The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  Fortunada stared at the candle that flickered on the table for a moment. “We need to escape,” she said.

  “Escape?” The idea shot through Baro as an arrow released from a bow. It was thrilling and deadly in equal measure. “Are you mad?”

  “We have no other choice,” she said. “You must get to Novum Comum. As far as Dax knows, you are the wealthy property of an even wealthier man. He will not let you leave for free. Besides, I fear for myself. The man who attacked my tent knew my name. I am not famous like you, but I am niece to Illyria’s next king. Could this not all be political?”

  Baro was sure that the attack on the caravan was a random act. Thousands of people traversed the four major roads of the republic every day. For the most part, they were safe. However, brigands—like Dax and his men—successfully preyed on a few unlucky travelers every day as well. Yet, he sensed that Fortunada truly feared for her safety, and to belittle her concerns would do no good. “Until we know different, do not share your name with anyone here,” he said. “And continue the ruse that you are my wife.”

  She looked away and nodded. “Now we must determine exactly where we are. I would say that we are in the Apennius Mons.”

  There was no doubt that Fortunada was right. The mountain range ran up the spine of the peninsula. Legionnaire posts were set up at each of the passes in the mountain range. Yet those could be dozens of leagues apart from one another, and dozens more from where they were now. He looked at Fortunada in her simple silken gown and leather sandals. Her dress was suitable for the mild Roman weather and doing nothing more strenuous than visiting the Capitoline Market. He could hardly expect her to walk twenty, thirty, or even forty miles before reaching a settlement.

  On top of all that, he was wounded and could hardly expect the same of himself. Even preserving the ludus was not worth taking any risks when Fortunada’s life was at stake. No, they would be conservative in their movements and bide their time.

  “We will not attempt an escape. I cannot ask you to risk your life on my account,” he said.

  “Baro, you said that Dax and his men would ask for a ransom. My family has little coin to begin with. My parents are out of the city, and my uncle, though an heir to a kingdom, spent much of his money on my dowry.”

  “There is no one to pay your ransom.”

  “Not quickly, at least,” she said.

  What if she could not pay later, either? Or what if Dax demanded that the ransom be paid now? Baro clenched his fists, ready to strike out at the world. He would never allow anything tragic to happen to Fortunada. “As a patrician, they can hardly sell you,” Baro said. Even he did not believe his own words, yet he found that he must say something soothing—if not for her sake, then for his. “If he did, then Dax would quickly find himself bound to a cross upon the Via Appia.”

  Fortunada released his hand and moved to the bottom of the bed, then gently lifted his legs. She took a blanket out from under him and pulled it up to Baro’s chest.

  “You are the eternal optimist, are you not?” she said as she sat. “I am sure that everything Dax does is worthy of execution. He has yet to be captured and made to pay for his crimes. Besides, out here the laws of Rome matter for naught.”

  Her strength and ability to face even the most difficult truth astonished Baro, and for a moment, his eyes began to leak again. Candlelight shone through her hair, making it look as if the illumination originated with Fortunada, his golden one. He had no right to touch her, not anymore. And yet, he reached out and lifted a single lock off her shoulders. He pulled slightly, drawing her to him. “I will keep you safe,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. “You must believe me.”

  He could kiss her now, just once, although a single kiss seemed a paltry substitute for the life he wanted with her. He pulled Fortunada closer. Underneath the acrid smells of smoke and ash, her personal scent of jasmine and roses washed over him, cleansing him completely. Her deep blue eyes brought to mind a mountain pool. Baro wanted to dive into her depths and never surface. He placed his mouth on hers. Fortunada remained motionless, leaving Baro with the sense that he had just kissed a sun-warmed statue. With a long exhalation, he lay back on the bed.

  He could not recall the last time a woman had dismissed his advances. And now the only woman he wanted refused a simple kiss.

  “Apologies,” he mumbled, for in truth, he felt as though he had done something wrong.

  “There is no need to apologize,” she said, giving him a quick smile. Rising to her feet, she walked away, the stained and frayed hem of her rose-colored gown billowing in her wake.

  Her abrupt withdrawal left Baro so cold that he forgot what being warm felt like. Of course it was more than a mere loss of body heat. Their rapport had also been destroyed. Baro clenched his jaw and tried to swallow his disappointment.

  “In front of these bandits, I am your wife,” she said from the other side of the tent. “In truth, I am as good as remarried to my former husband. It would be unwise for us to renew our affair. For now, we must turn our thoughts to escape, and for that, you will need your strength.”

  “Escape is dangerous,” he said. Baro cursed himself for not having a better plan.

  “Staying is dangerous as well,” she said.

  She was right. “If we are to leave, there are many things we will need.”

  “Such as?”

  “I know not where we are, nor how long it might take us to find shelter. We will need provisions . . .”

  “We can take the blankets and use them to make tents.” Then picking up the fire starter, she added, “With this we will have warmth. We can forage for food, drink from streams.”

  Did Fortunada really trust Baro to get her safely away from the camp with just two blankets and a fire starter to provide for their comforts?

  Or was it—as she had said when they quarreled in Rome—that she was willing to sacrifice anything to be with her children? Now that they were hostages together, was his life one of those things she was willing to risk in order to be reunited with them? The possibility angered him, and for no other reason than the blood that roared through his veins, he almost said no. Instead, he fixed his mind, as he had done so many times before, upon what he wanted to accomplish—seeing Fortunada happily reunited with her children.

  “In order to develop our stratagem, we need information. One of us will have to get out of the tent and determine exactly where we are,” he said.

  “And can we get this information before we need to write letters to our kin?” she asked.

  “We can try,” he said.

  She nodded her head. “Good. Rest now, and I will wake you when the guard returns with bandages.”

  Closing his eyes, Baro tried to force himself to go to sleep. If he lay without movement long enough, eventually slumber would find him. Perhaps, when awakened, he would find that all of the latest events were only part of a horrible dream. He would be in Rome. His career would not be plagued by a loss to a nobody. His wealth and future would be secure.

  Baro knew not if he wanted Fortunada to be part of his dream world. Underneath the sourness of disappointment, he suspected that he was better for having known her, even if they would soon be parted. Opening one eye, he watched her. Carefully, he rolled to his side and cradled his head in the crook of his arm. Baro opened his mouth to speak, although he still had not decided what he would say.

  It mattered not. Before he spoke, the flap at the front of the tent opened. The candle’s flame jumped in the draft of cold air. Dax strode in. Tucked under one arm were several scrolls of papyrus. In the other hand he held a jar—presumably filled with ink—and a wooden stylus. He had changed his dirty brown tunic for one of bright green. Baro recalled seeing it on one of the other passengers. That poor, dumb fellow had most likely been slain, and already Dax had claimed his clothes as booty.

  “Pardon the interruption,”
Dax said, “but we have business that needs tending.”

  Chapter 18

  Fortunada

  Like a gale before a storm, a violent energy buzzed under Fortunada’s skin. The pressure grew until she could contain her loathing for Dax and his deeds no more. Pointing a steady finger at the door, she said, “I sent one of your guards for clean bandages and salve nearly a quarter hour past. It is not as if this filthy sty is so large that he has gotten lost. Go and find him, Dax the Marauder.”

  Baro drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “Excuse my wife,” he said.

  While she should have given more thought to the consequences, Baro could not expect her to acquiesce to this brute simply because he knew a few polite words.

  “The events of the day have taxed her sensibilities, and she is overwrought,” Baro continued.

  Fortunada wanted to slap them both.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” Dax said. His broad shoulders and large arms spoke of strength. A tiny scar lifted the corner of mouth, giving him a perpetual smirk, and she imagined that he did constantly laugh at the world. For how could he feel anything beyond disdain for a place that allowed him to take with impunity?

  Dax regarded Fortunada, rendering her motionless with his stare. His eyes were so dark she knew not where iris ended and pupil began. He narrowed his gaze and regarded her further. In that moment, she understood how foolhardy she had been to argue with such a dangerous man. Icy tendrils of fear rose from her belly and shot through her veins.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, fending off a cold that chilled not just her body but her mind and soul as well. In Rome, being a patrician kept her in relative safety. Here, none of the strictly guarded rules of society mattered. As much as she knew it would be to her advantage to befriend Dax, she could not bring herself to do so and could manage only a quiet acknowledgment of his power. “I am completely at your mercy. You have nothing, if not the advantage.”

  Dax shook his head and examined the sleeve of his tunic. His lank and dirty hair fell forward, creating a curtain of filth. “You know my name, and have even given me the title of ‘Dax the Marauder.’ Still, I know not what you are called.”

  “Piss off,” Fortunada said, smiling sweetly. Ah, well, it was too much to expect—even from herself—that she would concede for long.

  “An incongruous name for such a lovely face,” Baro said. He lifted a single eyebrow and quirked up one side of his mouth. The gesture, though ridiculous, dispersed some of the tension.

  Dax laughed, and said, “It is one that matches her personality beautifully. Most men prefer women with the virtue of reticence, you know.”

  Oh, how she loathed Dax! Like fire, hate filled her, melting away the icy fear until only the vapor of wrath remained. Rage was an emotion in which Fortunada found power and comfort. “And you have forgotten my request for linen bandages and salve for my husband,” Fortunada said.

  “Request?” Dax gave a snort. “From what I heard, it was a demand. In this camp you never have the right to demand anything. But a request may very well be granted.”

  “Please,” she said, only because they both knew it was insincere.

  “Since you asked so nicely,” said Dax, “I will go to the medicus personally and get everything you need.”

  Medicus? A visit to the medicus was a perfect reason to leave the tent. If Fortunada could convince Dax to take her—or better yet, Baro—with him, they could learn the layout of the camp and find a way to escape. “Having a medicus here changes everything,” said Fortunada. “You should take my husband to see him.”

  Baro caught her eye. He gave a nod so slight it was almost imperceptible.

  Baro shifted to sit at the edge of the bed, then stood slowly and took a tentative step forward. His leg buckled. He sat back down and took a gasping breath. At the sight of her strong lover so weakened, Fortunada’s leg blazed with his pain. She moved to him with no thought to Dax or their plan for escape.

  Fortunada cupped Baro’s cheek and stroked his chin with her thumb. He leaned into her touch, pressing his lips into her palm. “If I could,” she said, being so honest it frightened her, “I would take your pain and suffer for you.”

  “It is not all that bad,” said Baro. “My leg simply fell asleep. If I had thought to save my crutch, I would be able to stand on my own, even now.”

  “It is part of the ash and rubble that was our litter, I presume,” said Fortunada.

  “You were in the litter?” Dax asked. “That was put to the torch first. I saw it with my own eyes. Escape from that litter would have been impossible.”

  “Yet, I did.” Baro bent and straightened his knee several times.

  Leaning his hip on the table in the middle of the tent, Dax sat. “This is a story worth telling, and I would hear it.”

  Fortunada saw that Baro was always Baro the Equestrian, and even in captivity people found his exploits fascinating. He clearly saw the advantage of using this opportunity to engage Dax’s interest, so he launched into the tale. “I had dozed at the end of the day,” Baro said.

  Fortunada did not interrupt with the truth that he had slept soundly all day long.

  “When I woke,” Baro continued, “the litter was filled with smoke. Outside, I could hear the cries of men as they were being slain, and I realized that the camp was under attack. My first thought was for my wife’s safety. Tumbling out of the litter’s door would prove as deadly as staying in, so I kicked out one of the walls.”

  Laughing, Dax slapped his knee. “Just like that, you kicked out a wall?”

  “The gods love me,” said Baro with a wide smile.

  “You were in the litter with your wife, the lovely and spirited Piss Off?” Dax asked.

  “She and her maid were in the tent. The maid was already dead when I arrived. In order to save my wife, I had to kill two of the attackers.”

  Fortunada froze. How would Dax react to the news that Baro had slain his men?

  Dax shifted back, sitting more fully on the table. “I would expect nothing less from Baro the Equestrian.”

  “And what of your men and their deaths?” Why had Fortunada asked that? She clamped her mouth shut and determined to speak no more. Ceres help her. There were times when she wished she had the virtue of reticence, too.

  “It is the price of doing business,” Dax said, never turning from Baro. He continued, “I heard of the loss you suffered not many days back. This cut to your thigh came from that fight?”

  Baro shrugged. “It is the price of doing business,” he said.

  Dax laughed and wagged a finger at Baro. “You are funny. Funnier than I would have thought. Tell me this, how can I hear of your loss and not your marriage? Everyone talks about you. All the women in Rome must be beating their breasts and lamenting that you are no longer eligible to marry.”

  Fortunada could think of no way to answer this very simple question. But the more important question became—what would happen when their lie was exposed?

  Yet, without pause, Baro said, “That is exactly why you have heard nothing. First, I have a loss, and then a wife? How long would I remain in anyone’s favor?”

  “I suppose you need not take any public vows for a marriage to be legal. A simple agreement and a dowry are all a couple needs,” said Dax. “And your wife came with you because?”

  “I hate to be away from him,” Fortunada said quickly. Maybe she spoke too quickly to be convincing. Taking a breath, she waited a moment and continued. “Besides, he was hurt. I could hardly let him travel alone.”

  “Yes, yes, we are back to the injury,” said Dax as he stood. “What shall we do about your leg? Oh, yes, I am to bring back your bandages and willow salve, I recall.”

  Damn. Damn. Damn. She had to convince Dax to let one of them leave the tent. “For once,” she said, hoping that the goddess would guide her words, “w
e are in agreement. A bad doctor is worse than none at all. Besides, I can tend to my husband better than your so-called medicus.”

  Dax regarded her with eyes of obsidian. “How often must I tell you, Piss Off”—he spoke each word slowly—“that this is my camp and I determine who goes where. Your husband is very valuable. It would not do for his wound to fester while under my care. I will take him to the medicus myself. You will see that my medicus is among the best when he heals your husband.”

  She lowered her gaze in order to hide her smile. “Of course,” she said, “you are the one in control.”

  Chapter 19

  Fortunada

  Fortunada watched Baro hobble from the tent. To have escaped from the burning litter and killed two armed men—all while injured—was extraordinary. Of all the people in the republic she could have with her at this time, Fortunada was thankful it was Baro. While he was off observing what he could about the camp, she should see if there was any way they could escape from the tent.

  Fortunada peered outside. The guard she had spoken to earlier sat upon a stump. His back was to her, and he stared at the campfire. Forcing a smile upon her lips that made her cheeks ache, Fortunada opened the tent flap, determined to undo the bad impression she had made upon him earlier.

  The guard looked over his shoulder and said, “I am to give you nothing.” He turned back to the fire.

  This was going to be harder than she anticipated. “Oh, there is nothing that I desire, except to offer apologies.”

  “Well, Jupiter has blessed me this night.” The man guffawed and slapped his knee. “I have met the single considerate patrician.”

  “You are a religious man?” she asked.

  “I make the right sacrifices, if that is what you want to know.”

  “Ceres,” said Fortunada, hoping she might develop some kinship for a shared devotion to the gods, “is my goddess. She has been since my son was born.”

  “Ah, the goddess of the harvest and motherhood,” he said, pivoting on the stump to face Fortunada.