That statement snapped the two versions of Fortunada back into one. “I am no wife of yours,” she said as she struggled against the arms that held her. “I was before, and then you left. I would have remarried you, but vows have yet to be taken.”
“Although a dowry was given,” said Albinius, “and accepted.”
“The blood of all those slain in the caravan attack stains your hands,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. Her throat was raw, but she refused to remain mute.
“That blood is on the hands of Dax. I paid him only to kill you, and no one else. Therefore it was his crime, not mine.”
“You are guilty of murder and deserve to die, right along with the brigands.”
“Dax really was a stupid twat. I should never have hired him in the first place. Without his men or his money, he came to Novum Comum demanding that I still pay him even though he failed. He had you all along but thought you were the wife of Baro the Equestrian.” Albinius placed his mouth next to her ear. His stale breath oozed over her neck. “Remember before you accuse me of anything—a man who kills his wife will never be held accountable. A wife who violates her marriage vows will always die.”
Could it be that Albinius would never be regarded as responsible? Would the law of Rome protect him? Fortunada tried to pull away, but Albinius’s grip tightened. “You are mad,” she said. “The gods have cursed your mind.”
“No,” said Albinius. “I was mistaken before and have now come to value you. In fact, I am pleased that you know. Now there is nothing for us to hide. We should put all of this behind us and begin anew. In time, people will forget what happened today. We can still be a happy and well-respected couple.”
Baro stood mere inches from Fortunada. He looked not in her eyes, but behind her, at Albinius. His gaze darted—left, right, up, down—and she imagined he was trying to find a place to strike. He would find none, she knew. Albinius had situated Fortunada to protect him completely.
From behind came a wheezing. Albinius’s weight dropped on her back; then he slipped away as he fell to his knees. He gripped his side as blood foamed at the corner of his mouth. Looking to Fortunada, he held up his wet, red hand. “Do not tell the children what happened to me,” he said before collapsing forward.
Sersa stood behind Albinius. Blood dripped from his dagger. “I never cared for him, you know.”
Chapter 42
The second day of the festival of Saturnalia
Fortunada
A small noonday sun hung low in the sky, giving off scant heat. Fortunada held tight to Cornelia’s hand as she walked out the front door of the ludus. Genaro walked beside her with his head down.
“Mother,” said Cornelia, tugging gently on Fortunada’s hand, “you know, Father might not stay dead. It happened with you. At first you were dead, and then Ceres brought you back because you are a good mother and she knew how much we need you.”
“Do not be so stupid,” snapped Genaro. “I told you before. Mother was not dead and then brought back to life. She was mistakenly thought to be dead. With Father, there is no doubt.”
Fortunada placed her palm on Genaro’s shoulder. The boy jerked away, leaving her hand suspended in midair. He was angry. He had a right to be.
“To have your father return to your life for only a short time and then to lose him again is crueler than to never have had him return at all,” Fortunada said, her voice still hoarse.
In silence they walked the short distance to the market. In honor of Saturnalia, most of the businesses were closed, and the building projects that would one day make up the forum stood silent and empty. The few businesses that remained open sold only necessities. Fortunada hoped the bakery would be one of them. They rounded a corner, and the scent of baking bread greeted them.
“Come,” she said, leading her children through the open door, “let us buy some grain. We will burn it and offer it as a sacrifice for your father.” Did Fortunada owe anything to Albinius? She knew not, but she was obliged to allow her children to grieve.
“Ceres,” said Genaro with a kick to the ground, “is a goddess, not a god.”
“You are right. But she saw me safely to you, and she can still watch over your father in Elysium.” Fortunada had not told her children exactly how Albinius had died, only that there had been an accident. She would not damn them to a life of hurt or anger over Albinius’s deeds, only to have it complicated by the fact that Sersa had wielded the deadly blade.
After the baker gave them a bag of the finest grain, Fortunada and her children began the walk back to the villa. Ahead, the inn came into view. She had not spoken to Baro after the fight. Phillipus, the propraetor, had insisted on coming to the ludus. As expected, her bag was found, thus proving Albinius’s complicity.
As she passed the inn, Fortunada glanced up at one of the windows and wondered if Baro even remained in Novum Comum. True, Albinius was dead, but she knew not what that might mean for them. With one last look at the building, she continued down the street. From behind came the slap of footfalls running on the cobbles. Tensing, Fortunada drew Cornelia to her and moved nearer to Genaro before turning around.
With a smile spreading across his face, Baro lifted a hand in greeting. “I wondered if I would see you today,” he said. “I was just taking my midday meal. Would you care to join me?”
Genaro stepped away from his mother, moving toward the famous gladiator. “Are you Baro the Equestrian?” he asked, his voice slightly breathless with awe.
“I am,” said Baro. “And you are Genaro; and you, young lady, are Cornelia. Your mother has told me all about you.”
Genaro turned back to Fortunada. “You never told me that you knew Baro the Equestrian.”
“You never asked,” she said with a smile. Then to Baro she said, “I would take a meal with you, but we are going home to burn some grain and ask Ceres to look after Albinius in the afterlife.”
“Our father died yesterday,” said Cornelia. “It was an accident.”
“I heard,” said Baro, “and I grieve with you.”
“Mother told us all about his death,” continued Cornelia, “but she is wrong.”
Dear Ceres. Would the child forever think that Albinius would return?
“Father came back to us for only a little bit before being taken to Elysium. But I grieve only a little. It was better to have known him and shared our adventure.”
Genaro wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Fortunada reached for his shoulder, and this time he did not pull away.
“Then I should let you take your leave,” said Baro. “It was nice to meet you, Genaro, Cornelia. You are all that I imagined you would be.”
With a final look over her shoulder, Fortunada led her children down the wide and deserted lane. “Mother,” said Genaro, drawing near, “do you think it proper that we invite Baro for dinner tomorrow evening?”
“I cannot ask you to entertain guests if you are in mourning for your father,” she said.
“Yes, but he is Baro the Equestrian. How often might we get a chance to dine with him?”
“Besides, it is Saturnalia, and I do not like that he is alone,” added Cornelia.
Fortunada stopped and turned around. Baro still stood where she had left him. “I accept,” he said with a wave. “I would love to dine with you on the morrow.”
Chapter 43
The third and final day of the festival of Saturnalia
Fortunada
The sun slipped below the horizon, turning the still waters of Larius Lacus gold. A lit brazier sat in the corner of the triclinium.
Genaro sat on the floor and rolled a ball that Mars chased and brought back. Cornelia dozed with her head on a pillow as her new pet ferret, Ceres, slept in her arms.
Sersa reclined on a sofa with a goblet of wine in hand. On a nearby sofa, Baro reclined as well. He reached for an olive and broke it ope
n with his thumbnail. After removing the pit, he ate the green flesh.
On the morrow, Sersa would be meeting with the magistrate and the propraetor to discuss Albinius’s death. Everyone knew it was only a formality. Though Roman law might allow Sersa to be charged with the murder, it would never happen. Sersa was royalty, and Albinius had been vile.
There were other matters that needed attention. Upon his death, all of Albinius’s possessions became the property of Genaro—the ludus included. One day, Fortunada’s son would become a fine lanista. Today he was just a boy who enjoyed playing with his dog.
Through her dowry, Sersa had invested heavily in the ludus. Would he now want the remaining coin returned?
“A thought has occurred to me,” she said, ending the companionable silence. Though her neck was still sore, her throat was no longer raw, and her words came out strong and clear. “We are all in need of one another. It is in my son’s interest that I make certain the ludus is well maintained. Sersa has invested a large amount in it and is also linked to its success. Baro has retired from the arena and is in need of a new career. His background makes him the perfect person to run this ludus.”
“We are of the same mind,” said Sersa.
Baro picked up another olive and bit. “I will only agree to stay and run the ludus on one condition. I want to be wed to Fortunada.”
Sersa shook his head. “I will not bind my niece to any man who has power over her life and death for the purposes of business. Not again.”
“Nor would I want her to be so bound,” said Baro. “I love Fortunada.” He rose to his feet and came to where she sat. She took his offered hand, and he lifted her to standing. “To me, you are the moon at night that illuminates the mysteries of the world. You are the sun that brings warmth. You are the earth and the rain that provide life. You are mine, Fortunada, my golden one. And from this day forward, I bind myself to you.”
In the Roman republic, all that was needed for their union to be legal was her agreement. She glanced at Genaro, playing with the dog that Baro had insisted he have. Baro was a good man who was committed to her welfare. “There is no one else I shall ever want, and so I bind myself to you as well.”
“A salute to you both and your future happiness,” said Sersa as he lifted a glass of wine. “Is it not a Roman custom that you both touch fire and water, vowing to be together through every adversity?”
“We have been through both,” said Baro. His eyes never left Fortunada’s face. “And love each other more because of it.”
“I will write to your father, if I might, and share the happy news.” Sersa picked up Cornelia. The ferret was still snuggled in her arms. “First, I will take these two to the nursemaid, of course. Come, Genaro.”
With a yawn, Fortunada’s son left the room with her uncle. From the corridor came Genaro’s sleepy voice. “Does this mean that Baro the Equestrian will now be my father?”
“That it does, my boy,” was Sersa’s reply.
“Good. I like the looks of him.” Then Genaro added, “Besides, none of the other boys will have a father as famous as mine.”
Fortunada could not help but smile. In the end, things had turned out as she had hoped all along.
Baro wrapped his arms around her middle and drew her to him. He placed his lips on hers. “I knew that one day you would be my wife,” he said.
“For once,” she said, “I am glad that you are right.”
“There may be many other times that I am correct,” he said with a smile.
Fortunada ran her fingers through his hair and drew him to her, pressing her body to his. “There may be, yet I am dubious as to the number.”
“Ah, today is the last day of Saturnalia. I should have given you a gift. Silks, jewels. Tell me what you desire and they shall be yours.”
“Aside from you, I want nothing,” she said. “And perhaps I have a gift for us both.” Fortunada took one of his hands and placed it upon her abdomen.
“A baby?” he asked. His eyes shone in the warm orange glow of the firelight.
“A baby,” she said.
He kissed her again, tenderly. “The child will be brave and clever, like you.”
“And strong, like you,” she added. “And loyal and kind.”
“It will be loved and cherished all the days of its life, just as I will love and cherish you,” Baro said.
She needed neither prayer nor plan to know that he had spoken the truth.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Though there is one name on the cover, there are many who have been involved as this book moved from idea to draft to novel. I owe you all many, many thanks. First, thanks to the Ithaca Fiction Writers’ group—Virginia, Marie, Doreen, Lisa, Barb, Phillip, Eric, Erin, Cara, and Gerda—you are all amazing! Thanks to Jessica, Gary, Kim, Jim, Lisa, Ross, Carol, and Jill. Aside from helping the story become the best it can be, you all have offered me your friendship and helped me to be my very best self. I have to offer a special thanks to the most fabulous agent in the world, Chris Tomasino. Your help, advice, and continual cheerleading have seen me through many drafts of this book. Thanks to the editorial team at Montlake Romance but most especially Irene, Anh, and the wonderful Melody. Thanks also to the art department for a fantastic cover and to the marketing folks for helping to get the book ready to face the world.
Finally, to my family—Libby, Brooke, Sydney, and John. Thank you for your understanding, love, and support. You ate more leftovers than should be legal and overlooked dust bunnies the size of ponies while I focused on this book. You are all the reason I get out of bed in the morning, and without you, I would not have the courage to write a word.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Having penned her first book at age eight, Jen Bokal has always been a lover of the written word. In 2003 she decided to turn her avocation into a vocation, and from that time on there has been no looking back. Jen is the author of several short stories, poems, and feature articles. She was also the relationship columnist for Suite e-zine from 2005 to 2008. Her first novel, Celtic Heart, was published in 2007.
In 2010 Jen graduated from Wilkes University with a master of arts in creative writing. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America.
The thing Jen enjoys best about writing romance is that the alpha males in her books mostly do what she wants them to do. Having been married to an alpha male herself for twenty years, she knows how rare and wonderful that is. Jen and her manly husband live in upstate New York with their three beautiful daughters, two aloof cats, and two very spoiled dogs.
Jen invites you to visit her on Facebook at Jennifer D. Bokal Author, or follow her on Twitter @jenbokal.
The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome) Page 23