The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  “You must be tired and hungry.” Sersa handed her a glass of wine after she had settled on the seat.

  Aside from Albinius and Sersa, two other men sat in the triclinium. One was slight and bald, and if she recalled, his name was Phillipus. The other had a mane of silver-and-white hair and bright, black eyes.

  The bald man held out an almost empty plate of pine-nut tarts. “You must have one of these,” he said. “They are divine.”

  “Take some bread,” said the white-haired man. Fortunada decided he looked a little like an old lion.

  Never bothering to rise to his feet, Albinius called out, “Maid. There is a mess in need of cleaning. Come now, before someone cuts their foot.”

  Fortunada accepted the offered tart, because it did look divine. She took a single bite and wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth with a swipe of her index finger.

  “My dear Fortunada.” Sersa knelt next to the sofa. “I take full responsibility for your plight. I should not have allowed you to travel alone, no matter how set you were upon your plan.”

  Fortunada reached out and took her uncle’s hand. With a squeeze she said, “You hold none of the blame. What happened to me would have happened regardless of with whom I traveled. Set your conscience at ease. As you can see, I am safe and very much alive.”

  “However did you escape?” asked the bald man.

  “My story is long and will take some time in the telling. I would see the children first,” she said. A horrific thought overtook her, and the tart threatened to return to her throat. “Ceres help us. Do the children also think I am dead?”

  The men looked at each other. Unease hung about them like a mist. Fortunada knew the answer, and at the same time she needed to hear the words spoken.

  A female slave holding a rag and bucket silently entered the triclinium. She knelt and began to pick up the shards of glass.

  “Make sure to mop up all the wine,” said Albinius. “It would not do to have the tiles stained.”

  “Do Genaro and Cornelia think I am dead, Albinius?”

  He cast a quick glance upward from where the maid was now wiping the floor with a rag. “I could hardly keep it from them,” he said. “Your uncle sailed from Rome to bring the sad news. What would you have me do? Lie to them?” Then to the maid, he said, “Mind that the grout does not stain, either.”

  Fortunada knew not why Albinius’s apathy shocked or hurt her, and yet it did both. “The children,” she said again. “Have them brought to me.”

  As silently as the female slave had entered the triclinium, she left again. It was as if the shattered glass and pool of wine had never been. A moment after the maid vanished, Sersa said, “Rest a moment more. They are well, and it would not do for you to overtax yourself.”

  “I have not endured a kidnapping and escape just so I might rest. It was the faces of Cornelia and Genaro that lit my way during the dark times,” said Fortunada. “Please, Albinius, bring them to me.”

  Before her former husband could acquiesce or argue, the bald man spoke.

  “As the supreme law in this province, I insist on a moment of your time and need to ask a few questions.”

  Ceres preserve her. Another man who felt his wants were more important than a mother’s needs.

  “This is the propraetor, Phillipus,” said Sersa. “And the other chap is Calvinius, the magistrate,” he said of the man with all the hair.

  Fortunada wanted to insist that these men bring her children to her. Who were they to deny a mother of providing her children with comfort? Certainly, if she gave enough of a fight, she would win—for she was right in her demand. It was also just as certain that the argument would take more time than telling her story.

  With a sigh, she began. “During our first night out of Rome, the caravan was attacked. Very few survived.” She pushed away the images of the burning tents and silenced the screams of the dying. “We were taken to the marauders’ camp somewhere in the Appinus Mons. I escaped and made my way to a legionnaires’ camp. A report was given to the centurion in charge of the camp, and his men apprehended all the bandits; then the captives were freed. After that, I traveled by horseback to Novum Comum.”

  Perhaps her explanation had been too simple. All four men stared, with mouths that hung open.

  “You did all of this by yourself?” asked Calvinius. He shook his head. “Remarkable.”

  Fortunada deliberately tried to minimize her tale. And it was no accident that she had neglected to mention Baro. What could she say about him when her lips still tingled from their final kiss?

  “I was not alone. A fellow traveler and I worked together to escape. Together, we made our way to Novum Comum. Without him, I would certainly be dead by now,” she said.

  “We must know who came to your aid,” said Phillipus. “He should be lauded as a hero. It will boost the confidence of all to know that a simple man was able to strike with such force against the marauders who roam too freely upon Roman roads.” He turned to Albinius. “This public announcement must take place at the Saturnalian games you will be holding.”

  “The man might not want the attention,” said Albinius.

  “Nonsense,” said Phillipus. He wagged his finger at Albinius. “I insist. It was your wife who was saved—it is only fitting that he is congratulated at your games.”

  Sersa turned his kindly gray eyes to Fortunada. “I am sure Fortunada’s savior can decide for himself if he wants to be publicly lauded or not. What was his name, my dear?”

  “His name is Spurius Mummius Baro,” she said. “You would all know him as Baro the Equestrian.”

  “The Champion of Rome saved you?” said Albinius. “Why in the name of Jupiter would he do that? You are a stranger to him.”

  She had dismissed the fact that Albinius had ignored her arrival. She had overlooked his keen interest in cleaning up the glass of wine as others worried for her well-being. But she could not pretend that his disbelieving words or sarcastic tone were anything beyond rude.

  “We saved each other,” she said, knowing full well that in this room of men her claim to heroics would be seen as hollow. As far as they would be concerned, Baro was the rescuer and she the rescued. “Besides, he and I were known to each other before the caravan ever departed from Rome.”

  The room fell silent.

  Fortunada had not given away the nature of her relationship with Baro through her words. Had she done so by tone or action? For the briefest moment she imagined flaunting the fact that Baro was her lover.

  With a healthy dose of spiteful glee, Fortunada wondered what vile shade of green Albinius’s pallor would turn then. It was a pity that she could not be so candid. Albinius was trying to impress the important men of the city. Gaining their favor would mean the difference between a successful ludus and one that failed. “I met Baro four months past,” she said, “at the party beginning the gladiatorial funeral games that were fought in honor of the late Senator Marcus Rullus Servilia.”

  “The widow of the senator is fast friends with my wife,” said Albinius. “Fortunada was matron of honor at their wedding. In fact, was it not Baro the Equestrian who fought his first at that wedding? It was against Valens Secundus, then the Champion of Rome. Ah, what a night.” Albinius smiled and shook his head. “The wine was plentiful, and a fine time was had by all.”

  So, he did recall something of their life together. Genaro had been little more than a babe at the time, and Cornelia was nothing more than a hope.

  The magistrate nodded. “It is a blessing of the gods that you traveled with Rome’s champion.”

  “Truly remarkable,” said Albinius. He bestowed her with a quick smile before looking away. “And the dog was also a hostage with you?”

  “Mars,” she said as she stroked his head and thick neck, “escaped with us. In fact, we never would have made it from the camp without
his assistance.”

  “He is fine-looking beast,” said Albinius. “Genaro will like having a dog.”

  Baro had spoken those exact words, had he not? It was one more thing that Fortunada knew would be imprudent to share.

  Phillipus, the propraetor, asked, “And where is Baro the Equestrian now?”

  “He is at one of the inns. I invited him to stay at the ludus, but he declined,” she said, thankful to have a question to answer.

  “Inn,” corrected Calvinius. “In Novum Comum there is only one inn. Several taverns, though.”

  “Perhaps, with one band of marauders taken into custody, the roads will be safer and more people will come north. If that happens, then we will have a need for more inns and taverns both,” said Phillipus.

  “There is also the water route to consider,” added Sersa. “It is faster and requires only two additional days of overland travel.”

  Fortunada—her presumed death, sudden resurrection, and the reality of her kidnapping—had been forgotten as the men began to discuss business.

  Albinius stood and reached out a hand to her. Mars lifted his head and sniffed before thumping his tail on the floor. With a quick pet to the dog’s head, he said, “Come. I know of two people who will be very pleased to see you.”

  Fortunada hesitated only a moment before taking Albinius’s hand. “Gratitude,” she said.

  “I do not know how to tell them of this reversal.” With a firm hand on her elbow, he led her down the same stairs that she had climbed upon entering the villa. “Sersa arrived yester eve with news of your death. As you can well imagine, it came as a shock, and both children are greatly aggrieved by your loss.”

  Fortunada shook her head and silently berated herself for not sending word to Albinius of her trials. “Traveling by horse had me arriving in Novum Comum well before being missed. Had I thought that Sersa would hear, I certainly would have sent word. Apologies for being inconsiderate.”

  “It would have saved us all—especially the children—a great deal of grief. Although what has been done cannot be undone.”

  Perhaps Albinius was not as hateful as Fortunada thought. His obvious shock and anger upon her arrival were understandable. In hoping to save a small amount of worry, she had caused an incredible amount of anxiety. Had Albinius done the same, Fortunada’s wrath would have included much more than a glare or two and a moment of ignoring him.

  At the bottom of the stairs there were only three paths to take. Straight ahead led to the villa’s main entrance, and then the rest of Novum Comum lay beyond. There was a short hallway to the left that ended in a darkened room. The shadow of a desk stood out amid the gloom, and Fortunada guessed that it was Albinius’s tablinum, where he conducted his business. To the right was a longer hallway that likewise ended in a single room. This one was full of bright lights, voices, and the scents of food being cooked. It was the kitchen.

  “There are six sleeping chambers upstairs. The children each have their own room,” said Albinius. “For this evening, I did not want any disruptions, and their nursemaid has kept them occupied in the kitchens.”

  She paused only long enough to wonder why Albinius would be entertaining less than a day after they had learned of her death. There were explanations, to be sure. She had only begun to catalog them when a voice came from the kitchen.

  “Stop being a baby,” said Genaro.

  “I am not a baby. It is you who are,” said Cornelia.

  As if slapped, Fortunada recoiled from the venom in their youthful tone. It was late, she reminded herself. They were tired. And moreover, their father had relegated them to the kitchens less than a day after erroneously learning of her death. It was no wonder that Genaro and Cornelia quarreled.

  Albinius had made a point earlier—news of her return from Elysium would have to be handled with some care. Two shocks in one day would not be good for their health. “You speak to them first,” she said as she placed her hand upon Albinius’s arm. “Tell them you were mistaken about my death and I am fine.”

  Before her former husband could agree or perhaps disagree, Mars wandered into the kitchen. Both children grew silent. With a happy woof, the dog reemerged into the corridor. Genaro and Cornelia followed. Both had their eyes trained upon Mars as he sat at Fortunada’s feet. At once their vision expanded, taking in the whole scene.

  Fortunada held her breath, expecting a perplexed look to knit Cornelia’s tiny brows together, or Genaro’s slack-jawed gasp of disbelief. She saw neither. Both children paused only a moment before running at Fortunada and hugging her with such force that she nearly fell over backward.

  She embraced her children, showering them with both tears and kisses. All the pain, sweat, and fear of the past two weeks melted away. To hold her children once more had been worth every risk. She cast a single glance at Albinius. He regarded them all without expression. Fortunada almost imagined him to be devoid of emotion—except in his eyes. In those she saw one thing—the blackness of hate.

  Chapter 33

  One day until the festival of Saturnalia

  Baro

  Sweat rolled down Baro’s forehead and dripped into his eyes. It stung and blurred his vision. He paid it little mind and focused his attention up his hand, his arm, and the wooden sword he held, which had become an extension of his flesh. Slice, slice, cut, thrust, turn, dip, slice.

  His wounded leg began to fatigue. Shift. Rest. Lunge, dip, thrust. Rest.

  During the past four days his life had taken on a rigid schedule. He trained after waking, using a courtyard of the inn. The innkeeper had even procured a wooden sword for Baro to use. A small group of people had found their way to his first session. The number of spectators had risen ever since, and he now guessed fifty people were crowded around the perimeter of his makeshift arena. With a downward strike, Baro felled his imaginary foe. Lifting his arms high, he proclaimed himself victor.

  Those gathered began to cheer. “Baro. Baro. Baro.”

  After twirling the sword around his wrist, he gave a smile and a wave. The chant morphed into applause.

  From the crowd, a small boy of eight or nine annums rushed forward. “I will attend when you fight tomorrow,” he said, “and will cheer until I am hoarse. One day I will become a gladiator.”

  Baro’s pulse raced from his exertions. On the next beat, his heart swelled with pride. It just as quickly contracted painfully with ignominy. He inhaled, filling his lungs with this boy’s high regard. At the same time, he could not recommend the life of a gladiator to anyone.

  “Come,” said Baro as he pulled the boy into the practice space. The dispersing people gathered once more. He handed the boy his wooden sword. With wide eyes and a wider smile, the boy took the offered weapon.

  “I will give you your first lesson on gladiatorial combat. Crouch low,” said Baro as he took a wide-legged, bent-knee stance. “Now thrust.” He pantomimed the motion of pushing a sword forward.

  The boy mirrored Baro’s movements.

  “It is not just your arm that is part of the movement. You must also engage your shoulder, your side, your hip, and your leg.” Baro repeated the movement, slower this time in order to accentuate each part of his body that was engaged. “Now, you try.”

  The boy did so again. He had taken note of Baro’s instructions, and his form was much improved. It was supremely gratifying to pass on knowledge to an eager pupil. Perhaps the lad did have enough potential to be a gladiator. Then Baro saw a much older version of the boy. He stood in the arena, where the sands were soaked with blood. The blade of a sword connected with the underside of his chin. Flesh split and bone broke as the boy was knocked backward. Baro turned his mind away from the vision. He did not need to see any more to know that the lad was dead.

  How could he train a child to want such a life?

  Those gathered began to murmur. How many moments had slipped away this t
ime? Enough. Too many.

  “I must see your attack again,” he said to the boy.

  The boy complied. The blade was straight and contained the power of his entire small frame.

  “You are a quick learner and handle a blade well. In fact, you show so much talent that it would be a shame to waste it on being a gladiator. Study Greek and learn to use a scalpel. Become a medicus. Save lives—it is what the republic needs more than to be entertained.” He ruffled the boy’s hair.

  “Gratitude,” said the boy glumly. He held out the wooden sword.

  “Keep the sword,” said Baro. “It my gift to you for Saturnalia. On second thought, perhaps you should become a medicus for the legions. That way, you might get the chance to kill a bandit or two.”

  The boy’s face brightened at the idea of slaughtering marauders. “Io Saturnalia,” he said, giving Baro the traditional greeting. Waving the sword overhead, he ran back to the crowd.

  “Io Saturnalia,” Baro called back. “And do not hit your sister with the sword.”

  His last words were greeted with chuckles and quiet laugher. Several people called out, “Io Saturnalia to you, Baro the Equestrian.”

  With a quick wave, he accepted their well wishes and entered the tavern on the ground floor of the inn. The innkeeper greeted him and held out a warm, wet cloth. “Gratitude,” Baro said as he wiped down his still-sweating face and arms.

  “You attract a crowd,” said the innkeeper, with a nod to the courtyard.

  “I hope their presence does not offend.”

  “Nonsense. They are good for business.” The innkeeper laughed. “Actually, it is your spectators who eat and drink the most. They are the good business.”

  Baro sat at the table closest to the window. It was the same place he had thrice before taken his midday meal. He enjoyed watching people as they milled about on their daily business. In turn, the inhabitants of Novum Comum found Baro fascinating. A few brave souls waved. Many others slowed only enough to stare at Baro as he chewed a mouthful of food.