by Ryan Lew
Justina
Daughter of Spartacus
Ryan Lew
JUSTINA: DAUGHTER OF SPARTACUS©
Published by Proof of Concept Press
Henderson, NV 89009
Justina: Daughter of Spartacus is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Ryan Lew
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author or the publisher.
Published in the United States by Proof of Concept Press.
Hardbound ISBN 978-0-9996148-2-2
Paperback ISBN 978-0-9996148-1-5
Ebook ISBN 978-0-9996148-0-8
Cover design by Elizabeth Mackey
Visit us on the web at www.iamjustina.com
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Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following people who have helped make this book possible.
Paul Papa who has been with me on this ride from the beginning. You kept me calm and focused throughout the past two years.
Tonya Dennis, Mike Molony, Adriana Lopez, Nancy Meija, Juliana Marchand, Whitney D., and Danny Manus who all shared some knowledge and insight in making this possible, and Elizabeth Mackey (Cover Art) and Jennifer Severino (Editing, Formatting) for putting the final touches on.
Contents
WANT TO JOIN THE REBELS?
Cast of Characters (In Order of Appearance)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
About the Author
WANT TO JOIN THE REBELS?
WANT TO JOIN THE REBELS?
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
(In Order of Appearance)
GLACIOUS, 36, Slave
MARONA, 29, Slave
DOMITIUS, 52, Slave
CAMILLA, 48, Slave
BRACCIUS, 32, Legatus
FABRICIUS, 23, Centurion; Oldest Brother
ANTONIA, 17, Slave
HERMINIUS, 21, Middle Brother
JUSTINA, 17, Sister
ATILIUS, 17, Youngest Brother
ALBA, 44, Mother
JULIUS CAESAR, 45, Senator
CATO, 51, Slave
LUCILIUS, 18, Soldier
LIVIUS, 45, Father
BRUTUS, 30, Senator’s Aide
SERVILIA, 50, Mistress
CRASSUS, 60, Senator
POMPEY, 51, Senator
MEDICUS, 58, Doctor
Chapter 1
March 4, 55 BC
Slaves were not permitted to walk the halls of their master’s house by night. They were to be locked in chains in the basement, not allowed to roam as they please. But this night was different. This night, her husband Glacious, the primo servus, the head of household, the most-trusted slave, the one responsible for ensuring the locks on all the other slaves were secure, had not performed this required task. This night, Glacious, Marona, and two older slaves were making their way upstairs, in a forbidden area.
“Deep breath, my love,” Glacious said to his wife in little more than a whisper. “Freedom is near.”
The quartet had made its way up the stone stairs to the mezzanine floor and were just down the hallway from their master’s sleeping quarters. It was dark. Candles that had once lit the way had long ago burned their last, leaving only trails of melted wax, frozen in time as they dripped down the walls and formed pools on the floor. That the flames had been extinguished was no concern of hers. Marona preferred the dark. It was a comfort, for it was in the dark that the slaves of this house found relief. It was the shade of night, not the light, that gave the slaves repose, welcoming them every eve, when long after their masters retired to their luxurious bedchambers, they fell, exhausted, into their cots of hay. Darkness was their friend. The light meant only that their day was to begin again, the cycle starting anew.
Marona and her husband had a plan, a well-thought out plan, and tonight was its execution. Their masters had a son in the Roman army, but tonight, he was on patrol, making this the night to strike. In anticipation, Glacious had concealed a hammer, a hatchet, and a dagger. Now only steps from their tormentor’s bedchambers, Glacious stopped, pulled the hatchet from his tunic, and handed it to his wife.
“Now, as the cobra strikes, quickly and quietly, just as we planned.”
The curved handle was made of fine polished wood, and though her hands were small, she was able to grip it tightly, firmly. Glacious was tasked with caring for all his master’s tools. He had learned how to treat them and, more importantly how to maintain them. This included taking edge to stone to keep it sharp. It was something he had perfected, and the hatchet reflected the precision of his work. She held the weapon tightly against her bosom.
“Is there no other way?” Domitius, the older male slave, whispered from the darkness behind them. He and his wife Camilla had been cautiously following behind.
Glacious turned. “If you will not hurry your steps, I will have you hide in your cages until our freedom is secure. Then you can take your chances when the sun rises and our intent is revealed.”
“I only meant that we have always been treated fairly by this house,” Domitius said. “Were we to leave now, there would still be time to reach the aqueducts by daybreak and escape to…”
Before Domitius could finish, Marona spun around and took hold of his steel collar, catching him off guard and off balance. The shorter Marona yanked hard, pulling him down toward her until they were face-to-face, eye to wide eye.
“Treated fairly?” she said.
“What do you know about being treated fairly? You and your wife hide in the kitchen while the rest of us are fair game. You know nothing about what happens in this household!”
Marona’s fingers tightened around the steel, her knuckles pressing against the older slave’s throat. She was glaring at him. The hall seemed somehow smaller, darker, as if the whole world had stopped spinning for the briefest of moments. Suddenly, Marona was back in her master’s bedchambers, bent over his bed as the grotesque man, many years her senior, violated her again and again. It was something he did routinely, grunting and groaning, more with exhaustion than pleasure.
Marona shuddered, and as quickly as it had appeared, the memory left.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like being touched by that gangrenous swollen eel?” Marona asked, her words biting. “To have him bend you over as he pleases and thrust himself inside you. Saturating your body with his wretched odor?” She paused, and then looked down. Her voice grew quieter. “Never being able to cleanse yourself of that vile smell,” she continued, “no matter how hard you scrub? His fetid breath still stings my nostrils.” Marona had drifted away to another place, reliving what she had been forced to endure.
“Apologies,” Camilla said, placing her hand gently on Marona’s arm. “Neither of us had any idea.”
The words brought Marona back. She was met with fear. Not her own, but in the eyes of the man whose collar she had in her grip. A grip she suddenly realized had tightened increasingly as she spoke. She looked down, almost embarrassed, and released the collar, then wiped the tears that had formed in both eyes.
As always, Glacious came to her rescue. “Standing outside our masters’ bedchambers, weapons in hand,” he whispered forcefully, “is hardly the time for second-guessing. This is what we all agreed upon. Now, do your part. Both of you.” He pressed a hammer into Domitius’ hand. “Take this and be ready to use it.”
Glacious cradled Marona’s face. He leaned in and gave his wife a kiss. His lips were warm, and they helped remind her why they were there, what their goal had been and still was. She grabbed the back of his head and returned his kiss, more forcefully. After a moment, Glacious pulled back and gave his wife a knowing nod, which she returned. He then flashed Camilla and Domitius a stern look before turning to the door of the bedchamber and pushing against it slowly.
Their masters were in bed, sound asleep, lying on their backs. The man of the house, dressed in nothing but his lower undergarments, was snoring loudly, his huge belly rising and lowering with each breath. His wife was clad in a sheer white gown, a strange smile pasted on her face. Glacious pulled a dagger from underneath his tunic. Marona looked at her husband, and the two shared a quick smile. “Freedom is but a thrust away my love,” Glacious whispered.
They turned to face their masters and rushed into the room.
Marona leapt from the end of the bed with an energy she had never before experienced and landed squarely on her master’s bosom. The instant weight and motion startled the woman, and Marona took full advantage of her confusion. She raised the hatchet high above her head and thrust it downward with both hands, plunging it deep into the woman’s skull. She heard a dull crack, and a streak of bright red blood shot from her master’s head, striking Marona directly between the eyes. She reeled back slightly, then brought her hand to her face and slowly wiped the blood from around one eye.
She was instantly flooded by a wave of emotions. Anger and guilt, power and vulnerability, the sweetness of revenge and the coldness of murder. She hadn’t expected to feel all these emotions, and as the tears began welling up, she forced herself to push them deep inside. She looked down at her handy work. Her master’s eyes reflected a mixed state of surprise and horror—the gruesome realization of what was happening forever frozen on her face. As the blood began to leak from the wound, Marona allowed herself a wry smile.
Glacious’ advance hadn’t been quite as smooth as that of his wife. Perhaps it was the swiftness of her movements, or the eagerness of her endeavors that caused Glacious to hesitate, but that hesitation came at a cost. Before he could thrust his dagger into their master’s chest, the man woke from his slumber and managed to sit up straight. Wide-eyed, the master of the house looked over at his wife, then at his attacker, before crying out.
“Assassin! Help!”
Glacious jumped atop the man, trying his best to get the large, unruly mass under control. His master wasn’t strong, but fear and panic had energized him. Facing a life or death struggle, he had found the strength of Hercules and was quickly getting the better of Glacious.
“Help me with this pig, you cowards!” Glacious yelled to Domitius and Camilla. But they seemed unable to move. Camilla hid her head in her husband’s chest, and Domitius wasn’t much better. He had wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife and was pressing her tightly against himself, shielding her face. His mouth had dropped, his eyes were wide, and his knees were beginning to buckle. The hammer lay on the ground before him.
Disgusted, Glacious turned his attention to the mass of fat before him. He raised the dagger high, but before he could slam it full-hilt into his master’s chest, the man got ahold of his arm, clutching it with the might of a gladiator. His opponent managed to turn onto his side, rolling Glacious and almost causing him to fall to the floor. As their master cried out a second time, Glacious screamed an almost primeval cry, kneed him just below the ribs while twisting his own body, and somehow managed to maneuver him once again onto his back.
Marona pulled on the hatchet with both hands, but the blade was deep and she struggled to dislodge it. The blood on her hands made it hard to gain a hold on the handle. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was being tossed like a ship on an angry sea, the conflict next to her making it difficult to keep her balance. Just as she was about to fall off the side of the bed, she got a firm grip on the hatchet and pulled herself back up. The action loosened the blade, and she was finally able to dislodge the weapon from the dead woman’s skull.
As Glacious pressed his knees onto the large man’s shoulders, pinning him down, Marona called upon every ounce of her strength to slam the hatchet into the man’s throat—cutting his voice in mid scream. Blood spewed in all directions, splashing their faces, and staining the already bloody sheets. Marona was covered. She took a deep breath and fell back on her knees. Their captor was dying a slow, terrible death, his once commanding voice having been reduced to a life-ebbing gurgle. Glacious suddenly let out a scream and thrust his dagger into the man’s chest—ending his master’s life once and for all. He sat up, breathing heavily, and looked over to his wife.
“Our first step toward freedom,” Marona said, pulling the hatchet from the dead man’s neck. “Now, let us move quickly, lest we risk discovery.”
Glacious removed the dagger and stood to face Domitius and Camilla. They remained pressed against the back wall but had now slid all the way to the floor. Glacious wiped the dagger on his tunic and moved toward them.
“Where were you when needed?” he demanded, hovering over the couple. “Neither of you did anything to help.” He held the newly cleaned dagger, pointing the blade directly at them as he continued, “We give you the freedom you desire, yet you take no part in deserving it.” Camilla’s head was still buried in her husband’s chest. She was sobbing, shaking her head from side to side. Domitius went to speak but was quickly quieted by Glacious. “If either of you slow down our travels, you may see the same fate,” he said and left the room.
Marona followed her husband, pausing only momentarily, her disdain clear. “Get up,” she ordered. “We need to move.”
Chapter 2
March 5, 55 BC
Morning came early.
When Glacious rose, the others were still deep in slumber. He didn’t mind. They would have to be woken soon enough, but for now, he wanted a few moments alone to ponder the night’s events. Murder was a grievous act, and the thought of it weighed heavily upon him. It was not an easy thing to take another man�
�s life, but it was necessary, if not deserved, for what his wife had been forced to endure. It was the justice their masters had deserved. A justice Rome would never have dispensed.
He pulled an apple from the satchel they had taken with them and bit into it. The juice spilled out the sides of his mouth. They had never been allowed such an extravagance. Everything in the pantry had to be accounted for at the end of each day. If even a nut was missing, it garnered a severe beating. The apple was just as sweet as he expected. Sweeter still because it was the first food he tasted as a free man. He walked over to the edge of the aqueduct and peered out at the world that lay before him, truly experiencing it for the first time. It looked like freedom. It smelled like freedom. It was freedom.
At first, he didn’t feel it. He was too busy stretching his arms to the sky, soaking it all in. Too busy envisioning his future to feel the blade cut into him. But it did. It pierced him with the precision of a soldier. By the time he felt it, by the time he looked down to see the glistening steel protruding from his chest, by the time he realized what had happened, he wasn’t even able to cry out. He coughed, spit out blood, and turned to face a squadron of Roman soldiers. He wanted to speak, wanted to know how they found him, but the words would not come. He looked over at Marona, saddened, and dropped to his knees. Then everything went black, and as he fell forward, he finally found that freedom he sought for so long.
