by Carol Ashby
Marcella also rose, and she held his hand as she followed him out the door.
Mistress Calantha leaned one elbow on the table and rested her cheek in her palm. “Gaius is right. You really shouldn’t be trying to do any work with your leg or arm yet, but I have the perfect thing for you to do.”
A teasing smile lifted the corner of her mouth when he said nothing. “Well, don’t you want to know what it is?”
Leander was afraid to ask. It probably had something to do with her being a lion trainer. “What you want me to know, you’ll tell me.”
Her light laugh rippled across the room. “So true. I do want you to know things. Can you read and write Latin?”
“A farm slave has no use for that. My time is spent working, not reading.”
“Well, that’s about to change. I’m going to teach you. You speak Latin well, so it shouldn’t take me long. First, I’m going to teach you the letters of the alphabet so you can sound out words and read. Then I’m going to teach you to pick the right letters so you can write. I’ll train my lion to be a scholar. Then maybe you can do something other than dig in the garden or clean out the stalls. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Cleaning stalls isn’t so bad. Nothing gives me more pleasure than working with horses. I’d do it all the time if I could choose what I do. You don’t need to bother teaching me Latin letters for that.”
He shifted his gaze from her face to the table. His thumb traced a swirl in the grain of the wood. He would like to learn, but she would stay too close to him as she taught.
“It’s not a bother at all. I want to do it, and there really is nothing else for you to do right now.”
His eyes stayed focused on the table. She’d see his desire to learn if he looked at her. “Not this morning with Gaius gone, but I want to start helping him to pay for all he and Marcella have done for us. There’s probably something I can do when he gets back.”
Mistress Calantha’s voice sharpened. “It’s perfectly obvious to me and to Gaius that you aren’t strong enough to work yet. You probably won’t be for at least a week, and even then, you shouldn’t work for too long at a time. There will be plenty of time for me to teach you even when you start helping.”
She rose and stepped closer to him. “Don’t forget you’re mine, and I’m the one who will decide when you’re well enough to start helping Gaius. I won’t have you hurt yourself by working too soon.”
As he tipped his head back to look at her face, her lips relaxed into a smile. He saw her fingers coming, but there was nothing he could do. She ran them through his hair, and the smile he could no longer control when she did that broke free.
“I’m well enough to pick off caterpillars.” His smile broadened. “I’m used to handling spirited horses and stubborn mules. A caterpillar won’t give me any trouble.”
She returned his smile. “That may be, but you should want to learn to read and write, if only because I want to teach you.”
He drew a deep breath. She was the mistress, so he had to do what she told him, even if that meant sitting close to her at the table. He should be able to keep her hand from guiding his in the right way to make Latin letters on a wax tablet.
A slave had no right to disobey an order from a mistress who wanted something to do with her time. And a man who could already read and write Greek would learn so quickly he wouldn’t have to suffer her closeness very long.
“If you want to spend your time teaching me, I’m willing to learn.”
“Good.” Calantha handed him his crutch. “We’ll work outside where the light is brighter, and sharing the bench should make it easier for me to help you. I’m not sure if Marcella has a spare wax tablet, but we can start with something simpler.”
She took a plate and spoon from the cupboard. Filled with fine dirt, it would serve as a good practice surface. He could trace the letters she made with a stick.
When she turned, he’d risen, but he still stood by the table, his brow furrowed.
She flicked her fingers at him. “Go out to the table. I’ll be with you as soon as I get the dirt.”
As she followed him out the door, it was obvious he would soon be able to help with one-handed chores. But it was important for him to learn to read before they returned to Rome. Surely Father would agree when she asked him to free Leander, and a freedman could do so much more if he could read and write.
She bent over and filled the plate with powdery dirt. When she straightened, Leander was sitting on the very edge of the bench. Ready to escape, like Aulus when his tutor had him writing poetry and he wanted to come play with her. The smile that memory triggered faded quickly.
Her teeth clenched. Aulus, the brother who once enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his, had betrayed her. Where would she be now, if not for Leander?
Then her jaw relaxed. When she got home, Father would make Aulus pay. And even though Leander almost died, he’d become a free man because he rescued her.
A free man who could read and write. She found two sticks the length of a stylus under the tree and joined her student on the bench.
She gripped one as if she were writing and offered the other to Leander. When he took it, he held it exactly like she did.
Her lips curved. If he could follow her example as closely when he copied what she wrote, he’d be a quick learner.
“Watch what I do carefully. I’ll write a letter; then you can try to copy what I did below it. There are three sets of letters called alphabeta. The set you use depends on what you’re writing. The square capitals are easy to carve into stone because they use straight lines and simple curves. The rustic capitals are what you’ll see in scrolls and codices of history, philosophy, and poetry. The cursive alphabetum is what people use for ordinary writing. That can be a little hard to read when someone doesn’t take time to write the letters carefully, so we’ll work on those most.”
He rolled the stick between his fingers as his eyes stayed focused on her face.
She rubbed her lip. How could she make it easier for him?
“I think the easiest are the square capitals, so we’ll try those first.”
She moved the plate of dirt in front of his right hand so he could reach it without taking his arm out of the sling.
When she slid next to him so she could reach it, too, his back straightened and his eyes dropped to look at the dish.
“I promise this won’t be hard, and we won’t go any faster than you’re comfortable with.”
With great care, she traced an A into the dirt. “This is the letter A. It’s only three straight lines.” She made another A. “Now you try.”
Faster than she’d written herself, he made a perfect A.
“Very nice for your first letter. Now here’s how you make a B.”
She traced it slowly to let him see how she made the curves join the straight line. The moment she finished the second example, he made a perfect copy.
Her head snapped sideways, and she stared at him. Her brow furrowed. “You said you didn’t know how to write.”
“I don’t know how to write Latin. I learned to read and write Greek as a child.” He shrugged. “These letters I’ve seen on monuments and buildings almost every time I carried you.”
“Then we’ll just write them once as I tell you their names and move on to cursive.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll do.”
She smoothed the dirt with the side of the stick. “Then let’s proceed.”
For a man with a bad shoulder and his arm in a sling, writing small letters in the dirt was harder work than plucking caterpillars from grape leaves, but that wasn’t something Leander could tell Mistress Calantha.
She beamed at him each time he learned a new letter and moved eagerly to the next one.
But his shoulder hurt, and it was getting harder to sit up straight.
He startled when her hand rested on his as he formed a letter.
“My
lion’s getting tired. You need to rest.” She rose. “Come with me.”
He slipped off the bench and placed the crutch under his arm. He turned toward the house, but the mistress headed toward the short grass under the carob tree.
His brow furrowed. He’d planned to lie down inside for a while. But what was the mistress planning?
When he joined her in the shade, she held out her hands. “Let me help you sit down.”
As he lowered himself to the ground, he kept his eyes from rolling at what he feared was coming. When she sat beside him and patted her lap, no doubt remained.
“Lie down and put your head in my lap, like you did in the wagon.”
“But it’s not right for―”
“You have to stop telling me that.” She tightened her lips and shook her head at him. “You’re supposed to do whatever I want without all this arguing. You’re going to take a nap, and when you awaken, we’ll work on your writing again.”
He wanted to say more and convince her he’d rest better inside, but she was the mistress. When she ordered him to do something, he had to obey, as long as it didn’t put her in danger.
“Yes, Calantha.”
As soon as his head rested in her lap, she began playing with his hair and humming.
Her fingers running through his hair or stroking his cheek as she teased him about lion fur…it gave him more pleasure than he should let it.
He let his eyes turn to watch her. She was looking at him like she looked at her nieces when she played with them. She was only being kind because she appreciated how he risked himself to save her.
Then he closed his eyes because looking at her gentle smile made it so much harder to remember she was only his mistress taking care of a slave who served her well.
Calantha watched Leander’s breathing slow and deepen. He was asleep.
She stopped fingering his hair, and her hand slipped down to rest on his cheek. It was prickly again. The stubble pressed into her palm. She almost stroked his cheekbone with her thumb, but that might awaken him. He needed the sleep.
Her head tilted as her gaze swept his peaceful face, finally resting on that hint of a smile that curved his lips, even when he slept. He’d shaved only a few hours before, but there was already more hair on his upper lip than Aulus could grow in a week.
His beard grew so fast he had to shave every day to stay like she wanted. He rested his elbow on the table and shaved quickly with his right hand now, but it must hurt some. Maybe she should shave it for him tomorrow. Her lips curved at that thought. She fought the urge to stroke his cheekbone again.
It wasn’t easy for him to shave, but he didn’t mind. He’d do anything for her, and he only objected when she told him to do something he thought showed disrespect for a mistress.
Her lips curved up. Mistress. He still tried to call her that sometimes, but that wasn’t how she wanted him to see her.
Friend. That was how she thought of him. Not slave, but friend.
After all he’d done, she could never see him as a mere slave again, and she’d make sure he didn’t stay a slave after they returned. Surely Father would free him and be glad to do it. How could he refuse to free the man who’d saved his daughter from slavery and death?
Tiberius Julius Leander. It would be a good name for him once he was freed.
Her thumb brushed the stubble below his cheekbone. He didn’t stir.
It would be wrong to name him Dacius, after some place where he’d been enslaved, or even Diegis, like he’d been born. No, he’d always be Leander, her own lion, the man who fought the kidnappers to keep her from becoming a slave and took an arrow so she wouldn’t die.
Chapter 44: A Man of Proven Worth
Day 28
When Marcus and Aulus rode into the ludus stable yard the next morning, Africanus was lounging on a bench, his arms stretched out along the back. His saddled bay stood by a manger, munching hay.
Marcus let his gaze sweep the gladiator, then raised one eyebrow. Yet again, the slave was acting like his own master.
Africanus rose and approached Aulus. He patted the shoulder of Marcus’s chestnut and turned a smile on Aulus.
“Water your horse, and we’ll leave. It will be a half-day ride out to Tibur.”
With the Nubian walking beside him, Aulus steered his stallion to the water trough beside Africanus’s horse. “Tibur?”
“The amphitheater there is popular because of all the villas of the elite. We’ll pass near one that belonged to Emperor Augustus.”
Marcus rode close enough that the space between him and Aulus was too small for a big man.
Africanus stopped walking and let them pass. When he mounted the bay, his tightened lips looked too much like they held back a laugh.
When the horses finished drinking, Africanus headed out the gate. He guided their party through the milling pedestrians to the Clivus Suburanus, which led to the Porta Esquilina and the Via Tiburtina beyond. When they cleared the line of wagons already forming to await evening access to the city, he urged his horse into a trot. After a quarter hour, he reined back to a walk.
Aulus nudged his horse up beside Africanus, leaving Marcus to ride alone. “Does Brutus have property near Tibur?”
Marcus joined the pair on the side away from the gladiator. “That’s not likely. The best estates belong to the senatorial families, and Brutus is equestrian.”
Aulus glanced at Marcus, then turned back to Africanus. “Does he?”
Africanus’s mouth started to curve into a smile as his gaze rested on Marcus before moving back to Aulus.
“No. Master Brutus buys land for what it can earn him, not to impress other people. His six estates are north and south of Rome in prime wine country and in Germania Superior, Narbonensis, and Sicilia.”
Marcus leaned forward to catch Africanus’s eye. “Does he buy gladiators for the same reason? Have you made him a good profit?”
Africanus’s eyes crinkled. “I’ve returned my cost to him a hundred times over, and I’d bring more than you could pay if he sold me.” His mouth curved into a skeptical smile. “Some of us can prove our worth. For other men, you can only take their word, if you trust it. A man who sets his own value by that of his ancestors…perhaps he’ll be worth something someday.”
His head turned toward Aulus. “The horses have walked long enough.”
The gladiator kicked his bay into a trot, and Marcus wasn’t sorry. He had low tolerance for arrogant men. For arrogant slaves, he had none at all.
As Aulus and his party approached Tibur, they climbed a steep hill. In less than a mile, the distant roar of the falls on the Anio River reached their ears. By the time they rode onto the bridge that spanned the river before it plunged over the falls, Aulus had to almost shout at Africanus.
He reined in half way across the bridge to look down the valley. “Impressive. I was a child when I last came here with Father. He talked with several friends about some vote in the Senate.”
Africanus’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “The last time I came, a man who wanted to be consul hired men from my ludus to impress his friends. The arena isn’t large, but it suits the men who live here to avoid the heat of the city. The local ludus is decent, but not up to the standards of Rome. Callidus might be good enough to sign with it.”
Aulus pointed at a round building surrounded by marble columns across the ravine from the bridge. “The Temple of Vesta. After we visit the ludus, we should eat our lunch over there. It’s not every day I get to watch such wild water, and I’m already hungry.”
“I was a little younger than you when I saw the cataracts of the Nile.” Africanus’s nose twitched. “I hated them then. Perhaps I’d enjoy them now.” He nudged his horse into a walk. “First we visit the ludus. If Callidus is there and tells us where your sister is, your lunch can be a celebration instead of a meal.”
The ludus was housed in a brown brick building across from the amphitheate
r. Aulus bounded up the steps and pushed open the door. Inside, the clack of wooden sword on wooden sword met them. Africanus stepped past him and led them down a narrow hallway that opened into the practice arena.
The lanista stood with his back toward them until Aulus cleared his throat.
He turned, and his face darkened with a scowl. “What do you want?”
His eyes widened, and his face relaxed when he looked past Aulus. “Is Antonius Brutus with you? I have some fighters who might interest him.”
Africanus’s voice came from behind Aulus. “Not today, but he would like you to help this young man if you can.”
The scowl flipped into a smile. “Anything for Brutus.” His gaze returned to Aulus’s face. “So, what do you need?”
“We’re looking for a retired legionary who plans to sign on with a ludus. We were hoping he’d come to Tibur to join yours.”
The lanista shook his head. “No one has applied here for several months. I could use new blood.” He craned his neck to see past Aulus to Africanus. “I suppose Brutus could, too.” He lowered his voice. “Is Africanus on the market? Brutus hasn’t put him in a bout lately. Has he been injured? Lost some of his edge? He’d still be a draw here.”
Aulus’s head bounced back. “Not at all. He’s Brutus’s best trainer and only works with the finest of the students. He’s the sparring partner Brutus uses himself. He always takes Africanus when he travels, and he chose Africanus to help us with a thorny problem. I can’t imagine Brutus wanting to sell him. I can’t see how anyone fortunate enough to own him would want to part with him."
The lanista shrugged. “You can’t blame me for asking. Fighters like him are hard to find. Tell Brutus I’ll keep my eyes open for the man he’s looking for. If he comes to me, Brutus can have first chance to buy his contract.”
Marcus’s eyebrows lowered. Aulus spoke too glowingly of their companion in the hunt. To make it worse, the gladiator was standing close enough that he must have heard.
Africanus had been useful for getting cordial receptions at the different ludi, but anyone recognized as belonging to Brutus would have made clear Brutus’s interest in finding Callidus. The big Nubian had known how to handle Ursus when the too-rich freedman started to threaten them, but any well-trained bodyguard should have done as well.