by Nhys Glover
“You know what we are asking of you?” I asked Laria, instead of answering immediately.
She nodded silently, eyes too wide.
“Then start showing me you can do it. No noblewoman would cringe like a mistreated cur.”
Her chin came up, and I saw what I was looking for: a spark of fire in her dark eyes. “She would if she’d been a captive of them Parthians.”
Her accent was good but her speech patterns were not. “Never contract your words, and it is ‘those Parthians’.” I informed her like a tutor.
She grimaced and tried again. “She would if she had been a captive of those Parthians.”
I smiled. “Much better. And you are right. I imagine a gently born woman would not have handled life on the run with the Parthians.”
“She’d be a babbling idiot after what they put you through,” Orion announced fiercely, fury at the men he had killed emerging yet again.
It was just a bad memory to me now, the fear, the sea-sickness, the long days of riding and the worse ones of walking through the desert. I had been sorely broken when Orion got me to Maleka’s place. Had he not been as kind and gentle with me as he had, I doubt I would have bounced back as well as I did.
“Well, she cannot afford to be an idiot, babbling or otherwise. But a little nervousness and fear might be acceptable,” I said with determination. I turned back to the girl. “How well are you versed in the manners of my class?”
She grimaced again, this time with attitude. “I was a lady’s handmaiden for years until I displeased her and she sold me. I know well enough how to behave.”
“Did you stick a pin in her head as you positioned her wig?” I asked with a smile, starting to like the girl.
She grinned. “Oh, no. That would simply have got me a pin in the arm for my troubles. No, I upturned slops over her when I accidently tripped. She was beating a child at the time.”
I grinned outright then, pleased with both her speech and her presentation. “A woman after my own heart. You will do well, I am sure.”
I turned to Typhon who was carrying some fabrics in his arms. “Are they her clothing?”
“Yes, I bought the best gown and stola I could find in the marketplace before it closed up for the night. You would not be expected to have much in the way of clothing, but we can buy more once we have her settled in with the governor.”
I nodded. “I hope my uncle’s men make their move quickly. I need this to be over. Anything could be happening to Marcus.”
“They’ll be under orders to keep him safe. Beating him would enrage his father,” Talos pointed out, moving to stand beside me to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. I leaned into him, before I remembered we had an audience.
Sure enough, Laria’s eyes had narrowed as she took in the gesture of comfort.
“I am not like other women of my class, though you will behave as if I was. This is the Wolf Pack, gladiators raised and trained by my pater. We have been friends since childhood. They have all risked their lives on many occasions for me.”
“Slaves and masters can’t be friends.” The girl declared warily. Then thought better of her speech and said it again. “Slaves and their master cannot be friends.”
“They can be, if they are willing to put affection above status. And I hold great affection for my pack-mates,” I replied firmly.
“But you are to marry this missing equestrian, are you not?” Laria asked in confusion.
“I am. And Marcus has also been a part of our pack since childhood. We are unconventional, as you will discover if you spend much time with us. And I hope you will. Have my men explained what you will gain if you manage to carry off your role?”
“My freedom. But I have seen what happens to free women without money. I would rather be a slave in the good, comfortable home of a patrician,” she negotiated cannily.
I smiled, warming even more to the girl. Others might call me impetuous, but I had a sense about people. This girl was someone who would fit in well on my estate. “I have such a home. You will be welcome there, if that is your choice.”
She grinned again and her old accent returned. “As long as you don’t stick no pins in me or beat no little girls.”
I grinned back. “I do stick needles in people, but I have never been known to beat anyone.”
Her look of horror had my men laughing.
Orion explained. “Ennia Corva is a physician and not only sticks needles into people, but cuts them up with knives when the situation requires it. She is a remarkable woman.”
The look of surprised admiration on Laria’s face had me preening a little in response. I loved it when I was respected for what I could do rather than who I was.
“So let us begin. Men, I think it is time you left the lady and I alone. I will assume the role of handmaiden. As long as you do not stick pins in me, that is,” I said the last part to Laria, who hooted with amusement.
“Well, I never thought I would see the day when a noblewoman dressed me. But, who am I to complain?”
Grumbling a little under their breaths at the cheeky chit, my men filed out, promising to return with a meal shortly.
Once the door was closed, I went to work. “You need to wash your hair and as much of your body as you can manage using the bowl and jug in the corner. It is not ideal, but you will not be expected to be overly clean after a long voyage. The governor probably has a private bathing room where you can do a better job. Remember, we patricians are very particular about our cleanliness.”
“I like to be clean. I just don’t get much of a chance. And our costumes are never washed. They stink to the skies, I can tell you.”
“Remember your speech. Even with me you need to try to speak correctly. The more habitual it becomes, the less likely you will be to fall out of character at the wrong moment.”
The girl nodded as she dropped her filthy gown to the floor. She wore nothing beneath it.
Immediately, I noted as many bruises as there was dirt covering her body. I was sure one set of bruises on her thighs was from finger tips. I grimaced in dismay.
“I can cover myself if the sight of me offends,” Laria said hurriedly, misinterpreting my expression.
“I have seen far worse injuries. It just upsets me to know how you likely came by them.”
“It is my bruises that concern you? Do not worry about them. Men are all brutes. You probably do not think so, being a noblewoman and all, but they are.” She was fierce in her anger and I wanted to step back in fear from her ferocity. But I doubted her anger would overflow onto me, so I held my ground.
“Some men can be brutes, I know. But you never have to fear my pack. They are mighty warriors, but they would never hurt a woman that way.”
Laria grinned saucily. “They would hardly have to, given what fine looking men they are.”
My spine straightened. “They are not for you. Please remember who you are supposed to be.”
“But I do not have to be you until tomorrow. I can enjoy tonight if I like, can I not? Any one of them would do. Maybe more than one.” She wriggled her eyebrows at me.
“No!” I snapped in annoyance. “You play your role from this moment on. Like your speech, your behaviour cannot deviate, even when you think you are alone or with people who know the truth.”
She studied me more closely, eyes narrowing. “Which one takes your fancy? That dark-skinned one who comforted you?”
I felt my secrets slipping like sand through my fingers. “They will not show any interest in you. Do not embarrass yourself by trying to seduce any of them.” My tone was stiff, and I knew I was giving myself away.
Laria simply shrugged, as if she did not believe me but was unwilling to argue further about it. She wandered over to the bowl and began filling it with fresh water. Her gasp at the sight of the soap shard had me smiling.
“Can I use this?” she asked uncertainly, again the nervous girl who had entered the room.
“Of course. A patrician woul
d smell like a patrician, after all,” I told her with a smile, forgetting my jealousy.
“You are remarkable. I can see that now. No wonder those men look at you as they do.”
This made me curious, and my expression must have invited her to go on.
“Like you could walk on air if you had a mind to,” she answered my unspoken question.
I blushed. “As I said, we share a common respect and affection for each other. That is all.”
She nodded, but her eyes held compassion. It hurt more than I expected. “You cannot love us. It will only hurt you.”
I shook my head and turned away. “I thank you for your advice but it is not required. We are friends and pack-mates. No more.”
Chapter Seven
MARCUS
When I returned to consciousness it was to find myself in the bottom of a small fishing boat, barely big enough for the four men on board it. Five counting me. Two were clearly fishermen, the other two my captors. The water was calm, but on our journey across to Britannia I had seen how quickly this channel of water could erupt into waves. Weighed down as it now was, it would take very little to wash over the sides and sink us.
That was when I realised the bag over my head was gone and so was my gag. I assumed they felt the danger was past for them.
I shifted uncomfortably. From the pain in my limbs I knew I was still tied as before. When this was over, would I be able to walk upright ever again? Maybe it would never be over. Maybe at some predetermined signal I would be put to death. In all honesty, I would not be sad to have the pain come to an end. My life was not so wonderful that I would miss it.
My mind turned immediately to Phaedrus. Gods, I missed him. I had wanted so much more than the brief conversations and shared smiles we had exchanged, but when even they were gone I was left bereft. If I could never see him again I doubted I would want to live another day.
“You awake, patrician?” The voice belonged to the man who had given the orders before. I recognised it immediately. Now I was being given the opportunity to see the person it belonged to.
I was unimpressed. The short, skinny man who sat on the bottom of the boat not far from me was about as unintimidating as anyone could get. But the scar down the side of his face and the fact he was missing half an ear told me he should not be underestimated.
“Why have you taken me? What do you want?” I demanded.
“What any poor man would want. Money, of course. And your father has plenty of it. So he will exchange you for some of it. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Only fair, really.”
I studied the man as best I could. His words did not ring true. And they hardly made sense. I was not the only man of substance in the colony. If a ransom was what they were after, why not take someone whose father was closer to hand. I knew for a fact that several of the other tribunes had parents in Gallia. It would be far easier to get news to them of the abduction and then quickly receive the ransom. My father was a thousand miles and more away. It would take time to get a ransom demand to him and to then receive payment.
“Why me?” I demanded, wanting to make sense of this.
The man shrugged. “Convenience. You made it easy by separating yourself from your guards. It was like plucking low-hanging fruit. Next time I would suggest you keep your guards close.”
“Next time?” I said with a snort. “Will there be a next time?”
The man gave a grunt of amusement. “That depends on your father. And you, of course. If you make it tiresome to keep you alive then we won’t bother. After all, once we have the money, who’s going to stop us ending your life anyway?”
“You are a fool to think this will work. Do you imagine my pater will just hand over a fortune without knowing for sure you have me and will return me unharmed?”
“Now that is something he will need to determine for himself. I have taken your ring. He will know we have you from that ring.”
My mind was spinning, and the pain made it hard to focus. But this was my life we were discussing. I had to understand what was going on if I was to have any chance of survival.
“Yes, the ring will show you have me, but if my back is broken I will not live long enough for the exchange.”
“Back broken?” The man seemed genuinely confused.
“The way you have me trussed up is breaking my back. At least give me room to straighten out a little.”
The man seemed to study my words for a moment. Then, with one fluid movement, he drew a knife and severed the rope that bound my ankles to my hands.
The relief was immediate, and I curved myself into a ball to ease the muscles in my back a little more. Suddenly I felt a lot better. I may not be free, I may soon sink to the bottom of the sea, but at least I had a reprieve from the excruciating pain. Even my head seemed to ache a little less now.
“See, I can be a reasonable man. And if you behave, we will get on well enough. There is no need for you to try to escape when you will gain your freedom soon enough. The message has already gone out to your father by imperial dispatch. We will get a reply soon enough.”
“Imperial dispatch? How?”
The little man chuckled. “Bribery can achieve a great deal. Everyone needs money. Or what counts for money in these parts. I paid in salt. Worth its weight in gold is salt.”
I knew that this was the truth, although it was an exaggeration. But salt was a commodity that was in high demand and easily exchanged for goods. It was as good as gold to legionaries in the provinces.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked again, once I was sure my back would no longer be a problem.
“Gallia Belgica. A small village north of Gesoriacum”
I nodded. I knew the name of the township, as it had a significant naval presence. But away from the township the province was largely as it had been for hundreds of years. Rome’s civilizing influence in the empire was widespread but not uniform.
“So, what? You keep me prisoner in some village hut until the ransom is paid and then you just go your way and leave me to go mine? What of the villagers? They will know retribution will come down on them if they help you.”
The man was enjoying this exchange. He was like a cat with a mouse. “They will not know anything about you. The hut we have taken over is away from the rest and my woman does not invite friendships. She goes to the village to the market and returns home. And her husband is known to be a traveller. So the villagers will mind their own business.
“Any more questions? I may regret taking your gag out if there are. It will go back in when we land, anyway, just until we get to our hut. Then you can yell as loud as you like, no one will hear you.”
A woman was with them. Could she be prevailed upon to help me? It would depend if she had a soft heart or not. Or how much her man ruled her life. It was a possibility though. And at this point looking for possibilities was all I had to occupy my mind. If I let it slide too long to what I had lost... to Phaedrus... I would lose all that I had left: hope.
Chapter Eight
ACCALIA
Waiting was killing me. I had watched the water clock Asterius had set up for me drip on and on.
I had seen the devices used in the past. They came from Babylon and Aegyptus, and Asterius told me that here in the far north where the sun was not as often seen, sun dials rarely worked. A water clock did a more reliable job if you had someone to maintain it.
This one had two cups. The first one had a hole in the bottom. It dripped a steady amount of water into the cup beneath it. The bottom one had lines around the interior of the bowl. When the water level reached the first of the lines an hour had passed, when it reached the next, another hour would have passed. It had eight lines. Once it reached the top line you would place the water back in the top bowl and the dripping would start again. It could repeat its cycle three times in a day and night.
The sound was annoying in the empty room. But I was pleased to have it. Asterius had been considerate to get it for me. All my men found l
ittle ways to show me their concern and care. In Asterius’ case, he had noted my frustration with not knowing how much time had passed and remedied the problem as soon as he could. Which was at the same time the rest were getting us our meal last night.
So, Asterius had set up the clock when they left, and I listened to the drip, drip, drip all night. If I slept at all it was only fitfully. I kept getting up to check the level, sure it must be time to rise. But the water level never seemed to get any higher and the little lamp, which provided all the light there was in the room, never seemed to run out of olive oil.
That would have been a quieter way to measure time, I realised. If I had known how fast a wick burned down I could measure time by how often it had to be replaced. But then it was hard to know how much wick had been used up until the light began to flicker and you knew it needed replacing. And different wicks would burn at different speeds.
A candle was a better measure of time. At home we knew exactly how long it took to burn down to the different marks on the candle. I had to wonder why Asterius had not simply found candles that did just that here. It could not be unknown to these people, even if they were at the end of the world. Romans brought their knowledge with them everywhere they went.
My musings about timekeeping had occupied some hours. The rest I was left to contemplate what my life might be like when I went home. I knew Marcus would leave the running of the gladiator breeding and training programs in my hands. He had become quite astute at running the day-to-day matters on his father’s estate nearby, so when he returned to Italia he would likely continue to manage that property as well as mine. And until he was released from his compulsory military service I could handle all matters pertaining to my estate.
But what if our plan failed, or something went wrong and Marcus died? What then? My uncle would marry me off to get rid of me and then turn his attentions to mismanaging the estate, particularly the gladiators. He might sell off the Wolf Pack. No, the pack were safe. Pater had thought ahead and given them their freedom. I did not have to worry about them.