The Gladiator's Temptation (Champions of Rome)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  “Do you not understand?” she asked. “If I am to die, then death must chase me down and drag me to the underworld. I cannot sit here and meekly await my fate.”

  He looked up at her. She loved the deep brown of his eyes.

  “Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head, “there is not.”

  Baro took her hand in his. “Then we shall do this together,” he said, and they crossed the threshold.

  The light of a new day stole all the colors, except for the campfire, which burned with oranges and reds. The flames beckoned and a plan began to form. A diversion of some sort would be helpful to aid their escape. Lifting a branch from the campfire, Fortunada touched the end that was aflame to the corner of the nearest tent. The fire licked at a corner seam before climbing the canvas wall. She moved on to the next tent, setting it on fire, and then the one beyond.

  “Enough,” Baro whispered.

  She did not agree but knew enough not to waste time arguing. With a nod, she tossed the branch back to the fire pit. Baro hitched his chin toward the wall. “This way,” he whispered.

  Sliding between two tents, they entered a narrow passage with the palisade on one side and the rear of the tents upon the other. Taking her hand in his, Baro strode several paces and stopped. He stared at the wall, his expression vacant. A heartbeat passed and then another. Baro was lost in thought, and Fortunada knew not when he might return. Her mouth went dry. She shook his shoulder. Baro regarded her with wide eyes. She swept her hand in front of the fence. “Where is the breach?” she mouthed.

  Using the crutch for support, he lowered himself to the ground. “It is close,” he whispered.

  Fortunada dropped to her knees. Thick tree trunks, bound together with rope, the butt ends buried into the dirt, formed a solid wall to her left and right. Dear Ceres, how could she have been so foolish? In her haste, she had done everything wrong. Dax had said he would kill them if they left their tent. Even now, they could not go back unnoticed. She had no plan beyond Run! And now look at them—they had run, without really having anyplace to go.

  How could she have gambled with her life? And she had wagered Baro’s life as well. Her hands retraced where she had been before. The rough bark scraped her palms. Splinters gouged her skin. Nothing. She stretched out one knee and slipped. She looked down and found a shallow cavity within the earth. Reaching out, she grabbed Baro by the shoulder. “Here,” she mouthed.

  A small smile spread across his face. It lasted only a moment. Baro pressed his lips together until they became a colorless line upon his face. The gap between wall and ground was narrow. A dog, even a large one, would be able to flatten itself more than a person. And though she might fit, Baro never would.

  Grasping her shoulders, Baro held her at arm’s length. “There is a trail that leads up. Climb to the summit and then stay upon the ridge. Within ten leagues you will find a legionnaire post. You must tell them you are a patrician and demand that you be returned to Rome. Do you understand? I will give you time, so run.”

  His plan was so clear, and yet she would never do what he suggested. “I will not go,” she said. “Without you, I am nothing.”

  “Fire,” someone shouted from the camp. “Fire! Fetch water.”

  “They have not noticed that we are gone. Help me dig.” She reached into the trench and clawed out a meager handful of dirt.

  “Let me,” said Baro, taking her place. Using the upper bar of his crutch, he smashed until the hard ground crumbled to dust. Fortunada scooped it away.

  Smoke clung to the ground, obscuring their movements. The cries of the marauders being roused from their sleep hid the continual thunk, thunk, thunk of their digging.

  Baro and Fortunada set a rhythm. Hit, hit, scoop. Hit, hit, scoop. The hole widened and deepened. The pile of dirt next to Fortunada grew. As they dug, the soil crumbled and gave way with more ease.

  Pausing, Baro wiped his sweat-soaked brow with the back of his hand. It left a swath of brown. “We have enough room now,” he said. “But when they find this”—he gestured to the pile of dirt—“we will give away our escape route more plainly than if we wrote a missive.”

  “Then we must put as much distance between ourselves and Dax before he reads our final farewell.”

  “You go first,” he said.

  She hesitated only a moment and tried not to wonder what she would do if Baro was captured after she got away. She also refused to think about the fact that she and Jana had tried to escape their tent in much the same manner. Lying flush upon the ground, Fortunada slipped under the wall.

  Praying for better luck, Fortunada waited for Baro. As if he dove through the hole, his hands came into view first. His arms, head, and shoulders followed. His chest, his abdomen, his thighs. One foot appeared and then the other. She exhaled, but could not draw her stare from the hole. She expected to see a marauder reach out—like the hand that had grabbed Jana. None emerged. Could they really have escaped? Had Fortunada’s hastily placed wager somehow paid off?

  “This way,” said Baro, pointing to the side of the hill. A narrow path led upward before winding around a rocky outcropping. She knew not where it would take them, other than away.

  They remained in sight of the marauders’ camp for only a moment. Carried in clouds of smoke, the orders for water and to save the stolen valuables rang from the camp. Never did Fortunada hear an alarm raised about their escape. Running until her lungs burned and pain gripped her side, Fortunada placed one foot before the other. They traveled upward until the sounds of the marauders’ voices faded, and finally, so did the scent of smoke.

  For an hour, they trod on. The trail was a narrow—but always unmistakable—path that ran through the undergrowth of the rocky hillside. How far had they traveled? A league, she guessed, no more. Narrowing farther, the footpath climbed a peak and crested a hill. On the other side, a valley of green grass stretched out as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a river wound through the plains and reflected the morning light. Upon the hill, pine trees—a rarity in Rome—grew tall and in great numbers. Their strong, tangy aroma filled the air.

  Taking their first respite, Fortunada bent over and breathed heavily. “Where do you think we are, exactly?”

  “If we were right before and we are in the Apennius Mons, then the valley must be the Sulmona, and the river, the Flosis. There are garrisons all over these mountains. They are set up one day’s march from one another—eight leagues, no more. At this pace, we will find something before nightfall.”

  “I need to offer my apologies,” she said. “Leaving the camp was rash, hasty, and very easily could have been deadly.”

  “Your wager has paid off, but I never play at games of chance. In fact, before I step upon the sands of the arena, I see my victory and then know I can win,” Baro said, leaning on his crutch. “With the favor of the gods, the distance between us and Dax is so great that we truly have escaped. Still,” Baro said as he began to walk again, “I will not feel safe until we have found the legionnaires.”

  Walking again, Fortunada turned her thoughts to Baro’s words. Before I step upon the sands of the arena, I see my victory and then know I can win. For more than four months, she had been his lover, and in all that time he had never shared that secret with her. Far from being wounded by his kept secret, she found herself intrigued by the notion. Had he been gifted by the gods with the ability to see the future? Or was his vision so strong that it shaped his life? To her, it seemed too simple and yet an idea worth exploring. “Have you always envisioned what you wanted and then had it given?” she asked.

  Baro looked over his shoulder. The early-morning sun shone upon his hair, and coppery strands reflected in the light. She had never noticed those before. Aside from the party where they met, Fortunada and Baro had never spoken to each other in public. Their relatio
nship, though pleasurable, took place within the confines of a simply furnished room. It seemed that there was much about him that she did not know.

  “It is a trick I developed for the arena. Aside from training my body, I also prepare here.” Baro touched his temple. “Knowing I will be successful is half the battle.”

  “Is it that easy?” she asked. “Think and it will happen?”

  “Nothing is ever easy,” he said with a wink. “It is simply that preparation is the key to success. And there are many ways to prepare.” Baro stopped midstride and Fortunada bumped into his back. While he stayed solid and steady, she bounced off his muscle and stumbled. His arm shot around her waist and kept her from falling.

  “Remain silent,” Baro breathed into her ear.

  Fortunada held still and listened. For a long moment she heard nothing. Then, in the wind came voices.

  Male voices.

  Their urgent tone was unmistakable, yet they were still too far away for her to make out any words.

  She clung tighter to Baro.

  Baro turned to her, his brown eyes wide. He mouthed a single word. “Run.”

  Chapter 22

  Baro

  “I see them up ahead!” A man’s voice came from down the trail. “On the rise.”

  Grabbing Fortunada by the hand, Baro began to run. He did not bother to turn around and count the number of those who gave chase. No matter how many followed, it was more than Baro could fight en masse and unarmed. Yet he was not ready to surrender.

  Pressing through the pain in his leg, Baro jumped over a felled and rotting tree. He scanned the forest. They need not outrun the marauders nor fight them—only elude them long enough to escape again.

  Ahead and to the left he found what he sought—an overgrown clump of bushes. Fortunada could easily hide near the base, with its many thick branches providing complete coverage.

  Pulling Fortunada forward, he said, “Stay here. Do not leave and make no noise. I will return for you.”

  White-faced, she dropped to her hands and knees. While she maneuvered between the boughs, he waited a second more. Satisfied that Fortunada was not visible, Baro ran away and slapped a low branch as he passed.

  “Over there,” a voice called.

  Baro switched directions again, this time careful to touch nothing. Ahead in a clearing, a large pine tree reached up to the heavens. The limbs of a tree so tall would be thick and strong enough to hold him.

  Baro scuttled under branches that dipped all the way to the ground, then laid his crutch down and hid it under a sparse blanket of pine needles. With both hands free, he grabbed a branch and began to climb. Four feet, five, seven. He slowed, not wanting the tree’s swaying to betray his position. Settling on a branch ten feet from the ground, Baro leaned against the trunk and waited.

  The voices grew fainter as the men searched farther afield. When they were first taken captive, Baro had hoped to negotiate with Dax, to somehow trade his fame for their freedom. It would never have worked. Dax and his men were too dogged in their pursuit to be anything less than violent and irrational. Even if the fate of Baro’s ludus did not require him to make it to Novum Comum in a timely manner, and even if Fortunada could raise plenty of coin to pay her ransom, there was no guarantee that they would have been returned to their homes unharmed, or even at all.

  Now, as he rested his back against the rough trunk of the tree, Baro knew they had been right to escape. As long as they could stay hidden, they were safe. The woods were vast. The nights were cold. There were other captives to tend, along with repairs and rebuilding following the camp’s fiery destruction. Baro wagered that within a few hours the bandits would abandon their search that even now took them farther afield. To waste any more time would be to lose money. Besides, the short rest would do him good.

  “Baro,” a male voice called out. “I have your wife, Piss Off.”

  Dax. Damn that man to Hades.

  “If you do not show yourself now, I will hurt her. Say something, Piss Off. Tell your husband to come and save you.”

  Baro waited, holding so still that his heart nearly ceased beating.

  Nothing. It was a ploy meant to draw Baro out of hiding. Fortunada was still safely hidden. If neither gave away their position, they would both remain unharmed.

  The silence of the woods was cut off by a scream that Baro felt in his gut.

  “Your wife is bleeding from her arm,” Dax yelled. “Next time it will be her throat, and she will be unable to make a sound.”

  “Prove to me that my wife is alive. I cannot see her.”

  Drawn by the sound of his voice, three men ran into the small clearing. They searched under bushes and behind trees, never thinking to look up. Were these the only men who had come after Baro and Fortunada? If so, there would be four, including Dax. Not bad odds, especially if Baro could face them one by one.

  Reaching into the nearest branch, Baro found a small, brown pinecone. Taking careful aim, he threw it as far away from his tree as he could. It fell to the ground with a clatter.

  “Over there,” said one of the guards. That man, and another, ran off.

  The final guard remained in the clearing and stood with his back to Baro. After climbing down a few feet, Baro jumped, landing with a thump on a soft bed of pine needles. Pain shot through his thigh. Taking a deep breath, he refused to acknowledge his injury any longer. Baro picked up his crutch and held it like a spear.

  The bandit tensed, then turned slowly. A shaft of sunlight cut through the trees and glinted off the blade he held. It was a gladius, the short sword used by gladiators and legionnaires alike. Narrowing his eyes, the bandit approached and peered into the depth of the pine tree. He stepped closer. Twigs underfoot snapped and crunched. Closer.

  Baro drew back the crutch he held and drove it into the man’s face. Reeling backward, the bandit grabbed his chin.

  In that confused instant, Baro emerged from the tree. He swung the crutch and struck the man’s sword arm. The blade fell to the ground, and both men lunged for it. Baro was faster, and his fingers wrapped around the cold steel of the handle. Baro brought up the pommel, and it connected with the man’s jaw. His head jerked backward as an arc of blood spewed through the air. Stumbling, he fell backward and landed on the ground. Baro drove the tip of the sword through the bandit’s throat, skewering him where he lay.

  Baro pulled the blade free, then dragged the man under the pine tree. He stepped behind a nearby oak and waited. A moment later, one of the other marauders returned. He was a large man who in his youth might have been fit. Now his belly hung low, stretching the fabric of his tunic.

  “I found nothing,” he said as he swiped a large hand over his sweat-soaked face. “Hello?” he called. His gaze dropped to the pool of blood, and he stopped.

  Before the man could call for help, Baro rushed forward. One hand on the forehead, the other on the sword’s grip, he drew the blade across the man’s throat. Hot blood washed over Baro’s hand as the man fell forward—dead.

  The third man appeared at the other side of the clearing. Young, slim, and fit—he came in at a run. The man lifted his sword with a jump, his blade slicing through the air.

  Chapter 23

  Fortunada

  Blood seeped through Fortunada’s fingers. She gripped her forearm, pressing her palm painfully into her flesh.

  She and Dax stood alone. His horse was tethered to a low branch. Impervious to the fight, it bit off a mouthful of grass and chewed slowly. Next to the horse, the black dog that had attacked the cart sat on the ground. He lifted his large head, turning his ears to the sounds of the struggle.

  Fortunada hated the cur almost as much as she hated Dax. It was the dog that had discovered her hiding place. Diving into the hedge, it was nothing more than gnashing teeth, powerful paws, and slobber. Although Fortunada had been found by Dax, she still felt the
blessing of Ceres upon her—upon finding her hiding place, the dog had only barked. Considering its size and temperament, the dog could have easily done her great harm.

  “I suppose that I have you to thank for burning half my camp,” Dax said. “It almost worked to hide your escape.”

  “It was more justice than diversion.” Fortunada turned her attention from the dog to the real mongrel, Dax. “I wonder how many souls watch from Elysium and agree.”

  The clash and clang of sword against sword continued to ring out.

  “Baro seems to be putting up quite a fight. It is a pity that he will lose. One injured man can hardly hope to defeat three well-armed men.”

  Fortunada chuckled. “Are you so deluded as to think that three of your men would be a match for Baro? He has obviously disarmed one.” Ceres preserve her, she would have run Dax through if she had a sword of her own. He had cut her arm to make her scream, to draw Baro out of hiding. And now Baro fought, because she could not bravely endure the pain.

  Even if the odds were against Baro, Fortunada refused to believe that defeat was possible. “Once Baro sees what you have done to me, he will rip off your ears and piss in your skull.”

  “You have quite a sharp tongue. Maybe I should take pity on your husband and remove it. It might make the cost of your ransom go up. I imagine your family will pay more for you to be returned a mute.”

  “Your boorish and empty threats frighten me not.”

  “Empty, you say?” Dax grabbed Fortunada by the hair and forced her to the ground. From a belt, he withdrew a dagger. The once-silver blade was now tarnished and black.

  Sitting on her chest, he pinned her arms under his knees. The stink of unwashed male struck her full in the face, and she gagged. Dax squeezed Fortunada’s cheeks, forcing her mouth to open. She reached for his face, digging her fingernails into his flesh, pressing his eye sockets with her thumbs.

  Dax screamed and reared back. He cried tears of blood. “Bitch,” he snarled. With the back of his hand, he struck Fortunada. Pain blazed across her cheek for a moment, then she saw pinpricks of light and heard buzzing. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She spat on the ground.