Blood and Sand

by C. V. Wyk

  “I am in a perfectly agreeable mood,” Albinus said.

  Gallus glanced over his shoulder without releasing him. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “Where’s Iduma?” Lebuin asked.

  They looked around to see their blood-brother fighting two attackers some twenty yards away. His wet red hair was plastered against his skull. In one hand, he wielded a lit torch that flared in the rain. In the other, he swung …

  “Is that a ham bone?” Gallus said with a snort of laughter.

  Iduma swung his torch and his ham bone, taking a bite out of the meat every few seconds. The attackers looked at each other uncertainly but held their ground.

  “Stop dawdling, Iduma, and finish already!” Albinus yelled.

  “I do believe that is what Layla said to him last night,” Lebuin commented with a smirk.

  When the attackers noticed the rest of them watching, they finally seemed convinced of the futility of their mission. They dropped their weapons, their heels kicking mud up into Iduma’s face as they raced for the forest.

  “How rude,” Iduma said, wiping the dirt from his chin.

  Lebuin took the opportunity to reach up and snatch the ham bone out of his hand. “Where the hell did you get this?” he said before taking a full bite.

  “I was eating that!” Iduma said, and shoved Lebuin’s shoulder, causing the ham bone to slip from his hands onto the muddy ground.

  “Oh, well done, Iduma,” Lebuin said.

  “You both eat too much anyway,” Albinus said.

  Gallus began sorting through the weapons. He handed swords to Iduma and Lebuin, a double-sided axe to Castor, and a spear to Albinus. Xanthus still had his stolen sword. Seconds after they were armed, a new group of bandits charged at them.

  It certainly wasn’t the arena. There were no cheers, no lewd encouragements from a drunken crowd to urge them on. They had no uniforms, no glossy black armor or heavy shields. But they had their training and their strength.

  Xanthus fought with an inner quiet that was almost foreign to him. When had it ever been so easy to kill? When had he ever swung his sword without that gnawing sensation of guilt?

  Never.

  Because there had never before been a good reason.

  Now his reason was crouching in a dark cart protecting a Roman child. Attia didn’t need him, but she wanted him. That was more than enough.

  So Xanthus raised his fist and his sword. The men who challenged him died for it, and he had no regrets. It was the first time in almost ten years of killing that he didn’t ask for forgiveness.

  It seemed that close to a hundred bandits were spread out through the camp. That didn’t include the ones who’d already gotten away with horses or other loot, nor the others who had retreated into the forest earlier on. Xanthus had no idea what they were doing there. Thieves never travelled in such numbers, not even roaming gangs. What kind of idiot had decided to attack a camp protected by Roman soldiers on a Roman road?

  Another high scream cut through the sounds of battle. A bandit dragged a hysterical Valeria out into the middle of the field. She wore only a thin, gold-colored tunic that soaked through almost immediately in the rain. Her face was starkly pale, and her round blue eyes skittered about like those of a trapped animal. She struggled desperately to free her tangled hair from the man’s grasp, screaming again and again.

  Xanthus didn’t care for Valeria. But she had never done anything to directly hurt him, and whatever her sins, she didn’t deserve this.

  “Look,” Iduma said suddenly. “The boy!”

  From the other side of the clearing, Lucius was fighting as hard as he could to reach his mother, stabbing and slicing through the air as Xanthus had taught him. His nose was bleeding, and his tunic was drenched with water and mud. Xanthus ran to his side, and the gladiators followed. Between them, the guards, and the soldiers, the attackers were struck down or chased off until the only man left was the one who held Valeria hostage.

  Lucius’s face was contorted with anger when he finally reached the man. “Let her go. Now.”

  “Stay back or she dies!” the man shouted. The tip of his knife pressed into Valeria’s belly, and she started to sob quietly.

  “Let her go,” Lucius said again. “I’ll pay you anything. Whatever you want. Let her go, and I’ll let you live.”

  The man was concentrating so hard on the woman he held captive that he didn’t hear the gladiator who snuck up behind him. Before he could respond, Xanthus grabbed his arm from behind and snapped it back with a sickening pop. Valeria fell forward into Lucius’s embrace.

  “Lucius,” she sobbed.

  “Are you all right?”

  She managed a nod. Lucius squeezed her shoulder once before letting two guards escort her back to her tent.

  Leaning forward, Lucius addressed the injured bandit with frightening calm. “You picked the wrong camp, and you grabbed the wrong woman. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you here.”

  “You should kill him,” Timeus interjected. He was standing just a few yards away with Ennius at his side.

  Lucius stared at his uncle, conflicted.

  “Send a message, Lucius. No one attacks our house without retribution.” Timeus’s cold blue eyes bore into his nephew.

  Xanthus knew that Lucius had never killed before. But Timeus was ordering him to perform an execution, and Lucius couldn’t deny his uncle. Certainly not in front of an audience. The rest of the bandits had been struck down or chased off, and now nearly everyone in the household was watching Lucius. He had no choice. He schooled his features and gave Xanthus a reluctant nod. The bandit fell at their feet, and two of the guards started to drag him away. The man’s sobs rang through the sudden silence of the night.

  Lucius started to follow when Xanthus stopped him. “Make it quick, if you can,” he said in a low voice that only Lucius could hear. “Aim the tip of your sword at the back of his neck.”

  Lucius nodded. His face was pale, and beads of sweat gathered along his forehead and upper lip. He looked at the bloody sword in his hand with disgust. “Back of the neck,” he muttered.

  The guards waited with the man sobbing on his knees between them. The bandit’s head hung low, chin against his chest as his shoulders shook.

  From a distance, Xanthus watched Lucius swallow hard—probably against the urge to retch in the grass—before he positioned himself behind the man. Their eyes met for a second. Then Lucius raised his sword and plunged it into the back of the man’s neck with all his strength.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Blood gurgled out of the man’s mouth, and the guards let the body fall.

  The household began to disperse, focused on the task of trying to salvage whatever they could from the destroyed camp.

  Lucius stared at the body, his sword still gripped tightly in his hands.

  Xanthus’s stomach twisted with pity. Iduma had been wrong. Lucius wasn’t a boy. Not anymore. Not after this. The sharp, tangy, familiar scent of blood filled Xanthus’s nostrils.

  Lucius blinked rapidly, as though he couldn’t quite get used to the sight of the dead man before him. He ran a hand through his hair, barely aware of the blood coating his hands and now his face. He stood beside the body for several long minutes.

  It was past midnight, and the storm clouds had moved to obscure the stars and the moon. The massive stone pines that bordered the forest in densely packed clusters creaked in the wind and made long, menacing shadows across the clearing. The rain had finally stopped, but cold, fat droplets still fell sporadically from the swaying branches. Even with the light of the lanterns and torches, the night seemed darker than usual. It was almost impossible to see anything anymore.

  Xanthus finally approached Lucius, put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, and squeezed. There was nothing for either of them to say.

  Lucius looked up. With a nod of appreciation to Xanthus, he wiped his sword on his tunic and sheathed it before forcing his feet to walk straight toward his un
cle’s tent. Xanthus followed close behind.

  Timeus’s captain of the guard, a few soldiers, and Ennius were already inside. Timeus was leaning over a map spread out over a table.

  “It is done,” Lucius said. His voice was different. Heavier. Deeper.

  Timeus looked up from the map and scowled at his nephew. “More than half of those bastards got away with some kind of loot, and my horses are missing. Do you really think this is done?”

  Dozens of tents and wagons were still burning. The food had been raided, and what was left was barely salvageable. Dozens of people were dead, missing, or seriously injured. Guards, soldiers, slaves—they all bled the same.

  But Timeus didn’t give a shit about any of that. Why would he?

  The old man leaned over the map again. “We won’t make it straight to Pompeii,” he said. “We’ll have to stop off here—in Ardea.”

  “Dominus,” the captain of the guards said, “in our current condition—”

  “Ardea isn’t safe.”

  “Perhaps we should just turn back to Rome and—”

  “No,” Timeus said firmly, silencing the men. “I won’t go back looking like this. Ardea will have food and supplies, and everyone accepts gold—Roman or not. We’ll go there.” He turned his cold gaze to Lucius. “Did he say anything useful before you killed him?”

  Lucius frowned at his uncle.

  “Come on, boy! Did you get any information at all about who was behind this?”

  “Aurora is safe,” Lucius blurted out.

  “What?” Timeus said.

  “I said that my sister is safe. And my mother, as well, once I intervened.”

  “You mean once Xanthus intervened.”

  “I didn’t need him to—”

  “No?” Timeus laughed coldly. “Tell me, what would you have done if my champion had not incapacitated that man? Would you have tried diplomacy, perhaps? Would you have asked nicely?”

  “I could have handled it,” Lucius spat out. “I did handle it. What more do you want from me?”

  Timeus slowly approached his nephew. “I want you to think, for once in your goddamn life. I want you to have the spine to punish anyone who dares raise a single finger against this house. I want you to be decisive and firm. I want you to act without me having to tell you what to do. I want you to be a man. That’s what I want!”

  Lucius’s breathing stuttered then stopped altogether.

  No one spoke, and no one looked at uncle or nephew.

  Timeus turned back to the table, his hands rustling the map. “We stop at Ardea,” he said again with finality.

  A murmured chorus responded, “Yes, Dominus.”

  Xanthus couldn’t listen anymore. He walked out of the tent, closely followed by Ennius.

  “Who do you think they were?” Ennius asked quietly.

  “Thieves? But common thieves would never have attacked a camp this size.”

  Ennius nodded. “And certainly not with soldiers present.” He paused. “Did the man say anything to Lucius?”

  Xanthus shook his head. “Not that I heard.” He glanced back into the tent.

  “That is what it must be like to be raised by wolves,” Ennius said, his face drawn with pity.

  Xanthus touched his hand to the man’s shoulder and walked away.

  * * *

  A soft knock sounded on the door to the cart, and Sabina and Rory huddled closer together on the back cushion. Attia went alone to unlock the outer door and found Xanthus standing just outside. Laying down a sword she’d taken from one of her attackers, she jumped from the cart and ran her hands over his body. Her touch was hurried and not particularly gentle. She wasn’t trying to be affectionate; she was looking for wounds.

  “I’m fine,” Xanthus said.

  She ignored him, frowning with concentration as she continued to look him over. The only injury she could see was the shallow slice at his shoulder. Satisfied, she stepped back and nodded. “Good. I would have been rather irritated if you’d gotten yourself maimed.”

  Xanthus smiled at her teasing tone but quickly sobered. “We won’t make it to Pompeii like this. Too much was taken or destroyed.”

  “And Timeus? Is he dead?” She couldn’t decide if she hoped the old man had been killed or if she’d be disappointed that she didn’t get the chance to do it herself.

  But Xanthus shook his head. “He hid in his tent.”

  Attia’s mouth quirked in bitter amusement. “Of course he did. So what happens now? Do we turn back to Rome?” Hope flared in Attia’s breast at the thought of going back to Rome, back to where Crassus was apparently staying.

  But Xanthus shook his head. “Ardea—it’s a province about two days away. Timeus is too embarrassed to go back to the capital like this.”

  “What’s in Ardea?”

  “No one is sure. The people there don’t consider themselves a part of the Republic. The soldiers and Lucius are against it, but Timeus is adamant. Some of his men will stay behind to see to the bodies. The rest of us will leave at first light.”

  Several armed guards approached.

  “Master Lucius has requested that his sister and her nursemaid be housed in his personal tent.” They glanced at Xanthus. “Please bring the child and come with us.”

  Attia wondered if they would have been so polite if Timeus’s champion weren’t present. “All right,” Attia said.

  The guards waited patiently while Sabina wrapped Rory up in a thick blanket, moving to surround them as they walked across the wrecked camp to Lucius’s tent. Xanthus walked with them, stopping short several feet from the tent’s entrance. He gave Attia a small smile before walking away.

  Attia kept her face impassive, but she could feel her pulse racing as she and Sabina readied Rory for bed. Like the rest of the household, she had no idea what kind of welcome they’d find in Ardea. All she cared about was that she’d soon find herself outside of the Republic’s authority. She bit her lip, contemplating what to do, when Rory’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  “Attia?” Rory’s small voice trembled. She’d been terrified in the cart, listening to the screams and the fighting. The only thing that could console her was Attia clutching her tight. “Will you tell me a story?”

  Attia went to the girl’s bedside. “A story? About what?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. Please?” she begged.

  Attia slid onto the bed next to the little girl. “All right. Well. Let’s see. I’ll tell you the story of … of a young girl who was a princess and a warrior, and whose people loved her.”

  Rory laughed, though her body was still shaking with fear. “Princesses can’t be warriors,” she said. “Can they?”

  “Of course they can. Sometimes. Sometimes a princess must be strong and learn to fight so that…” Attia paused, her throat tightening.

  “So that what?” Rory prodded.

  Sabina busied herself by the fire, but her eyes kept flicking back toward Attia.

  “So that she can protect her people,” Attia finally said, swallowing hard. “This princess—well, her father taught her that the most important thing in her life was protecting her people. He taught her honor and glory and pride. But most of all, he taught her duty. It was her job to remember all of those lessons, no matter what.”

  Attia paused again, this time blinking against the moisture that gathered in her eyes. It was probably from the perfumes in the air. The night was cool, but the tent was stifling in its finery. Attia cleared her throat and opened her arms so that Rory could climb onto her lap.

  “Was she a good princess?” Rory asked.

  “She tried to be.”

  “Was she a great warrior?”

  “She tried to be.”

  “Did you know her?”

  Attia closed her eyes and rested her head against the little girl’s hair. “Yes,” she whispered. “I knew her once. A very long time ago.”

  As Rory fell asleep in her arms, Attia focused her thoughts on the days ahead.<
br />
  Ardea. That’s when she’d get her chance. Outside of Rome’s authority, she would finally be able to make her move, and she promised herself that she wouldn’t fail. As soon as they reached the province, she would escape. She would kill Timeus, take what supplies she could, and finally go after the man who had ruined her life. Even if it means leaving him. Xanthus.

  No. Gareth.

  Attia fell asleep with his name on her lips.

  CHAPTER 12

  After a full day and a night of travelling with little rest and even less food, Xanthus expected more. But all that greeted them when they finally reached the outskirts of Ardea were ghosts and dust. The city looked entirely deserted sitting atop its gentle slope—all stone outcroppings and high, crumbling walls. No men. No flags. No movement. The paved Roman road leading to Ardea’s rusted gates had been hammered away, leaving behind an uneven dirt path littered with discarded stone. It was as clear a confirmation as any of Ardea’s rumored secession.

  Timeus and Lucius exchanged heated words at the head of the caravan as they argued over what to do. They could backtrack to the fork in the road that led on to Pompeii, but they would lose a full day in the process. They had no more food, no supplies, and now they were more than three days away from Rome. But they couldn’t stay where they were. Even an idiot knew better than to camp on an open road, and the soldiers and guards were already paranoid after the attack in the clearing. Their eyes continually scanned the hills and woods to the east. With daylight waning, anxiety began to seep through the caravan.

  The setting sun sparked like fire on the flat expanse of the sea. Deep reds and flowering oranges flickered and flashed, though they couldn’t quite compensate for the gray stillness of the city above. The glare of the water made Xanthus squint as he watched Timeus and Lucius argue. But all too soon, night fell, and with it came a gloomy darkness that blanketed the road in shadow.

  Then Xanthus saw it—movement. Too much movement. He hurried toward the front of the caravan, his eyes trained on the rise of the hill and the seemingly abandoned walls of the city.

  Except they weren’t abandoned anymore. Men—and women, too—had appeared like wraiths, all strapped with blades and bows and clubs. The people of Ardea looked more like a colony of outlaws, and within minutes, more had appeared from the forest to surround Timeus’s caravan.