DAY ONE – THE PROPOSITION

Part One – Greif

Kind, gentle caresses are so dangerous. Even as a young girl first thrust into slavery, Mira knew this. Yet it was so easy to succumb to the warm touch of another. Every night since that fateful night, Mira lay still among the other slaves, each muscle tensing and constricting, her cold skin crawling with goose bumps. Her body knew no peace absent her friend's reassuring hands.

Her mind fared no better, as she drove herself mad pondering Naevia's fate. Domina gave no indication of her whereabouts, no whispers of gossip on the wind to rest Mira's heart. Domina never spoke of the girl again, as if she never existed. Naevia lives, Mira thought, as she struggled to find sleep. She must live.

Mira's eyes flashed open just as the sun's first rays rose over the hills. She turned to see Aurelia pull on her dress with a subservient sense of purpose. Thin pink lines, like fine silk threads, showed faintly on the skin over her belly and betrayed the existence of a child never brought into the world. She meant to approach Aurelia, to comfort her in new and unfamiliar surroundings. But in her own pain, she lost the ability to conduct friendly discourse. She rose in silence, watching Aurelia walk out of the quarters, oblivious to her sympathy.

With the entire villa in upheaval, Mira did not have opportunity to lay eyes on Aurelia until well after midday meal. With Naevia removed, Mira tended to Domina personally and her mind was overwhelmed with the thought of strangling her mistress. How closely bound is hate to violence, she thought as she accompanied her Domina to the balcony, that I am capable to plot such vengeance. Is this but a sliver of what Spartacus lives with every day in Batiatus' ludus?

"How do you divine a boy?"

Aurelia could not resist watching Batiatus tenderly run his hand over his wife's yet un-swollen belly. She tried to block memories of Varro from her mind – one thought would spill into a hundred lost moments and drive her mad. But Varro was everywhere. He similarly caressed her belly in their last moments together in a room somewhere under her feet, private embraces made possible by coin lent by Capua's Champion. He asked her if she thought it was another boy, he said he wanted a girl named Cornelia, for his mother.

"Varro was not match for the Champion of Capua! We must give them what was denied that night."

Her blood boiled – as if her husband, the flawed man she loved with such abandon, was unworthy of life before the great fucking Champion. Spartacus. The name seemed vulgar to her; even thinking of it brought her close to retching. She prayed her face did not reveal the tumult of her mind, madly dashing between sorrow and rage. Lucretia's abrupt tone interrupted her seething.

"Out."

Seeing Lucretia squirm with such anxiety brought some gladness to Mira's heart. Nearly every other word to his wife was sour, paired with sweet musings about his child. Domina had become increasingly distrusting of her slaves, sending them out of the room when important matters were discussed. The practice was unnerving – with a woman as villainous as Lucretia, a slave's fate is always uncertain. Festia, the portly overseer of the house, approached the pair as quickly has her frame allowed. Mira's heart sank with disappointment; she had hoped to speak with Aurelia in private.

"One of you is needed to fetch fruit from the market. The other should remain to tend to Domina."

Mira gently placed her hand on Aurelia's shoulder and the girl flinched as if slapped. "I will go." She leaned in carefully. "Lean on this pillar and keep your back straight. You will feel some ease and not appear negligent in your duties." Compassion conveyed, Mira nodded at Festia and left the villa escorted by one of Glaber's soldiers.

Aurelia appreciated the gesture – since the departure of Naevia, the head slave's treatment of her was kinder than when she first arrived. And the thought of the market churned her stomach. Titus' wife would not approach a Roman soldier, of course, in her feverish search for her husband's murderer. The widow's behavior confused Aurelia – she was, after all, a woman, was she not? Every Capuan in the inner city knew Titus' habit of taking advantage of those in weaker position; the favors he bestowed on Aurelia before the attack surprised on-lookers in the marketplace. All this evidenced the cruelty of the man and the widow still pursued, desperate to inflict pain.

Dominus emerged from the balcony, "Give word to Ashur. I require his presence in my office."

Aurelia hesitated for a moment. Who? She suddenly remembered the Syrian, attendant to the Dominus, stalking about the villa giving orders. He was also the man who always sent her word of her husband, laden with a few coin and a lecherous grin. The way the man looked at her… and looks at her still. Gaze now bolder than when he first arrived at her door, a ruthless cockiness in his well-cut garb.

"Ashur! Dominus awaits you in his office."

He smiled at her with abandon, his eyebrows drooped to express superficial regret. "Aurelia. I am blessed to receive you; I meant to seek you out to express my deepest condolences for your loss. Varro… was a fine gladiator. And he was fortunate to have such a wife."

"One who loved him alive and loves him still in his grave." She snapped, momentarily loosing control over her rage. She turned on her heel quickly, embarrassed by her display. How much longer? She wondered in a panic. How many more days could she contain the anger surging in her chest, threatening disclosure?