so terrible, she wanted to flinch away. Aelia forced herself to sit still. She held his gaze only through a supreme effort of will.
"I have heard, from slaves who should know," he began heavily, "that Publicus Bericus craved more luxuries than his elderly father would permit him. It is strange, but under Roman law, no grown man with a living father can marry or choose a career or spend money without his father's permission."
His lips twisted. "It is their only real taste of slavery and they hate it. Bericus wanted to make his own career decisions, wanted to buy luxuries he could not afford to buy on the peculum—the allowance—his father gave him. It is said Publius Catellus Bericus murdered the old man to inherit his fortune. What he has done since that day..."
Aelia listened in growing horror.
The longer Rufus talked, the colder her little cell grew.