Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  “Perhaps. A woman in the camp saw them heading south. I’m going to try to catch up with them and free him.”

  Silanus’s eyebrow popped up. “If you find him, it might be wiser to get some soldiers to free him.”

  Galen’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “It’s the heart, not the height that matters, Silanus. And the training. I may not look like it, but I’m good in a fight. I’ve trained for years with the same swordmaster as Otto.”

  Silanus rubbed the back of his neck. “No offense intended, Crassus. I just want to make sure my favorite horse trader keeps bringing horses.”

  “None taken. It can be an advantage when an enemy doesn’t take you seriously until it’s too late.”

  “I can’t send my men out to hunt for him, but I can write a warrant instructing any local commander to help you capture the kidnappers. To take a man in a legion town―such contempt for Roman law cannot be tolerated. Catching a kidnapper to make an example should make travel safer around here. Our patrols can’t be everywhere.”

  “Thank you, Silanus. That should help. We were about to head home. I need to send a message downriver to an innkeeper in Borbetomagus. He’ll get the message about what’s happened to my family so they’ll know why I’m delayed. Where can I buy papyrus and find a courier?”

  “No need for that. I’ll provide what you need. Write your letter while I’m preparing the warrant. I’ll get it to Borbetomagus for you. A courier leaves for Mogontiacum tomorrow morning.”

  Silanus slapped Galen’s shoulder before he spun and strode into the gatehouse office.

  When the Roman with the red crest disappeared through the door in the stone wall, Adela nudged her horse forward. She reined in next to Galen where he could hear soft words. It might be dangerous to speak too loudly with Romans around.

  “Is he going to help?”

  Galen tipped his head to look up at her, and his brow furrowed. “Can you speak any Latin?”

  “No.”

  His eyes turned thoughtful. “We’re going to work on that. You need to be able to understand what’s going on around us when people aren’t speaking Germanic. We might have to leave Germania before we catch up with the kidnappers and rescue Otto.”

  Adela shrugged. “My father says a woman doesn’t need more than one language, but I wouldn’t mind learning. He hired a man to teach my brother Latin, but Father says a girl doesn’t need to learn anything except how to run a household and handle a weapon.” She glanced at the ground before returning her gaze to his face. “The teacher told me to go away when I tried to listen.”

  Galen’s mouth pulled sideways. “That’s not right. A woman needs more than household skills. My sisters speak Latin, Greek, and Germanic, and they read both Greek and Latin.” He rubbed his chin. “Latin is more common than Greek on this side of the Empire, so that’s what I’ll teach you first. We can work on speaking while we ride. I can start teaching you to write and maybe read some at night.”

  Adela’s eyes narrowed. “It took my brother years to learn.”

  A smiled tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But maybe he’s not as smart as you.” The smile broadened. “Or maybe he didn’t want to learn enough to try hard. You do want to learn, don’t you?”

  She raised her chin. “Of course.” She tightened her lips, but a smile still crept out. “He did try to find excuses to do something else…anything else.”

  “There’s a lot of riding ahead of us, but we won’t get bored with this to keep our minds busy.”

  A warrior emerged from the door Galen’s friend had entered. He carried a shallow wooden box to Galen and went back inside.

  Galen handed her the box. After he mounted, he raised one leg up to lay his calf across his horse’s withers. When he took the box back, he balanced it on his leg and lifted the lid. Inside were thin sheets that looked like flattened bark, a small bottle, and a pointed stick. Galen lifted out one sheet and put the bottle in a well in the top of the box. He removed the plug and dipped the stick into it. Then he began forming different shapes on the sheet.

  Galen glanced at Adela when he finished the first two lines.

  Her gaze was locked on his hand but shifted to his eyes when he paused. “You do that so fast.”

  “You will, too, after I teach you.” He dipped the pen in the ink again. “I’m sending word to my sister that Otto’s been kidnapped and I’m going to get him back.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “She told me to be careful on this trip and to keep Otto out of trouble. I haven’t done too well with that so far.”

  Adela’s brow furrowed. “Because of his mistakes, not yours. He shouldn’t have gone with them when he was drunk.”

  “No, but two good things came from him gambling. You’re free again, and I have a warrior woman to help me get him back.” He bounced his eyebrows at her.

  At those words, she raised her chin, but her smile softened the warrior look.

  He finished his letter and flipped the papyrus. On the back, he wrote two addresses. The first was to the owner of the inn in Borbetomagus. The second was to Valeria, with a request for the first trustworthy person heading west to deliver it to the innkeeper in their market town where the road south from Mogontiacum met the road west from Borbetomagus.

  As he finished, Silanus approached, papyrus in hand. He handed Galen the warrant and took the writing desk. Galen folded the warrant and slipped it into his purse.

  “Good fortune on your hunt, Crassus. I hope I see you back with your giant friend come fall.”

  “I hope you do, too, Silanus. I’ll do my best to make it so.”

  Silanus raised a hand in farewell and headed toward the headquarters building at the center of the camp.

  Galen shifted his gaze from Silanus to Adela. “Let’s go. It’s two and a half days to Augusta Raurica. There’s an arena there, so it’s the first place they’re likely to sell him. We want to get there before his first fight.”

  He nudged Astrelo, and they rode toward the stone arches of the gate. His gaze swept the gray walls that stood as a monument to Roman power.

  God, the next time I see this fortress, let it be with a string of horses and Otto beside me.

  Adela glanced at Galen often as they rode through the town. The grim set to his face looked out of place. When they finally reached the edge of town, he nudged his stallion into a trot.

  She rode up beside him. “I can ride as fast and as far as you want.”

  He nodded, then kicked his horse into a canter. He didn’t keep that speed for long; it would tire the horses too fast. He settled into a trot at a pace the horses could sustain for long distances.

  She rode beside him but a little back so she could watch his face without him knowing. He looked serious and focused, more like a German warrior than she’d seen before. Odd, but he looked better when that hint of a smile was on his lips.

  This short Roman had strange ideas, but she liked some of them. He saw her as more than someone to keep a man’s house and bear his children. He was so different from any man she’d met before. It felt good to be treated with respect, like she mattered for herself and not just as her father’s daughter.

  He’d be no match for the tall, proud German warrior she wanted as her husband someday, but he was proof that an impressive man could come with a short body and lips that mostly smile.

  Chapter 9: Reason to Hope

  Two days later

  Even for a horseman like Otto, riding for two days with his hands tied behind his back had proven exhausting. His ankles were tied together by a rope under the horse’s belly while Gerlach led it, leaving no chance for escape. As hard as it was to imagine things getting worse, his heart sank when the amphitheater of Augusta Raurica came into view.

  Gundahar dropped back to ride beside him. “Time to make some money from you. Maybe you’ll sell for more than the girl you cost me.”

  He slapped the back of Otto’s head before kicking his horse into
a trot.

  Gundahar rode up to a man lounging against a tree by the public entrance. “Where will I find a trainer who needs a new gladiator?”

  “You want the senior lanista, Scaurus.” The man pointed toward a low stone building across the street. “That’s his ludus.”

  Gundahar nodded his thanks and reined his horse toward it. He turned in his saddle to face Gerlach. “Stay mounted. Our fighter looks bigger that way.”

  He swung his leg over his horse’s neck and slid off. He slapped Otto’s thigh. “You should bring at least a thousand. Try to look mean when I bring the lanista out.”

  Otto’s glare pulled a chuckle from Gundahar. “Angry is almost as good as mean.”

  As Gundahar disappeared through the doorway, Otto’s heartrate rose. This might be his chance to escape. If he could only convince the lanista that he was really a free man…

  The door swung open, and a man of about forty emerged with Gundahar. His gut suggested he had a good cook, but his arms were brawny and bore many scars. Another scar ran from the outer edge of his eyebrow to his chin.

  Gundahar pointed at Otto. “As you can see, he’s a big one. Handsome, too, and the women like that.”

  Scaurus crossed his arms as he contemplated Otto. Otto’s pulse raced. It was time.

  “I’m not a gladiator. I was kidnapped in Argentorate by these men. I’m a freeborn German and―”

  Gerlach wrapped an arm around Otto’s neck and shoved a rag into his mouth until he started to gag.

  Scaurus’s eyes narrowed as he focused them on Gundahar. “A freeborn German?” A frown dragged his mouth down.

  Gundahar conjured up a confident smile as his hand swept Otto’s words away. “He’s freeborn, all right, but he wasn’t freeborn inside the Empire. Bjorn was captured when his Langobardi clan failed with their raid into northern Hermunduri country. I bought him from a Hermunduri trader in Argentorate. His great size shows where he came from and reveals his lies.”

  The lanista’s brow furrowed. “Do you have a bill of sale?”

  “I do.” Gundahar reached into his purse and pulled out a folded sheet of papyrus.

  Scaurus scanned it. “Where’s the mark of the questor that certifies the sale?”

  Gundahar took the sheet back and peered first at the front, then the back. “But it should be here. We went to the desk in the market to get it.”

  The lanista crossed his arms again. “I only buy from men I know or when the questor’s seal tells me everything is in order.”

  Gundahar rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand. I’m usually careful myself.” He squeezed his lips together and shook his head. “Five days to Argentorate and back, but I guess there’s no choice if I’m going to get the missing seal for you. I should have watched more carefully at the questor’s station.”

  Scaurus’s arms dropped to his sides. “Get the seal that verifies the sale, and then I might be interested. This one looks promising.” He turned and took a step away before he glanced back over his shoulder. “I know what that questor’s seal looks like. Wrong seal, no sale.”

  As the lanista walked away, Gundahar turned to Gerlach. “I’d hoped to sell him here, but there’s an arena a day’s ride east. It’s near the old legion fortress of the XXI Rapax in Vindonissa.”

  Gerlach’s mouth twitched. “Won’t there be the same problem with the bill of sale there?”

  Gundahar opened his mouth, but no words came out before his ears caught the braying of a mule. Two shackled men shuffled out the side door of the ludus. One man stood by the cart, watching with his fists on his hips, as the first prisoner crawled in. Another man, who was built like an ox, prodded the second chained men with a staff.

  A crooked smile tugged at Gundahar’s mouth. “The goddess Fortuna may have just smiled on us. Maybe we won’t have to go to Vindonissa after all. Bring Bjorn.”

  The man in charge glanced at them as they approached.

  With a fake-friendly smile, Gundahar stepped close to him. “Are you looking for gladiators? I have a superb Langobardi fighter from the North country.” He waved his hand toward Otto. “Bjorn, famous for his skill in battle, fighting two at once with only a sword.”

  The man’s gaze swept Otto from head to foot and back. “He doesn’t look like a fighter to me.” His eyes narrowed. “If he’s so good, why didn’t the lanista want him?”

  Gundahar shrugged. “He said he didn’t want one who might not be willing to stop short of the kill in the arena.”

  The slave trader tilted his head as a crooked smile appeared. “I don’t want one of those, either, but I do need another one as arena fodder for the three-on-three fights in Octodurus. He looks good enough for the procession, even if he doesn’t last long in the fight.” He stroked his beard. “I’ll give you 100 denarii for him.”

  Gundahar’s lips started to tighten. He’d expected at least five, maybe eight times that for the Hermunduri beauty.

  “That’s not enough for a fighter like Bjorn.”

  “It’s too much, but I’m being generous because he’s so big and handsome. Group fighters are cheap. Even the best gregarii only bring 250 denarii to the owner of a ludus when they’re killed.”

  A crooked smile curved the trader’s lips. “If there’s any problem with the bill of sale…I can take care of that.”

  Gundahar drew a deep breath. Something was better than nothing. “One hundred…I’ll accept that.”

  The slave trader signaled his ox-like servant, who reached into the cart and pulled out one set of iron wrist shackles and another of ankle shackles. “Get the big one ready to load. It’s four days to Octodurus, and I want to get there in time for the games this week.”

  Otto tensed as Gerlach slipped from his horse. Gundahar and the man with the shackles approached. They’d have to untie him to get him off the horse. Finally, a chance for freedom. If he could break loose and run to the local garrison…Three against one was bad odds, but they were better than no odds at all.

  A sack slipped over his head from behind, and a rope jerked tight around his neck.

  His third captor’s voice growled near his ear. “Don’t try anything, Bjorn, unless you want your neck broken.” The rope tightened, and Otto fought for each breath.

  The rope binding his ankles loosened, and he was dragged from the horse. Iron bands clamped around his ankles and locked. His hands were untied and shackled in front of him. Hands on his shoulders shoved him forward and into the cart before the rope around his neck went slack and the hood was yanked off.

  Gundahar pulled the rag from Otto’s mouth, and a sneering grin accompanied Gundahar’s slap on his shoulder. “Give them a good show in Octodurus, Bjorn. They’ve probably never seen someone disarm two men with less than ten strokes.”

  A snap of the reins started the mules forward. The cart jerked, and Otto jostled against the other chained man on his side of the cart. His fellow prisoner shouldered him away.

  As the cart pulled away from the amphitheater, Otto closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Ropes replaced by iron chains. A horse replaced by a cart. Things kept going from bad to worse.

  But Galen was alive, and his friend would be hunting for him. Until a sword took him down in the arena, there was still reason to hope.

  Day 2 of the Hunt

  At the end of the second full day of riding, Adela was ready for a few hours of not sitting on Otto’s horse. He was a spirited animal, but she enjoyed that. He seemed tireless as Galen alternated between walking and trotting. But he was a giant beast, and his back was broader than any of the horses she usually rode. That kept her legs at a different angle than she was used to. Her muscles were ready for a rest.

  They had just waded a shallow stream when Galen turned his stallion off the road.

  He glanced back at her. “I’m not sure how far it is to the next town. I’ve been down this way once with Otto’s father, but it’s been a few years. We’ll camp a short d
istance up this stream.”

  An approving smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Galen was cautious. Camping off the road where thieves wouldn’t stumble across them was wise. The smile broadened. Just like he’d taken the crooked routes to the campgrounds in Argentorate. The kidnapper had found their first campsite, but he probably had the careless talk of Galen’s drunken friend to guide him.

  In a grassy clearing by the stream, Galen dismounted. “This should do for the horses. Plenty of wood for our fire, too.”

  After unsaddling, they gathered twigs and small branches. Galen took a hand ax from the roll at the back of his saddle and chopped some larger pieces of wood from the limbs of a fallen tree. Then he cleared an area for the firepit. He finished by rinsing off his hands in the stream.

  His hand swept toward the downed tree. “Sit, and we’ll dine. What shall we have tonight?” He rubbed his bristled cheek. “Would you like cheese, dried apples, and bread? Or maybe dried apples, bread, and cheese?”

  His playful eyes made her smile. “I’d prefer bread, cheese, and dried apples.”

  He tightened his lips, but a grin still leaked out. “That does sound better. When we get to Augusta Raurica, I’ll get something different for us. I’ll eat anything, but I do like some variety.”

  When they finished eating, Galen knelt next to her. Her spine straightened as her eyes locked on his face. His own eyes seemed focused near her feet.

  He took a stick and loosened the dirt. Then he smoothed it before turning the stick to point the smaller end toward the ground.

  “Time for your first writing lesson. Father always said it was speaking Latin well that made my sister Val a well-educated lady, but I think writing is more important. We’ll work on both.”

  He settled in next to her on the log. “Letters come first. I’ll draw one in the dirt, then you’ll copy it to learn the shape.” He rubbed his mouth. “There are twenty-three of them. Well, actually forty-six when you consider there’s the cursive form you saw in the letter to Val plus the capitals that are used on the inscriptions.” He rubbed his mouth again. “It’s more likely you’ll be reading inscriptions like road markers, so we’ll start with that.”