by Nhys Glover
I went to his side and gripped Orion’s arm. “There is no weakness in love. Only strength. We have all been saved from death by love. Its strength has allowed us to achieve incredible things. To overcome impossible barriers. A madman’s revenge, a greedy woman’s machinations, a conflagration that destroyed Rome itself, and Parthian kidnappers who took me far from home. Do you think any of those could have been overcome without love pushing us forward, keeping us strong?”
Orion’s face became a mask of anguish. “We cannot fight this one. My sword cannot defeat the enemy that even now lives within you, plotting your destruction.”
“It is no enemy, it is my beloved child. I love it because it is part of you. Conceived in love. Do not torture yourself like this, my darling. It does no good.”
I would have wrapped my arm around him had there not been men watching.
“I agree with your she-wolf,” Phaedrus said, keeping his intense voice low. “Love may complicate life, but it is not a weakness. Maybe Marcus and I will not find joy together, but I will do everything in my power to make sure he gets his chance at happiness someday. My life will be nothing if he no longer walks the same earth as I do.”
“Your master will not sell you to Marcus?” Talos asked as our vessel made its way out of the harbour and into open seas.
“My master... needs me. He has given me this small freedom, but no more. I am resigned to my fate.”
My heart went out to the handsome slave. He was unlike any man I had ever met, and it broke my heart to know that Marcus had found love with him only to have it end badly.
But then, maybe my own story would also end badly. I was starting to think that there were no endings that were happy. There was only the happiness that existed where you could find it between the beginning of life and its ending.
I looked forward at the dark dot on the blue horizon. It was not unusual for one vessel to follow another out into the Mare. Or even to have the same destination. At least in this part of the empire that was the case, so I had been informed. So the centurion in command of the small vessel would be able to keep the other craft in sight without attracting undue notice.
“No message was sent last night or this morning?” Orion asked Asterius.
“None that the legionaries could discover. I think it’s much more likely they’ll notify Marcus’ captors once they reach Gallia Belgica. Or wherever they’re heading.”
Orion nodded, and so did I. After a long moment Asterius cleared his throat and looked from Orion to me and back again.
“So you are breeding?” he asked me at last. I could not tell from his expression how he felt about the news.
“I am. I think it was back in Palmyra. It is a mistake, of course. Never believe old wives’ tales about when a woman is fertile.” I tried to make it sound like an amusing joke, but it fell flat.
“No babe is ever a mistake. I’m happy for you,” Asterius said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I smiled up at him, relieved he too was seeing the positives in this. “Thank you. It will all work out, I am sure. Orion is just seeing the worst possible outcome in all this.”
“Your child won’t kill her, stop worrying. If an inferno couldn’t do it, or a bunch of rabid Parthians, why would you think a small babe would take her from us?” Asterius said with forced joviality.
Orion nodded in defeat, but I doubted his worries had abated.
Would fear for me eat away at him for the next seven months? What kind of life could he have if he let all happiness be consumed by his anxiety over an event that might not happen? I, too, feared for my life, and for my babe’s, but I was determined not to let fear spoil what little time I might have left. That was no way to live.
Focusing on my decision, I turned back to the small dot on the horizon. Marcus was not far away. Soon I would have my friend back and be married. It had to happen! We would make it happen!
Chapter Ten
Village north of Gesoriacum GALLIA BELGICA
MARCUS
I lay in the dirt inside the thatched roofed hut, my hands tied in front of me now. The skin on my wrists was rubbed raw and bleeding but, compared to the pain I experienced on the voyage, this was nothing.
The little man had treated me well enough, although his big friend, the one whose nose I had broken, sent me vicious looks every chance he got and seemed only to be awaiting the opportunity to get even. But I was more important to these men alive and healthy than dead or badly injured, so I had to keep that uppermost in mind. If I stayed subservient, my life would be as comfortable as possible.
Of course I had no plans to remain subservient. The first chance I got I would run. If I could get to the nearby village there were sure to be people there who would help me. Even if I had to bribe them to do it.
My best chance of escape was when I went to the outhouse. There was one nearby, I knew, because the two men had already made use of it. As I had been given no food and little water during the whole journey, I had not needed to do more than relieve myself over the side of the boat. But they could not go much longer without feeding me, and once they did, my body would require relief. Not even these barbarians would want me fouling myself in their presence.
The thought had me grimacing in disgust. How low would I have come if that were to happen? Only toddlers and babes fouled themselves. And cowards, of course. I had seen more than one man sporting a wet patch at his groin just before he went into battle.
I tried to work out how long I had been in captivity. Several days at least, although being unconscious had warped my perception of time a little. But I knew the crossing from Britannia to Gallia Belgica took no more than a day in good weather, even in a small craft like the one we had used.
How long would it take to get the ransom demand to Pater and to get payment? Weeks. I could not expect it to happen any faster than that.
My machinations were interrupted by the arrival of the tiny, round woman my captor called his wife. She was unlikely to be married to the man, as she was a local, from the look and sound of her, and my captor was from the south. He might even have been Roman.
But retired legionaries often married local women and settled the land where they had last been deployed, did they not? It would explain the man’s scars. So maybe the man told the truth. Did it matter either way?
Yes, because if her bond was formed from love there was no way she would betray her man. If it was formed some other way, I might just have a chance.
“Food. Can I have food?” I asked the woman in slow, clear common Latin, hoping she understood at least a little of the language of her rulers.
“Soon. When my man come back,” she replied in a very heavily accented version of my own tongue.
Where had he gone and had he taken his big friend with him? If not, I might be in for some reprisals.
“Both men go?” I asked again.
She looked at me suspiciously before nodding. “But no escape. I have knife and will use it.”
I could use a knife to cut my restraints. Where would it be? Searching the small hut with my gaze, I was disappointed to find nothing that would help me.
The woman grinned, revealing a toothless mouth. “Not here. Outside. I am not fool.”
“No, you are not. But will your man make you rich? If you help me escape I will make you rich.”
“You make me dead, that is what you make me. My man is not to be crossed. Ugly temper. Cruel temper.” She looked a little discomforted by her words. Had she already found herself the victim of his cruel temper?
“How long you been together?” I asked, thinking that the more I knew the better off I would be.
“Together?” She looked unsure of the word.
I crossed two fingers together. “Married. Two become one.”
She shrugged. “Not long. He buy me in town south of here. Brought here and tell me get place ready. I try run, he hurt me. I help you, he kill me. This he told me. This I know.”
None o
f this made sense. He had bought her not long ago? Did he move into an area, kidnap a rich man, demand a ransom, and then move on? If he did this often, what happened to the fortunes he had surely accumulated? Maybe this was his first attempt. But if that were the case, why choose his victim from Britannia? The sea was known to be unreliable and dangerous. Why cross it when you did not have to? Surely there were plenty of wealthy men’s sons in Gallia.
The more I learned, the more confused I became.
“How much of the ransom will you get?” I asked.
“Ransom?” Another word she did not understand. It was frustrating.
But at least she now stood facing me, with her hands on her hips, her curiosity piqued by my questions. Maybe she was lonely and needed someone to talk to.
I tried to sit up. Lying on my side was comfortable enough, but it was hard to talk to someone from this position.
Seeing what I was about, the little woman came to help me. This was better than I had expected. She had a kind heart. If I could appeal to that kind heart she might help me escape.
Once I was sitting with my back against the wall, my knees drawn up so I could rest my bound hands on them, I smiled my thanks at the woman.
“I am Marcus. Who are you?” I asked.
“Marta. I Marta. What ransom?”
“Money for my return. Your man stole me and will not hand me back without payment.”
“No. He already paid,” she told me, using a tone reserved for idiot children.
Already been paid? But then why was he being kept prisoner? Who would have paid this southerner to come north and kidnap me... or someone else... from Britannia?
“What will they do to me?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Let go. Not kill. You important man. Not kill.”
A horrible thought began to form in my mind. What if I was not chosen at random? What if whoever paid the little man to take me knew exactly who I was? And if that were the case, why take me and then let me go again?
Ennia! It had to be because of Ennia. If I was not there to marry her, then she could be returned to her uncle. By all the gods, this was something I had never considered. Etruscus was a desperate fool if he thought he could get away with kidnapping the son of Natalinus and get away with it.
I had to stop this! If Ennia arrived in Britannia looking for me, and her uncle’s men were awaiting her there, they could legally claim her and return her to Rome. The marriage contract would mean nothing once Etruscus became paterfamilias. Marrying before the legalities were finalised had been Ennia’s only hope of holding onto her pater’s legacy.
The marriage contract had been signed before Corvus’ death. But unless she and I were in the same place to complete the marriage, the contract was worthless. We could even predate the witnesses’ signatures if we had to. It was done often enough that it would not seem out of place. As long as the actual marriage contract predated Corvus’ death; that was what mattered. And it had. Pater and Corvus had made sure of that.
How could I let this happen? I might not want to marry Ennia, but I did not want her to become mere chattel her uncle could dispose of as he wished. She was my friend!
What would the Wolf Pack do? They would fight to stop her being taken, which would result in their deaths. They might be four of the best gladiators in Rome, but against the might of the imperial army upholding Roman Law, they were nothing.
I had to get back to Britannia before Ennia arrived. If her uncle’s men were already in place, then it had to be done immediately. I had to be there to marry her as soon as she set foot on land. The governor would agree. He already had, when I had raised the issue with him. He believed a father had the right to marry his daughter to whomever he chose, and that his possessions should go with his offspring, male or female, not to some distant relative.
“I am to wed. Your man stole me to stop me marrying. My woman is in danger now,” I told the kind-hearted soul left as my guard.
Marta’s expression became confused. “Wed? Marry? Together?” She entwined her fingers as I had done.
I nodded vigorously. “Yes. If your man was paid to take me, it was so I could not protect my woman. I must get back to her. Save her.”
“Too young. You too young to marry,” she said, as if trying to convince herself I was lying.
“I am a man. We grew up friends. Her father died. I am her only protector now.”
“They let you go. Say so. You protect her then.”
“They will have taken her by the time they let me go. That is why they took me!” I knew I was speaking too fast now, and it was unlikely she could understand all I said, but the more I considered it, the more convinced I was that I finally understood what was happening.
With rapid-fire yibberish, the woman began backing out of the hut. I had lost her! My desperation had made me push too hard, and I had lost her.
Swearing loudly, using all the colourful and vile words I had learned from the legionaries, I called on the gods to stop playing their games with me. Life was not meant to be this hard!
But I was immediately contrite. What did I know of a hard life? I had always felt protected by my blood, by Pater’s power. There had only been one time when I had been like other boys. That was when I was sent to the barracks, a truly chilling time, indeed.
The memory of the fear I had felt back then filled my mind. Those boys knew an easy target when they saw one. And I had made it even easier by being as outrageous as possible. It was as if I actually courted trouble. Even now I shook my head at some of my antics and what they had netted me.
The memory of being surrounded by jeering boys as an older boy bent me over and thrust inside me filled my mind and made me cringe. The pain had been excruciating, the shame even more so.
But that memory was also coloured by something else. After I had been buggered, and the jeering lads had quietened and stood staring down at me in shocked silence, four other boys not much older than me pushed their way through the cluster and came to stand in front of me.
The blonde boy thrust his finger into my abuser’s chest as he was righting his clothes. The bastard was a good head taller than the blonde but his size did not seem to concern my protector.
“Can’t afford one of the whores? Or do you prefer boys to girls,” he jeered.
It would have been ludicrous if it had been anyone other than Orion doing the talking. But his stony, outraged presence made him appear huge.
The older boy hung his head and looked anywhere but at my protector and his companions.
“This one is part of our pack now. Touch him again and you’ll die!” Orion went on, still thrusting his finger into the taller boy’s chest, over and over again.
That was all it took. My abuser slunk away and the rest of the lads followed. And that had been the end of my hardships in the barracks.
Just like my father’s influence now helped me in the army, the Wolf Pack’s influence kept other boys in the barracks away from me.
But even more than their protection, I had valued the Wolf Pack’s friendship. They made me feel strong and valued, and gave me the confidence I needed to find my own way.
And life had been no hardship from then on. Even in battle I was protected by lesser men. Certainly, there was always the possibility I could be wounded or even killed when I dashed into the fray, but it was far less likely than it was for other men.
Lesser men.
Like Phaedrus was supposed to be a lesser man because he was a slave. Or the Wolf Pack. They were lesser men because they were the lowest of the low as far as society was concerned. Yet were there any more loyal, brave or glorious fighters in the whole empire?
My class had a very warped perception of what constituted value. What made one man less than another.
So, returning to my initial thought. No, I did not know much about real hardship. But I could learn. If the bastards who had taken me thought I would let them rob Ennia of her birthright, then they were very much mistaken. I might have
sat back and waited for Pater to pay a ransom, but I would not sit back and let Ennia be returned to her uncle.
I needed to get to my feet! If I could stand I could hop to the door and possibly get outside. If Marta had been honest, then there was a knife waiting out there I could use to cut my ankles free. Then I could run.
I knew I could not use a knife on the ropes on my hands. Those had been ingeniously secured so my fingers could not reach the knots and if I tried to manipulate a knife on my bonds I would likely cut my wrists instead of the rope.
As I formulated my plans, the door flew open and the little man, accompanied by the big brute with a broken nose, entered the hut. He took one look at me and grinned.
“You look a poor sight, patrician. We have treated you badly, haven’t we? What will your father say if he could see you now? Marta says you are complaining of being hungry. We can’t have that. I’ll have her bring you food. Be nice. Remember, I’ll treat you well if you behave.”
I sighed with relief. My first thought when they burst in was that Marta had told them I offered her a bribe. Or worse, that she had asked after my bride. Either would have netted me retribution. But for whatever reason the woman had kept mum. That gave me hope.
For the next few days we settled into a routine. In the morning, after the two men had broken their fast, they disappeared for several hours. When they returned, they brought with them supplies. I assumed these items had not been available in the village or Marta would have fetched them when she went there each afternoon.
My thought of escaping when I used the outhouse had come to nothing. I was carefully guarded by both men, daggers drawn, when I was freed to relieve myself. I had asked Marta to take me the first morning after the men were gone, but she said her man had told her no. So no it was. Luckily, I never needed the outhouse when the men were away.
On the third day of my captivity I decided to increase pressure on Marta. I had chosen not to press her again, but I did not hide my distress from her either. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed to be working. She appeared to have become a little kinder to me as she spoon-fed me my meals and washed my face each day. Maybe her attitude had changed because I treated her with respect, something her ‘man’ and his companion did not.
