Gallego appeared equally determined, even when he spoke. “Quintus, would you give Jonathan and me a moment alone?”
“Of course. Come, Nessa.”
She extracted herself from beneath Jonathan carefully. Her hair swung so close to his eyelids, they closed despite his concentration. He swallowed the moan threatening to escape as he grabbed the edge of the bed and raised himself to a sitting position. Dizziness nearly toppled his head into his knees, but he locked his elbows to brace himself upright. Nessa gave him a lingering look before Quintus ushered her out the door and closed it behind them.
Gallego approached and Jonathan had no choice but to look up at him. That was probably the man’s intent. “Your former master bet a great sum on green at the Circus Maximus, but the red won. He owed me ten thousand sestertii and couldn’t pay.”
Jonathan let his anger at both men color his tone. “Interesting you can bet that kind of coin on a chariot race and not hire the best physician in the empire.”
Gallego grinned and crossed his arms. “I don’t typically discuss my finances with my gladiators, but for your knowledge, I did not bet against him. In addition to being a lanista, I find usury a very profitable side business.”
“If you send your gladiators to collect, then for your knowledge, you should know I won’t do that.”
Gallego laughed, but there was no mockery or contempt in the sound. “No, I do not. In time you will find I do a number of things very differently from others in my profession.”
“Which profession?”
“Both.”
The pain in Jonathan’s body grew steadily, but he embraced it to remain sitting up though his arms begged for respite. “So Caius used me to settle his debt?”
“In a manner of speaking. I watched you fight in Capua three years ago. From the way you entered the arena, favoring your right leg and not able to tuck and roll, I could tell Caius was fighting you injured. Even so, you made impressive work of the secutor you faced. I knew then I wanted you and offered Caius a fair sum. He said you weren’t for sale at any price. Then a few weeks ago, when you won the match against one of my best gladiators, I offered Caius fifty thousand for you and he again said no.”
A shiver passed through Jonathan unrelated to the pain in his arms and chest. “Jelani belonged to your ludis?”
“He did.” Sorrow passed through Torren Gallego’s eyes. “You can imagine my surprise then, when on the last day of the games, Caius approaches me during the afternoon matches and agrees to my earlier offer. As soon as I signed the scroll, the rat told me you would be fighting Hulderic in moments.”
That sounded like Caius. Exactly like Caius.
The lanista paused, his amused grin growing more annoying by the moment. “But the fates punished him, because you won. I paid the forty thousand with a smile on my face, because the gladiator that defeated Hulderic is worth five times that much. I know, because I’ve been turning down offers for two days.”
Jonathan stared at Gallego with the growing sense that the man mocked him with his vast fortune. “Then I ask again, why can you not employ Quintus?”
Gallego’s expression sobered and the arms he held across his chest tightened. “Let us be straight with one another. It’s not Quintus you want to keep with you. It’s the servant girl. I witnessed her attack on Caius when he interfered with treating your wounds. For a slave, that’s certain death, so she regards your life above her own. You must feel the same, or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to have me yield. And in truth, I could afford to, but it wouldn’t be prudent. I already have a physician whom I trust. Quintus would tire of having so little to do in my ludis, since my gladiator troupe is small by design. He would have to leave on his own eventually, to maintain and improve his skill. Apologies my friend, but believe me, it’s for the best.”
“I’m not your friend.”
Gallego’s posture stiffened. “It’s not a requirement that you are, though I hope in time you feel differently.”
“Caius must not have told you how he compelled me to fight all these years.”
A flicker of uncertainty passed through Gallego’s gaze.
“He threatened to kill her if I didn’t. And assured me he would if I were to fall in the arena or take my own life.”
Gallego frowned, his head slanting in question even before he spoke. “Are you suggesting I do the same? Buy her from Quintus, assuming he would part with her, and then threaten her safety so you will keep fighting? Is that what you really want?”
Hearing it put back to him so clearly filled Jonathan with shame. He dropped his head and closed his eyes as the weight of his hypocrisy crushed him.
“I have a better plan.”
Jonathan raised his head but this time didn’t have to look up at Gallego. The lanista had closed the distance between them and squatted so they were now eye to eye.
“Fight for me because you want to. Discover what it means to truly be a gladiator, not a man dangling over a cliff by chains of fear for the life of the woman he cares for. In time you will earn your freedom, and then you can pursue hers, or whatever you want most.”
Jonathan huffed, locking his elbows to remain upright. “All lanistas speak of freedom. The way husbands speak of marriage to their mistresses.”
“My gladiators will tell you I honor my word. Two earned their freedom last year.”
“And Jelani?”
“Jelani and Daxus chose to fight in these games. You have nothing but my word on that for now, but when Daxus recovers you can ask him yourself. Either way, you are part of my familia gladitoria now. I prefer you embrace the opportunity and we see what you are capable of with proper motivation, rest, and better care. But if you know you will not, tell me now. You will never be as attractive to potential buyers as you are at this moment. Expectations for your return to the arena are running high all over Rome. I can take the next offer that comes without the risks of fighting you again and finding out you were lucky against Hulderic. I profit either way, but the choice is yours.”
Jonathan weighed what he already knew of Gallego against the uncertainty of being sold to someone like Caius. Gallego waited silently beside him, still crouched on the floor, with no sign of impatience. Jonathan’s respect for him grew once again. Breathing deep, he drew himself up to his full height in the bed through the pain that reverberated through every cut. He met Gallego’s dark eyes, and then dropped his gaze and his chin, in submission and respect.
“Dominus.” The Latin word for master from his own lips felt strange. A title he’d never bestowed on Caius.
“Torren. My men address me as Torren, Jonathan, not Dominus. Or master.”
Jonathan glanced up to see Torren’s grin had returned as he stood.
“Do you think you’re fit enough to be brought by litter to the ludis? I’d like you under better security as soon as possible.”
“Where is the danger? Should Nessa not be here?”
“You still don’t realize what you’ve done.” Torren locked gazes with him, his grin turning rueful. “You slew Hulderic. He was an undefeated champion. His fame rivaled that of the greats. Spartacus. Priscus. Verus. You have a public now. Amoratii would swarm this inn and bring it down around us for a chance to touch their idol up close, which is why I’ve been bribing the innkeeper into silence.”
“Then we leave tomorrow. I don’t want Nessa in unnecessary danger.”
“Done.” The lanista stood and moved toward the door.
“Torren?”
He paused midstride and turned back. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Torren gave him a silent nod before leaving.
Jonathan tried to lower himself back onto the bed but collapsed instead. The jar to his battle-scarred body filled him with fresh pain, but not as much as knowing this would be his last night with Nessa.
Chapter 27 – In Remembrance
Jonathan roused from sleep to Nessa’s touch on his arm. She sat beside him on the edge of
the bed and held the dreaded cup in her other hand. Oxen? Goat? Quitus insisted they were all the same, but he knew better. Pig was the worst.
“Relax,” Nessa said. “It’s only warmed wine with a pinch of powdered ram’s horn.”
“Thank God for that.”
She raised his head and placed the cup to his lips. “I do. Even more to hear you say it.”
He emptied the cup, grateful to be spared choking down any more blood tonight. That thought spun another, until he knew what he needed to do next. “Do we have any bread?”
“Yes.” She left the edge of the bed and retrieved a loaf heel from the small table. “I’ll help you sit up so you can eat.”
“Thank you.” With her help, Jonathan pulled himself upright, teeth gritted against the pain it caused. “Can I have more wine, please?”
Nessa gave him the bread first, then refilled his cup and handed it to him. He wasn’t sure how to ask her for a moment alone that wouldn’t feel like he was dismissing her or sending her away.
“I need to check something with the innkeeper,” she said. “It may take a little while. Is that all right?”
He nodded and watched her leave. He couldn’t remember back to the moment he realized Nessa could sense his every need and then meet it. Only that she had. There were many things he’d failed to remember, and hardened his heart against those things he did. It was long past time to repent. Without death looming over him.
Lord, when the path became difficult, I turned and fled like Simon Peter. I embraced my hate, and lived only for revenge, thinking I did so to protect Nessa. All along, You spoke Your truth to me over and over through her words, her hands. You healed this broken body in Your mercy again and again.
He ripped a bite of the bread and chewed while pain covered him. Not in his body, but in his spirit, as he thought of the Messiah partaking of the last supper with the twelve, including the very one who would betray Him. Jesus shared the bread He declared His body, and the wine that would be His blood, given as the new covenant and poured out in payment for the sin of mankind for all eternity.
A darker image followed. Jesus, beaten as even Jonathan had never been, and crucified as a criminal under the laws of Rome to fulfill the law of God. Christ’s plea to the Father as He hung on the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Maybe those men hadn’t.
But Jonathan had.
Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me. His hand trembled, rippling the wine in his cup. “I betrayed Your sacrifice in my denial. Though I’m unworthy to have received that salvation and to drink this to remember it, forgive me.”
He drank the wine, feeling the weight of his failures and guilt drowning in the mercy and grace of Christ’s atoning blood. A peace flooded through him, deeper than anything he’d ever known.
Torren Gallego’s two guards fascinated Nessa. She watched them play knucklebones for nearly an hour, amazed at how the two men blended in with the travelers and dinner guests at the inn. They sat at the table closest to Jonathan’s room, tossing the five shaped bones over and over. A room she and Jonathan would be alone in tonight.
Gallego had insisted Quintus accompany him to meet the general. When Quintus hesitated, Gallego looked directly at her and said, “I’m sure Nessa can take care of him for one night.” The implication offended her, but not enough to speak up and defend her virtue. What remained of it.
Truthfully, she looked forward to the time alone with Jonathan. If the meeting between Quintus and the general went well this evening, they would be leaving for Germania within days. She would treasure this night, made sweeter in the knowledge Jonathan had asked for the elements of the Lord’s last supper, presumably to take them in remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice. Something Nessa hadn’t done herself in far too long.
One of the guards dropped a bone from the table to the ground and bent to retrieve it. As he did, his gaze scanned the room from corner to corner without turning his head.
Nessa grinned when their stares met. She rose and went to them. “At first I thought you the worst guards I had ever seen, playing knucklebones instead of standing watch. But now I see it is part of how you do so unnoticed.”
Pink climbed the tanned cheeks of one guard as he leaned back on his stool to balance it on two legs. “Any robber can tell you, the bigger the guard detail, the heavier the coin they protect. We find the best way to avoid a mob, even one that begins with a few curious onlookers, is not to tell them there’s something there in the first place by standing on either side of the door.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to your work.”
Nessa reached Jonathan’s door and rapped gently.
No answer. He might be sleeping. She knocked harder, casting a sideways glance at the guards who’d stopped their game.
The door opened, and Nessa stifled a gasp.
Not only was Jonathan on his feet, but he’d removed most of his wraps and put on a tunic. “Come in.”
She entered the room, checking him over for bleeding. “Why are you out of bed? And why did you take off your wraps? You need rest, and—”
He silenced her with two fingers to her lips as he nudged the door closed with his knee. “Nessa, I’m not a child.”
The rough texture of his skin against her mouth startled her, but not as much as his eyes. They were different. Still the green of fresh laurel leaves she knew so well, but lacking something—something not to be missed. Even though the tight set of his mouth and the pinched outer corners of his eyelids signaled pain, he looked… strong.
He pulled his fingers from her lips, and her trapped breath released in a soft giggle. “You know, the missio is also two raised fingers. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were pleading for mercy.”
Jonathan laughed and Nessa drank the sound into her very being. “Maybe I am. I found the basket with clothes and medicine, but I don’t know which vial is the opium.”
“I’ll get it.” She found the proper amphora and mixed it with a fresh cup of wine. He waited patiently near her and as he drank the mixture, she stared at him in awe. Much more than his eyes had changed.
He set the empty cup down and flexed his good shoulder. “Where’s Quintus?”
“With Torren Gallego. They return tomorrow.”
The question in his eyes was unmistakable. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “Since you’ve taken most of your linens off, I’m going to make paste for your wounds.”
He extended an arm and rolled his elbow toward the ceiling. “Most of these aren’t that bad. The air is good for them. This one—” He looked down at his chest and covered the place the sword had pierced him. “This one hurts.”
“I’d suggest you rest, but I’m afraid to.” She meant it in jest, but he frowned and stepped closer, taking her by the wrist.
“I don’t ever want you to be afraid again.” His other hand cradled her cheek, the fingers slipping beneath her hair to rest against her neck. “And you will never have reason to fear me.” He stood so close the heat of his wine-scented breath warmed the tip of her nose. His gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes as he leaned closer. Inviting, not expecting.
She arched her chin toward him in answer. Her eyelids drifted closed as his lips met hers. This kiss was nothing like in the tunnel, when she thought he would die. This was effortless and natural, like breathing, as the gentle brush of his lips explored hers. He released her wrist and his warm palms pressed her jaw between them, but she felt sheltered, not trapped. An unknown feeling began to grow from somewhere in her middle, and she raised her arms to draw him even closer. Her hands touched his back through the thin wool of his tunic and he went rigid in her embrace, his swift intake of breath breaking their kiss.
She’d been so lost in passion she forgot his wounds. She yanked her hands back to her sides and frowned. “I’m sorry.”
His smile returned, and he didn’t release her face. “Don’t be.”
She thought he might kiss her again, but a knock at the door intruded. Jonathan’s grin disappeared. He motioned for her to wait and went to the door.
A servant stood outside with a large amphora and a pail. “Lamps, my lord.”
Jonathan muttered something Nessa couldn’t make out and admitted the small man. She poured more wine for them while the servant worked. He refilled the lamps with olive oil and trimmed their wicks much faster than the previous two days. The poor servant probably sensed Jonathan’s annoyance from where he stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the room. She sipped her wine while avoiding the gazes of both men until the servant left, shutting the door behind him.
Jonathan sat on the bed, in the center of the thin mattress, while watching her.
Surely he didn’t think… but he must, because his hand reached out toward her. Her heart took off like a rabbit running from an eagle. “Jonathan, I’m—”
“I only want to hold you. Please.”
For years she’d wondered, sometimes even imagined, relaxing into his embrace, sharing a bed with him. But in her dreaming they were wed.
He withdrew his outstretched hand. “Forgive me for not thinking.” The look of pain returned to his face. “And forgive me if I reminded you of him.”
Him? Her brow dipped, and she almost asked who when it hit her. Caius. No, oh no. She rushed to him, knelt beside him on the bed, and took his hand. “You could never remind me of him.” She squeezed his hand. “I trust you.”
By the set of his face, he remained unconvinced. Heat rose in her cheeks while she debated continuing. She looked down at their hands. “It’s what your touch—and your kiss— make me feel that I don’t trust.”
She risked a glance at his face. His mischievous expression confused her.
He pulled his hand free and leaned back against the wall carefully. “Maybe you shouldn’t come any closer. I’m in no condition to defend myself if you attack me.”
His effort at being stern, despite the boyish arrogance all over his face, failed miserably. Tears sprang to her eyes, from laughter for once, at the irony of such a statement. “Stop that. I can hardly breathe now.”
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