Chasing the Lion

by Nancy Kimball

Clovis backed away, his sword limp at his side. “Get dressed. Nessa awaits you in the medicus chamber.” He hastened away and left the cell door open.

  After the way he’d triumphed over them all earlier, he was sure they would kill him. Chain him to the wall and let the carrion birds eat his entrails and all that. Maybe they still would, but for now, he had a chance to see Nessa.

  He dressed quickly and wrapped his loincloth tight to be sure he didn’t repeat his earlier display and cause her to break anything else. He fought the grin trying to form, remembering her crimson cheeks and wide eyes. Clovis had already returned to training, and no one moved as he made his way to the medicus chamber. He entered the sheet door but she wasn’t there. Neither was Quintus.

  “Nessa?”

  A faint sniff from the far corner of the room broke the silence.

  “Nessa, is that you?” He passed the big wooden table and its stools, rounding the last bed before the wall, and found her.

  She sat hugging her knees to her chest, as naked as he’d been moments ago. Her brown eyes were rimmed in red and her face awash in tears. She met his gaze and then dropped her head between her arms to hide her face. Her shoulders shook beneath the blanket of her unbound hair.

  He sank to his knees and stretched forward to gather her discarded tunic lying on the floor near them. A single rip from the neck to the hem tightened his throat. He crawled toward her on his scarred knees as slow as he could to drape the garment over her. He tried not to touch her, but his palm brushed her knee as he covered her. She jerked tighter to the wall and a fresh stab of pain went straight through his chest.

  Heavy footsteps signaled someone’s approach. “Get away from her,” Quintus’ voice boomed.

  Jonathan rose and stepped toward him, raising both his hands to show he was no threat. “You’ll frighten her more,” he whispered, stopping between them.

  Quintus pushed past and stopped where Jonathan had knelt a moment ago. “Nessa, please tell me who did this. Let me help you.” She didn’t raise her head or move beneath what remained of her tunic. Quintus wrung his hands and turned to Jonathan. “Clovis and I found her like this when we returned, and she hasn’t moved or said a word. What do we do?”

  Jonathan’s fingers curled to fists, and he had to work to keep his voice low. “You saw her like this and just left her?”

  “To inform Caius. He assures me he’ll feed the culprit to the beasts when Nessa names him, no matter who it is.” Quintus turned and leaned toward her. “Nessa, please. Let me help you.” He touched her elbow and she cringed with a broken sob.

  Jonathan grabbed Quintus’ sleeve and tugged him back. “Send for one of the slave girls,” he said softly. Quintus frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, comprehension washed through his face. He nodded and set off toward the doorway, hopefully to bring one of the women from the house.

  The savage who’d committed this unspeakable atrocity better be praying to every god in every temple across the empire Caius found him before Jonathan did. He eased to the floor with his back to the wall so that she faced his side, and he the door. Away from her but still near. He leaned his head against the wall and tried for a soothing tone. “Quintus has gone for a slave girl. I thought you might feel better letting her help you. I’ll leave when she comes and take Quintus with me. Would that be all right?”

  “Yes.” Her hoarse whisper was barely audible over the sounds of the training outside.

  He fought the instinct to look her direction and focused on breathing in and out quietly. The rage inside and the memory of her vacant expression made it difficult. Quintus finally returned. An older woman followed him, wearing a slave tunic and a somber expression. He rose and went to meet them, but she strode past him toward Nessa. Quintus followed but Jonathan blocked his path. “She wants to be alone.”

  “She spoke?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Quintus’ eyes narrowed and again he tried to push past him.

  Jonathan put his arm out and stood his ground. “Please. You must trust me. You saw how she reacted to both of us. Let the woman tend her while we find whoever is responsible for this.”

  Quintus relented and rubbed at his forehead. “Come with me.”

  He fought hard not to glance back as he followed Quintus through the sheet door.

  A pair of guards approached them. “Lord Caius summons you, slave.”

  In the aftermath of finding Nessa, all memory of his victory over the lanista had been forgotten. It returned absent its former joy.

  “We’re going to see him now.” Quintus motioned for them to move out of the way.

  “Not you, medicus. Just him.” The guard who’d spoken nodded toward Jonathan.

  So be it. Jonathan took a step forward to follow them but Quintus grasped his elbow.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Jonathan nodded, wishing he could say more.

  “Let’s go, slave.”

  One guard led Jonathan while the other followed. He hated having someone at his back he didn’t trust, but the guard in front of him must feel the same or they would have him between them. When they turned down a corridor he’d never entered, the reason for the unusual formation stood in front of him. The corridor ended in a narrow staircase.

  They climbed until Jonathan paused at the large polished bronze hanging between two torches on the wall. The short beard had grown back and he still resembled Manius. The guard below shoved him with the heel of his hand and Jonathan continued on. He emerged in Caius’ chamber. Plush couches, Corinthian vases, and weapons and armor of every type filled the walls.

  Caius stood near his balcony, watching. Jonathan surveyed the room again. A dream he’d not yet had was coming true. He stood, unchained, in a room full of weapons—with the lanista.

  “That would be unwise.” Caius’ gaze flickered from Jonathan to the sword mounted on the wall near him. “Though I would have been disappointed had you not at least considered it. I’ve told Clovis there is a gladiator inside you.”

  “That may be but I will never fight for you.” Jonathan shifted his weight from his injured leg, now throbbing from the effort of the stairs.

  “How about kill for me then?”

  “Not unless you’re committing suicide. Then I could help you.”

  “A pity.” Caius crossed his arms and took a few steps toward the far wall. “I’d hoped we might finally agree on something. Clovis told me you were quite fond of Quintus’ slave girl, but I’ll let one of the guards execute her attacker if you prefer.”

  “You have him?” The question sprang from his mouth before he made the conscious decision to ask it.

  “He was foolish enough to brag to another servant.” Caius’ gaze shifted to one of the guards behind Jonathan. “Bring him.”

  The pair of men returned quickly, dragging a bound and gagged man between them. He struggled and muttered something unintelligible over and over. The guards threw him to his knees and he began to weep. Nessa’s grief had stirred Jonathan to compassion, but this man’s tears drained it from him until only the image of Nessa huddled in shame remained. Her vacant expression and lifeless gaze were forever branded into his mind.

  On the fringe of his awareness, Caius must have handed him a sword. His hand closed on the cool metal grip and he placed the tip of the polished blade at the base of the man’s throat between two rivulets of sweat. Or tears. Maybe they were Nessa’s tears. He searched the eyes of the man who’d stolen the light from the face of the gentlest woman he’d ever known. He leaned into the sword but his grip wavered. Would she want this?

  Caius’ shadow fell over the man at his feet. “He boasted he smothered her cries to her God with more than his tongue.”

  An untapped well of rage opened and Jonathan forced the blade through the man’s windpipe. He didn’t pull the blade free until the man’s eyes were as empty as Nessa’s had been. When he did, the body crumpled to the floor.

  Jonathan trembled as the guards
dragged her rapist away. He’d just taken a life. Justified in every way but… the sword slipped from his hand and clanged to the floor. He turned to Caius and the lanista’s smile chilled him to his bones.

  “You see, not only will you fight for me, but you’ll kill for me too.”

  “That was justice.”

  “Yes it was. But mine, not your slave girl’s.” The guards returned and flanked Caius, who crossed his arms and chuckled between them. “The slave never touched her. He never even saw her. You killed an innocent man.”

  Jonathan searched Caius’ face, his eyes, anything for some sign of deceit. There was nothing there but that calculated grin. “You… lied?”

  “Sending men to their deaths is easy for me. How difficult do you think lying is?”

  Not only had he killed, he’d killed an innocent man. His stomach heaved, and he doubled over and vomited, with Caius’ laughter ringing in his ears.

  “You showed me your Achilles heel, Jonathan. You may care nothing for your own life, but you care a great deal for the slave girl who helped save it.”

  Jonathan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened.

  Caius’ sneer widened. “Now that I know you would kill for her, I’m going to let you.”

  He was right. Jonathan was going to kill again. He reached for the sword near his feet, and the guards drew theirs and closed rank on either side of Caius.

  “Unwise.” Caius held up a hand. “You have yet to hear my terms.”

  It didn’t matter. Jonathan reached down for the sword again but a guard kicked it away. His blade fell flat and ready at Jonathan’s chest.

  “Don’t make them kill you. If you die, she dies too.”

  Jonathan froze.

  “Her life is now tied to yours. If you succeed in killing yourself, as Clovis insists you will, she dies. If you make an attempt on my life, or anyone other than your opponent in the arena, she dies. If you fall in the arena, and the editor of the games doesn’t spare you, she dies. So I would advise you to take your training seriously, now that both your lives depend on it.”

  The horror of Caius’ decree thundered through him. Then a sudden realization gave him hope. The laws of Rome applied even in a ludis. He should know. His father was a praetor. “She’s not your slave. Nessa belongs to Quintus. Under Roman law, you can’t touch her.”

  Caius tucked his thumbs in at the buckle of his leather belt and cocked his head. “That didn’t stop me earlier.”

  Jonathan couldn’t breathe. He thought he knew what it was to hate—until now. Every bone and drop of blood together screamed to attack as his fists clenched. If he failed to kill all three of them, he risked her life. That threat chained him in place better than any iron could have.

  Clovis’ words returned. Not everything is about you. Anger became agony in a single breath. He’d done this. To her. To the man he’d killed.

  “Now that we finally understand each other,” Caius said, “I will offer you the oath of the gladiator once more. I trust this time you won’t throw it away.” He took a step toward him. “But first, I owe you a little something for all the expense and aggravation you’ve caused me.”

  Caius pulled his fist back. Jonathan turned his head fast enough to avoid a broken nose but not the blow. The ring on Caius’ finger sliced Jonathan’s cheek like a hot knife on honeycomb and his knuckles pounded the bone beneath Jonathan’s eye.

  Jonathan staggered sideways and Caius advanced. He punched him in the stomach and then kicked his injured thigh. Jonathan collapsed to his knees but used his arms to keep his spinning head from crashing into the floor. He gasped for air through the overwhelming pain.

  “Since you’re already kneeling, you can give me the oath. From then on you will obey me without question or delay, or I swear to you on all the coin in Capua I will waste no time in extracting the price of defiance from your little friend. Do you understand?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came. He coughed, trying to answer but—

  Caius kicked him again. His sandaled foot struck the side of Jonathan’s head and sent him to the floor. Everything around him darkened, but he fought the blackness.

  “Much too slow.” Caius grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked Jonathan’s head up. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” Jonathan forced the words through the blood running from his nose and lips.

  Caius jerked his head back again. “I understand, Master.”

  His neck was ready to snap from the severe angle and his scalp was on fire. It would take more strength to say those words than anything he’d ever done, even watch his mother die. “I understand… Master.”

  “I thought you might.”

  Caius released him and he sagged to the floor.

  “Give me the gladiator oath. I will repeat it if you need me to.”

  They’d broken him. Nessa too, for his defiance. He would give the oath and pledge himself to a lifetime of suffering—to spare her from any more. The three men standing over him waited. He sat back on his heels and cleared blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I will endure to be burned… to be bound… to be beaten… and to be killed by the sword.”

  The sacramentum gladitorium was done.

  Caius nodded and uncrossed his arms. “Let’s not waste any more time. Return to training.”

  Jonathan held his stomach and struggled to his feet.

  “By the way,” Caius said. “You’re bleeding.” He started laughing, and didn’t stop.

  Jonathan turned toward the stairs and the guards followed. The stairway seemed darker and he paused at the polished metal on the wall. The gash near his eye still bled, as did his nose. Blood gathered in the scruff of beard at his chin and more smeared the tunic on his chest.

  He continued down, and near the bottom he missed the edge of a step and almost fell the rest of the way.

  Clovis awaited him at the foot of the stairs.

  Jonathan searched the man’s face. “Did you know?”

  “Not until after.”

  The man before him was the same person who had helped create this living nightmare, but at the same time, Clovis was different. The hardness was gone.

  “I need to return to training.” Jonathan took another step down and missed that one too. He stumbled forward and Clovis caught him by the arm before he fell.

  “Tomorrow.” Clovis steadied him before releasing his hold.

  “Now.” Too much was at stake.

  Clovis held his gaze. There was a compassion there he’d never seen before. “Tomorrow,” Clovis said more firmly. “Come.”

  Jonathan followed him toward the barracks. The guards did not. The men paused in their training to stare. What did they see besides his bloody face and the slight limp in his gait? Could they see everything had changed?

  Clovis passed the door to Jonathan’s empty cell and continued down the row of barracks. Where was he taking him? He opened the door to the cell Jonathan had spent his first night in. When Clovis had given him the fake poison. If only it had been real. Clovis gestured to the bed. “Sit.”

  The order was absent the hardness that normally accompanied anything coming from the trainer’s mouth. Jonathan shuffled to the bed and sat, his stomach muscles knotting from the effort. Clovis stood in the doorway and called to a slave. He ordered a bowl of clean water and towels, a new tunic, and food. When they arrived, he had everything placed on the table and ordered the slave away.

  Jonathan remained silent as Clovis wet the cloth and cleared the blood from his face. Instead of scrubbing like before, he dabbed at the dried blood over and over. The water in the bowl turned the pink of an evening sky, and he finished with cleaning and rebinding the wound from the lion that Caius’ kick had reopened.

  This was not Clovis’ battlefield medicine from before. In his silence, in his lack of gruffness, he seemed to share Jonathan’s grief.

  Clovis poured a cup of wine and set it on the table beside the new
tunic. He slid the plate of bread and boiled eggs beside them and gathered the bowl of dirty water and cloths. At the door he stopped. “Tomorrow then?” His tone and his gaze asked a deeper question.

  Caius wasn’t bluffing. If Jonathan took his own life, he would be taking hers. “Tomorrow.”

  Clovis nodded once, and from his expression, he understood. No more games. No more lies. The door closed and its lock slid home. Jonathan sat there on the edge of the bed long after the daylight faded from his cell. The food and wine sat untouched on the table, and scabs formed on the new cuts on his face. When he finally moved, it was to lie face down on the straw mattress. He gathered the blanket to mute his anguished sobs. By the time the moon reached its peak, he’d flooded the cloth with tears.

  Chapter 17 – Teach Me

  Jonathan stood dressed and ready when Clovis opened his cell door in the morning. They exchanged nods and Jonathan had a beam to his shoulder before the last recruit scurried into the training area. The beam never fell from his shoulders, though twice exertion put him on his knees. Both times he willed himself back on his feet with the added weight and drained muscles opposing him. At midday meal he took his familiar spot on the floor and devoured his barley porridge. He’d need the added strength for what he planned to do next.

  Gladiators and the other recruits returned to the central training area. Jonathan followed them across the packed sand to the sacred center line—and crossed it. He needed to learn to swing a sword, not heft a beam sunrise to sunset. Hot sun and stares beat down on him as he walked to the chest of practice weapons kept deep in gladiator territory. The wooden sword was lighter than he would have thought. The shield felt about right.

  Seppios approached, swinging his wooden sword in a perfect loop at his side. “Go back to the slop side, lion killer, before you really get hurt.”

  Low laughter rumbled through the gladiators.

  Let them laugh. He approached Tao, who stood with sword and shield ready to spar.

  Seppios stepped in front and put the tip of his wooden sword into Jonathan’s chest. “I mean it, dung beetle. You have no business on our side.”