by L. A. Witt
Drusus tries to fold his arms, but flinches, grimacing as he lowers his arm over his bruised and bandaged side.
I pick up his clothing and help him dress. As his tunic settles onto his narrow shoulders, Drusus releases a long breath.
I put my hands on his shoulders and lean in to kiss the side of his neck. He shivers, especially when I murmur, “Turn around.”
Slowly, he does, and I never imagined it was possible for the eyes of Drusus to hold as much fear as they do now.
I trail my fingertips down the side of his face. “I thought you were dead, Drusus.”
“So did I.” He sweeps his tongue across his lips. “If you hadn’t come . . .”
“I wouldn’t leave you.” I brush my thumb over his cheekbone. “And I won’t let anything happen to your son.”
Drusus closes his eyes, and I feel more than hear him whisper, “Thank you.”
“Does Kaeso know?” I ask. “That he’s your son?”
Drusus shakes his head slowly. “No. He doesn’t.” He sighs. “It was too dangerous for him to know. Mother and I were going to wait until he was older, when he could understand the consequences if he told anyone.”
“Wise.” I finish helping him dress, until there’s nothing left but his belt and breastplate. He can’t manage the thick belt without jarring his injured shoulder, so I fasten it for him.
Drusus clears his throat. “So, you wanted to know how this . . .”
“I’m curious.” I pick up his breastplate. “But only if you wish to explain it.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. “The gods must have had a laugh the day I was born. They know as well as I do I was born to be a man, but I was given this body instead.” He makes a face as he gestures sharply at himself. “From the time I was very small, I’d secretly leave the villa dressed as a boy. No one knew or suspected a thing. As I got older, there were . . . signs. And I thought I hid them, but apparently I didn’t hide them well enough.” He faces me. “Not from the five boys who cornered me behind the Temple of Apollo.”
All the air rushes out of my lungs and I nearly drop the leather armor in my hands.
Drusus releases a long breath. “They swore if I ever spoke a word of the things they did, then they would tell my father I insisted I was a boy whenever I left the villa.” Drusus lowers his gaze and folds his arms as tightly across his chest as his injuries will allow. “The gods only know how long it would have gone on if not for Kaeso.”
“They left you alone once they knew you were with child?”
“Of course. None of them wanted to be accused of being Kaeso’s father and then required to marry me.” He sighs. “Father had no use for me after that. I refused to be a woman. I wasn’t a virgin and I’d soon have the bastard child to prove it. There wasn’t a man in the city who’d marry me, no matter what kind of dowry Father offered. I think he’d have killed me himself if Mother hadn’t paid half a dozen guards to make sure I was protected from him and every other man who wanted me dead.”
My mouth is dry, words deserting my tongue.
Drusus continues, “Mother and I agreed the safest thing for my child and for me was if I disappeared. We made it look like I died when Kaeso was born. Father had gone to the Senate when I gave birth, so I was able to leave.” An unspoken thought darkens Drusus’s expression, his eyes losing focus for a long moment. Then he shakes himself back to life and releases a sharp, bitter breath. “We both knew he wouldn’t care if I was properly buried, and just as Mother expected, he ordered me dumped in a ditch and left for the dogs.” With a shudder, he adds, “He wanted my son thrown in there with me, but Mother refused.”
“And she raised him.” I absently knead the leather in my hands with my fingertips. “After you left.”
Drusus nods. He moves past me and leans over a basin of water at the edge of the room.
“But why are you still in Pompeii?” I ask as he cups his hands in the water. “As a lanista, no less?”
He splashes water on his face a few times. “Where else could I go?” he asks over his shoulder. “Pompeii is all I’ve ever known, and the money Mother gave me would only go so far. So I stayed within the city, but as far from my parents’ house as I could.” He splashes more water on his face. “Mostly, I couldn’t leave my son behind. I just . . . couldn’t.” His gaze drifts around the room, and I’m certain he shudders as he whispers, “So I stayed here and did what I could to survive.”
“And the ludus?” I ask. “How did you get there from . . . from here?”
“Apparently the gods were feeling charitable,” he spits, snatching up a cloth from beside the basin. “Crispinus saw me fighting off two men twice my size. I shudder to think what would have happened if he’d not been there, but fortunately, he was.” Drusus rubs the cloth on his face. “He took me in, and I became his apprentice. He was killed, I took over, and here I am.”
He looks at me again, and all the kohl and paint is gone from his face.
We’re both silent. Without a word, he gestures at the breastplate I’ve forgotten I’m holding. Neither of us speak as I carefully lower the piece of armor onto his shoulders. He grimaces, curses, but between us, we ease it into place.
I pull one set of laces tight, and Drusus flinches, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s all right.” He exhales slowly. “The fall . . . there’s a few bruises . . .”
“I know.” I secure the first tie. “I saw them.”
He shivers. When I tighten another lace, he grunts, then curses.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“It’ll heal.” Leather squeaks as he shifts. “Lucius broke my fall, fortunately. And a few ribs. Could have been much worse, though.” He mutters something under his breath, then adds, “Still put up a fight, the bastard.”
“Fortune be praised, then, since you’re alive and he isn’t.”
“Fortune be praised indeed,” Drusus says dryly.
I move around to his other side, and begin carefully tightening the laces. “Is it true what the men say about you? That you had half the gladiators killed when you took command of the ludus?”
Drusus laughs. “Legends grow with every telling, don’t they? I—” He flinches, cursing under his breath. Then, “Another decade, and they’ll be saying I slaughtered a thousand men with my bare hands that day.”
I glance up from working on the laces. “What’s the truth?”
“The truth,” he says softly, “is that I didn’t want another Spartacus uprising. Legally I could have killed every man in the familia for murdering Crispinus.” He pauses. “Instead, examples were made of the men involved in his death, and the others were warned that if one of them made even the slightest attempt, I would crucify every last one in the familia.”
“Did anyone challenge your threat?”
He gives a quiet laugh. “No. It would seem they just conjured legends to spread all over Rome.”
I finish tying the lace and stand. “There.” I step back. “It’s on.”
Drusus turns around. When he faces me, he’s as I’m accustomed to seeing him: short hair, the ever-present leather breastplate, the man I swear I used to fear. I wonder now if I dreamed everything before this. Had my wounds weakened my mind as well as my body?
But then our eyes meet, and in his, I see both the man he is and the woman he’s tried to hide.
His cheeks color, and he looks away. “I couldn’t think of anyone else I could trust with this, but I admit I was afraid you’d be repulsed.” He pauses. “By . . . what I claim to be. What I am.”
I let my gaze drift over the familiar shape of the man I’ve come to know. Any other time, in a moment of lust, perhaps I would have been repulsed. I cannot say now what I would have thought in any other situation. All I know now is that Drusus is alive, and nothing else seems relevant.
I gently cradle his neck in both hands and press my lips to his.
“I knew there was
something different about you,” he says.
I laugh quietly. “I told you, I’m left-handed.”
Drusus laughs too. “Of course. That’s it.”
Humor fading, I run my fingers through his hair. “So what now? Where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t stay in Pompeii. Not this time.” Desperation fills both his voice and his eyes as he says, “But I can’t leave my son behind.”
“You won’t.” I kiss his forehead. “I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”
Drusus pulls back, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he hooks a finger under the chain around my neck, and he slowly draws the brass tag from beneath my tunic. He closes his fist around the chain, and only then does he look in my eyes.
Without a word, he jerks the chain, and it bites into my neck for a heartbeat before it snaps.
We’re both silent for a moment. Drusus clutches the chain in the air between us, the tag swinging back and forth and twinkling in the lamplight.
“I won’t ask this of you as a slave.” He lets the broken chain slip through his fingers and fall to the floor with a muffled rattle. “Man to man, Saevius. I’m asking, not commanding.”
I close my hands around his. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Thank you. You don’t know how much . . .” He trails off, as if he can’t find enough breath to finish speaking.
Without a word, I lean in and press my lips to his. I start to pull back, but decide against it, and instead wrap my arms around him. Drusus sighs softly, parting his lips for my tongue as his hand comes to rest on my hip. Cradling the back of his neck in my hand, I tilt my head and deepen this kiss even more.
When I pull away, I don’t go far and touch my forehead to his.
“I think I have an idea for getting Kaeso back.” I sweep my tongue across my lips. “And first, I need to get your father alone.”
I’m extremely cautious as I approach the house of Laurea. I haven’t been seen here since the day I arrived in Pompeii, and a gladiator appearing on a nobleman’s doorstep is asking to stain the road with his blood.
Four heavily armed guards stand in front of the main gate, shields on their arms and spears at their sides. As I approach, one brings his weapon to the ready.
I show my palms. “I wish to speak to Ataiun.”
The guard sets his jaw. “What’s your business with—”
“My business is with him,” I snap. “And is none of your concern.”
Both men glance at each other, and the one in front of me gives a curt nod.
“Wait here.” He steps inside the gate and murmurs something to another guard, who then jogs into the house.
My heart pounds. With the Lady Verina dead, Calvus has no use for me, and could easily—and without consequence—have one of his men cut my throat right here in the street. I’m gambling with his lust for vengeance and the hope he’ll want Drusus dead more than he wants to dispose of me.
The villa door opens, and Ataiun steps out. He stomps toward me, glaring with his one eye. “Where have you been? I’ve summoned—”
“I need to speak to the Master Calvus.”
He doesn’t move. “What business you have with him can be handled through me.”
“Oh, I don’t think it can.” I lean in a little closer, lowering my voice. “Tell him I have information that is of interest to him in light of what happened yesterday.”
The servant’s eyebrows jump. “What info—”
“If he wants that information, he’ll come—alone—to Madam Gelasia’s brothel before sundown.”
Ataiun sets his jaw. “You’re not in a position to be making demands on your master, gladiator.”
“As the one with the information the master needs,” I reply, “I think I am.”
“This will not—”
“Before sundown, Ataiun.”
He sputters and curses at me, but I turn and walk away, and I refuse to look back. Calvus Laurea will be furious, especially with a slave making demands on him, but I have no doubt he’ll know as well as I do that I’m the one in control now.
He wanted me to be his left hand. Pity he underestimated the left hand’s advantage.
The light in this room is dim and the shadows are deep, the air warm and heavy with perfume, and my stomach is coiled into knots. The sun is going down. If Calvus comes at all, he’ll be here any moment.
And then what? He could slit my throat just for breathing now that he has no more use for me.
The door hinges creak, and I send up one last plea to Fortune to let me walk out of this alive.
Calvus steps into the room, and his face is already contorted with fury. “Saevius.” He slams the door behind him and his lip pulls into a sneer as he strides toward me. “You’re either a fool or incredibly arrogant to call me here and think you’ll walk away alive.”
“Forgive me, Dominus.” I wring my hands and keep my head bowed. “I have information. Information about your—”
“Silence!” he barks. “You will speak carefully, gladiator. You have information of what?”
I lift my chin until I’m looking him in the eye. “The man you’re looking for. I know where he is.”
Calvus doesn’t flinch. “I was told he’s dead.”
I shake my head. “He’s wounded, but no, he’s alive. And no one else knows where he is. Except me.”
“Tell me, then,” he snaps. “Out with it.”
I hold his gaze. “And what guarantee do I have that you’ll let me live once I’ve told you?”
Calvus straightens. “I beg your pardon?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Once you know where he is, then you have no further use for me. What guarantee do I have that I’ll leave this place alive?”
He steps toward me. “You are treading on dangerous ground, gladiator.”
I close some of that remaining distance between us until he backs down just slightly. “And I have information you can get from me and no one else. Do you want to know where your wife’s lover is? Or do you want to kill me and run the risk of him going unpunished?”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t think you understand what kind of game you’re playing here, gladiator.”
“Don’t I?” I incline my head and tighten my arms across my chest. Shrugging with one shoulder, I say, “I’m a slave. My life is worth only what another man is willing to pay for it, and you could kill me now with no consequence.” I pause. “Well, no consequence aside from the destruction of what’s left of your reputation. Or your own blood being spilled.” Another shrug. “Quite possibly both, unless I get what I want.”
“You’ll get nothing but a blade through your gut when the magistrate and your master learn you stole two hundred sestertii from them.”
“I stole nothing. You and I both know that.”
Calvus laughs sharply. “And you think any man would take the word of a slave over mine? You’re nothing more than—”
“I do, Calvus.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And for that matter, you should know that if I don’t leave this brothel safely, by dawn every man in Pompeii will know of your wife’s affair and of the documents you forged to send me into the ludus as an auctoratus. Along with the five hundred sestertii for Drusus.”
His eyes widen.
I barely keep from grinning triumphantly as I add, “Now who’s playing a dangerous game, Calvus?”
“What is it you want?” he asks through clenched teeth.
“The boy,” I say. “Kaeso.”
Calvus’s eyes widen farther. “Kaeso? What do you want with him?”
“That doesn’t concern you. Where is he?”
“You have no right to—”
“All I want is the boy,” I snarl. “The boy, and my life when I leave here, and your reputation might not suffer as it so deserves to.”
Calvus sniffs with amusement. “He’ll be on a wagon out of Pompeii by dawn if he’s not already.”
My he
art drops. “What are you talking about?”
“I have no use for a bastard child,” he growls.
“You sold him?” I hiss. “Your own grandson?”
His lip curls into a snarl. “An illegitimate orphan has no place in the house of the Laurea.”
“Where do I find him?”
“Where do I find my wife’s lover?”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t get what I’m looking for, your reputation is shit at dawn. Your choice.”
His cheek ripples and his lips thin into a straight line. “Tell me where to find the man who defiled my wife and caused her death.”
“Tell me where to find the boy. Without him, I give you nothing.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he releases a sharp breath. “The trader’s name is Maharbaal. Moves between here and Carthage.”
“And is he still in Pompeii?”
“I don’t know. I sold him the boy and paid no mind to his plans beyond that.” He fidgets impatiently and glares at me. “Now where is my wife’s lover?”
I nod past him. Calvus’s brow furrows. Slowly, still eyeing me for as long as he can, he turns.
From the shadows behind Calvus, arms folded and expression blank, Drusus looks back at him.
Calvus pulls in a breath. “You . . .”
“Yes.” Drusus takes a step forward, letting the faint lamplight illuminate more of his face. “Me.”
“I should break your—” The nobleman stiffens when I press a blade against his back.
“You should stand there,” Drusus says, taking another step forward, “and close your mouth before I have my gladiator cut out your heart.”
Calvus laughs. “I own him, lanista. Not you.”
“And he’s put a dagger to your back at my command.” Drusus raises his eyebrows and lets the subtlest smirk play at his lips. “Seems to me I’m in charge right now.”
“What is it you want?” Calvus snaps. “I’ve told you where to find the boy.”
