The impact of the words stunned Marius. They hammered against his sense of justice. He could not stop the spiraling decline that ate away at his heart. The world was collapsing into despair. Marius no longer cared what they did to him.
“Your commission is declined, your citizenship revoked. You are a criminal, an enemy of Rome. As such, you will suffer the fate of your status.” He spoke to Suetonius. “General, you will see to it this slave is securely bound and escorted to the settlement of Corinium where he will be sold to one of the gladiatorial slave masters immediately. They are to be ordered to make him fight in the matches until he dies.”
Suetonius nodded once to one of his commanders who called for irons. “It will be done.”
Marius did not resist when they dragged him from the tent.
The last thing he saw when they shoved him through the entrance was Aelius pleading with Suetonius and the general ignoring those pleas while his cold eyes remained fixed on Marius.
The Edge of Honor
Chapter XIV
Delia leaned forward as far as she could onto the horse’s neck, giving the animal his full head. The bulge of the baby made it awkward so she pulled the cloak tight around her middle to support him, controlling the beast as Kuna had shown her with just her legs. She was grateful Kuna had insisted she take his Roman horse. He was a fine animal, rested, calm, and very fast. Hopefully fast enough to outrun Quintius.
She could hear the distant thunder of his horse’s hooves pounding the forest floor. Tears stained Delia’s face. With an effort, she willed them to stop, sending silent prayers to the gods to protect her child, herself—and her husband.
The air was a whirlwind around her and she could barely see the edge of the forest as it flashed passed her. Delia silently thanked Kuna. She had worked diligently over the last year learning to control these massive animals. Only a few short months before she could not even approach one without it attempting to take a bite from her. Kuna’s training could save her life today.
The horse would tire soon at this speed and she could already feel it slowing beneath her thighs. Quintius was gaining, coming closer with each gallop. She needed to reach the open road, her only hope of escape.
The edge of a fallen tree came up quickly and she had to veer to miss it. The change in course cost her precious steps and Quintius was nearly on her.
She pushed the animal up a hill, feeling it strain, the foam of its mouth spattering onto her hands and face. Delia dared a fleeting look behind her. Quintius had lost some distance with the climb, but was still very close. She could not see his face clearly in the rush, but the streaming blond hair and the tall muscular form leaning into the horse’s neck was unmistakable.
Wondering again why he had not simply killed her when he had the chance, she concentrated on the path ahead.
When Delia reached the crest, she dug her heels into the beast and forced the animal to fly down the hill. The warhorse skidded along the rough road, but kept its balance. After a few thundering leaps, the trees diminished on both sides of her and she saw a break where the sky lightened.
Suddenly, a path appeared on her right.
Turning the horse on the spur, it lost its footing and almost took them both down. Using her reins, she was able to maneuver the beast to right itself. The stallion seemed to understand her frantic manipulations because it increased its pace as quickly as his massive legs would carry them.
She risked a glance behind her. Quintius missed the break and pulled up quickly on his reins, causing his horse to teeter and almost tumble. Delia did not look again, knowing she had gained an advantage, but also knowing it was fleeting.
The forest closed in and the path narrowed quickly. Delia’s heart pounded in her chest. The darkness surrounded her, making it almost impossible to see the tangle of branches and snags that tore at her tunic and her arms as she passed. Navigating the dense forest proved very difficult. Branches grazed her so many times her clothes became tattered. Her arms were a mass of bleeding welts and scratches. How they missed her face and neck, she could not fathom.
To help her focus, Delia remembered what Kuna had taught her, remembered his shining face staring up at her in surprise when she learned the lessons so well, remembered his patience, his amazing skill, his love. Delia put everything of herself into the living creature under her body, negotiating the dark woods, skirting trees, jumping fallen logs, ducking under low branches.
She pushed the horse as hard as she could, but Quintius was gaining. Gradually he shortened the distance. Delia could hear the tack now, the jingling of his balteus smacking his thighs, and the clatter of the gladius hanging at his side. The exploding drum of his horse’s shod-hooves pounding the ground sent tremors through her body.
Delia could feel him. His labored breath hissed behind her. In a panic, she kicked the horse, something Kuna would be appalled at, but it would move no faster. From the corner of her eye, she saw a pale arm reach from behind her to grab at the reins.
In an abrupt second, the darkness split with the brilliance of a sun as it broke through the trees. She flinched away from the brightness and saw the hand disappear. Without warning, her horse was suddenly clattering onto a Roman road. People, horses, wagons, and carts rushed passed her on all sides. She instinctively yanked on the reins and the exhausted horse shot forward, tumbling to its knees, and then to its side. Delia could feel herself flying through the air, her arms and legs scrambling to get purchase. Something soft crashed into her back and yielded to her weight, but not enough to save her breath. It shot out of her all at once.
When she landed, black flashes danced in front of her eyes and she struggled to look behind her. Quintius was gone.
The Edge of Honor
Chapter XV
After the trial, Roman guards stripped Marius, and then hammered rough iron around his wrists and ankles. There was no key. The metal pins mushroomed out on either side of the metal rings, attesting to the permanence of Marius’ situation.
Without ceremony, they strapped a studded leather loin harness around his privates and fastened an iron band around his neck. They made certain the chain attached to each piece of binding was secure. The chains were short. It was impossible to move his hands more than a few inches from his groin or his legs more than half a step. Muscle cramps constricted his buttocks where the girdle pinched him. The rigging rubbed painfully against his shaft.
The soldiers tossed him on a wagon drawn by two horses, then secured him to the floor. Marius could not move from his sitting position and fully expected the soldiers to humiliate him as they pulled the wagon through camp. The men around him were astonishingly quiet.
The crowd of soldiers made way for General Suetonius. He stopped at the wagon and whispered for several minutes with one of the six soldiers preparing for the journey. The soldier nodded and regarded Marius. Suetonius signaled to two tribunes standing nearby and the men shouted orders for the milling soldiers to disband. With surreptitious glances, the Romans cleared the road and returned to their duties.
“No escort from the camp?” Marius asked when the general stopped.
Suetonius pursed his lips and folded his arms. “I do not need these men to foster more doubt than they already have about my command, Centurion. Your… sacrifice will be construed as an act of valor by those who admire you.” He leaned in close. “There are too many who admire you. We will do this quietly.”
Marius laughed at the irony of the situation. “Afraid your men will desert, General? That is not like you. Surely, you have more control over them than that?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Suetonius said softly, pulling back from the wagon. “But I only need to control one today.”
Marius heard the drums rolling on the other side of camp and turned his head to scan the bustling soldiers. Ranks formed and centurions marched down the lines with orders.
“You will attack the Corieltauvi?”
Suetonius nodded and signaled to a man who held his helmet. “The Tw
entieth arrives late tomorrow night; we will march the next morning. I promised you I would not harm her and I will not. We will do what we can to protect her people. But her lands belong to Rome now.”
“Do not do this, sir.” Marius tried to raise his hands, but the chains pulled them back. “Try to remember why we are here.”
The general took the helmet from his aide and placed it onto his head. “We are here to keep the peace, Marius. I know of only one way to do that.” He attached the leather strap beneath his chin and turned on his heel. The wagon wrenched Marius’ back when it lunged forward. Soldiers on both sides did not even look at him as they passed.
* * * *
Early that evening, five men, gladiatorial slavers from Syria, met them. The slave master, who introduced himself as Abella to the soldiers, did not say a word to Marius, though he regarded him greedily from the back of his horse. Marius could see the cruelty in his dark eyes, the arrogance in his demeanor. Obviously, Abella could not wait for the soldiers to bring him his prize. He and his four men must have traveled all day to reach them. The master paid several hundred gold coins to the soldiers and took charge of the wagon.
When the Romans gathered to return to camp, several of them glanced over their shoulders, imparting one final glimpse at Marius. Their faces were a strange mixture of shame, anger, and even sadness. When they turned their backs to leave, Marius’ wagon lurched in the opposite direction and the Romans disappeared down the road. Until then, Marius had not realized how final this was to become. His past left on the heels of the retreating soldiers. His future jangled in the song of his chains.
That night, Marius sat in the dark cage staring up at the stars through the laced branches overhead. The clouds broke apart and thunder boomed in the distance. The rain finally stopped.
Everything throbbed and he shivered in the freezing night air. The simple leather girdle and manacles did little to protect him from the pouring rain. The bandages on his back were fresh, but soaked and his thigh was on fire. He had managed to scoop enough dirty straw around him to give him some relief.
Behind him in another cage, six more men huddled together. At least they had the warmth of each other. Marius shivered again and pulled the damp straw closer, bitter memories the only company for his misery.
He shifted his gaze to what he could see through the bars. A sickly lion lay in the small cage next to his. It wheezed fitfully in its sleep. Abella and his men sat around a fire, laughing. He could see the torches illuminating Corinium in the distance. They were camped outside her gates.
He raised his voice to the backs of the men. “Unless you want me to die of cold, I suggest you throw me a blanket.”
Another roar of laughter went up from the hunched group of men and Abella stood and stretched. “You complain like a woman.” He stepped to the cage drinking from a tin cup. “But we cannot have the great Marius ill. Someone bring me a blanket.”
One of the men found a wool horse blanket and threw it to Abella. When he pushed it through the bars, Marius snatched it angrily and wrapped it around his shoulders. They had removed the restraints so that he had limited use of his hands. They dangled in front of him, secured by long chains to the floor of the cage.
“I saw you fight once,” the Syrian said, leaning against the bars and folding his arms against the chill. “In Londinium, a few years ago.”
Marius said nothing, staring through the bars at the darkness. He was numb inside, beaten. The sensation was foreign and uncomfortable.
“You were amazing.” The accented admiration sent clouds of vapor over Marius’ face, the stench of garlic making his eyes water. “Your footwork was art, your precision and speed with the blade unsurpassed.”
“That was a long time ago.” Marius’ voice came out hoarse. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
“Perhaps.” The master ran long fingers over the bars to make them chime. “I have heard you are more skilled now.”
Marius snorted a laugh. “Doubtful. In any event, I am not fighting for you.”
The slaver’s hand stopped and he tilted his head to the side. “You think not?”
Marius lifted only his eyes and searched the other man’s face. It was dark, rough, and weathered. Little dark eyes glinted at him from beneath a jutting black brow. His nose was enormous and framed by a pudgy bearded face. Three rotten teeth next to two white ones peeked from behind swollen pomegranates-stained lips.
“No, I think not.”
The man laughed and called to one of the men in his own language. The man asked him a question, and the Syrian gave him an angry reply. Brushing his hands, the other man rose, and ambled over to the back of a small wagon hidden behind another.
“What are you up to?” Marius squinted to see in the darkness, but the only light was the fire that hissed several yards away.
“I call it motivation. It makes my gladiators strong, determined in the fight.”
Out of the darkness, Marius could hear the clanking of chains and the man appeared from behind the wagon, pulling something behind him. When he entered the light of the fire, Marius started. Behind the man, secured in irons and crying, were three small children, no more than six or seven years old, Briton children.
“Bastard,” Marius hissed and threw his arms through the bars to grab the sneering Syrian. Abella stepped deftly out of his reach and emptied his cup into the dirt.
“As I said, motivation. Children we found on the Corieltauvi land. We had to kill the father, unfortunately. He was very strong and would have made an excellent gladiator. He took two of my men.”
“Good,” Marius sneered.
“You fight well for me and the children will live, unharmed by my men. If you refuse anything I ask of you, we will take one, use him, and then cut his throat. Do it a second time, and we take another. Their fate rests in your hands, Gladiator.”
The title sent a wave of disgust through him. Marius scrutinized the children standing in a wretched huddle, screaming, crying, and holding onto one another for comfort. Their naked blackened bodies looked strange in the half-light.
“Give them clothes and blankets, let them wash in the river, feed them… I will fight for you and I will win. If I do, you must swear to let them go.”
The Syrian rubbed his chin and turned to examine the huddled children. “It is a simple thing. Yes.” Abella spit into his hand and waved it once in a circular motion then spoke to the other man. The man shrugged and led the children toward the river. “I swear it will be done. But, you will do more than win the match. You will kill your opponent or the children die.”
Marius nodded once in defeat. Sinking to the floor of the cage, he closed his eyes and hung his head.
The Edge of Honor
Chapter XVI
Delia’s head spun out of control, visions of Marius, Quintius, and Rheydyn pulsing into her mind along with odd thoughts about perfume, the drumming of horse’s hooves, the green of her herb garden at home, and the screams of victims on the battlefield. In the midst of the turmoil, a voice, deeply accented, broke through from time to time, asking who she was. Delia tried to answer, but could not as she fell deeper into darkness.
Something poked her cheek and it irritated her that she could not move it away. Her hands did not cooperate. A man’s voice said something in a strange language and the shock of hearing it shot a fire of pain through her body. Everything ached: her head, her back, her shoulders, and her belly. Delia became immediately alert to the condition of her baby, but her belly lay on something soft, a warm blanket covering her. When she opened her eyes, the darkness was complete and she could not see a thing. The voice she heard drifted to her from her feet. It was deeper than any she had heard before.
When her wits cleared, she could feel the bindings on her wrists at her back and her ankles. There was a snug rag around her mouth. Her first thought was that Quintius had caught her. Her insides painfully cramped. If so, then they had lost. Grimly, Delia knew she would kill he
rself and the child before she would let him touch her. It was the last and only defense left.
A twang of grief settled over the pain when she thought of Marius. She was too late. He must be dead; otherwise, Quintius would never have come after them.
My poor Marius. I did not even tell him how much I loved him.
Her arms ached to hold him. The sorrow was too much and she sobbed into the straw, the quivering grief mingling with the ache to complete her despair.
A muted light appeared at her feet illuminating the interior of the wagon. Someone was coming. From her restricted vantage point, she saw straw strewn around the floor and row upon row of metal helmets and weapons hanging from the leather walls of the wagon. A cold stove and bellows sat in one corner. Hammers, tongs, awls, and various chisels completed the collection, hanging on a rickety wooden rack next to the stove, tied to keep it from falling. The light grew brighter when the wagon moved under someone’s weight climbing in from the back, sending the tools and weapons jangling against the silence.
The lantern threw eerie shadows against the leather walls, making them loom in front of her. She heard the grunt of one and then two men as they hauled themselves into the wagon. Struggling against her bonds, she tried to free herself, but it was hopeless. When a pair of massive hands grabbed her shoulders to lift her from the floor she kicked as hard as she could, but made no contact. The giant man lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. The flickering light danced over her head until her eyes adjusted to the brilliance.
Delia looked up at the one who had lifted her. His face was gigantic with black wind-swept hair down to his shoulders, great brown eyes, and a beard so long it tickled her arm. Pocked and lined patches of skin peeked from behind the tangle of hair. When she focused on the other man, it was like seeing double. Twins. Their faces held a cold detachment looking down at her. A shiver of fear made her shake in the tree-like arms.
The Edge of Honor Page 12
