Free Pompeii: City on Fire by T. L. Higley Page B

were not all Roman, the gladiators. In fact, most were not. But they reminded her of those that had sacked her beloved Jerusalem nine years earlier. A lust for entertainment that did not know boundaries and would not be denied. Ironic, since it was this city's same lust that might be the death of some of them.
    They lost interest in her for a moment, so slow was she in removing her sandals. She unbuckled the leather cuff at her waist, with its pocket for her pugio, the short sword, and was soon down to only her tunic. Their amusement must have run its course, for they turned back to her.
    "You take longer to undress than a maiden on her wedding night!" Floronius pushed his way through the others and shoved three sharp fingers into the flesh of her shoulder. She swatted at him, and he returned with a blow to the side of the head, knocking her to the ground.
    They circled her, and she lay there, a mortal at the foot of the gods, vulnerable and helpless in the face of their wrath.
    This was it, then. There was no more escape. She could rise and run, refuse to bathe. But she knew what would happen. One of them, probably Paris, would chase her down, haul her back, and force her to undress for the amusement of them all.
    Her stomach churned once again. She put a hand to her belly to quell the upheaval and stood on shaky legs. Her breath came short and shallow and a metallic taste filled her mouth. She cursed her weakness, felt her breathing become rapid and shallow, and then she was retching. On the floor, on her own feet. Over and over while the men roared with laughter.
    Another pair of feet appeared beside her own. A warm hand on the small of her back, a rag pushed into her hands. She wiped at her mouth and lifted her head.
    The old slave who had attended her a few nights earlier, her countryman, watched with compassionate eyes.
    "You should lie down." His voice rose to carry to the others. "Come."
    He led her from the fountain room until the laughter and horseplay of the men was only a distant rumble, and took her to one of the small cells that had become her home since arriving. A bare mat lay in the corner, and she lowered herself to it, grateful to have escaped for the moment.
    But there will be other moments.
    "Thank you," she whispered to the old man. "You are very kind."
    "Hmmm." He nodded, then retrieved a bucket of water from the corner and began, for the second time, to wash Ariella's legs.
    She reached for the rag. "You do not need—"
    "Hush, child." He pushed her hand away. "It has been many years since I took care of my own. And you remind me of her."
    Ariella leaned back on the mat, and only then was struck by the import of his words. She pushed up on her elbows. "Her?"
    He smiled at her whisper, but did not look up. "You are not such a good actor, my dear. It is only that your audience are fools."
    Ariella closed her eyes, willing her stomach to settle.
    "You have nothing to fear from me, Ari." His voice was warm, reassuring. "I will keep your secret."
    "What is your name?"
    "Jeremiah. Jeremiah ben Joseph."
    "Thank you, Jeremiah ben Joseph. You have my gratitude."
    He finished washing her and stood. "It will take more than my silence to keep you safe. This cannot go on."
    She nodded. "I know. I will find a way."
    He stared at her another moment. "I shall pray for your safety." He nodded and left the cell.
    She lay back on the mat and threw her arm over her face. Jeremiah was right. It could not go on.
    When she had run from Valerius and fallen in with this troupe it had seemed an answer to her prayers, if she had prayed any. Safe passage away from Rome through the fields of Italy, to a sunny, seaside vacation town. But now she had arrived, the troupe had served its purpose, and it was time to make a change.
    She could live here in Pompeii. Find work as a servant girl in some rich patrician's house. Like the man who had spoken to her in the training yard. The idea pleased her. If she could escape the barracks and