The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  Twining his fingers through hers, Baro drew her to him and set her upon his lap. She fit him perfectly—soft and pliable, where he was all hard lines. The need to protect Fortunada, and to make her life better, pierced his chest with a razor-sharp point. “You are nervous, yes. But as the miles slip away, you will find that excitement in seeing your children will win out over all. You must trust me.”

  Leaning her head against his shoulder, she twined her finger through his. “There is no one I trust more,” she said.

  Baro struggled, but for the first time in his life, he could think of nothing to say. Placing a kiss upon her head, he said, “You need rest. At dawn we take to the road.”

  “I hope you are right,” she said. The room enveloped her quiet words.

  With one hand beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, Baro rose and cradled Fortunada to his chest. He carried her to the bed and placed her gently upon the mattress.

  Their relationship had never been simple, and their parting would prove to be complex. Yet, to waste this moment seemed a grievous sin, and he lay down beside her.

  She tucked her head into his shoulder, and her breath washed over his skin. Baro wanted to make love to her—beyond sharing pleasure, he needed to communicate emotions so deeply felt that they had no name.

  “I want you,” he breathed into her hair.

  “Take me,” she purred, “and do with me what you will.”

  He needed no other invitation than that. Shifting to his knees, Baro pulled Fortunada’s rump in front of him. After lifting his tunic, he pulled her gown over her hips. As he knew she would be, Fortunada was naked underneath her clothes.

  He stroked both hands over her perfectly rounded buttocks. Yet, it was her cunnus, pink and already wet, that drew his eye. He slid two fingers inside, and her warmth surrounded him. This was what had driven Baro from his bed, not the fear of an intruder. It was to be inside her, to claim her, and make Fortunada his. He needed more than a simple touch. He wanted to taste her—her arousal. Sliding his tongue over her slit, he savored her flavor. With hands and mouth he explored, conquered, claimed, until she trembled with pleasure. Once her climax ended, Baro situated his cock at her opening. Thrusting twice, he entered her fully.

  Reaching around Fortunada, he found her most sensitive spot. Baro applied the slightest pressure, and she rewarded him with a groan of pleasure. He rubbed her as she met him thrust for thrust.

  He tried to think of something to say—a word or phrase to encompass all the joy and sorrow of their final coupling. Nothing came to him. It was an odd sensation to once again be devoid of conversation. Still, he felt he must speak.

  Or did he?

  Would mere words ruin the moment? It mattered not. Baro could contain his lust no longer. His cock throbbed as his seed spilled. A moment later, Fortunada climaxed. The inner muscles of her cunnus clenched his cock tighter.

  With one final, slow stroke, he entered Fortunada deeper and withdrew. Lying on his back, he pulled her to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest. They seemed fuller than he recalled, firmer, too. She slid her leg over his abdomen, and he gripped her thigh. This was the perfect way to spend the night, their arms and legs so intertwined that he knew not where he ended and she began.

  As a sated sleep began to claim him, Baro’s thoughts wandered to a time in his life when he had held another woman. He rarely thought of his former wife. Memories of her filled him with disgust and rage. Yet the moment that came to him now was one of love and contentment. She had just shared the happy news that Baro was to be a father.

  Though only nineteen annums and barely beyond a child himself, he had wanted the babe. He made love to his wife that night and marveled at the sweetness of her cunnus and the firmness of her breasts. A week later, his wife began having pelvic cramps. Within a day, her womb had emptied.

  His former wife had held Baro—and their lovemaking—responsible for the miscarriage. He knew little of a woman’s body and also blamed himself. After that, they quarreled often, and when Baro was selected as a tribune to serve with the legions in North Africa, he was relieved. Following a three-year-long campaign, Baro returned to Rome, prepared to be a husband once more—but she was gone.

  Why did these thoughts come to him while holding a woman far superior to his former wife? Was it because this would also be his final time lying with Fortunada? Or had the knowledge that they, too, would soon be parted awakened ghosts from his past? Reasonable explanations both, yet neither was entirely correct.

  With the clarity of a cloudless day, it came to him. Fortunada was with child. Her breast and cunnus were both slightly yet unmistakably changed. She had little appetite. Though memories haunted her, Fortunada’s delicate emotional state could also be caused by pregnancy.

  Ah, what a child he and Fortunada had made! Already he knew that it would inherit the best of both of them—cleverness, strength, and bravery. Once it was born, there would be no father in the entire republic more proud.

  She had said nothing to him. Perhaps she had not read the signs of her body. If that were the case, then Fortunada needed to know at once. Baro reached out. Inches from her shoulder he stopped himself.

  Letting his hand fall to the mattress, he gripped the sheets. For Baro understood something else as well. He could never claim this child as his own. In so doing, he would destroy any chance she had to remain with Genaro and Cornelia. Better to let all, especially Fortunada, assume the next child was a blessing upon the new marriage.

  Chapter 31

  Novum Comum

  Five days until the festival of Saturnalia

  Fortunada

  The horse crested the hill and Fortunada drew in a breath. Baro wrapped an arm around her waist. His touch tightened a bit, and she exhaled. A large lake of pristine blue stretched out in all directions. The sun was just slipping below the horizon. The water rippled, golden with the reflection. In the distance the Alps rose heavenward. The shadows grew long and turned the craggy rock face purple as snow covered their distant peaks.

  A promontory—filled with the town of Novum Comum—reached out into the lake, and the beginning of Roman influence was unmistakable. Several newly constructed white stone buildings rose up majestically amid the smaller timber dwellings.

  “That is the ludus,” Baro said, pointing to a two-storey building near the center of town. “You can see the practice arena from here.”

  His outstretched hand brushed against her cheek. She shifted, connecting flesh to flesh one last time. The whole day she had struggled with what to say to Baro about the possible pregnancy. Nothing seemed right. In the end, she had decided to wait. If she was not with child, there was no reason to worry him unnecessarily. If she was—well, the question of what to do would prove difficult to answer.

  “And where will you stay until your fight? Will you be at the ludus as well?” Fortunada knew not if she wanted Baro in her home. All the same, she always yearned for him to be near.

  “When I booked passage with the caravan, I was told about an inn.”

  “It seems like we left the city a year ago, not merely three weeks past,” she said with a wistful smile.

  “That was a different lifetime, and we were different people. Now we need to begin anew.”

  Baro clicked his tongue, and the mount began its descent into the valley. The horse’s hooves clattered and echoed as they crossed the deserted marketplace. As he had since the marauders’ camp, Mars loped beside them. The ludus drew near. They approached by way of the high wall that separated the practice field from the town. Above, in the villa, the doors to the terrace were open to the night. Light, and the sounds of laugher, cascaded down. At the villa’s front entrance, twin torches burned on either side of the door.

  “A party?” Fortunada asked.

  Beyond the question itself, disbelief must have resonated in her tone. Baro said quickly,
“Albinius knew nothing of the caravan’s attack or our escape. Your arrival will be a surprise, as you are several days early.”

  “I suppose,” she said, not entirely sure why she was wounded by the notion that Albinius was entertaining. The villa’s wooden door stood closed before her. She need only knock to be allowed entry. It seemed an insurmountable barrier that kept her from being with those who mattered most. Or was it that in entering the villa, she would also be leaving behind someone of great importance as well? “If there are guests, you should join us,” she said at once.

  “I should not,” said Baro as he swung off the horse.

  Holding on to Fortunada’s waist, he helped her dismount. Placing a steadying hand upon the horse’s flank, she waited as needles of pain traveled up and down her legs, and her feet throbbed. Once the sensation passed, she took a step forward.

  “This is where I leave you,” he said. He tightened the saddle’s tack, not bothering to look up.

  He would be in Novum Comum another week. Yet there was no reason for them to see each other. Moreover, it sounded to Fortunada as if Baro would not make an excuse to seek her out. “Farewell, Baro the Equestrian.”

  She took another step. Her stomach cramped. It was as if her affections had become a rope, pulling her in opposite directions with such force that it threatened to tear her in two.

  Mars placed his large head in her palm. He looked up at her, his brown eyes full of pity and understanding. Fortunada needed both. “Good boy,” she said, giving him a scratch behind the ear. “I will even miss you.”

  Baro looked up from the saddle. He held out the leather bag filled with coins. “You should take this. You have a family to care for.”

  After living in genteel poverty with her parents for so long, her palm itched with want to take the coin. She could do so much for her children with that small amount. At the same time, the dowry her uncle had given was generous—more than a thousand times what Baro held in his hand. So, in truth, she had no need for more coin. Aside from the fee collected for this fight, Baro had nothing—not even a ludus to call home anymore.

  “It is yours,” she said.

  He held out his hand, palm up, as if weighing the bag. “We should share this, at least.”

  “I will not take one golden sesterce from you, Baro. You saved my life.”

  “Are you certain? You need not tell your husband, the Rube, that you have it.”

  The Rube? She laughed. “My mind is set.”

  “I will not attempt to dissuade you, then.”

  “So, this is it between us?” Her heart ceased to beat with the notion. There was much she wanted to say to Baro. But to what end? Without a word, she walked to the door. Mars followed. He sat and lifted his front paw, scratching upon the wood. “Mars, go,” she said, waving him away.

  “No,” said Baro. He turned back to the damnable saddle. “He should stay with you.”

  “I will not take your dog.” She scratched the dog at the fleshy part where head and back joined. Mars gave a contented sigh. “You love him.”

  “He is a gift, for your son. If I had . . .” Baro paused and wiped his eye with his shoulder. “If we had . . .” He stopped again. He pressed his lips together and looked heavenward. Finally, he met Fortunada’s gaze. “Every boy needs a dog. Mars belongs to Genaro. I merely helped to bring him home.”

  Rushing from the door, Fortunada flung herself into Baro’s arms. He encircled her waist, drawing her closer. She pressed her lips to his, and their tongues joined. She cared not that they embraced in public. In this moment, she would openly love Baro. It was not a secret tryst nor was it a farcical marriage. She was simply a woman with the man she loved.

  Fortunada pulled away, breathless. “I love you.”

  He pressed his forehead into hers. “I love you.”

  “And yet it changes nothing.”

  “Go.” Baro withdrew and mounted the horse. Straight-backed in the saddle, he looked resplendent. Torches threw long shadows, obscuring Baro’s features with the darkness. At the same time, Fortunada could have stood and watched him forever. “Go,” he said again. “Your children will be happy to see you. You will be overjoyed to see them.”

  Mars still sat by the door, his expectant gaze trained upon the latch. In the villa, her children waited for her. Her life. Her family. With a final wave to Baro, she walked back to the door. The echo of horse hooves upon the cobbled street filled the night.

  She gave a quick knock and the door swung inward. Light spilled over Fortunada. She cast one last look over her shoulder. Baro was gone.

  Chapter 32

  Fortunada

  A male slave answered the door. She stood on the threshold, her chest so tight she could not draw breath. The need to glance over her shoulder, just once more, was great. But she refused to look for Baro again. He was her past, and what lay in front of her, the future.

  “May I help you?”

  By rights, she was domina, mistress of the villa. But this man knew her not. “I am here to see the dominus, Albinius Faenius,” she said.

  The slave opened the door wider and gestured for her to enter. He led Fortunada up a narrow staircase from the atrium below, to the triclinium on the second level. Four men reclined on sofas, a low table in the middle. A meal of fish, greens, and fried bread sat before them.

  There was Albinius, of course, and two men she did not know. Her uncle Sersa was in their midst, and to Fortunada, his presence was most puzzling. Standing at the door, she and the slave silently waited for Albinius and his guests to take note of her. Though she longed to be brought to her children with a need so great it was a hunger, Fortunada was content to watch Albinius for a moment from the door. She wanted to know what this dinner was about before stepping into the room.

  The men were so deep into their own discussion that they noticed her not. Leaning forward, they all listened to what Albinius had to say. “The first time I came to Novum Comum, I saw more than a provincial northern town.”

  A bald man stabbed at a piece of fried bread with the dual tines of his fork. “If you do not mind me asking, what is it that you saw?”

  “Herculaneum,” said Albinius.

  One of the other men, who was large with wild gray hair and an unruly beard, threw back his head and laughed. “Phillipus,” he said to the bald man, “do not take another bite. You know not what is in the food to provide such delusions.”

  The bald man set his fork on the edge of the table. “How is it that you see a Mediterranean resort with wealthy patricians among a rural village in the foothills of the Alps?”

  Albinius wiped his hand over the back of his neck. Fortunada held her breath. In the tableau before her, she understood that this moment was important for Albinius. For them all, really. The men who sat around the table were likely those important men of Novum Comum she had suggested he find, and now he had the opportunity to convince them that he was worthy of their respect.

  “Romans travel to Herculaneum for many things. First is the scenery. The second is to escape the heat during the summer months. We have similar conditions here. Romans also seek breezes to blow away the stagnant air. While Herculaneum’s winds are warm, ours are cool. If we brought more Roman ways to this area, people would begin to see Novum Comum as a northern alternative.”

  Albinius had said the correct words, conveyed the right image. Fortunada exhaled.

  From his seat by the table, Albinius turned and looked over his shoulder. Their gazes met, and a glass of wine slipped from his hand, smashing to the floor. Any other time, Fortunada would have assumed that her former husband was simply too far into his cups, but his face had gone chalky and his hands trembled.

  “Fortunada,” he whispered.

  “Greetings,” she said. “I am not expected for many days, yet my travels have been . . .” Fortunada paused. What had they been? Harrowing? Hea
rtbreaking? Full of love and passion? They had been all of that and more. “Adventurous,” she said at length. Head down, with eyes up, Mars walked into the room. His long black tail cut through the air with a slow and amiable wag. He sat at her feet.

  Albinius’s gaze never dropped from her face. She watched as his complexion changed from pale white to a sickly gray.

  “Fortunada!” Sersa rose from his seat and came to her. He held her by the shoulders for a moment before folding her into an embrace. “It really is you. At first, I could not believe my eyes. Thank the gods, you are here.”

  Even in her uncle’s warm hug, her insides grew cold and gooseflesh sprang up on her arms. Something was amiss. “The children,” she said, fearing the worst. How could she have trusted Albinius, the Rube, to care for her children?

  Sersa released her and brushed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “They will be pleased to see you. In fact, they will be beyond pleased.” Sersa held her out at arm’s length once more. “I had heard—” He shook his head and let go of her shoulders. His hands dangled at his side, and he shrugged. “I was told that your caravan was attacked and that you were dead. I saw your maid’s corpse with my own eyes.”

  “Oh,” said Fortunada. She was now more numb than cold.

  “A friend in the Senate sought me out and took me to the campsite. Many of the bodies were burned beyond recognition. It was thought that there were no survivors.”

  “The caravan was attacked, and I was taken hostage. They meant to ransom me, but I escaped.” Mars whimpered and tucked his muzzle into her hand. She scratched behind his ear.

  Uncle Sersa drew her into another embrace. “You must be horrified. Are you injured? We should call a physician.”

  “Honestly,” said Fortunada, “I am tired and sore from riding a horse so long, but other than that—I am fine.”

  “You see, gentlemen, this is the might and power of an Illyrian princess.” Sersa took her elbow and steered her to the sofa.

  After days upon horseback, the soft silken cushion covering the sofa was sweeter than an answered prayer. Mars moved with her and sat on his haunches.