Past Lives (The Past Lives Chronicles Book 1)

by Terry Cloutier

  Please, oh please, don’t come and look, Claire prayed. But the Roman had seen something, she could tell, and he dropped his hand to his sword as he took several steps forward. Claire waited, trying to control her breathing as the legionnaire drew closer. He’s going to catch me! Claire’s mind screamed as she bunched her legs beneath her, getting ready to run.

  “Placus!” a gruff voice grunted. “Get back here. We’re moving out.”

  The youth hesitated, peering suspiciously into the bushes until eventually he shrugged and rejoined the others. Claire waited, listening as rain plopped and slapped against the leaves covering her until finally, she was certain that they were gone. She stood, then hobbled away as fast as she could in the opposite direction from the Romans, eager to put as much distance between herself and them as she could. She skirted around a tree, not noticing as a dark shadow appeared in front of her until it was far too late. Claire ran straight into a solid mass of flesh and bone, bouncing off and falling to the ground as a giant figure towered over her. Lightning flashed again and Claire screamed a strangled cry as she looked up in horror at the grinning, ruined face of Sextus Acte.

  “Well, well, well,” the slavecatcher growled through torn lips. Claire started to backpedal along the ground, wincing at the shooting pain in her hip as the big man stalked after her. He chuckled in amusement. “Not again, my little bitch. This time your luck has run out.”

  Claire rolled onto her belly and staggered to her feet, limping over dead branches and through clinging vines before she finally made it back to the clearing. Sextus Acte just followed leisurely behind, whistling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Claire made it almost to the bog before the big man rushed forward and pounced on her, grabbing her by the neck as he hoisted her body into the air. She could only struggle weakly in his powerful grasp as the slavecatcher laughed, shaking her like a ragdoll. Claire gagged, kicking her feet and fighting to breathe as she hammered with her tiny fists against his arm.

  The slave collar around Claire’s neck was helping to impede the man’s hand from completely closing off her windpipe, allowing a tiny trickle of air into her lungs. But she knew the minuscule amount wouldn’t be enough to keep her alive for long. A part of Claire’s mind realized that the storm had finally blown itself out, with a weak half-moon appearing from behind the clouds that cast an eerie glow across the clearing.

  “You have been a giant pain in my ass for far too long, girl,” Sextus Acte grunted. He held up something in his other hand, turning it back and forth in the faint light for Claire to see. It was the gladius the slavecatcher had taken from the Roman he’d murdered. “I was going to take my time with you, my troublesome little bitch,” Sextus continued. He put the cold steel against Claire’s cheek, rubbing the flat edge back and forth gently as he held her aloft with ease. “But my patience has run out, as has your time in this world.”

  Claire could feel the oxygen concentration in her blood decreasing by the second as her limbs slowly went numb. Her body was automatically reacting to the low air supply by sending what remained in her bloodstream away from her extremities to her brain and heart. But that wouldn’t last for long, and soon she knew her brain would start to die or her heart would give out. Either way, she knew she was dead as she hung limply in Sextus’ grip, not bothering to fight anymore. It was over, and they both knew it as the slavecatcher drew his arm back, the sword poised to disembowel her.

  Claire closed her eyes, anticipating the burning pain just as a commanding voice rang out. “Sextus, stop!”

  The big man hesitated. “This is none of your concern, Quintus. Back off.”

  “By the gods, man, you will put that child down immediately!”

  Claire heard footsteps approaching, but she was too weak to bother opening her eyes.

  “I said put her down!” Quintus Barbii shouted, though his voice sounded far away to Claire.

  She felt herself suddenly dropping, barely feeling the pain as she hit the ground. Her mouth opened on its own, desperately sucking life-giving air into her tortured lungs as she curled up in a fetal position.

  “Do you see what that little bitch did to me, Quintus?” the slavecatcher screamed in outrage.

  “Step away from her, Sextus,” Quintus said, the warning in his voice clear. Claire moaned and coughed, pressing her hands to her ravaged throat as the trader stooped to put his arm around her. “It’s all right, child,” he said. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

  “She’s nothing but a worthless runaway, Quintus!” Sextus Acte shouted, pacing back and forth in anger. “She tried to kill me.”

  Claire glanced up at the enraged slavecatcher, surprised to see several legionnaires with drawn swords flanking the big man warily.

  “She’s just a girl, Sextus,” Quintus said, his voice heavy with disapproval. “How could she have done that to you? She’s not even armed.”

  “You’re taking the side of a slave over me?” Sextus challenged. He snorted and shook his head as one of the soldiers cautiously took the gladius away from him.

  “Can you stand?” Quintus asked Claire in a gentle voice. Claire nodded, and with the trader’s help, she stood, feeling strength returning to her limbs. She saw what remained of Lulius lying in the grass and she tapped Quintus’ arm, then pointed at the body before gesturing to Sextus Acte.

  The trader’s eyebrows rose. “Lulius?” he asked. Claire nodded and her owner’s expression hardened. He turned to glare at the bigger man. “By what right do you take it upon yourself to destroy my property?”

  Sextus Acte glanced toward the dead boy, then shifted his eyes back to the trader. “He was trying to escape,” he said as he moved forward and poked a finger against Quintus’ chest. “You pay me to catch these bastards when they run, remember?”

  “I pay you to catch them,” Quintus Barbii agreed, his voice flat and cold. “I don’t pay you to murder them at your whim. I will be taking this matter to the courts once we return home.”

  Sextus shrugged, looking unimpressed as Consul Carbo approached. “There is no time for this, Quintus. I was gracious enough to return when we heard the child scream, but time grows short. We have to move on.” The Consul glared at Sextus Acte with distaste. “Abusing and murdering another man’s property has consequences,” he said in a grave voice. “One which will not be overlooked when the time comes.”

  “Losing an entire army has consequences, too,” Sextus retorted.

  Claire could see Carbo’s face flushing even in the moonlight before he looked away. He met Claire’s eyes, and she saw the surprise on his face when he realized who it was that Sextus Acte had caught. The Consul’s features transformed then for just a moment, the fear, fatigue, and humiliation of this day lifting long enough to reveal the monster hiding beneath. Claire turned away in disgust. “Bring the girl,” Carbo snapped, his demeanor more forceful now. “We’re leaving.” He turned to the slavecatcher. “You know these mountains better than anyone, Sextus. Can you lead us back to my camp without having to use the road?”

  “I can,” Sextus Acte admitted, his voice taking on a more conciliatory tone. “Getting there won’t be easy, though. There’s a lot of tough terrain to cover, which will be difficult in the darkness. But with a little luck, we should make it in about an hour.” The slavecatcher’s good eye gleamed with what Claire took to be cunning. “But if you want my help, Consul, then you’ll have to give me something in return.”

  “What?” Carbo growled with impatience.

  The slavecatcher gestured to Claire and the dead boy. “Forget all about this when we return to Rome. Give me your word as Consul that you will have Quintus’ grievance against me dismissed, and then I’ll help you.”

  “You ask a lot of me,” Carbo said with a grimace as he rubbed his chin. “Quintus and I have known each other for many years.” He glanced at the trader, then toward Claire before finally shrugging. “Very well. If you get us back, then you have my word nothing will be said about what has tak
en place here this night.”

  “But, Gnaeus!” Quintus started to protest.

  “That’s enough, old friend,” Carbo grunted, chopping a hand through the air. “I don’t want to hear anything more about it. We need this man’s help, and the dead boy and this girl are only slaves anyway. We’ll find some other way to compensate you for your loss without the need to take the matter to a praetor.” The Consul turned to a tall man with a plumed helmet. “Tavian, you will stay behind and search the forest in case any more of my men are still out here. Sextus will give you directions to the camp. We’re going to make these savages wish they’d never been born come morning. But to do that, I’ll need every man I can get.”

  “Of course, General,” Tavian said before he and Sextus knelt and the slavecatcher scratched out the directions to the camp on the ground. Once Sextus Acte was finished, he stood, then set off through the trees with Carbo and his men following.

  “Do you think you can walk?” Quintus asked Claire. “I can carry you if you need time to regain your strength.” Claire just shook her head, indicating she was fine as the trader wrapped an arm around her waist to support her. “I warned you not to try anything,” Quintus Barbii added in a stern voice as they both limped after the retreating forms of the Romans. “I’ve half a mind to beat you myself once we finally get home.” Claire looked up at Quintus Barbii in alarm and the trader sighed, shaking his head. “No, that won’t do. I don’t know what it is about you that makes me so weak, Marcella.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I’m just getting soft in my old age.”

  Claire suppressed a smile, wondering what her companion would say if he knew she was actually older than he was by several years.

  The journey took far longer than Sextus Acte had claimed, though he had been right about the rough terrain. The small company had to navigate a fast-moving stream and several steep ravines in the first hour, eventually reaching a rock-strewn ridge that Claire, exhausted and aching from head to toe, struggled to climb, even with the trader’s help. Carbo finally grew impatient with them both and ordered one of the younger legionnaires to carry Claire on his back. They crested the ridge with little difficulty after that, and once at the top, the slavecatcher abruptly turned north, guiding them around a silent lake of pristine water that twinkled in the moonlight. The big man headed back into the trees once they’d passed the lake, until eventually they broke out into the open again, finding themselves standing along a narrow, deserted road.

  “The camp is a quarter mile that way,” Sextus Acte grunted, looking unfazed after the difficult trek compared to the rest of the Romans, all of whom were breathing heavily.

  “Yes,” Carbo nodded as the moon slid behind some clouds for a moment, then reappeared, illuminating the terrain around them. “I recognize where we are now. Let’s keep moving,” he said as he started down the road. “We’ve got a lot to do before the sun rises.”

  Claire and Quintus followed twenty yards behind the others, both of them limping and moving gingerly after the long hike through the trees. None of their companions seemed to notice that they were laboring and falling behind, or, if they did notice, care. The company came across six soldiers heading west along the road toward the camp, and these men fell into step to the rear of the Consul. Several more stragglers appeared from the trees a few minutes later, calling out in relief as they hurried to join the growing company.

  “Marcella,” the trader said as he and Claire continued to lag behind the others. “I need you to answer something for me. Will you do that?” Quintus didn’t wait for her response as he continued, “These barbarians that we are fighting. Were you one of them once?”

  Claire hesitated. Sextus Acte had told the trader about Claire’s escape when the company had stopped for a brief rest earlier. She grimaced. Well, he’d told his version of it anyway. Quintus Barbii had studied Claire thoughtfully after Sextus had told him about Gerald and what he’d done to rescue her. And later, as they’d traveled, she could tell he was mulling something over in his mind. She debated whether to be honest with him or not, then decided there was no point in denying it. She glanced up at her companion and nodded.

  “Ah,” the trader said. “That’s what I thought. So all this time, you’ve been trying to get away so you can return to them?” Claire nodded again. “You have family waiting back there, I take it?” he asked. Claire nodded a third time as she felt Frida’s anxiety over her mother rise in her again. “I see,” Quintus said. He sighed, the weariness he felt evident on his face. “This world of ours is a harsh place, child. I can be ruthless when it comes to business, I know, but I don’t consider myself to be a bad man.” He squeezed Claire’s waist in a friendly manner. “I hope you don’t either.”

  Claire just stared up at the trader, her face expressionless. She was a slave to this man and had been beaten and abused more times by those who worked for him than she could remember. That was something not easily forgotten, regardless of how nice Quintus Barbii seemed.

  “Well, I can’t say I blame you for what you are thinking, child,” Quintus finally said as he interpreted her look correctly. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “But the time has come to make amends, I believe. So, this is what we are going to do. When we get to the camp, I want you to slip away and find somewhere to hide. I’ll make sure no one sees you leave. Pick somewhere where no one can find you, especially that bastard Sextus.” Claire glanced at the trader in surprise. “I don’t like the way he’s been looking at you, Marcella,” Quintus explained. “I know him, and I promise you he’s not going to give up until you’re dead.” The trader grimaced. “I don’t like how Gnaeus looks at you either, for that matter, though for entirely different reasons. His interest in you troubles me almost as much as Sextus’ does.”

  Quintus paused, turning to face her with his hands on her thin shoulders. “You were never meant to be in a cage, Marcella,” the trader said as he looked down at her. “I see that now. And even if we somehow manage to get out of this and return home, I know you’ll never stop trying to escape. Whatever it is that drives you to do this can’t be quelled by the lash or even the threat of death, it seems. So, my choice is to either sell you to someone else and let them deal with you or set you free.” Quintus smiled at the sudden look of hope in Claire’s eyes. “Yes, child, I’ve decided to do the latter. I don’t know why, but it just feels like the right thing to do.”

  Claire gestured to the trees, pleading with her eyes.

  “No,” Quintus said with a shake of his head. He looked over his shoulder at the shadowy forms of the other Romans marching down the road ahead of them. “If you run now, Sextus will go after you. And we both know what will happen when he finds you.” Claire lowered her eyes in dejection. She did know. “Your best chance is to do exactly what I say,” Quintus continued. “Gnaeus has some silly idea about hitting those bastards again in the morning. But Consul or not, I don’t think any of the legates will agree with that plan after what we just witnessed in that valley. Which means if my guess is right, we’ll be leaving this place within an hour or two. Stay hidden until then, and once we’re gone, then the rest is up to you. Do you understand?”

  Claire nodded, feeling a little of the animosity she felt toward the trader sliding away at the undeniable kindness he was showing her. She hesitated, then gave the Roman a quick hug.

  “Then it’s settled, Marcella,” Quintus said as he hugged her back. He broke the embrace, his voice thick with emotion as he added, “Come along now, child. Gnaeus will be wondering what’s keeping us.”

  The main Roman camp was massive Claire saw once they finally reached their destination. Much larger than the temporary one near the hilltop overlooking the valley. She and Quintus paused on the crest of a ridge that overlooked a sprawling plain. Below them, Consul Carbo and his men continued down the road toward the gates of the camp. A wide ditch encircled the enclosure, leading to three-foot-high earthen ramparts with a wooden barricade built along the top and two tall watchtowers f
lanking each of the four gates. Torches burned from the walls every ten feet, working in tandem with the moon to light up the open terrain around the camp. All the gates were open, and Claire could see legionnaires and slaves moving with purpose outside the walls and within them as well. Several silent men on horses patrolled the road and woods behind Claire, watching for any signs of the Cimbri and Teutones and guiding any stragglers onward.

  “They’re getting ready to march,” Quintus said in explanation as he gestured down the incline. “We better hurry, or there won’t be time for you to hide.” Claire looked at Quintus with a question on her face. “Yes, I know what Gnaeus said earlier, child. But all my old friend is doing is talking nonsense about a counterattack. He’s trying to salvage whatever is left of his reputation, but he’ll only get the rest of us killed if he gets his way.” Quintus gestured to the camp. “Those men down there know that, and though they gladly followed him into battle today, his failure means they will not do so a second time, despite what my friend believes.”

  Claire turned suddenly at the sound of movement behind them. More men were walking or limping along the road, with at least ten appearing from the gloom in blood-splattered and dented armor.

  “What news?” a legionnaire in the lead with a cloth wrapped around his head asked Quintus in a voice filled with weariness.

  “Consul Carbo is alive,” Quintus said as he watched the Roman general enter the campsite and disappear from view. “Word is he plans on attacking the barbarians again come morning.”

  The legionnaire snorted as the men behind him muttered in anger. “Has the man gone mad?” the soldier demanded. “Didn’t he see how many of the bastards there were in that valley? It’s only by the grace of the gods that storm arrived when it did and they retreated, or we’d all be dead.”

  “But they’ll be back the moment the sun rises,” another soldier muttered, shuddering. “You can bet your last denarius on that.”