by J. P. Bowie
I collapsed on top of him, and his arms held me, our sweat covered bodies fused together as one. Now it is over, I thought, and instead of the afterglow our earlier lovemaking had brought me, this time I was filled with a deep sorrow, knowing that my stalling tactics would not work a second time.
He sighed, his arms tightened about me for a fleeting moment, then with an almost violent motion, he pushed himself from me, and rose from the couch. Without a word, he slipped on his tunic, threw a cloak about his shoulders, and left the tent. I lay there, unbidden tears filling my eyes. Wild thoughts raced through my mind. I could pretend to leave for home, then circle back and follow the slave army as it headed north. I could stay hidden, unseen among the rank and file until we were in Gaul, then reveal myself to him when it was too late for him to send me back. I groaned, and sat up, looking around for my clothes.
Of course, all that was sheer nonsense. How long would I last without his protection? And even if I did, his anger on finding that I had disobeyed him might just diminish me in his eyes. That, I could not bear.
As I dressed, he returned, carrying a bag and a cloak made of wolf-skin. “Here,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “This will keep you warm.”
“Won’t you need it?” I asked dully.
“No more than the dead soldier I took it from. The spoils of war,” he added, noticing my shudder as I took the thick cloak in my hands. “There’s bread and water, and some mutton in the bag. That should keep you going until you reach home. I have a horse waiting outside.”
“Callistus…”
“No more words of entreaty, Lucius,” he said softly. “You must go. We break camp today. We’re only a day’s march ahead of the legions.”
I nodded, but could not control the tears that now coursed down my cheeks. He stepped toward me, and took me in his arms.
“I will never forget you.” I sobbed as I clung to him.
“Nor I you, my Lucius.”
“Promise me that one day, I shall see you again.”
“If it is in my power, and if the gods will it, you shall see me again.”
I had to be content with that answer as he led me to the tent flap and held it open. I stepped into the daylight, and saw Spartacus standing at the far end of the encampment talking with some of his men.
Callistus lifted me on to the horse, a brown steed with a mane as black as ebony. “His name is Belenus,” he said. “I named him after our god of light. His name means ‘bright one’.”
“He is yours? Can you part with him?”
“There are others.” He looked up at me, his blue eyes clouded with sadness. “Try to send me word that you are home safely.”
“I will.”
His hand stroked my thigh for a moment, then, stepping away, he slapped the horse’s rump and raised his hand in salute. “The gods protect you, Lucius.”
“And you, Callistus,” I cried, as the steed cantered forward. “I will pray for you every day!” When I looked back, he gave me a final wave, before striding off toward where Spartacus stood in conference with his men.
CHAPTER NINE
Mother, of course, was delighted to see me home safe and sound, and my sisters, making a big fuss of me, helped to dissipate the boorish mood I had been in since I’d sighted the outskirts of Capua. Once I had bathed and changed, and she had put a bowl of steaming soup in front of me, she wanted to know just where I had been, and to whom the horse belonged?
“Belenus…That’s his name.” I had bedded him down in a disused stable behind the house.
“But where did you find him?”
Naturally, I could not tell her where I had been. As much as my mother loved me, and understood as well as she could my sexual proclivities, the thought of me traipsing through the countryside searching for the man I loved—and he a wanted rebel slave—might just send her over the edge. So, I made up a story that seemed to appease her.
My employer, poor Gracus Filio, the gods bless him for his patience, was not exactly thrilled at my return.
“I am too old to fill in during your absences,” he scolded me on my return to his school. “If you persist in disappearing at the drop of a hat, I shall have to terminate our agreement.”
I assured him that that no such inconvenience would occur again, and so, with a sigh and a flurry of his toga he left me once more in charge of my students. Lucky me.
“Turio has been here several times asking if you had returned,” my mother told me after I had returned home from the day’s classes. “I expect he’ll come again tonight.”
I groaned inwardly, knowing full well that Turio would have guessed what caused me to go off for over a week, without telling anyone where I was going.
Sure enough, shortly after sunset, he was at our door. “So, the wanderer has returned to us,” he said, on seeing me at the supper table. “What tall tale has he spun for you?’ he asked my mother, after bidding her a good evening.
I glared at him, warning him with my eyes that he should not press the issue. My mother seemed to think he was jesting. Her son spin a tall tale? Never.
Once we were alone in my room, he became bolder. “So, you went after the gladiator, didn’t you?” He eyed me keenly, watching me grow red under his stare. “I knew it!” he yelled before I could lie my way out of it. “Lucius, Lucius, are you quite mad? Don’t you know all the ways this could have ended badly for you? You could have been set upon by thieves, or killed by our own soldiers. Not to mention the slave himself. He is a barbarian!”
“He is not a barbarian, Turio,” I yelled back. “He treated me most kindly.”
Turio looked at me as though I had five heads. “You admit you went after him. Now, I know you are insane.”
“I had to see him again, Turio. He’s all I could think of, day and night. I know you cannot understand that part of me, but there it is, and I will not apologize for it.”
He sat next to me, putting his arm round my shoulders. “Lucius, all right, you’ve made your point, rather forcibly if I may say so, but now it’s done. You must forget him, and get on with your life. Your mother and sisters depend on you for so much, and will, until Julia and Lucia marry. And what of you? Should you not be thinking of finding a wife? Perhaps that will curtail thoughts of the Gaul.”
“Oh, Turio… You and Petronius truly do not understand me at all. Nothing will help me forget Callistus.” I rose from the couch. “He gave me a gift. Would you like to see him?”
“Him?” Turio, puzzled, followed me out to the stable.
“His name is Belenus,” I said with pride watching Turio stare at the beautiful animal. “It means ‘bright one’ in his language.”
“He gave you this? You didn’t steal it?”
“Of course not!”
“He’s magnificent.” His eyes were kinder when he looked at me again. “So, the Gaul must think something of you, after all.”
“We think a great deal of one another, Turio. I saw real sadness in his eyes as he bade me farewell.”
“But now, you will try to forget him.”
“I know I must. For his sake, and mine. But I have not yet found the way.”
“Time will help,” my friend said, squeezing my shoulder. “Time heals all things eventually.”
But it seemed time would not let me forget my one night with Callistus. Each night I relived those precious moments, trying to recapture the memory of his touch, his scent, and his tenderness as we had lain together in his tent.
After classes each day, I would venture into the marketplace to hear the latest news of the Senate’s attempts to defeat the army led by Spartacus. I suppose it is to my shame that I, and my traitorous heart, rejoiced at the news of yet another victory for Spartacus and his men.
Wild tales were rife. His ranks had swollen to a million men and women. There were not enough legions to defeat them. The Senate was considering recalling armies from outposts far and wide in an effort to stop Spartacus once and for all. It was the subject of pract
ically all conversations.
At the house of Petronius and his new wife, Aurelia, where Turio, Dido, and I were invited for supper one evening, there was talk of nothing else, even though Aurelia, vapid and beautiful as ever, said not one word of it all night. If it did not concern clothes and beauty products, the lady was not interested. How could Petronius stand it? I wondered, noticing that he already seemed to be quite capable of ignoring her.
During a slight lull in the conversation, Petronius regarded me, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “So, Lucius,” he said rather loudly, flushed from the wine. “What news of your gladiator?”
I glanced at Turio who was playing the innocent. “I have no news of him, Petronius. Why do you ask?”
“Mmm, I rather thought you might have tried to see him again.”
“Petronius,” I muttered. “This is not talk for the supper table. What I did was foolhardy.”
Aurelia gazed at me with smiling eyes. “I think it was incredibly romantic.”
The gods be damned. They all knew!
Petronius frowned at her. “Romantic? He could have been arrested for treason, if the soldiers had questioned him. Or killed as a spy by the slaves themselves.”
Feeling the need to annoy Petronius, I said, “Actually, that almost happened.”
Dido gasped. “It did? Oh, my dear, how did you escape?”
I let my imagination take flight as I recounted the events with some embellishments. “I had fallen asleep in the forest, out of sheer exhaustion, and woke to found myself surrounded by six or seven scoundrels, who were about to put a knife in my heart and distribute my clothing among themselves. I bounded to my feet, and held them off with a knife, injuring two of them.”
Petronius gave me a skeptical look. “But you got away unscathed?”
“Fortunately, my plight was seen by two of Spartacus’ men who rushed in to help me. Afterward, they were very quick to applaud my bravery, and took me to their encampment right away.”
“How incredible!” Aurelia sighed. “And is he as handsome as they say?”
“Even more so,” I told her. “He looks like a king.”
Turio snorted. “A king? He is a monstrous barbarian!”
“No, he is not,” I retorted. “All of you seem to have forgotten that Spartacus was born near Capua—a Latin, like us. Even though they called him the Thracian in the arena, he is, in fact, one of us.”
“That’s true.” Dido nodded her head. “My father knew his father. He said Spartacus was fighting for Rome in Illyricum.”
“Then how did he end up a slave?” Aurelia asked, showing more interest in this conversation than usual.
“Mutineer, I expect,” Petronius growled, scowling into his wine.
“That was the reason given,” I said. “But Rollus, my manservant told me otherwise, and when I questioned Cassius, he told me it was a trumped up charge. Spartacus was actually a fine soldier, but the General leading them was incompetent.”
Petronius laughed out loud. “Cassius says, indeed! That old fool would spin you any yarn, if you listened long enough.”
“Well…” Aurelia sighed again, resorting to type. “It’s a bore having the arena closed all this time. Not to mention so many slaves just disappearing like quicksilver. We lost two more last night.”
“His luck will run out soon enough,” Turio said, with a deal of satisfaction. “Rumor has it that he now has more deserters than recruits.”
“I don’t believe that to be so, Turio.” All eyes fixed on me as I continued. “His camp was thronged with armed men, in the tens of thousands, I would say.”
Petronius groaned, and shook his head. “By the gods, Lucius. Don’t go around telling people what you know. You could be branded as a spy, and a traitor.”
“What we know, remains here,” Dido said, firmly. “No one else must know where Lucius has been—no one,” she added, fixing Aurelia with a warning look.
“Indeed not,” Turio agreed. “And besides, the fact that we know of it, makes us all accomplices.”
Aurelia stared at us for a few moments, her lack of comprehension quite comical to witness. Then Petronius took her hand and squeezed it gently. Once again, I wondered— How can he stand it?
When I returned home quite late that night, I was aware that my room had not been cleaned, nor were my bathing things set out as usual. Rollus knew I liked to bathe before retiring, and always had everything I needed set out.
“Rollus…” I didn’t want to shout in case I awoke my mother and sisters, but I did want to know why he had been lax. A shadow crossing the courtyard caught my eye. “Rollus?” For a moment, I thought he was going to run, but then he stared back at me, a defiant gleam in his eye.
Gods, was he going to attack me? “Rollus, what’s amiss?’
“I am leaving, Master Lucius,” he said, quietly.
“Leaving…but why, Rollus? Have we not always been good to you? Have you ever been beaten unfairly?”
“No, but I must join with Spartacus and his men. The slaves, everywhere, are running to his side. I would feel like a traitor to the cause, if I did not join them.”
I sighed. “Of course you would. I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Believe it or not, Rollus, if things were different, I would join him too.”
He looked at me with big eyes. “But you are not a slave, Master Lucius.”
I smiled. “Not in the sense you mean, anyway.” A sudden idea came to my head. “You mean to join the main force?”
“Yes. The word is they are marching north again.”
“Rollus, would you take a message to one of the men? His name is Callistus.”
“The gladiator?”
“Yes. He commands part of Spartacus’ army. I will just write a short missive. It will take me but a moment.” He waited patiently while I found parchment and pen. How surprised Callistus will be to have this delivered to him, I thought, smiling, as I wrote:
My beloved Callistus,
As you requested, I am sending word via this messenger that I did indeed find my way safely home, thanks to Belenus. And my thanks to you for gifting him to me.
I need not tell you just how much I miss you, nor how much I daily treasure the memories of our time together. Would that the gods were just, and could find a way for us to be with one another again. I will pray daily, and hope that someday they will be answered.
Please make sure that Rollus, my manservant, is well looked after.
Belenus is well.
Yours forever, Lucius.
Rollus took the carefully rolled and sealed parchment from me. “I will guard this with my life, Master,” he said.
“Let’s hope there’s no need for that.”
I embraced him, before we parted. He to his destiny as a warrior slave—and I to my bed of half-dreams, and perpetual longings.
× × × × ×
With an exasperated expression, Turio listened to my explanation of why I had not stopped Rollus from leaving my service, and why I had not simply given him a good beating, or tied him up so he could not leave.
“Lucius, you cannot ally yourself with the rights of slaves. They have no rights,” he railed at me. “If this insurrection is allowed to continue, the country will fall apart. Surely, you can see that?”
“My not beating Rollus into submission isn’t going to have much bearing on all that—besides, I was rather proud of his decision.”
“What?” Turio’s face darkened as he glared at me. “Don’t you dare say that to anyone else, d’you hear me? You could be sentenced to death for treason. Gods, if the authorities got wind of what you did. Well, I just don’t want to think on it.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Turio. What I feel or think is of little consequence, and is between you and I. You know I would not endanger my family with loose talk.”
“See you don’t, and don’t even think of marching off to see that Gaul again. Next time, you might not be so lucky!�
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After Turio had left, his words of caution still ringing in my ears, I went to the stable to brush Belenus down. In the weeks since my return, he and I had become friends. After my classes ended for the day, I would take him for long runs through the surrounding countryside. He greeted me now with a soft whinny as I stroked his muzzle and fed him some oats from my hand. Belenus was the only link I still had with Callistus, apart from my memories of the time we had spent together.
I found myself wondering if Rollus had been successful in finding Spartacus—but more importantly, in delivering my letter to Callistus.
CHAPTER TEN
CALLISTUS
The young slave, Rollus, was brought to me yesterday. He had joined us on our march northward, and looked a little worse for wear, having traveled over rough terrain for four days. He had a message for me, he said, from his master, Lucius Tullius.
“How is your master Lucius?” I asked, opening the roll of parchment he’d handed me.
“He is well, sir.”
The message was brief, but said what was in his heart, and also in mine. Yours forever… If that could only be so, I found myself thinking.
“Sir?” Rollus was looking at me expectantly. “I’m here to join with your army—with Spartacus.” His young voice was filled with a fervor I had heard so many times since we had undertaken this fight for our freedom.
“Good lad,” I muttered. After I had taken him to where the new recruits were encamped, and where he would find food and rest in order that he might regain his strength, I returned to my tent where I read and reread Lucius’ letter. I could almost hear him speak the words he had written, and envisioned him sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed in thought as he strove to say so much in those few lines. The thought of him was like a balm to my nerves. The memory of his sweet smile, of his warm and pliant body, brought a wave of desire to my blood.