Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  His brow furrowed. “I know what you might find useful from the first pattern. The word asking for help. Iuva me means ‘help me.’ You can put ad at the front to make adiuva me, and it still means the same thing.”

  Adela clasped her hands and made her voice quaver. “Iuva me.”

  His laugh startled Astrelo, and the stallion swung his head to look back at his master.

  Galen patted his neck. “Who could resist that plea? But you still need to learn the rest of the first pattern.” His hand settled on his chest as he raised his chin. “Iuvo, iuvas, iuvat, iuvamus, iuvatis, iuvant.”

  His eyes warmed as Adela repeated it several times. Then he nudged Astrelo into a walk.

  As the horses began to trot, Galen’s lips curved into that slight smile Adela found so appealing.

  Any woman could say amo to Galen and mean exactly what she said.

  Chapter 20: Nothing to Worry About

  Ticinum, Day 17

  After hours in the saddle, Adela and Galen finally crossed the bridge over the Flumen Ticinum. The sun was low on the horizon, and it painted the white buildings of the town ahead with a soft pink.

  It was pretty, but Adela preferred the sunset pink on the snow-capped peaks of the Alpes. The rivers of the high mountains had been rushing cascades that made it hard to hear anything but their swirling waters. The Ticinum was the same as the other two rivers they’d crossed since reaching the plain: quiet, with a placid surface more like a lake than a river.

  Galen flexed his shoulders. “It’s been a long ride from Augusta Praetoria, but we’re two thirds of the way to Parma now. At least the flat is easy on the horses.”

  “And boring for the people. I like the mountains better.”

  Galen pointed toward the mountains rising to the south. “We have some more to cross before we get to Otto.”

  The buildings grew taller in the distance.

  He pushed back the strand of hair that was always falling onto his forehead. “It’s hard to believe it was eighteen days ago I met you. It seems like forever…and yesterday. Funny how time does that.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I should have been home two weeks ago. When I left, I never expected I’d be taking my first trip to Italia since I was six.”

  “You weren’t born in Germania?”

  “No. We had an estate north of Rome. But Germania is my real home. I’ll be glad to get back to my family.”

  Adela said nothing. She’d been so eager to return home to Father when Gundahar first took her. Since Brigantium, doubt about what had happened nibbled at that desire. And the mouse that nibbled had grown into a rat that gnawed the last two days. It should be the time for her days of a woman, but nothing was happening yet. With each day that passed, the words of Gundahar as the soldiers dragged him away rang louder at the back of her head.

  She dragged her thoughts back to what Galen was saying.

  “Too late for the baths, but a good night’s sleep will be enough for tonight.”

  “Tonight, I should take the floor and you take the bed. It’s only fair.”

  “I’ve dragged you halfway across the Empire, and you never complain. For that you deserve the bed. Besides, I’d keep hearing my sister’s voice if I traded.”

  He rested one fist on his hip and shook his finger at Adela as he raised the pitch of his voice. “Galen, what were you thinking?”

  Adela nearly choked, trying not to laugh.

  His deep voice returned to normal. “She’s mothered me since I was ten, and she prides herself on training me to know how to treat a woman.”

  They’d reached the city gate. No sentry stood guard, so Galen turned Astrelo toward the line of shops. At a taberna, he slid off the horse.

  Adela kept her gaze fixed on him as he talked with the owner to learn where they might spend the night. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. His sister had every right to be proud of the man Galen had become.

  Adela wrapped her arms around her head to protect it from the stones. Hildegard stood by her father, her face twisted with a mixture of anger and pleasure as Father threw another stone. “Take that man’s child and leave this village.”

  She fell to her knees when the next stone hit. Her lips quivered as she reached out to Father. “I didn’t choose this. I couldn’t stop him. Father, please!”

  He picked up a larger stone. “Never call me that. I have no daughter now.”

  As he hurled it at her head, Adela screamed…and jerked awake.

  When her eyes opened, Galen stood beside her. She swung her feet off the bed before burying her face in her hands.

  His voice was gentle. “Are you all right?”

  Shivers rippled through her body. He left her side and returned with her cloak. He draped it around her shoulders. Then he sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her.

  “It’s only a dream. You’re safe here with me.”

  Dim moonlight came through the small window near the ceiling. The pale rays lit his face. No trace of a smile there, and concern clouded his eyes. She was safe with him now, but what about when she returned home? What if she was carrying Gundahar’s child?

  His free hand pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

  She turned and slipped both arms around his chest. He wrapped his second arm around her and drew her close.

  “Dreams aren’t real. You don’t have to be scared. I’ll keep you safe.”

  His arms around her did make her feel safe. But what if the dream really was a vision of her future? She fought the tears…and lost.

  As her chest jerked and the tears rolled down her cheeks, he kept her wrapped in his arms and started rocking.

  “Shhh. There’s nothing to worry about. Dreams aren’t real, and this one is over.”

  She took a deep breath and held it. When she finally released it, she had the tears under control…almost.

  As her cheek rested on his shoulder, he lifted his hand to rest it on the back of her head.

  “What did you dream?”

  She shook her head. It hurt too much to think about, let alone speak it.

  Galen kept rocking. “Whenever you want to tell me, I’ll listen. It can help just to speak the pain and fear.”

  The tears had stopped, and the silent sobs had quieted, but she kept her arms around him so his would stay around her. It was almost like being in Mother’s arms again, except his were so much stronger and resting her cheek on his shoulder made her heart beat faster.

  Galen was such a kind man. He would be a wonderful husband, so much better than the aggressive warrior she always thought she wanted. But if she was carrying Gundahar’s child, not even a kind man like Galen would want her.

  But maybe she wasn’t with child. Sometimes the days of a woman were late for no particular reason. When her mother grew sick, her days were often two or three weeks late. It wasn’t even a week. Maybe there really was nothing to worry about.

  Chapter 21: Perhaps a Future

  North of Futa Pass, Day 19

  The old mare Brutus had purchased for Otto to ride was wearing out after crossing the Alpes and carrying a big man like him for ten days. Brutus called another stop to rest the horses.

  Florentia was only two days away, just across the mountains they were now crossing. Otto had watched for any opportunity to break free, but none had presented itself. Each time his legs were unshackled for him to dismount, Brutus ordered them chained again when his feet hit the ground.

  As the horses grazed in the long grass by a stream, Otto’s eyes scanned the road they’d just travelled.

  His back straightened. On the hill opposite them, a distant rider appeared. The short man on a tall, dark horse disappeared behind a clump of trees. Otto’s heart pumped faster as he waited for the man to reappear.

  And when he did…it wasn’t Galen. It was only a youth mounted on a dark brown horse.

  Despair gnawed at the edges o
f his mind. Then he lifted his chin. Galen would never abandon him to slavery and certain death. Galen must be alive; he was too smart to let himself get into a situation where he’d get killed easily. And Galen would find him and set him free.

  Otto closed his eyes. No matter how impossible it seemed for Galen to come, he would hang on to that hope. Without hope, a man trapped in slavery might as well die.

  Florentia, Day 21

  It was late afternoon when Florentia came into view. Otto’s gaze focused on the wooden amphitheater. It was at least twice as large as the one in Octodurus. Brutus reined in and dropped back to ride beside him. He pointed at a large brick building next to it.

  “There’s your new home, Bjorn. Ludus Florentiae.” His hand swept toward the amphitheater. “And in there lies your chance to show the men of Florentia how a true master of the gladius fights.”

  Otto snorted. “It’s wood. I expected more so close to Rome. Even the arena in Octodurus was stone.”

  “Wood, stone, it doesn’t matter when you’re on the sand. There’s talk of a new stone amphitheater that will be built east of the city in a couple of years. If the goddess Fortuna smiles on you, you’ll live long enough to fight in it.”

  A crooked smile punctuated his words before Brutus kicked his horse and trotted ahead.

  Otto didn’t believe in the Roman gods. Fortuna had no control over his future, but if he was lucky, Galen would be there to free him long before he saw the first stone laid.

  North of Cisa Pass, Day 21

  Galen turned in his saddle to face Adela. “One more night sleeping under the stars this side of Cisa Pass didn’t sound bad to me when we left Forum Novum.” He scanned the ominous bank of clouds hovering over the mountains ahead. “Now I’m not so sure. I’d like it better if we ended the day with flaming orange clouds and the promise of a clear night instead of that.”

  Adela eyed the rain clouds, and they almost brought a smile. It wouldn’t be a night of sleeping on opposite sides of a firepit if she could help it.

  “At least we have trees, and it isn’t snowing. Much better than the pass in the Alpes. We can use the lead ropes you still have. The trees are thick enough here. If we stretch them between two pairs of trees, we can drape one set of blankets over them to make a canopy. That should keep us dry if it rains in the night.”

  She pointed to a rock outcrop a short distance off the road. “And if we do it over there, the rocks will block most of the wind.”

  Galen rubbed his mouth. “We’d have to split the second bedroll, but with the cloaks, it might work.”

  Proposing a logical solution to Galen was like baiting a snare on a game trail. How could he resist?

  “I have a better plan. My cloak is too short to cover me. But if we share the bedroll like we did at Summus Poeninus, we can cover our feet and legs with one cloak and the rest of us with the other.”

  Galen’s eyebrow shot up.

  Before he could object, Adela pressed her point home. “It would be silly for us to sleep apart and be cold when we can share and be warm.”

  His mouth twitched. Was he fighting a smile himself? “You trusted me once. You can trust me again. Let’s set up the canopy before those clouds get here.”

  Adela reined her horse toward the rocks. Her smile grew broader as she contemplated another night snuggled next to Galen, basking in his warmth and under the comforting weight of his arm.

  An owl hooted in the tree above him, and Galen’s eyes popped open. He held his breath as he listened to the sounds of darkness. Nothing was moving in the woods nearby, but something much closer made him freeze.

  Adela’s arm was wrapped across his chest. She was snuggled up against his back, and he felt the heat rise as she drew the slow breaths of deep sleep.

  He wouldn’t try to move her arm. That would awaken her, and after so long in the saddle yesterday, he didn’t want to disturb the rest they both needed. Part of the time, she’d been too quiet, like her mind was a thousand stadia away. Each time he said something to her, she perked up, but maybe that was only an act.

  Moving at a caterpillar’s pace, he placed his hand over hers. She stirred, but only to snuggle in closer. Her breathing paused, then resumed at a slow, measured pace.

  Galen willed his own breathing to slow. That he could control. His heart rate…not so easy, but with many deep breaths, he finally managed.

  Adela was a truly beautiful woman. Strong and smart with a sense of humor that appreciated the quirks of his own. The kind of woman any man would be proud to make his wife.

  Almost any man. She was also a pagan. Like his sister Val before him, he would never marry someone who didn’t follow the Way.

  God, you know how much Adela attracts me. It’s you above all others, but is she the one you intend for me? Did you have me rescue her because she’s meant to be your follower, too? If she is your will for me, please give me a sign.

  Her hand slid farther across his chest, pulling her body snug against his own and ramping up his heart rate again.

  He closed his eyes, and a smile grew as he contemplated the possibilities. She’d be the perfect wife, if only she followed the Way. The right time to tell her about Jesus would come. If she was willing to listen, perhaps God had a future for them that Galen had never planned.

  Chapter 22: A Career Opportunity

  Florentia, Day 22

  Brutus sat near the top of the wooden benches overlooking the small arena at the Ludus Florentiae, watching his latest purchase spar. His opponent was one of the veterans whose skill with a gladius had earned him the position of doctor, a trainer of less-skilled fighters. For half an hour, he’d been watching Bjorn the Langobardi parry every slash and thrust and slip past the doctor’s guard to touch him with the wooden practice sword.

  In real combat with a steel sword, the doctor would be dead twenty times over.

  Brutus rubbed his fresh-shaven cheek, and his eyes narrowed. In Octodurus, Bjorn had killed three men with only twice as many strokes. With no obvious effort, he was besting a man who’d survived eight years on the sand. What was the most profitable way to use such skill?

  His lanista, Ursus, climbed the rows of benches and settled next to him with a grunt.

  Brutus tipped his head toward the tall German. “Impressive.”

  Ursus pushed his cheek out with his tongue as he ran a hand through his red hair. “Yes, but there is a problem.”

  Brutus’s brow furrowed as his gaze shifted from Bjorn to Ursus. “And that would be?”

  Ursus’s lips tightened. “He is good with a gladius, but that is all he knows. He has never been in battle. He has never fought with a shield or a longer sword. He is big and strong and, as far as I can tell, smart. But he has told me more than once he was kidnapped and he should not be a gladiator. I think there is a stubbornness there that might make him hard to train. Any stallion can be broken, but a man…what it takes to break some makes them useless when you are done. He might be one of those.”

  Brutus rested one arm across his stomach to make a resting place for his other elbow. Then he tapped his lips with a closed fist. “But with that much talent, even with only a gladius, there’s money to be made from him. But perhaps not here and perhaps not in the ordinary way.”

  Three more taps of his fist on his lips. “Send him up here.”

  Otto flexed his shoulders as the trainer walked away. It had been easy to parry every strike and get through with his own fake sword, but each time he did, the trainer’s eyes grew angrier. But what did the man expect? He wasn’t going to pretend he couldn’t fight as well as he could.

  A bucket of water sat on a stool by the wall. Otto strolled over and picked up the dipper hanging on its side. As he swallowed the tepid water that tasted like pond scum, footsteps approached from behind.

  “Bjorn.”

  Otto turned to face Ursus. “My name is Otto, son of Baldric of the Vangiones.”

  That drew the la
nista’s scowl. “Your name is whatever I call you, and in my ludus, you are Bjorn.”

  Otto’s reply froze on his lips as the lanista fingered a three-corded whip that hung from his belt. The name Ursus called him wasn’t worth a lashing.

  The lanista directed his thumb toward the benches, where Brutus lounged on one while his arms spread out to rest on the bench above. “Your owner wants to talk with you.”

  Otto’s eyes raked Ursus before he lifted them to focus on Brutus. The only owner he had was himself. But speaking that truth wasn’t worth a lashing either.

  Otto climbed the tiers of benches until he stood below Brutus on a bench that put his eyes above Brutus’s. Otto was used to looking down at other men, and Brutus was no exception, even if he did think he owned Otto.

  Brutus patted the bench beside him. “Sit. We need to talk.”

  Otto moved up to Brutus’s level and settled onto the bench. For a man who thought he owned him to speak like he would to an equal…that triggered a wave of suspicion.

  Brutus shifted to face him, and Otto did the same.

  “Where did you get your training with the gladius?”

  “Germania Superior.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “The husband of my trading partner’s sister. He fought with a legion there. I’ve told you I’m Otto, son of Baldric of the Vangiones. My partner and I were selling horses in Argentorate when I was kidnapped. I shouldn’t be in this arena at all. I’m a free man, and you should let me return home.”

  The corner of Brutus’s mouth pulled up as he swept away Otto’s words with a flick of his hand. “I paid 1200 denarii for you. I have a certified bill of sale from the questor in Octodurus. You may not think you’re Bjorn of the Langobardi, but you’re anything I want to call you until you fight so well in the arena that some sponsor of the games decides to free you and pays the price I set on you.”