Lionslayer's Woman

by Nhys Glover

  But now that he was one of them, he understood what it was like to have no control over your own life. You couldn’t even choose your own name. Had his mother’s slaves chosen their own names? He had no idea. He understood why they were unlikely to care overmuch for him. Just as he cared nothing for Livianna Honoraria, for all she had rescued him like a stray dog from his execution.

  Turning his mind from such troubling thoughts, he focused on the concerns of this moment: Cyra.

  ‘I’m worried about Cyra being impetuous. I’m not sure she’ll follow any plan I formulate, particularly if it requires patience,’ he confided to Nexus, as they followed behind the women watching for any threats directed their way.

  ‘I’ll talk to Galeria. Get her to talk some sense into the girl. I know what you mean. She’ll be a liability if she doesn’t contain her impatient impulses. That one draws a dagger first and asks questions after.’

  ‘Her life has taught her to do so.’ He found himself defending the girl, even though it was he who’d raised the concern. He didn’t like hearing his woman criticised by anyone, no matter how accurate the complaints were.

  ‘Life has taught us all the hard lessons. She’s a blade that needs to be honed to be effective. It’ll be up to you to convince her to trust your judgements. Being a man doesn’t give you immediate right to leadership with that one. Cyra is more Amazon than she knows.’

  Decaneus nodded with a grunt. ‘I knew there were remnant tribes of those legendary warriors around but I never thought to meet a woman from one. It’s sad what they’ve come to, and yet the women of their tribes still seem to hold the power. It rankles, I must admit. My people value women but they don’t let them have too much influence. Such power in volatile hands could destroy us all.’

  Nexus chuckled. ‘I know what you mean, but sometimes I wonder if there’d be a lot less bloodshed if women ruled. They don’t like to see their children killed for unimportant reasons. Yet men will fight over the smallest slight.’

  Decaneus couldn’t argue with that. Women were more peace-loving on the whole. His little wildcat was one of the exceptions of course. He found he liked it that way.

  7 June 82 CE, Isle of RHODOS

  Cyra clung to Galeria as they said their goodbyes on the docks in the predawn light. It felt as if her heart were being torn from her chest. Biting her lip, she held back the tears that had been threatening ever since the decision was made for them to separate the day before. Although she’d eventually come to the same decision the others had – that it was necessary to go after both females at the same time – it still felt like she was losing the last of her new family.

  And what if she let Galeria down? What if she couldn’t save Gali? When had she ever had to take responsibility for anyone but herself?

  And though Galeria had been emphatic that she must let the warrior determine the course of action, she wasn’t sure she could. It required more trust than she possessed. If she didn’t have confidence in herself to carry out this task successfully, she had even less confidence in the bearded stranger they now called Leonis.

  So he could kill a lion with his bare hands, or with a strip of fabric. That simply meant he was strong and quick-witted. Anyone could be brave when the alternative was death.

  But even as she thought it, she realised it wasn’t true. Faced with certain death, most people would panic and try to run. It took real courage to face down a lion.

  What would she have done in his place? A tiny woman wouldn’t have had a chance against a lion – even a big strong man like Leonis shouldn’t have had a chance – but would she have run or would she have stood her ground and let the beast take her? She would never know.

  ‘Now, you have your documents?’ Galeria was saying for the third time that morning. She sounded like an anxious mother sending her child off to a ludus for the first time.

  With a little humourless laugh, she nodded. ‘Yes, of course. We both keep our travel papers in pouches around our necks. We know better than you do what happens to us if we’re caught without them. Stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine and so will Gali; I’ll make sure of it. If the Dacian comes up with a good plan, then I’ll follow it; if he doesn’t, I will. I’m no fool, and I’d never put Gali at risk out of pride.’

  ‘But you might from a soft heart. Don’t rush in, Cyra. A cool head will be the one to win the day. You must see the sense in that Stoic ideal at the very least.’

  ‘Instinct can succeed where logic fails,’ Cyra argued back, slipping naturally into their old patterns of debate. One would take one point of view, the other the opposite. It had led to many entertaining and lively exchanges that Donicus had enjoyed adjudicating.

  Donicus – sprawled dead on his divan, blood soaking his toga and tunic, eyes wide with surprise and yet sightless. He would never listen to them debate again. She bit her lip hard to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened.

  ‘Cyra, Leonis is an intelligent, experienced warrior. He’ll know what’s best to do. Promise me…’

  ‘Not a good enough warrior to stay out of Roman hands, but I promise you I’ll heed his advice. We’ll get your sister to Amaseia and be waiting there for you when you come with your mother. May the gods speed your journey.

  ‘And do not give your heart too readily to the Nubian. He’s handsome and gentle, but his heart is empty. I’ve seen it in his eyes. No matter how hard you try, you won’t get that one to love you.’

  Galeria drew back in surprise, shaking her head emphatically. ‘I’ve no thoughts of love when my father is dead and my mother and sister are in danger. How could you think such a thing?’

  ‘It’s in such times that you do fall in love, or so I’ve heard. Just use some of that Stoic reason in his regard,’ Cyra pressed, patting the taller girl on the arm.

  Her hands had started to shake now and she was holding on by a thread. If she didn’t get away now, she might not be able to.

  ‘I won’t give my heart to the Nubian, I promise. But I’ve no doubt that he’ll do his best to find and rescue my mother. I feel the same way about your Dacian…’

  ‘Not my Dacian!’ Cyra interrupted heatedly, feeling her cheeks beginning to burn.

  ‘You know what I mean. These men were chosen especially by my mother’s friend – a woman with the wealth and influence enough to send anyone. She chose these two. We have to trust her judgement.’

  ‘But she thought they were simply coming to give us warning and guide us into hiding. She didn’t know they’d be facing these kinds of challenges.’

  ‘I know the story of Livia’s life, and I think Nexus must be the slave that Livianna sent to find her, which he did and saved her from Vesuvius. A man like that can do anything he sets his mind to. And Leonis has the heart of a lion… Cor Leonis, remember? We have to believe in these men. The gods sent them to us for a reason. Don’t doubt that…’

  At that moment, Nexus came over to them. He gently took Galeria’s arm. ‘Come on, the ship’s about to leave. We have to hurry.’

  Galeria nodded, gave Cyra one last kiss on the cheek and let her go. Then, as Cyra’s heart screamed out in silence, she watched her mistress hurrying down the dock toward the waiting merchant vessel.

  ‘We have to go, too,’ Leonis said, coming to her side. She wouldn’t let him take her arm. Instead, she strode on ahead toward their waiting craft.

  It was a two-day journey to Ephesus and had cost nearly 50 denarii each for deck space. It seemed an exorbitant amount to Cyra, but then she’d never had money of her own, so any amount beyond a few as for a meal seemed more than she properly understood. The pouch she carried around her neck held her travel papers and more money than she could have earned in a lifetime. Had she been a different woman and cared less for Gali, she might have taken the money and run. All her dreams of returning to her village as a provider could have come true, but that idea was an anathema to her. Gali needed her and Galeria trusted her. That was all that mattered anymore.

  A
s she sat under the canvas Leonis had erected for them on the deck out of the way of the busy sailors, her heart felt sick with worry and loss. When the Dacian came to lounge at her side under the shelter and began to scavenge for food in the basket, she let him distract her.

  ‘How can you be hungry?’ she demanded irritably, watching as he tore off a large chunk of fresh bread and dribbled olive oil over it. Then he sprinkled some fragrant herbs on top.

  Before he took his first bite, he stared over at her and his eyes seemed unnaturally blue in the shadowed light of the shelter. ‘Have to keep up my strength, and a warrior knows he has to eat when he can. He can never be sure when there’ll be time or food again.’ Then he bit into the bread and groaned his pleasure.

  It reminded her so much of sexual release that she had to look away from his handsome face and focus on the patch of blue she could see beyond the canvas. It was almost the same colour as his eyes and it only intensified her awareness of him in the confined space.

  The weather was warming up. The day would be another hot one. It already was for her, as her face heated up at the thoughts of Leonis’ groan. Unwanted tendrils of arousal surged through her body.

  When they got underway, the sea breeze would cool them, she hoped. And to cool her mind, she allowed memories of her last sea voyage to come to the surface. It had been a very different experience sailing these waters in the bowels of a slave ship. The arousal disappeared instantly, as she remembered the airless confines of that overcrowded prison and the terrified faces of the men and women who shared that hell with her.

  ‘You should eat, too,’ Leonis said with his mouth full, breaking into her thoughts again.

  ‘I can’t eat. My stomach is turning cartwheels.’

  ‘Food might settle it.’

  ‘I don’t want to eat, don’t you get that?’ She was almost yelling now. ‘I’ve just said goodbye to the woman who saved my life, to the woman who’s treated me as a sister for the last nine months of my life, a friend who has given me a life I never thought to have. That woman has entrusted me with the safe return of her sister, a child I love with all my heart. I’m sick with worry that I’ll fail her!’

  ‘We won’t fail her, Cyra. I know you have no reason to trust me but I assure you I know what I’m doing. Organising and leading skirmishes into enemy territory is my bread and oil. I’ve been doing it since I grew my first beard. I know how to slide in like a shadow and cut men’s throats before they even know I’m there.’

  ‘Your bragging serves no purpose. You obviously got caught, so you can’t be that good.’

  ‘I was betrayed. My brother suggested a raid into Roman-held territory and my father agreed to it.

  ‘My father is one of the Kings of my people. We used to be one tribe, united under one great King, but since that time, infighting has separated us. My father wants to unite us again and wage war on Rome, but until he gets the support of the other tribes, we’re left to nip at the heels of the mighty Empire, annoying it just enough so that it thinks twice before moving farther north.’

  ‘You said you were betrayed?’

  ‘Yes, by my brother. He’s older than I am by two years and my father’s legal heir. I’m my father’s recognised bastard by a concubine he loved. Even though my brother has the status and power, he’s always resented me and our father’s preference for me. It was he who taught me how useful a piece of fabric can be in strangling the life out of a living creature. He nearly succeeded in strangling me when we were still boys, and from then on there were always dangers to be faced because of him.

  ‘The night we raided the Roman camp they were waiting for us. It was a trap, and thirty of my thirty-five men were slaughtered. I fought well enough that the commander of the legion had me taken alive. Thought I’d make a suitable gladiator, but I wouldn’t fight for their pleasure so I was sent to the amphitheatre for execution by beast. You know how that turned out.’ He grinned at her as he took another big bite of bread, chewing with obvious enjoyment as if to make light of the losses he’d sustained.

  ‘So you think your brother sent a message to the Romans telling them of the planned attack?’

  ‘I do. It was his way of getting rid of me for good. Nothing else had worked and enough people had seen me escape one botched attempt on my life after another to realise something was going on.

  ‘I lost many good men who trusted me that night. For that, my brother will pay dearly one day.’

  ‘I have no time for revenge. If I thought to avenge myself on all who’ve hurt or betrayed me, I’d have no time to live.’

  ‘Sometimes living isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  7 June 82 CE, EPHESUS

  Antoninus hurried in through the front door of his father’s elaborate villa just as the sun began to set behind the mountains. His Parthian slave followed behind, carrying the sleeping child. The door-slave bowed low and didn’t look up from the tiled floor until he was addressed.

  ‘Where is my father?’ he demanded imperiously.

  The slave’s head shot up but his gaze didn’t meet Antoninus’. His father’s slaves were a subservient lot. It amazed him how his father managed to engender such utter submission. Probably in the same way as he’d gained compliance from Antoninus at an early age – beatings.

  ‘The Proconsul has been recalled to Rome. He left two days ago. The staff are just finishing the last of the packing. The new Proconsul and his staff are expected any day.’ The man mumbled.

  ‘Recalled? Already? I thought he had a few more months!’ Antoninus swore loudly and stomped his foot. The slave cowered away.

  Nothing was going as he’d planned. First, those inhuman Praetorians had killed the whole Donicus household, and would have killed Papia and Galerianna, too, had he not stepped in. Now the dear woman was on her way to the slave markets of Parthia and he was stuck with a screaming child who would only keep quiet if he drugged her.

  The idea that she’d sit whimpering quietly in a corner, grateful for any kindness he showed her, had been completely wrong. The child seemed intent on deafening him, so he kept her drugged and already she was losing weight from lack of nourishment.

  His apothecary had warned him not to dose the child with the poppy seeds for too long and to keep the doses small so she was calmed rather than sedated, but his slave found it hard to get the dosage right and she slept more than she was docile; it was becoming an annoyance he didn’t need. He wished he’d never conceived of the plan.

  He’d left his home early yesterday morning from fear. When he’d settled himself at home and had a chance to calm down, he’d realised that once the bodies were found someone might connect him to the incident. Someone might have seen him with the Praetorians, the child in his control. So he’d packed himself up, and with his most trusted male slave and the sleeping child, taken the first ship bound for Ephesus the following morning.

  His plan was to tell the Proconsul what had happened and ask him for help. His father had gotten him out of one scrape after another as a child and young man. Even though he was a harsh parent, he was also a loyal one… or maybe it was only that he never wanted his son’s actions to reflect badly on him. Whatever the reason, Gnaeus Arrius Antoninus the Elder was always willing to help the Younger get out of strife, and this was strife indeed.

  ‘Xerxes, put the girl somewhere and then go back to the harbour. We need to find a ship heading for Rome immediately. I want a cabin below deck for the girl, and find me a female slave that can be her companion and keep her quiet. She can’t sleep a two-week journey away. She has to eat and drink some time.’

  The tall Parthian nodded and bowed. With long, confident strides, he hurried away down the closest hall toward the bedrooms off the peristylium.

  While he waited, Antoninus decided to make the most of the luxury. He wandered off toward the tablinium.

  ‘Send for some wine and honey cakes. I’ve had a trying journey and must refresh myself. Later, I�
��ll go to the baths. The salt air has left me sticky and uncomfortable.’ He didn’t bother looking behind him to make sure the slave got the order. He knew the wine would be at his side almost before he reached the reception room. It was always the way in his father’s many households.

  HALICARNASUS

  If Rhodos’ Colossus was one of the Seven Wonders of the World, then the Tomb of Mausolus was another. The huge temple-like structure with its pyramid atop it was plain to see from the distance of the harbour, glittering like silver in the late afternoon sun. Cyra pointed to the huge monument as their ship sailed into the port, awed by its size and beauty. She had read of this tomb and of the queen who had built it for her beloved dead husband hundreds of years ago.

  ‘She must have loved him very much,’ Cyra said more to herself than to the Dacian at her side.

  ‘Who?’ Leonis looked in the direction she was pointing.

  ‘Queen Artemisia. She and her husband Mausolus ruled their kingdom from here hundreds of years ago. When he died she had that built.’ She indicated to the monument again with her finger. ‘The Romans liked the idea so much that they started building mausoleums just like it for their own dead. Look at how it glitters! There must be mica in the stones.’

  ‘It is beautiful, but so is the rest of the city. What kind of wealth did those rulers have to build this place?’ He turned from the temple on the hill to take in the walled city that surrounded the harbour as their ship drew up at the docks. ‘There’s not much for us to do but wait for the ship to leave again in the morning. Maybe we should take a look around once we’ve found a place for the night.’

  Cyra stared at the enthusiastic man at her side as he planned his adventure. She’d been glad she hadn’t eaten that morning because the rocking of the boat on the trip had made her feel quite queasy all day. Much to her annoyance, Leonis hadn’t suffered the same upset. He’d happily stood on the deck most of the day, out of the way of the busy crew and the other passengers, and enjoyed the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. If she hadn’t known he came from the north, she would have sworn he’d been born for the sea.