Marcus: An Ancient Roman Reverse Harem Romance (Gladiator Book 5)

by Nhys Glover

“If he disgusts you, then sell him to me,” I said through gritted teeth and numbed lips. “You have had your revenge, you may as well complete it and make money off him before he dies.” My words were bitter even as my voice sounded as dead as I felt.

  “You are right. He will be dead soon. How fitting that you should pay for what you stole from me and get nothing for your trouble!”

  His vicious tone left me cold. I was beyond emotion. He named an exorbitant amount, at least three times what Phaedrus had previously been worth.

  I nodded. “You have it. Sign him over to me now so I can... take him.”

  While several officers looked on, their faces blank, the vengeful governor found parchment and scribbled out a bill of sale. I signed it and had it witnessed by the officers present.

  Once it was done, I leaned down and picked up the skeletal form of the man I loved. He weighed almost nothing. It sickened me more than his burned and battered body, his loss of weight. Had he been fed anything in the last month? How long could a body survive without food? I did not know. All I did know was that Phaedrus, my beloved Phaedrus, was near death, and it was all my fault.

  “Enjoy him while you have him,” Trebellium said sweetly.

  I barely heard his words.

  Up the darkened stairs I climbed, into the fort’s administration centre, and then out into the training arena where troops were hard at practice. If anyone noticed us, I was not aware of it. I barely noticed them. All I cared about was getting my dying love to my quarters.

  Once I reached my room, I lay Phaedrus on my bed, not caring that the filth and blood transferred to the bedding. My attendant rushed in behind me and waited nervously for me to give orders.

  “Bring me hot water and soap, a clean tunic and loincloth, and fresh bedding. And the physician. Bring the physician,” I said tonelessly.

  The lad anxiously bobbed his head several times, but he did not leave. Impatience rose like a wave inside me. Why was he not jumping to follow orders? Phaedrus might die at any time and he just stood there!

  Before I could snap out a rebuke, the lad started talking. “I have heard one of them Christians can work miracles. He’s been in the town for a few days talking and healing people. Maybe... maybe he could do something...?”

  My first reaction was to scoff. Miraculous healings did not exist! Then I remembered what Ennia had done for me. Phaedrus said I was dying. That blood was pumping out of me too fast, and I was dying. Ennia had placed her hands on me, and in moments the wound had healed. Of course, I had kept that healing a secret, and I had stayed injured far longer than strictly necessary because of the fate that awaited me, thanks to the governor. Returning to the fighting while Phaedrus was still missing had been the last thing I had wanted.

  Could someone else do what Ennia did? Was it possible? What would it hurt? I doubted even the physician could save Phaedrus now.

  I nodded. “Get him. Send for him immediately. But get the rest too. I want to make him as comfortable as possible.”

  I busied myself removing the scraps of clothing still stuck to my beloved’s body. Gritting my teeth, I inspected his injuries as I went.

  I was horrified to see the bastard had even cut off his balls. Tears were streaming down my face and my hands were shaking by the time I got to that wound. It was as if I felt Phaedrus’ agony as my own. Pain was no stranger to me. But this... this was unbearable.

  When my attendant returned, I began to bathe Phaedrus, taking care not to hurt him as I cleaned his weeping wounds. I did not need to worry, my love was too far gone to feel anything. Maybe that was why the governor had ended his vicious game. What fun was there in torture, if the one you tortured could no longer feel anything?

  The physician arrived, did what he could for him, shook his head, and told me he doubted Phaedrus would see a new day. Once he left, I dressed my love in one of my finest tunics and I sat at his side, stroking his forehead. It was cold, and I quickly pulled the bedding over him to warm him up. I felt helpless and nauseated.

  Sometime later a tall thin Jew entered the room. He bowed low and said, “Peace be on this place.”

  “I am told you can work miracles. Can you help this man?” I demanded impatiently, his words annoying me. There was no peace to be found in this place, unless it was the peace of the dead.

  The serene face studied first Phaedrus and then me. He nodded slowly.

  “If it is God’s Will.”

  I nodded, grudgingly gesturing him over.

  He sat beside Phaedrus and began to pray softly. My patience was short, and I wanted to shake him and tell him it was not prayers Phaedrus needed but healing. Only remembering Ennia’s method of preparing herself before she healed stopped me barking at the old fool.

  While he whispered his gibberish softly, I tried to feed Phaedrus the warm broth my attendant had brought me. He did not swallow, and I was forced to use a cloth to soak up what dribbled back out of his mouth. I called for one bowl after another, each ending up on a fresh cloth instead of down Phaedrus’ throat.

  When I was about to lose hope, Phaedrus’ throat finally contracted and he swallowed.

  “Gods, at last!” I cried softly, tears pouring from my eyes yet again.

  With painstakingly slowness, I got spoonful after spoonful of the broth into him. By the time the bowl was empty, Phaedrus’ skin had lost its deathly paleness.

  I looked at his wounds. They looked a little better. Maybe the Christian was doing some good after all. It was not the quick and obvious healing Ennia excelled at, but it was having an effect. Or so it seemed to me. Maybe I was simply a desperate man seeing what I needed to see.

  For hours the Christian sat and prayed over my beloved, while I sent prayers to my own gods.

  Long after dark, when the second candle had burned down, Phaedrus opened his eyes. My heart jumped into my throat, and for a moment I almost choked on it.

  “Gods, Phaedrus. It is so good to see you awake. I had lost hope,” I cried, stroking the side of his face.

  The healer stopped his prayers and looked down at his patient. “I think God has granted this man his miracle. He will live.”

  “What is your name? And what can I give you as payment for your help here today. Name it and it is yours!” I exclaimed gratefully, my joy a giddy, hopeful thing.

  The serene face broke into a gentle smile. “My name is Aristobulus. And God’s miracles are freely given. But if you wish to give to the poor in Christ’s name, your generosity would be appreciated.”

  He rose and walked slowly to the door.

  “I will do as you say. Thank you!”

  He nodded and left the room.

  I turned back to Phaedrus, who was staring up at me, transfixed.

  I smiled down at him and tried to mop up my tears. It was unmanly of me to cry like this. I had not cried since I was a boy in the barracks. But I had done nothing but cry since I was called to the governor’s side to show me his handiwork.

  Gods, what kind of man would do that to someone he loved? It was sick and twisted, and my blood boiled to avenge Phaedrus.

  I would have done so too, had Phaedrus died. But now it looked as if he might live. If he did, I would have to keep my revenge for another time. My task was to get myself and Phaedrus away from Britannia, and away from the governor, as soon as possible.

  Though I took my orders from the governor, he was not my superior officer. Unlike the other governors of Britannia, he was not a military man. So he was not involved with the administration of the military and therefore unaware my year of compulsory service was up.

  I had planned to sign up for another six months, so I could remain close to Phaedrus when I found him, but I had not as yet done so. Trebellium had arranged for me to take up a post in the north in a few days, probably another reason he had chosen today to exact his final revenge, but I would not be doing so now. I was taking my slave home to Italia with me as soon as he was well enough to travel.

  “Marcus... Is this a dream
?” Phaedrus said softly.

  I smiled again. “No, dream, beloved. You are free of that bastard now. And mine to care for. You need to get better, all right? Because when you are well we are going to Ennia’s estate where we will both be blissfully happy. Do you want that? To be with me, I mean? I will free you, of course. I would never force my attentions on a slave.”

  I was gabbering on, I knew it. But I was just so happy. I had been so sure I would lose him, and now... now I had hope again.

  “So you will force your attentions on a freedman?” he joked tiredly.

  “You know what I mean!”

  He nodded. “You were with me every moment, you know? Even when the pain was so bad I did not think I could stand it, I saw you there, giving me the strength to go on.”

  “I wish I had been there. I did not know where Trebellium had taken you. I had spies everywhere trying to find you. Then today he sent for me and I discovered a cellar beneath the fort where he kept you all this time. I wanted to beat him senseless. I was sure you would die...”

  “And you bought me anyway? That was unwise.”

  “You cost me thrice what you were worth. No, that is not right. Your worth has no price. But because the governor was sure you were about to die and he wanted to make me pay... literally... he offered you to me at a ridiculous price and I took it. It was worth any price to get you away from that vicious bastard.”

  Phaedrus shook his head. “You are a foolish young man. But I am grateful. Just to see your handsome face again... it is worth all the pain I suffered.”

  He looked concerned for a moment. When he spoke again it was tentatively. “But I am never going to be... He branded my face... He cut off my balls. I am ugly now, and I... I am not sure I will ever be able to...” He stammered to a halt, his cheeks reddening in a way I never expected to see again. It filled me with delirious hope.

  “Your wounds will heal. And you will always be beautiful to me. As for the other... well, pleasure can be experienced in many ways. I am sure we will enjoy exploring those ways.”

  For a moment I thought Phaedrus was about to drop back into sleep. But then he spoke again, slowly and softly. “I love you. You are the love of my life. I do not regret going after you. It was worth it. You are worth it.”

  My heart lifted. There were few people in the world who considered me of value. I was the effeminate son, the misfit, the embarrassment. Even my mater was embarrassed by my womanish ways. The Wolf Pack had been the first to value me, and later Ennia did the same. But it was not until Phaedrus that I felt truly... worthy.

  “I love you, too, my darling man. Now get some sleep. I will wake you in a few hours for more broth. We have to build up your strength so we can leave this rainy place.”

  He nodded tiredly and shut his eyes. I leaned in and kissed his forehead. For the first time in a very long time I felt contentment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Winter 65 CE Fulginiae Umbria ITALIA

  ACCALIA

  Lumbering down the hallway, I grumbled under my breath. Though I had seen to the needs of countless women in my condition, none had ever reported the many small discomforts they experienced during the last few weeks of their pregnancy. I did not know of the constant need to urinate, of the sleepless nights when a babe insisted on kicking and moving about for hours, the acidity and swollen ankles. But worst of all was feeling like I was the size of a whale. Getting up or reaching my toes was a thing of the past. I wondered what my feet actually looked like these days.

  Laria laughed at me every chance she got. I would say playing the role of patrician for a month had made her insolent, but the truth was her cheekiness likely preceded that engagement. Now as my handmaiden, alongside Minerva, she had become my friend. My cheeky, insolent friend.

  It had been good to see her again, and be present to stop my uncle from taking out his fury on her when he discovered the ruse. I will never forget the look of impotent fury on his face when he realised he had been tricked, and that all my pater’s wealth had slipped through his fingers.

  He had yelled and screamed that the marriage contract was not binding and that Natalinus was a thief and trickster. But in the end there was nothing he could do, and he knew it. I should have felt some regret, he was my uncle after all, but I did not.

  Since then I had heard he had moved his family to one of the provinces where it was cheaper to live. Natalinus said that an inside source had told him Etruscus had been spending my father’s money before he actually got it and was now in a great deal of debt. Which Natalinus was adding to. And my new pater’s influence meant no patrician family would ever open their doors to my uncle again.

  It could not happen to a better man, I concluded smugly.

  I was jerked from my reverie by a voice at my side.

  “You sound like a growling mother bear,” Marcus observed with a laugh.

  He had come alongside me unnoticed as I waddled toward the front of the villa.

  It pleased me to see how happy and relaxed he looked these days. When he returned from Britannia, he had appeared to have aged ten years. And hearing the horror story of Phaedrus’ torture had left me feeling sick for days.

  “We had barely landed back in Britannia when Phaedrus was whisked away,” he had told me late that first night when I found him in the kitchen alone, drinking goat’s milk. “I slipped back into my old role without any fuss. It was as if I had never been gone. The governor was stiffly cordial, but did not mention the kidnapping except to say that it might be wise not to mention it to my pater. I took it as a threat, I have to admit. There was something in his tone.

  “When I ventured to thank him for sending Phaedrus, and saying how useful he had been in recovering me, his face had turned to stone. Though I knew it was unwise, I asked after my love. He told me he sent Phaedrus away.”

  For a moment he had paused, as if reliving the moment in his mind.

  “That is when I started getting serious about trying to find out what had happened to Phaedrus. But I hit brick walls everywhere I turned. It felt as if he had disappeared. No, it felt as if he had never existed at all.” His shoulders slumped and began to shake.

  Rushing to his side, I had wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. But I said nothing. I knew he had to tell this story in his own time and in his own way.

  “There have been times in my life when I felt helpless. In the barracks before your Wolf Pack befriended me is one such occasion. But I have never felt as totally helpless and alone as I was in that very long month after we returned to Britannia. And every day I wondered if he was all right. Every spare moment I worried myself sick that something bad was happening to him.

  “To stay sane I would force myself to imagine he had simply been sold off and was now living a life of comfort somewhere in Gallia, or even back in Rome. But deep down I knew, from all Phaedrus had told me of the man, that he would not have let an escaped slave of his go unpunished. Even when that slave had chosen to come back. Even when Phaedrus had a good reason for leaving. Or maybe... maybe it was the reason for leaving that was the problem. A jealous man always teeters on the edge of insanity.” He sniffed and wiped at his cheeks.

  “I barely ate, I barely slept. And when I did, it was to awaken after horrendous nightmares where Phaedrus was calling out to me, desperate for me to help him. But I could not reach him. And the disappointment I saw on his face was the worst cut of all.

  “When the governor finally called me down to a cellar beneath the fort, I felt instantly afraid. I had not even known the room existed. If room it could be called. Little more than a hole in the ground, if truth be told.

  “That is when I saw him. Or what was left of him. It was hard to even recognise him as human. Trebellium stood over the bloody carcass like Hades himself, gloating. He watched my expression, delighting in whatever he saw there. My shock, sickness, dread, horror. All of them must have crossed my face. Then a kind of numb acceptance set in. I had failed my beloved. For a whole month
he had been subjected to horrific torture, and I had gone about my life as if nothing was happening. As if I did not care.”

  “You did no such thing!” I interrupted “You suffered too. From all you have said, you suffered almost as badly as he did. Not knowing is a form of torture. Our minds have the ability to inflict terrible pain on us. Worse than physical pain.” I had known it was the wrong thing to do to interrupt the flow of words, but I could not help it. The need to get through to my friend was too great.

  After a few moments he went on as if I had not spoken. “I have no idea how I had the mental capacity to offer for him, to taunt the bastard into selling him to me. If you asked me, I could not tell you exactly what I said. All I know is that somehow I convinced him that it would hurt me to buy Phaedrus and then watch him die. Because we both knew he was so close to death that even his chest was clearly struggling to rise and fall.”

  “Is that when the Christian healer came to you?” I asked gently, having heard a little of this story when he arrived earlier in the day.

  “My attendant suggested him. At first I did not want to know. Then I remembered that miraculous healing was possible. I was living proof of that. You have no idea how much I wished you could have been there. I knew, if you had, you could have healed him. Saved him.”

  Again Marcus paused, as if trying to get air into his struggling lungs. Reliving that terrible time was taking its toll. But I could not let the story go unfinished. There was healing in the telling of it.

  “So the man came and prayed over him. That is all he did, just prayed. There was no miraculous reversal of the wounds as is the case when you heal, but over the course of hours he seemed to improve. So much so that he finally ate something and opened his eyes. He even spoke.”

  He looked up at me with tortured eyes. “Do you know what the worst part of that was? That he worried I would not love him anymore because he was no longer handsome or whole. The scum took his balls. It broke my heart that he thought any of that would matter to me. And I still see that uncertainty, that insecurity in his eyes at times. As if I will see some other handsome man and turn away from him. Or worse, remain with him out of pity or obligation.”