7 Chapter 7

The next day, she did a pretty good job of binding her leg, especially without medicine. It was tighter than her slave collar, and she could feel the veins in her leg pump with blood. Walking still proved to be a great exercise, but she made do.

"Do slave women usually go to the arena?" she asked Siri, deciding to work with the healer that day.

Siri shook her head. "Yesterday was a first."

Siri had her making deliveries, even though she pointed out that her leg was injured. But Siri refused to take pity, claiming she had seniority between them. She thought that was coldly cruel as she shuffled between Legion tents.

Most of the recipients of her deliveries regarded her with a strange eye, perhaps recognizing her from the previous day's arena battle. Perhaps they were afraid of her, and in the case of legionnaires, that suited her just fine.

Supper came, and she went to find Carla to give her half of her food as had become their routine. From what she could tell, it at least seemed to be helping Baby Craig. She was grateful her efforts were being rewarded somewhere.

"He's looking at you," Carla whispered under her breath.

"Who?" she asked, looking about the camp.

The answer was obvious as soon as she took her gaze off her meal. Vulpes was staring at her from a distance, but his eyes were clearly on her. He made no move to hide it when she returned his gaze. There was something about his penetrating eyes that made her feel as though she was guilty of something. She scratched her arm and looked away.

His warnings of getting noticed resounded through her head. Her fight with the other slave had probably not worked in her favor. Now the legionnaires knew. Here was a woman who had shown her superiority against a man in battle. It was almost a challenge. Who could dominate the woman that conquered death itself?

She rose to her feet, taking her and Carla's bowls to return to the food tent. She fled from the area as fast as her leg would allow her, keeping her head down. Once she was clear from Vulpes Inculta's line of sight, she stopped to regain her bearings. She ran a hand through her hair, wondering what had made her so eager to leave. There was an intensity to his gaze she had not seen from anyone else before, and it honestly frightened her. She couldn't imagine what she had done to pique his interest, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to.

But then someone caught her shoulder, spinning her around and making her think this path wasn't the best idea. The face of some braggart of a legionnaire appeared before her. She didn't remember his name, only that she had seen him earlier when she been making her deliveries

She realized the futility of having herself cornered in a deserted area of camp. She didn't miss how his eyes traveled down her frame. His face was eager, and her stomach gave a sickening flip. She clutched the metal bowls, deciding she could use them as a weapon if nothing else.

"Slaves shouldn't be wandering off," he said.

"I'm not wandering," she said quickly, showing him the bowls. "I was returning these."

He reached out to touch her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. His breath blew in her face. "Not many women have such long hair, profligate whore."

He pulled her closer, smearing his dirty hand across her cheek. "I bet I could have taken you in the arena."

She did not argue. She said nothing. Her face went white.

"But I'll settle for taking you now."

She tried twisting out of his grip but had little success. He squeezed her shoulder even harder.

Then she shoved against him, making him lose his balance, and she ran for it.

He easily caught up to her though, especially with her lame leg. He yanked her hair, pulling her to the ground. In one rough movement, he pushed up the hem of her slave rags and pinned her to the ground.

"Stop!" she yelled, as loud as she could.

He dropped to his knees, his hands already making their way up her legs. "Scream as loud as you want. No one is going to help you."

He squeezed the back of her injured calf, and painful bursts of white light erupted behind her eyelids. She could feel hot blood escaping the scabs and bandages. Her other leg jerked up to kick, but he easily restrained it with his heavy body. His hands fumbled with the clasps at his kilt.

"Stop it!" she screamed again, tears trailing down her face.

With every scream she made, he pulled her hair even harder. She didn't stop screaming and squeezed her eyes shut.

By some stroke of luck, the legionnaire was suddenly off of her, sprawling around in the nearby dirt and clutching at a bleeding wound on his head. He vocalized his confusion in a series of strangled mumbling. "What are you doing?" he finally managed.

In the waning dusk, she saw a figure towering above them. After a moment, she recognized her savior as Vulpes Inculta. She remained frozen where she was, a mixture of relief and shock staying her limbs.

He was calm, and his voice was clear. "You will not touch her. Never again."

"What does it matter?" her attacker sputtered. "She's just a slave."

Something about that seemed to anger Vulpes. "She is not just a slave. Go now, before I decide to kill you myself."

The man scrambled away without further encouragement. Vulpes then turned his gaze to her, and she had no words to offer him. A niggling thought persisted to her that he probably intended on taking her himself, but Vulpes made no move toward her. They stared at each other for a long while.

With the tears drying on her cheeks, she decided gratitude would not be misplaced. "Thank you," she said carefully.

With a deft movement, he pulled her back to her feet. "Do not thank me yet. Caesar will hear of this." He paused. "Did I not warn you about getting noticed?"

Her voice was thick and angry. "Do you think I asked for this?"

Vulpes chose not to reply to that, and she knew his silence was just as calculating as his words.

"Was this your first rapist?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Admittedly, I'm surprised. Perhaps your spirit also intimidates them."

"And you?" she returned accusingly.

He evened his gaze with her. "Very little intimidates me, Maria."

"Maria?" she repeated, confused.

He said nothing and turned to leave.

"Why?" she called out.

He paused and turned toward her. "That question can have several implications, so you will have to be more specific. What do you mean?"

There were several questions she would have liked to ask him, but she settled for the more pressing one on her mind. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because what I had said before remains true. You are more than a slave, more than a profligate whore. You are not like your friend with the baby. You are something bigger than any of them understand." He paused. "Even Caesar recognizes this. Not everyone is reborn in death."

She couldn't imagine why he thought that way, but with that, he turned around and continued on his path.