Amara has no idea where they are. The tombs are getting closer together, harder to run between. She looks back and screams. The man is on her, catching her round the waist, dragging her over. She hits the ground hard. He straddles her body, a knife in his hand. Victoria grabs his arm, shouting, but he throws her wide. Amara sees her strike her head on the side of the tomb and fall, dazed, on the ground.

“Your master thinks he can do anything.” The man has her by the throat, his ragged breathing hot in her face. She is so terrified she cannot move. “Covering his fucking tracks. As if Simo wouldn’t find out in the end.” He brings the knife closer, pointing it toward her eye. “This is for Drauca.”

The sound of smashing pottery startles them both. Her attacker turns, just as Victoria plunges a shard deep into his neck. He claws at it, his hands drenched in blood, but Amara knows whatever he does, he is already dead. She stares at the clay buried in his throat then scrambles out from underneath, not wanting to be stained in the spatter. She stands back, watching, Victoria beside her, the remnants of Cressa’s clay pot on the ground at their feet.

The man is shuddering where he lies. Death only takes a moment. Amara grabs Victoria’s hand and they run.

39

“He who does not know how to protect himself does not know how to live”

—Herculaneum graffiti

They cower together behind a tomb, trying to get their breath back, to collect their thoughts, to make sense of what has happened. Victoria is in shock, shaking so badly Amara is afraid her friend’s teeth will break from chattering. She holds her close to keep her warm.

“He was going to kill me,” she whispers, rubbing Victoria’s shoulders. “You saved my life. You saved me.”

“I killed a man,” Victoria whispers, the horror of it slowly sinking in. “I killed him! I’m a murderer!”

“Nobody is ever going to know,” Amara replies. “Nobody will find out. You’re safe. We’re both safe.” She thinks of the man’s body lying on the ground and feels a sense of calm. He is dead. All that matters now is avoiding suspicion. She inspects their clothes, peers at Victoria’s face, wipes a hand on her own cheeks, then checks her fingers. They are both lucky not to have more blood on them. She gathers mud in her hands, rubbing it over any red spots she can see on their cloaks. “Is there anything on me?” She turns her face, as if asking her friend to check her make-up. Victoria shakes her head. “Good. Then we should head back.”

“We have to tell Felix.” Victoria is still trembling. “Did you hear what he said?”

“That Felix killed Drauca.”