Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Otto’s not worth 9000. He’ll never be a Class 2. He is, as you say, exceptionally good with a gladius against someone who’s never seen him fight before, but don’t gladiators study their opponents? He’s no warrior. The first time he ever killed was in the arena in Octodurus. You saw him fight there. It’s all sword work and nothing else. He’s never fought with a shield. He only knows how to spar close in with another fighter using a gladius. He knows nothing about fighting anyone who’s expert at striking from a longer distance.”

  Galen tightened his lips as he shook his head. “Maybe some will pay two denarii a half hour now, but how many can there be and how long will they want to train with him once they learn his tricks? Even I beat him more than half the time when we spar, and look at me.”

  Brutus’s eyebrow cocked and his mouth twisted as he fought back a laugh. “You’ve beaten him?”

  “Many times. Do you want a demonstration? Or maybe you want to try me yourself. Real swords, of course, but I’ll stop short of the kill. I don’t want to be charged with your murder while I’m visiting Rome.”

  Laughter exploded from deep within Brutus. When it subsided, he covered his mouth with his hand and wiped a huge grin away.

  Galen’s head tipped as he gazed at Brutus. Proud and so sure of his superiority to a runt from Germania. God had just shown him the way to a price he could afford. Time to dangle the bait. “I’m not joking. I can beat him easily. He’s not worth 9000. A dead Class 4 is worth 2000 denarii.” He rubbed his chin. “The first time you fight him, that’s the most you’ll collect, but I’m willing to offer you the value of a dead Class 2. That’s 3000 denarii…if you can beat me.”

  “That’s an absurd offer. But…if you can best me sparring, I might lower the price to 7000.”

  One tweak of the pride of a sporting man, and the game was on.

  “Too high. Even a Class 1 in the biggest Imperial games isn’t worth 4000. No one will want to pay more than the Class 5 rate after they see him on the sand. Even though it’s more than twice what he can earn you, I might go to 3800 if you give me a good fight before I win.”

  “Between what he cost and the time it took to get him here, I have more than that invested in him. I never sell at a loss.” The arrogant grin leaked out again as he crossed his arms and looked down at Galen “But I’ve never fought a r…man of your stature, and it might be amusing.”

  Galen tilted his head and stroked his scar again. “I’ve fought men much bigger than you, and it is amusing.”

  Brutus almost choked trying not to laugh. “I’ll give you credit for confidence. And for that, I’ll split the difference. Say 5400.” Brutus smirked as he looked down his nose at Galen. “That’s my final price. If you can’t pay it, no sale.”

  Galen glanced at Otto. “A moment alone with my friend.”

  Brutus waved him toward Otto and strolled across the arena to talk with his lanista.

  Otto’s eyes clouded as his shoulders drooped. “I know you can’t pay that. Even if you could sell Astrelo and my stallion for top money, you’d still be short.” He closed his eyes as he drew a deep breath. Then his eyes opened as he forced it out fast through his nostrils and squared his shoulders. “Brutus isn’t planning to fight me in the arena any time soon. He knows I’ll die in the first bout. He only plans to rent me out to spar with any Roman who wants to practice and to entertain the women who come to watch gladiators. It won’t be so bad.”

  His shoulders drooped again. “I’m only here because I didn’t listen to you. I had to get drunk and gamble. I told Brutus my father raised no fools, but I’m the biggest fool I’ve ever known.”

  Galen dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “Don’t despair yet. I know I’m 1600 short right now, but I have a rich relative who should be here in Rome. I’m going to fight Brutus, and after I win, I’ll get the extra money from him.”

  Otto’s voice dropped as well. “But didn’t your father barely get out of Rome ahead of the soldiers who came to arrest him? Will any Licinius Crassus be willing to help you after the scandal his faith caused?”

  For Otto’s sake, Galen made the corner of his mouth lift. “Roman family ties are stronger than most, even when someone is disowned for following the Way. After I beat Brutus, I’ll go ask for the money.”

  The hope those words fired in Otto’s eyes drew a genuine smile to Galen’s lips. But if Otto knew which man Galen planned to ask, he’d tell Galen not to risk it. It could easily turn fatal.

  The only rich man Galen knew in Rome was his sister’s father-in-law, Tiberius Cornelius Lentulus. He’d hunted Christians as governor of Germania Superior and declared his only son dead when Dec chose Jesus over Rome. If Lentulus learned of Galen’s faith, Otto wouldn’t be the first one to die on the arena sand.

  But Jesus had said there was no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend. Otto was as good a friend as any man could have. Saving him was worth any risk.

  The sound of sword on shield drew Galen’s gaze. Brutus had a metal guard on his sword arm. He held gladius and shield and was warming up with one of his gladiators. Galen froze his face to block a frown. Like Otto, he knew nothing of shields, and he was too small for any of the armor a ludus would have, anyway.

  Otto gripped his arm. “You can’t go up against that. I don’t want you dead as well as me.”

  Galen patted Otto’s hand and lifted it off his arm. “I won’t have to. Brutus will fight by our rules: no armor, no shield, only a gladius. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  He sauntered across the arena to join his opponent.

  “I’m sure you want a fair contest. Like Otto, I’ve never used a shield or armor.” He scanned the rack of shields sized for big, muscular men in mortal combat. “I see nothing my size. Besides, shields are for battle, and this is only a friendly contest to set a price. So…it’s gladius only for us.”

  Brutus’s brow furrowed. “I always fight fair, and it wouldn’t be right to make you use a shield almost as big as you are.”

  He returned the shield to the rack and held out his arm for the gladiator to loosen the straps. When the arm guard fell away, he swept his hand toward the center of the arena.

  “Gladius only. Let’s begin.”

  Galen rubbed his hands together. “I’ll have to use one of your gladii. I left mine at the inn where I stabled my stallion and Otto’s horse. I assumed a dagger would be the most I’d need walking through Rome.”

  Brutus tightened his mouth to hide a grin. “You brought Bjorn’s horse along? You were that sure you’d find him?”

  “Of course. I wasn’t going to quit until I did.”

  Brutus’s eyebrows rose as his head pulled back. “Well, you found him. Now let’s see if you can earn the right to buy him at the agreed price.”

  He waved his hand toward a man who was polishing the shields. “My armorer will show you some to choose among. You’ll probably find them better than what you’re used to. My men only fight with the best.”

  Galen followed the armorer into a storage room. Rack after rack of gleaming weapons lined one wall. On the other wall, polished steel helmets, metal and padded-leather arm guards, and greaves to protect the lower legs sat on shelves. The man led him to the gladius rack and stepped back.

  He lifted a sword from the rack. The handle nestled in his hand like it was shaped for it. The blade was perfectly symmetrical, and the edge was sharp enough for shaving. The only sword he’d ever held of that quality was the custom gladius Dec had used when he was a tribune in the legion. After a few flicks and twists of his wrist and a couple of lunges to get the feel of it, he replaced it and selected the next one in the rack. Equally well crafted, perfectly balanced…Brutus was right about only giving his men the best.

  After trying two more, he selected the first and returned to the sand.

  Brutus stood, legs spread, arms crossed with the flat of his blade resting against his shoulde
r. “What rules?”

  Galen rubbed the back of his neck. “Felix calls the start of each round. The round lasts until one touches the other with his sword. The touch has to be with the flat side of the sword so neither of us gets hurt. First to touch the other three times wins.”

  The corner of Brutus’s mouth pulled up into a wry smile. “You’re certain you want to do this with real swords, Crassus? We could use wooden ones and count any touch. Touching with the flat means getting in closer. My arms are much longer than yours. I have an unfair advantage.”

  Galen made his own mouth mirror Brutus’s. “An unfair advantage? Perhaps not. Your arms aren’t that much longer, and I’m a smaller target. I’ll take my chances with steel.”

  “As you wish.” Brutus assumed fighting stance. “Felix, begin it.”

  Galen relaxed into the focused state he always used fighting Otto and Dec. God, give me victory…and freedom for Otto.

  Felix crossed his arms and scowled at Galen. “Begin.”

  The first thrust came at Galen faster than anything Otto had ever done. He swatted it aside as he sidestepped before dropping into a crouch and slapping Brutus’s leg with the side of his blade. Then he jumped back out of range.

  Brutus’s eyes saucered. Then his mouth turned down. “Round one to you, Crassus. Not exactly conventional sparring, but not outside our rules.”

  He flexed his shoulders and settled back into fighting stance. Then he nodded at Felix.

  Before Galen could prepare, Felix spoke, “Begin.”

  Brutus’s attack was swift and fierce. Galen parried six thrusts and strikes before Brutus’s blade touched his shoulder.

  The smile that curved Brutus’s mouth looked satisfied but not smug. “Round two to me. That’s how we do it in Rome.”

  Galen drew a deep breath and slipped into the focused state again. Felix would time his word to Brutus’s nod. God, give me two more. He locked his gaze on Brutus’s head.

  “Begin.”

  Brutus came at Galen the same way he had during the second round, but this time Galen was ready. He deflected a dozen thrusts and slashes before the opening came. As he pushed Brutus’s blade aside with his own, he suddenly reversed the direction his arm was moving, swung his blade down, and tapped Brutus on the side.

  Brutus stepped back and tipped his head toward Galen. “So you can spar like we do in Rome. Round three to you.”

  “I’m Roman-trained.”

  Brutus’s mouth curved into a smiling frown. “Like Bjorn. You, too, would have walked from the sand in Octodurus.” Then the smile overpowered the frown. “But I never would have bought you for my ludus. It’s not enough for my fighters to win. They have to look like they can.”

  “Begin.”

  Felix spoke before his master’s nod. Before Galen could raise his blade, Brutus’s sword tapped his shoulder. “Round four to me. Looks like the next round will decide it.”

  Galen backed away. “And next round, Felix should wait until we both know he’s about to speak.”

  Brutus turned his gaze on Felix, and his mouth turned down. “I neither want nor need your help to win this. Don’t speak until Crassus is ready.”

  Brutus’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt of his sword. Galen’s heart began to race...Otto’s future hung on the next round.

  God, focus me. Give me victory. His heart slowed, and he locked his gaze on Brutus once more.

  A nod from his master, then Felix growled, “Begin.”

  Galen and Brutus both stepped forward, and each man slashed, thrusted, and parried. Galen lost count of the number of strikes before Brutus backed off and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Galen did the same and ran his fingers through his hair to push back the strand that fell onto his forehead. One more touch, God, and then freedom.

  Brutus moved in, sword flashing. Galen leaped forward, catching Brutus’s blade with his own. With all the strength he had, he shoved it upward. Then he ducked under Brutus’s arm and spun to slap his opponent’s side with the gladius as he slipped past.

  Silence hovered over the sand as Brutus’s gladiators, who had been watching, froze. Then a string of curses erupted from Felix’s mouth. All turned back to their posts, and the sound of wood striking wood returned.

  The armorer took the gladius from Crassus. Brutus drove the tip of his own sword into the sand and crossed his arms. He should be sorry he lost, but he wasn’t. For him, Bjorn was only a chance to make some money. The big German had great earning potential, but he’d already made a four-fold profit on him. For Gaius Crassus, Bjorn was a man worth dying for.

  “Well done, Crassus. You can have him for 5400 denarii. Shall we retire to my office and sign the papers?”

  Crassus stroked the scar on his cheek. “I don’t have the full amount with me right now. I might need up to three days to get it all together.”

  The corner of Brutus’s mouth lifted. “Three days? I can wait with some patience.” He glanced at Bjorn. “But I’m not sure your German friend can.”

  “A word with Otto, and then I’ll go arrange for the payment.”

  When Crassus got within reach, Bjorn wrapped him in a crushing hug and lifted him off the ground. He rocked his friend so his legs swung back and forth before returning his feet to the sand. The grin on his gladiator’s face triggered a grin of his own until Brutus forced his mouth into the smiling frown.

  Crassus started toward the door but turned back to face Brutus before stepping through. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Brutus raised his hand to acknowledge the promise, but no promise was needed. Of course a man who’d crossed half the Empire to save his friend would be back.

  He strolled over to stand beside his grinning gladiator. He rested his hand on Bjorn’s shoulder, then fingered the bronze collar as the frowning smile played on his own lips.

  His brow furrowed when his gaze shifted to the doorway through which Crassus left. “He tracked you all the way from Argentorate. Four weeks without knowing if you were alive or dead or if he’d ever find you, but he crossed half the Empire looking.” Brutus shook his head. “Do you know how rare that kind of loyalty is? I can’t name a single man who would do that.” He crossed his arms. “He looks like a runt, but inside…he’s a giant.”

  “He always has been. It’s like he says, ‘It’s the heart, not the height that matters.’”

  Brutus shifted his gaze to the tall German. “Soon you’ll be Otto of the Vangiones, but until he actually pays me, you’re still Bjorn of the Langobardi. I have two young men coming to spar with you this afternoon. I expect you to give them their money’s worth.”

  A giggle floated down from the balcony that overlooked the training sand. Two young women draped with gold jewelry leaned over the railing. A seductive smile curved Brutus’s lips as he raised his hand to wave. That triggered another round of giggles.

  “We have some feminine visitors. Show them some muscles at the palus before your first customer arrives.”

  Bjorn swung the long wooden sword in a circle over his head before slashing the post. A gasp and a whispered “look at that big blond one” reached Brutus’s ears as he turned away.

  He circled the arena, pausing briefly to watch each of his gladiators at their posts. All were big men, muscled up and intimidating enough to rent out as “persuaders” whose mere presence ensured compliance.

  His gaze drifted to the doorway through which Crassus had gone. Laughably unimpressive at first sight, but perhaps the most admirable man he’d ever met. It truly was the heart that mattered.

  Chapter 30: It’s Been a Good Life

  When Galen walked into the courtyard of the inn, Quintus was brushing the back of a bay mare. Galen picked up another brush and began brushing her neck.

  Quintus’s eyebrows asked the question, and Galen’s smile answered it. “So you found him.”

  “Yes, but there’s a complication. The man who owns him wan
ts more than I have. I sparred with him to get it down to where I almost have enough, but I still need 1600 denarii more.” He paused mid-stroke. “I need your prayers, Quintus. The only way I can get the money is to go to an enemy of the faith.”

  “Who?”

  “Tiberius Cornelius Lentulus.”

  Quintus rubbed his chin. “His reputation as an honorable man and loyal son of Rome is well known. But lately he seems to have stepped out of the group of men vying for top posts in the government.”

  “Loyal to Rome―I have no doubt of that. He hunted the followers of the Way when he governed Germania Superior. I hope he’s still in Rome, not off somewhere serving. How would I find out where Lentulus lives?”

  “In the Basilica Julia, there are offices that handle the court cases. Someone there should be able to give directions to the villa of a man so high in the circles of power.” Quintus’s brow furrowed. “But is there no other way? Why Lentulus?”

  “He’s the only one I know in Rome who has that much money and might give it to me. We’re related by marriage, and that marriage might make him suspect I follow the Way. But Otto is a good friend of Lentulus’s son, and that might make him willing to help even without him knowing my sister is the mother of his grandchildren.”

  Quintus ran his fingers through his hair. “I wish I had the money to spare you from the risk.”

  Galen rested his hand on Quintus’s shoulder. “I know you’d help if you could, and I thank you, brother. But maybe the risk is not as great as I think. A father should be eager to hear about his only son and be grateful to the man who brings the news. I can tell him that Dec is happily married and has three children without revealing anything about myself. If Lentulus gives me the extra money I need to redeem his son’s friend, all will be well. If not…”

  Galen swept the brush along the mare’s side. “I should trust that God will protect me from him discovering my faith. Sometimes I think I sense danger, and it turns out I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong this time. But, to be on the safe side…”