by Carol Ashby
She moved her horse close enough for him to rest his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. My God will help us here.”
Too many ears were close by for him to say more, but he felt her relax before he moved his hand back to his own thigh.
Galen led them along a street lined with raised walkways in front of shops on the first floor. Three or four stories rose above the shops. About every hundred feet, stepping stones spanned the roadway, spaced so wagon wheels could pass between them.
He scanned the shops as they rode, looking for the pair of curved lines, touching at one end and crossing near the other, that signaled a follower of the Way.
They had ridden several blocks when he saw what he was praying for. A woman who looked about thirty was selling vegetables to an older woman. He reined in and waited for the customer to leave before sliding off Astrelo and approaching the counter.
A pleasant smile greeted him. “What can I get for you today?”
His finger traced the fish on the counter. “I’m hoping for some information.” He drew half a fish beside the first before raising his eyebrows to ask the question. Her finger completed the fish. Then the polite smile of a merchant was replaced by the warm smile of a sister.
Galen’s sigh of relief accompanied his silent prayer of thanks. God had provided.
“I’m trying to rescue a friend, but I haven’t been in Rome since I was a child. I know nothing about where a man with horses should stay. I also want a place that’s safe for a woman while I go find the gladiator school where my friend is supposed to be. He was kidnapped and sold, and I’m here to free him.”
Her voice dropped so those passing nearby wouldn’t hear. “I buy my produce from a brother who runs a stable a short distance from here. My son can take you to him. As for a place to stay, he rents some rooms as well.”
Galen glanced at Adela. She was listening too attentively. He dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “I need to ask you something where no one can overhear.”
The shopkeeper swept her hand toward the door at the back of the shop.
Galen turned to Adela. “I’ll be right back.”
He followed the woman into the back room, where she waited for his question.
“Adela doesn’t follow the Way, and she doesn’t know I do. Will that be a problem?”
The shopkeeper’s eyebrows rose. “She’s not your wife?”
“No. I’m from Germania Superior. She was kidnapped past the imperial frontier before my friend won her throwing dice. He was kidnapped that night by the same men and sold as a gladiator. I was going to take her home before that happened, but it would have been six days before I followed his trail, and I would never have found him. I’ve been sleeping on the floor, blocking the door since so many inns aren’t safe for a woman alone.”
“If you explain to Quintus what you just told me, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
A boy of about ten entered the room. She summoned him with a flick of her fingers and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Titus, I want you to take this man to Quintus’s inn.”
The boy grinned and nodded.
“I’ll pray for your success in finding your friend. What are your names?”
Galen rested his hand on his chest. “Galen Crassus, and my friend is Otto.”
“And the girl?”
“Adela.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “She doesn’t follow the Way now, but I’m praying for the chance to change that.”
Her friendly smile broadened into a knowing grin. “I’ll join you in that prayer, Galen.”
Galen’s ears heated as his own grin grew. “Thank you for your help…and for your prayers.”
Adela fidgeted as she waited for Galen to appear. Too many of the men who passed by inspected her with hungry eyes. But when she rested her hand on her dagger and scowled, most looked away, and all moved on without trying anything.
A boy came out, followed by Galen with a smile on his lips. All the tension drained out of her.
Galen took his reins from her hand. “Titus is going to take us to a safe place to stay. It’s only a short walk.”
Adela slipped off her stallion and took her place at his side. “I’m glad you’re back.” Her shoulders twitched. “I don’t like Roman men, the way they look at me.”
“It isn’t often they get to see someone as pretty as you.”
The warmth in his eyes pushed aside any thought of the hungry ones.
They walked in silence until Galen ran his fingers through his hair.
“We’re very close to finding Otto now, but I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I know it’s been more than four weeks since we left Argentorate, and it might be a few more days before we can leave Rome. Once we start back, it’s going to be another three and a half, maybe four weeks to get you home.”
Adela shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how much longer it takes us to get your friend back. You can’t leave him a slave. Besides, more time just means I get to learn more Latin. No one could have a better teacher.”
“Or a better student.”
“But I don’t remember everything the first time. What was the word for “like?” I know you told me once, but that was days ago.”
“Amo, amas, amat…It follows the first pattern.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “But you better be careful how you use that in the I form. Amo means “I like” but Te amo can mean “I love you.” You could give a man the message he wants, not the one you mean to give him. Don’t use that one at a Roman garrison or any inn. To be safe, you shouldn’t say that to anyone.”
She nodded, and he turned his eyes back on Titus, who walked a few feet ahead of them.
Galen could tell her she should never say certain words, but he didn’t know how wrong he was this time.
Her smiled broadened as she glanced at his profile. The scar she’d put on his cheek had done nothing to make him less handsome. Why had she ever thought a tall German warrior was more of a man than the short, kind, funny Roman walking beside her?
Te amo, Galen Crassus. Before she returned to the land of the Hermunduri, she would say that to him.
Then her smile dimmed. What if he didn’t say it back?
Chapter 28: So Far but Not Enough
Day 32
When Galen headed back into Rome the next morning, nervous energy surged through him. Each step took him closer to finding Otto and setting him free. Quintus had given him clear directions to the amphitheater and how to find the Vicus Sandaliarius once he got there. The Ludus Bruti shouldn’t be too hard to find after that.
As he walked through the area of the Forums, massive stone and concrete structures rose around him. They had seemed enormous the last time he came to the Basilica Julia with his father. He’d tried to look in some of the shops, but Father had ordered him to stay right beside him.
They’d gone into a room in the Basilica where a man in a tunic edged with purple had listened to Father and another man arguing about something. His father’s face had frozen when the other man started yelling something about them being Christians and unfit to live in Rome.
The next day Father had loaded a few things into the cart a small horse could pull. Mother had taken Galen’s toga and linen tunic and put him in a woolen tunic she got from one of the house slaves. She’d already changed her brightly colored tunic and stola for drab woolen ones.
Father had folded his toga and handed it to their steward. Galen had never seen the old man cry, but there were tears in his eyes that day. Rhoda wasn’t even two, and her nurse was bawling as she handed his little sister to Mother. Then they headed north, never to return.
Even now, as a grown man, the Basilica and the temples towered over him. But much had changed between six and twenty-one. He was only a foot and a half taller, but many times wiser.
The trip to Germania had been hard as a child, but all things considered, he wouldn’t choose to live anywhere else. He scanned the monuments to the go
ds of pagan Rome. White like the bones of something long dead, but the Roman gods had never been alive. He gave thanks that he needed no temple for his worship. His God was real, and He was everywhere Galen could ever go.
When he reached the Flavian Amphitheater, he got directions to the Vicus Patricias, which lead to the Porta Viminalis and on past the fortress of the Praetorian Guard. The headquarters of the personal legion of the emperor would be a good place to sell horses if he had any for sale, but it was not where a Christian man would normally want to go.
The Vicus Sandaliarius veered left off the Patricias two blocks from the amphitheater. Brutus’s ludus filled a small block. Ludus Bruti was carved in stone above the door, and the words were flanked by intricate carvings showing the flexing muscles of men in combat. Everything about it proclaimed the wealth of its owner.
Galen’s stomach tightened. The man who built this had money, and men with money knew what they wanted and held on to it once they got it.
God, don’t let Otto be so important to this man that he won’t sell him.
Galen waited for the peace that had often descended when he faced a hard choice on this trip. It didn’t come.
He strode up to the door slave. “I’m looking for a particular gladiator, and I’ve been told he’s here.”
The doorman swept his hand toward a set of stairs that rose to the right just inside the entryway. “The viewing balcony is up there. If he’s not among the fighters practicing, you’ll have to talk to Lanista Felix.”
As Galen climbed the stairs, the sound of wood striking wood grew louder. As he approached the balcony railing, his heart pounded. With jaw clenched, he focused on the sand below.
Tension flowed out of him like water through a sieve. There, swinging a long wooden sword at a practice post, was Otto.
Galen closed his eyes as a grin spread across his face. All praise be to you, Lord God, for leading me here in time to save my friend. His spirit soared, and he basked in the joy for a long moment. Then he opened his eyes and squared his shoulders. Time to negotiate the sale.
But before he did… “Otto.”
He hadn’t yelled it. He only spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard in a tavern, but Otto spun at the sound, and his head tipped back. As his gaze locked on Galen, the biggest grin Galen had ever seen split his face. He lowered the wooden sword to rest the tip on the ground.
“Bjorn. It’s not break time.” A heavily muscled man with an eyepatch stepped into view from beneath Galen. He strode across the arena and slapped the back of Otto’s head. “You don’t quit until I tell you.”
Otto nodded and turned back to the post. Again, he struck it with the sword, but with a force far beyond what he had before.
Hope could give a man power to do far beyond what seemed possible, and it was hope that flamed in Otto’s eyes. Even after the rebuke, a trace of the grin had remained.
Galen’s own grin stretched his face, but a grin was not the right way to start this negotiation. Dignity and the aura of confidence was required. He willed his face to relax until only his normal smile remained.
He descended the stairs and approached the door slave once more. “I found him. I want to speak with the man who owns him.”
The doorkeeper stared at him without speaking.
Galen’s forehead furrowed. “Marcus Antonius Brutus. Where would I find him?”
“You have to speak with Lanista Felix first. Master Brutus isn’t usually here.”
Galen summoned a smile. “Then where can I find Lanista Felix?”
“He’s probably in the arena.”
“And how do I get into the arena to talk with him?”
“There’s a stairway down from the balcony, but he doesn’t like people to come down.” The corner of the door slave’s mouth twitched.
Galen’s forced smile turned into a real one. “I won’t mention you told me how.”
The relief flooding the slave’s face was a bad sign. If Felix’s slaves were that nervous about him, he couldn’t be a reasonable man.
He climbed to the balcony and watched Otto for a moment. Still swinging the sword at the stake, more like a machine than a man. Galen’s jaw clenched as his gaze locked on the stairway leading down to the sand.
Then, with shoulders squared, head high, and his friendliest trading face, he headed down.
The door opened into the arena to the left of the balcony. Felix stood across the sand, fingering the cords of the whip that hung from his belt as he watched a man with red hair striking a post.
Galen stepped close, but not within arm’s reach. “Lanista Felix.”
Felix’s hands fisted as he spun, and Galen backed off with his hands raised, palms outward.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Felix’s scowl was a black as any Galen had seen. “What do you want here?”
Galen lowered his hands. “I’m interested in the German, Otto.” He tipped his head toward his friend. “I understand Marcus Antonius Brutus bought him cheap in Octodurus, and I’m interested in buying him now. Do you have authority to sell him, or do I need to speak with Brutus?”
Galen sensed the motion behind him and turned. A tall, muscular man in the narrow-striped tunic of the equestrian order was leaning against the wall under the balcony.
As he scanned Galen, a dismissive smile tugged at the corner of the man’s mouth. “Who is asking for Brutus?”
Galen straightened. “Gaius Crassus.”
“I’m Marcus Brutus.” His gaze swept Galen as Brutus straightened to his full height. Galen felt the silent laughter as Brutus took in his shirt and trousers…and his size. “Where do you come from, Crassus, and why do you want my gladiator?”
Galen kept his brow from furrowing. It was probably better if Brutus didn’t realize he was scrutinizing Brutus at least as much as Brutus was surveying him. If he had to explain it, he couldn’t, but something about Brutus said he was an honest man.
And an honest man valued the truth when another man spoke it.
Galen waved his hand toward Otto, who stood with his hand resting atop the practice post. “Otto is my friend. He was kidnapped in Argentorate. About four weeks ago, someone with whom he was gambling lured him from the gaming tables to look at a horse, knocked him out, and took him to sell into the arena. I’ve been tracking him since then. He was never anyone’s to sell, and he should be freed.”
Brutus’s eyebrow popped up, then settled back into place. “I might be impressed by your story if I believed it was true. But I have a bill of sale certified by the questor in Octodurus, and I paid good money for Bjorn. I won’t free my slave because someone claims he’s a friend who rode more than 5000 stadia to set him free. That’s beyond what I find believable, and I’m not one to be tricked by a sad story.”
Galen’s head tilted as he crossed his arms. “I understand you have some money invested in Otto, and I’m not asking you to lose it. I’ll pay you what you paid for Otto in Octodurus.”
Brutus’s cynical laugh ended with his mouth twitching. “This is a business, Crassus, and I never pay more than I must or sell for less than I can get. I got an extraordinary bargain in Octodurus, and Bjorn is worth much more than I paid. I expect him to make me a great deal of money over an extended period of time.”
Galen rubbed his chin. “I don’t question your knowledge of your business, but I’ve been assured Otto will never fight better than a Class 3, and those are only 2500 denarii dead.”
The corner of Brutus’s mouth pulled up again. “That’s not true. Bjorn’s skill with a gladius is extraordinary. With a year’s training to master the shield, he should become at least a Class 2. Those are worth 3000 denarii dead, and an ordinary live gladiator is worth at least two times a dead one.
“But Bjorn is not ordinary, and that drives up his price. He’s good enough with the gladius to train my other men, and that raises the value of every fighter he trains.”
Brutus t
ook a step closer and crossed his arms. Galen stepped back to increase the distance between them. Standing too close to a tall man put a short one at a disadvantage in striking a bargain. The twitch of Brutus’s mouth when Galen stepped back again and crossed his own arms revealed the ludus owner’s own knowledge of the bargaining psychology Galen used selling horses.
“He has uses outside the arena as well. I’ve already lined up several men who want to train with him regularly at two denarii a half hour. As we build his clientele, I expect to make as much as ten times that a day. I’ll make more money with him every year than with a Class 1 in the Imperial games.
“He’s already a favorite with the girls who come to watch my men train. Several are bringing friends who didn’t come before. I expect he’ll appeal to the older women as well. And for the women who like to spar…with his good looks and command of Latin, he could become the most popular personal trainer in all Roma.”
Brutus rubbed his chin, and Galen felt the disdain in the frowning smile directed at him. “But everything is for sale at the right price. If you offer me…9000 denarii, I would consider selling him.”
Galen drew a deep breath. More than twice what he had from the sale of the horses. He stroked the scar with his middle finger, then glanced at Otto.
His best friend stood frozen on the sand. Otto had heard Brutus’s price, and he knew how much the horses brought. It wasn’t enough. As Otto’s gaze remained locked on Galen, black despair filled his eyes.
Chapter 29: Worth Dying For
Galen bounced his head back before faking a wry smile. “I’d heard men in Rome enjoyed a good joke, but 9000 for a man who isn’t even ranked yet?”
His gaze locked on Brutus’s eyes. Cold calculation was all he saw. The words of his brother-in-law, who came from the highest circles of Roman power, played in his head. Mercy is not considered a virtue in Rome. But God could soften the hardest heart for a moment, and a moment was all he needed. God, help me get the best deal of my life. Show me the way to Otto’s freedom.
