The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  “After Saturnalia ends, we will take our vows and remarry. Would that please you?”

  The child. Ceres help her, what would Albinius say if he knew that she carried Baro’s child? She nodded, not certain what to say now or later.

  Albinius held up a halting hand. “One final question. How did Baro kill the intruder? Calvinius will want to know.”

  “Baro did not kill Dax,” she said. Her throat burned like it was filled with fire. She did not care. These words were happily spoken. “It was I. I struck him with a chair and he fell over the railing.”

  Chapter 40

  Baro

  Smaller than even the Forum Boarium in Rome, the arena in Novum Comum had room for little more than a thousand spectators. Wooden stands surrounded the oval arena, and Baro waited under the sponsor’s box for his introduction.

  From above came the shuffling of feet. The shadow of Albinius grew long upon the sands as he stood at the railing. A thousand murmuring voices quieted. “Io Saturnalia,” Albinius said with a wave of both arms.

  “Io Saturnalia,” the crowd cheered back.

  “Today,” said Albinius, and the crowd quieted again, “we will witness a spectacle beyond all measure.”

  With screams of approval, the crowd began to stomp their feet. The jumble of noise became the beat that resonated within Baro’s chest.

  “I give you,” said Albinius, his voice rising above the clamor, “a fierce warrior who was captured by the Roman legions. Brave of heart, and fierce of will—Titus, the Champion of Novum Comum.”

  From an opposite place underneath the stands, Titus strode into the arena. Long, light-brown hair flowed down his back. A helmet with a bronze faceplate and a short red plume sat atop his head. Leather and brass greaves covered his arms from shoulder to wrist. He wore knee-length greaves upon his legs as well. His chest was bare and his short leather skirt hung down to midthigh. He held a long rectangular shield of painted wood, the front of which was emblazoned with an eagle, its wings outstretched. In the other hand, Titus held his sword. The razor-sharp edge reflected the afternoon light.

  As expected, the citizens of Novum Comum cheered for their champion. As some of the noise faded, the shadow of Albinius lifted his arms once again. “This man,” he said as one thousand people rose to their feet and began screaming, “needs no introduction.”

  The rest of Albinius’s words were lost, and Baro cared not. Pulse thrumming, he stepped onto the sands. Cheers and cries crashed down, deafening him to every other sound. Walking the perimeter of the arena, he raised his arms to the crowd.

  They loved him. And he loved them for their adoration.

  After this fight—after he had earned his fee—he would retire. He took another turn around the stands. For once this moment ended, there would be no more like it. Ever.

  For his final fight, he wore a borrowed kit. Although functional in every way, it left him with a strange nostalgia for what had been lost. The helmet he had been given had no faceplate. Like every piece of a gladiator’s kit, an open helmet had its advantages and drawbacks. Unlike Titus, who had two holes to look out of, Baro had a complete field of vision. Yet, Baro would lack the protection that Titus would enjoy. A leather breastplate covered his chest, and a leather skirt hung round his hips. Greaves covered his wrists, and he wore only sandals on his feet. Although his round shield was smaller than Titus’s rectangular one, it was lighter and more maneuverable.

  Rolling his shoulders, Baro approached the middle of the arena. Titus waited next to a tall, thin man who was the editor—the man responsible for making sure all the rules of the contest were strictly followed.

  “The winner of the fight will be selected based on points accumulated for valor and skill,” said the editor. He held a short wooden baton. Swiping it between Baro and Titus, he said, “Begin.”

  Striking first, the flat of Baro’s blade connected with the side of Titus’s helmet. With this annoying blow, he hoped to raise Titus’s ire. He struck again, this time to his shield, before spinning to the right and immediately returning to the left. Titus’s back was open, and Baro drew his blade across flesh. Like a seam ripped open, blood gathered at the wound and began to drip down his back.

  Titus swung out with his sword. Baro lifted his shield to stop the blade from connecting with his unprotected shoulder. The blow hit with such force that Baro felt it in his teeth. Spinning around, he kicked Titus in the calf. It knocked his opponent off balance, and he stumbled. Pressing forward, Baro butted his head into Titus’s chest. The other gladiator fell back. He hit the ground, and his sword flew from his hand.

  Baro’s breath came in short gasps. He walked around the arena, hands held high, and let the air cool his sweat-soaked skin. The crowd roared their approval. Titus remained on the ground for a moment, winded. He rose to one knee and stood. Baro picked up the dropped sword. Holding it by the hilt, he spun the gladius over and caught the flat of the blade between his fingers.

  He held it out to Titus, who accepted with a nod.

  The mob cheered all the louder. If Baro still had a career in the arena, he would remember to use this crowd-pleasing trick again.

  The editor motioned for the men to approach the center of the arena. After they did, he swiped his baton and said, “Begin.”

  Strike, strike, block, thrust, spin.

  The movement of flipping the sword around stirred something within Baro, like the inability to recall a certain word. The more he struggled to bring it to the surface, the more it eluded him. And at the same time, it was within reach—if he just focused.

  Titus drove forward, his blade slicing through Baro’s arm. The instant white flash of pain brought Baro back to the moment. With a curse, he swiveled to the right. His injured leg buckled, and he stumbled to the ground. Immediately, Baro righted himself and came up behind Titus. Slamming the edge of his shield into his opponent’s back, Baro spun around. Rearing up, Titus brought his sword down in a double-handed stroke. Baro ducked low and came in next to Titus, and the blade passed behind him. This close their weapons were useless.

  They grappled, Baro’s nose pressed into the full faceplate. He looked into the eyeholes, hoping to get a glimpse of the man. There was nothing there, save for darkness. Like an intricately designed mosaic, a completely different set of pieces fell into place, and that picture became clear.

  In the triclinium of the Faenius villa, Baro had flipped the dagger handle. Catching it by the flat blade, he had held it out to Albinius the Rube. Is this yours? Baro had asked.

  I heard noises and feared an intruder.

  Why would Albinius hear a noise and think it was anyone other than Fortunada, the one person who had remained behind?

  Albinius had not taken the dagger with him when he had left the villa that morning. Baro had seen it in the tablinum, stored as if forgotten next to the silken bag. Albinius had retrieved the blade before he sought out Fortunada. Albinius must have known someone other than Fortunada was going to be there.

  Without conscious thought, Baro pushed Titus to the low wall that surrounded the arena and lodged his forearm over the other man’s windpipe. The editor separated the two. Titus bent double and wheezed.

  Another moment from the past came to Baro’s mind. He and Fortunada were running from the burning camp. The man who attacked my tent knew my name, she had said.

  Like a boulder had been dropped, Baro’s shoulder collapsed, and him along with it. His shield slipped from his grasp. Time. Where had the last few moments gone? For the span of a heartbeat, Baro was lost. Then Titus came in again. He aimed for Baro’s injured leg. The tip of his sword punched through flesh, and Baro’s vision narrowed around the edges. He cast a glance at the sponsor’s box. Fortunada reclined on a sofa. The bruises on her neck were hidden under a cream-colored palla. Albinius stood off to the side, conversing with a small, bald man.

  He imagined Fo
rtunada as he had seen her in Rome. They had just finished making love. She had risen from the bed, naked, and rummaged through their tangle of clothes. From a green silken purse, she had swallowed a bundle of seeds to prevent pregnancy. Afterward, Baro had asked her to become his wife.

  The purse next to the dagger. The purse Fortunada had lost when they were attacked. How could Albinius have it? There was only one picture created by all the pieces: Albinius wanted Fortunada dead.

  Chapter 41

  Fortunada

  From her sofa in the sponsor’s box, Fortunada held her breath. Titus drove his shield down on Baro’s shoulder, who accepted the assault without even offering the slightest defense. It was almost as if his body were present and his mind elsewhere.

  Although Fortunada knew better; did she not? Baro had lost other fights for his own personal gain. Was that what he was doing now? Losing, but for what? A favor to be granted after the fight? More coin?

  Fortunada looked away but could not keep her gaze from finding Baro. For a moment, their eyes held. Baro righted himself and drove forward, striking left and right. He kicked Titus’s knee, and a sickening crunch filled the arena as the larger man fell over. Lifting the side of his shield high, Baro brought it down on the other gladiator’s helmeted head.

  A flat peal of wood on metal rang out. Titus lay without moving. From her seat on the sofa, Fortunada leaned forward, staring at the prone gladiator upon the sands.

  Thanks be to Ceres that Genaro and Cornelia had remained at the villa. Having awakened early and eaten a large meal, both children were disagreeable. Though she never would have guessed this was the outcome, Fortunada did not want her children to witness a murder. And murder it had been.

  This was not to be a fight to the death. Had Baro misunderstood? The strike he delivered to his opponent’s head had been deliberate. She had seen him kill several men, yet their lives had been taken in self-defense. Fortunada could not imagine Baro killing someone unless it was unavoidable, and yet he had.

  Then Titus moaned and Fortunada relaxed. Rolling to his side, the gladiator tried to sit up and collapsed again.

  The editor approached Baro and grabbed his wrist. “I give you,” he said, “the victor.”

  Pushing the man away, Baro took off his helmet and threw it at the sponsor’s box. Fortunada recoiled as it hit the railing with a thump.

  “Bastard,” Baro said as he strode across the arena, pointing his sword. “Albinius, you are the one who tried to kill Fortunada. Do not deny it, although you will because you are a coward.”

  “Editor, remove Baro from the arena. See that both men are given the medical attention they need.” Looking away, Albinius flicked his wrist, dismissing both men.

  Baro swung his sword around, holding it level with the editor’s throat. “Do not presume to touch me. I need no medicus. What I need, what we all need, is justice.”

  “This is a very serious charge you have leveled against Albinius Faenius,” said Phillipus, the propraetor. “Have you any proof?”

  Sersa stepped forward. Tucked into his belt was the silver dagger he kept with him always. He rested his hand on the hilt. “I would hear what the equestrian has to say.”

  “Why did you bring a dagger into the triclinium, Albinius?” Baro asked.

  “I know not of what you speak,” he said.

  Addressing the whole arena, Baro said, “You have all heard the story and must know that the man who attacked our caravan came to Novum Comum and assaulted Fortunada this morning at her villa. From the window of the inn, I was able to see her distress and came to her aid. You also know that the man who threatened her is dead. What you do not know is that when Albinius returned early from the ceremonies opening the festival for Saturn, he came into the triclinium armed.”

  “I told you,” said Albinius. From her vantage point on the sofa, Fortunada saw sweat collecting at his hairline. With a swipe of his hand, he wiped it away. “I thought I heard an intruder.”

  “Why did you immediately assume it was an intruder?” Baro asked. “You knew Fortunada to be in the villa.”

  Albinius paused. The collar of his tunic grew damp. “I left the villa with the dagger on me,” he said. His words were softly spoken and crawled out hesitantly. “Yes,” he said, this word louder than the others. “I left the villa armed. Novum Comum is safe, but one never knows.”

  “That is a lie. I looked through your tablinum for medicines and saw the dagger.”

  Fortunada rose to her feet. She came to the railing as well.

  “I saw something else,” said Baro. “It is a green silken bag. This morning it looked familiar, yet I knew not why. Now, I do. It belongs to Fortunada. She believed it to be lost in the attack on the caravan. But it is in your villa, Albinius.”

  “I know nothing of a silken bag,” said Albinius with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “I do,” said Sersa. “I gave it to her. You would recall, Albinius. It was a gift given on the occasion of your wedding. At the time, it was filled with gold.”

  “I do not recall that specific gift.” Albinius held on to the railing with knuckles gone white.

  “Perhaps we should hear from Fortunada. Can you more fully describe this bag of yours?” Phillipus, the propraetor, asked of her. “If it does belong to you, there will be more questions that need answering.”

  “My bag has golden embroidery along the top and, inside, a clay image of Ceres,” said Fortunada, her voice naught but a whisper. Still, the words were clear and unmistakable.

  Could this be true? It made sense; did it not?

  There was the marauder who had known her name at the attack, along with Dax’s keen interest in her identity. When Fortunada arrived in Novum Comum, Albinius had been distracted, angry, which she had assumed was because she had not told the family about the attack. The look of hate in his eyes when she first embraced her children she had seen as jealous competition for the affection of Genaro and Cornelia. Could there have been more to Albinius’s behavior?

  Had he really hired Dax to attack the caravan in order to make her death appear accidental? That meant more than a dozen had been slain to cover up her murder. The weak sun did not give off enough heat to chase away the chill that settled in her bones, and she began to shiver.

  Yet, why have her killed at all? If Albinius did not want her, he could have taken the children from Rome and seen her no more.

  “Send someone to the Faenius villa,” said Phillipus. “We will all wait here until they return with the bag, or not. Baro, you must tell us exactly where you saw it.”

  “What if a bag is found?” asked Albinius. “It proves nothing. The gladiator might have placed it in my tablinum. Or perhaps Sersa is to blame. He has been a guest at my villa for the past week. He even admitted to knowing about this bag, something I do not even recall.” Though he still clutched the railing, his hands began to tremble.

  “Me?” Sersa stood taller. “Why in the name of all the gods would I kill Fortunada?”

  “I know not,” said Albinius. “But you were the one who knew of the attack on the caravan and brought the news to me. How is it you knew?”

  “A friend in the Senate came to me; I told you as much already.”

  “Your senatorial friend knew about Fortunada. How?” asked Albinius with a sneer.

  Sersa began to pace. “I know not. I mentioned her travel plans, perhaps. Yes, that must be it.”

  Uncle Sersa? Why would he want her dead? Had he come to Rome with murder on his mind all along? Her parents were not in the city. Was that what he wanted? For her to die? The notion was so repugnant that Fortunada’s stomach threatened to rebel.

  “And yet,” Albinius continued, “Fortunada’s death, or presumed death, was known to you, and no one even heard that Baro the Equestrian, the most famous man in Rome, was missing.”

  Sersa stopped pacing and st
ood next to Fortunada. Pointing across her at Albinius, he said, “You would dare to accuse me? I feel only love and affection for my niece. I provided her with a large dowry so she might remain with her children. Why would I plot her death?”

  Why would Sersa want her dead? There was nothing for him to gain with her demise. No. Albinius’s accusations made no sense. A cloud floated across the sky, casting her in a shadow. It moved on, and the sun shone down once more. “The dowry,” she whispered. “You wanted the dowry, Albinius. If you divorced me, the coin would be returned to Sersa as the law dictates. If I was dead, you could keep it all.”

  Sersa stepped away. He raked his hands through his hair and paced. “Outrageous. Unthinkable. How could I be so foolish?”

  The crowd booed, but only for a moment. She knew the tableau that now played in the sponsor’s box was better than any Greek drama, and they were eager to see the ending. She would give them something to watch. Drawing back her fist, she struck Albinius on the chin. Her knuckles cracked and her wrist ached. She cared not for the pain. Nor did she care for the justice Baro had sought. Vengeance would be hers.

  “Bitch,” Albinius cursed. The center of his lip had split open. He wiped it with the back of his hand. He examined the blood, then struck Fortunada. The force of the blow knocked her down.

  “You bastard,” Baro cursed. “I will kill you for that.” Sword still in hand, he scaled the wall and climbed over the railing.

  Albinius clasped Fortunada’s arms and pulled her in front of him. Her head ached, dark spots danced across her vision, and she heard a faint whine. It was as if she were two people at once—she was the Fortunada that Albinius held, and at the same time she watched the scene from above.

  “What if I did hire Dax to kill Fortunada?” Albinius asked. “She is my wife and my property. There is no law that forbids me from dispatching her if I choose.”