Alexandria could have laughed out loud at the little boy’s earnest expression. Such a threat would have been worthless for the first weeks of the apprenticeship. Octavian wouldn’t have minded being left alone. He had struggled mightily against the combined efforts of his mother, Tabbic, and Alexandria. Twice she’d had to search the local markets for him, and the second time she’d dragged him to the slave blocks to have him valued. He hadn’t run again after that, instead adopting a sullenness Alexandria thought might be permanent.

The change had come midway through the fourth week of work, when Tabbic showed him how to make a pattern on a sheet of silver with tiny droplets of the molten metal. Though the little boy had burned his thumb when he tried to touch it, the process had fascinated him and he’d missed his dinner that night, staying to watch the final piece being polished. His mother, Atia, had arrived at the shop with her tired face full of apology. Seeing the tiny figure still working with the graded polishing cloths had left her speechless, but Alexandria woke the next morning to find her clothes had been cleaned and mended neatly in the night. No other thanks were necessary between them. Though the two women saw each other only an hour or two each day before sleep, they had both found friendship of the kind that can surprise two reserved and private people, working so hard that they never realized they were lonely.

*                                                      *                                                      *

Octavian whistled as he trotted through the crowds at the cattle market. When the farmers brought their animals into the city for bidding and slaughter, it was a busy place, rich with the warm scents of manure and blood. Everyone seemed to be shouting to each other, making complicated gestures with their hands to bid when they couldn’t be heard.

Octavian looked for one of the sellers, to ask for Gethus. He wanted to pass over the mended ring and get back to Tabbic’s shop faster than the adults would believe.

As he wove around the shifting mass of people, he entertained himself by imagining Tabbic’s surprise at his speedy return.

A hand grabbed suddenly at his neck and the little boy was lifted off his feet with a lurch, his feet slipping. He let out a blast of shocked wind at the interruption to his thoughts, struggling wildly in instinct against his attacker.

“Trying to steal someone’s cow, are you?” a hard, nasal voice sounded by his ear.

He jerked his head around, groaning as he saw the heavy features of the butcher’s boy he’d crossed before. What had he been thinking? Like a fool, he’d dropped his usual guard for predators and they’d caught him without the slightest effort.

“Let me go! Help!” he yelled.

The older boy smacked him hard across the nose, making it bleed.