Free Fighting Fit by Annie Dalton Page A

mistress, if that’s all he’d wanted. But he didn’t want to get to know Aurelia as a person, did he? He wanted to creep up on her in the dark like she was his helpless prey. He wanted power over her.
    Aurelia’s brother must have been in on it, I thought in horror. That’s how Titus got past the watchman. This era is SO sick!
    I rushed off to update Reuben.
    Dorcas was standing over the hearth, simmering what looked like little grey bird-tongues in some strangely coloured spicy sauce. The slave woman turned in surprise as I burst in, and saw my stricken expression. “You’ve seen The Knife then,” she said grimly.
    It turned out that Dorcas knew exactly what was going on, and it sickened her to the core.
    “Titus Lucretius is the head of Nero’s secret police,” she told us in a low voice. “We call him The Knife because he’s had so many people murdered.”
    “Aurelia mustn’t marry him,” I gasped. “Someone’s got to stop it.”
    Dorcas shook her head. “Everyone’s too scared of him. I just thank the gods her mother never saw this day. She loved that poor girl like her own.” She wiped her eyes on her apron. She looked faintly puzzled. “You two genuinely care about her, don’t you?”
    I nodded. “Yes, we do.”
    “You’d better get back to work before anyone gets suspicious. Here, take this to Titus Lucretius.” The slave woman ladled out more mulled wine. Then she pursed her lips and spat deliberately into the jug. “A little present from the people,” she whispered.
    Quintus and his guests were tucking into their peacocks’ eggs. The guests had brought their personal slaves to wait on them. If they didn’t like something they simply threw it on the floor and the slaves obediently swooped and picked it up.
    Once I looked up to see Aurelia’s father in the doorway in his freshly-ironed toga. But when he saw his adopted daughter reclining on a couch next to the chief of Rome’s secret police, he went away.
    I’d have been ashamed too, if I was him. Aurelia’s dad was the one person that could put a stop to this nightmare, but he’d given away his authority to his son, and everyone knew it.
    My mistress had left her huge egg untouched on her plate. She didn’t eat the next course either. She looked close to tears. This feast was meant to be an opportunity for her and Titus to get to know each other, but both he and Quintus were treating her as if she didn’t exist. They just giggled together at private jokes, like cruel little schoolboys, like they were deliberately trying to humiliate her.
    I went to take Aurelia’s plate, intending to whisper something comforting in her ear. Next minute Titus caught my wrist in his clammy grip.
    I noticed guests watching us with unpleasant expressions. Their faces seemed to distort in the lamplight, as if they might be going to morph into something totally evil.
    I felt my blood run cold. Brice was right. Some of these Romans weren’t actually human.
    “Your mistress doesn’t seem to be enjoying her flamingo tongues,” Titus was saying in his high voice. “Perhaps she’s too used to barbarian cuisine. Has your mistress turned into a barbarian, girl? What’s your opinion?”
    The PODS guests waited with interest to hear what I’d say. They knew who I was and I knew who they were. But they couldn’t exactly blow their cover, and I certainly couldn’t blow mine, so we all kept up the pretence that everyone here was human.
    “My mistress is simply not hungry,” I told him defiantly.
    Titus and Quintus looked at each other. “Then maybe your mistress is thirsty!” Giggling like a spiteful little kid, Titus lifted his goblet and threw its contents all over her, absolutely soaking her dress.
    For a moment Aurelia just stared blankly at the spreading crimson stain, and I knew she was remembering Star, bleeding from her wounds in the arena. With great dignity, she drew her silk shawl around her. “And you want me to marry this man?” she