Fortunada held firm to the belief that children became ill if they ate while reclining. And though the meal was served in the formal dining room, the usual low table and sofas had been removed. In their place sat a circular table with four straight-backed chairs.
Once all were seated, a slave filled Sersa’s goblet with passum—raisin wine weakened by water. He lifted his cup in salute and took a sip. “It is unfortunate that my missive never arrived and your parents left Rome unaware of my intended visit. I would have enjoyed seeing my sister. Having your father at my side is always helpful as I work to promote Illyria within Rome. Still, you are a lovely hostess, Fortunada, and I thank you for your hospitality.”
“Uncle Sersa, you are always welcome. I know that both Mother and Father will be saddened to have missed you. Mail in the republic is irregular at best—I am sure that your letter will arrive within a day or two of your departure.”
He laughed and said, “You are correct, no doubt. Since I have you all to myself, I will enjoy your company fully. Genaro, I want to show you something special. It is from Illyria.” Fortunada’s son rose from his seat and came to stand next to her uncle. Sersa removed a dagger from his belt. As he angled it from side to side, it reflected the gray light of the cloudy day. “See this—pure silver. I keep it with me as a sign that I am an Illyrian prince. When you become a man, I will have one made for you. Remember always, you are more than a Roman. You are also a member of the Illyrian royal house.”
Genaro ran his hand over the hilt—the head of a horse had been cast in metal, and a single red ruby shone as its eye. “Will my dagger look like yours—with a horse?”
“Of course,” said Sersa, “if that pleases you.”
“It would, very much,” said Genaro. “Thank you.”
With a pat to the head, Sersa sent Genaro back to his seat. Her son had handled himself very well, and a glow of pride warmed Fortunada’s cheeks. As the four of them sat around the table, Fortunada wondered if Baro could be a part of her family. The possibility left her heady with excitement. What if she invited him to take his midday meal with her tomorrow? Not only could Baro meet her children, he could meet Sersa as well.
“Shall we eat?” asked Sersa.
In her temporary daydream, Fortunada had forgotten her duties as hostess. “How foolish of me,” she said. It was customary to let the guest begin the meal, after first being invited. Fortunada gestured to the food that sat before them. “Please, help yourself.”
Sersa reached for a piece of fish. Swirling it in the jelly, he lifted it to his mouth and ate. A slave holding a bowl of perfumed water approached. Sersa dipped in his fingertips and wiped them dry with an offered towel. Now that their guest had begun to eat, the rest of them could, too. Both children were given spoons and bowls and were served a portion of everything.
Fortunada had just taken a fig out of the bowl when her personal maid, Jana, entered the triclinium. Jana had been with Fortunada for the better part of a decade and was of an indistinct age. Like many ladies’ maids, she wore a shapeless tunic of dun-colored fabric along with a turban in a similar shade. The epitome of reliability, she rarely spoke of her life before coming into Fortunada’s service. The only thing that Jana ever shared was her fondness for gladiatorial games. For a moment, Fortunada wondered about Jana’s reaction when Baro the Equestrian—as he was called in the arena—became her new master.
“Yes, Jana?” asked Fortunada. “What is it?”
“You have a visitor, my lady.”
A visitor? Now?
“Maybe it is your new friend, Mother,” said Genaro. “The one with the son who will play war with me.”
“More boys,” groaned Cornelia. “How awful.”
Sersa laughed. “You have quite the vocabulary, my dearest Cornelia. The Illyrian court would find you most charming. And your mother’s friend has paid us a visit. We should invite this beautiful Roman matron to join us.”
Jana flushed. “Lady Fortunada, it is not a she who has called, but a he. I know not what to make of his arrival.”
Jana’s cryptic words made no sense, nor did the blush that stained her cheeks crimson. Besides, there was no him who would visit Fortunada. Except . . . Fortunada’s heart stilled for a moment before her pulse began to race. Had Baro come?
Fortunada cast a quick glance around the triclinium. The walls, once a bright yellow, had faded to a shade of dirty white. The mosaic on the floor, of a large African cat, was chipped. The missing pieces had not been replaced, just refilled with plaster. The brass inlays on the corners of the door had greened with age. The meal that had only moments earlier seemed opulent now looked meager.
Without a doubt, Baro would see Fortunada for who she really was—a patrician with no coin. Having an affair with a woman who had no family fortune was one thing. Marrying her was something else entirely. Her pulse thrummed at the base of her throat. She tried to swallow or breathe or pray. Nothing slowed her runaway heartbeat or cured the sick feeling in her gut.
“Show him in,” she said.
Jana gave a small bow and turned to do Fortunada’s bidding.
Sersa spoke of Illyria and how he hoped to improve trade and bring more Roman ways to his people. Though Fortunada looked at her uncle—and nodded her head in a serious and interested way—she barely heard a word he said.
Baro had sought her out.
Had he changed his mind about their marriage? Even though their path to wedded bliss would not be straight, the notion of losing him altogether lodged as a pain deep within her chest. Or perhaps he did not plan to end their relationship at all. Rather, he might have come to share happy news. Had Baro’s lanista allowed him to retire?
A moment later Jana appeared in the doorway and stopped. A man stood behind her shoulder. Fortunada could not believe what she saw—whom she saw.
Genaro knelt on the seat and craned his neck to look beyond Jana. “Mother,” he asked, “who is that man? Do you know him?”
Fortunada did know him, and all too well. Time had changed his appearance only slightly. He was thinner than when they had last seen each other. He wore a long tunic of burnt orange, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt. The hair on his forehead had begun to thin, and yet it was unmistakably him.
Ceres protect them all. Albinius had come.
Chapter 4
Fortunada
The sight of her former husband struck Fortunada dumb.
“Mother?” Genaro asked again. “Who is that man?”
She blinked once, twice. Sersa stared at her, his mouth hanging open.
“Mother?” said Cornelia as she scooted down from her seat and ran on chubby legs to Fortunada’s side.
“If your mother cannot introduce me,” said Albinius, stepping into the room, “then I suppose that I will. My name is Albinius Faenius, your sire.”
“Father!” said Genaro as he stood on the seat of his chair. A wide smile spread across his small face. “Father? Is that really you?”
Cornelia skipped to her brother’s side. “Genaro said you would come, and look! Here you are!”
“Genaro, take your seat,” admonished Fortunada. Oh, Ceres help her! Did she have nothing better to say? Well, it mattered little. Her children no longer listened to her. In fact, as they raced from the table to be at their father’s side, she guessed that they had completely forgotten her very existence.
Albinius bent down to embrace the children. With father and son in profile, Fortunada saw the unmistakable similarity. Both he and Genaro had the same strong features—noses, slightly long, and high brows. The only difference, aside from their coloring, was that Genaro’s face held the soft fullness of youth. Albinius looked as if he had been carved out of stone and the artist had never taken time to smooth away the rough edges.
As he clasped the children to him, tears shone in Albinius’s eyes. In turn, both Genaro an
d Cornelia welcomed him with kisses and squeals of delight. An outsider in her own home, and with her own children, Fortunada watched and came to understand an important truth. The familial link of blood and bone could not be broken.
“Genaro, look at what a fine boy you have become,” Albinius said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “And, Cornelia, it gladdens my heart finally to see you.”
“Father,” said Genaro. He was slightly winded, as if happiness had stolen his breath. “Where have you been? Cornelia and I have missed you greatly.”
How dare her former husband come to her home unannounced and act as if he had not wronged her—wronged them all—and was worthy of their love? She stood up and drove her knuckles into the unforgiving wood. The discomfort that came with it was real. Albinius was real, damn him to Hades. She turned to confront him.
“Where have you been for three years? You did not even send a note upon the birth of our daughter.”
Albinius rested his hand upon Genaro’s shoulder. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said, “and much more, if truth be told.”
His words of acquiescence did more to infuriate Fortunada than placate her. Her temper flared red-hot, burning her breast and sending rivulets of perspiration down her back. “I will not let you apologize your way out of this abhorrent behavior,” she said.
“Fortunada, please,” said Sersa. He had risen from his chair and stood next to her. With a hand upon her shoulder, he pressed her back into her seat. “You should mind your speech in front of the children. He is their father and worthy of respect.”
She cast a wary gaze to Genaro and Cornelia. Both of them regarded her, and their bottom lips quivered. Fortunada’s hands trembled with the desire to slap Albinius or, better yet, claw his face. She pressed her palms together and forced them into her lap. “We have just sat down to eat,” she said, choking on the words. “Would you care to join us?”
Albinius scratched the side of his ear and said, “I would like that very much. Thank you.”
Jana brought another chair and place setting, which she put next to Sersa. A wise move, Fortunada thought, for she could not climb over her uncle to choke Albinius. Well, she should not, at least. An uncomfortable silence settled upon the room, and no one spoke.
Finally, Sersa cleared his throat. “You must realize that your arrival has come as quite a shock to us all, Albinius. Might I ask why you are here?”
“As a man ages,” said Albinius, “he begins to see what is important in his life.”
“Coin and flesh,” Fortunada interrupted. “Is that not why you left me and the children? So you could be with a woman who possessed her own fortune?”
“Her money was spent nearly six months past. My former wife now lives with a wealthy aunt in Herculaneum.”
Former wife? “So you cast her aside when she was no longer useful to you as well?”
“Maid,” said Sersa, lifting his hand. Jana stepped into the room. “Take the children to their nursemaid. Make sure they eat.”
Jana scooped the children from the table and led them from the triclinium. After Genaro and Cornelia left, Albinius turned to Fortunada. “They look happy and healthy,” he said. “You were a good mother when we were married. It pleases me to see that has not changed.”
“No thanks to you,” she spat.
“I understand your anger,” said Albinius, “but I did not come to quarrel with you.”
“Why did you come, then?”
“I wanted to see the children,” he said, “and begin anew. I now understand what is important. Family is what matters.”
Her heart sped with excitement. How many sleepless nights had Fortunada sat at her loom, praying that this exact scenario would unfold? Albinius arriving unannounced at her villa and then begging her to take him back. By then Fortunada would have found another and could confidently refuse her former husband’s offer. Ceres had truly blessed her this time. Never—in all of Fortunada’s imaginings—had she thought she would be able to turn Albinius away for Rome’s gladiatorial champion. And now, in reality, she could.
“After leaving my second wife, I traveled to Novum Comum,” said Albinius. “I was alone and had to take stock of my life. With the last of my coin, I bought a ludus. I have returned to Rome to find a challenger worthy of my champion. If I can bring a noteworthy gladiator so far north, then my reputation as a great lanista will be established.” He paused and took a swallow of wine. “There is something else. When I return to Novum Comum, I will be taking the children with me.”
“With you?” Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, and her throat burned. “You worthless pile of dung.” For want of something to strike, she slapped the lip of the salad bowl. Sprigs of green coriander flew into the air. The dish tumbled to the floor, smashing into a thousand pieces. “You have not raised these children, nor cared for them, nor loved them. You cannot take them from me. I will not allow it.”
“They are my children,” he said with a shrug. “I expected you to be upset. That is why I offer you the concession of visiting whenever you wish.”
“Visit?” She saw only the underside of Albinius’s jaw—the place where his pulse beat strongest—and she lunged for it. Sersa caught her around the middle and pulled her back.
“Control yourself, Niece,” Sersa said, letting go of her waist.
Albinius smirked. “You have more fight than a cornered tiger—I had forgotten.”
Ceres preserve her. Fortunada would see that smile wiped from his mouth. Drawing back her hand, Fortunada slapped him across the face with enough force to send stinging pinpricks dancing across her palm. “That,” she said, “was for leaving me when I was with child.”
Albinius gingerly touched his reddened cheek. “Now we are even.”
“We will never be even because you will always be beneath me.”
“Fortunada, mind your temper,” Sersa said. Then to Albinius, “I understand that your Roman laws grant a father the rights to his children, and I understand a father’s desire to be with them. You have no wife and have spent all your coin. How is it that you plan to rear Genaro and Cornelia?”
“There is a small villa attached to the ludus in which we will reside. My slaves can mind the children whilst I work.”
“Uncle, how can you sit and talk as if nothing is amiss?” Fortunada asked of Sersa. “Albinius plans to steal my children.”
“Quell your passions, Niece. There may very well be a way to meet everyone’s needs.”
The notion was absurd. Her legs no longer had strength enough to hold her, and Fortunada slumped into her seat. Her racing heart slowed until she wondered if it beat at all. Only moments before, she had seen the triclinium as dingy and without the vibrant color she craved. Now the room was enshrouded in shadow—all blacks and grays.
“I welcome other proposals for consideration,” Albinius said as he took a piece of fish from the platter. “You have an idea, Sersa?” he asked before popping the fish into his mouth and licking his fingers clean.
Sersa retook his seat. “Albinius, you need more than an opponent; you need an investor. I am in Rome to bind my country more tightly to the republic through trade. True, I had not thought to invest my one hundred thousand sesterces in a ludus. I also hoped that my business venture would be in the city. All the same, my plans can be easily altered for certain considerations.”
Albinius sat taller and leaned toward Sersa. “What would interest you?”
“I love my niece and her children. I desire to see them all happy, settled, and well cared for.”
Fortunada’s gray nothingness was replaced with an instant vermilion-colored rage. “I refuse to remarry Albinius,” she said.
Sersa slapped an open palm upon the table. “Be reasonable and stop allowing wounded pride to make choices for you.”
She jumped at her uncle’s uncharacteristic outburst. “How is it un
reasonable to refuse a man who left me while I was pregnant?”
“This time the marriage will not be based on some peasantlike notion of love. You and Albinius will be bound by business and the goal of making a prosperous future for your children.”
“For the first time, Fortunada and I are in agreement,” said Albinius. “I came for my children, not to renew our marriage. Besides, I will never again bind myself to a woman for coin. At the same time, your plan has merit. If you want to see Genaro and Cornelia cared for, you could still invest in the ludus. Their well-being is enough of a shared interest.”
“Even though Genaro and Cornelia are dear to me, it is Fortunada’s happiness that is my greatest concern. I will not idly watch as you destroy them all,” said Sersa.
“It is not my aim to ruin anything. I have come to claim children who are rightfully mine.”
“You Romans change your spouses with as much thought as changing a toga. In Illyria, we marry for a lifetime,” said Sersa. “I would have you embrace that notion and consider my investment as a dowry—money for you to keep, so long as you remain married to Fortunada.”
“Then our negotiations are over before they really began,” said Albinius as he stood. “I will never marry again, and most especially to a woman who thinks I am a piece of filth. Order your maid to have the children packed, Fortunada. I will leave with them now.”
“No.” Fortunada began to tremble. “Please, Albinius, I beg you. Do not take the children.”
Sersa waved a limp hand at the door. “Go, with my blessing. But heed my warning—if you leave this villa without accepting my offer for one hundred thousand sesterces, I will never make it again.”
Albinius let out a long sigh. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Is your father home, Fortunada? I need to ask him for his permission if I am to take you once again as wife.”
The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome) Page 4