If I could have, I would’ve stayed forever in that strawberry patch without a worry in the world. I stretched out on the ground to soak in the sun and to rest from the ordeal in the cave. I tried to feel for Caela’s scratch again, but couldn’t quite reach it. Finally, I gave up trying.

As my eyes grew heavier, I realized there might be another option than giving Radulf the bulla. I had fought the griffin, not him, and nearly died in the cave because of it. The bulla was literally the only thing in the world that was mine. Maybe I could claim that I’d never found the bulla, that if it ever was in the cave, it was lost to the ages now. With that thought, I tucked the bulla beneath my tunic and twisted it around so it hung under one arm and fell to my side, where it was less noticeable. The bulla lay against my skin with a comfort and familiarity as if it had always been with me. And if I was successful in keeping it hidden, it always would be.

The foolishness of attempting to hide the bulla was only outmatched by the likelihood of failure. So in the end, if I had to give it back, then I hoped it was cursed, just as Caesar’s whisper had suggested inside the cave. Only then could I tolerate losing it.

Caela eventually returned to my side, and nestled in the brush beside me where she immediately fell asleep. I curled into her soft feathers, surprised by how calm I felt when she was nearby. Miners are never allowed enough of anything, especially sleep, and with the fragrance of ripe berries, warm sun, and my full stomach, my eyes were quickly lulled closed.

That was where they found me.

There were a few moments of disorientation while the guards from the mines yanked me back to reality. I immediately yelled for Caela, but other guards already had her in ropes and were trying to control her thrashing about.

Privately, I was angry with myself for falling asleep. Hadn’t I learned by now that sleep was dangerous? Those who let down their watch for an instant were the ones we never heard from again. And yet, I had done exactly that.

I should’ve noticed the creak of the wagon as it approached the berry patch. I should’ve heard voices, or footsteps jumping to the ground. Had I really been that deeply asleep? Or was this group of guards so cunning that I could never have hoped to escape?

They weren’t all that smart, I decided, as the first guard swatted me back to the ground with the side of his arm. I recognized him from the mines. His brutality made Sal look like a nursemaid. These men were rats. Getting caught was my fault, which probably meant I was a rat too. But they were ugly rats, and that was worse.

“Trying to escape?” one guard asked. “You must think you’re pretty clever.”

If I had been trying to escape, I wouldn’t have lain out in the middle of a strawberry patch. And no, at the moment, clever was the last word I’d have used to describe myself.

“I was helping General Radulf.” I rubbed the back of my hand against my mouth where he had hit me, but when I pulled it away, I couldn’t tell if it was strawberry juice or blood. My mouth stung, though, so I didn’t get up. I didn’t want to risk him hitting me again.

“The griffin is getting away,” one of the men shouted just as Caela angled her body sideways, slapping the man to the ground with her long tail.

“Then kill it,” the guard standing over me ordered.

“No!” I cried, earning a kick to my side.

But the man who had been hit was preparing to obey the order. He reached into the nearby wagon for a bow and a handful of arrows.

I stood and yelled at Caela, who was squawking with fury. “Stop fighting them! Caela, stop this or they’ll kill you!”

Either she couldn’t hear me or she didn’t care. The man nocked his arrow.

Ignoring the threats of the guards, I ran between the man’s bow and Caela, and put a hand on her side.

“You have to stop fighting,” I told her. “Caela, please, you won’t win here.”

She came down to all fours and was staring at me again. I was sure she could understand me, which was no surprise since she had once belonged to the gods. But understanding my words wasn’t the same as obeying them. She cast an angry glance toward the guards, then screeched so loud it made my ears ring. But she stopped fighting. The bow was lowered and the other men surrounded her with more ropes. I could only hope she would allow them to safely take her. They grabbed me next, rougher than was necessary considering I wasn’t fighting either.

“Be careful, you brutes!” a voice said from behind me. “Don’t hurt him!”

At first I had to twist to see who was speaking, but it was a boy not much older than me. He marched to my side, forcing the guards’ hands off me. He was tall, with curly golden-blond hair trimmed neatly around his face. I had no sandals at all to compare with his fine leather pair, and my tunic was plain, oversized until I grew a little more, and torn in the back where the griffin had scratched me. The boy’s fine clothing was perfectly white with purple trim, and for good luck, around his neck he wore a golden bulla. It wasn’t too different from the one hidden beneath my tunic, though I doubted his bulla glowed.

“Crispus, you shouldn’t have run up here! Stay back from that animal!” Another man came forward in a similar white-and-purple toga. Only senators, or their sons, were allowed to wear those robes, but what was a senator doing out this far from Rome? I noticed his shoes next: high buckskin boots colored black, rather than the red ones or sandals other, lower-ranking citizens wore. He had kind eyes, and thinning blond hair that seemed to be graying sooner than it should. His face was a series of worry lines, though he also seemed to have an easy smile.

But Crispus nudged his head toward me. “I told you I saw a griffin, and this boy controlled her. You should’ve seen it, Father!”

The guard next to me stepped forward and bowed. “This boy is an escaped slave, and must be punished, Senator … er …”

“Valerius.” He walked closer to me. “Did you run from your master, boy?”

“No.” Not this time.

A guard grabbed my arm again, but Valerius brushed it off and ordered the guards to stand back. “Why are you here, then?” My eyes darted away and he asked, “Did they hurt you?”

I glanced at Crispus, who looked genuinely concerned, and I wondered about his life, so different from my reality. I’d never met someone of his status who cared about anyone of mine. Maybe all patricians weren’t the same.

I wasn’t injured, but Valerius lifted my head with both hands anyway, which I hated. When he turned me for further inspection, he noticed the tear in my tunic. “What happened there?” he asked.

“It’s only a scratch,” I mumbled. Why couldn’t they go away already?

He pushed a finger through the rip to examine the scratch, and then drew in a breath. Once he did, he whispered, “Crispus, come see this.”

His son obeyed, gasped, and then asked, “What is that?”

A scratch, I wanted to say. The senator and his son were thin-skinned people who probably considered dressing themselves as a form of physical labor. I’d received plenty of scratches before, and this wouldn’t be my last. Perhaps such strange concepts as bruises, cuts, and scratches were entirely unknown to soft patricians like them.

Valerius started to question me, but I cast my eyes away, instinctively not wanting to talk about it. It wouldn’t take much to guess that Caela had given me the scratch, and then they might start asking why. The bulla against my hip felt warmer than it had before, almost like a warning against me letting those secrets be discovered.