by Carol Ashby
Father chuckled. “Sabinus probably owns his own gladiators who enjoy that kind of work. Making a barely veiled threat isn’t a problem for a man like him, no matter how public. Most of the magistrates either owe him a favor or are afraid to cause him any trouble.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair. “What if it wasn’t just a threat? What if he wanted someone to really hurt a man?”
Father rubbed his chin. “He might not use his own slaves. They’d break under torture if brought to trial. I think he’d hire free men for that, citizens if he could find them. He can buy anything in Rome, even the death of someone who’s in his way.”
“Where would he find such people?”
Father’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking all this? You don’t need muscle to remove someone…do you?”
Marcus raised his hands and summoned what he hoped was a natural-sounding laugh. “Not me. I’m not old enough to have made that kind of enemy yet. I was just curious.”
He moved his piece, putting Father’s king in danger. His father immediately countered the move, and Marcus lost some men.
He forced a sigh. “You were supposed to be distracted enough by my questions that you didn’t see that.”
Father grinned. “There’s no point in trying that with me. I’m a master at recognizing danger and moving before it can reach me.”
Marcus massaged his temple. “Well, I can see there’s no way I’m going to beat you this game, so why don’t I concede? Then we can start a new one.”
Father’s eyebrows relaxed, and he leaned back in his desk chair. “Set it up.”
The Secundus villa
A satisfied smile curved his lips as Dacius polished the last silver medallion on Master Aulus’s bridle. God had answered his prayer for a day of rest. Mistress Julia’s friend had come to her, so he’d spent the day with his horses. Some light brushing for each and extra time with Niger―it had been a good day for all of them.
But it was time for Glyptus to check his back, so he hung the bridle on its hook and headed to the kitchen.
Glyptus stirred the pot before turning. “Sit at the table, and let’s see how it looks.”
After removing Dacius’s tunic, Glyptus unwrapped his bandages. “Rest your chest on the table. Time for more wine and honey.”
The wine hurt less than the first time, but Dacius still held his breath as Glyptus dribbled it into every cut. After applying more honey, Glyptus rewrapped his chest. He dropped the tunic over Dacius’s head, and Dacius slipped his hands through the armholes.
“Fortuna is smiling on you.” Glyptus rubbed his jaw. “I’ve treated a lot of lashings, and you look much better than I expected."
Dacius grinned. “Not Fortuna. I’ve been asking my God to heal me quickly. It’s His power, not Fortuna’s smiles, that heal.”
Glyptus snorted. “Maybe you should stop those prayers. It’s less painful now, but Vilicus will put you back digging sooner.”
“A small price to pay for healing quicker.” Dacius’s shrug triggered a grimace.
“Looks like your god doesn’t like you shrugging.”
“Perhaps.” The corners of Dacius’s mouth turned up. “But He won’t mind me cutting up carrots for the stew while I can’t do much else.”
Glyptus handed him a knife and waved him toward the waist-high cutting table where Lepus was chopping purple carrots.
The speed of the boy’s knife drew Dacius’s whistle. “You’ll have yours all done before I cut up my first carrot.”
His praise lit Lepus’s eyes. “But I could never stop a wild stallion like you did. I’d love to work with horses, but I’ll probably never leave the kitchen.”
“Cooking a good meal―that makes the day better for all of us. It’s much more important than taming a horse so Master Aulus can ride it.”
When Lepus grinned up at him, he tousled the boy’s hair. Then he lifted a carrot from the stack and cut his first slice.
Day 9
God had given Dacius the day to heal that he’d prayed for plus one more, but the third morning found him dressed in the red tunic, standing by the right rear pole. Mistress Julia had decided to visit her nieces.
Chatting with Apicula, the mistress came out the door in a pale blue tunic…like the one she’d worn when he tried to speak to her. He shifted his weight to one leg, and the lash cuts complained. Glyptus had insisted on treating them with wine and honey right after breakfast. The wine hurt; the honey helped. The surprise on his friend’s face over how quickly he was healing had triggered a chuckle, even if Glyptus rolled his eyes when Dacius said it was God’s doing.
The mistress sat on the litter. “Antonia said last time that the baby should quicken any day. I hope it has. I liked feeling her girls kick.”
Taurus strode through the garden gateway. “All is ready, mistress. Still your sister’s villa?”
Mistress Julia glanced at him. “Yes.” Then her focus returned to her maid.
She rested a hand on her own stomach, and her eyes turned wistful. “I hope Father finds me another good husband as soon as he comes home. I don’t want to wait years to feel my own little one.”
“Babies often come quickly to new brides, mistress.” Apicula’s smile drew a sad one from Mistress Julia. “You’ll be a wonderful mother.”
The mistress swung her legs in, and Taurus moved toward the gate. “Ready the litter.”
Dacius bent to place his shoulder under the pad. The pain sharpened.
“Lift.”
He stood and rested his left hand on the pole. The lifting slapped a sheet of pain across his back, but once he was up and bearing the weight, it wasn’t so bad.
God, don’t let her have us set the litter down until we get there.
Taurus led them through the gate.
Each step jarred a little, and he felt each jolt. But the pain wasn’t as fierce as the day before. He could bear it for the hour or so to reach her destination.
Soon, they’d gone about a quarter of the way. Each step triggered a little pulse of pain, and walking so fast made it worse. He was already tired.
God, could she maybe see a friend and stop to talk?
Taurus stepped aside and let the litter pass him. He fell in beside Dacius. “Problem?”
Dacius tightened his lips and shook his head. “I can keep the pace.”
One curt nod, and Taurus started toward the front.
“Taurus?” The mistress’s quiet voice slowed her escort’s stride. “Is there a problem?”
“One of your bearers was hurt three days ago, but it’s not a problem.”
“There’s no hurry to get to Antonia’s. We can go slower while he’s recovering.”
Taurus dipped his head. “Thank you, mistress.” He dropped back beside Dacius. “Set a comfortable pace.”
Dacius’s grateful smile drew a quick tip of Taurus’s head. He slowed the pace to about two-thirds, and Taurus walked ahead to lead once more.
As Mistress Julia and Apicula resumed their conversation, Dacius’s mouth curved into a smile. He hadn’t expected her concern, but it was just one more sign of her kind heart.
His smile faded. God, please protect her from her brother until her father comes home.
When they passed through the stable-yard gate, two small girls sprinted toward them.
Before Taurus even said “Down,” Flavia had taken the mistress’s hand. “I thought you were never going to get here.”
“We walked slower today.” Mistress Julia swung her legs out. She glanced back at Dacius, and a smile flickered across her lips. His head bounced back. Was she going to speak to him? Was this a second safer chance to warn her?
But she turned away without a word, and Sabina wrapped her arms around the mistress’s waist. Mistress Julia scooped the little girl into her arms and balanced her on one hip. Flavia slipped her hand into her aunt’s and swung their arms as they headed toward the house.
Sh
e was totally focused on her nieces, the men who’d carried her forgotten. But he didn’t expect more. It was enough that she’d wanted to spare him some pain.
Primus’s voice came from behind him. “Well done, Dacius. You’ve gone from trying to be Vilicus’s favorite to getting special favors from the mistress.”
Dacius ignored the insinuating tone and headed for the bench.
Primus bumped his shoulder, then slapped him hard on the back. As his back arched away from the pain, Primus dropped his voice so only Dacius would hear. “Maybe she’ll play in the fountain with the little girls. I wouldn’t mind watching her get wet again.”
Another slap to the back, and Dacius sucked air through his teeth. Primus’s hand settled on his shoulder, and Dacius swatted it off.
That drew Primus’s chuckle. “Maybe she’ll slip, and she’ll let you help her up.” He bounced his eyebrows. “Maybe―”
Taurus’s giant hand gripped the back of Primus’s neck and jerked him away.
“Stop now, Primus. If I see you doing anything else to slow Dacius’s healing, I’ll see to it that you get some of the same from Vilicus.”
Primus’s eyes widened “I beg pardon, Taurus. I wasn’t thinking. I meant the slap only as a sign of friendship.”
Taurus snorted. “No, you didn’t, and don’t do it again.”
Primus hurried to sit on the end of the bench farthest from Dacius’s usual spot. Verres took the seat next to Dacius but kept his eyes down and said nothing. With pinched lips, Taurus turned and walked back to resume his conversation with Antonia’s escort.
Dacius relaxed toward a slouch, then straightened. Letting his back curve pulled too much on the cuts. He filled his lungs, then released the air slowly. Sitting at attention like a legionary minimized the pain, but at a price. No matter how long the mistress visited, it was going to be a long day.
Chapter 10: An Honest Man
Ludus Bruti, Day 14
Marcus Drusus handed the gladius to the armorer of the Ludus Bruti and snatched up a towel to wipe his face and chest. It had been a good session with his usual trainer, and the workout left his muscles pleasantly tired. The baths would open to the men in an hour, and he would enjoy the hot soak in the caldarium, a swim, and a massage.
M. Antonius Brutus, equestrian owner of the ludus, joined him. “I was watching you today, Marcus.” Brutus toweled his face, hair, and neck. “You’ve improved a lot in the last couple of months.” He wiped his chest. “You might be ready to move up to sparring with Fortis.”
Marcus grinned. “And after Fortis, maybe Africanus?”
Brutus chuckled. “No, my young friend. You’re nowhere near ready for my favorite sparring partner.” He slapped Marcus’s arm. “But you might get there before you take your first tribune posting. Your brother Lucius did.”
Marcus cringed inwardly but didn’t let it show. Comparisons to his older brother galled him.
Brutus tossed the towel into a basket. “How is Lucius liking his first posting?”
“Not enough. He wrote Father that he’s planning to request a transfer to the frontier. Britannia, Dacia, maybe Judaea.”
A broad smile curved Brutus’s mouth. “It’s good to hear when one of the young men I trained chooses service to Roma over an easy posting.” Another slap to Marcus’s arm. “I expect you’ll do the same when it’s time.”
Marcus smiled as he nodded. Not likely, but better if Brutus didn’t know that.
“Fortis.” Upon hearing the head trainer’s bellow, the gladiator backed away from the middle-aged senator with whom he was sparring.
A flick of Lanista Felix’s fingers brought Fortis to him at a trot.
Felix crossed his arms. “This man is asking about joining the ludus. Get him a gladius. I want to see some friendly sparring before we talk more.”
Brutus rested his hand on the top of Marcus’s shoulder and squeezed. “Another ex-soldier wanting to contract with me as an auctoratus. Watch and learn. You’ll see the military fighting style where the goal is a quick kill, not a good show.”
Brutus placed one arm across his stomach and rested his elbow on it. As the ex-soldier exchanged strikes and thrusts with Fortis, he rubbed his chin.
After a few minutes, Brutus strolled toward the fighters. Marcus grabbed his purple-striped tunic from the bench and slipped it over his head. He positioned the dagger scabbard at his side, and fastened his belt. Watching the soldier had been instructive, but he was ready to leave.
When Brutus stood beside Felix, his lanista spoke. “That’s enough.”
The soldier placed the gladius in Fortis’s outstretched hand.
Brutus crossed his arms. “I’m Antonius Brutus. This is my ludus.”
The man stood at attention. “Gaius Faltonius Callidus.”
“Where have you served?”
Pride lit Callidus’s eyes. “I enlisted in the XIV Gemina at seventeen and served in her twenty-five years. I’ve just come to Rome from the legion fortress in Carnuntum.”
Brutus’s signature smiling frown appeared. “So, you served Roma in the Dacian war?”
“Yes. I even saw the head and hand of Decebalus when they were brought to Emperor Trajan.”
“Many settle where they retire, yet you came back to Roma?”
“I expected to find my father and take over his taberna.” Callidus’s jaw muscle twitched. “He’s dead, and the taberna is gone.” Anger simmered in his eyes. “So, I need work. I’d rather train and fight than...many other things.”
Brutus’s mouth turned down. “You have good skill for a legionary, but to fight in the arena here in Roma…” He drew air through his teeth. “My standards for my ludus in Roma are very high. Higher than where you are now. Maybe higher than you can reach. Your first fight in Roma will likely prove fatal for you.”
Callidus pulled a deep breath. As he released it, his shoulders sagged. “Battle is what I know.”
Brutus’s brow furrowed. “The arena in Roma would kill you, but in the smaller towns, you might still compete. There’s a ludus that might suit you just east of the amphitheater in Luna. That’s north and west of here up the Via Aurelia and Via Aemilia Scauri. The lanista is an honest man who won’t arrange a match to get you killed for the dead gladiator price at the end of your contract.”
“How far is that?”
“By sea, three days. By horse, six to seven. Walking, probably twice that.”
Callidus tightened his lips, then nodded once. “That’s not too far. Thank you for telling me.”
Brutus slapped his arm. “It’s my pleasure to help a man who has served Roma well. Ask for a four-year term on your contract and 1200 denarii for your signing fee. He should agree to that.”
That drew a smile from Callidus. “Vale, Antonius Brutus. May Fortuna smile upon us both.” He walked, head high, into the stairwell that would take him outside.
Marcus raised a hand in farewell to Brutus and followed Callidus up the stairs. It had been nine days since Aulus agreed that a fake kidnapping was the solution, and he’d made no progress on finding the right accomplice. But Fortuna had just smiled on him. Anyone desperate enough to sell himself into the arena should leap at the offer of a year’s wages for a few days waiting for a girl to come and a few hours keeping her locked away.
When he reached the street, Callidus had disappeared into the crowd.
Marcus rubbed his neck. Left or right? Right would take him toward the arena, left toward a street of tabernae where a frustrated man might find a drink to drown his disappointment. He went left.
His hunch paid off when he caught sight of Callidus turning into a door half a block ahead of him. He picked up his pace and entered in time to see Callidus sink into a chair in the back corner.
Fifteen steps, and he stood before the man who might be the solution to his problem. “May I join you?”
Callidus’s brows dipped. “Why?”
“I heard you talking wi
th Brutus, and I have a proposition for you.”
Callidus’s hand swept toward the empty chair. “Sit.”
Marcus moved the chair so his back was to the wall. What he was about to say wasn’t something he wanted some stranger walking past to hear.
“Might you be looking for work other than as a gladiator?”
“I’m open to anything, as long as it’s honest work.” Callidus shrugged.
“Oh, it’s honest. It’s to help someone convince a woman who’s taking too long to agree to marry him.” Marcus raised his hand to summon one of the girls serving the tables. “Let me buy you lunch, and we can talk.”
The corner of Callidus’s mouth turned up. “I’m not married myself, but I wouldn’t mind helping someone else marry.”
When the servant came, Marcus ordered two servings of wine and pointed to Callidus. The ex-soldier ordered a bowl of pork stew and fresh bread.
“You told Brutus you fought in Dacia.” Marcus leaned his arms on the table. “What was that like?”
Callidus eyed him. “You wear purple stripes. You’ll be a tribune?”
Marcus nodded. “In two years.”
Callidus snorted. “You’ll never see war like I did. When the legion advances, shields side by side, blood on our gladii…nothing can stand against us. You feel most alive in the company of death.” His eyes veiled. “It’s not something a man can explain to a boy.” He rubbed his mouth. “What do you want me to do, and what will you pay?”
“My friend wants to marry a certain girl right away, but she’s in no hurry.” Marcus lowered his voice. “But if she thinks he’d do anything for her, that would change. We think a fake kidnapping where he comes to rescue her would win her over. She’ll be so grateful she’ll want to marry him on the next possible auspicious day.”
“What would you want me to do?”
Marcus scanned the nearby tables. No one was listening. “Nothing dangerous. Just hold her hostage at an empty house in Subura for a few hours. We’ll get the gladiator bodyguard who’s her regular escort out of the way. One of my own slaves will escort her litter. You’ll hold both of them hostage until my friend comes. Then you’ll fake a fight, and when it looks like he’s beating you, you’ll run away.”