War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One

by Nick Morris

“Is he a soldier?”

  “No, a gladiator.” She pre-empted the boy’s next question, adding, “He is known as Caetes.”

  “The champion?” Lucanus asked, his look more serious.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he like being a champion?”

  “He tells me that being a champion isn’t a choice for him. And, can you keep a secret Lucanus?”

  “Yes...yes I can,” the boy answered, looking slightly puzzled.

  Chayna beckoned him closer, feigning to whisper. “My champion tells me that he would exchange all his fame and gold in a moment for one thing: just to be free to return to his people and his home.”

  When Lucanus spoke, his eyes looked very sad. “I’m just a slave Chayna, but if I was your champion, I’d wish for the same thing too.”

  *

  Guntram was smiling as he watched her dabble busily around the small apartment. She hummed a soft tune as she worked, the child-hood words long forgotten.

  “I swear you resemble a honey bee at its nest woman! Sit down before you wear out your shoes, because the room cannot get any cleaner!” he chided, pressing the poultice to the small wound on his forearm.

  She turned to face him, happy to see the lingering smile; no longer a rare thing. It was one of the changes she’d seen as their time together grew. The brooding silences were also shorter and there were other differences too. He’d begun to speak about his life in Germania.

  At first, there were references to hunting trips and strange customs, and then more intimate things when Guntram recalled a joke shared with his young brother or the giant Barend, or the mention of a favourite dish his mother cooked for him on feast days. When he spoke about these things he could not keep the joy from his voice, and she rejoiced to see the man he was, before his loss, before the arena. These glimpses of the past gave her hope that he would become that man again, given time, his freedom...and her love.

  She knew that Guntram hid his scars from the world that lived outside their love, and hid them well. The ludus and the mob saw him as the tiger that killed without feeling. Rome demanded that he take the lives of others in order to go on living and maybe one day be free. She knew a different man; one who lived by a harsh warrior’s code that left little room for the forgiveness of enemies, that pledged vengeance against those who harmed his family and people. He was a man gifted with an uncluttered honesty, a straightness that endeared him to her. And, there was the gentleness when he held her...loved her.

  She often smiled when she watched him and Ellios together, because, despite Guntram’s indignant blustering and stern rebuke of the care-free Spaniard, a true friendship existed between them. Ellios saw something more, as she did, and it was the true heart of the man that drew them to him.

  Despite their closeness Chayna never queried Guntram’s plans to find his brother and the woman. He’d told her that he’d already taken a step to find them, and she asked no more, knowing it troubled him.

  Occasionally, she thought about the woman, and wondered about their love, before her time. Was she beautiful? Was she a good lover? At these times she felt that she wasn’t all that her god wanted her to be. Still, she knew that she would never feel such love again, believing inside, in the place where there was no room for false hopes and fickle dreams, that Guntram loved her with a special love too. She felt it when he caressed her, when he breathed his words into her mouth, whispering that she was his heart. Such moments were splinters of forever, and she was content to let the future come, secure in their love, content that now could lay claim to a life-time.

  Each night she prayed that one day Guntram would be free; free to return home and search for those he’d sworn to find, and with her at his side. Until then, she’d hold him close in the nights when he cried out, after he’d fought and killed. She would heal his wounds and listen when he chose to remember and talked. She would continue to love him.

  “Does the poultice help?” she asked.

  “They always help,” Guntram replied, using his free arm to draw her protesting onto his knee.

  Draping her arms around his neck, she kissed his forehead. “Today, a young boy also complimented me on my choice of herbs.”

  “Flirting behind my back again?” Guntram said, grinning. “And I thought it was just Ellios I had to worry about.”

  “Fool!” Chayna snapped, still smiling. “He was just a boy.”

  Guntram’s smile slid away.

  She recognised the look, and asked, “Do your thoughts travel far my love?”

  “To Strom.” His eyes met hers. “I just hope that he is alive and well, and that fate has been kind to him.”

  “You’ve told me that he was a bright boy, with winning ways,” she reassured him. “I’m sure these qualities have kept him safe, even though he’s-”

  “A slave, I know.”

  After a moment Guntram seemed to shake himself. “Well, the day is fine and I feel like showing you off.”

  Relieved to see his mood lift, Chayna slipped off his lap. “You flatter me, my love, but my best dress has a small hole. I’ll need to repair it before -”

  “Nonsense little bee,” Guntram cut in. “I’ve silver in my purse and I think a new dress is well overdue.”

  “If that’s my master’s wish, then how can I object?” Chayna ceded, her face radiant.

  * * *

  Chapter XXVII

  DEALS

  “No fort is so strong

  that it cannot be taken with money.”

  Cicero

  Freshly bathed, his clothes felt soft against his skin. Relaxed and confident he hummed a favourite tune, sure that the meeting would go well.

  The morning was as bright as his mood as Servannus left the shade of the villa’s porch to enter the small court-yard where his guests awaited him. Galenus was in close attendance.

  “Good morning Gordeo, I’m pleased you could come,” he greeted, knowing the procurator dared not refuse.

  Gordeo and the trainer Belua rose together from their seats.

  “Greetings Servannus and I hope you are in good health,” Gordeo responded. “Please accept my condolences on the death of your father, who I’m sure is deeply missed.”

  “Thank you,” said Servannus. “My father is sadly missed by us all.” To the head-trainer, he stated only, “Belua.”

  The hard-faced trainer tipped his head in response.

  Servannus smiled, reading his demeanour, his obvious resentment at being there.

  He gestured for the two men to sit and joined them in the shadow of the laurels. Three silver goblets and a flagon of wine sat on a small table in front of them. Galenus remained standing.

  “You are both busy men,” Servannus began, “so I’ll come straight to the point. I want you to consider a match between your man Caetes, and Carpophorus – the venatore.” The impact of his words was clear to see on both men’s faces...as expected.

  “But, Carpophorus is retired,” Gordeo managed to force out the reply. “He’s a very wealthy man, and has turned down all offers to return to the arena. And, for a hunter to fight a gladiator is unheard of.”

  Servannus’s smile widened. “Yes, it would be the first! And what a spectacle it would be! As for Carpophorus being retired, I’ve already made him an offer that he’s accepted.”

  “Well, I–” Gordeo started, his face pumping out sweat.

  “All that remains is for you to say yes,” cosseted Servannus, “and to agree your fee, of course.” The amount offered the beast-man was frightening, but Servannus understood that acquiring the best was always costly, and Carpophorus was the best. It was a match to dream of; one that he’d never see the like of again. Caetes would provide Carpophorus with his toughest challenge yet, before succumbing to the inevitable. The promise of sublime entertainment, combined with the elimination of the naive barbarian bent on revenge, made his mouth water. He could not have planned things better.

  Gordeo’s face was scarlet and a pulse was beating on his f
orehead, above his right eye. He saw him flash Belua a quick, nervous look.

  “We were planning to give the German at least two, three more tough matches, before even considering a test such as this,” Belua said, his tone brittle. “Carpophorus is a deadly killer and I doubt if any-”

  “They are both deadly killers!” Servannus cut in. When he continued, his voice was harder, more imposing. “You are an excellent trainer Belua, and I’m counting on your co-operation. I’m sure, with a little more thought, that you’ll come to see this match as something unique, as well as being a rewarding enterprise for Ludus Gordeo, whether you think Caetes is ready or not.”

  “At the arena I saw there was bad blood between you and the German,” Belua said. “Some might say that this match was a convenient way to settle this problem.”

  “True.” Servannus was starting to feel annoyed. “Have you any other interesting notions that you’d like me to hear?”

  “Have you considered that Caetes might win?”

  “Of course. In life only taxes and death are certain.” Servannus’s patience was wearing thin. “And, you’d do well to remember that only a fool swims against the tide, and that the rudis does not guarantee a long life...even for ex-champions.”

  The trainer stiffened, his face darkening.

  Servannus settled his gaze on Gordeo again, who dabbed at his brow with a cloth, clearly unsure how to respond. It was time to hammer the nail home.

  “Before you give me your answer, let me inform you that Vedius Clemens – our illustrious Provincial Governor – was recently a guest in my home,” Servannus’s tone was like honey. “You’re no doubt aware that he is the patron of some very prosperous gladiator schools in Campania.” He smoothed his eye-brow casually with his finger. “During one of our talks he expressed an interest in supporting the interests of a school in Pompeii itself, and asked if I could recommend one that has promise. I’ll be visiting the Governor at his home in ten days time, and will make my recommendation then.” He coughed lightly, a theatrical gesture, then enquired, “Do we understand each other?”

  Gordeo was quiet for long moments before answering, “We do.”

  Knowing there could be only one answer, Servannus inwardly scoffed, enjoying the procurator’s discomfort.

  Gordeo took a deep breath. “Your proposition is very generous, and due to the high risk of losing our man the fee would be very high.”

  “Name your price,” Servannus stated, causing Gordeo’s mouth to drop open.

  “It . . . It would have to be in the range of eight thousand sesterces,” Gordeo proposed.

  “That is a lot of silver.”

  “Eight thousand would be the sum,” reaffirmed the procurator.

  “Very well.”

  “Are . . . are you serious?” Gordeo gasped out the words.

  “Yes.”

  Gordeo looked again to Belua, who now stared straight ahead.

  “Come, Gordeo, your answer, or have you swallowed your tongue?” Servannus prompted.

  “I . . . I accept.”

  “Excellent!” Servannus fairly shouted, thinking, I’d have paid more if needed. “I’ll arrange for the amount to be transferred to the ludus account.” He reached for his goblet and raising it up, encouraged his guests to follow suit.

  “To a match fit for the gods,” he toasted.

  As the goblet touched his lips a drop spilt onto his tunic...red like blood. A bad omen if one believes such things, the thought flashed into his mind. He buried it quickly, confident that the future looked very good indeed.

  * * *

  Chapter XXVIII

  REVELATION

  “There is no accuser so strong

  as the conscience which dwells inside us.”

  Sophocles

  Their love-making was intense, and in the flush of its aftermath Chayna rested her head in the crook of Guntram’s arm, her fingers slowly combing through the thick forest of his chest.

  “Was it as good as in the beginning?” she asked, raising her head to read his expression.

  “It was good...as always little one,” Guntram answered, his voice a whisper.

  “It’s,” Chayna started, “it’s just that you’ve been very quiet lately, and I was wondering if I’ve displeased you in any way?”

  “No, you haven’t”

  Her hand reached out to grip his member, teasing him to hardness once more. “Are you sure?” she repeated invitingly.

  Guntram removed the hand, sitting up. He sighed as he traced the dark outline of her face in the muted light. She knew him too well.

  Placing her hand in the small of his back she entreated once more, “What’s wrong my love? Please, tell me.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” Guntram told her. “My mood’s a black dog tonight...that is all. It’ll pass.”

  “Ellios fought in Nola today,” Chayna said, before asking, “Are you worried about him?”

  “He’s a grown man, and I’m not his keeper,” he answered quickly, too quickly.

  “But he’s your friend.”

  “Ha!” he laughed, and then continued matter of factly. “Gladiators can’t afford friends, Chayna. I’ve wet-nursed him from the day we were chained together, but, the fool has tripe for brains and it’s high time that he looked out for himself.”

  There was a tremor in Chayna’s voice when she asked, “Is it the fight with Carpophorus that’s on your mind, then?”

  “No more than any other,” he responded with a lie. He’d thought a great deal about the fight, as well as the tactics he would use against the venatore. The coming fight would prove a huge test, but he’d trained harder than ever and was ready for him.

  When he’d broken the news of the match to Chayna, she’d been upset, suggesting that they might flee; such was the beast-killer’s reputation. He had calmed her, reminding her of his plans: of Servannus, his brother and Jenell. He’d also reassured her that the match was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. This was his chance to win their freedom, and that he’d not have it otherwise.

  With arms held high, Guntram stretched up to his full height. He raked the hair back off his brow and then crossed the shadowed room, pausing at a small table to pour water into two cups. Handing one to Chayna, he gulped down his own, before refilling and emptying the cup again. The water cooled him a little, but the nagging doubt that burned hot in his head, screamed out for an answer.

  He moved to stand over her. “Chayna, why aren’t you with child?” He sensed her nervousness despite the poor light. She remained silent and he heard her force a swallow. “Come Chayna, surely you’re not so afraid that you cannot answer me?” He placed his hand reassuringly onto her shoulder.

  When she spoke, her voice quivered with emotion. “I swore I’d never lie to you, and I’ve dreaded this moment from the time I realized there was something special between us. I know now that you must be told the truth...and then you must decide what to do with me.” Her voice broke, a heart wrenching sound.

  “Hades! You’re speaking in riddles. Am I a devil that you should fret so to confide in me?” He saw her flinch, and then requested more gently, “Chayna...Tell me what I should know.”

  She wiped at the tears with her fingers, then answered, “When I was fourteen, Fagus came to my room for the first time.”

  He listened in silence, the colour slowly draining from his face.

  Chayna’s account poured out, fractured by great gasps for breath. “At first...I...I resisted, but he was too strong and squeezed my throat till I passed out. Then...he...he would take his pleasure. Eventually...I did not resist, and gave in. Oh God! I gave in!” Sucking in air she continued. “I should have ended my life, but I was so young and afraid to die. I hoped and prayed that someday it would stop, that Fagus might somehow die, might drink himself into his grave. It didn’t happen, and then...then I met you.” She cupped her face in her hands and the tears gushed unabated.

  Guntram squeezed her shoulder lightly, and sp
oke slowly in a quiet voice. “You were just a young girl who chose to live, and there’s no shame in that.” There was ice in his voice when he added, “The sin lies at the door of the dog who forced himself on you.”

  “My love, that is not the worst of it,” Chayna said, managing to catch her breath. “I became pregnant, and carried that pig’s babies inside of me. They did not live past their first dear moments of life, and later it was too much for me to bear. To carry them for so long and then to see them...” The words caught in her throat.

  Guntram nodded, aware of the fate of such children born in the back-streets of Pompeii. He wanted to block out Chayna’s words, but knew he must hear it all.

  “When I caught for the second child, I went to the street of the whores, and begged a woman there to help me get rid of the child. She did, but must have injured me inside.” Chayna wiped at the trails of tears with the back of her hand. Her gaze dropped to the floor, dark lashes casting long shadows on her cheeks. “I fear that I may never bear another child.”

  Squatting down on his haunches before her, Guntram raised her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “Chayna, are you sure of this?” he asked gently.

  “Oh Guntram!” she cried. “I nearly died, and there was so much blood and pain! It’s something I feel and dread.”

  “Maybe...” his words tailed away.

  Shaking, Chayna went on, “Later, Fagus was often too drunk to do anything when he came to me, and I thanked God that I wouldn’t become pregnant again.” She tried to smile. “Now, with you, I feel so different. Guntram, I’m sorry...so very sorry.”

  Guntram walked to the table and lit a small lamp. He pulled on his tunic, fastening his leather belt around his middle. For the first time he fully understood the plight of a woman in bondage. The gladiator endured the cut of the sword, the sear of hot iron; temporary shocks, felt and then over. But Chayna’s agony lived on. He grimaced, feeling her pain, sharp in his imagination.

  When he turned to speak, his heart was filled with admiration for Chayna’s courage in telling him the truth, regardless of how the telling might affect her lot. He felt something much darker for the one responsible.