by Sandi Rog
Again, fury ate away at the pain in his side, and David sprang to his feat, slamming his blade over the man’s shield. “What’s wrong with you?” David shouted, slamming all the hate and rage from over the years into the man’s upheld shield. Why didn’t the man fight back? If it was a trick, a taunt, why didn’t he strike? Instead, he remained behind his shield, still blocking David’s swings with the skill of a trained killer. But what happened to the killer instincts to fight? What happened to the training? The power behind each swing that would leave David breathless. The arrogant nonchalance that would make David feel foolish. Oh, it was there all right, and it made David feel stupid all over again, like a child, like he was fighting the very man who brought on these familiar sensations … the Master of Slaves … Titus.
Ω
Elianna stood, stiff as a column. She could barely move, let alone breathe, as her uncle hovered over her. Paulus. How odd to see some resemblance to her mother in his face. A resemblance that made her stomach tighten with longing, but at the same time, made her want to heave. So, she’d been right all along. The fake Alexander had been working for Paulus. Just as she’d suspected. But why this elaborate scheme to kidnap her?
He’d hired two thugs to snatch her from her bed, and they brought her to this small one-room house where he left her locked up for the rest of the early morning. She’d tried to find a way of escape, but the windows were shuttered and locked as well as the door. Nothing would budge, and with nothing more than a chamber pot to bang at the wood, she wasn’t able to break free. So, she’d lain on the small cot provided for her, a bed actually. The only piece of furniture in the small house.
With her captor now standing before her, one hired man outside the door, and the other standing in the corner like a rabid dog, she’d lost all courage. Apparently, Uncle Paulus promised the men who took her a large sum of money. What would he do? What good was she to him?
“I used to feel sorry for you, Elianna. I felt sorry because your parents forced you into a life with outcasts.” He turned on her, his partially shadowed face reflecting the lamplight from a nearby shelf carved into the stone wall. “But now, my pity has gone cold. You’ve chosen their stupid way of living over freedom and what’s sensible, not to mention over what’s lawful.” He snorted. “That tells me you’re a fool, just like them. A fool like your stupid mother and your slave father.” He shook his head, the side of his lip quirked up in a mocking smile. “He’s still a slave, you know.” His blue eyes narrowed, eyes so much like Pappous’s, and he turned away from her, lifting his arms dramatically. “Serves as one of the finest gladiators at that cheap amphitheater. He’s where he belongs, and your foolish grandfather wasted away his last years following him all over the earth.”
Her father was alive? Pappous had been following him? So what Alexander said was true.
He touched the short sleeve of her night stola, taking the delicate fabric between his fingers, making her skin crawl. “And now you’re where you belong,” he whispered. “You’re going to be my salvation. You’ll pay the price for my father’s sins, for taking me away from my life, for stealing all my hopes and dreams … for stealing everything I knew.” He ground his teeth as he ran his cold fingers along her jaw. “You better serve me well. If you don’t, I’ll have to hurt you.” He chuckled, a sinister sound carrying through the quiet house. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t mar this pretty face of yours. You’ll need to be presentable for the clients. No. I’ve discovered other ways of inflicting pain. Ways that only a woman can appreciate.”
Elianna wanted to scratch him, to scream, but there was something different about Paulus, different compared to the Alexander who’d taken her. There was an underlying evil in Paulus’s gaze, a thread of poison in the way he spoke, in his tone and his movements. With no escape, she knew fighting back would be futile, especially with his friend in the corner.
“But you’re family,” she whispered on a trembling breath. “Why are you doing this?”
His eyes softened, but only for a moment before they immediately turned cold again. “My family was Vibian Cornelius Aloysius, and your mother’s father took him from me.”
She knew he referred to Pappous. “But he was your father too.”
“He was never my father!” His eyes blazed with fury. “And my mother wasn’t my mother. She was just a cold, weak woman, no good to anyone.”
Elianna winced, fearful he might strike her. “I never knew your mother.” And thankfully, she never knew her great-grandfather, Aloysius, either. Apparently, he tried to murder Pappous and failed. Uncle Paulus grew up only knowing Aloysius as a father, and all he knew was taken from him when Pappous returned to reclaim his family. But by the time Pappous came back into Uncle Paulus’s life, it was too late. Too late to win Paulus over to the truth, to Pappous, to God.
Ω
Alexander had been through the entire town, searching from gate to gate and house to house with no success. “Lord, please help me find her,” he said, for the thousandth time. “Why would You bring me this far only to take her away from me?”
His men had searched the roads, had asked around if anyone had noticed any recent travelers, but no one had seen anything.
Again, riding around the perimeters of the town, the white mountains in the distance, Alexander came to the well where some of his men met and made ready to branch out again.
He dismounted, hating to even stop this long for a drink, but he needed water with the sun’s heat radiating down on him. As he drank, a woman in the distance came toward the well, an amphora pitcher on her hip. She strode with a purpose between his men, surprisingly confident and unafraid. She stopped at Haru and said something Alexander couldn’t hear. Haru then pointed in Alexander’s direction and the woman looked at him. She marched toward him, her eyes red and swollen.
“I’ve heard in town that your woman has gone missing,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, despite her anguished countenance.
Alexander nodded.
“There are rumors that a virgin is being sold to the highest bidder,” the woman said, her voice choking. “Only, she won’t be purchased as a slave, but as a harlot.” The woman trembled so violently, she hugged her amphora pitcher to her chest. “My husband is supposed to be one of the buyers.” She ground her teeth. “And I believe it’s your woman these men are purchasing. I heard them talking when I came home early from the market. In my own house with my children they were talking about these wicked things they were going to do.” She choked on tears. “He takes the buyers in one at a time to look at the goods and they make their offer. Tonight she will be given to the highest bidder.”
“Do you know where the woman is?” Alexander asked, desperate enough to shake it out of her, but he forced himself to remain calm.
“It’s a small house in the city. In the poorer district.” She pointed toward the city. “I will take you there.”
Ω
David stood over the man, sweat and blood streaming over him, down his arms and onto his hands. His side cried out in agonizing pain. Still, he looked at the lifeless man at his feet. He bled to death, fast. Just as he expected. He’d never fought anyone with such skill. He defended himself well, and it bothered David that the man didn’t do anything more than that. He put his hand over his bleeding side. He had to know, to see who this man was.
David didn’t normally care to discover whose life he’d ended, but there was something about this one that made him need to know. How many men fought so well? How many men knew the skills and tactics that David had spent his entire youth learning? Not many at all. No one, in fact. No one but Titus.
The lanista led David around the arena, showing him off to the crowd as the victor. When done, David stumbled back to his opponent, wanting to collapse.
The Charon was already there, dressed in black with horns on his head, representing the Etruscan demon of the underworld, ready to drag the fallen gladiator away.
“Remove his helmet.” Holding his si
de, David motioned with his bloody sword toward the man on the ground.
The Charon set aside his large hooks and knelt. He yanked off the gladiator’s helmet, revealing a face David remembered from his youth, a face that had once been like a father to him.
Titus.
The Charon prepared to toss his hooks into Titus and drag him away, but David raised his hand to stop him. The world spun. He refused to believe the truth of what he was seeing. The truth of what he had done. He’d just sent the man he’d grown to love and care about as a child straight to hell.
Even in death Titus carried himself with pride, his chin raised, his eyes closed as if he were a Greek god being waited on by his subjects. What was he doing here? How did he end up in this godforsaken place? What did it matter? He was now dead, and David had delivered the deathblow.
The realization of what he’d done slammed into him, knocking him to his hands and knees. “No!” he shouted and wailed to Elohim. What had he done? What had he done?
David put his hands to his head, covering his ears, drowning out the crowd. Drowning out their cheers for the sin he’d just committed.
Ω
Mounted on Nefer, Alexander stormed through dirt-paved streets as the woman riding with Haru pointed the way. He and his men reached the far end of the city, and after they passed several row houses, they came to a home that stood alone, away from the others. Several men stood outside the door of the small house, and they scattered like frightened mice when Alexander and his tribe arrived. All but one man fled, and the one remaining, straightened, sword unsheathed.
The rage of what those men wanted to do, or may have already done, burned through Alexander. “Elianna!” he shouted.
A cut-off scream came from the house. Elianna’s scream.
Alexander swung off Nefer and charged the man standing guard by the door. Their swords clashed. The power in the man’s swings nearly knocked Alexander’s sword from his grip. But he would use the man’s strength against him. As the man swung again, Alexander caught the blade from behind and pushed it in the direction of the swing. The man stumbled forward. Alexander grabbed his arm, yanking him down. He slammed onto his belly and Alexander stood over him, sword poised on his back. Mohar and several of his men took over as Alexander ran for the door.
He gave the signal, and one of his men went to get the authorities. Alexander grabbed the door handle. Locked. He rammed his shoulder against the frame, but it didn’t budge. He rammed again and again, but the door was so thick it didn’t make a crack. Haru also slammed against the door and they worked together to take it down.
Screams carried from inside, sending panic through Alexander as he continued to beat against the door. He was a little boy again, trying to save his mother. All he could think of was that night, that one horrible night. He hadn’t thought of it in years, and now in this one brief moment, the powerful memory slammed into him as he slammed against the thick wood. The one he loved was on the other side. Her master could be strangling her. He could be ravaging her. He could ….
Oh, how he hated doors.
The hinges!
Frantically, Alexander searched, his palms scrubbing along the doorposts. His fingers landed on the metal, and he stared at it in stunned disbelief.
“Strange,” Haru said, breathless and backing away. “The hinges are on the outside.”
Ω
Clashing and banging thundered against the door as Paulus held Elianna against the wall. He’d been bringing men in one at a time to look at her and make their bids. Paulus had made her turn around so they could get a good look at their purchase, holding her stola tight against her figure and even lifting it to expose her legs all the way to her thighs.
“There’s iron in that door,” Paulus said between clenched teeth. “There’s no way they’ll be able to break it down. Stupid people can’t be patient.”
So it was a desperate client? Elianna thought she’d heard a man shout her name. Panicked, she scratched Paulus, but he grabbed her in his fierce grip as the thundering outside quieted. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” Growling against her ear, he punched her in the stomach.
Elianna buckled over, gasping for air.
Paulus went to the windows, peering through the small holes in the wooden shutters. “How’d he find us?” He snatched up his sword and rushed to the door, motioning for his thug to guard the shutters.
The man paced between the two windows to the right and at the foot of the bed, sword ready, as Paulus pressed his back against the door. A sword sliced through one of the shutters, nicking the thug in the shoulder. Elianna screamed. The thug stabbed his blade through the window, thrusting it over and over again. The fierceness of his thrusts emphasized the power in his arms as shards of light from the outside penetrated the small house.
“Stop!” Paulus shouted. “You’re destroying our defenses!”
Still crouched and holding her stomach, Elianna cowered against the side of the bed. With a loud crack of breaking wood, someone’s fists broke through the window shutters and grabbed the thug in a chokehold.
The door swung open, and Paulus flew forward. He stumbled against the opposite wall, and Elianna scurried onto the bed to get out of the way. Like a falling tree, the door collapsed on the ground, sending dust and sand in the air. Light from the outside blinded her, and she raised her hand to protect her eyes.
A dark giant filled the opening.
Paulus got to his feet and brandished his sword. Like a fierce wind, the man swooped forward through the dust, swinging his blade, relieving Paulus of his sword. It flipped toward Elianna, but the man caught it in mid-flight and tossed it on the bed at her feet. Screaming, she reached for it. She had to defend herself against this desperate client. Snatching it up by its hilt, she stood, ready to cut anyone who came near her.
The warrior picked Paulus up by the neck and slammed him against the wall, holding him there. The rage on the man’s face froze Elianna where she stood. She’d seen that look before. The same rage when Zander pinned Marcus to the wall and threatened to kill him. Her Zander. The real Zander.
A shout of agony carried from the shutters as the thug sliced his blade over one of the arms holding him around his neck. He broke free and charged at Alexander.
Alexander swung Paulus in front of him to block the thug’s sword, and his blade thrust through Paulus’s midsection. He shoved Paulus toward him, causing the man to stumble. Stepping over Paulus, Alexander lunged forward, flipped his blade, and pinned the thug to the ground.
Elianna screamed as both men lay crying and moaning at the foot of the bed.
Alexander turned on her.
Sword still in hand and trembling, Elianna stepped back. “No,” she said, holding the quivering blade high.
“You’re safe now.” Alexander held up his palms. “I’m here to take you home.”
“I don’t know you.” Surely, he wasn’t the same boy she’d fallen in love with. Not this man who just slaughtered two men before her eyes. But after she said the words, she also knew how foolish they were, for he’d clearly come to her rescue. Now she understood why no one told her about her father. She never would have been able to stomach watching men kill one another, no more than she could stomach it now.
She closed her eyes. So, he didn’t work for Paulus. Obviously not.
“You’re safe now.” Alexander grasped her wrist in a firm but gentle hold, and he slowly pulled the sword from her quivering fingers. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
His calm, baritone words dissolved all her strength and she collapsed into his strong arms. Sweeping her off her feet, he carried her from the dingy house, fresh air wafting over them like a welcoming breath. He carried her through a crowd of people, past his horse, and down the street. As he walked, she rested her head on his shoulder, holding on to him as if he were a rock, one of the boulders along the Tiber Island, offering them salvation. His possessive, comforting embrace made her want to lose herself in his arms, and she sn
uggled closer.
His heart pounded furiously against her side. She peered up into his face, but he stared straight ahead, his jaw set in determination as it ticked against his cheek. The blue-green of his eyes, framed by dark thick lashes, didn’t look down at her, but kept their sharp gaze straight ahead. So again, she rested against him, taking in his warmth, his strength, his comfort.
With his tribe following—his men flanked on both sides—he carried her all the way outside the city to his tents. He took her into her chamber, settling her gently on the bed amongst the soft, thick cushions. The air left her lungs as the blankets swept over her, his musk scent enveloping her. She was home. Home with Zander.
Without a word and his gaze still focused and steady, Alexander turned on his heel and swept out of the tent, taking his warmth with him.
Ω
Alexander raked a hand through his hair, still feeling Elianna in his arms, her jasmine scent on his being. He motioned to the men that followed them and posted them outside her tent. Ensuring she was now safe, Alexander went to his own tent. He paced, raking his hands through his hair. He could have lost her. He nearly lost her! He released a long breath, choking on the pent-up emotion.
“Thank you, God,” he whispered, remembering the hinges on the door. Who would have thought? There was a reason God showed him how to open that door so long ago. Only it hadn’t been for his mother. The emotions were too much. He had to do something or he’d burst.
Haru tossed aside the curtain and came into his tent. “Forgive me, my lord. But we—”
“How’s the arm?” Alexander faced him, remembering the thug cut him.