Today, the lane outside the tavern was busier than he had seen it before. No doubt the increased traffic was due to Saturnalia beginning on the morrow. There was much for families to do in preparation. He wondered about Fortunada and how she had fared. Had they been together for Saturnalia, he would have gifted her with jewels and silks. His bag of coins was still hidden in his room, and he could easily present her with a gift. All the same, he knew he could not. They had not spoken, much less seen each other, since she had returned to her family.
The innkeeper delivered a bowl of steaming-hot porridge with fish. The meal served had been the same on each of the past three days. Though it was as tasty as fish porridge might be, Baro looked forward to having a different repast as soon as the fight was over and he was well enough to leave Novum Comum.
He took a large bite. It was too hot and he reached for a cup of wine, which had also been brought to his table. A long beam of light cut through the window and landed on Baro’s table. The light reflected off the highly polished top and shone in his eyes. Outside, there was a familiar look to a receding figure moving down the street. The thick neck. The long, dark hair.
Pulse thrumming in his ears, Baro pushed away from the table and ran out into the busy street. A crowd of midday shoppers clogged the lane. He looked left and then right. Ahead, he saw the long, dark hair. He sliced through the sea of passersby with as little regard as a ship’s prow had for a wave. He grabbed Dax by the shoulder and spun him around.
“Bastard,” he snarled as he drew back his fist.
The O of surprise on the woman’s face must have matched Baro’s perfectly. At once Baro took in all the similarities between the two—the hair, the green tunic, the thick neck. He also took in the all-too-obvious differences—the first being gender. The second being height. The woman was much shorter than Dax.
“Apologies,” Baro said as he smoothed down the shoulder of her gown. “I mistook you for another,” he said. Then he added, because it could be no worse, “Someone much less comely than you.”
“Io Saturnalia,” she chirped.
He quickly walked away from the woman, grateful that he had not caused more of a fuss. Even with the distance between them, her excited voice found him as she addressed her companion. “Did you see that? Baro the Equestrian mistook me for one of his former lovers.”
From how many lips to how many ears would that story pass in retelling? Not for the first time, Baro wondered if his fame was less a gift from the gods than a perverse joke they had played on him.
In the tavern, Baro’s bowl had been removed, and a new patron sat at his table. It mattered little—his appetite was gone. Climbing the stairs, he retreated to his room, which sat directly over the tavern. As he had done for the last three days, Baro placed two chairs before the window. He sat on one and propped his leg upon the other. Once settled, he looked out at the center of town.
In comparison to Rome, Novum Comum was small, and yet Baro had come to like its simple ways and clean air. From his vantage point in the inn, he could see everything—including the ludus and the training ground.
Since arriving in town, he had taken this time to study his opponent, Titus. Even Baro could not deny that the man was a gifted gladiator. He was a rare combination of agility, speed, and strength—and at the same time, he fought with flawless stratagem.
As Baro watched on the first day, Titus appeared perfect. Baro knew that no one was without weaknesses, and he came back again.
On the second day, Baro saw that Titus’s speed was actually haste, and that his aggression was fueled by uncontrolled anger.
Today—a sword in each hand—Titus fought two men.
Slash, slash, strike, block, thrust.
On the field below, one of Titus’s sparring partners lunged left, right, and then struck in the same instant—landing a blow to the side. Titus stopped. The muscles in his shoulders tightened slightly—almost imperceptibly, although Baro was looking for just such a change. Titus’s next blow sent his opponent reeling. Had the other gladiator been better—more astute—he would have capitalized on the hesitation.
On the morrow, Baro would.
Aside from Valens Secundus, Titus might very well be the best gladiator Baro would ever face. Yet, in order to win his match—and losing was not an option—Baro needed to anger his opponent. In that pause, while Titus marshaled his fury, Baro could unhinge him further. As a stratagem, it was problematic at best. For in bringing out Titus’s ire, he would also make the gladiator stronger and more aggressive.
Even as the fight continued, Baro’s gaze traveled to the terrace that connected ludus to villa.
Fortunada.
It was unconscionable to him that they were so very near to each other yet never could speak. She had sent no note, nor come by to see him. In all the time that he sat by the window, he had not seen her once. It was if their relationship had never existed.
Upon the practice field, the trainer ended the session. Patting one another upon the back, the gladiators slowly made their way toward the kitchen. A pang of sadness resonated within Baro’s chest. He missed his brothers-in-arms and the camaraderie they shared. Baro knew not how long he sat and stared at the empty expanse of dirt. Rising to his feet, he lifted his arms and stretched his back before glancing back through the window.
She suddenly appeared upon the terrace as though she had not walked upon something as mundane as mortal legs. Her long, blonde hair fell loose. As if the breeze had decided to sniff her hair, a tendril lifted and then fell back to shoulders. She wore a gown of dark green that Baro never had seen on her before. It would be new, he reminded himself. All of her belongings had been destroyed in the attack on the caravan.
A smile lit up her face. For a moment Baro was certain that he had been seen, and the joy in her face was for him alone. Then she bent low. When Fortunada righted herself, she held a child. It had to be Cornelia, for the girl was her mother in miniature. His heart froze in his chest. Fortunada’s daughter looked just as he had envisioned when he had believed that her children would one day be his.
He leaned his forehead against the wall and groaned.
From the safety of her mother’s arms, Cornelia lifted a tiny finger and pointed to the inn. Fortunada’s gaze followed. For a moment, he was sure that their eyes met. Then sadness overcame him as he realized the sunlight’s glare had hidden him completely from her view.
Chapter 34
Fortunada
The sun had reached its zenith. Downy clouds floated overhead. The dozen gladiators who belonged to the ludus had been sent to their midday meal. The practice field stood empty and silent. In the middle of town the tinny ping-ping of hammer and chisel rang out. Fortunada held Cornelia in her arms and marveled at the Alps in the distance. Their craggy rock faces glowed silver in the noonday sun. A sky of brilliant blue stretched across the sky.
“And what are all those white stones, Mother?” Cornelia pointed to the middle of town.
“One day soon, those buildings will become the forum. It will have many grand buildings that reach to the sky. And your home will be in the midst of all the excitement. Is that not wonderful?”
“I suppose,” said Cornelia. “And what is beyond?”
Fortunada looked at a two-storey building that sat across the way. A figure stood at one of the upper windows. For a moment she could almost imagine it was Baro—staring at her, pining for her, as she did for him. As the sun broke through the clouds, Fortunada realized that she had seen nothing more than a shadow.
“That is the inn.” She stopped and bit her lip. She almost added, where Baro is staying.
It was difficult for Fortunada to not overhear Baro’s name mentioned. It was on the lips of everyone in Novum Comum. In fact, her female slaves could talk of nothing else. She came to understand that over the past three days he had settled into a routine with great ease. Training,
eating, resting—all of this was spoken of and dissected.
Even with his light schedule, Baro had not found the time to seek her company. Perhaps it was all part of the ruse that he and she were nothing more than acquaintances, collaborating and prevailing against difficult circumstances. Or was it, as she feared, that in reality he had easily forgotten her existence and moved forward with his life?
With a sigh, she put Baro out of her mind—as he had certainly done with her.
Cornelia laid her head upon Fortunada’s shoulder. These children—her precious daughter and energetic son—they were who mattered. She placed a kiss atop the child’s head.
“Tomorrow is a very special day,” said Fortunada. She tapped her lips with a finger. “Though, I cannot recall.”
“Tomorrow begins Saturnalia,” Cornelia told her with a clap.
“You are too right.” Fortunada tweaked her daughter’s nose. “That means there is much for us to do. We should begin with decorations. What colors does Saturn like best?”
Cornelia placed her hands on each side of Fortunada’s face and pressed their foreheads together. “He is the god of fall planting, and he likes gold and green—gold for the sun and green for the fields.”
“I know what we should do. Place green suns upon golden trees.”
“Mother, you have gotten that all wrong.” Arching back, Cornelia laughed.
A pain gripped Fortunada’s side. With a sharp intake of breath, she carefully set her daughter upon the terrace. She now had a pull in her belly to add to the list of symptoms that might be pregnancy. Although, Fortunada reminded herself, there were many other reasons for each issue. A tender abdomen could very well be the result of riding a horse for eighteen days straight. And the lateness of her menses—if ten days could be considered late—was likely due to the emotional and physical strain she had endured.
Mars ambled out of the villa with Genaro following. Behind Genaro came Albinius and Sersa. Standing on the terrace, they were all together—a familia. Fortunada should have been happy. She was with her children. They were with their father. Her favorite uncle was welcomed into their home. The sun was shining and the sky blue.
Why did she feel such discontent? Was Fortunada the kind of woman who would never be satisfied?
“Mother said we are to decorate gold trees with green suns for Saturn,” Cornelia said as she took Sersa’s hand into her own. “Is that not the silliest thing you have ever heard?”
“Perhaps she thinks we should attend a sunset ceremony for Saturn and not one at sunrise.” Sersa’s eyes twinkled as he addressed his great-niece.
“Dawn seems awfully early,” said Genaro, “especially if we are to attend the gladiator games in the afternoon.”
“Boys who cannot attend the ceremony in honor of Saturn cannot be given gifts in celebration of his benevolence two days hence,” said Albinius with mock sternness.
His words were much like those she might have spoken herself when trying to teach the children. Fortunada would never come to love Albinius as she had Baro, though as parents and partners, they might one day appreciate each another. “Your father speaks the truth,” she said.
“Since Genaro has a dog, I would like a ferret,” said Cornelia. “I would name her Ceres, for your goddess, Mother. It was Ceres who brought you back from Elysium.”
It was a touching and honest sentiment from a child too young to understand. Albinius had taken a seat upon the terrace. Resting his chin in his hand, he regarded Fortunada. Their eyes met, and after a moment they both smiled. Gone was the hate she thought she had glimpsed earlier. Upon her arrival, could Albinius have felt as she did when he had arrived in Rome—worried that she would steal the affection of the children from him? Heat crept up her cheeks, and Fortunada looked away first. Her gaze was drawn to the inn and the window where she could have sworn she had seen Baro.
“Pardon, dominus.” A female slave came out of the villa. She held out a scroll of papyrus, tied with twine. “This just came for you.”
Breaking the twine, Albinius unrolled the missive. After a brief pause, he cursed and shook the papyrus at the slave. “Who brought this?”
She took a step back. “It was a young man. He waits outside for your reply.”
Uttering another curse, Albinius stood. “Show him into the tablinum. I will meet with him there.”
The slave paused.
“Have you more?” Albinius snapped.
“The cook said the meal for the children is ready,” she added and then left.
Albinius wordlessly followed her out.
“Come,” said Fortunada, as she held her hands out to Genaro and Cornelia. “I will walk with you to the kitchen.”
Fortunada would dine in the triclinium with Albinius and Sersa—as soon as her former husband completed his business. With a smile, the nursemaid greeted the children at the door of the brightly lit room. Tail wagging, Mars followed.
Fortunada waited while the children were settled and served. Once they began eating, she turned and walked down the corridor. Even in the atrium, she could hear raised voices ringing out from Albinius’s tablinum.
“You tell your master that the job was not done, and therefore I will not pay,” said Albinius.
An all-too-familiar feeling of dread filled Fortunada. Her former husband had always been feckless, and she feared that he was once again trying to unfairly renege on a contract.
The response from the other man came as no surprise. “He says the information given was incorrect, and he cannot be held responsible for your mistake.”
With a shake of her head, Fortunada climbed the stairs. She wondered who Albinius was trying to deceive this time.
Chapter 35
The first day of the festival of Saturnalia
Fortunada
The sun had not yet risen, and already the villa bustled with activity. Having slept poorly, Fortunada’s head felt swaddled in cloth, and her limbs felt as if they had turned to stone overnight. Along with the slaves, the family had gathered in the triclinium. Together, they would take the short walk to the edge of the lake. As dawn crept over the horizon, the propraetor would bind the feet of Saturn’s likeness with wool. He would then fill the hollow statue with olive oil, and ask that the god bless the autumnal planting season.
After the ceremony, which would end with the greeting of “Io Saturnalia,” everyone would return to their homes for a feast. As tradition dictated, all slaves would eat with their masters, and it would be so in Fortunada’s villa. Later in the day, they would attend the gladiatorial combat that Albinius was sponsoring, and watch as Baro battled Titus. The day after next, gifts would be exchanged, and the festivities would be at an end.
A fine mist hung in the air. Low, gray clouds pressed down and matched Fortunada’s mood perfectly. Her menses had not come. Standing very still, Fortunada tried to feel if a life grew inside her. She could not decide, especially since neither option suited. To bear Baro’s child and raise it as Albinius’s was a repugnant notion. Yet, this child would need a father and a familia in order to make its way in the world.
The other option—that her womb was empty—filled Fortunada with a bottomless regret that only an unfulfilled love could produce.
Albinius laid his hand upon her shoulder. “You look peaked. Are you ill?”
“I am just tired,” she said with a small smile.
“Remain here,” he said. “Sersa and I can take the children. The next few days will be hectic. Rest now, while you can.”
Remaining at the villa for an hour or two alone appeared as unexpected shelter while lost in a storm. Aside from the household slaves, the gladiators would also attend the sunrise ceremonies, and the ludus would be completely empty. “I cannot,” she said. “The children will be disappointed.”
“They are too excited for Saturnalia to notice,” he said.
&n
bsp; He was right. Despite the early hour, her children were in high spirits. Genaro held a tattered strip of fabric above his head. Mars jumped for it, barking happily. Cornelia, delighted by the game, clapped and encouraged the dog, calling out, “Get it, Mars. Get it!”
“If you are certain,” said Fortunada.
“I am. In fact, I insist,” said Albinius. “When I return, I would like a word with you about our wedding. I think a small service might be in order, as the last time we wed, the ceremony was rather large.”
As much as she did not want to remarry Albinius, without Baro, her former husband was Fortunada’s next best option. Besides, Albinius already had spent a good bit of her dowry, so legally they were more husband and wife than not. “I think that would be best.”
“Gratitude,” he said, “for being a wonderful mother.”
Was Albinius attempting to rekindle some former affinity? No, she should not view his compliment as related to their former marriage. From this time forward, they would create something new. “I am humbled by your accolades,” she said.
Albinius opened his mouth, and with a quick shake of his head he pressed his lips together. She waited for him to say more, but he did not. He lifted his arms high and clapped his hands. “It is time that we leave.”
With Albinius leading the way, the group moved down the stairs. Chattering happily, Genaro and Cornelia each held on to one of Sersa’s hands and took no note of their mother’s absence. They did not seem to bear any emotional scars from the short-held belief that their mother was dead. For that, she was grateful.
Though she longed to return to her bed, she moved to the terrace. Placing a chair next to the railing, she pulled her newest palla closer and sat. There would be plenty of time for sleep. For now, she would take a moment and welcome the day in blessed peace.
On hinges that squeaked, the front door opened. The heavy footfalls of a man ascending the stairs wove into the morning mist and out to the terrace. They faded as he traveled down the corridor toward the sleeping chambers, then grew loud again as he approached the triclinium.
The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome) Page 20