True Freedom

by Carol Ashby

  “Could be?” Julia swallowed the lump she couldn’t keep from forming.

  Gaius shrugged. “Servilia and I are praying for him, and God can heal anyone.”

  The crack of the ox driver’s whip started the team ahead of them, and Gaius turned back to his mules. A snap of the reins, and they resumed their crawl toward the Porta Viminalis and the safety beyond it.

  When they finally passed through the city wall, the view opened before them.

  Gaius swept his hand toward the north. “That’s the training field of the Praetorian Cohort. Ahead is the Castra Praetoria. Hadrian isn’t in Rome, so many of the Guards are with him, but there are plenty left to keep things under control. The Urban Cohort is headquartered there, too.”

  As they drew closer to the towering gray walls of the Praetorian fortress, Julia couldn’t keep her eyes off the many sepulchers that lined the road. Some were buildings of marble with ornate carvings, like that of the Julii Secundi off the Via Appia. Some were simple markers that proclaimed how someone loved the dead enough to erect a monument that might have cost more than they could afford.

  Her gaze settled on Dacius’s face. It looked peaceful with him sleeping. No clenched jaw, no scrunched eyes that had proclaimed his pain that afternoon.

  A shadow passed over him, cast by a mausoleum with columns modeled after a Greek temple, a fitting memorial to noble ancestors.

  But there were people who left no one who cared behind. For most slaves, their bodies would be burned, their ashes treated like trash and tossed away.

  That might have been his fate before, but not now. She wiped at the corner of her eye. She’d make certain Father placed his ashes with those of her family and had a small plaque carved to preserve his memory as a man willing to give everything to save her.

  She squared her shoulders. But it shouldn’t come to that. He was going to survive this and take care of her. He would get her home to Father, and she’d make certain he was rewarded for his loyalty.

  The wagon passed by the fortress and a stretch with more sepulchers. Finally, they were free of the reminders of death. A scattering of small buildings lined the road. Fields and vineyards stretched out beyond them.

  Gaius turned on the seat. “The slow part is over. We’re almost half way home. We’ll take a side road off this one soon, and then it won’t be long.”

  Julia offered him a weary smile. “Thank you for everything, Gaius.”

  He shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m glad Servilia came for my help.” He turned his back and slapped the reins. The mules picked up the pace, and Julia was left in the silence with her thoughts.

  Dacius awoke to the jolting of a wagon rolling over paving stones. That drew a smile. The long hours of darkness and pain were over…the darkness, at least. The moon was close to full.

  Nothing hurt less, but at least they were on their way to a safe haven for Mistress Julia until her father returned. His left shoulder and thigh were bouncing on a hard surface, but his head rested on something warm and soft. A pillow―one more thing to be grateful to Servilia for.

  And then it moved.

  His eyes shot open. The mistress’s lap. That was the last place he wanted his head. He tried his best to avoid thinking of her as a woman. That was hard, and resting his head on her lap made it even harder.

  He shifted his left arm under him until he could push himself up to a sitting position.

  “What are you doing?” Her words sounded more censure than question.

  “I beg pardon, mistress. I didn’t mean to touch you. I don’t know how―”

  “I had Gaius put you there when you passed out. The road’s rough, and I don’t want you hurt more.”

  “But it isn’t right for a slave to rest his head in his mistress’s lap.”

  “Lie back down. You need to rest.” Her voice has softened to the tone she used with her nieces, but that just made it worse. She was escaping the mistress box.

  “It’s not right, mistress.” She opened her mouth as if to argue. He needed a different reason. “I need to sit up. I should be watching for the kidnappers.”

  She closed her mouth and tilted her head. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. We’ve come a long way from Servilia’s shop.”

  A quick glance around him revealed fields past small buildings scattered along the road. “Yes, mistress, but what if they set a watcher at the city gate and saw you?”

  Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that.” The pitch of her voice rose. “Would they do that?”

  He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “Probably not, but just in case…I want to watch.”

  “Then I guess I should let you sit up. If you feel well enough, that is.”

  Just pushing into a sitting position had drained his energy, and shifting to get his back against the cart wall drove daggers into his leg and shoulder. Feel well enough? Not at all, but the alternative was having his head in her lap, and that made her seem too much like a pretty woman instead of the mistress. He’d rather fight pain and exhaustion than temptation.

  A faint scent of roses still surrounded her, and his side that was near her felt warmer than the side farther away. She was too close, too much like a woman sitting right next to him.

  As he leaned back against the front of the wagon, he tried to keep his eyes open. Open and looking away from her. For a few minutes, he succeeded. Then his eyes started drifting shut. He tried shaking his head a little, but he didn’t dare shake it as much as needed for fear she’d notice. The jostling as the wheels rolled across the paving stones helped, but not enough.

  His eyes closed; his chin lowered to his chest.

  When he jerked awake, his head was on her shoulder. “I beg pardon, mistress. I didn’t mean to touch you.”

  “It only happened because you dozed off. You’re not watching at all.”

  “I beg pardon. I’ll try harder to stay awake and watch.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s ridiculous for you to be sitting up when you need to sleep. Lay your head back in my lap.”

  “But―”

  “Don’t argue with me, Dacius. When I tell you to do something, you’re supposed to just do it.”

  He drew a deep breath. She was right. Despite the temptation from lying in the lap of a pretty young woman, he had to obey his mistress...as long as what she commanded didn’t put her in danger. His head in her lap wasn’t a danger to her, only a temptation for him.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  She shifted her legs to make a better lap, and he lowered himself into it.

  She pulled the blanket back over him. “Now, close your eyes and sleep like you need to.”

  He obeyed. His breathing slowed as he relaxed. This was no worse than sitting close beside her. Even sitting, she’d seemed too much woman, too little mistress.

  Then she began playing with his hair, as if he were a lap dog.

  He’d forgotten how good that felt. In the days before Rome ended his childhood, his sister Ariana used to do it. She was only five years older than him, but she liked to mother him anyway. When he had trouble getting to sleep and sometimes even when he didn’t, she would sit on the bed beside him. Her fingertips made spirals and circles on his temple, and she would run her fingers into his hair as she hummed.

  The smile those memories brought drooped, then vanished.

  Ariana―he never saw her again after she and his younger sister Roanna were dragged off with the other girls to be sold.

  On the slave ship to Rome, he’d longed to know where she was, what she was doing. When he was sold to his first owner, that changed. He saw firsthand what happened to pretty young slaves in that household. Longing turned to dread. And now, twelve years later, all he could do was pray that somehow Ariana and Roanna had found their ways to kind masters. It was possible...no matter how unlikely. Roman men were almost never kind.

  He opened his eyes to gaze up at the mistress. Thank you, God, for letting me
spare her from my sisters’ fate.

  She actually smiled down at him. “Close your eyes. I want you to sleep. You’ll get better faster if you do.”

  “Yes, mistress.” His eyelids shut, as ordered. Her fingers kept brushing his forehead and temple and pulling through his hair. The kindness the mistress showed her nieces was for him tonight, and he relaxed as the soothing fingers kept moving.

  God, please heal me so I can get her safely back to her father. I couldn’t help my sisters. Let me finish helping her.

  He drifted off.

  Julia heard his breathing slow and felt his weight settle into her lap as he dozed off.

  Her friends would be appalled to see her cradling a litter slave, stroking his hair to comfort him. Menial slaves were nothing more than living furniture in their households.

  That was what he’d been to her before that morning. Just a slave who did what she needed without speaking or intruding more than was necessary. She was aware of a common slave’s absence sometimes, but almost never of his presence.

  But that was different now. Dacius had rescued her.

  He was all that stood between her and her horrible brother until Father came home. Only he knew how to get her home after Father returned.

  Servilia said Gaius’s wife knew how to care for him. Good, but she would take care of him, too. He had to get better. Everything depended on it.

  Her hand moved to his bristly jaw. Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, but there was no sign he felt it.

  She blinked back tears as she gazed on his plain face with its slightest trace of a smile. He had to get better, but it wasn’t only because she needed him. Someone as brave and loyal as he was shouldn’t have to die because he came to save her.

  Chapter 23: Safe at Last

  Gaius’s farm northeast of Rome

  The moon bathed the countryside in silver as the wagon finally followed the dirt track into a farmyard. For the first time since Julia had entered the filthy atrium behind the kidnapper, the last trace of tension drained from her body.

  Safe at last.

  Then her eyes turned down onto the man who’d made that possible. “Dacius, we’re here.”

  He didn’t move, and her neck muscles tensed again. She rested her fingers on his cheek and patted. His deep breathing turned shallow, and his eyes opened.

  “We’re at the farm.”

  “That’s good, mistress. You’ll be safe now.”

  “We’ll be safe now.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up.

  As Gaius climbed down, the door of the cottage flew open, and a woman with a lamp stood in the doorframe. Gaius started toward her, and she hurried over to meet him.

  “You’re so late. I was starting to worry.”

  Julia’s eyebrow rose. The woman’s voice carried no worry in it.

  Her smile seemed worry-free as well. “God gave me a sense that something wasn’t right, and I’ve been praying that all would be well.”

  Gaius placed his palm on her cheek. “All is well with me, but Servilia needed my help for a young couple. It took a while to get to her shop and then out of town. Julia needs a place to stay for a month or so, and Dacius is hurt.”

  With her arm threaded around her husband’s, the farmer’s wife approached the wagon, smiling at Julia. “I’m Marcella. Welcome to our home.”

  Marcella’s sharp intake of breath when she looked over the wall and saw Dacius sent Julia’s heart rate higher.

  Gaius’s wife turned to him. “We need to move a bed into the main room. He’ll need close watching.”

  “I’ll move one of the girl’s beds in there now.” Gaius headed into the house.

  Marcella reached across the wagon wall to place her hand on Julia’s arm. “I’m going to help him get the bed set up.” Her gaze dropped to Dacius’s face. “Let him rest until we’re ready for him.” She walked back to the open door.

  Dacius shifted his left arm under him and started to push himself up.

  Julia’s gaze returned to his face. “Don’t do that. You’re not to move until Gaius returns to help you.”

  “Yes, mistress.” He dropped his head back in her lap and closed his eyes.

  She nibbled her lip. He’d objected to lying in her lap both times before, so why no argument this time? But maybe he’d only decided she was going to make him do it, no matter what he said.

  The blanket had fallen from his shoulders when he tried to rise. She tucked it back around him.

  It was only a few minutes before Marcella returned with Gaius in tow. As he was removing the back gate and then the chicken crates, Marcella stood beside Julia.

  “Is he your husband or betrothed?”

  Dacius opened his eyes and then his mouth.

  Julia patted his cheek. “Don’t try to talk.” She paused before answering herself. Servilia had warned her not to tell anyone who she was. She didn’t know what Servilia might have considered safe to tell Gaius. Gaius’s wife probably posed no danger, but…

  “No, but we live in the same neighborhood, and he always takes care of me when I need help. He got hurt rescuing me from kidnappers, and I’m afraid to go home yet.”

  Marcella’s welcoming smile made her caution seem rather foolish. “You can stay as long as you need. It will be some time before he can travel back to Rome.”

  Servilia had stressed one thing that the farmer’s wife must be told. “Servilia told me you should know she wasn’t able to clean his wounds. She said you’d know what to do.”

  “As soon as we get him inside, I’ll take care of that.”

  Gaius led the mules as close to the house as he could. Then he scrambled into the wagon, slipped his hands under Dacius’s arms, and lifted him to his feet. Marcella moved to the rear. Three small steps, and Gaius had him at the edge. She lifted his legs as Gaius lowered him to sitting on the wagon bed. She steadied him as Gaius hopped out. Then he got Dacius’s left arm wrapped around his shoulder again and served as the crutch as the two men moved slowly toward the open door with Marcella right beside them.

  Julia’s hand flew to her mouth. That had been hard for Dacius when they loaded the wagon. It looked like sheer misery for him now.

  She scooted to the edge of the wagon and hopped out. By the time she reached the entrance, they had Dacius lying on a narrow bed along the wall across from the door. His eyes were closed, but a slight smile showed he was conscious. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as it looked.

  Marcella sat on the bed beside him. “I’m sorry, but we have to clean those wounds before you can sleep.”

  That half smile appeared as his gaze focused on Gaius’s wife. “Do whatever you must. It’s not going to make my day any worse than it already has been.”

  A kettle of water was steaming over the fire. Marcella carried it to the rough wooden table and poured some into a basin. She’d already placed some soap and wash rags, a pitcher of wine, and a small canister beside it.

  “First your shoulder, then your leg.” Gaius supported Dacius in a sitting position. She started unwrapping the bandage Servilia had applied, but she turned at Julia’s footsteps. “You can help me by holding the basin while I wash around the wound.”

  Julia swallowed hard. She’d almost fainted helping Servilia, but he must have stopped bleeding long ago. “Just tell me what to do.”

  As the last wrap fell away, Dacius reached across and held the brownish red pad in place. Julia turned her eyes away.

  “Spread that towel behind him. I want him on his back for this.”

  Julia managed to avoid looking at his shoulder as she complied.

  Marcella brought her the basin of warm water and dipped a rag in it. Then she began wiping the area near the wound with the wet cloth. Between wipes, she dipped it in the basin.

  At first, Julia kept her eyes on the bowl, but each dip put swirls of blood in the water. Her head started to swim, so she squeezed her eyes shut. Then curiosity drove her to
look again. Swirling ribbons of blood were a problem, but there was enough in the basin that it was a uniform red now. That wasn’t so bad.

  Then she made a huge mistake. Her gaze shifted from the bowl to his shoulder. It had started bleeding again with the cleaning. The whole room started to spin. She barely got the basin set on the floor without spilling it before she dropped to the floor and sat with her head resting against her knees.

  Dacius turned his head toward her. “Are you well, mistress?”

  “Yes. It’s just the blood. It always does this to me, especially when I haven’t eaten in a while.”

  She locked her gaze on his calm gray eyes.

  Understanding filled them. “Don’t try to help if it’s too hard.”

  Marcella looked at her. “You can do this, Julia. He needs you to. I need more than two hands here.”

  Dacius’s gaze never moved from Julia. “I can help.”

  Marcella shook her head. “You shouldn’t even try. She can do it. It will get easier as she does.” She held a hand out to Julia. “Come on, dear. I need you back here.”

  Julia rose and picked up the basin. She stepped back over beside Marcella and averted her eyes. As long as she stared at the ceiling, she was fine. There was no blood up there.

  Marcella looked up at Julia. “You can put the basin on the table until I tend his leg. But first…” Her gaze returned to Dacius. “Some wine for cleaning and honey to start the healing. I’m afraid the wine will hurt.”

  His jaw twitched “I’ve had water, wine, and honey on wounds before.” He blew his breath out through pursed lips. “Sometimes it takes more pain to start the healing.” He forced a smile at Marcella. “The sooner you start, the sooner it’s over.”

  Julia looked away. The stripes from when Vilicus lashed him―they were her fault, too. She heard him suck air between his teeth as Marcella dribbled wine into the knife wound. A deep sigh released that breath.