Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  Crassus made no move to escape. “If you plan to kill me, I won’t fight you. If it’s to be a public execution, I hope the fact that I’m a citizen will be considered when choosing how I die.”

  He pressed his hands against his thighs as he drew a deep breath. “But Adela and Otto are not Christians. Adela doesn’t even know I am. Neither of them should suffer any punishment you choose for me merely because they are my friends. Please let her take my horses and leave.”

  Crassus’s blink seemed too long. Then his hands fell away from his thighs as his shoulders relaxed. “Regardless of what you do with me, please don’t change your mind about freeing Otto. He’s at the Ludus Bruti on the Vicus Sandaliarius. Marcus Antonius Brutus agreed to a price of 5400 denarii. The 3800 from the horses are in two money belts in the sack tied to my saddle. Once he’s free, please ask him to take Adela home to her father. I promised her I would after we rescued him, and I know he’ll fulfill my promise.”

  “I said I’d help him. I keep my word.”

  Tiberius’s breaths came faster as his jaw clenched. His grip on the gladius tightened. As he took another step toward Crassus, his gaze locked on the young Christian’s face.

  Then he froze.

  Eight years earlier, that same calm determination had radiated from the face of his own son as he stood in the dining room, declaring his decision to die before he would deny the Jesus he’d chosen to follow.

  Tiberius’s anger that day had cost him his only son. He wouldn’t make that mistake twice. For eight years, he’d ached to know if Decimus was dead or alive, miserable or satisfied with his new life. That uncertainty was gone, thanks to the young man standing before him. And if he spared Crassus, he could see Decimus again.

  Tiberius picked up the scabbard and slid the sword back into it. “I have no intention of killing you. Your death would serve no purpose for the Empire, and I’m not a man who kills without good reason. Tomorrow, we’ll go together to buy my son’s friend.”

  Crassus’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped open. That pulled a wry smile from Tiberius. “You needn’t look so surprised, Crassus. You are my son’s brother-in-law and friend. Sparing your life is my gift to him.”

  Tiberius rubbed the back of his neck. “You being a Christian from a family that fled Rome to avoid execution for that faith…that poses a problem for you performing the manumission. A man must be twenty to free a slave. With your youth and small stature, proof will be required. I’ll pay the entire cost and take possession of him. When I free him, no dangerous questions will be raised.”

  The smile that lit the young man’s face was one of the happiest Tiberius had ever seen.

  The corners of his own mouth turned up. “But I’m not going to take a bedraggled German around Rome with me. You’re a citizen, and you should be in a toga. Tomorrow one of my slaves will find a toga and an equestrian tunic in your size.”

  “A toga is fine, but the tunic should be plain. Father was equestrian before leaving Rome, but he walked away from his wealth when he left. I don’t qualify for narrow stripes.”

  Tiberius’s eyebrow rose at his candor. “Very well. A plain tunic, but it will be high quality so it won’t embarrass me.”

  Both eyebrows lowered. The Licinius Crassus family had extreme wealth, yet a son of that family had abandoned it for the Christian faith. Simply walking away, taking almost nothing, disappearing into the northern provinces… his son had done the same. Had Decimus had any regrets? From all Crassus had said, it would appear not.

  Decimus had served as this young man’s father for several years. If there had been regrets, a son should know. But his own son never knew what he was thinking, so maybe not.

  “You use your real name. Does my son?”

  “Mostly I’m known as Galen Crassus or just Galen. It’s not often I need to use the three-part name. Dec doesn’t use his real name. Too many people would recognize it since you were governor.”

  “What name does he use?”

  “Only his first name.” The corner of Galen’s mouth turned up. “Otto’s father still just calls him Roman.”

  “His sons. What name?”

  “They’re only six and four, so nothing yet.”

  “Will their other grandfather let them use their mother’s name?”

  “That’s a complicated story. Valeria was born Alba of the Vangiones. She was twelve when she became my sister. Father named her Valeria then. I guess they could be Licinius Crassus, except under Roman law, a peregrine girl can’t be adopted. I’m the paterfamilias now, so I suppose I could claim them. But in Germania, none of that really matters.”

  “Of course it matters.” Tiberius closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. When he opened them, he spread his arms to encompass all around them. “All this should be theirs someday.”

  Galen shrugged. “I’m just a man from the provinces. The intricacies of Roman inheritance law are far beyond me.”

  Tiberius rolled his eyes. Even in the provinces, inheritance law prevailed. But it was a problem for which he would find the solution.

  He replaced the scabbard by the saddle. “I’ve learned more than enough for this evening. You can go back to praying to your god, but make sure you let no one else here know you’re a Christian.”

  The corners of Galen’s mouth rose as his whole body relaxed. “I’ll be careful. Thank you…for everything.”

  Tiberius tipped his head in response. “It’s my pleasure.”

  That was the automatic response in proper society, but though it seemed strange, as he left the room, it was true.

  Chapter 35: Gifts for His Son

  Day 33

  The last traces of pink had barely faded from the morning clouds when Adela entered the dining room with Galen, but Tiberius was already there, looking out the window into the garden.

  He turned as they approached. “Salve. I trust you slept well.”

  “The whole bed is softer than my pillow at home.” Adela joined him by the window. “It’s a beautiful morning.” She drew a deep breath. “You can smell the roses from here.”

  “I noticed you smelled of roses last night. Many women place that scent among their favorites.” His eyes shifted toward Galen. “And many men seem to prefer it on their women.”

  When his eyes turned back to her, they were laughing. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her cheeks from heating.

  “And they like the color of roses on their women’s cheeks.”

  The heat spread to Adela’s ears.

  Galen moved into the space between her and Tiberius. “The roses in your garden reminded me yesterday of my mother’s garden. Roses smell good cut, but most things are better when left as God created them.”

  Adela could have hugged Galen for diverting Tiberius, but that would only have given him a different subject for his teasing. Only Galen was welcome to read her thoughts and turn them into a tease against her.

  Tiberius’s head tilted as his gaze shifted between Adela and Galen. “The natural way of things is often the best, and I, for one, enjoy watching it.”

  The blush had started to fade, but his words warmed her cheeks again.

  His mouth pulled sideways into a crooked smile before he turned to sweep his hand toward the couches. “My chef has prepared a breakfast for us. I suggest we eat now. My clients and others will be coming shortly for the salutation, and I want to deal with them promptly so we can go purchase your friend.”

  When Tiberius reclined where he had the night before, Galen sat on the couch they’d used. On the table before them was an assortment of fruit, honey for dipping, bite-sized chunks of cheese, rolls, and sliced hard-boiled eggs beside a sauce bowl.

  Tiberius selected an egg slice and dipped it into the sauce before placing it on his tongue. “Try the sauce first, Adela. It should be quite unlike anything you’ve tasted before.”

  As he had done, she picked up a slice and dipped it. As she raised it to her
mouth, its powerful odor assaulted her nostrils. She froze with it close to her lips. To set it down without eating would insult her host. Besides, it might taste better than it smelled.

  She placed it in her mouth and suddenly found herself fighting a heaving stomach. She forced herself to swallow. The sauce-covered egg did go down, but it didn’t want to stay there.

  She took a sip of the watered wine that the slave boy had set out for each of them. Her stomach settled, but her mind was like a churning stream rushing toward the lip of a waterfall.

  Gundahar hadn’t lied. Or had he? Maybe her upset stomach was only because Tiberius’s food last night was too rich and too much. She’d eaten more than usual, and much of it was strange. Her stomach had felt much too full before she went to sleep, and she’d felt queasy when she first swung her feet out of the bed. Maybe this was just more of the same.

  Her stomach churned again.

  The healer who’d tried to help Mother always gave her cheese and bread when Mother’s stomach had been upset.

  She took two pieces of each of the three kinds of cheese plus a fresh roll. Alternating the cheese and roll, she ate it all, taking small bites and swallowing quickly.

  The crashing breakers in her stomach calmed into gentle waves, then stilled. Maybe it was only last night’s food.

  She peeked at Galen as he sat beside her, starting on his fourth egg. He hadn’t noticed her distress, but why should she expect a man to notice?

  Her gaze switched to Tiberius. The man who seemed to notice everything was watching her, but he said nothing. His gaze settled on her stomach before returning to her eyes. Then he smiled that smile that made him look like he knew as much as the gods himself and turned his attention back to Galen.

  She selected another roll and nibbled at it. The mighty Roman man of the world suspected what she feared, but at least he didn’t comment on it. If the worst had truly happened, what would the future hold?

  She rested her hand on her stomach. All seemed quiet there. But only one thing could quiet her fears, and it was almost three weeks late.

  Tiberius had gone to meet with his visitors, and Adela strolled with Galen through the villa. Most of the floors were mosaics, with ornate patterns in the hallways and scenes ranging from peaceful landscapes to fighting men in the rooms. Paintings of mountains and rivers and oceans adorned the walls. In the room Galen called an atrium, a pool sat directly under an opening in the roof. In the middle of it, statues like she'd seen in the sculptor's shop in Luna stood on pedestals.

  Her eyes were drawn to the small child reaching down to touch the water. His mirror-self reached up from below, their fingers meeting at the surface.

  Adela knelt on the wall beside the pool and leaned over to see her reflection. But it wasn’t her own face that caught and held her attention.

  It was Galen’s happy smile and laughing eyes. He was looking at her like a man appreciating what he saw.

  A familiar warmth spread across her cheeks as she stood. Father used to look at Mother that way.

  But Galen didn’t know what she now suspected. She held back the sigh. Could he still look at her that way if he did?

  Galen rode next to Tiberius as they left the Lentulus estate. Two mounted slaves followed, leading Otto’s horse. The thought of Otto astride that horse again triggered a grin.

  More than once, Galen had tripped on his toga as a child. It was beyond imagining how a man could mount a horse in one, but Tiberius had solved that problem by placing their togas in special saddle bags and bringing the manservant who traveled with him whenever he went anywhere on business, imperial or otherwise. It was a relief that he wouldn’t have to try to wrap one around his own body without help.

  His host radiated authority as he sat on a prancing gray stallion, dressed in a brilliant white tunic with the wide purple stripes that marked him as a senator. But the plain tunic his man had found for Galen was just as white, and Astrelo was as fine a stallion as any he’d seen around Rome. He couldn’t look less like a bedraggled German, as Tiberius had styled him, but it was the man inside, not the outer trappings, that mattered.

  Tiberius led them through the Esquiline gate and veered off the Clivus Suburanus that Galen had taken from Quintus’s inn. As they continued west on the hilltop, a massive building rose before them.

  Tiberius tipped his head toward it. “Trajan’s Baths. Only the Circus Maximus and the Amphitheater are more popular destinations for all of Rome.”

  They skirted the north side of the building and continued west into a residential area.

  “I prefer a rural estate myself, but many choose to live in the city, at least part of the year. We’ll leave the horses at a friend’s town house in Carinae. It overlooks the heart of Rome, and it’s a short walk down to the Amphitheater and the Ludus Bruti.”

  A gatekeeper swung open the stable gate as their party approached. Before the slaves had entered behind them, four stable boys started toward them. Galen had barely reined in when one stood beside him, awaiting his pleasure.

  Tiberius swung his leg over his horse’s neck and slid off. “Is your master home?”

  The boy who took his reins dipped his head. “No, Master Lentulus.”

  The manservant had already dismounted and stood with the saddlebags slung across his shoulder.

  Tiberius turned his gaze on Galen. “Come.” Then he strode into the house as if he owned it.

  Galen followed him under the portico and into the lush garden surrounding a pool in the center of the peristyle. A woman knelt on the wall of a flower bed. She snipped a stem and placed the blossom in a basket. As Tiberius approached, she rose and bowed her head.

  “How can I help you, Master Lentulus?”

  “I only need a place to robe. I have business in town.”

  Her hand swept toward the door into the atrium. “Please follow me.”

  She led them into a small room off the atrium that contained a bed. After bowing, she vanished.

  Tiberius’s manservant pulled a toga edged with a wide purple stripe from the saddle bag and laid the semicircular fabric on the bed in all its ten-foot by sixteen-foot glory. He folded it in half, and Tiberius stood before him, arms outstretched. After placing the straight edge over Tiberius’s left shoulder, the servant wrapped it around him. Elegant pleats formed as if by magic, and a large pocket appeared under his right arm. When he finished, Tiberius’s left arm supported the extra fabric, but his right arm was free for whatever was needed.

  Then the manservant extracted the plain toga from the saddle bag, placed it on the bed, and folded it. Expectant eyes turned on Galen.

  Galen’s mouth pulled sideways as he stepped forward. “One big advantage of living in Germania is never having to wear one of these. I was only six when we left our estate, but I still remember hating my toga as a child.”

  Tiberius’s mouth twitched. “It is sometimes inconvenient, but wearing one is a small price to pay for the honor of being a citizen of Rome. Get used to it. I plan to take you to the chariot races, and citizens are required to wear them there. They are required at the games as well, but since your kind don’t participate in the games from the spectator seating, you won’t be needing one there.”

  Galen’s breath caught at those words, and that triggered a short laugh from his host.

  “You needn’t worry, Crassus. I already told you I’m freeing Otto as a gift to my son. Your life is a gift to my son as well, and I’ve decided to deliver the gifts personally.”

  Galen’s mouth settled into a smile. “That’s something Dec will really like.”

  Tiberius frowned, and his eyes narrowed. “I have my doubts of that. My son has never tried to let me know where he is, so I don’t expect a warm reception. But I am his father, and he will respect that even if he has no affection for me.”

  “But he prays for you every night, and nothing could please Dec more than seeing you again.”

  Tiberius’s head bounc
ed back. “I don’t like flattery or lies, Crassus.”

  “I’m not lying. I’ve prayed for you with Dec since I was thirteen.”

  Silence was Tiberius’s response, but his eyes had turned thoughtful.

  The servant finished wrapping Galen and stepped back to appraise his handiwork.

  Tiberius nodded his approval. “Keep your arm up and bent so you don’t drop the folds.”

  Galen’s smile leaked out. “I know. Roman citizen, not bedraggled German.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck with his free right hand. “If we’re going to the chariot races, Adela would probably like to watch them, too. I don’t know if she drives a team, but she knows horses. She rides as well as any man I know.”

  “That can be arranged, but she’ll go dressed as a decent Roman woman, not in the men’s clothes she arrived in.”

  Galen sucked air between his teeth. “Those were my fault. I gave her my spares when we started after Otto. We had to ride far and fast to catch up, and she said it was easier if she was dressed that way. I did buy her a woman’s tunic in Luna.”

  The memory of her walking at his side in the blue tunic that matched her eyes drew a smile.

  Tiberius shook his head at the light in the young man’s eyes. It bespoke more than a traveling companion. “Her beauty could tempt any man, even when dressed as a man herself. Since you claim she’s not your woman, how is it you brought her along with you?”

  “Otto won her from the kidnapper just before they took him. It wouldn’t have been safe to leave her behind.”

  “So, she’s Otto’s slave.”

  “No, she’s a free woman. She’d been kidnapped outside the Empire, just like Otto, and the kidnapper had no right to use her to cover his bet. It’s not like Otto’s case, where someone faked papers to show they owned him. Brutus bought him from the man who was cheated with the forgery and supports his claim of ownership with a certified bill of sale.”

  “Taken outside the Empire? Then she is legally a slave. There’s no reason your friend can’t take possession of her when he’s freed.”