The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  “Can you never be serious?” she asked.

  “Not when I can help it,” Baro said with a wink.

  Chapter 29

  Along the Via Aurelia

  Six days until the festival of Saturnalia

  Fortunada

  Fortunada sat at a corner table in the roadside tavern. Like the whispers of a ghost, the wooden top bore the scars of past patrons who had eaten other meals. Had any of them been as she, conflicted beyond measure? She and Baro were only a day’s journey from Novum Comum and had stopped at an inn for the night. At this time tomorrow, as the sun slipped below the horizon and the sky changed from violet to indigo, Fortunada would be with her children once more.

  They knew nothing of her trials, and Cornelia would greet her with kisses. Genaro, a young man in the making, would shyly welcome her to her new home. It would only be as she tucked him safely into his bed that he would allow an embrace. And though the images of her children filled Fortunada with a warmth she could describe only as love, she could not deny the undercurrent of sadness.

  In being reunited with Genaro and Cornelia, she would be separated from Baro. His was the strong hand that had held hers as they faced unthinkable adversity. They were of the same mind, and a match in both wit and passion. To travel down the path of life without Baro at her side was so unthinkable that her head threatened to implode. And that, she knew, was love as well.

  At the other side of the tavern, Baro spoke to the owner, making arrangements to rent an upstairs room for the night. He would pay for it with the coin found under Dax’s saddle. Even after three weeks on the road, ninety-five sesterces remained.

  Mars sat at his master’s feet. Baro scratched the top of the dog’s head and then gave a friendly wave. Fortunada held up her hand in response, unable to keep from smiling as she did so.

  At the legionnaire camp, Fortunada had traded her thin and tattered silk dress for one of blue linen. The thicker fabric was more suitable for the colder northern climate. It was also more durable and wore better during their endless days of travel. From the legionnaires she also had acquired a gray woolen palla. The gown, made for someone smaller than she, fitted too tightly around her breasts and fell only to her ankles—leaving her feet exposed. Even when comparing herself to one who might live in a remote village, Fortunada felt uncommonly dull.

  Around her, the tavern bustled with evening diners and drinkers. Most of the patrons who crowded around tables were male. Earthenware cups brimming with strong wine sat in front of them. The warm smell of baking bread filled the room.

  Braziers sat in each of the four corners, throwing warmth and light upward. One stood next to Fortunada. Crimson flames engulfed several logs, turning them first black and then white with the heat. One broke in half, and sparks shot toward the ceiling, just as when the roof of the litter had collapsed.

  A man slapped the top of a nearby table. The crack of flesh on wood jarred Fortunada’s senses. Once again, the busy tavern surrounded her. Her heartbeat thrummed at the base of her throat, and the metallic taste of fear coated her tongue. Gouged into her palms were the crescent-moon imprints of her fingernails. Fortunada had no recollection of clenching her hands into fists.

  She looked at the man who had hit the table and now guffawed loudly to his comrades. He wore a green tunic. His unwashed dark hair fell past his shoulders.

  Not believing what she saw, she tensed every muscle. Rising to her feet, she backed away from the table. Fortunada’s chair fell over with a clatter. All eyes in the tavern turned to her. Then like a pall, silence descended on the room.

  “Dax is here,” she said as Baro maneuvered to her side.

  Baro placed his hand on her elbow. “That is not him.”

  Fortunada looked back. Rotund, with a sparse gray beard and a green tunic, the man she had mistaken for the marauder looked nothing like him.

  “Come,” Baro said as he led Fortunada to an interior stairwell. “You are weary from the road. Our rooms are ready. Eat and rest, then you will feel better.”

  Walking upon legs that felt too heavy to lift, Fortunada climbed the stairs, on this, their last night together. In fact, they had not actually been together since leaving the legionnaires’ camp. She had not invited Baro to share her bed, and he had not sought her out.

  He was quite open about the need to preserve Fortunada’s reputation. Even in the small towns and villages they passed, he was oftentimes recognized. When the villagers retold stories about Baro, she would be remembered—and their sleeping arrangements would become part of the tale.

  Fortunada’s reason for sleeping alone was simpler. She had no more wild carrot, or any other means to prevent pregnancy.

  The room in which she was to stay was clean. Sparsely furnished, there was only a bed and a table with two chairs. It brought to mind the place where she and Baro used to meet for their morning trysts. Those days, though less than a month past, belonged to a different Fortunada. She longed for her former self, and the simplistic view of love and life.

  Brushing past Fortunada, Mars entered the room. Turning in a circle twice, he lay down on the floor with a heavy sigh.

  “Dinner will be brought to your room. My accommodations are across the hall,” Baro said. “Call on me if there is anything you need. Come, Mars.” Baro slapped the side of his leg. The dog regarded him with a sideways glance before resting his head on his paws and closing his eyes.

  “Stay with me, Baro,” Fortunada said. “Let us eat together. Tomorrow, whatever has passed between us will be at an end. Besides,” she added, knowing of his affection for the dog, “Mars does not want to be disturbed.”

  After regarding her for a moment, Baro shook his head. “I should not.”

  His refusal stung. Was Baro really concerned about her reputation? Or had he moved beyond this moment and all the moments that would make up their final day together, to a time when she was no longer in his life? Even as she stood here, was she already a distant memory to him? Heat rose from her core, leaving her chest and cheeks feverish with anger and, truth to tell, embarrassment.

  Following her long-held habit of allowing her displeasure to bubble to the top, Fortunada opened her mouth to speak. She paused. What did she hope to accomplish by saying something harsh? Was it simply to wound Baro as he had wounded her? “Of course,” she said after a too long moment. “Good night, then,” she added.

  “Fortunada, wait.” Baro reached out to her. “My intent is not to hurt you with my refusal to share a meal.”

  What is it, then? she wanted to spit. She swallowed the words and her temper that came along with it. “I know,” she said, though she lied.

  Baro let out a rueful laugh. “It pleases me that you understand my motivations, because I do not.”

  “It is a pity that you will not be taking your meal with me,” she said, teasing. “I had planned to explain it all to you then.”

  He laughed again, and this time there was merriment in his tone. “Ah, there is the Fortunada whom I know well and love. I worried that you had lost your spirited nature.”

  “It would take more than a few bandits to dampen my pluck.”

  At the end of the hallway, a young woman bearing a tray climbed the final stairs. Two pitchers sat next to pieces of brown bread, with wedges of white cheese at the side. “The innkeeper bade that I bring this to you.”

  Fortunada stepped through the door, opening it wider. “You can place my meal on the table,” she said as the young woman passed.

  “Leave mine here as well,” Baro said from the corridor.

  Without comment, the young woman set out all the food and drink before taking her leave.

  Baro came into Fortunada’s room and shut the door. “If the invitation still stands, I would take my meal with you.”

  An instinctual “It does not” again rose to her lips. She quelled it with a smile. “You are alw
ays welcome at my table,” she said.

  Without the benefit of a brazier, the room held a chill. Fortunada pulled the palla tighter around her shoulders and sat. Baro lit the single taper. A pool of golden light washed over the table.

  Pouring wine, he said, “If the night is clear, it may get so cold that there will be a frost upon the ground by morning.”

  “And snow,” she said. “I have never seen snow. Sersa told me of it many times, though. How a single flake holds a delicate beauty, while an entire storm can be more deadly than fire.” Was this the turn the evening was to take—talking and yet never saying anything? It might have been better if Baro had gone to his own room and left Fortunada alone with her thoughts.

  He tore off a piece of bread and held it out to Mars. The seemingly sleeping dog jumped up and sauntered over to take his master’s offering. “I am going to miss you, Fortunada. Wherever I go, I will carry our time with me.”

  The honesty and loss in his words mirrored her own feelings perfectly. Her lip trembled and tears collected in her eyes. She knew not what to say. There were no sentiments that would change the truth. They could not be together. At the same time, without him, she would be alone.

  Perhaps banal conversation would have been better.

  “I cannot forsake my children,” she said, “even for you. Aside from them, there is nothing I would not sacrifice for us to be together.”

  “I know,” he said, “and I understand.”

  He held his hand out halfway across the table. Fortunada reached for him. Their fingers twined. She stared out the window. Night pulled its darkened robe across the sky, and the first bright star shone down.

  Baro withdrew his hand first. “Come, we should eat. If we are to make it to Novum Comum by nightfall tomorrow, we will have to start early and ride hard.”

  Fortunada took a bite of bread. She chewed without tasting anything, and swallowed it beyond the lump of grief that lodged in her throat. She took a few more bites that were as bland and painful as the first. The cheese was no better, and the wine turned her stomach. Listlessly, she threw the remains of her meal to Mars. He jumped up from where he lay and ate everything with obvious, chomping enjoyment.

  “Admit it,” said Baro as he looked at her over his cup of wine, “you have begun to like the dog.”

  “For a horrible beast, I suppose he is acceptable,” she said with a smile.

  Mars thumped his tail upon the floor.

  The days of travel had stolen all her energy. Weary to her bones, she yawned and cast a longing eye to the bed.

  Baro stood. “We will leave at dawn. I should let you rest.”

  Fortunada stood with him. “Exhaustion has claimed me all at once. I do not recall having been this tired since—” She stopped speaking, and yet the words she had meant to say still resounded in her mind. Since those early days of pregnancy.

  Her menses, which were delayed by only a few days, were not overly late. With Genaro she had hardly noticed she was pregnant until she had missed her courses twice. When carrying Cornelia she knew she was with child much earlier, because she recognized the signs.

  Could it be? Was she carrying Baro’s child? She suddenly realized that her breasts had become larger than usual, and sore, too. Food held little appeal, and she was overly tired. At the same time, there could be other reasons besides pregnancy for these particular symptoms. Her impending menses was the most obvious.

  Baro leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Sleep well,” he said. “Mars.” He clicked his tongue. “Come.”

  The dog refused to move.

  “Baro,” she said.

  He looked up at her.

  She paused. What could she say? It would not do to tell him of a child that might not exist. Instead, she said, “The dog may remain here tonight.”

  With a wink, Baro said, “You see? You have come to like him!”

  Chapter 30

  Baro

  Not tired in the least, Baro lay in the overly large and cold bed. Shifting to his side, he tried to keep his thoughts from wandering, as they always did, to Fortunada. And like always—it did not work.

  Propping his head upon his arm, Baro wondered about Fortunada’s new life with her former husband. Without a doubt the Rube was opportunistic. What balls he must have to wait in the arena infirmary and make an offer to two ailing and desperate men.

  One thing he did know: Albinius was not a worthy spouse for the brave and beautiful Fortunada. Baro toyed with the idea of speaking to him when they arrived in Novum Comum. The attack on the caravan, and the chase after their escape, left a stain upon Fortunada’s memories. It was something a husband should know, and he prayed that Albinius would be understanding and offer her comfort in those moments when she was gripped with inexplicable fear.

  Closing his eyes, he lay without movement and hoped that sleep would find him. It did not. A vision of Fortunada came to him instead. Holding a blanket before her, she entered the room of the inn that he now occupied. The creamy skin of her shoulders and calves was exposed, and Baro knew she wore nothing beyond the cover she held.

  “I thought I heard a noise,” she said, “and was frightened. Will you hold me?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  She dropped the blanket and stood naked before him.

  In reality, Baro’s cock lengthened. Spitting into his hand, he gripped his shaft and worked his way up and down. In his fantasy, Fortunada had slipped into bed. Swirling her tongue over the head of his penis, she wrapped her lips around his length and took him in her mouth. His hips lifted as the fantasy version of Fortunada took him deeper down her throat.

  The bed frame creaked. Or had he just heard a footstep in the hall? His hardened member slackened in his grip.

  Overly nervous of late, Fortunada would have a fit of terror at the slight sound. Baro rose. His injured thigh cramped and began to throb. He dared not wait for the pain to subside. Straightening his tunic, Baro opened the door.

  The corridor stood empty.

  Still, he felt beholden to check and make sure she was all right. Striding across the hall, he tried to open Fortunada’s door. It held tight. From inside, Baro heard the unmistakable clicking of Mars’s canine nails upon the floor. It was followed by the sound of an investigative sniffing of the jamb.

  “Lie down, dog,” Baro whispered.

  Mars whimpered in reply.

  “Baro.” Fortunada’s voice came out of the dark. “Is that you?”

  Pressing his forehead on the smooth wooden door, he silently cursed. “I thought I heard a noise and wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  Her feet hit the floor and quickly padded across the room. Metal grated upon metal as the latch was disengaged, and then the door swung inward. Tail wagging, Mars gave a happy bark. Moonlight bathed Fortunada, turning her skin pearlescent. Her hair cascaded in silver rivulets down her back. Had the gods reached into Baro’s most erotic dreams and fashioned a woman, they would have done no better.

  His fingers twitched with wanting to pull her to him. The taste of her imagined kisses lingered upon his lips. He could tell her of none of this, and for that, he was sorely grieved. “I did not mean to wake you,” he said.

  “Mars has it all well in hand,” she said, “or rather, paw.”

  At the mention of his name, the dog shoved his large head into Baro’s palm. Scratching one ear, he said, “Good boy.”

  “Come in,” she said as she opened the door farther. “I think some wine from dinner remains. We can share a glass.”

  Like a starving man who had just been invited to a banquet, Baro stepped quickly into the room. Although it was not the drink he craved—he wanted only Fortunada. “Gratitude,” he said.

  Fortunada moved to the table and lit the single candle. After filling two cups from the pitcher of wine, she sat. Baro joined her. Though he
had no great thirst, he took a sip. Fortunada rolled the cup between her palms and stared at the wavering candlelight. Her breasts looked especially appealing in her linen gown. To curb his lusts, he drank again. It did not work, and the image of taking her from behind came all too clearly.

  The room grew quiet and the stillness agitated Baro. For no other reason than to combat the silence, he said, “Again, apologies for waking you.”

  “Sleep evaded me this night, so you have no need to apologize,” she said. “Anticipation has been my constant companion.”

  Her words brought up an interesting question. What was she anticipating? Had she lain awake thinking of him? Did her hands explore her own breasts, teasing her nipples, as she longed for him? Had her desire for him been so strong that it drew Baro from his bed?

  “Go on,” he said.

  “You were right to take us on horseback. We have traveled faster than we would have in the litter. And though it has been little more than three weeks since I last saw Genaro and Cornelia, I worry.”

  The children. With her, it would always be the children. Baro understood that truth all too well, and yet a spark of jealousy shot from his gut and lodged in his throat. The insult was made more complete by his carnal misunderstanding. Though it pained him to have a conversation about a part of her life that would never include him, he felt obliged to ask, “What causes your worry?”

  Exhaling, Fortunada slumped in her seat. “After all the time the children have spent with Albinius, I fear their love for me has waned.”

  “They will be overjoyed to see you, because it is impossible for their affections to falter.”

  She nodded, never taking her eyes from the cup in her hand.

  “You are not convinced,” he said.

  “The caravan was attacked. I was taken hostage, and in order to save ourselves, we had to escape. Before setting out for Novum Comum, I would have thought those ordeals to be impossible.” Her voice broke on the last word.