Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  “Voluptas meus est.” She grinned at him. “I knew that phrase would be good to remember. It truly is my pleasure to be in this hunt.”

  The smile that greeted her words was the smile of morning.

  “Time to find a place for the night. I want an early start tomorrow.”

  He nudged his horse into a faster walk, and she did the same. A quick glance at his profile, and she knew one thing beyond any doubt. Being in the hunt with him wasn’t just pleasure; it was delight.

  Chapter 26: An Auspicious Beginning

  Roma, Day 27

  In his head, Otto knew Rome was big, but that still didn’t prepare him for the sight of a city that seemed to stretch forever.

  Brutus led his party under a tree at the side of the road. “Before we go further, it’s time for a change.” His fingers snapped. “Rufus, the ropes.”

  Rufus slipped from his horse, and untied Otto’s ankles. He gathered the rope in loops around his bent arm before handing it to Africanus. The chain holding the key to the wrist shackles hung on a chain around Brutus’s neck. Brutus lifted it over his head and tossed the key to Rufus. Otto extended his arms so Rufus could unlock them. Rufus handed the shackles to Africanus, who slipped them into the sack tied at the back of his saddle. Then Rufus remounted.

  Otto’s heart began to race. Hands and feet free, mounted on a quality horse…

  Brutus reached over and unclipped the lead rope from Otto’s horse.

  Otto’s head snapped back, which drew a chuckle from Brutus. “Don’t think any of this means I’m setting you free. You’ll ride next to me, and Africanus and Rufus will be right behind.”

  The corner of his mouth pulled up. “I think you’re smart enough that you won’t try to run. The better you cooperate, the better your life will be. You can live caged when you’re not teaching, or you can have some freedom to move around the ludus. If you work hard and prove reliable, you’ll get to go to the circus with an escort. The best horses in the Empire race at the Circus Maximus. Watching them is a suitable reward for a horseman like yourself.”

  His twisted smile grew. “You might someday earn the privileges of Rufus and Africanus. They have the freedom to go to the circus, the baths, anywhere else in Rome they want without being watched.” His arm swept toward Rufus and Africanus and got two grins in response. “In fact, these men are my watchers.”

  Otto gave Brutus the smile he knew he wanted. “I’ll stay right beside you today. I’m no fool.”

  Brutus slapped Otto’s arm. “Then it’s time to introduce Bjorn of the Langobardi to the people of Roma.”

  A cream-colored building the size of a small hill rose to the right. Several circular stories, each smaller than the one below it, rose to the height of at least 20 men. Bushes were planted on each level, with cypress trees on the top, surrounding the conical roof atop a circle of columns and a huge bronze statue of a Roman officer.

  Brutus pointed at it. “The Mausoleum of Augustus.”

  Otto’s mouth turned down before he could stop it. “I have no interest in a monument to the Roman general who led the legions against my ancestors.”

  Brutus choked back a laugh. “Not the response I want, Bjorn, but the one I expect. That was a long time ago. Now Germania Superior can boast that Trajan was governor there when he became emperor. And Emperor Hadrian is inspecting his legions on the Rhenus this year. You’ve missed seeing him there, but maybe you’ll see him in the imperial box at the games sometime.”

  The corner of Otto’s mouth lifted. “The chariot races sound worth watching. The Emperor…I don’t care if I ever see him.”

  Brutus’s mouth twitched. “Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant. ‘We who are about to die salute you.’ To stand before the emperor is a great honor. But if you earn enough as a trainer, that honor won’t have to be yours.

  “Now ride proudly and stay right beside me. It’s time to start showing Roma what a German chieftain from the Northlands looks like.”

  Otto’s brow furrowed. “But I’m from Germania Superior, and it’s my father who’s the chieftain of the Vangiones.”

  Brutus chuckled, but his eyes chilled. “So you tell me, and between you and me, I admit it is a possibility. But the men of Roma never need to hear that, and you’d better not tell them. We’re in the business of entertainment, and the truth of the matter is of no importance here.”

  Brutus cuffed Otto on the back of his head and urged his horse forward. Otto fought the urge to strike him back…and won. But he nudged his own horse to bring its head up even with Brutus’s.

  Then the corner of his mouth pulled up. Galen was a master at sloughing off the many insults his short stature drew from those who weren’t even half the man Galen was. To win Brutus’s trust, he needed to follow Galen’s lead.

  A man dressed in a tunic with two wide purple stripes that marked him as senatorial order rode toward them.

  Brutus raised his hand. “Salve, Sabinus. It’s been a month since I saw you last at the races. I trust all goes well with you.”

  Sabinus reined in beside Brutus. “It does. And with you?”

  “Very well. I’ve just returned from Octodurus. I visited my estate to buy additional land, but when I went to the games there, I also found a unique addition for the familia gladiatoria Bruti.”

  He placed his hand on Otto’s upper arm and squeezed. Otto tensed, and his bicep bulged. The corners of Brutus’s eyes crinkled. “This is Bjorn of the Langobardi. He’s a true master with the gladius. I watched him kill three men in a three-on-three like it was child’s play. I bought him for Florentia, but he got a practice sword past an eight-year veteran of the games twenty times over at my ludus there. Such talent would be wasted anywhere but Roma herself.”

  Brutus’s smile broadened. “I’ll have Bjorn available as a sparring partner by tomorrow. His Latin is good, so he can serve as a personal trainer as well. I heard your nephew is soon to begin the cursus honorum with his first posting to one of the legions in Dacia. Some training with an expert before going could prove life-saving. Perhaps your brother would like to avail himself of the opportunity Bjorn can provide.”

  Sabinus’s mouth first curved down, then up. “Gaius could certainly use some improvement in his swordsmanship. I’m on my way to my brother’s villa now. I’ll mention Bjorn to him.”

  Sabinus nudged his horse into a walk, then turned in the saddle to look back. “I’ll probably try him out myself when I return. Vale, Brutus.”

  When the senator was out of earshot, Brutus turned to Otto and grinned. “An auspicious beginning, Bjorn. And except for where you came from, everything I said was truth. Even that agrees with the bill of sale. A good businessman never lies about the important things if he can avoid it.”

  An arched gate wide enough to let two wagons pass through at once loomed ahead, but before they reached it, Brutus reined in.

  His hand swept toward the gate. “Porta Fontinalis…the gateway to life in Rome.”

  The arch of the city gate blocked the sun as they rode through, and Otto’s jaw clenched. Cross-country trips selling horses, nights by a campfire laughing at Galen’s jokes, feasts at his father’s table when all the family gathered―one night of drinking and stupidity had swept it all away. Was going to the baths unescorted the best he could hope for now?

  Despair nipped at his heels, but he kicked it in the teeth as he relaxed his jaw. Inside the walls of Rome or outside, life held possibilities. He needed to figure out how to get to them. Right now, that meant letting Brutus think he owned him and acting as if he thought so himself.

  Galen always said his god would give him strength to do whatever was needed, but Galen’s god was not Otto’s god. He would have to find the strength on his own…somehow.

  He glanced at Brutus. If he had to have an owner, he could do worse. Brutus held the power of life and death, and he wouldn’t hesitate to exercise it. But at least he treated his slaves like the men they were, n
ot brute animals.

  Brutus nudged his horse, and they rode on toward the dense cluster of towering white buildings that proclaimed Rome’s power and self-importance to all who saw them.

  But Otto paid them scant attention. It was almost four weeks and more than five thousand stadia since Argentorate, and Galen hadn’t found him. Maybe he never would. Maybe he’d given up, but that wasn’t likely. Not Galen.

  Maybe he was dead. If he caught up with Gundahar and Gerlach, that was a real possibility. Two against one when those two were snakes were bad odds, even for a man with Galen’s quick thinking and quicker sword. Had his own stupidity cost his friend’s life?

  Otto slumped in his saddle.

  Brutus’s fist slammed into his ribs.

  “Ride proudly, Bjorn of the Langobardi. No true Roman wants to fight with a man who acts defeated even before the contest.”

  Otto’s lips tightened as he squared his shoulders. His gaze raked Brutus before he returned it to the monuments to Roman arrogance rising ahead of him.

  Brutus chuckled. “That’s better. A look of defiance is good…as long as it’s only a look.”

  Otto turned his face away. Brutus was too good at reading his thoughts. It was time to start making Brutus think he’d reconciled himself to doing whatever he was told and making the best of it. Even if Galen never found him, the time would come when Brutus let down his guard. Then Bjorn of the Langobardi would walk out of Rome and vanish, leaving Otto of the Vangiones to make his way home.

  Otto walked beside Brutus as they left the Baths of Trajan. Rufus and Africanus stayed close enough there’d be no chance to escape.

  Brutus’s whole face radiated smug satisfaction. “I’m pleased with this advertising campaign so far today. Ten friends met, and three sons or nephews will be coming to train. Three friends coming to spar as well. Word will spread quickly if you train and spar well. Then your position off the sand will be assured.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “The timing of our arrival was most fortunate. In that giggling group of girls who couldn’t keep their eyes off you were two who often come to watch from the balcony.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a half grin. “I like to cultivate the appreciation of my fighters while they’re young. Some return when they’re grown women, and those can prove valuable.”

  After collecting their horses, they rode to the ludus. In the stable yard, a slave scurried over to take Brutus’s horse first, then Otto’s. Rufus and Africanus rode over to the stalls for their animals and dismounted to stable the horses themselves.

  Brutus slapped Africanus’s bicep as he walked past. “Good trip, men. You two can take tomorrow off.”

  His words were greeted with “thank you, master” and smiles.

  Otto followed Brutus toward the sound of wood striking wood and entered the practice arena. A middle-aged man with a wicked-looking scar running from forehead to chin stood with fists on his hips. He slipped off his eyepatch and rubbed where his eye had once been. As he replaced the eyepatch, he caught sight of them.

  “Master Brutus. It is good to see you back.” A calculating eye took Otto’s measure, and the growing frown declared Otto’s failure to satisfy the lanista’s expectations for a gladiator.

  “What is this you brought to me?”

  “Bjorn of the Langobardi. He’s a special acquisition. Not a warrior, but his skill with the gladius is unusual. He should prove highly profitable training young men and sparring with more mature ones. I took him to the Baths on the way here. I have no doubt he’ll draw the girls and women, too.”

  The lanista’s gaze raked Otto from sole to hairline. “This one will run. He needs a collar first thing.”

  Brutus’s eyes narrowed as he scanned Otto. “I’m certain he can imagine what some of the punishments for runaway slaves are.” He rubbed his lower lip. “Most would make it hard for you to fight or train, and that’s not something either of us want. The owner of the estate east of mine cuts off a runner’s toes. Some brand with FUG, but that might make you less attractive to the women, so…” Brutus traced the three letters on Otto’s forehead, “I’d rather not brand you. Is my lanista right that you’re going to run at the first chance?”

  Otto’s lips tightened. “I keep telling you I’m no fool.”

  Laughter rumbled in Brutus’s chest. “And that evasive response answers my question. If you’d told me no, I’d know you’re a liar. Only a fool would lie to me, knowing I’ll catch him in it. Betrayal of any trust I place in you will be punished. Your life here will be much better if you remain an honest man.”

  Brutus turned toward the lanista and tilted his head toward Otto. “Collar him.”

  Otto cringed when the lanista slipped the bronze band around his neck. It took all the willpower he had not to rip it off before the lanista pushed the copper pin through the holes in both ends and crimped it with heavy iron pliers so the pin could no longer be pulled out.

  He wrapped his fingers around the bronze collar. It was loose enough, but it still felt like it was strangling him.

  Brutus slipped his fingers into the space between the collar and Otto’s neck. He slid them along the edge from ear to ear. “Smooth enough. It shouldn’t cause you any problem.” The crooked smile appeared. “I prefer a bronze design with the inscription on the collar instead of a tag on an iron ring. It doesn’t say ‘Seize me. I’m a runaway.’ It only says you’re the property of this ludus. Think of it as a torc with your tribal insignia, like some Britons wear. Even with the inscription, it looks good on a Langobardian chieftain.”

  Otto opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Brutus pushed up on his chin.

  “I know. You’re not Langobardian, and it’s your father who’s the chieftain. That might have been true in Germania, but in this ludus and anyplace else in Roma, I decide what’s true about you. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

  The lanista lifted the three-cord whip from the hook on his belt. “I can adjust his thoughts.”

  Brutus rested his hand on the lanista’s whip arm. “That won’t be necessary. Bjorn understands his place here.” His gaze locked on Otto. “Don’t you.”

  Otto nodded. Brutus’s gaze shifted to his lanista. “Take him to his cell. He could use some rest until dinner.” His eyes swiveled back toward Otto. “And some time to think about making wise choices.”

  The lanista flicked the whip toward an open door. “You heard your master. Get moving.”

  As Otto started down the hallway to the cell block, his hand gripped the bronze collar. Whatever goes on can come off. If―no…when Galen came, he would find a way to set Otto free.

  Chapter 27: Not the Same at All

  Just north of Roma, Day 31

  When Adela closed her eyes, she could once more see the sunlight dancing on Lacus Volsiniensis as the soaring white bird that Galen called a larus swooped down, skimmed the water, and rose again with a fish in its beak.

  They’d passed so many farms and vineyards and orchards that she’d lost count, but Galen never seemed to tire of pointing out something new and teaching her the Latin name.

  As they approached a sign post with an arrow pointing east, he reined in.

  “Read that, and then tell me what’s up that road.”

  “M Aug Veiens.” Adela rubbed her chin. “Aug…is that Augustus or Augustum? It can’t be Augusta because Veiens doesn’t end in A.”

  His grin proclaimed his pleasure at her knowing.

  “Augustum is correct. And the M?”

  “Mons? There are mountains over there.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Good guess with a good reason for it…but it’s wrong. Municipium. Town.

  “More than five hundred years ago, Rome started expanding its control here. The first war for conquest was with Etruscan Veii. Wars, actually, since there were fourteen of them. The last one ended in a ten-year siege. The Roman army finally tunneled under the walls to take the city. They destroyed V
eii, but it was rebuilt later as Municipium Augustum Veiens. Since then, Rome has conquered most of the world.”

  Adela raised her chin. “The Romans never conquered the Hermunduri. No Roman army could break the spirit of my people and take our land.”

  Galen’s perpetual smile morphed into a grin. “If the Hermunduri warriors are anything like you, I’d hate to be in the legion that tried.”

  He nudged his horse, and they rode past the signpost.

  Adela’s gaze stayed fixed on his grin as it faded. No Roman legion could conquer her people, but there was one Roman who’d already captured her heart.

  Maybe that was because she laughed more every day with him than she ever had before. Galen could take anything and turn it funny. The only time she saw her father and his friends laugh was when they’d been drinking too long.

  Galen’s head turned, and he caught her watching him. His smile broadened, and that shot heat to the tips of her ears. The smile turned into a grin before he looked back down the road.

  As her ears cooled, she found herself mirroring his grin.

  No, her father’s laughter wasn’t the same as Galen’s. Not the same at all.

  Roma, Day 31

  Galen pulled a deep breath and blew it out as they approached Rome. Somewhere in that city, Otto waited for him. But it was late afternoon, and he needed to find a safe place to stable his horses and spend the night. That had been easy enough in the smaller towns where he could ask at a garrison or a shop where the proprietor seemed honest. But in a city of a million people, with “provincial” written all over him for any scoundrel to read, how could he find someone he could trust?

  God, please protect us here in the belly of the beast. Guide me to one of Yours who can tell me where to go.

  “Galen.” The tension in Adela’s voice echoed his own uncertainty. “It’s too big. How will we ever find a safe place to stay?”