“Now you think that he will allow to you win your retirement?” Fortunada asked. “I know not whether to be optimistic or dubious.”
Stretching out like a cat in the sun, Baro said, “I see no reason why Paullus would not allow me the same favor he granted to Valens. Besides, I have been beaten down. My shoulder becomes sore when it rains. My legs tremble at night. My ears buzz every morning. Four years as a gladiator have aged me.”
Fortunada rolled onto her stomach and kissed Baro softly on the mouth. “You are far from old.”
“I feel old. Look at me.”
She did. He was muscle and sinew mixed with male power in the form of long legs, a strong chest, and well-formed abdominals. She reached between his legs and stroked his smooth scrotum. His cock stirred and lengthened. “You look young and virile to me.”
“I am only that with you,” he said.
“And none of your other lovers make you feel young?” The truth of his other women would also have to be dealt with. Better now, Fortunada decided, than after they married.
“I have lain with no one since I met you, and want none other, besides. Our time together has given me dreams for the future. With you I want more than glory and coin. I want a home.”
This time she cared not if he flattered falsely. His words resonated within her heart. She said, “My parents are traveling and are not expected back for several months. I would need my father’s permission in order to marry anyone.” The Roman law of paterfamilias determined that divorced or widowed women would be returned to their fathers, making them a possession of their sire once more. The terms of any marriage would be up to Fortunada’s father.
“And when he does return, what say you? Will you become my wife?”
The idea of marrying Baro was so outlandish, yet at the same time it made complete sense. Unable to keep from smiling, she said, “Yes, I will marry you.”
He kissed her in a hard and possessive way, meant to claim. “I will talk to Paullus before my fight today. Who knows, perhaps this will be the last time I will have to enter the arena.”
“Is the fight today to first blood?”
“It is. Very few in the republic have coin enough to pay Paullus for a chance at watching me die.”
“Good. I would have been sick with worry.”
Baro gripped Fortunada around the waist and lifted her so she straddled him. His cock was hard again. “Of course you should still be concerned.” He began to enter her slowly. “Being a gladiator is a tough business. Men get hurt and killed all the time.”
She moved her hips down, taking him inside her in one smooth motion. “Then I must make sure that you are properly motivated to win and come home to me.”
Chapter 2
Baro
Before leaving the room, Baro draped a cloak over his head. Without concealing his identity, he would surely be recognized and people would become curious, and soon enough his affair with Fortunada would be made public. While a new dalliance could never ruin his reputation, he would not allow others to think less of Fortunada. He descended the back stairs two at a time, then rounded the corner at the front of the inn.
The wide avenue was busy with late-morning traffic. Shopkeepers called out to those who passed, promising that their wares were the best. Slaves and housewives alike stopped at stalls and shops, haggling over prices and examining products. No one took note of one more person, and Baro slipped seamlessly into the crowd.
Fortunada had mentioned getting her father’s approval for their marriage, but there was someone else who would need to know as well—her former husband. Just as Fortunada was property of her sire, so the children were property of their father. Baro knew nothing about the man—not even his name.
Head down, Baro strode through the marketplace, weaving past slow walkers. A woman stopped abruptly in the middle of the busy lane, and he nearly bumped into her. Sidling past, Baro gave her only a glance.
She was a mother with twin babes, one balanced on each hip. A loaf of bread sat at her feet. The tattered sack that she had slung over one shoulder had a hole in its bottom. Tears of frustration shone in her eyes as she bent over, holding both children, all the while trying to keep her balance. Without thought, Baro turned around and grabbed the bread. Tying a knot in the bag, he dropped the loaf inside.
From beneath his cloak, he met the woman’s wide-eyed stare. Her mouth hung open as she recognized him. It snapped shut, and she began to speak his name. Quickly, he held a finger to his lips. She smiled wide and nodded. With a quick pat to the cheek of one babe, Baro slid back into anonymity.
Upon seeing the woman and her children, Baro realized that he had promised to take care of Fortunada and her children without knowing if he would be permitted to leave the brotherhood of the gladiators. The prudent stratagem would have been to retire first and propose to Fortunada after.
He could hardly be blamed. When she had swallowed the seeds of wild carrot, Baro became sick with wanting his seed to take root in her womb. He had known then that Fortunada must be his wife.
Still, he should not have been so hasty with his proposal. Ah, well, that could not be helped now. Paullus would simply have to let him retire. Baro was Baro. The whole of the republic loved him and denied him nothing.
He imagined that his lanista would be aggrieved, or at least saddened, by losing such a valuable commodity. Perhaps Baro should not simply retire. He could offer to stay and train others for the final two years of his contract. Yes, that was it. He would groom the next Champion of Rome. Was that not how he had been trained?
From across the marketplace, the high, whitewashed walls of the ludus came into view. To the left sat the barracks where Baro and the other gladiators lived, with the home of the lanista standing to the right. A large practice field separated the two buildings. A solitary gate, eight feet high, provided the only way in or out of the ludus. Two guards, armed with swords, stood sentry. Baro approached and, lifting his hand in greeting, let the hood fall from his head.
“Welcome back,” said one of the guards. “You look well.”
Baro clapped the guard on the back. He knew not the man’s name or anything about him. Because of his fame, most people knew details of Baro’s life, which left them feeling a sort of kinship toward him. Over the years he had learned to embrace the artifice of that familiarity. So without much thought, he replied, “As do you. Your family, how do they fare?” It was a safe question. Most everyone had a family.
“They are all well,” said the man, his face alight with surprise and joy. “My son just turned seven annums.”
Fortunada’s son was close to the same age, was he not? He hoped that the boy was a follower of the games. Having a famous stepfather would bring about a certain level of pride, and he thought that it would easily turn into paternal affection.
“Wish him happiness for me, will you?” asked Baro.
“With pleasure,” said the guard, working the bolt free.
“What know you of your opponent today?” asked the second guard as the gate slowly swung inward.
“Other than that he will lose?” Baro walked into the ludus. “There is nothing else to know.”
The guards laughed and pulled the gate closed.
Still smiling, Baro approached one of the guards posted inside the ludus. “I need to see the lanista.”
Being champion came with privileges. Leaving the ludus unescorted was one of them. Always having access to Paullus was another.
Following the guard, Baro strode through the practice arena, calling out to his fellow gladiators. Stopping their drills, the men each took time to greet him in return. These men were his brothers-in-arms. He lived with them, fought with them. As one they ate, bled, and mourned when one of their ranks passed.
Did that make them all friends? Was there one among them whom he wanted to tell of his engagement to Fortunada? Cert
ainly they would be eager to know. The twists and turns of Baro’s life were interesting to all. But what of him, the man and not the legend? Over the years he had learned to embrace his celebrity and the odd juxtaposition of being known and forever set apart.
Fortunada saw him not merely as the legend, but as the man. It was one of the things he loved about her.
If Valens Secundus, his old friend and mentor, were still in Rome, Baro would seek him out. With a wry smile he imagined Valens’s overly enthusiastic slap on the back in congratulations. It would be followed, Baro knew, by a long list of rules for marriage. Though Valens no longer took up the sword, Baro could not imagine that Rome’s former champion had lost his desire to put life into two columns: things that must be done and things that must be avoided.
More was the pity that Valens now resided in Pompeii. His new wife was Fortunada’s oldest and dearest friend, and Baro could well imagine many days spent warmed by true friendship.
The guard standing at his side quietly coughed into his hand.
The slight noise shot through Baro, straightening his spine. How long had he stood at the fringes of the practice field, immobile and mute? These moments when the world melted away, leaving Baro alone with his thoughts, were another reason he needed to leave the arena. If Baro ever lost a moment during a fight, he would be slain. Shaking his head, he cleared away the last of his reverie.
“Lead on,” he said.
Without a word, the guard led Baro through a warren of hallways until they stood before the room where Paullus conducted his business. A blue canvas curtain hung over the doorway to the tablinum. Pulling it open, the guard announced Baro. Paullus sat behind a large table. His daughter, Marilla, stood at his side.
The years had been kind to Paullus’s daughter. When Baro had first joined the brotherhood of the gladiators, Marilla had been nothing other than long—long arms sat atop longer legs, and a mess of long hair hung down her back. The knobby knees and elbows of adolescence had been replaced by the curves of her blossoming womanhood. Her ebony hair now fell in a thick, dark cascade. It pleased him to see her. Still, what he came to discuss was for Paullus’s ears alone.
“Apologies,” said Baro as he turned to go. “I did not mean to interrupt.”
“Nonsense,” said Paullus. He waved Baro into the room. “Come in and take a seat. I need your eye for quality.” On the lanista’s desk sat three wooden squares. Picking up the one in the middle, he asked, “What think you of this?”
Baro pulled up a chair. “It is a piece of wood.”
Marilla laughed. “Father plans to install interior doors throughout my villa. The carpenter sent over these samples. He has been asking everyone all morning for their opinions. Since he has you to interrogate, I will take my leave.”
Baro waited until Marilla left before speaking. “She has grown into quite a lovely young woman.”
“That she has,” said Paullus. “It is high time that she wed, but her mother and I cannot bear to part with her. Eventually she will find a suitor she likes well enough to marry. Until then, we are happy to have her home.”
Many years hence, Baro would be charged with finding the most suitable husband for Fortunada’s daughter, Cornelia. Funny—he had not met the child, and already he knew she was too good for all the men in the republic.
“Still, since there is no pressing need to pay a dowry, I can install my doors. What think you of these?” asked Paullus.
Baro moved his chair closer to the edge of the desk. Interior doors were expensive, a luxury even wealthy Romans rarely enjoyed. He ran his finger over each piece of wood. One piece was smoother and had a finer grain than the others. “Choose this,” said Baro with a tap of his finger.
Paullus held it out at arm’s length and closed one eye. “It is the most expensive,” he said.
“The best things usually are.”
“Right you are.” Paullus set the board aside. “We will move on from my doors. You have come to talk about your fight.”
Leaning his elbows on the desk, Paullus clasped his hands together. The long sleeves of his tunic slipped down, revealing several thick gold bracelets that encircled his wrists. New doors? Costly jewelry?
Paullus was obviously enjoying the benefits of having placed a very lucrative wager on behalf of Valens’s new wife, Phaedra. Baro knew not all of the details, but it was a widely circulated rumor that Phaedra had used a costly necklace to make an outlandish wager on Valens winning an unprecedented three fights. Being the one blessed enough to place the bet on Phaedra’s behalf, Paullus was entitled to a commission for his troubles. Several million sesterces, if the gossip was to be believed, and enough coin to change a man’s life.
“Today you face a criminal.” Paullus ran a hand over his bracelets. They lifted, spreading upward over his arm. He let go and they fell together. A metallic sound, like coins falling on a table, punctuated his words. “He defeated the man who was to be his executioner. This win was luck, as your opponent has no experience with combat. Although with uncommon victories such as these, the man becomes a favorite in Rome. They have already given him an epithet, the Gaul.”
Baro cared little for this fight, as he hoped it would be his last. “I have come to discuss my future, not just today’s combat.” Ah, not quite as eloquent as he would have liked, yet it began the conversation nicely.
“Excellent,” said Paullus. “You are always thinking ahead, are you not? That is why you are champion and we make fine business partners.”
In the social strata that defined all Roman lives, Baro was special. He was a conscript to the ludus, and in volunteering had legally become the lanista’s property for the term of his contract. But it was complicated, for he had been born into an equestrian family and was therefore his master’s social superior.
For the past four years, Baro had not known how to define their relationship. They were not friends, nor were they master and slave. Paullus used the term business partner, and Baro decided it suited. In fact, he need not ask for permission to retire. As Paullus’s partner and his equal, Baro was simply renegotiating a four-year-old contract.
“I have been thinking of my trainer, Valens Secundus, and how he molded me into a titan,” said Baro.
“Valens was one of the greatest fighters of our age. He truly was a man of the sword. You,” said Paullus, “are a man of thought and action.”
“I have knowledge to pass on to others, too.” Perhaps if things went better than expected, Paullus would offer Baro the trainer’s position, and there would be no need for him to ask.
“I agree,” said Paullus. “In two years, after your contract is fulfilled, we can discuss your staying on. Although I always imagined that you would return to your world and become the most interesting equestrian in the republic.”
Baro paused. Had Paullus not understood what he wanted? “Perhaps I will do both.”
“It is worth considering after your contractual two years are completed.” Paullus reached for a stack of tablets on the floor. He set them before him and opened the wooden case of the one on the top. Glancing up, Paullus asked, “Was there more you wanted to discuss? If not, there is much for you to do before today’s fight. It will be an easy win, but it is of the greatest importance to us both.”
How could Paullus have missed Baro’s cues? Usually, the lanista understood subtlety and subtext. A horrible thought came to Baro, one that cooled the blood in his veins. Paullus had not misunderstood. He knew what Baro wanted, and the wily old fox was choosing to feign ignorance.
“I am done with the life of a gladiator,” Baro said. Being so forthright seemed the wrong path, and yet what else was there to do?
Slowly Paullus lifted a stylus from a cup that sat at the far end of the table. He scratched upon the open wax tablet. “Do you recall the first day you came to me?” he asked without lifting his eyes. “Your wife had left you and
taken everything of value.”
Baro remembered it well. After serving with the legions in North Africa on a three-year campaign, Baro had returned to Rome. His wife was gone, and someone else was living in his villa. He spent days searching for her. He never found his wife, but he did discover what had happened. Disillusioned with their marriage, or so Baro had assumed, his wife had taken up with an Egyptian trader. Having given her the power to conduct business on his behalf while away, Baro’s wife had sold everything he owned—the villa, the furniture, even the dog. Baro still missed the dog. Angry and unable to reclaim what had been rightfully his, Baro took what coin he had with him and began to drink.
Several days later, he had found himself sitting in the cattle market, which had been temporarily converted to a gladiatorial arena. In addition to the permanent stone seats, twenty rows of makeshift wooden stands had been erected. Baro watched from one of the upper rows, focused only on the sands and the two gladiators who fought there. Though Baro held neither trident nor sword, he had felt the power of each blow resonate in his chest. To him, the gladiators were revered, feared, and respected. They were not the kind of men a woman would cheat out of a family’s wealth. Without question, Baro wanted, needed, to be among them.
“Do you recall what you said to me the day you showed up at the ludus, stinking of cheap wine and cheaper women?” Paullus asked.
“That my only goal was to become so famous that my former wife would hear stories of my fame wherever she went,” Baro said.
Paullus tossed the stylus upon the table. It skittered across the wood and fell over the edge. Baro leaned forward—his hand outstretched. The stylus hit the tips of his fingers and somersaulted through the air. It landed on the floor with a soft ping, rolled backward, and disappeared under the table.
“Beyond that,” said Paullus, “what else did you say to me?”
“I wanted to become famous or die a glorious death in the arena.”
The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome) Page 2