Seducing the Roman

by M. K. Chester

  “Who is this man?” he asked Emmaus as they greeted each other in the low light. “How did you find him?”

  The local, stripped to the waist and bruised from interrogation, whimpered as Titus drew near.

  “He’s already told us where to find the stores of weapons.” Emmaus muttered under his breath. “However, he’s withholding the names of his co-conspirators.”

  “Leather peeling, then, until he finds his tongue.”

  Titus cited the ancient torture of boiling a man’s skin, then peeling the layers away. Without bringing the conspirator into the post, he had little with which to work. Bringing the Legate into this was not an option.

  “Yes, Sir.” Emmaus barked orders to his loyal knot of men, who set about to make arrangements for the torture.

  “In the meantime,” Titus requested, “tell me where they’re keeping their arms.”

  They sat together near the narrow entrance to the passageway, a map pulled between them in the dying daylight. “Here, on the edge of town.”

  “Beside the school?” Titus asked.

  “At the base of the temple mount.”

  Titus saw clearly once he imagined the elevation in his mind. “Tunnels. Which way are the goods flowing? Into the temple or out of the temple?”

  “Out,” Emmaus answered, emphatic. “Your concubine is sheltered because she pulls information from you. She does not see what goes on underground.”

  “Under her,” Titus muttered, their reason for secluding her now clear. “You believe the women are doing the work?”

  “Some of them, perhaps, not many.” Emmaus pointed at the map. “I have seen more people go into the school than come out. I have seen people go into the school who have no children with them. They are either storing their weapons under the temple or they want us to believe they are.”

  Titus believed the report. Those seething with insurrection believed Rome didn’t want to be here, and they were right. He wanted to be here least of all, which made him more dangerous than the average Roman.

  As darkness settled over the sand, Titus left Emmaus to brutal work while he, donned in a cloak and hood, journeyed through the streets from one side of the city to the other. He aimed to discover whether the school required guards, alarms, or any other kind of system to make him believe this was more than a place for children to learn and play.

  He avoided the known locations of hostiles and skirted through the nearly deserted city streets. Without despising the people, he despised his post. These people fell into Rome’s way, like many others, and he could barely blame them for fermenting revolt. He would, given their situation.

  And he would use structures under the most forgotten temple in the region to hide his activities, pouring sugar into the ear of the temple high priestess to gain her cooperation. Romans had seen revolt before.

  He knew what rebellion smelled like, looked like. Putting two guards half a mille from the school, two more closer to the school. Titus would ensure these men stayed awake, so they could see their enemy creep by.

  From a hidden spot in the rocks, Titus watched as eight men guarded the entrances to the school, changing positions every hour, taking on a new shift in the middle of the night.

  He waited until they settled before easing out of his hiding place and winding his way back to his camp, on the opposite side of the city.

  Giving thought to the idea of seeing Sariah, he decided against it, based on how he’d dressed. Giving himself away did not factor into his plan. Getting her out, did.

  Emmaus waited for his return, the smell of blood still on his hands. The fearsome soldier rarely missed his mark. “What more did you learn?”

  Emmaus grimaced and handed Titus a short list of names. “They forge weapons beneath the temple. There is an ancient tunnel system by which water, metals and even coals can be brought.”

  Titus wondered if the tunnels ran as far as their camp, the ground under their feet. “How extensive are these tunnels?”

  “They support the oldest part of the city, nothing beyond this boundary.” He used his finger to circle a particular portion of the map, not including their encampment. “They guard all entrances. Getting a man inside will be impossible.”

  “What if it’s not a man?” Titus mused. Would Sariah be able to gain access? Could he put her in harm’s way? He believed he could convince her to try, however by the way his pulse stuttered, he knew better.

  Emmaus held up his hands. “You cannot ask this of her. They will interrogate her or worse. She would break.”

  Titus nodded. He knew not to what lengths the Phoenicians were willing to go and she had already put her life on the line. “I promised to remove her from the temple when the time comes.”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Which is a lie one tells when countering a revolt. You say what must be said.”

  Titus didn’t argue, simply averted his gaze. He wanted to be able to keep his word to Sariah. While he hadn’t planned to care for her so deeply, how would he live with himself if she came to harm because she believed his words?

  “Oh, no.” Emmaus shook his head. “When they begin their revolt, which will be soon, there will be no time for you to rescue a temple servant. You are in command of half the troops, and they will soon realize her part in betraying their plans.”

  “I know not how to make peace with your truth,” Titus admitted. “What began as a plan to restore my family’s honor has become something more.”

  “She has compromised you, my friend, not the other way around. Can you be certain she will keep her part of your bargain?”

  Titus conceded he could not, although he believed she would try harder than the gods to do so. “She wants her freedom more than I want to restore my name.”

  “Then the question truly is,” Emmaus confronted him, “do you care for her more than you want to restore your name? Because she may cost you that much, and more.”

  SARIAH OPENED THE DOOR of her chamber and found a tray of prepared food on the floor beyond the threshold. A quick glance advised her the elderly matron, who had been quietly watching her comings and goings these many days, had vanished.

  In her place, a local man, young, dark eyed and wide-shouldered sneered and stood sentry in her place. As Sariah drew herself taller and attempted to step around the food, his stiff arm barred her progress.

  She stepped back, insulted, with a huff. Men were permitted in the temple only for ritual, and apparently, whenever Irrina saw fit. This would not stand.

  When she attempted to pass again, he put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her. She tumbled into the luxurious room and landed on her backside.

  As she scrambled to her feet, her pride wounded, the door slammed shut, the lock falling into place behind it.

  Her heart stuttered. What happened? What changed? After ten days of punishment, she’d been given the accustomed freedoms to come and go following Titus’s visit. Punishment and freedom always included instruction and reinforced understanding of what she had done wrong.

  Now, the door had been slammed in her face.

  Sariah harnessed her anger and turned a slow circle in the middle of the room. Throwing her fists against the wooden barrier and screaming like a spoiled child would never do.

  They likely watched her right now.

  She took a deep breath and spoke plain. “I know you can hear me. I demand to know the meaning of this. Tell me why I am imprisoned once again.”

  No answer came from behind the walls no matter how she phrased her question. She stubbornly refused to allow them to see her shed another tear. This whole arrangement was only a game to them.

  She knew not how much time passed before the door swung open, banging against the wall. The dark shadows in the passageway gave no hint, and soon, someone dressed in blue silk was thrown inside with her, and the door locked yet again.

  “Davisha!” Sariah rushed to the side of her confidant, who curled into a ball on the floor.

  The sli
ght girl held her off with an extended arm and Sariah soon saw why. Raw whip marks sliced across Davisha’s bare shoulders.

  “What have they done to you?” she gasped, kneeling as her friend dissolved into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I alone am to blame.”

  Sariah blinked. “Blame? For what?”

  “Sariah, they have used both of us. I had no choice,” she sobbed into her hands. “I told them of your agreement with Titus. You must forgive me, you must forgive me!”

  As if burned, Sariah backed away, unable to digest the words Davisha delivered. “Why did you tell them?”

  The girl pulled her strength together and faced Sariah, her hands raised as if to beg. “Irrina wanted to know if you made an arrangement with him, if you betrayed them. I tried to keep your secret, but they forced me.”

  No, gods no! Her confidence in Davisha had been misplaced, her evaluation of how cruel Irrina and her co-conspirators could be severely incorrect. She saw what they’d done to Davisha.

  She had not seen far enough down the road. Pulling back her arm, she struck Davisha across the face. They both gasped, turning away from each other. Sariah did not regret her actions. Davisha could not possibly understand all she’d ruined by breaking her word.

  “What have you done?” she forced through her constricted throat. “You have ruined me! You have ruined us both and killed Titus!”

  Davisha grabbed her hand. “The rebellion begins tonight, Sister. Tonight they wake the sleeping giant.”

  Tonight? Their plot unfurled tonight? Would they not bide their time until the Romans split their forces again? Upon Davisha’s word, they no longer believed hers.

  How could she warn Titus? He could be taken by surprise, captured or killed.

  Would he be ready or taken captive when they attacked?

  Would he attempt to keep his word to her and immerse himself in immeasurable harm?

  Her tone became mournful as her heart broke because of the trap they set for him. “And now they lock me away because they know of our pact.”

  “Yes.” Davisha bowed her head and wept.

  Saria’s mind whirled. She could not stop what had been set in motion. If only Davisha kept silent. Even though she saw Davisha’s injuries, she asked, “Why did you tell them? You must have known what would happen.”

  The girl seemed to have stopped breathing as she raised her head to look Sariah in the eye. Her simple reasoning hit Sariah like a lightning bolt. “I did not want to be alone in this life. You are my only true friend and now I have lost even you.”

  Sariah dropped to her knees and held her head in her hands, the sharp pain in her heart rending what remained of her mind. Of all the things to undo her pact with Titus, the idea of leaving Davisha behind broke her spirit.

  She knew what their ritualistic fate did to women who could not hide their hearts.

  Davisha did not know she would have begged Titus to take them both, had planned everything. How could her sister have known? Now Sariah knew she should have told Davisha everything, and tied her to Titus, as well.

  Anguish washed over her, and Sariah wanted to scream. Instead, she pulled herself from the floor and offered Davisha her hands to rise as well. “We achieve nothing like this, lying helpless on the floor. We must work together to find a way out before it’s too late.”

  Davisha stood beside her, still timid and wincing in pain. “What will happen now?”

  Sorting through all possible options and outcomes in her mind’s eye, Sariah did not mince words. “Their rebellion will not stand. Cannot stand. The Romans will burn the temple to the ground.”

  THE SHOUTS OF HIS MEN reached Titus’s ears as he closed his eyes, his exhausted body begging for a few good hours of sleep following his late-hour discoveries. The alarm forced him from his bed and into his gear before sprinting into the night.

  Emmaus intercepted him and they ran toward a rising swell of red fire against the black of night near the camp entrance. “I said they would act soon. I did not think tonight.”

  Why now?

  Titus threw himself into the defense of their station, bringing order to chaos while his military mind picked through the details. He’d given Sariah the necessary details to feed their rebellion and surely she’d done as required.

  Rather than wait for him to depart with half the men, they chose to use the element of surprise to launch their attack on the front of the Roman garrison. This would not be all. Rebels would be stationed strategically throughout the city.

  If they chose tonight to engage, they must know of Sariah’s partnership with him. They would want to crush the head of the serpent first.

  He grabbed Emmaus. “The Legate, where is he?”

  A quick scan of the action shared scant information. “He is not here.”

  “Come! His barracks!”

  They sprinted toward the rear of the encampment, gathering members and momentum as they drove through camp. The Legate lived and worked inside the relative luxury of a thatched villa, away from the stench of the stables and latrine.

  Away from the alarm and the action.

  Titus skidded to a stop as they neared the villa, his men responding instinctively and following suit. Clinging to the shadows, the crept forward along the wall until Titus saw figures in black swarming the villa.

  “On my command,” Titus muttered. A murmur of agreement fueled a rush of blood and adrenaline as he sprang from the shadows to lead his men against the enemy.

  The copper scent of blood assaulted his senses as he sliced through one rebel, then another, driving his gladius through the fallen man’s heart.

  Their shouts roused the men inside, who poured out, weapons in hand, trapping the enemy between themselves and Titus’s line. As the rebels saw their predicament, they made the split-second decision to fight and die rather than surrender.

  In the feverish moments following, Titus and his men obliged their death wish until an eerie silence fell around the survivors.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The Legate strode forward and met Titus where he stood. Though he held a sword, the blade shone pristine.

  “This,” Titus paused and motioned to the lifeless bodies at their feet, “is the rebellion of which I warned you. The one you dismissed as a figment of my imagination.”

  He did not attempt to hold his tongue nor his anger in check. They should have been prepared, lying in wait. Instead, they still locked swords with the enemy at the gate.

  “Inside.” Titus followed the Legate into the forum of the villa, where a map lay anchored to the table. “Where are these traitorous vermin?”

  Titus glanced at Emmaus, making sure someone witnessed this moment. He pinned the map with his index finger. “Here, a system of tunnels allows them to forge and store weapons under the Temple of Anath. We know of one exit to the west, though there are likely others throughout the old city.”

  “The quickest way to find them is to go through the damn temple,” the Legate raged. “Gods help them, I tried to make their lives bearable and now they have angered the heavens.”

  Men died while they stood still, streaming platitudes and policies. Titus pushed for action. “By your leave, I will take my men through the front door of the temple and meet you at the end of the tunnels beneath as you take your men through the city.”

  The Legate stared at him, cowardice leaking into his expression. He would allow Titus to take the higher risk because he dared not risk himself.

  He nodded. “By my leave.”

  Whirling, Titus left the man with his staff as protection and gave Emmaus direction. “Sound the horn and gather the men. We exit the east gate and let nothing stand in our way.”

  The pulse behind his heart called only Sariah’s name. He did not waver, could not delay. His life meant nothing when hers fell to risk.

  He ducked into his quarters and grabbed additional weapons before meeting his men, forming at the gate as instructed. Some had seen action alrea
dy, bloodied swords at their sides.

  “Quick step, up the temple hill,” he shouted as he took his place at the head of the column. The twists in the road coupled with the absence of moonlight hampered their movement enough to frustrate Titus.

  Then, from behind the walls of the city, arrows, spears, and rocks infiltrated their number. Unable to see except by torchlight, a handful of good men fell by the wayside before they passed the walled section of the city and began to climb uphill, toward the temple.

  Titus pushed forward, the terrain working against them the closer they inched to the temple walls, where another a shower of arrows rained against their shields.

  “Damn well prepared,” Emmaus grunted.

  Titus hated to agree. “They will fortify the gates. Bring the battering ram forward.”

  Like a well-oiled machine, shields provided cover while the compact ram eased through the middle of the column. Soon, the brass head drove against the cedar doors, the sound of wood rending with each beat, delaying his quest to find Sariah.

  As the ram swung forward and the doors gave way with a crash, Titus surged forward, his men surrounding him, shields raised, swords at the ready. They entered the atrium and were rushed by waiting, well-armed rebels.

  With their bloodthirsty cry, the battle began.

  SARIAH HEARD PRIMAL screams from inside her lush quarters, deep within the stone fortress. Hitching a breath, she grasped Davisha’s hands and muttered, “They’re here.”

  The noise of battle rose and fell as the pair stood still as statues in the center of the room, the irony not lost on Sariah. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her pulse shaking her vision as she watched the door for any sign of movement.

  They had to get out of here. She pulled on Davisha’s hand. The girl resisted and pulled Sariah back to the far side of the room. “We’ll be killed!”

  They would be killed regardless. “We should wait for them to arrive?”

  After a moment, Davisha reversed course and shook her head. Together they crept toward the door keeping them from chaos. Keeping them from death.