As Sure as the Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page B

the insula. Atretes sank back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to regain his breath.
    How was he going to cross the city, find a widow with his son, and get the child and himself out of the city without losing both their lives in the process?
    Cursing the idolmakers for making him a graven image to these idol-hungry people, he closed down his mind to anything else but getting out of the city in one piece. That accomplished, he would find another way to get his son.
    He waited for an hour before venturing down the stairs and hallways into the insula. Every sound made him flinch. When he reached the street, he kept close to the walls, using the veil of dark shadows for protection. He got lost. Using up precious hours of darkness, he found his way like a rat in the maze of alleys and narrow streets.
    He reached the city gates just as the sun was coming up.

2
    Lagos heard the door slam and knew his master had returned. He’d only just returned a few hours ago himself, having spent the afternoon, evening, and better part of the night searching slave markets for a German wet nurse. He’d finally found one and was certain Atretes would be pleased with her. She was robust and ruddy and had hair the same color as his.
    He came into the entry hall feeling somewhat confident and saw Atretes’ blackened eye and even blacker temper. Deep, bloody scratches still oozed on his neck, staining his ripped tunic with blood. The German looked ready to kill someone. Anyone.
    “Did you find a wet nurse?”
    Heart thundering, Lagos thanked the gods he had. “Yes, my lord,” he said quickly, perspiration beading on his forehead. “She’s in residence.” He was certain if he had failed, his life would have been forfeit. “Would you like to see her, my lord?”
    “No!” Atretes strode into the inner courtyard. Bending, he put his whole head under the water in the fountain. Lagos wondered if the man meant to drown himself. After a long moment, Atretes straightened and shook his head, flinging water in all directions like a dog. Lagos had never before witnessed such uncivilized behavior from a master.
    “Can you write?” Atretes demanded coldly, his expression no less fierce.
    “Only in Greek, my lord.”
    Atretes ran a hand down his face and shook the water off his hand. “Then write this,” he commanded bitterly. “‘I accede to your suggestion. Bring my son to me as soon as possible.’ Sign my name and take the message to the apostle John. Tell him how to get here!” He gave him directions to the small house near a stream on the outer fringe of the city. “If he’s not there, look for him by the river.” He strode out of the courtyard.
    Lagos let out his breath and thanked the gods he was still alive.

    The heavy stick in Silus’ hands splintered as Atretes brought his own down. The servant fell back sharply to avoid the blow and staggered, barely managing to keep his feet. Swearing, Atretes stepped back. Mouth grim, Silus regained his balance and tossed the useless weapon aside.
    Atretes made an impatient gesture. “Again!”
    Gallus took another pugil stick from a barrel against the wall and tossed it. Silus caught it and took a fighting stance once more. The man would not let up!
    Standing near the archway to the baths, Gallus watched with hidden empathy. Silus was sweating profusely, his face red from exertion. Their master, on the other hand, was breathing as easily as when the sparring match had begun.
    Crack!
    “Take the offensive!” Atretes shouted.
    Crack!
    Silus managed to block again, but seemed to be losing his strength.
    Crack! “I would . . .” Crack! “. . . if I could,” Silus gasped. He swung his stick wide, but missed entirely. He felt an explosion of pain behind his knees. For an instant, nothing but air was beneath him, and then his back hit the marble floor. He grunted and lay helpless, trying to get his breath back as Atretes stood over him. He saw the pugil stick coming down at his