The Patrician

by Joan Kayse

Several hours later the three sat at an outdoor table of a taverna, sharing a platter of honeyed figs. Judith examined a length of deep green woolen that she planned to make into a dress designed, she confided, to attract a certain young man who owned a nearby wine shop.

  Bryna tried to focus on her new friend’s chatter, but her attention strayed to Jared, who sat close to her on the bench, his thigh rubbing against her own, his scent filled her every breath. She wondered how he would react if she suggested cutting short their excursion and returning to Flavian’s house, to their room—their bed. Her cheeks grew hot. Jared’s eyes darkened as if he too had the gift of sight.

  “Refresh my memory, Judith. Aren’t the Janus baths close by?” he asked, weaving his question into a pause in Judith’s chatter.

  “Oh yes, very close,” Judith answered happily. “It is not as popular as the Emperor’s but much nicer. If I recall, your father is a member of that very bath.”

  Bryna did not like the look of the smile that spread across his face.

  “It has been a long, hot day.” Jared stretched his arms, causing Bryna’s breath to hitch as the muscles of his shoulders rippled beneath the white linen of his tunic. “I think Bryna and I will refresh ourselves in the baths before returning home.”

  “I do not want...” she began, but was cut off by a sharp look from Jared.

  “Of course. That would be very nice, for you,” stammered Judith, her awareness of the tension between the couple obvious by the expression on her face. “I have an aunt who lives nearby. I’m sure she would enjoy a visit.”

  “We will meet you outside the bath in two hours, before the sun sets,” replied Jared.

  Judith nodded, gathered her purchases and headed out into the crowd.

  Bryna fixed her gaze on Jared, who idly dipped his last crust of bread in the herbed olive oil spread on his plate.

  “I do not wish to go to this bath,” she said, hoping the simplicity of the statement would dissuade him.

  He popped the bread into his mouth. “We are going.”

  “I am tired.”

  “The baths will refresh you—”

  “—I am hot—”

  “—and cool your fevered brow—”

  “—I will not be ordered!”

  “—as well as that bothersome temper of yours,” he finished.

  Bryna swore she heard a chuckle beneath his breath as he encircled her shoulders with his arm. She stiffened, determined to show him just how hot her temper could be, when she felt the warmth of his breath teasing the back of her neck. An involuntary shudder went through her as little flames of heat licked at her body reaching far below her belly. It was becoming entirely too familiar an emotion, this sense of longing, of needing, of wanting.

  “All right,” she said, arching her neck as he nuzzled her behind the ear.

  Jared paid for their meal then led the way out into the busy thoroughfare. They really should be getting back to the safety of the house. But the thought of the baths had popped into his head and the opportunity to get Bryna naked would not wait until they returned to his father’s house. This hunger he had for her was very distracting.

  It took only a few minutes to reach the portico of the bath. Jared identified himself to the bath manager as Flavian’s son. The thin faced man bowed in deference to the respected name, but could not conceal his curiosity as he ushered them into the impressive stone building.

  The Janus was small in comparison to most of Rome’s baths, but large enough to boast a membership of several hundred and was well appointed. The main hall was lined with ornately carved columns hung with huge baskets of flowering plants. Equally ornate cages dotted the length of the hall, the soft warbling notes of the songbirds they held enhancing the relaxed atmosphere.

  At the end of the hall, a female slave came to take charge of Bryna. Jared reassured her with a squeeze of her hand then followed a male attendant to his own quarters. In a few minutes, he had shed his clothes, tucked them into a wooden chest and paid coin to a slave to safeguard his belongings.

  Wrapping a linen towel around his hips, he entered the first room of the baths, the tepiderium. Bryna stood against the black marble wall looking uneasy. The yellow glow from the lamps set in hooks along the side of the room illuminated her bare shoulders, the slim column of her throat. Her skin shone like alabaster while her hair fell loose, swirling like a wave of fire around her shoulders. A linen wrap, similar to his own, was tucked beneath her arms and clutched protectively at her breast.

  A smile tugged at his lips at the indignant glare she threw him. “You look as though you are about to be consumed by wild animals.”

  “I do not care for this custom,” she answered, drawing the towel closer around her. “I would rather wash from a bowl or better yet a mountain spring than to share the task with strangers. . .” Her eyes went round as an obese Roman matron waddled past, completely devoid of any covering. “. . .or stay dirty.”

  “Bathing outdoors does have its advantages,” he allowed, recalling a moonlit night beside a farmer’s pond. “But there is more to the baths than just bathing.” He took her hand and led her to a small alcove.

  Tucked within were two long, sturdy benches sitting side by side. Beside the benches stood two female slaves, dressed in short, sleeveless tunics with their hair twined into elaborate buns. Jared lifted Bryna onto the side of one bench, while he sat on the other.

  “What is this?” whispered Bryna, darting nervous looks at the slaves.

  “It is one of the best parts of the baths. It is called a massage.” Regret tugged at him as he watched the uncertainty and anxiety wash across her features. She looked so vulnerable sitting there, her breathing shallow and quick as she fought the panic that shone in her eyes.

  “It’s all right, Bryna. It will make you feel better, ease you, refresh your mind. Watch.” With that he stretched out on his stomach. Immediately one of the slaves selected a vial from her table, poured a generous portion of scented oil into her palms, and began to knead the muscles in his shoulders. He twisted his head to see curiosity replacing fear in her eyes.

  “Lie down. It feels wonderful.” He grunted as the slave loosed a particularly tight muscle.

  The cloth covering the bench felt cool to Bryna’s flushed cheek as stretched out onto her stomach. The second slave gently took her arms and placed them alongside her body, bringing the towel down as well, exposing her back.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs. The Romans had such peculiar customs. She swiveled her head to watch Jared. His eyes were closed the tense planes of his face relaxed as the bath slave vigorously rubbed the wide expanse of his shoulders. Bryna watched in fascination, imagining her own hands stroking those wide shoulders, feeling the strength in those bunched muscles. Unsettled at the jealousy that shot through her, she closed her eyes as the masterful hands of the masseuse began to knead her legs.

  Tension flowed from her with each smooth, rhythmic stroke of the slave’s strong, capable hands. First up, then down. Her legs, her arms, the small of her back. She released a soft sigh as she felt the muscles of her shoulders melting beneath the well placed pressure.

  All time was lost as she repositioned to her back, felt all her cares flowing away like rain skittering down a stream. She felt the towel being tucked around her shoulders and managed to crack open one eye.

  The two slaves were straightening their equipment. Across from her Jared lay totally oblivious. Through half closed lids, she saw the slave who had ministered to him whisper to her cohort, gesturing to her own back and wrists. Her eyes snapped wide open.

  “Jared,” she whispered, struggling to get her jellied limbs to cooperate as she sat up on the side of the table. The two slaves glanced nervously in her direction then scurried out of the room.

  “Jared!” she repeated urgently.

  “Hmmmm...”

  His eyes remained closed. He looked so relaxed and content. Bryna chewed on her lower lip, glanced at the door the two slaves had
disappeared through. Perhaps she was imagining trouble where there was none.

  “What is it, Bryna?” Jared was looking at her. Bryna snatched the towel up and busied herself with tucking it around her chest. Her cheeks burned hot at Jared’s chuckle.

  “Why hide yourself, wife? I was quite enjoying the view.”

  “We are not alone in our bedchamber,” she hissed. “There are others about.”

  “We can quickly remedy that.”

  He slid off the table, wrapped a towel around his waist. Enfolding her in his arms, he gave her a slow, wet kiss which scattered her uncertainty away. Perhaps he was right. After all, her sight had not shown her any danger. She angled her head and returned the kiss.

  For the next hour, they explored the range of services offered by the bath. Jared bypassed the lifting of weights offered in the gym. Two months of lifting boulders in the fields of Gaius had left his arms strong enough. He did indulge himself in a mock contest of swords, easily besting the twenty year old patrician who challenged him. It felt good to hold a weapon in his hand again, to feel its weight, the protection it provided. His gaze fell on Bryna, who sat watching from a pillow covered bench. He had more to protect now.

  “I thought you were a merchant, yet you fight like a warrior,” she said as he joined her on the bench.

  “A merchant has to protect his interests,” he said, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel. Her compliment pleased him. Of course, he had done a poor job of seeing to his interests before he was enslaved.

  “You will put it all to rights when you return.”

  He cupped her chin in his hands and tasted her lips. More intoxicating than wine. “Wife, can you divine all my thoughts?”

  She ran her hand across the course stubble of his jaw before returning his kiss. “Hmmmm...let me see. I think right now you want to go. . .” He smiled at the wicked suggestion whispered in his ear.

  “To the frigidarium before I ravish you right here on this bench.” The look of disappointment on her face made him laugh. “Go dress yourself and meet me at the entrance. We’ll return to the house and explore,” Jared savored a slow, deep kiss, ending on a smile, “the depths of your abilities.”

  Bryna lowered her eyes, but not before he saw the raw need that flickered in them. He watched her leave the room, his cock aching for his woman. Smoothing his hair back into a queue he headed toward the changing rooms. He had his freedom back, would soon return to Alexandria. He would find the bastards behind his kidnapping, and they would pay dearly for disrupting his life.

  He had Bryna, his wife, his love. He stuttered to a halt, nodded absently to the attendant who handed him his tunic. When had that happened? When had he fallen in love with the barbarian girl? Emotions assailed him—ear, joy, wonder, fear again. How could it possibly be so?

  He slipped his tunic over his head. Fate, fortune, sheer lunacy, he knew not the reasons behind it. For the first time he felt whole. His life was going in the right direction, and nothing could change that.

  Chapter Twenty

  Matters were getting entirely too complicated.

  And she wasn’t even sure she cared.

  Bryna adjusted the edge of her stola as she strolled out of the bath. For someone who did not consider herself wedded she was certainly coming to enjoy the benefits of marriage. And it would all end once she located Bran.

  She knew things could not remain as they were. Once Jared reestablished himself, he would come to realize that having an uncivilized barbarian for a wife would soon turn into a burden. This glimpse into his privileged life assured her of that. A ripple of sorrow filled her at the thought of never seeing him again. And she...well she would just live her life in Eire. Alone.

  She pushed those disturbing thoughts away. It was enough that she was with him now, storing memories to help her through those dark days. Unconvinced, she walked out of the bath.

  In the small quadrangle which formed the entrance to the facility she searched for Jared, but he was not there. Odd, she thought, it should have taken him less time to dress. Most likely settling some fee, she decided, so she found a niche along a wall and waited.

  “Mistress?” a panicked voice whispered.

  Bryna glanced around, uncertain if she had heard right. She jumped as Judith stepped out of the shadows, fear and distress written on her face.

  “Judith, what is it?” she asked, as the girl grabbed her arm, pulled her around the corner.

  “It is awful, Mistress! Horrible!” Tears streamed down Judith’s face. She stood wringing her hands, darting looks out into the street.

  A feeling of dread cascaded down Bryna’s spine. “What has happened?”

  “Master Lucien...was late...at the door to the bath...”Her crying turned into a strangled sob.

  “Judith! Tell me!” Bryna grabbed the trembling girl by the arms and gave her a hard shake.

  “I’d been waiting for you and the Master only a few moments when Master Lucien walked out.” Judith gulped. “There were three men. They surrounded him.”

  Her fingers dug into the girl’s arms until Judith gave a small cry. Instantly, Bryna released her. “What happened?”

  “They took him away. I think...” Judith paused, closed her eyes. “I think they were bounty hunters.”

  Bryna felt the earth drop away from beneath her feet. Her head swam as she struggled to take in another breath. Cold moisture coated her palms. “Where?” she whispered raggedly. “Where did they take him?”

  Judith shook her head, wiping at her eyes. “I’m not sure. I have heard of a prison where criminals and runaways slaves are often taken.”

  “Can you take me there?” She managed to keep her voice calm but her heart was racing with terror.

  Judith looked at her aghast. “You cannot be serious! You are in danger also! If these men were looking for the master, then they surely will be looking for you!”

  Bryna considered the truth of Judith’s words, tried to still the shivering that threatened to shake her apart. She was afraid—no, terrified—of being captured. If she even survived the punishment meted out by Gaius, she knew with bone deep certainty that she would wither up and die living in bondage.

  And so would Jared.

  She turned to Judith and laid a firm hand on her arm. “Take me to this place.”

  ***

  Bryna could barely make out the pattern and outline of the tenement buildings jammed together as night fell on Rome. They’d had to travel along back thoroughfares to avoid the drunken revelry and rowdy crowds going about business. The moon could not find its way between all the stone and bodies, and the lack of illumination made it difficult to see. She was never sure when she might step into a discarded pile of garbage, the scent of which was so putrid as to cause bile to rise in her throat.

  She had no idea what she would do once she reached the prison. Knocking on the door and asking if they would be so kind as to release her husband was not an alternative and despite her reassurances to Judith, she felt certain the capture of another runaway, even if the reward was a pittance, would be considered a boon. No, she had no clue what she would do.

  She pulled up short at Judith’s sudden stop, followed the girl’s extended hand to the silhouette of a narrow one story building. A double door made of solid, iron bound wood set dead center of the wall. On either side were two sets of large barred windows. The only way in or out. Fear lodged in Bryna’s throat as wrenching sobs and cruel laughter floated out to the street.

  “Bryna, please reconsider,” pleaded Judith. “We will go to Master Flavian, get the authorities.”

  “No.” Bryna took a deep breath. Gods, what was she going to do? “There is no time. Go to Jared’s father. Tell him what has happened. But do not bring the authorities.” She swallowed the hard knot in her throat as a high pitched shriek pierced the night. “Be careful and hurry.”

  Judith jutted her chin out. “I will not let you down.”

  Bryna nodded. Her knees were like water as
she watched Judith blend into the night. Holding onto the side of a building, she cast a wary eye at the prison.

  The building was situated at the end of a narrow alley, so that the next round of laughter from inside was amplified tenfold. She drew another shaky breath. First, she would have to make things simple. In a matter of minutes she had removed the row of jangling bracelets and the heavy necklace that marked her a proper Roman lady. They might as well be a set of cymbals for all the noise they made.

  Measuring her steps, Bryna crept along the shadows, convinced that her pounding heart was loud enough to awaken the entire city. Crouching beneath the first window, she raised her head and peered inside.

  The interior of the prison consisted of a large central room surrounded by barred recesses carved out of the thick stone of the walls. There were at least a dozen of these cells, each with a handful of occupants, slaves and criminals of varying sorts she supposed, but all with the vacant look of the hopeless.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of a scrawny adolescent boy lying on a narrow block of wood. His arms and legs were spread out, tied with ropes attached to wooden wheels.

  “We have no more time to waste,” said the man standing next to the poor boy. Bryna could feel the ugliness of his soul and it well matched the cruel cast of his pocked face. He reached over and jerked the boy’s chin up.

  “Where did you take your Master’s purse?”

  Even from the window, Bryna could see the desperation in the boy’s tear swollen eyes. “I did not steal from my Master!” The jailer snorted in disgust then nodded at another man who began to turn a large iron bound wheel.

  The boy’s anguished cries rang out as his extremities were wrenched to the point of dislocation. The jailer walked away, paying no heed to the slave’s strangled pleas for mercy as the ropes were locked in place.

  Bryna’s vision blurred with tears. She wiped them away and scanned the inner room, stopping at a thick wooden post. There, tied with his arms stretched over his head, was Jared. His tunic was smeared with dirt and blood. His head hung limp against his shoulder. He was so still. As still as death.