Blind Ambition

by Carol Ashby

  The Roman picked up the basket and handed it to one of the mounted soldiers. He turned toward Valeria to pay and held out the coin for her to take. She kept her eyes on the coin and not his face. Looking into a soldier’s eyes could draw dangerous attention.

  He held the coin over her outstretched hand. The long pause without him dropping it kicked her heart rate higher. God, please let him just drop it and go.

  Like a striking snake, his free hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

  “I want something sweeter than berries from you.”

  He pulled her toward him. The lecherous gleam in his eyes and the cruel twist at the corner of his mouth left no doubt of his intent.

  She placed her free hand against his chest and pushed as she leaned away from him. His muscles above the leather forearm guard bulged as he jerked her closer. He gripped both her arms, leaving no hope of pulling free or twisting away from him. With both hands against his chest, she pushed as she dug her heels in, but the blanket prevented secure footing. She slipped, and he pulled her against him. An animal laugh rumbled in his chest as she struggled to free herself.

  She forced her voice to sound calm. Pleading would only inflame him. “You’re hurting me. Please let me go.”

  Her gaze was drawn to his cold, merciless eyes. God, no! Make him stop!

  One arm crushed her to his chest as he reached for the neck of her tunic. She shut her eyes and kept praying for deliverance from what now appeared inevitable.

  “Fabius. Enough.”

  Valeria’s eyes sprang open as the arm imprisoning her relaxed. The officer’s eyebrow shot up. Frowning, his head snapped sideways to look at the senior tribune, then back at her. The tribune’s quiet command had stopped him, but as he released her, he shoved her away hard. As she fell backward onto the blanket, he tossed the coin so it hit her in the face.

  She looked up at the tribune to thank him, but he was already riding away toward the inn. The lecherous officer remounted and followed his commander.

  Her eyes sought Rhoda. She was half-hidden behind the cart, her hand over her mouth and her eyes enormous. As the attacker rode off, she ran to Valeria, knelt, and slipped her arms around her sister. Fear darkened eyes brimming with tears.

  “I’m all right, precious. Don’t be afraid.” Valeria stroked Rhoda’s hair and kissed her forehead. “God has protected me.” She held up the coin. “And we even have enough to get Galen’s new boots.”

  The basket woman had scrambled away when the officer grabbed her arms, but Valeria didn’t blame her. She couldn’t have helped even if she’d been brave.

  Now her aged friend reached out to help Valeria up. “Roman troops are like hungry wolves. I thought nothing could stop one once he started, but that tribune protected you. I never heard of such a thing.”

  Valeria smiled as she took her hand for some help getting back on her feet. “God sometimes uses the strangest tools to do His work. I never would have expected Him to use a tribune, but I’m very thankful He did.”

  “You should leave now, before they finish eating. He may not be so protective when his stomach is full.”

  “I still have a few more things to sell. We’ll leave after I sell them. God will still protect us.”

  Valeria watched the tribune ride his high-stepping stallion toward the trees by the inn. An aura of power surrounded him. Her attacker had responded instantly to a single, softly spoken word. The tribune, tautly muscled and proudly erect as he rode, radiated strength. He was so full of pride in his Roman blood, so confident that he was superior and in control. He probably thought he knew more than anyone in the village, but she knew some truths that he did not. The power and glory of a man were fleeting, and only God was really in control.

  Rhoda was watching, too. “Aren’t they magnificent?”

  The red capes draped across their shoulders, the shiny red-crested helmets, the spirited horses they rode―Valeria had to agree that the Romans looked magnificent.

  Rhoda pointed at the tribune. “Especially the one with that tall red fringe on his helmet, the one at the front―just look at his horse.”

  Valeria fought to suppress a grin. Rhoda looked at the power and pride of a handsome man and what did she see? Only his beautiful, spirited horse. The sleek black stallion was full of energy, sporting a luxuriant mane and tail, taller than the other horses, heavily muscled and obviously expensive―a superb example of the best horses from Spain. Her father had told her how magnificent the Spanish horses were, but she’d never actually seen one before.

  The stallion had been fidgeting, pawing the ground impatiently with his hoof while the purchase of her berries was being made. Frequently tossing his head but perfectly obedient to the equally magnificent man seated upon him, so relaxed and in control.

  What a perfect reflection the horse was of its rider―striking in appearance, full of controlled power.

  Warmth spread across her cheeks. She’d been gazing too long at the handsome Roman. No doubt he knew he could make a woman’s heart flutter, but God judges by what’s in the heart of a man, not by his appearance or the power he seems to have. She should do the same.

  The tribune and his men tied their horses to the trees by the inn and settled in at a table in the shady courtyard.

  The innkeeper scurried over to take their orders, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. He’d told his daughter to hide in the house and had taken over serving as soon as he saw the Romans riding into the village.

  When the young officer had grabbed Valeria, the innkeeper’s teeth had clenched. He’d known her since she was a small child, and he always bought some of her produce. If only there had been time to warn her as well. He knew what to expect of Roman troops.

  She’d struggled with the brute, but nothing would stop the inevitable. No one would even dare try. The innkeeper’s head had snapped back when the Roman only pushed her down and threw a coin in her face. That was the last thing he’d expected. Mercy and Roman were never words he used together.

  Any chance to get some Roman money was welcome, but he was no fan of the Empire or those who exerted its power. Neither he nor anyone else at the inn even considered warning the Romans about the danger along the southern road. It would be a good thing if the robbers were to attack them. There would be fewer Romans or fewer robbers or, most likely, fewer of both after the encounter. Whoever was killed, it would be a good thing as far as the innkeeper was concerned.

  “What can I bring you, tribune?” He tried to make his smile look natural, but he wasn’t a very good actor. Not that the tribune would care.

  Decimus removed his brass helmet and set it on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair, swishing them to loosen it. Too bad helmets always trapped sweat. A light breeze began to evaporate the dampness and cool him.

  “Some of that stew for my men and some wine.”

  The innkeeper dipped a quick bow. “Right away, tribune.”

  Decimus flexed his shoulders and back before stretching his legs out and lacing his fingers behind his head. A satisfied sigh escaped. The aroma rising from the cooking pot convinced him that stopping at this inn had been a good choice. The food would be tasty, the company jovial, and the time off his horse refreshing.

  A burly man was loitering under a tree near the edge of the village square. His calculating eyes flitted on and off the Romans as they made their way through the village. It was wisest to look at them neither too much nor too little as they approached and passed by. When their backs were toward him, his gaze locked on the wooden box strapped to the packhorse. Large enough to hold a Roman payroll. A worthwhile prize―worth the risk of attacking a Roman cavalry troop. Only three officers and four cavalrymen―an easy target for a dozen robbers at the place on the southern road that was perfect for an ambush.

  When the Romans dismounted and walked into the inn’s courtyard, he faded back into the trees. After skirting the edge of the village so no one would notice him, he
mounted his horse and headed down the road in the direction the Romans would soon be traveling.

  Laughter from the courtyard reached Valeria’s ears, and she found herself watching the handsome Roman again. The tribune had taken off his helmet and set it on the table. With his fingers laced together and his hands resting on the top of his head, he was leaning back in his chair, a smile on his lips as he talked with his men. It was obvious he wasn’t only their commander. There was real camaraderie among them. When they’d finished the last of their wine, he stood up and placed his helmet back on his head. Still laughing together, the Romans rose and sauntered over to their horses to mount up.

  Valeria had just sold her last cabbage. It was time to start the long drive home. She folded her blanket and raised one hand to catch Rhoda’s attention.

  “Rhoda, please fetch Placida.”

  Rhoda hugged Bertha goodbye and ran to get the mare from where she was grazing.

  The basket seller took Valeria’s hand. “Be careful as you travel. I hope you don’t run into the robbers.”

  “We’ll be safe. God is our protector.” Valeria squeezed her hand before walking to her parked cart.

  She hooked the mare’s harness to the cart shafts while Rhoda spread the blanket on the seat again and climbed aboard.

  As Decimus untied Astro, the big horse tossed his head and shook his mane. The corner of Decimus’s mouth lifted. “Ready for another gallop, boy?” He patted the stallion’s neck.

  When Decimus settled into the saddle, the horse began dancing in place, eager for speed. As soon as the others were mounted, he turned Astro toward the south and signaled the column of twos to move out.

  One gentle nudge and Astro sprang forward, hitting full gallop within ten strides.

  Valeria slapped Placida with the reins. As she was pulling out onto the road, the Roman troop galloped by, cutting her off. The mare startled and reared. The cart tilted at a crazy angle, and Rhoda almost fell out before grabbing the seat just in time.

  “Whoa, girl, whoa!” Valeria shortened her grip on the reins and arched back, using her full weight to keep the mare from bolting. Placida’s hooves settled back to earth. She stood still, but her edginess kept her ears pricked, her nostrils flared, and the whites of her eyes showing.

  As Valeria watched the backs of the Romans as they galloped away, her eyebrows dipped. “Cutting us off like that. Not a thought about anybody else.”

  Her lips tightened and she shook her head. Arrogant and selfish―that’s what the tribune was. Nothing admirable about him at all, no matter how handsome he might be. Rhoda could have been hurt or even killed when he spooked the mare.

  But as she watched him riding away, her anger faded. The poor tribune. He didn’t realize his feeling of superiority was separating him from the most precious thing in God’s creation―other people. He was missing so much by neither noticing nor caring about most of the people he saw. Still, he wasn’t completely devoid of human feelings. He’d shown he could be merciful when he stopped Fabius, and he treated his men like friends.

  Placida had calmed enough, so Valeria clucked to her mare. As she followed the Romans down the southern road, she chided herself. Perhaps I judge him too harshly. Lord, please forgive me. At least he seems to care about his own kind. I know my judging him is a greater sin than his pride. I know the Way, and he’s probably never even heard Your words.

  Rhoda was still watching the horses. “That black stallion is so beautiful. I’d love to have a horse like him. He'd come when I call, and I’d pet his nose and comb his mane and tail. I’m sure he’d enjoy it as much as me.”

  Valeria wrapped her arm around Rhoda’s shoulders. “He’d look very funny if I tried to harness him with our mare.”

  Rhoda grinned back. “He’s too big and she’s too small to pull together, but I think they’d make beautiful baby horses for us to sell. I’ve never, ever seen a horse as wonderful as him. Maybe God made him to show just how pretty a horse could be.”

  Valeria nodded as she lowered her arm to take the reins in both hands again. “I loved our horses when my father used to raise them. It would be fun to have foals in the corrals again. Maybe someday. Then you could help me with the horses like I used to help my father.”

  Rhoda hugged her arm and snuggled against her sister as they continued down the road. “I’d love that, too.”

  Chapter 3: The Ambush

  The Romans slowed to a trot as they entered the woods. A breeze stirred the leaves, and the sunlight made broken shadows as it shone down through the branches. Decimus was thoroughly enjoying himself. It felt good to ride through the cool quiet after a relaxing meal in the village. This was much better than traveling the river road.

  As he rode alone at the head of the column of twos, the soft pounding rhythm of the hoofbeats behind him penetrated his thoughts. He raised his hand as he slowed Astro to a walk. He was alternating between periods of trotting and walking to keep the horses fresh. They had covered a good distance since sun up, but they still had a long way to go before nightfall.

  About three miles from the village, the road wound down a steep hill where the forest was interspersed with large rocky outcrops. Many were taller than a mounted man, and some overhung the wagon track.

  The horses had been walking for a while, and it was almost time to trot again. Decimus twisted to look behind. “Fabius.”

  Fabius rode ten feet back. He kicked his horse to come up beside his commander.

  “The berry seller. With what we’re carrying, your action was unwise. She may have been a virgin, and I don’t want to be followed by a father bent on revenge for you spoiling his daughter. We should be in a town tonight where you can get satisfaction from a woman who wants your attentions.”

  Fabius grinned and nodded. Decimus slapped him on the back, then nudged his horse to a trot to end the conversation. Fabius fell back into his place in the column.

  Actually, Decimus had surprised himself when he stopped Fabius. Army life was hard, and he usually let his junior officers find relaxation in whatever way they chose. What Fabius had planned for his lunchtime pleasure had been perfectly acceptable on previous trips. Something made him tell Fabius to stop this time, but he didn’t know why. She was only a German peasant. He was not a cruel man, but he was not a merciful one, either. Mercy was not considered a virtue in Rome.

  The troop approached the bottom of the hill, trotting beside a tall, overhanging outcrop. Ahead the road curved and went through a narrow gap in the rocks.

  The tribune should have been more alert. He should have slowed to a walk so he could listen. He should have passed through what looked like a perfect place for an ambush with his hand on his sword and his eyes scanning in all directions.

  Instead, he sat relaxed on his stallion’s back and led the men through at a trot. The river road was always safe. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the road through the hills might not be.

  It was a fatal mistake.

  When the last pair of Romans was in the gap, the robbers leaped upon them, swinging their axes and swords. Two at a time they jumped the Romans, pulling them from their horses. The four at the rear were killed almost before they realized what was happening. Decimus, Fabius, and the other young officer were already through the gap. They wheeled their horses to face the attackers who were swarming them. The sound of metal on metal echoed up the hillside as the outnumbered Romans fought for their lives.

  Fabius cut down two before he was felled by a sword through his neck. The other officer killed two more before he was struck down by an ax.

  The sword sliced into Decimus’s leg before it cut into his horse’s shoulder. Astro stumbled, and Decimus was pitched off as the stallion almost fell. Despite the deep gash in his calf, he managed to roll and rise into a standing position. As his attacker charged, Decimus ran him through, then pushed the body off his sword.

  Two more were advancing toward him, their swords raised. One
of his men lay dead behind them. Bloodlust burned in their eyes. With blood gushing from his leg, he made an easy target.

  He stood facing them, his sword ready. His eyes turned to ice.

  Come on, make your move. Now, while I still have strength to fight.

  He’d seen enough battle wounds to know he couldn’t stand much longer. Death was close, but he’d rather die fighting, taking his enemies with him.

  One robber stepped forward, sword raised, and Decimus was poised to deflect his blow and run him through. Even with his lifeblood draining out of him, few could match his skill with a sword. He’d have the satisfaction of taking one, maybe two more with him as he died.

  Then all went black.

  The robber had struck from behind with an ax. The brass helmet absorbed most of the force of the blow, keeping the tribune’s skull from cracking wide open. As the helmet split under the blade, his scalp was cut, and blood gushed from the palm-width gash. With so much blood, his attacker thought he’d killed him and didn’t waste his energy striking the “dead man” again.

  With a war-whoop of victory, he bent over the tribune and began stripping him of valuables. The sword and scabbard were finely crafted and would replace his own. The dagger with its engraved silver handle and ivory-inlaid sheath would bring good money. Even split, the bronze helmet with the tall red crest was a worthwhile prize. The bronze cuirass that sheathed the tribune’s torso was too big, but he could sell it. Another whoop came when he pulled off the gold signet ring and snatched the purse filled with Roman coins. Leaving the tribune stripped to his tunic and lying in his own blood, the robber ran to join in the looting of the other dead men.