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F elix collapsed to the deck, choking and gasping for air.

The sailor who had punched him hauled him to his feet, then began to drag him toward the stairs that led below deck.

“Wait,” Felix gasped. He forced air to enter his lungs and spoke Greek, as it was more common in this part of the world. “I am a Roman citizen.” His voice was weak and breathless. “A wealthy Roman citizen.”

The pirate paused. “How wealthy?” His Greek had the lilt of an unfamiliar accent.

Calculations ran through Felix’s mind at lightning speed.

Of course everyone knew the story of the young Gaius Julius Caesar having been kidnapped by pirates fifty years ago.

The pirates had demanded a ransom of twenty talents of silver, and Caesar had insisted on it being increased to fifty, to reflect his position in one of the best families of Rome.

Felix didn’t have fifty talents, so he’d use the pirates’ original ransom demand of twenty as a starting point.

Felix estimated that he was worth about half of a Julius Caesar, as his own lineage was not quite as vaunted, so that would come out to about ten talents.

But that was fifty years ago, and he would need to account for inflation, so perhaps twelve talents was an appropriate offer.

“I will pay twelve talents of silver for my safe release,” he finally said.

He knew he’d offered the right number when the pirate’s eyes lit with greed. “Where is your money?”

“Ostia,” Felix answered.

The pirate glowered. “Too far. We are bound for Crete.”

“Fifteen talents, then,” Felix said desperately.

He could go no higher; fifteen talents would empty his accounts.

But if he ended up in Crete, a notorious haven for pirates, he’d be sold into slavery and might never make it back to Italy.

More calculations rushed through his brain.

“You just captured, what, two dozen people? They’ll sell for five hundred denarii each, on average.

So that’s about twelve thousand denarii for selling all these people. ”

He paused a moment, as the pirate’s eyes were glazing over during his calculations. “In contrast, one talent of silver is worth six thousand denarii on its own. And I am offering you fifteen talents.”

Felix waited for the numbers to sink in. Handing over fifteen talents of silver would very nearly bankrupt him. It would wipe out the entire fortune he had built over the years of his business. He might have to sell a few ships to cover costs until he could rebuild.

But his choice was clear: give up his fortune, or lose his freedom.

Nine very unpleasant days later, the pirate ship pulled into a secluded cove south of Ostia.

Felix surveyed the rocky coast with exhausted relief.

He had been treated better than the rest of the pirates’ victims, those destined for slavery.

Felix had been kept on his own in a different part of the hold and even allowed up to the deck for fresh air once or twice a day.

Now, he stood against the rail, the breeze on his face a welcome relief from the fetid, airless hold.

Pirates now weren’t as massive of a problem as they used to be, before Felix’s birth.

He had heard stories of how they used to effectively rule the Mediterranean, making trade nearly impossible and travel a serious peril.

Pompeius Magnus had led a successful campaign against the pirates about forty years ago, but the great general hadn’t fully rid the Mediterranean of their incursions—he only reined them in.

The unfortunate truth was that Rome needed the pirates to a certain degree. Pirates provided a steady flow of slaves, and slaves were essential to the functioning of the state’s economy. So the pirates were allowed to operate, as long as they didn’t become too bothersome.

At least Marcus had been spared this. If Marcus had boarded their ship and returned immediately, he must be almost about to arrive in Ostia as well. Felix hoped Lucretia wouldn’t be too furious with him. He had, after all, saved Marcus.

As Felix lingered on the deck, the man he’d come to know as the leader of the pirates approached him. He bore a mangled scar on his left cheek, which Felix suspected was the result of attempting to cover up a slave brand. “Where will we find your money?” the captain asked, speaking Greek.

“Let me write a message to my secretary, Siro,” Felix replied. “I can give directions on where to find him. He will only supply the money if given a message in my own hand.”

The captain grunted, then shouted an order to another pirate nearby. A few moments later, a wax tablet and writing stylus were brought.

Felix balanced the tablet on the rail to write a short message.

Lucius Avitus Felix to Siro—Unfortunately I ran afoul of pirates in Cyrene. Marcus is safe, should be back in Ostia any day now. I have agreed on a ransom of fifteen talents of silver for my release. Please assemble the money accordingly .

He gave the message to one of the pirates, with instructions on how to find Siro. Luckily, Siro was well known in the port, and nearly anyone would be able to point him out.

The messenger rowed to shore in a small boat, and Felix sat back to wait.

His mind turned to Lucretia, as it never failed to do.

He would see her again, and Marcus. He would have the chance to beg for her forgiveness, as he should have done earlier.

She might not forgive him, but at least he could try.

He thought of the people who’d been captured along with him, who didn’t have fifteen talents of silver to ransom themselves. They all had friends, families, lovers whom they would never see again.

An unfamiliar feeling welled in his chest. It wasn’t fair that his money had saved him from such a fate, but that was how the world worked.

Unless…there was a way for his money to save more than just him.

His mind went back to the shipwreck he’d visited with Lucretia.

She had insisted on him setting aside money for those left widowed or orphaned by his sailors’ deaths.

She cared about people, even those she’d never met.

If she were here, she’d no doubt be compelled to help the other captives in any way she could.

The pirate captain was still out on deck, so Felix waved a hand to get his attention.

“When my money arrives,” Felix said once the man approached, “I want you to free everyone. Let them all go in Ostia.” The pirate began to snarl a denial, but Felix kept talking.

“I know, I know, you want to sell them in Crete. But the most you’ll be able to get for them is twelve thousand altogether.

I’m paying fifteen talents. Which is ninety thousand denarii.

That’s a fine deal for twenty or so people. ”

The captain narrowed his eyes.

Felix pressed his advantage. “Imagine sailing away from Ostia with an empty hold. No captives to feed. Free to follow the wind wherever you wish. You could do another round of plundering in the time it would have taken you to get to Crete and complete twenty sales. And you never know, a few people might die between here and Crete, so you’d lose out on that revenue.

” Felix lifted his chin, attempting to look as aloof as if he were negotiating for a shipment of spices, not the freedom of nearly two dozen people. “Do we have a deal?”

The captain surveyed him for one more moment, then gave a brusque nod. “We have a deal.”

Felix couldn’t help feeling proud of himself as he waited for the money to arrive. If he wanted Lucretia to forgive him, this would have to be a mark in his favor. He’d done a selfless thing, saving an entire ship full of people from slavery.

Siro would have received the message by now.

His secretary would no doubt be concerned at this development, but Felix knew he’d handle the matter with his usual diligence and efficiency.

Felix probably had about half of the money in his coffers at home, which Siro had access to.

For the rest, Siro would merely have to go to the temple bank and—

A horrible realization hit Felix with an icy punch to the gut. He froze, mind racing, unable to breathe. His knuckles whitened as his fingers dug into the wooden rail.

Siro wouldn’t be able to withdraw the money from the temple bank.

In the interest of security, Felix had given strict instructions to the priests who guarded their patrons’ deposits not to let anyone but Felix himself touch his money.

Even someone he trusted as much as Siro would not be allowed to withdraw a single denarius.

He struggled to pull in a breath, lungs straining.

Siro wouldn’t be able to access Felix’s fortune. He wouldn’t be able to assemble the full ransom.

You fucking idiot. Why didn’t you think of that before? Why didn’t you try to negotiate a smaller ransom?

In the immediate aftermath of his kidnapping, he’d been too focused on negotiating the amount that would see him freed. He hadn’t thought through the logistics of assembling the money. A foolish, fatal oversight.

He forced himself to exhale. Surely there was some way around this. Siro was resourceful. He would convince the priests to make an exception. Or perhaps, if he couldn’t, the pirates would be satisfied with a smaller amount…

Nausea roiled in his stomach, even more so than when trapped in the hold as the ship rose and fell with the waves. Pirates weren’t known for their lenience. He had promised them fifteen talents. And if he didn’t pay—would they execute him in retaliation? Throw him overboard?

To make matters worse, due to his brief impulse of empathy and selflessness, it wasn’t just himself this mistake condemned. All the other captives had their chance at freedom snatched back.

Now he was even more grateful Marcus had not been caught up in all this. Lucretia would have cast enough curses on him to follow his soul to the underworld and torment him for eternity.

He was never going to see Lucretia again. Pain erupted in his chest at the thought, and he curled his arms around himself, sinking to the wooden boards, his back against the rail.

He loved her, and he would spend the rest of his miserable and possibly very short life regretting the choices that had ruined everything between them.

Maybe, if he had just been able to bring himself to apologize before he left—but he’d been too stubborn, too conceited to beg for the forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of the future that awaited him. He was so close. His fortune, the only thing that could save him from death or slavery, was mere miles away. But it was as useless as if it were made of dung.