by Carol Ashby
He was about to enter the next stall when Vilicus’s guttural voice stabbed him. “You.”
He turned and bowed his head. “Yes, overseer?”
“Get cleaned up for litter duty.”
Dacius froze his eyebrows. Litter duty? When Taurus was gone? He suppressed the sigh. “Yes, overseer.”
At least he wouldn’t be digging, and he’d had some time with Niger. Maybe that was the special thing he sensed last night. Apostle Paul had learned to be content with whatever he might have and wherever he might be. He would do the same.
Dacius stood by the litter, waiting as patiently as he could manage. Mistress Julia finally came through the portico…without Apicula. Instead, a silver-haired man he’d never seen before walked beside her.
As he stood by the right rear pole, he watched her face. The sweet smile that usually graced her lips when she walked with Apicula was missing.
The old man spoke as they reached the litter. “No one else has been able to lift her spirits, but Mistress Metilia should be so much better after she sees you.”
“I’m glad you were sent for me as soon as she returned. I’ll do all I can to cheer her.”
She sat on the litter and swung her legs in. Dacius and the others knelt and put their shoulders against the pole pads.
The old man spoke. “Lift.”
Dacius stood, raising his corner of the litter shoulder high. The elderly escort walked to the head of the litter, and the bearers followed him out the gate.
Chapter 13: Trapped
Subura
Dacius had been carrying the litter for less than three weeks, but he’d often carried Mistress Julia to the Baths of Trajan to visit with friends. When the elegant buildings and gardens rose before them, he expected they’d be meeting her distressed friend there. Instead, they walked past and turned down a street that led off the Oppian Hill, where the Baths sat overlooking the city.
He hadn’t yet carried her to all friends’ houses, but something seemed very wrong about the part of town into which they were walking. This was not an area of villas or elegant townhouses with lush gardens behind masonry walls. It wasn’t even a decent neighborhood with smaller houses like the one where Mistress Calpurnia lived. As they trudged down the slope, the buildings became shabbier, the streets narrower and dirtier.
As they passed loitering men, his neck itched as if a bug crawled upon it. Too many stared at the mistress. His lips tightened. Lust lit too many eyes. Carrying her through this area with Taurus as escort―that would be safe enough. No one would dare try anything and risk a fight with Taurus. With this elderly man? The mistress herself looked more intimidating.
The escort stepped aside to let the front bearers pass. He loosened the ties holding the curtains back on the left side and let the fabric fall.
Mistress Julia sat up straight. “What are you doing?”
“We have to pass through an area unfit for your eyes, mistress.”
He walked behind Dacius and moved past him on the right side to release the remaining curtains. Once she was hidden, he resumed his place ahead of the litter.
Dacius’s tension drained away. It hadn’t been the fitness for the mistress’s eyes that bothered him. It was the leering men who weren’t fit to see her.
The escort finally led them into a small stable yard. Dirt and dead leaves overlay the paving, and no horses stood in the stalls.
Why would her friend want to meet her at an abandoned house?
A brawny man rose from a faded chair on the portico and strode toward the escort. He moved like a soldier, not a servant. His shifty eyes and swagger bespoke scoundrel, not slave.
“Your mistress is expected inside.” Not a trace of deference in his tone.
Too many things were not what they should be. Dacius’s teeth clenched.
The escort opened and tied back the curtains on his side. “We’re here, mistress.”
As the mistress swung her legs out, the two men exchanged glances. The escort’s mouth twitched, and the other nodded almost imperceptibly.
Dacius’s heart rate ratcheted up. These two knew each other, and that wasn’t a glance of friendly recognition, like he often shared with his fellow slaves in the Secundus household.
The escort gestured for Mistress Julia to follow the man into the house. As she walked ahead of him, he turned back to the litter. “Go home. She’ll return in my mistress’s litter.”
With legs spread, fists on his hips, Dacius watched the old man until he disappeared through the doorway.
Verres and Capellus were already down on one knee. With his shoulder under the left rear pole, Primus glared at him. “Dacius, let’s go.”
“No. The mistress didn’t tell us to go. We should wait for her.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Something’s not right.”
Julia followed the big man through the vestibulum into the atrium. It was filthy, as if no one had cleaned it for weeks, if not months.
“Where’s Metilia?” She cast her eyes around the room as her whole body tensed.
A wry smile twisted the big one’s lips. “There’s another litter coming. Metilia didn’t want anyone to follow you to where she is, and changing litters is the best way to avoid that.”
The old man’s back straightened as his head jerked back. “I wasn’t told that. I was told she was only supposed to stay here for a few hours, maybe overnight.” He glanced at Julia. “With Mistress Metilia.”
The wry smile twisted into a sneer. “There’s been a change of plan. My friend and I want more than we were promised after we release her. A pretty virgin like her will bring top money in the market―at least thirty times what the man who hired us was going to pay.”
As he spoke, a thin man entered the atrium from a side room.
Julia’s eyes saucered, and her gaze circulated between the three of them. She swallowed hard and backed up toward the escort. The other two stepped closer.
The old man shook his head. “That wasn’t part of the plan, and I’m not going to let you do it.”
A cruel laugh rumbled up from the brawny one who’d met the litter. “You can’t stop us.”
He grabbed her arm.
The escort stepped forward and seized her other arm, trying to pull her away from the thug.
Julia pulled free from the escort and slapped the kidnapper, and for an instant, his grip weakened. She jerked her arm free and stumbled back closer to her only protector.
The thin kidnapper rammed his fist into the old man’s temple, and he dropped. As he tried to rise, the thin one kicked his arm, and he collapsed back to the floor. He tried to rise again. Two kicks to the head snapped the old man’s head back, and he flopped back on the floor, limp as a rag doll. He didn’t move again.
The brawny one wrapped her in iron-band arms. She gulped a deep breath before her scream rent the air. Thin man slapped his palm across her mouth, muffling the sound and crushing her lips against her teeth. He pulled a grimy cloth from inside his tunic. He jerked back his hand when she tried to bite him and shoved the rag into her mouth before she could scream again. When she tried to push it out with her tongue, he shoved it deeper until she started to gag.
“Hold her while I get some rope from the garden. There’s a sack there big enough to shove her in. No one will know what we’re carrying.” He drew his finger along her jaw, and she jerked away. “She’s small enough anyone would think she’s a pig.”
As the thin one left the atrium, Julia thrashed and kicked. Each time her sandaled feet struck the big one’s legs, he squeezed her tighter until she could barely draw a breath.
His foul breath assaulted her nostrils as he nuzzled her neck. “You smell good. I’d keep you myself if you weren’t going to sell for top money. Virgins bring more, but maybe we will keep you…for a while.”
Sheer panic flooded her. Her struggles weakened as his constricting arms pulled tighter still. Thrashing became wriggling. She pushed back
on the dizzy feeling, but she was losing the battle as she fought to remain conscious.
Chapter 14: A Place to Hide
Dacius’s head snapped back. From somewhere within came the cry of a woman, quickly muffled.
“She’s in trouble. Follow me.” He trotted toward the door. As he reached it, he looked back. The other three still stood beside the litter.
“Come on.” Verres and Capellus looked away, while Primus rested his fists on his hips and shook his head.
He sucked air through his teeth. Whatever had to be done, he would have to do alone. He stepped inside and crept to the doorway between the vestibulum and the atrium.
His eyebrows lowered. The prostrate form of the escort lay face down on the dirty mosaic floor. No blood, but the frost-blue eyes were open, unblinking.
With his back toward Dacius, the kidnapper held a wriggling Julia beside the scum-coated pool, her arms pinned to her side by the iron bands of his brawny arms. A rag had been shoved in her mouth to muffle her cries.
A quick glance around the atrium revealed no one else, but others might be in the small rooms that opened to the side or in the peristyle beyond.
No time to lose. Dacius took a deep breath…and launched himself at the kidnapper.
The impact of his shoulder on the man’s spine loosened his grip on the mistress, and she wriggled free. Dacius drove his fist into the man’s cheekbone, snapping his head sideways.
“Run to the litter!” He hissed at her, lest someone in an adjoining room should hear.
Instead, she backed up against the wall and froze.
He slammed his fist into the kidnapper’s jaw, and the man staggered back.
“Run!” He spoke louder, harsher. She still stood pressed against the wall, like a rabbit frozen as a snarling dog circled it.
The kidnapper swung at him, but he ducked. As he rose, he rammed his fist into the bottom of the man’s jaw, and the kidnapper crumpled.
As Dacius stood over the unconscious man, something rustled behind him.
He spun and threw up his arm to block the knife plunging toward his heart. With a twist and a shove, he deflected it, but it still pierced his chest just below his right collar bone. The kidnapper pulled the blade out, but before he could stab again, Dacius pummeled the side of his face and jaw. The man went down.
The mistress still stood frozen at the wall. He grabbed her right hand with his left and pulled her with him as he ran back through the vestibulum. He burst through the outer door with her trailing behind.
“Ready the litter!” He shouted as he dragged her toward it. The front bearers knelt by the poles, but Primus just stood staring at the blood that had already soaked the shoulder of his red tunic.
“Kneel, Primus!” Left rear did as ordered.
When they reached the litter, Dacius pulled the mistress past him, twisting away from her to block her view of his blood. “Get in, mistress. We must leave―now.”
She swung her legs in as he stepped back by the pole.
Dacius knelt, then yelled, “Lift.” The litter rose to shoulder height. “Run.”
The men began trotting, but their steps were out of sync. The litter was bouncing erratically. The mistress shrieked as she almost fell out before she lay back and grabbed onto both railings by the backrest.
“Together. Step. Step. Step.” Dacius called out the cadence, and the men settled into a synchronized trot.
As the bearers synchronized their steps, Julia was no longer pitched around as if the litter were a gale-tossed ship. It still bounced up and down, but it was rhythmic, not erratic, and she let go of the railings.
A violent shudder coursed through her as memories of the attack assaulted her mind. The old man dead on the floor, the kidnapper shoving a rag in her mouth, the arms squeezing the breath out of her, her heart racing as fear of what was coming crashed in on her.
Then, out of nowhere, one of her bearers hurling himself into the man and fighting to rescue her. He’d won and then…the second thug with the knife.
Another shudder as visions of the knife leaped before her eyes. She would have sworn the knife went in, but her view had been blocked by her slave’s body. He couldn’t have been badly hurt. He’d still knocked down the second kidnapper and run, pulling her behind him.
Now he was trotting with the litter as if nothing was wrong.
But the front of his tunic was already wet when he pulled her away from the wall. Wet only on the right side, so it couldn’t be sweat. And he hadn’t gone near the scum-coated pool.
Her stomach flipped. It had to be blood. Could there be that much if the wound was almost nothing?
Dacius tried to keep his eyes focused forward, but even a quick glance revealed the expanding wetness on his tunic. The blood stain ran down to his stomach, where it spread across at the belt line. He had to get her far enough away that the kidnappers wouldn’t catch up, but how long would he be able to hold up his pole?
The excitement of the fight had given him strength even as bleeding drained it away, but now the blood loss was winning. His strength was flagging, but only three men couldn’t carry her. Maybe he should have had them run with her and leave the litter behind.
He felt the stumble coming, but how many steps before it hit?
“Hold on, mistress.”
She made no move to heed his words.
When it came and he fell, the litter tilted sharply to the right before his pole hit the ground. The mistress tumbled onto the pavement.
The other bearers stopped and lowered the litter.
Dacius staggered to his feet. “Your bearers will get you home. Tell Steward Gallio what happened. Have Taurus guard you from your brother until your father returns.”
Wide brown eyes flecked with gold and trembling pink lips on an ashen face held his gaze as she knelt before him. He stepped toward her, offering his left hand to help her up.
The hair on his neck rose. He spun to see why…in time to spy the thin kidnapper with an arrow nocked and aimed at the mistress.
He swallowed hard. The mistress was pagan. Eternity in hell waited for anyone who didn’t believe in Jesus.
The fingers released, and the missile began its deadly flight.
He steeled himself for the pain…and stepped between her and the arrow.
It pierced his thigh, and he almost fell. Sheer will kept him on his feet.
He yelled at Primus and the others, “Take her and run.”
They obeyed part of his command. They ran.
Dacius hauled the mistress to her feet and shoved her through the litter to get her out of the sightline of the archer. He stepped through behind her, keeping his body between her and the kidnapper.
God, how do I protect her now? Help us.
He pushed free of the litter curtains and found the answer to his prayer. A narrow passageway lay open before him, blocked from the kidnapper’s view by the litter.
Thank you, God!
With his left hand, he grabbed her right and dragged her into the passageway.
He stayed ahead so she wouldn’t see the blood-soaked front of his tunic and faint on the spot. He’d never be able to carry her if she did.
The arrow still in his thigh made each step agony, but he stumbled on, pulling her with him. It wouldn’t take long for the kidnapper to reach the litter and find the passageway. He had to find someplace to hide her before he collapsed or the kidnapper caught up.
If he were a betting man, he’d bet the collapse came first. Then who would protect her from being taken and sold?
God, please give her an escape.
The passageway opened onto a street lined with small shops, many with their displayed wares encroaching into the walkway. His eyes were drawn to the first one on the left. On the post supporting the awning, he saw the fish. Two curved lines, touching at one end, crossing each other to form the tail. Just inside the shop, a large basket about three feet tall stood open and em
pty with a lid resting against it.
She would fit.
“Mistress. The basket.”
He pulled her past the brick counter and into the shop. He bent his knees so he could wrap his good left arm around her thighs, set her on his uninjured shoulder, and lift her high enough for her feet to go in.
She gasped and grabbed his head as his arm wrapped around her and he began to lift. Lightning bolts of pain shot through his leg, and it almost buckled. Determination alone steadied it as he stood with her sitting on his good shoulder.
“Put your feet in.”
She obeyed, and he lowered her in. Then he pressed down on her shoulder. “Hide.”
She crouched, her terrified eyes looking up at his, and he placed the lid on top. “Stay quiet, mistress.”
The shopkeeper, whose silver-threaded hair framed a face that testified to the passage of more than forty years, froze as she stood staring at him. He stumbled to the counter and traced the fish shape with his finger.
She nodded and gripped his upper arm. After pushing open the door to her living quarters behind the shop, she shoved him in before closing it again.
Dacius’s strength was spent, drained from his body by the blood still oozing from his shoulder and thigh. He sank to his knees and pressed his left hand against the stab wound. Fierce pain shot through him, and he jerked it away. Crimson drops trickled down his palm and dripped to the floor. He pressed his hand into the wound again. Pain or not, he had to slow the bleeding.
Thank you for guiding me to a sister. But what do I do now, Lord?
He hung his head.
He couldn’t take the mistress to her home. Her brother would certainly try again. To her sister? That would be the first place her brother would look. If she showed up there, he couldn’t get the ransom money. He’d have to try again. To her friends? Which one might hide her until her father returned? Could any of them do it secretly enough that her brother wouldn’t find her?