She couldn’t see his face in the dream.
The bells continued, summoning Sarantium to prayer. Jad of the Sun was riding up in his chariot. All who sought the god’s protection in life and his intercession after death should be rising with him, making their way, even now, to the chapels and sanctuaries.
Kasia lay very still, thinking about her dream. She felt strange, unsettled; something nagged at her awareness. Then she remembered: the men had not come home last night, or not before she’d fallen asleep. And there had been that disquieting visit from the court mosaicist. An edgy man, afraid. She’d not been able to warn Crispin about him before he was taken off to the court. Carullus had assured her it didn’t matter, that the Rhodian could handle himself in the Imperial Precinct, that he’d have protectors there.
Kasia knew that the very idea of a protector meant that there might be someone you needed to be protected from, but she hadn’t said that. She and Carullus and Vargos had had their dinner together and then come back here through the very wild streets for a quiet glass of wine. Kasia knew the tribune would have greatly enjoyed strolling through the last night of the Dykania with a flask of ale in his hand, that he was staying inside for her. She was grateful for his kindness, his easy way with a story. Several stories. He made her smile and grinned when he did. He had knocked Crispin unconscious with an iron helmet the first moment they met. Vargos had been beaten very badly by his men. Much had changed in a short time.
Later, from the festive chaos outside, a brisk messenger had entered looking for the soldiers: they were to go to the Imperial Precinct, wait by the Bronze Gates-or wherever they were ordered when they got there-and escort the Rhodian mosaicist, Caius Crispus of Varena, home when he was dismissed. It was a command, from the Chancellor.
Carullus had smiled at Kasia across the table. ‘Told you,’ he’d said. ‘Protectors. And he got away with using his own name, too. This is good news, girl.’ He and five of his men had armed themselves and gone.
Vargos, used to early nights and early mornings, had already gone to bed. Kasia had been alone again. She didn’t really have any fears for herself. Or, that wasn’t quite true. She had no idea what was to become of her life. That would turn into a fear if she stopped to dwell upon it.
She had left the last of the wine on the table and had gone up to her room, locked the door, undressed, eventually fallen asleep. Had had dreams on and off through the night, awakening at random noises from the streets below, listening for returning footsteps down the hall.
She hadn’t heard them.
She rose now, washed her face and upper body at the basin in the room, dressed herself in what she’d worn on the road and since arriving. Crispin had spoken of buying her clothing. The comment had raised in her mind again the uneasy question of her future.
The bells seemed to have stopped. She tugged fingers through her tangled hair and went out into the hall. She hesitated there, then decided it was permissible to look in on him, tell of the other mosaicist who had come, find out what had happened in the night. If it was not permitted, best she learn that now, Kasia thought. She was free. A citizen of the Sarantine Empire. Had been a slave less than a year. It did not define your life, she told herself.
His door was closed, of course. She lifted a hand to knock and heard voices inside.
Her heart lurched, surprising her greatly, though afterwards she would find it less surprising. The words she heard spoken were a shock, however, and so was what Crispin said in reply. Kasia felt herself flush, listening; her lifted hand trembled in the air.
She didn’t knock. Turned, in great confusion, to go down.
On the stairs she met two of Carullus’s men coming up. They told her about the attack in the night.