Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  The pounding hooves behind her promised a chance for her stepsister. Adela urged the horse forward. She reached the edge of the clearing and was forced to slow down as she wove between the trees.

  The head of a horse moved up on her right side. Too close, but also close enough. Low branches lay straight ahead. As she pulled her reins to the right, she lay flush with her horse’s neck. She barely cleared, but the tall man beside her didn’t. His yell as the branches swept him from his horse was music to her ears. The trees thickened; the hill grew steeper. Her horse lurched as she pounded her heels into its sides to keep it lunging up the slope.

  Hoofbeats behind her...closer...closer...

  The front neckline of her dress cut into her throat as a hand grasped the back. The horse leaped forward as her thighs lost their grip. Blue breaks in the green canopy flashed overhead as she was dragged across the horse’s rump.

  Then all went black.

  A hill-country farm in Germania Superior

  As Galen tied his bedroll to the saddle, Astrelo turned his head to watch.

  “Ready for an adventure, boy?”

  Astrelo’s bridle jingled as he shook his elegant black head.

  Galen slapped the stallion’s neck twice. “I’ll take that as a yes.” A quick rub of the star-shaped blaze drew a contented nicker. “Let’s go do some trading.”

  As he stepped away from his horse, two small boys dropped the sticks they were poking into the mud puddle and ran to him. He scooped up four-year old Gaius and plunked him on his shoulders. Six-year-old Publius bounced at his side.

  “I wish I could go with you, Uncle.”

  Galen tousled the boy’s wavy brown hair. “When your mother and father say it’s time.”

  He glanced at his sister, Val, as she walked toward him, a sack containing food and a change of clothes slung across her right shoulder and a giggling baby girl on her left hip. “Better if we ask Dec. He’s more likely to say yes sooner.” He put his finger across his lips. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  Val reached his side, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t tell me what?”

  Galen swung Gaius to the ground and slapped his bottom. “Run, before she gets an answer out of you.”

  The two boys sprinted away, giggling.

  Galen took the sack from her. “Should be a good trip. We’ll stop in Borbetomagus first. I already know someone who wants the mare there. Then we’ll head south to Argentorate. Roman officers always have more money than they can spend out here, and the colts should bring top money at the legion fortress.” He bounced his eyebrows. “I might even get a couple of the tribunes into a bidding war, like last time.”

  Val pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. He fought the grin. She was always going to see him as her little brother who needed tending.

  “My father would be impressed by how good you are at this.”

  Galen chuckled. “I learned from masters, watching you and Baldric.”

  “I know you’ll only be gone for a week and a half, but be careful. I’ll be praying for you.”

  “Don’t worry, Val. I’ll have Otto along to advise me.”

  Her eye-roll pulled another chuckle from him.

  She planted her fist on the hip without a baby. “You know Baldric and I are relying on you to keep Otto out of trouble, not the other way around.”

  A grin split Galen’s face. “You can tell Baldric I’ll get a good price for his horses. I’ll also make sure his young stallion comes home in one piece.”

  He whistled, and Astrelo trotted over. The sack joined the bedroll at the back of his saddle. As Galen mounted, Val untied the lead rope of the first horse in the string from the corral railing. After he settled into the saddle, she handed it to him.

  “May God bless and keep you on the journey.”

  Galen nodded once. “He always does. We’ll head down to the river road as soon as Otto brings Baldric’s horses to the village. See you in about ten days.”

  He nudged Astrelo into a trot and tossed his sister a backhanded wave as he entered the tree-lined wagon track that led to the village. The sunlight made dancing patterns of light and shade as it filtered through the leafy branches. There could be no better way to start a journey of ten days with his best friend.

  Valeria shook her head as she smiled. Her brother was always joking, but he had a good head on his shoulders and a heart that wanted to please God. She’d be praying for his safe return, but he and Otto should be fine.

  Chapter 2: No Respect

  North of the Roman Frontier

  Adela awoke with a skull ready to split open. She was lying on her stomach, draped over something that bounced faster than her pounding heart. The bouncing had added new bruises to compound the pain from her fall. Her head throbbed with every bounce. The sack over her eyes shrouded her in darkness. Trying to lift her hands to remove it tugged on her ankles.

  Why was she draped like a sack of grain across the back of a horse?

  “What is going on here?” No answer. “Untie me right now!” No answer. Just more bouncing, more throbbing, more pain.

  She twisted her hands as she struggled to free herself from the ropes binding her wrists together. After several minutes, she stopped. She’d rubbed her skin raw, and nothing had loosened.

  The horse finally slowed, then stopped. The stench of someone who reeked of sweat penetrated the bag. Jerks on the ropes tying her hands to her feet made her chafed wrists sting. Rough hands gripped her shoulders and shoved her backward to slide off the horse. She lost her balance and sat down hard on the uneven ground.

  Her hands were still tied, but the rope around her neck that held the bag on loosened. When the bag was jerked off, the bright light momentarily blinded her. When her eyes adjusted, the leering face of a tall, blond man with filthy hair and a scraggly beard was inches from her own.

  She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “What do you think you’re doing? I am the daughter of Adalmar, chieftain of the Hermunduri. You will release me right now. If you don’t, when my father catches you, he’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”

  A vicious grin split the kidnapper’s face, and a cruel laugh erupted from deep within him. “Take a look at yourself, daughter of Adalmar. I see no chieftain’s daughter. I see a slave.”

  Adela didn’t want to break eye contact, but her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the shabby slave tunic someone had put her in. When had they taken her clothes? Who had put her in this? She swallowed hard, then fought against showing any fear.

  His face moved closer to hers. Foul breath made her head recoil. “Forget about being a chieftain’s daughter. You’re never going back there. You’re nothing but my slave now, and the sooner you start acting like one, the better for you.”

  She forced herself to keep her eyes on his. “Where is Gunda? What have you done with my stepsister?”

  Another laugh rumbled out of his leering mouth. He stood and motioned for his companion to give her some water before he sauntered away.

  Adela fought against the panic that drove in upon her. Something horrible must have happened to Gunda, or she’d be there, too. Adela had tried to save her but...

  As she held the cup of water, her hands trembled. Her vision blurred as tears tried to escape. No! I am a chieftain’s daughter. I will not let them see my fear. I will not show weakness. I will escape, and my father will make them pay for this.

  She forced herself to take slow breaths, to push the panic back as she looked around. There were three of them. Too many eyes were watching her now. They would let down their guard if she acted like a helpless woman too stupid to know how to escape. Her heart rate slowed. Wait for the right time, and then they’ll be sorry.

  The leader strolled back and picked up the bag. “Enough water and freedom for you, daughter of Adalmar.” He pulled the bag over her head and tied the rope around her neck.

  Someone dragged her to
the horse and hoisted her onto its back. Her bound hands were tied loosely to the saddle. She bent over to put the neck rope within reach of her fingers.

  A hand gripped her shoulder and jerked her back to an upright position. “You don’t need to see to ride. Stop trying, or...” Adela fought the shudder that his chuckle triggered and straightened her spine.

  A finger traced down her bare arm, followed by a cruel laugh. “I hope you’re ready for a three-day ride, chieftain’s daughter. We have a long way to go before you get to your new master’s house.”

  The horse started trotting, and Adela settled into the saddle. She’d practically lived on horseback since she was a small child. A three-day ride would be no problem. When the kidnappers let down their guard, she would be ready.

  Argentorate, three days later

  The gray stone walls of the legion fortress cast a shadow across Otto’s path as he and Galen rode toward the double-arched gate with two strings of horses behind them. The eyes of the sentry narrowed, and his hand settled on the hilt of his sword as they approached. It was the response Otto expected.

  He was tall, muscular, armed, and German, a combination that guaranteed a Roman sentry would assume the worst.

  They reined in ten feet from the sentry, and Galen raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Salve. We’ve come to see Centurion Junius Silanus. He’s expecting us. I would appreciate you sending him word that Gaius Licinius Crassus is back with the horses he wanted to see.”

  When Galen’s polished Latin announced the three-part name that declared his Roman citizenship, the sentry relaxed. He turned to another legionary standing behind him under the archway. “Find Centurion Silanus.”

  As the soldier disappeared behind the wall, Otto’s mouth turned down. Roman officers had the money to pay what his father’s horses were worth, but to get the money…

  His eyebrows lowered. To get the money, he had to deal with the Romans. His father laughed at the Roman air of superiority, but it galled Otto.

  He glanced at Galen’s profile. The Roman nose and wavy, dark brown hair declared his Italian origin even before his first Latin word. His best friend since childhood was more German than Roman, but that wasn’t what the soldiers saw. They only saw one of their own.

  Otto’s father complained that he didn’t get as much money for their horses as his brother Adolf had. But Adolf had always been quick with a joke and full of stories. Maybe that let Adolf cajole the Romans into accepting him and paying more than they had to. Otto couldn’t play that game.

  Galen didn’t either, but he still got good money, no matter what he was selling. Father had ordered Otto to do whatever Galen said on this trading trip. Galen was to negotiate the sale of their horses, and Otto was to watch him and learn.

  His frown deepened. He and Galen had both celebrated twenty-one birthdays. But Otto was more than a foot taller, and more than once he’d picked Galen up and held him over his head until Galen begged him to put him down. Galen was his best friend, and Otto would defend him against anyone who insulted him. But Otto would be the first to admit that his friend was a runt in a world of big men. For Father to imply Galen was a better man and he had to obey him, that rankled.

  Two centurions came through the gate: Silanus and another whom Otto hadn’t seen before. They sported the standard centurion frown until Silanus’s gaze fell on Galen. Then his mouth flipped into a smile.

  “Crassus, it’s good to see you and your horses again. Vitellus here has been waiting for you to bring more ever since I bought that bay colt last fall.”

  Silanus slapped his friend’s arm. “He lost out on the bidding for the bay when I sold him. Once a tribune sets his mind on owning something, cost means nothing to him. I’m in the market again, so maybe I shouldn’t have brought Vitellus today. He might outbid me for your best.”

  Galen’s lips curved into a friendly smile. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He pointed toward Otto. “Otto, son of Baldric of the Vangiones, and I brought the best from our stables. We have plenty of quality horseflesh to satisfy both of you.”

  Silanus glanced at Otto, gave a quick nod, and focused his attention back on Galen. Vitellus glanced but didn’t even nod. Otto’s jaw started to clench until he forced it to relax.

  Galen swept his hand toward the horses. “Let’s see what we can do to get you mounted today. All our horses are trained to be ready to ride, but never in a way that breaks their spirits.” He grinned. “Rather like a good legionary. Plenty of spirit but ready to serve. Pick the one you like, and then we can talk price.”

  Vitellus strode to the first horse in Otto’s string to begin his inspection. He ran his hands over the black horse’s back, flanks, and legs. His eyes lit with appreciation, and a smile started to escape before he tightened his lips.

  Otto fought a smile himself as the centurion crossed his arms and tilted his head. The Roman wanted the horse, and he should. It was an animal Otto would be proud to ride himself. He stroked the colt’s nose as he waited for the Roman to ask the price that Baldric had set before he left.

  Then Vitellus turned toward Galen, who was showing a bay colt to Silanus. “Crassus, does this one have the same sire as the stallion you’re riding?”

  Galen glanced over his shoulder. “No. That’s from Otto’s stable. They have two excellent studs, and Otto can tell you all about his bloodline.”

  Vitellus turned his gaze on Otto and raised his eyebrows.

  Otto unclenched his jaw. “The sire is the same as my stallion’s, and the mare had the same sire as Galen’s. It takes a strong horse to carry me, and this colt should be one.” The centurion’s gaze swept Otto’s bay. “He’s a bargain at 500 denarii.”

  Vitellus rubbed his chin. “That much?”

  Otto straightened to his full height. “Any true horseman can see that’s cheap for a horse like him.”

  The centurion’s eyes narrowed, then relaxed. Otto could see the sale slipping away.

  Silanus rode past, trying out the bay Galen had been showing him.

  Galen came over and began stroking the black colt’s neck. “The things that make a horse worth that kind of money aren’t always obvious at first glance. I know you don’t judge a soldier only by what he looks like standing at ease. You watch him on the training ground to see if he has what it takes. Courage and stamina, strength and skill. Otto’s right when he says their horses can carry big men long distances and be ready to do it again the next day after a night’s rest.”

  Galen slapped Otto’s arm. “Baldric and all his sons are big men like Otto, and his horses are bred for speed and stamina carrying heavy loads. Why don’t you try him out? We can throw one of our saddles on him or you can ride bareback. Either way, once you feel his power between your legs, you’ll know why Baldric’s horses sell for so much.”

  Vitellus’s brows rose as he nodded. “Saddle him, and I’ll try him out.”

  Galen pointed toward Astrelo. “My saddle or Otto’s?”

  The corner of Vitellus’s mouth turned up. “Otto’s more my size.”

  Galen took the saddle from Otto’s bay and tossed it on the colt. As he cinched it, he glanced over his shoulder at Vitellus. “You’re in for a treat. This one’s fast for a two-year-old, and I can only imagine what he’ll be when he’s finished muscling up in a couple of years.”

  Galen stepped back, and Vitellus mounted. A huge grin covered Galen’s face as he crossed his arms. “You might want to tighten your chinstrap, or I can hold your helmet if you want to run him.”

  Vitellus chuckled. “If he goes fast enough for my helmet to come off, there’s no way I’ll pass on this one.” As he turned the horse’s head toward the open field along the fortress wall, he grinned at Galen. “Maybe I’ll want him even if it doesn’t.”

  As Vitellus rode out, Silanus came back. He swung his leg over the bay colt’s neck and slid to the ground. “This one is almost as good as the one last fall. Let’s talk price.”


  As Galen strolled away with Silanus at his side, Otto’s frown deepened. Galen had just made the sale he was about to lose. Watch and learn. That’s what his father had said. He’d watched, but all he’d seen was one Roman take the word of another Roman that his horse was worth the money. How could a German ever expect the same response?

  It was late afternoon. Otto lounged in his saddle as the two tribunes walked through the fortress gate leading Otto’s last mare. It was his horse, but he might as well have been Galen’s servant for all the notice the Romans had paid him.

  Galen dropped the last of the twenty-two aurei into Baldric’s bulging purse and handed it back. “I didn’t expect to get 550 denarii for a mare, but who am I to say the price is too high when two tribunes decide to compete for her?” He shrugged. “More than I would pay, but she is a beautiful animal. I expect she’ll have strong foals.”

  He whistled, and Astrelo sauntered over. “Selling all eight on the first day and none of them for less than 475 denarii…that’s the best we’ve ever done.” He jumped to lay his stomach on Astrelo’s back, then swung his leg over the stallion’s rump.

  As he settled into the saddle, Otto rode up beside him. “It was a good day for making money if you’re a Roman. They would never have paid so much to a German. They can’t wait to buy a horse at a high price from you, but I have to sell cheap just to get them to look at my animals.”

  Galen’s eyebrows rose. “But it isn’t being Roman that lets me get the better deals. It’s how I treat my customers. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  He leaned forward and patted Astrelo’s neck. “I don’t treat it as a contest where they lose if I win. You seem ready to pick a fight sometimes even when you’re trying to strike a deal.”

  Otto shook his head. “That’s not it. It’s because you’re all Romans, so they treat you like an equal. Me, I’m just a German to them.”