by T. L. Higley
The wild man hissed. "What have I to do with you?" The words, low and rasping, issued from his broken teeth, but sounded more like a growl from the underworld.
The older man's hand still reached for him and he swatted it away, only to have the man step closer.
As Cato watched, the simple presence of the man seemed to both infuriate and bind the madman. The older man glanced at Cato, measured him with that glance, then turned back and began to whisper to his captive.
Cato stepped closer. He heard only snatches of the whispered words—Evil. Freedom. Messiah—and then the older man's hand was on the dirty forehead of the animal-man and he gave a mighty shout of "Come out!"
At this, the madman screamed as though being burned. Cato started forward, then stopped when the man dropped to the stones and lay still. Cato looked at the heavy-set man. "What you have you done?"
But the one on the ground stirred, then crawled on hands and knees to the other's feet and clung to his ankles as though rescued from drowning. "Thank you." These words were spoken in a different voice than Cato had yet heard, one that sounded hoarse from disuse. A rushing sound filled Cato's ears, as though something evil were fleeing the Forum even as he watched.
"Ah, Portius Cato, eyeing his future seat of power." The voice behind him held only a trace of amusement.
Cato turned to find Taurus, the spokesman for the group who had approached him in the gladiator barracks the night of the theater performance. He glanced back at the two, but the older man was helping the younger to his feet, leading him away. He returned his attention to Taurus and bowed his head. "Merely curious to see where the power lies, that is all."
Taurus pressed his fingertips together. "And that is where it begins, my friend."
Cato bristled a bit at the familiar reference. "And where it ends."
Taurus shrugged. "Are you engaged this morning? I could introduce you to some of the leading merchants."
Cato's shoulders tightened. "As one of their own, correct?"
"As you wish, Portius Cato. As you wish."
"Lead the way, then."
Taurus led him to the first large building off the Forum, the Eumachia that housed the guild of fullers. A statue of the priestess Eumachia, who had commissioned and dedicated the building, graced the corridor at the back, beneath a roofed portico.
Inside, the business of manufacturing wool cloth was in peak activity, with raw wool being washed, stretched, and dyed using the pots of urine that filled daily at the door. The smell was typical, if not pleasant.
Taurus led him to the side of the central room, where an elegant man directed slaves. "Emeritus, I have someone for you to meet." He pulled at Cato's arm, which bothered him.
Emeritus's eyes flicked to Taurus and then to Cato, and he drew up his chin.
"Emeritus is the top wool merchant in the city." Taurus indicated the building. "And head of the Fullers' Guild."
Cato understood the implication. A powerful man stood before him. He held out an arm and his grip was returned with a solemn nod. Emeritus had the look of intensity about him, and his eyes were night-dark. Had a life among the dyes somehow given them their unnatural color?
The eyes focused on him. "Taurus tells me you are newly arrived from Rome."
Ah, and what else has Taurus told you about me? He bowed. "Yes, come to follow in your footsteps and make my fortune in this pleasant city."
"Come." Emeritus turned away. "Have some wine. We will talk."
Cato eyed Taurus, who urged him with a nod. He followed with hesitation, knowing where this conversation would lead.
In the back of the Eumachia, Emeritus snapped his fingers at a slave who fled into the interior of the back rooms.
Cato eyed the front arch of the building, past the slaves who toiled in the center. He should have declined. "I have some business to take care of. I'm afraid I cannot stay—"
Emeritus turned to him, eyes flashing. "And you will not get far in that business without the alliances of those who can assist you."
Indeed. "Then a cup of wine would seem to be what I need."
The slave brought wine for all three, and Cato's first sniff and sip impressed him. Green apples and pears on the palate. "This is made here?" Surely his own rich soil was ready to produce something this fine.
Emeritus half-smiled. "'Vesuvinum,' he calls it. A clever salute to our fine mountain and the vines that grow on its slopes."
Cato frowned into the cup. "Maius." From their shared look, he'd been manipulated. Did they intend to convince him he would fail as a winemaker?
"Hmmm." Emeritus sniffed his own cup. "Pleasing bouquet, but wicked headache the morning after a feast."
Cato handed his cup to Emeritus. "Perhaps I shall improve upon even this." He bowed slightly. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Emeritus, and I am sure we will meet again."
Emeritus thrust his cup and Cato's into the hands of the nearby slave and reached out to clutch Cato's arm with a grip like a dark-eyed tiger seizing a choice piece of meat. He stepped close enough to hiss into Cato's ear. "You are either with us, or you are against us, Portius Cato. And those who are with us will do whatever it takes to rid this city of its governmental stain."
Cato yanked his arm away and readjusted his toga. "I am no friend of Nigidius Maius, I assure you. But my days of public office are over." He eyed them both and dropped his voice, matching Emeritus's intensity. "Do not ask me again."
He escaped then, out of the Eumachia and into the Forum, a cage of temples, shops, and public buildings. The desire to occupy himself with its goings-on had left him and he only wanted to return home.
A young man pushed past him, his hands full of something and his head down. Cato blinked and watched the man as he retreated out of the Forum, noted the leather cuff that belted the coarse tunic. Had that been the young gladiator, Ari?
Cato followed him, curious, but questioning his own curiosity. What was it about the boy that intrigued him? Plenty of politicians in Rome had kept boys such as this, delicately featured and not yet masters of themselves, for their own pleasure. Cato had no interest in that type of thing. So what was it that directed his feet in the footsteps of the young fighter?
He may be vulnerable physically, but he has a strong heart.
Cato's own spirit accused him with the observation. The boy was everything he was not. Courage and determination in the face of insurmountable obstacles, while Cato had fled from his failure and weakness.
The boy kept his head down and walked quickly, as though he had an important destination. Cato continued to follow, past shops and homes, around a stone fountain at an intersection and into a narrower alley, void of shoppers.
Cato watched, fascinated, as the boy seemed to cast furtive looks about him halfway down the alley. Cato pressed himself against a wall and studied the ground, hoping the boy would not recognize him. A moment later Ari ducked into a doorway.
Still curious, and glad for a diversion at last, Cato hurried up the alley to see where the gladiator had disappeared. He drew up short to find another lupanaria, and his eyebrows shot up. He had not expected this.
Amused, he decided to cross the alley and wait in a doorway for the boy to emerge after his tryst, to have a bit of fun with him.
A minute or two later a woman emerged, but it was not a prostitute, for she was modestly dressed as a respectable foreign servant woman. Cato straightened, curiosity again a pull. What was this place?
His movement gained the woman's attention and she lifted her chin to look across the alley. Only five cubits from him, she met his eyes. He saw the flicker of recognition there at the same moment that he felt it himself.
"Ari?" What kind of transformation was this?
"What are you doing here?" The boy glanced behind himself to the brothel and flushed.
Cato shook his head. "I was following you." He felt flustered and off-balance somehow. The boy dressed as a woman looked more like a woman than a boy.
"Why?" The
word was harsh, angry. The boy's face had drained of color.
Cato crossed the street, suddenly understanding. "You are trying to escape the lanista."
"It is none of your concern!" Ari started down the alley before Cato could reach him.
Again, that strange protectiveness he had felt in the barracks urged him to speak. "Wait." He followed the disguised boy, but Ari did not stop. Cato trotted up behind him and grabbed his shoulder. Ari swung around and pushed Cato away from him, the way that Cato himself had pushed Emeritus away only moments ago. But Cato would not be put off. He only wanted to speak to Ari, but the boy was being foolish. Cato put his hands to Ari's chest and shoved him against the wall.
Ari's eyes went wide as his back hit the stone.
And suddenly, Cato knew.
CHAPTER 11
Ariella slammed against the stone wall but its impact was lost on her. Her attention was on Portius Cato, on the way that he yanked his hands away from her chest as though he had been burned. The way the whites of his eyes seemed to grow larger, his lips parted in stunned silence.
They stood there a moment, like two carved marble pieces, and then Cato exhaled and dropped his shoulders.
"You are a woman."
"And you are a meddling nuisance!" She turned to slide away from him, but he shifted and blocked her way. She should shove him aside, but stood her ground and looked into his green-flecked eyes instead. "Will you take me prisoner, then?"
"I—I only want to know—" Cato licked his lips and shook his head.
"Ask it. Ask your questions." Ariella wished to be away, but she also wished to stay beside him. Her emotions tumbled like a mountain rockslide. Anger at being followed, at being found out, and yet a sweet sense of relief that this man who had occupied too many of her thoughts since she first met him knew that she was not a boy. The stone wall behind her seemed to radiate its sun-warmed heat into her body. She pulled away from it.
Cato began again. "They do not—the gladiator troupe—please tell me they do not keep you for their whore?"
His eyes accused and she felt the injustice of it. She wanted to see him laugh again, the way he had when they first spoke in the barracks field. "You know nothing of it."
"So, tell me."
The simple words, spoken with compassion, nearly undid her. She swallowed against the emotion. He is a Roman . . . But his eyes, his smile, they were not Roman. They were only human and trained on her in a way no one had looked at her in years. She felt a flush begin at her neck and travel to her face.
A sudden awareness of her unwashed condition, her hacked-off hair, her peasant clothes, backed her against the wall again, though it only put another handsbreadth between them. His perfectly-draped toga was brilliant white, his dark hair oiled and combed, his jaw clean-shaven. Everything about him spoke wealth and refinement.
He mistook her movement for fear. "I will not hurt you, Ari." He touched her arm, but then pulled away again, clearly unsure.
She believed him.
"Do they know?"
Ariella shook her head, then looked away, down the alley, to avoid those eyes.
It was not enough. She needed to get away. She shoved him aside and began to run down the alley.
He followed. She could hear the slap of his sandals, but he did not call out. She reached the end of the alley, to the intersection with the main street, and fell into the crowd. It would not do to run here, to draw attention to herself. Especially with a Roman nobleman chasing her. She weaved through townspeople, wanting only to be lost in the crowd.
But he was behind her in a moment, speaking into her ear as she moved.
"You are escaping?"
She said nothing, only bit down on her lip to steel her heart.
"What is your name? Tell me that at least."
Ariella would not slow. How could she be rid of him?
She reached the Forum and looked both ways. The biggest crowds. The only way to lose him.
But then he was in front of her, blocking her way again, then pulling her into a doorway. She was vaguely aware they had entered a temple, but the building was quiet and dim.
Cato seemed to have relinquished his notion of not touching her, for he had both her arms now, and nudged her against the inner wall of the temple. "Stop running from me. I only want to know more about you."
"Why?" She shot the word at his face, too close to hers, too perfect. Her neck grew damp, reminding her again of her shameful hair.
"Tell me your name."
"Ariella." In that moment she hated herself for the weakness.
"Ariella." He said it softly, and she nearly wept. "How did you join the gladiators, Ari?"
She closed her eyes, unable to stop her words now, like warm water flowing over her. "I needed to get away from my—situation. It seemed a good idea at the time."
"What situation?"
She turned her attention on him again, with a bit of the old fire. "An arrogant Roman who thought he could control me." The implication should be clear.
But he did not release her. "And now you are running away?"
"You've seen me train. I will not last a month in the arena."
"You will not last a month on your own."
She bristled. "I can find work—"
"There are very few who would take on an unknown foreign woman, possibly an escaped slave." His eyes narrowed. "Though your Latin is too developed for the slave class."
Ariella lifted her chin. "Not all slaves began their lives as such."
"Nor all noblemen."
She sighed, felt herself lean into him a bit. "I cannot go back."
"The lanista will scour the town for you."
"He will be looking for a young boy."
Cato cocked his head to the side. "Are you truly sixteen, as you told me in the barracks?"
Visions of the Temple of Jerusalem in flames appeared behind her eyes. "I once was."
His lips twitched into a smile. "You do not like to answer any question directly, do you?"
"No more than you like to leave your questions unanswered."
"Ari, this is foolishness. An escaped slave woman has only one place to go, and I do not wish to see you in the brothel." Cato's own face flushed then. How curious that he seemed embarrassed by the comment. "I mean that I do not want you to be forced into that life. No one should be."
She saw something different in him in that moment. Since their first conversation, he had seemed a rushing river, all swift speech and sharp retorts, charming as he was. But she saw something else in his eyes now. A deep loathing for evil and for injustice, a desire to right all wrongs, as much a part of him as all the witty sarcasm.
It was too much for her, this quiet conversation with a good man. A priest moved about the back of the temple, and Ariella used Cato's momentary distraction to pull away from his hold and rush back into the colonnade of the Forum.
But she had only fled one problem to face another. She emerged from the temple and found herself facing Drusus, the lanista.
Her sudden emergence drew his attention, and one look at her brought recognition. She would never have fooled him by simply changing her clothing.
He looked her up and down, taking in her clothes, and scowled. Then stepped toward her. "What is this? I send you to paint signs for the games, and—" He trailed off, as though unable to form the words around his discovery.
She felt Cato at her back, solid and strong.
Drusus's eyes moved above her head, and his brow furrowed.
"Drusus, is it?"
Ariella watched as the lanista straightened a bit to be known by a man such as the one behind her.
"What can I do for you, my lord?"
"You can accept my apologies for—detaining—your young warrior here."
Drusus looked back and forth between Cato and her, and she felt a sweat break out on her forehead as a light of understanding came into Drusus's eyes.
"Ah, I see." He jabbed a finger at the temple. "All kinds
of ways to worship the gods, of course. Who am I to say what is right?" He grinned at Ariella. "Besides, he makes a better woman than he does a man, eh?" To Cato, he added, "But I suppose you already know that."
His implication sickened her and cast an unfair light on Cato, but she could not defend him.
"Yes, well, I appreciate your willingness to share him."
Drusus bowed. "We are here to serve, my lord." He winked. "In any way that we can."
Drusus spoke out of a hope of being reimbursed for his trouble, and Cato did not disappoint him. She could not see how much money the nobleman slipped to the older man. Did not want to see.
"So get to your painting, then, boy." Drusus jabbed at her side. "After you retrieve your own clothing."
Ariella nodded.
Drusus continued across the Forum, soon engaged in conversation with someone, but continuing his glances in their direction.
"I am sorry." She could not look up at him.
"Listen, Ari. You should make it known that you are a woman. I saw a few female gladiators in Rome, and they were much revered and valued. Your life would no doubt be spared, if only to bring the crowds out to see you again."
She shook her head, unable to even consider going back. And yet—the lanista watched her still and she could not run now. Her mind felt sluggish. "I must paint the signs."
"Where is your paint?" Cato spoke to her as though she were a child, and so she felt.
"I have none. I used the money for the fabric."
"Come." He led her down the colonnade, away from Drusus's watching eyes, his gentle hand on her elbow, guiding her. In the Macellum, she followed as he purchased supplies for her, then led her again out the back of the market, into the street. They retraced their steps to the brothel.
He held the paint and brush, and steered her toward the door. "Find your clothing. Put it on."
She obeyed, because it was the only way.
Her tunic and belt still lay on the floor where she had dropped them, and she grieved a moment for the hope that had been part of her in that moment before she left this house.
She changed quickly, refusing to look at the paintings on the walls that detailed the services offered within, but her movements drew a prostitute to where she stood inside the doorway. The woman looked over the young gladiator, amused, then beckoned to the interior of the house. Ariella shook her head and stalked from the building, courage finding its way back into her heart.