by Carol Ashby
Even with his hands shackled, Otto had no trouble staying mounted. When the stallion’s hooves hit the ground again, he leaned forward to put his lips by the horse’s ear.
“Calm, boy. Steady, boy.” He gathered the chain between his wrists in one hand so it wouldn’t jingle and stroked the horse’s neck.
The lead rope was long, and Africanus had moved the full length of it away from the frightened animal.
Otto straightened, and the horse started fidgeting again as the chain links under its belly jingled every time it moved.
Brutus rubbed the back of his neck. “I bought the wrong horse.”
Otto bent close to the horse’s ear again. “That’s a good boy. Calm down. Steady now.”
The stallion shuddered, then relaxed.
Otto straightened and fixed his gaze on Brutus. “The horse will be a problem as long as my legs are shackled, but I can keep him calm if they aren’t.”
Brutus’s head tipped as his gaze flipped between Otto and the horse. “Rufus, take the leg shackles off.”
As the redhead moved to obey, Otto fought to suppress a smile. Wrist shackles alone wouldn’t stop him from making a break for freedom. He sat on a horse at least as good as the one Brutus rode and better than the bodyguards’ mounts.
Brutus’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking, Bjorn.” He rubbed his lip. “And I’m not giving you that chance.” He turned to Ursus. “Get some rope. That’s as good as a chain but without the noise.”
The Roman’s mouth curved into a smile, but the chill in his eyes left no doubt of his irritation. “Only a fool would risk losing the opportunity I’m giving you.” He crossed his arms. “You told me your father raised no fools. This is your one chance to prove it. Do I leave you here to train to fight and die, or do you willingly come with me to Roma to train others and live?”
Otto’s brow furrowed as he studied Brutus. Then he made his face relax. “I’m no fool. I’ll go to Rome.”
The lanista returned with a five-foot length of rope. He wrapped it several times around Otto’s right ankle before tying a knot. Then he flipped it under the stallion’s belly and tied his left ankle.
Brutus slapped Otto’s thigh as he walked past to mount his own horse. “Good choice, Bjorn of the Langobardi. Keep making good ones, and we’ll both be happier.”
Luna, Day 23
The bed was soft and the covers warm as Adela drifted from sleep into drowsy wakefulness. She’d slept in the tunic Galen bought her in Octodurus. Today she would dress in the linen tunic with the flower garlands that matched the dark blue sash. A slow smile curved her lips. On the way back to the inn from the baths, he’d said the blue made her ice-blue eyes seem bigger and bluer than any he’d ever seen.
She would leave her hair down. Perhaps he’d liken it to rippling wheat again. Her smile broadened. He might even push a strand behind her ear to keep it off her face.
She swung her feet out of the bed, stood, and stretched. As she slipped the linen tunic over her head, the faint smell of roses teased her nostrils. Galen had said she smelled like the gardens of his childhood, and then his resting smile grew into a dancing one.
A soft knock on the door was followed by his deep voice. “Adela? Are you awake now?”
“Yes.”
“We can get breakfast when you’re ready.”
“I’ll only be a moment.” She ran the comb he’d bought her in Argentorate through her thick, lustrous tresses to remove the tangles, then fluffed her hair with her fingers.
When she opened the door, he was leaning against the wall, eyes closed. They popped open as she stepped into the hall beside him, and then crinkled as a welcoming smile curved his lips.
“Grab what needs washing. The innkeeper will get that done for us.” He scooped up a bundle of clothing he’d left just inside the door. “I’ve also talked with him about what we should see. It should be an interesting day.”
He locked the door, hung the cord that held the key around his neck, and dropped the key inside his shirt. Then, with a wave of his hand, he invited her to go down the stairs ahead of him. With each step, her smile grew. Interesting was too vague a word to describe the day she expected. But what was the right word to describe a day with the man who could turn the dullest thing into laughter and delight?
The large gray and white birds with red bills, black heads, and webbed feet screamed overhead as Adela followed Galen along the road above the piers.
Her breath caught. Boats as wide as the houses in her village and at least four times as long rode on the waves in the harbor. Near the center was a pole as tall as the pine trees they’d ridden past between Octodurus and Augusta Praetoria. Another shorter pole stuck out the front at an angle. Crosswise with those poles were others that had bundles of cloth tied to them.
Galen’s deep voice spoke beside her. “Those are merchant ships, corbitae, that carry cargo to different ports. They might go even farther than we’ve ridden before they unload.”
She pointed to the one farthest out. “Look at the little boats pulling the big one.”
She turned her face toward Galen and found him looking at her with the crooked smile that usually accompanied a surprise.
“Those are the rowboats that pulled it away from the pier after they loaded it. Keep your eyes on that one. We’re about to see something special.”
Her gaze locked on the ship. A man scampered up the pole. Then what had looked like a bundle opened into a sheet that looked big enough to cover a small house in her village. The wind caught the sheet and it billowed out.
Her fingers flew to her mouth. “It’s beautiful!”
“That’s the sail, velum. Watch and the smaller one at the front will open, too.”
“The corbita’s going faster and faster.”
“The wind pushes against the sails. The sailors adjust them to control how fast they go. There’s a pair of rudders that steer it.”
“Have you ever been on one?
The crooked smile reappeared. “No, I’ve only read about them.”
He took her hand. The warmth of his palm against hers and the security of his fingers wrapping around her own triggered heat that spread through her whole body. She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush.
His voice drew her eyes back toward his face. “I’d take you down on the pier, but we shouldn’t get in the way of the slaves loading the cargo.”
Adela scanned the faces of the line of men with bags on their shoulders. Like two streams of ants, they entered the ship loaded and came out with nothing.
Her mouth drooped as she turned her eyes back toward his. “They look sad.”
His eyes chilled as he watched the men. “It’s a hard life. No man should be treated like an animal by another man, but that’s the Roman way.”
The warmth returned as he turned his eyes back on her. “I’m sorry Otto got so drunk he got himself kidnapped, but I am glad he gambled and won you. No woman should be any man’s slave.”
Looking into his eyes started to heat her cheeks again, so she shifted her gaze to a block of white rock that swung from ropes over the other ship tied at the pier. “Why are they loading a rock?”
“That’s marble. The block might be carved into a statue.”
“That must take a long time.”
“It does. Maybe we can find a sculptor and watch him carve for a while.” He pushed the loose strand of hair back from his forehead. “But before we do that, I have a surprise.”
He took her hand and led her along the road until they reached a spot where they could go down to the beach. Then he led her to the water’s edge.
He squatted at the edge and scooped some water into his palm. The tip of his tongue touched the water he held. That drew a smile before he offered it to her.
She lowered her head so her tongue could reach the water. “It’s salty!”
“Surprised?” He poured the water on the sand.
Her grin spread as she nodded.
Galen offered his hand, and she took it. “Let’s see if we can find a sculptor to watch.”
As he led her from the sand to the road, she intertwined her fingers with his. The perpetual smile that lurked on his lips grew broader.
When his fingers squeezed hers, she felt the pressure on her heart. Four weeks, and she’d be back with her father. But home was no longer four weeks away with the Hermunduri. It was anywhere Galen Crassus was. How could she bear to part from him when that time came?
Galen pushed back from the table and stretched out in the chair. He laced his fingers and rested his palms atop his head.
“Nothing tastes better than a good stew at day’s end. My sister Val can take this and that and make something so good I want four or five bowls, but there’s something in this one…I’m not sure what it is, but I’d like to take some back for her.”
From the table next to them, the soft gurgles of a baby drew his gaze. “That little one looks like my niece Priscilla.” The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Babies are cute, but I like them better when they can walk and talk. My nephews are four and six.” His smile grew. “Those are good ages.”
Adela’s gaze locked on the cooing infant. The smile that had been dancing on her lips stiffened. Then she looked away.
“Adela?”
She turned her face toward him. Something about it seemed veiled.
“Is something wrong?”
Her mouth smiled, but not her eyes. “No. Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired.”
“Then let’s go to bed now. I’d like to get an early start tomorrow.” His grin leaked out. “Tomorrow might be the day we find Otto.”
He stood. “Why don’t you go up first? I want to ask the cook what’s in the stew. Then I’ll join you.”
As she climbed the stairs, he watched her. Something more than fatigue was wrong. But if she didn’t want to tell him, he couldn’t make her.
The bed was comfortable enough, but sleep eluded Adela. The soft sounds of Galen breathing reached her from where he’d placed his bedroll to block the door. Normally that soothed her, but not tonight.
The shining day exploring with Galen had been tarnished by the soft cries of the baby. Gundahar’s words kept playing in her mind. Her days of a woman should have started more than a week ago.
If she were alone, she’d rise and go for a walk in the moonlight. In the days after Mother died, when her heart was bleeding, she crept out of her father’s house and paced under the stars. A chieftain’s daughter was supposed to be strong. Grief was something to be locked inside. But some things hurt too much to stay caged. The moon and stars would never tell anyone about the tears that wet her cheeks and the silent sobs that shook her body.
Maybe her days were late only because they’d travelled so far. So many hours in the saddle…surely that could change things from normal. Maybe that was all it was. But as she stared at the ceiling, a tear escaped and trickled down into her ear.
Then Adela forced her breathing to synchronize with Galen’s, and sleep finally came.
Chapter 25: The Price of a Man
Florentia, Day 26
Otto hadn’t been in Luca, but Galen’s smile grew when the wooden amphitheater of Florentia appeared in the distance.
He beamed at Adela as she rode close beside him. “The lanista in Luca said they never start a man out in Rome, so Otto must be here.” His grin broadened. “The look on his face when I show up…that will be fun to see.”
Adela’s smile looked forced. “He’ll be surprised you came so far.”
Galen shook his head. “No. He would know I’d come for him, whatever it took. He’d do the same for me. It’s his grin I’m looking forward to.”
“I saw it when he won me.”
Galen’s head tilted. “You don’t have to worry that he’ll think he owns you. I’ll set him straight on that.” He rubbed his mouth. “After what he’s been through, he’ll never want to make someone else a slave.”
When they reached the amphitheater, a heavily muscled, redheaded man sat under a spreading tree nearby. A carved stone bench had been set close, and the man sat with his arms crossed and eyes closed as he leaned against the trunk, relaxing in the dappled shade.
Galen turned Astrelo toward him and reined in just short of the tree’s dripline.
The man’s eyes opened.
“Salve. I’m looking for the ludus of Marcus Antonius Brutus.”
The corner of the man’s mouth pulled up. He uncrossed his arms. “Fortuna has smiled upon you. You have found the man in charge of it.” He leaned forward. “Ursus Thrax.”
Galen swung his leg over Astrelo’s neck and slid off. “Galen Crassus.”
Ursus’s lips twitched as he scanned Galen head to foot. “Do you need to rent one of my men as a bodyguard? Or maybe you need a man big enough to take care of a problem for you.”
“Neither. I’m looking for a particular man, one who might have just arrived.”
Ursus’s eyebrow rose. “Bjorn of the Langobardi?”
“Yes, but his real name is Otto―”
“Of the Vangiones.” A chuckle rumbled up from deep within. “He told me so more than once.”
Galen’s couldn’t stop the grin. “So he’s here.”
“No.”
Galen’s brow furrowed. “Not here?”
“Bjorn needs much training to be ready to fight in the arena. Brutus would have left him for me to train if he had not been so good with the gladius.” Ursus rubbed the red stubble on his chin. “Marcus Brutus has a keen eye for this business, and he never misses an easy way to make money. Bjorn offers one.”
“How?”
“Brutus can rent him out as a sparring partner and trainer. He can probably book him for at least five or six sessions a day, maybe more. Bjorn should earn as much or more in a year as a dead Class 1 with little risk of him dying. He could bring in good money for years.”
Galen’s stomach knotted. Otto could do an excellent job as a trainer, if he kept his disdain for Romans from showing. Would that make his owner refuse to sell?
God, don’t let that happen. Let me buy him out of bondage.
Galen stroked the scar. “I’ve been told a Class 3 costs 2500 denarii, but what does a Class 1 cost?”
“They are 3750, but Class 1s are rare. Most games in Rome book Class 2 as their best fighters. Those are 3000 dead. There is a drop of 500 denarii between classes. Nothing lower than Class 6 is likely in the games there.
“Brutus never fights less than a Class 5 in Rome. He builds their rank here and in Luca before taking them to fight in the big shows. Dead, they bring 1500 denarii.”
Galen’s brow furrowed. “What do they cost alive?”
Ursus’s mouth pulled sideways and up. “Whatever he can get for them. He is a shrewd trader.”
Galen’s jaw clenched. Would a live man cost more than twice a dead one? What remained of the horse money was less than 4000 denarii.
Ursus’s red eyebrows bounced once. “Fortuna smiled on your friend when Brutus bought him. He will make him a trainer for young nobles, not a simple gladiator. Bjorn will train to use a shield so he can fight as provocator or secutor. But if he makes enough as a trainer, Brutus will never put him on the sand in real combat.”
Galen drew a deep breath and blew it out. “That does sound better, but I would rather have found him here. Where in Rome is Brutus’s ludus? How many days to ride there?”
“Just north of the Amphitheater off the Vicus Sandaliarius, on the edge of Subura.”
Ursus rubbed the back of his neck. “For a man to ride there…four and a half, maybe five days.” He scanned Galen’s stallions, but his gaze settled on Adela. “You have good horses, but the girl could slow you down. If she is for sale, I would be interested.”
Galen glanced at Adela. No indignation flamed in her eyes; she hadn’t understood the lanista’s wor
ds.
“My thanks to you, Ursus, but we’ll both go on to Rome.”
The lanista leaned back against the trunk. “Fortuna may smile on Bjorn a second time. If you can strike a deal with Brutus, he may become Otto again.”
Galen jumped to lay his stomach on Astrelo’s back, then swung his leg over his rump and settled into the saddle. He forced a smile. “I’m counting on it, Ursus.”
Adela caught a few words of Galen’s conversation with the man under the tree, but not enough to know all they said. Lanista and ludus told her he was with the gladiator school they sought. Bjorn and Otto told her the man knew Galen’s friend. Five days told her how long they would be riding before they reached Rome.
But she didn’t need all the words to understand. She watched every twitch of Galen’s mouth and tensing of his shoulders. His final smile was not the one that greeted her in the morning. Something was wrong.
As the horses started walking, she cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?”
His lips tightened as he shook his head. “Maybe nothing. Otto has gone on to the ludus in Rome. He should be there whenever we arrive.” He rubbed his chin. “But I’m not sure how much he’s going to cost. Brutus has a scheme to make money with him as a trainer, and I have no idea how he’s going to price him.”
“You have a lot of money from the horses.”
“Yes…and no. I have 3900 denarii, but from what Ursus told me, that might not be enough.” A deep sigh escaped. “I hate the way they set a price on a man, as if he were nothing more than an ox for work or slaughter. Every man is precious in the eyes of God, and none of them should die for another man’s afternoon entertainment.”
“Because of you, Otto will not die.”
Galen took a deep breath and forced it out through his nose. “No, he won’t. Whatever it takes, I’ll set him free.”
The tension drained from his face. “I’m glad you’re with me in the hunt. It makes all this easier.”