“And you?”

“I was thirteen. Stupid. Made a stand over my brothers’ bodies instead of running to warn my father. Thought I was Vercingetorix the Invincible. Romans captured me, of course. My father, killed. The village, burned. The rest of us . . . sold.”

The smoke, the blood, the screams of the women. A thirteen-year-old boy grabbing up a sword too heavy for him and running at his enemies.

Stupid boy. Arius turned his eyes away from the memory.

“And then?”

He had almost forgotten Thea. “The salt mines. I was big for my age; went to haul rocks in Trinovantia. Then in Gaul. Kept making trouble, kept getting sold. Rock-carrier. That’s the Barbarian’s glorious history.”

His head was full of mist. He wanted more wine. She said nothing, and he was grateful. Hearing the quiet whisper of her breath, he glanced over. The bowl in her lap tilted, a shining disc in the dark. “Why?” he asked simply.

For a long time he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then: “Have you ever heard of Masada?”

“No.”

“It’s a fortress carved out of a cliff top in Judaea. It’s hot, dry country, baking under the sun like an iron plate. I was born there. Fifteen years ago.”

Fifteen. She sounded older.

“Masada was full of Jewish rebels. The Romans decided to smoke us out, but they couldn’t. Not until they built a ramp up to the top of the cliff, and used Jewish slaves to build it so we couldn’t hurl down our rocks and pitch. Six months’ worth of Jews built that ramp, and then they brought up the battering ram to break down the gates.”

“You remember?”

“Not much. I was too young. I remember peering over dusty stone walls to watch the little armored men swarming around like ants . . . I remember being happy. I pieced out the facts later, from rumors.”

“What happened?”

“This part—this part I remember. I remember it perfectly. A hot night. Such a hot night. Like tonight. I’ve hated hot nights ever since. My father was talking with the other men in low voices. My mother looked grave. Even my sister Judith was worried—she was fourteen, old enough to worry. I was only six. I was still playing with dolls.”

Her profile was perfectly still. “It was night when Father came back. He talked to my mother for a long time, in the bedroom with the door shut. He came out alone, and drew Judith aside. I wandered into the bedroom. I saw my mother on the floor, with her throat cut. I ran out screaming. Just in time to see Judith stab herself while my father covered his eyes. Then he turned and looked at me, and told me to be a good girl and come give him a hug, and when I saw he had a knife in his hand I ran.

“I ran to the next house, where my friend Hadassah lived, and it was the same there. Everyone stabbed. The same everywhere, in every house in Masada. So when the Romans battered their way in the next day, they found a fortress full of dead Jews—and one six-year-old girl sitting in a room full of bodies, waiting for her family to wake up.”