by Nhys Glover
The Master stopped talking suddenly, as if he’d finally run out of energy. He physically slumped, giving in to the huge, invisible weight he seemed to be carrying on his shoulders.
“They’re your slaves, of course they’ll do it! Why are you asking them?” demanded the confused lanista.
“We’ll do it. Of course we’ll do it!” Talos answered for all of us, speaking over the lanista as if he hadn’t opened his mouth.
Talos’ protective streak was showing in that moment so vividly that no one could have missed it. He had changed since being with Accalia too. But where Asterius had become more serious, Talos had become more optimistic, lighter somehow. It was like the pack-mates had partially swapped personalities. Although Asterius still didn’t have Talos’ appetite and Talos didn’t have Asterius’ charm.
Not that Asterius had used that charm on many women in the last eighteen months. Love for Accalia had slowly begun emasculating him. Emasculate us all, if truth be known. It was one of the reasons I needed to break her hold on me. A gladiator without balls was as good as dead.
The Master’s expression shifted slightly. For the first time he looked hopeful.
“Good. Good,” he announced more enthusiastically. “I knew your devotion to my daughter would have you agreeing. I have prepared documents for each of you, giving you permission to travel. You sail aboard a naval galley leaving port at sunset.
“The galley will sail faster than any other vessel across the Mare Internum to Syria and will give you the best chance of catching up with the men who took Ennia before they leave Roman territory. Or if not before then, at least before they reach Ctesiphon, the Parthian capital.
“I left immediately after the abduction and cannot be more than a day behind them. If you catch up to them in the empire you can call on the help of any legion nearby. There are documents for that purpose as well as others to get you more funds from the temple in Antiochia. Or the one in Tyrus, if you find yourself that far south.
“From the coast you can head inland to Antiochia, where you can follow the trade routes south east into Parthia. I have gold with me, which you can use to grease palms and aid in your disguise as traders.”
“You have thought this out well, Master,” I said soberly.
He grimaced. “I have had plenty of time to do so. Sleep has been impossible since it happened. I have brought a map and have marked out your journey on it.”
Unrolling a scroll, he spread it over the lanista’s desk.
The lanista looked on, at a loss. Corvus, belatedly realising the ludus’ manager was still present, dismissed him with a curt thanks, leaving the big man no choice but to depart.
He clearly didn’t understand what was happening or the dynamic in the room. We were slaves and our master was one of the most powerful patricians in the empire, in the gladiatorial world at least. Why would he think to ask, rather than demand, his slaves do his bidding? He didn’t realise that Corvus’ love for his daughter made him vulnerable, and his weakened position equalised us. Loving Accalia made fools of all of us.
The map was of the eastern frontier of the empire. The Master likely had many such maps because he travelled the borders, called the limes, every summer looking for new recruits for his breeding program and to promote his troupe.
I put a few heavy objects on the farthest end of the map while the Master did the same with the other end. Then the five of us arranged ourselves around the desk to study the map. It showed Cilicia, Armenia, Syria, Judea and Regnum Parthicum right down to where the Tigris and Euphrates entered the Mare Erythraean.
I noted the yellow colouring of the terrain. If the splashes of green represented verdant territory then maybe the yellow represented sandy or arid terrain? I had little knowledge of this part of the empire. This was Typhon and Talos’ area of expertise. Typhon had been dropped in Aegyptus for his trial while Talos was dropped on the border of Armenia. I had been taken farthest from home. They’d left me in Britannia.
“Now this shows the trade route across Parthia to the east. It is a very busy route in the cooler months and the camel caravans are your safest means of transport, even if they are the slowest. You will reach Seleukeia Pieria in Syria in about eight to ten days, take horses to Antiochia, which is another half day, and then join a caravan heading down to Palmyra.
“From there the cities are about ten to twenty caravan days apart. Dura Europa, a huge hillside fortress and caravan city, guards the Euphrates river crossing here.” He pointed to a red spot on a blue wriggly line that made its way south.
“From there you follow the Euphrates down to where it almost meets the Tigris. A short journey across to that river and you have reached the Parthian king’s new capital, Ctesiphon, which sits on the opposite side of the Tigris from the famed caravan city of Seleucia. Depending on conditions you might make the journey from Antiochia to Ctesiphon anywhere from thirty to sixty days. A camel train travels slowly. Thirty-four miles a day in good conditions and as little as seventeen in bad.”
“Can we not go by horseback?” I asked in frustration. Surely the men with Accalia wouldn’t be travelling with a caravan.
“You might choose to do so for part of the journey, I suppose, but you would need a reliable guide who knew the territory. There are no roads to follow. Landmarks are all that keep travellers from being lost in the desert. A horse might cut your journey time in half, but you would burn through mounts quickly and need to change them at the major stops. So maybe three weeks to complete that leg of the journey over thirty to sixty days. But get the wrong guide, faulty directions, or meet a large band of robbers, and you are dead. I cannot stress that enough.”
I nodded, doing the calculations in my mind. The enemy would be travelling fast, I had no doubt about that. And as long as we slowed down and joined a caravan for the last few days before Ctesiphon we should escape detection. On the way back though, a caravan would be the safest choice. We could hide in a large caravan, where lone travellers on horseback would stand out.
My heart heaved unpleasantly in my chest. All those weeks before we could reach our girl. All those weeks when anything could be happening to her. With any luck her virginity would be safe until she reached the Prince. If he made her his wife or concubine he would require it. So at least she would be saved from rape. But what else might men do to her when she was the only woman with them?
I had to force myself not to shudder. Images of our brave little wolf being forced to take a man’s cock in her mouth made me want to vomit. Or having their hands on her body, hurting her for pleasure. I would go insane if I allowed such thoughts into my mind.
“I think we understand. This prince lives in the palace?” I asked unsteadily.
“I am not sure. I have been asking questions, but few know the answers. The King has many wives and concubines, so he has many sons and daughters. I do not know how well placed this particular son is, but his name, which is that of several kings of the past, indicates he is held in high regard. If he does not have a residence in the palace, it is likely he has one nearby. Or if he holds territory for his father, he might be found there. You will need to ask after Arsaces once you reach Ctesiphon. If you have to go that far. With any luck you will never have to leave Roman territory.”
“The language will be an issue,” Talos pointed out.
“You will likely find an interpreter in Antiochia. But I do not have to tell you to be careful. Wealthy men, even men such as yourselves, will be seen as ready targets for unscrupulous types.”
“We have all had experience with such men on our trials,” Talos said sombrely. “We will be wary.”
Chapter Three
Late January 65 CE SYRIA
ACCALIA
Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it. How many times had I envied my pack their adventures during their trials? I wished I could have seen the world as they had done. Everywhere they described had been imprinted on my brain, seeming more exotic and wonderful each time I
played it over in my mind.
Now, though, I was on my own ‘adventure’, and I was not enjoying a moment of it. First, I’d been taken to the coast north of Ostia on the back of a galloping horse, my mind a numb desert, deprived of all rational thought. I felt sick, and only the mess I would make if I gave into the desire to vomit kept the contents of my stomach where it belonged.
Not that it stayed there for long. On a deserted beach we had came to a sudden halt. A fishing vessel had been pulled up onto the pebbly shore, and we were quickly ushered aboard it. Only a small number of the men who had taken me captive came along. I assumed the rest had been local mercenaries hired for just this one job.
I quickly discovered that fear and a rocking boat could make my stomach revolt against my will. Luckily, I was tied up against the side of the boat and was able to vomit into the sea. That was the only good thing about the conditions in which I was kept. The deck was hard and the way my hands were tied meant I could not lean against the side with my back, but rather with only one shoulder. I kept bumping my head on the brass fitting on the railing.
My wrists were quickly rubbed raw and bled. Had I not been so sick, and so afraid for my life and that of my father, the pain in my wrists would have laid me low. As it was, I barely noticed it.
Food was rarely offered to me, and when it was I could not keep it down. But food had never been something I worried about. Especially when I was unhappy. And though my pack had forced a promise out of me to keep eating when they were gone, I had only done so sporadically. I just did not feel like eating when they were not around.
Being on a rocking, rolling deck, in freezing cold winds, with frightening foreigners, did not make me any hungrier.
Our fishing-boat hugged the coast all the way down to the bottom of Italia and then turned east, making the jump across to Greece, where we again followed the coastline and hopped from island to island until we crossed to the mainland of Asia and the coastal city of Ephesus. Then it was only a matter of hopping from there to Lycia, Cilicia and finally Syria, where we left our ship at Seleukeia Pieria. Saying it was so much easier than living through it.
By then my captors were starting to look worried. I had eaten next to nothing for over two weeks and only kept down a little water. I was sick, exhausted and miserable, and I must have looked it as we tied up at the Syrian dock. My hands had been untied, but I did not have the energy or the will to run. Not that I expected to get far, if I did. My keepers were ever vigilant.
“You will eat now you are back on dry land. You will eat and drink, or I will punish you. I will not arrive home with a dead woman,” my captor ordered in his heavily accented, but clearly articulated, common Latin. “And if you try to escape I will kill anyone who attempts to help you.”
I nodded numbly and looked away. If I had felt better I would have tried to formulate a plan for escape that put no one else at risk. But my brain was foggy, and I felt lethargic. Lifting my arm was too much trouble right now.
During the endless journey, I had spent many hours studying the five men who were my captors. They were all large and imposing, although I did not think they would have been as large as my pack. They wore their black hair long, reaching almost to their shoulders, with a wide red band that covered their foreheads and ran around to the back of their heads. Each sported massive moustaches, which I found ridiculous. But I was wise enough not to laugh. Even if I had had the energy to do such a thing.
The leader was the oldest of the five, possibly in his late thirties. There was a little grey at his temples and his skin was lined. The others were all in their twenties and definitely less confident.
They spoke rarely to each other, and when they did it was in their own tongue. On the nights we had slept ashore, I had always been forced to lie between them, one of them always awake. I had started to find small differences between them that helped differentiate them in my mind. More behavioural traits, like sniffing or compulsive itching, than physical differences. Because of their moustaches and hair, the younger ones looked identical.
I had never felt so isolated or terrified in my life. Though I was at least relieved to realise my innocence was not to be taken. Maybe even barbarians like these could not bring themselves to quench their lust on the disgusting, sick creature that I was.
Now, as they pushed me along between them through the crowds on the docks, I wondered yet again if Pater was all right and if he was doing anything to help me. The leader had told him not to send anyone after me or I would be killed. Would Pater obey? I hoped not. If my pack were not so far away, I would have hoped Pater would send them after me. I might have had a chance then. But The Wolf Pack were in Puteoli, hundreds of miles from where I was captured. The irony was we had passed right by that city as my captors fled Italia.
I tripped and almost fell as the dock rose and fell beneath me. Even though I knew with the sane part of my brain it could not do such a thing, my tortured mind assured me that was exactly what it was doing.
My captors hastily grabbed my elbows and kept me on my feet. In fact, they half carried me all the way along the bustling dock and out into the walled township beyond.
We found lodgings for the night in a disreputable looking hostelry that appeared no different from every other place we had stayed on the trip. It reminded me too much of the places Marcus had taken me when I was escaping my new mother. At least then I had had Marcus for company and been confident I would be able to stay free. Not so now.
At a rough hewn bench that passed for a table in the taproom, food was placed in front of me. I meekly picked at it. Now my stomach had settled a little, I did feel somewhat better. And I knew that if I had any chance of escaping, I would need to be healthy and fit. So I ate as much as my stomach would hold and drank sour, watered wine, all the while trying not to breathe in the stench of my companions and myself. The Parthians, it seemed, were not as concerned with cleanliness as civilized people.
Later that night I was trapped, yet again, on a filthy pallet between the men. The room we had been assigned was barely big enough to fit us all, as had been the case every night of the journey. By now I was sure I knew the individual sounds of their breathing as well as I did those of Asterius and Talos.
While we broke our fast the next morning, before starting the half-day journey to Antiochia, I felt up to asking a little about what was to become of me.
As my silent companions ate, I looked over at the leader and took my courage in both hands. The more I knew, the better my chances of escape, I determined. And I would escape. I would not wait around for someone else to do it for me.
“How much longer to wherever we are going?” I asked as I finished a mouthful of fresh bread. At least the food at this establishment was edible. Or maybe it was just that I was so hungry after so long without food that anything would have tasted good.
“Many weeks.”
My heart sank, although I had to have known this would be the answer.
The east had always seemed so far away and irrelevant to me that I had made no effort to learn anything about it. I had barely known Parthia existed until my new mother raised the possibility of marrying me off to a prince of that country. Then I had learned a little more about it when Talos told me of his trial, which had taken him close to the borders with Parthia. I’d loved the stories my dark lover had told me of journeying with a caravan. Those odd animals with big humps he called camels sounded funny and delightful when he talked about them in our underground haven. Now I was not so sure.
“Will we be joining a caravan?” I asked after a few moments.
“Part of the way,” came the curt reply.
Not overly helpful, but at least I was getting some answers.
Then he went on, giving me a few more morsels of information. I was not sure why.
“We journey to Antiochia today and find a guide to Emisa. We join a caravan there to cross the desert to Dura. From there we ride on alone for the final leg of the journey.”
“Where does the prince live? Where will my new home be?” I asked again, trying to look as if I was accepting my new life.
Grudgingly, he answered yet again. “The capital. Or close to it. The prince is helping build the new city his father has commissioned. Vologesias it is called. Just south of Seleucia.”
I frowned. “Is not this place called Seleukeia?”
He sighed heavily, already sick of my questions. “It is different. It is Seleucia on the Tiber. The original stop on the trade route east. But now the king has made his capital, Ctesiphon, the principal caravan city on the Tiber. He is removing the Greek influences and returning our country to its roots. Our arts are our own once more, as is our architecture. The empire will be as great as it ever was. And Prince Arscases is helping his esteemed father bring his vision into being.”
“Will... Will I be a wife or... or something else? A captive?” I ventured.
He studied me closely for a moment, assessing me. “If you put on a little weight you may attract his interest enough that he will make you his wife. One of his wives. Otherwise... he might offer you to me in payment for my service to him.” He smiled cruelly, though I saw no lust in his dark, beady eyes.
My mouth dropped open in shock. I did not like the idea of being given to this man. So far, none of them had as much as looked at me in a sexual way. I assumed because of the state I was in. Now it appeared the possibility the prince might want me was the reason for my reprieve.
But if the prince did not claim me... I shuddered. The leader of these abhorrent men was old enough to be my father, unattractive, cruel and filthy. I could think of nothing worse than sharing the kind of intimacies I had known with Asterius and Talos with this man.