by Tanya Bird
‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced at her husband, then left them.
Rufus Papias came and stood at Nerva’s bedside. He was not one for big displays of affection, but Nerva knew he cared deeply for his family, even the illegitimate daughters he never dared mention. ‘How are you feeling? You gave us a real fright.’
‘It might not look like it, but much better.’
‘It does look like it, actually. You were all but dead when they carried you in here.’
Nerva pushed himself up straighter. ‘I was not expecting to have both legs when I woke.’
‘You know your mother. Having a one-legged son would have ruined all her plans.’
‘I suppose I should not be surprised that she would rather me dead than crippled.’
Rufus chuckled. ‘The first thing she said when she heard that you were attacked by pirates was that she hoped they took the influenza with them also.’
Nerva’s mouth turned up into a smile. ‘One can hope. I believe they came for weapons. I barely remember fighting them, if I am being honest.’ An image of Brei stabbing a man through the arm flashed in his mind. For a woman who was supposed to despise him, she had certainly had his back.
‘You were delirious with fever when you arrived here. You are a soldier in every sense of the word. Even in death you continue to fight.’ He placed a hand on Nerva’s shoulder. ‘Do try to eat something. Your leg was drained more times than I can count and had every ointment thrown at it. Every medicine and potion in existence has been forced down your throat. Your leg is much improved, but the physician has asked you to stay off it for a while. And probably best not to socialise until all your influenza symptoms have gone.’
Nerva nodded; even though he hated the thought of being idle and useless, he did not want to make anyone else ill. ‘Is there any news from Britannia?’
‘Severus has taken to his bed. They are not expecting him to get up this time.’
‘That man has been dying for years. It is torture for Caracalla, who cannot wait to be rid of him.’
‘He will still have Geta to worry about.’
‘Yes, but for how long?’
Rufus nodded. ‘Our friends in the senate will be pleased to hear of your recovery. They are keen to welcome you back.’
They were not Nerva’s friends. The senate had been the reason he joined the army. ‘I suppose that is a logical next step.’
‘Let us speak of this when you are feeling better. For now, enjoy being home. Take some time to recover, and indulge your mother once you are well. She is probably planning a dinner party as we speak.’
‘Is it really such a tragedy that I remain unwed?’
Rufus smiled. ‘You are nearing thirty. It is not unreasonable that she wishes to see you settled.’ He was about to leave, then stopped. ‘I asked Tertia to send word to her daughters of your condition. We were unsure if you would make it, and I thought they should know.’
Nerva sighed. His sisters would likely be panicked by the news, as he would be if the situation were reversed. ‘I understand. I shall write them and update them on my condition.’
A nod from his father before he left the room.
Nerva thought about asking Nona to bring some supplies so he could write to his sisters but found himself suddenly too tired for the task. He closed his eyes for a moment, and sleep reclaimed him.
Chapter 17
Where were the trees? Brei missed the smell of them. She had not appreciated the crisp, pine-scented air of home until arriving in Rome. The city’s air was thick and stagnant. The absence of a breeze meant it never moved.
When she was alone, she liked to close her eyes and go someplace else. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost taste the sharp, clean air of home. In rare moments of silence, she could hear her nephew laughing, the endless chatter of her sister, and the booming voice of her father. But the moment the noise resumed, the illusion shattered, and she was faced with her reality: a dark room with no windows shared with strangers. It was small, just big enough for three beds, but conveniently located two blocks from the small arena in Caelimontium where she trained. She only went there to sleep; otherwise, she preferred to be fighting.
Gallus Minidius was a practical man, and that suited Brei just fine. He provided her with everything she needed to exist in Rome: food, clean water, clothing, a safe place to sleep, and all the weapons a girl could dream of. While she was never permitted to take them with her, on the sand she could be whoever she wanted to be—and she chose to be a warrior.
It did not take her long to earn Gallus’s trust. They had an understanding. Outside the arena, he was in charge. Inside the fighting pit, she was in charge. Everyone got what they needed. At first, the sponsor made a big display of his abilities to protect her from what he described as the ‘realities of slave life’, but she had figured out very quickly that the only person who could protect her from the hands of men was her. Many tried, and every one of them was shut down. Soon enough, they started giving her a wide berth. What she did appreciate was that Gallus was never one of those men. The only thing he wanted from her was a good fight—every time.
‘How long does it take for a slave to earn their freedom?’ she asked Gallus one morning. He rarely watched her train anymore, and she took it as a sign of good faith, but that morning he had snuck in and taken a seat on one of the benches.
Laughing at her question, he replied, ‘You have only been here six weeks.’
‘How long?’ she pushed. She had considered trying to escape, but Gallus had advised her in the beginning what happened when slaves ran away. She did not want to be responsible for anything happening to others in his household as a result.
‘Years.’ He stood, casting her a sympathetic look as though the entire thing was out of his control.
‘If you want me to keep winning, I’m going to need a firm answer.’
Another laugh. ‘You are an absolute scoundrel. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Scoundrel?’
‘A troublemaker.’
‘Oh,’ she nodded. ‘Yes. People tell me that all the time. So how long?’
Sighing, he made his way along the narrow walkway between the bench seats, looking as though he might topple at any moment. Brei followed him on the sand.
‘You give me two years of solid fighting, and then we shall reassess.’
She brushed sand off her arms. ‘So I’m just supposed to trust you?’
‘My dear, you have no choice.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘And if you continue to pester me to an early grave, I will add another year.’ Stopping suddenly, he turned and looked at her. ‘I have been meaning to ask you. Otho informed me that you have been asking after General Nerva Papias.’
The name made her stop also. She glanced in the direction of the weapons room, where her sparring partner was packing up. ‘And why would Otho tell you such a thing?’
Gallus rubbed tiredly at his forehead. ‘Perhaps he thinks you are plotting the general’s death.’
She scowled. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘I do not know what to think.’
‘I only asked if he knew him.’
‘Everyone knows the Papiases.’
She chewed her lip for a moment. Despite trying to forget all about Nerva, her curiosity had eventually gotten the better of her. She had asked Otho instead of Gallus to avoid this exact conversation, but Gallus made it his business to know her business.
‘He is a good man,’ the sponsor added, eyeing her suspiciously.
She crossed her arms. ‘Which is why I’m not plotting his death.’ She had meant to casually drop the question into conversation, but Otho had given her the same look Gallus was giving her at that moment. Perhaps she would have been better off digging for information elsewhere. She had felt certain if she learned what became of Nerva, she would be able to rid her mind of him. Unfortunately, she had been wrong. ‘I was only curious as to whether he survived—and he did.’
‘What is your connection to the man?’ Gallus asked.
‘He is the reason I’m here and also the reason many of my people are dead.’ She looked away. ‘Though he spared my life once or twice.’
‘Did he?’ Gallus looked amused. ‘So he took pity on you. You see for yourself that he is a good man.’
‘Or perhaps his guilt just got the better of him.’
Gallus tutted. ‘Either way, I will feel much better knowing you are nowhere in the vicinity of any of the Papiases. Understand?’
She nodded and looked away.
‘The proper response for a slave is “Yes, Erus”.’
She bowed before him, as low as she could go. ‘Yes, Erus.’ Turning, she strolled off across the sand.
‘You are lucky I came by the market that day,’ he called to her back. ‘No one else would put up with you.’
Chapter 18
It was seven weeks before Nerva saw Marcus again. The tribune had been collected from the port the day the ship docked and taken to his family home south of Tusculum while he recovered from the influenza. Once well enough, he had reported to the barracks outside of the city, where he was put to work training new recruits. On his first day off, he went to visit Nerva. Now the pair sat in the Papiases’ garden. Nerva always preferred to speak out of earshot of his mother.
‘You’re looking better than the last time I saw you,’ Marcus said, picking up a peach slice and popping it into his mouth.
‘Everyone keeps saying that.’ He cradled a cup in one hand. ‘I am walking without a limp now, and the cough is finally gone.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.’
‘Do not apologise. You were ill also.’
Marcus studied him for a moment. ‘What have you been doing with your free time?’
He had been feeling displaced. Every time he returned to the city, it was the same. Being a soldier had offered respite. He was making decisions on behalf on his men instead of worrying about his own agenda. Looking back at his life, he saw a pattern: the first twenty years adhering to his parents’ wishes, and the next nine in the army. Now he was evaluating his place in the world without those things and was forced to admit he was a misfit.
What had Marcus’s question been again? ‘A lot of reading,’ he lied. If he admitted to staring at blank walls for long periods, more questions would follow—ones he did not want to answer.
‘Will you return to Caledonia?’
Nerva shook his head. ‘Cordius was promoted to legatus legionis of the third Britannia legion—a permanent arrangement, it seems.’ He should have felt betrayed by Caracalla’s apparent dismissal, but he had expected it. It did not matter anyway, because he did not have it in him to return to those mountains and take any more innocent lives.
‘So that’s it, then?’ Marcus asked. ‘You’re officially done?’
‘It was always going to be my final campaign.’
‘Must feel strange though. It’s all you’ve known for the previous nine years.’
‘A little.’ He had been Marcus’s superior for so long that he had no idea how to present himself as anything but a man in control of things. He took a drink of his wine. ‘What about you?’
‘They gave me the option of remaining here for the three months I have left, and I accepted.’
Nerva smiled. ‘What happened to “third legion for life”?’
Marcus shrugged and reached for the tray again. ‘That was before Cordius replaced you.’ He was quiet as he ate. ‘I’m thinking of returning home to work with my father.’ The family bred horses and shipped them all over the world.
‘Do you need a stablehand?’
The tribune laughed. ‘I don’t think I could afford you.’
‘Then join the senate with me instead.’
A wry smile settled on Marcus’s face. ‘You’ve spent the last nine years telling me how much you despise most of them.’
Nerva placed his empty cup down on the table. ‘And I stand by that.’
‘Then why return? Do something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘Stick with your race horses. You’ve always enjoyed that.’
Nerva leaned back. ‘That is a hobby, not a job.’
‘It’s a job for some.’
‘Not a patrician of Rome.’
They were silent a moment.
‘You are one of the luckiest men I know,’ Marcus began. ‘Definitely one of the wealthiest, and yet I find myself feeling sorry for you.’
Nerva laughed. ‘That might change when you see some of the marriage prospects my mother is pursuing.’
‘Bet they’re all goddesses who piss gold.’
Nerva leaned forwards to refill his friend’s cup. ‘I have attended four dinner parties in the last six days.’
The tribune took a large drink before replying. ‘Nothing grounds you like family. Might be just what you need.’
‘Says the unmarried soldier.’
‘I look to my parents, who are very happy.’
Nerva had watched the facade of his own mother and father the night prior. Once their guests had left, they had gone to their separate rooms without even so much as wishing one another a good evening, and then Rufus had sent for Tertia. Was that what he was supposed to do? Marry well, have children, and then fill the cracks in his life behind closed doors?
The answer was yes.
Marcus straightened. ‘I’m afraid to ask, because I hesitate to renew your interest in the subject, but did you find out what became of the prisoner?’
The prisoner. It was an accurate enough description of her, but it sounded strangely impersonal given what had taken place on that ship. ‘I never found her.’
Marcus appeared sympathetic. ‘I wish I could have been more helpful, but as I told you in my letter, it was chaos the day we disembarked. I was in rough shape.’
Nerva had written to him a few weeks earlier, asking for any information on her possible whereabouts. When that had failed, he had made a few enquiries himself. ‘I learned a few things.’
‘Like?’
Nerva leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees. ‘I believe she is alive.’
Marcus looked surprised. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I spoke with the man who brought her up on deck. He remembered her, said she seemed healthy enough.’
Marcus sat with that information for a moment. ‘Did he see her disembark?’
‘No. He dealt with those displaying symptoms.’
‘And do I want to know what happened to them?’
Nerva shook his head.
‘The healthy ones would have been sold at market,’ Marcus said.
‘Yes.’
‘Then there should be a record of her.’
Nerva glanced at the portico before replying, paranoid his mother’s spies might be lurking. ‘The only records contain numbers, not names, and they are far from reliable.’ He had visited the Graecostadium in person and asked around. One man had recalled female prisoners arriving from the ship. Some of them had fallen ill soon after. Nerva had checked every holding cell in the place just in case, but she had not been there. ‘Trying to track down a slave in Rome is like trying to find a particular fish in the sea.’
Marcus watched him for a moment. ‘What happened that day on deck?’
He had woken to the sound of her screaming his name, gotten to her just in time, killed a man three times her size. He had never seen the man’s face, but he would never forget Brei’s in the moments that followed his death, her broken expression and bloodied skin. The thought of her dying of influenza after surviving all that made him… what? Angry, perhaps. Though the thought of her being sold at market was not easy to digest either. He had imagined numerous times the type of man who would buy her. Pressing the tips of his fingers together, all he said was ‘A lot happened that day.’
Marcus leaned back, an amused exp
ression on his face. ‘Nine years, and I’ve never seen you in this state over a woman.’
‘What state?’ Occasionally he woke from dreams where Brei screamed his name over and over, but no one else knew of them.
He gestured with his hand. ‘All piney.’
Nerva could not help but smile at that. ‘Piney?’
‘You know what I mean. It’s been almost two months, and she’s still at the front of your mind.’
Nerva looked at him. ‘I am man enough to admit that she got under my skin, but those feelings would have been put to bed the moment I placed her in a suitable household.’
Marcus was grinning now. ‘Put to bed. An interesting choice of words.’
‘You have the mind of a child. Shall we blame the influenza?’
‘Blame whatever you like. Doesn’t mean I’m going to tease you any less.’ Marcus let out a breath and looked around the garden. ‘Those poor women your mother has lined up don’t stand a chance if your current tastes are anything to go on.’
Nerva put his face in his hands then sat up. ‘How does one choose between women so similar?’
Marcus pretended to think hard on the matter. ‘If they’re all beautiful, well bred, and virtuous, then perhaps it comes down to hair colour or some other preference.’
‘I cannot select a wife based on hair colour.’
‘Why not?’
‘Many ladies dye their hair nowadays or resort to wigs.’ He recalled the day Brei had arrived at his cabin smelling of soap with her chestnut hair falling over her shoulders. It was exactly the type of hair that was used for such a wig.
‘Don’t fret.’ Marcus laughed. ‘Your mother will be a big help. Though she might need some guidance as to your type.’
‘What exactly is my type?’
Marcus waved a hand. ‘You know—athletic, good with a bow, horse thief…’
Nerva almost choked on his drink. ‘That should be easy enough to find among Rome’s nobility.’ He reached for Marcus’s cup and ladled more wine into it.
‘If I drink that, I’ll never leave.’
