Justina: Daughter of Spartacus (Justina Saga Book 1)

by Ryan Lew

  As Justina watched a merchant engaged with a customer, Cato came up behind her. “Shall we stay here, Domina, and let the boys attend to their folly?”

  She wanted to say yes, wanted to remain in the forum, avoiding the sight that awaited her, but her mind went to Antonia, and she knew she had to go. There was no choice. “No,” she said reluctantly. “We’d better go.”

  The boys forgot all about Justina, Cato, and the Medicus in their haste to get to the crosses. When they arrived, they were met with a gruesome sight. Crucifixion was not a type of punishment in Rome, but rather a method of torture that was particularly cruel. That was the scene when the two boys arrived. Both Domitius and Camilla hung from crosses, their arms bound with large, strong cords. Domitius was positioned with his spread arms forced over the backside of the cross. He was bound at both wrists. This position was a favorite of the Romans, because of the severe pain it caused to the shoulder joints. His chest was bare except for marks where his tormentor’s whip broke through the flesh. His legs had been placed on either side of the vertical pole and nailed in place, the anklebone shattering as the crude metal was hammered through his legs into the wood. His wife Camilla was to his right. Her ankles were also nailed to the cross, but her arms had been bound to the front of the horizontal member. This position was little better than his. While it did not cause severe pain to the shoulders, it did force all her weight to fall on shattered ankles.

  Rocks were stacked on the ground a short distance in front of the crosses, placed there to be cast at those who were hanging. Their only purpose was to increase the pain the sufferers bore. Atilius bent down and immediately picked up a stone, waiting for his friend to do the same, but Lucilius just stood there. The events of the past week rushed through his head.

  As soon as he walked into the house, he knew something was wrong. It was simply too quiet. He rushed up the stairs to his parents’ bedroom. The door was open, but he didn’t go in. Not at first. He knew what awaited him, but he didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to make it real. There was stillness in the room, and it seemed much colder than normal. With his heart pounding, he took a deep breath, got up his courage, and rushed into the room. The horror of the sight stopped him in his tracks. He had been a soldier long enough to know a battle had taken place. A brutal battle.

  He rushed to his mother’s side. Her skull was almost split in two, the surprised look still frozen on her face. It was more than he could bare. He fell to his knees at the side of the bed, his stomach twisted inside him. It came upon him so quickly, he didn’t expect it, couldn’t stop it. He turned from the bed and vomited violently.

  Afterward, he sat on the bed beside his mother, cradling her head in his hands, pulling her against him. It was a pain he had never experienced. When he finally left the room, he headed to the slave’s chambers. Each one was empty, and it was then that he knew what had happened. It was then that the emptiness inside him was replaced with an all-consuming rage.

  Atilius hit his arm with a rock. The action brought him back to the present. “Here,” he said. “Aim well, brother.”

  Lucilius looked at the stone for what seemed an eternity, then his eyes hardened. He took the rock, pulled his arm back, and flung it at Domitius. The stone hit its mark, landing with a dull thud, then dropped straight to the ground. Domitius didn’t move. There was no reaction of any kind.

  “The gods piss on me again, depriving me of just reprisal!”

  “The woman still writhes on her cross,” said Atilius. “Better to find your reprisal there, brother.” He reached down and handed Lucilius a second stone. “Make this stone find its mark and send her to Tartarus with her confederates.”

  Lucilius did not hesitate this time. He cast the rock even harder than before.

  The pain was beyond what she had ever thought she could endure. Why had she agreed to go? To run away? Their treatment hadn’t really been that bad. Why hadn’t they just slipped away in the curtain of night? The sun was relentless. It baked her skin and dried her lips to the point of cracking. How she longed for water. The moisture coming from her eyes had been a slight relief, but she had long ago lost the ability to form tears.

  When the nails were driven through her ankles, she had passed out. When she finally awoke, her arms felt as though they had been pulled from their sockets. She tried to straighten her legs to relieve her tired arms, but was met with an immediate pain so intense, so harsh, it forced her to cry out. The Roman soldier had laughed at her misery. She had forced her weight onto her broken feet as much as she could, but all she managed to do was prolong the agony. There are no gods, she thought to herself. For if there were, they would have taken her long ago. Taken her like they had her husband.

  The stone collided hard against her chest. She winced from the pain with a low gasp. While she wasn’t able to lift her head, she could still see a bit in front of her. Her dry eyes burned, and her vision was blurry, yet she was able make out two men, no boys, standing at the pile of rocks. She heard one of them shriek with joy. She tried to focus on her two tormenters. One was shorter than the other. He was the one laughing. The other seemed more sad than angry.

  It was at that moment she recognized the boy. No, she thought to herself. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Lucilius. She began to sob. The sound unmistakable, even if her eyes remained dry.

  “The wretch sees me!” she heard him say. “She recognizes her tormenter!”

  The other one, the shorter one, picked up a stone and prepared to launch it at her. It didn’t matter. She deserved their torment. But as he cocked his arm, it looked to her as if Lucilius stopped him. He did stop him.

  “Pause a moment, brother. I would like her last few breaths spent with confession of motive. Then have your way with her.”

  Yes. Yes, she thought, come closer. Let me clear my conscience. Lucilius came to the foot of the cross, just below her. His eyes wanted answers. She sobbed, the grief stronger than the pain.

  “Why have you taken my parents from me?” he spit out. “I’ve never witnessed you beaten or mistreated. You have been in my house as long as I can remember.” His tone was more determined than angry.

  She could feel the life ebbing away, but she refused to go. Perhaps there were gods after all. Perhaps that was why they had prolonged her suffering, why she had been tasked with enduring this unimaginable pain. Perhaps the gods had decided to allow her to rid herself of the guilt that racked her more than the cross ever could.

  She tried to form the word, but her screams had long ago taken her voice. Her cracked lips were as dry as her throat, and they sent sharp pains when she moved them. Still, she pressed on. She needed to say the name.

  “Speak, traitor!” Lucilius yelled.

  “Mah,” she finally found her voice. It was soft, barely a voice at all. She could see Lucilius trying to get himself as close to her as possible.

  “What?” he asked. “What is it you are saying?”

  “Mah…rone…ah,” she managed to get out. “Mah…rone…ah,” she repeated.

  Lucilius stood there, not knowing what to do. The slave had said the name and in an instant, he knew what had transpired in his house that night. He knew who had killed. More importantly, he knew who had not. The woman, more dead than alive, on the cross in front of him may have run away, but she had not caused the death of his parents. He had been robbed of his revenge. Fabricius had taken Glacious and someone else had taken Marona. He had nothing. There was none left. He turned and walked back to Atilius.

  “Send her to Tartarus, brother,” Lucilius said, “and have her darken my life no more.”

  Atilius wasted no time in picking up a stone and launching it at the woman. It hit her hard in the shoulder. He turned to celebrate the throw with Lucilius, but his friend had already walked away.

  “Look, she still lives,” Atilius called out. “Have we not come for sport and function?” Lucilius kept walking. “Lucilius!” he yelled out, to no avail. Atilius turned back and picked u
p another rock. He pulled back his arm ready to cast, then looked back at Lucilius. He turned to Camilla. Her head was drooped and her breathing shallow, too shallow. He dropped the rock and ran to catch his friend.

  Lucilius was standing at the cross when Justina arrived with Cato and the Medicus. She watched his head drop, then he walk away without looking back. “I don’t understand,” she said to Cato. “What matter of conscience befell him? Could it be a fleeting moment of humanity? They cajole and threaten to have us here with them, and then leave absent resolution.”

  Cato looked hard at the woman on the cross, her face reflecting the torture her body was experiencing. “Their desires change as the wind, Domina, without conviction or purpose,” he said turning his attention to Justina. “Perhaps he discovered something unexpected. Perhaps the slave on the cross was not the murderer he had hoped.” He looked back at the dying woman. “Perhaps that knowledge robbed him of his desire for revenge.”

  What a strange thing to say, Justina thought. “Look upon her, Cato. Do you believe she ever possessed malice? She looks far too kind for that type of action.”

  “It matters not, Domina. Roman law dictates that all slaves in the household share the same treatment for egregious acts against their masters.”

  Justina turned to Cato. “If she played no part in the crime, how is it honorable to punish an innocent, void of wrongdoing, for the capricious actions of another? Does this not curse Rome and all we hold dear?”

  “It serves as a useful deterrent,” Cato explained. “One slave may plan and scheme, but if that plan is shared with another, the second slave may confide in his master the plot and save his own life and the rest of the house. This is the way of Rome, Domina, and it is best not to question Rome’s provenance, lest a similar fate befall the asker.”

  Justina turned back to the poor woman on the cross. She found herself unable to turn away, and before she realized it, she was walking forward. It was a gruesome sight. What pain she must have endured.

  “She has passed, and I have done as my master requested,” Cato said. “Let us gather the items for the Medicus and return home.” But Justina kept moving forward, transfixed. Cato stepped closer. “Let us go, Domina,” he said a bit louder.

  “I have many items to get, Domina,” the Medicus added. “It would be best if we stuck to our task.”

  “Just a moment,” Justina replied. She stood at the foot of the cross and looked up at the woman nailed there. It was at that exact moment that the slave opened her eyes.

  The sun was incredibly intense, and she struggled to focus, determined to face her tormentors. Lucilius and the shorter one no longer stood in front of her. Now a young woman was slowly approaching. There was curiousness in her face, a desire for understanding. She was staring intently, as if there was some sort of secret to discover, as if looking into Camilla’s eyes would unlock a hidden door.

  She was beautiful, with dark hair and bronze skin that seemed to glisten in the sun. In fact, there was an aura of light surrounding her. The young woman was so close, she could easily touch Camilla’s legs, if she dared. But she did not. Her eyes were fierce, but kind, and they reminded Camilla of another time, another place, so many years past.

  Holding the baby in her arms, wrapped in a blanket, Camilla remembered how full of life the child was—how full of potential. Potential that could never be realized unless her path was diverted from its current course. That is what the man standing in front of them had said, when he handed the baby to Camilla. The man with fierce, kind eyes. The man who had brought them freedom.

  They had made a promise to protect. Though it cost them their newfound freedom, it was a promise they all eagerly accepted. But it was a hard promise, one that eventually cost her and her husband their lives.

  A dark man stood behind the young woman. He too was looking up at her, but his face was not filled with a desire to understand. No, his face was…

  “Cato,” she thought she heard the young woman call him. “Something troubles you.”

  “Apologies, Domina.” he said. “It is nothing with which to concern yourself.”

  Was she hallucinating? Did the girl just call him Cato? And didn’t he call her “Domina,” which could mean only one thing.

  She strained her eyes to look at the man. It was Cato and the Medicus who stood next to him. Her mind went back to a time, some seventeen years ago, when they were all together in another place. Standing in front of the man who had won their freedom.

  “Romans value a worthy Medicus,” the man told them. “Your leave will assure your future and that of my daughter. Travel safe.”

  Cato stepped forward. “I shall accompany them on their journey to ensure they make it to Rome,” he told the man. “I pledge to watch over your daughter.”

  “Do you understand what you are saying? I will need you in battle, Cato.”

  “You have made sacrifices to grant our freedom that can never be repaid,” Cato replied. “I hope this small gesture will show you what you have done for thousands of slaves.”

  The man reached out and took Cato’s forearm.

  “We shall seek a noble Roman family in need of a Medicus and wanting for a daughter to call their own,” Cato said. “I will offer this family my services for the time it takes to raise Justina.”

  The four of them and the baby had headed to Rome but were forced to split up along the way. Fearing they would be easy to spot as a group, Cato suggested they disband. She had tried to get Cato to allow her and Domitius to take the child. “We will look like a couple with a baby,” she had told him, but Cato wanted nothing of it.

  “I am most suited to protect her, and I will not let her out of my sight,” he told them. “The Medicus and I will head to Rome with the child.”

  That was the end of it. Camilla and Domitius had eventually been captured and resold into slavery. Over the years, they lost track of both Cato and the Medicus, landing in a house that hadn’t worked out so well for them.

  And now, just as the life was about to leave her, she had found them once again. Cato and the Medicus standing here could only mean one thing. The young woman in front of her was the baby she had sworn to protect so long ago. The surprise and joy gave her the strength to form words.

  “You made it,” she whispered to the young woman standing below her. “By the gods, you made it.”

  Her words were not as strong as she had hoped, and Camilla wasn’t sure they had even been heard. Then she saw Cato place his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Let us go, Domina,” he said. There was urgency in his voice. “The market and the Medicus await.” She watched as Cato turned from the cross, hoping the young woman would not follow. She did not.

  “Wait, the woman speaks.”

  Camilla tried to smile. The girl had heard her make a sound, even if the words had not been clear. She knew she had one chance. One chance to gather enough strength. One chance to let this girl know she had fulfilled her promise.

  “She babbles nonsense, Domina,” Cato said. “The poor woman has succumbed to the throes of death and is delirious with suffering. Let her pass without interference.”

  No! Cato, no! she thought to herself. Do not take this child from me! Do not have me lose this chance. She had to speak. Had to make herself heard this time.

  “You made it,” she said, suddenly strong of voice. Cato had heard her, and when he turned to face her, she spoke again, “I thought only my husband and I had made it safely once our paths separated.”

  The young woman seemed confused, but why? Had not Cato informed her of her past? “She seems to be talking to you, Cato,” the young woman said. “Am I mistaken?”

  Cato looked up at her. “She resides in the throes of delirium” he said, then to the young woman, “Let us go. We have tasks to complete and can no longer afford wasted time with the babbling of the suffering and dying.” Cato took hold of the young woman’s arm and attempted to lead her away.

  Had Cato not told her of her past? Of her
future? Of her destiny? Why was Cato hiding this from the girl? As her body weakened, her resolve grew strong. Maybe Cato wouldn’t tell her, but he couldn’t stop her from doing it.

  “Sparta,” she tried to yell, but her voice was too week. Cato had succeeded in getting the girl to walk with him. She tried again but was unable to get the entire name out, only managing a weak “Sparta.” The girl was walking away now, taking with her Camilla’s last chance. She could not let that happen. From somewhere deep inside her, she found one last bit of strength and yelled out “Spartacus. Spartacus! Spartacus!”

  It was marvelous. She saw the young woman turn in a flash. “Spartacus?” she questioned Cato. “Does she mean the slave leader?”

  But Cato was smart and quick. “Many on the cross chant his name before death,” she heard him say. “It is their last taunt for any Romans listening. Let us take our leave, Domina. No reason for your memories to embrace this tragedy.”

  She saw the two of them turn again and knew she had failed. There was nothing she could say. Nothing that would make the young girl turn. With every last bit of life within her, she yelled out the only thing she could think of that would make the girl understand. The only thing she had left to say.

  “Just… Just… Justina. Justina! JUSTINA!”

  Cato and the girl both turned to face her at the same time. With her last bit of sight, she saw the shock on their faces. She watched as Cato’s shock turned to anger. And as the life finally ebbed from inside her, as the gods came to take her to Tartarus, she saw the girl looking up at Cato, those fierce eyes demanding an answer, and she knew in that moment, that Cato hadn’t thought to change the girl’s name.

  Chapter 14