A Legate's Pledge

by Tanya Bird

  The moment the drum picked up tempo, she lunged at her opponent. The guests would hear them before they saw them, further building the suspense. When the two women finally burst through the trees, the spectators gasped. There was applause as they filled the space, and Fausta smiled. That was the moment Brei realised that her opponent was probably crazier than she was—which was not a good thing. Every time Fausta’s sword struck her shield, she could feel the gladiator’s hunger. Fausta wanted to win, but so did Brei. She was not fighting for the love of the sport but the chance to return home one day. She was fighting for a life at the end of it all.

  Fausta raised a foot, and Brei’s shield instinctively moved to cover her knees. It was a dirty way to take down an opponent.

  The guests cheered.

  Brei lunged forwards again, bringing more strength to every strike of her sword. She could feel the sweat running down her back and chest as she worked harder and harder to disarm Fausta. It would come down to endurance. Brei could see the spectators leaning forwards in their chairs as Fausta’s sword came relentlessly at her, every blow delivered with such force and precision that Brei felt it through her entire body. She fought back hard, her concentration faultless. Brei finally knocked the shield from Fausta’s hand, but the gladiator dived after it, collecting it with such grace, Brei was in awe of the manoeuvre.

  Fausta took advantage of her distracted state, swinging out a leg and hooking the warrior’s ankle. Brei fell with far less grace than her opponent, her back slamming into stone and the air knocked from her lungs. Fausta was back on her feet a heartbeat later, then standing over her. Brei got her shield up just in time, the downwards blow sending shock waves along her arm and through her spine. She rolled to avoid the next strike and hit something that felt a lot like a leg.

  Rule number one: do not injure your hosts.

  While caught up in the chaos, she had brought the fight to their feet. She was about to roll back in the opposite direction when a firm hand grabbed her arm and hoisted her up onto her feet. That was a first. Spectators did not usually intervene.

  As she lifted her shield, she allowed herself a quick glance at the man who had helped her. She froze when she saw his face.

  Before he had even seen her face, he knew it was her. It was not only that her skin was painted that ridiculous shade of blue, making a mockery of her heritage, but the way she moved, the shape of her legs, the set of her shoulders, and the colour of her hair. During the short amount of time they had spent together, Nerva had come to recognise her from afar—and there she was. She was fighting Fausta, who had trained at Ludus Magnus, the best gladiator school in the city. He had seen her fight enough times to know the damage she could do. Brei was in over her head. Thank the gods it was not a fight to the death. But that did not stop him flinching every time Fausta’s sword smashed against Brei’s shield.

  ‘I think Fausta has met her match,’ Mila had whispered when they came into sight.

  Camilla had leaned in from the other side, her leg brushing against his. ‘Is that a true depiction of what the barbarians are like? I thought they would be bigger.’

  He might have rolled his eyes if he had been able to move. Why on earth did she have to sit so close? The overpowering smell of her perfume was making the air unbreathable.

  Then Brei had fallen at his feet, as though the gods had once again placed her under his protection.

  ‘Jupiter,’ Camilla gasped, grabbing hold of Nerva’s arm.

  He was tempted to end the fight, but instead he pulled Brei upright. When she glanced in his direction, her eyes widened. His heart thudded in his ears. ‘Shield,’ he mouthed. One word that broke the spell between them. Brei’s eyes snapped forwards, and she raised her weapon just in time.

  Crash.

  Camilla jumped beside him, then laughed. She was still hanging off his arm.

  Mila leaned in again. ‘Ah, what was that?’

  He tore his gaze away from the fight to look at her. ‘Brei.’ It was the only word he could manage.

  Mila’s expression collapsed. ‘That is her?’

  He nodded and faced forwards again, his mind still playing catch-up. She was alive, living in his city—and she was fighting for Gallus Minidius. He should have known a man like Gallus would not let an opportunity like Brei pass him by. He would be exploiting her to no end.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Camilla whispered. ‘You are as pale as a ghost.’

  Ghost. Nerva knew something of ghosts. He did not dare look away from the fight to reply for fear that Brei would stumble the moment he did. Mila had stilled beside him. He had told her everything, because she was one of the few people he could bare his soul to. She knew his mind, heart, and now his dilemma.

  Sweat broke out across Brei’s skin, every muscle in her body working. She was a warrior, robbed of her bow, reduced to re-enacting the horrors she had endured at the hands of the very people she was sent to entertain. She was a trophy on display, and shame welled inside Nerva at the realisation. He could tell he had distracted her, that she had not been prepared to see him, and wondered if he could remain seated while she was pummelled with a blunt weapon. But then Brei emitted a roar that shifted the wine in their cups. Her sword and shield worked together, thrusting and blocking, swiping and bashing. For a moment Fausta looked ready to fall down, backed into a corner of the garden with nowhere else for her to go. But the gladiator was not equipped to lose, and she turned the fight around. Nerva sat with his heart in his throat, and Camilla still clinging to his arm, while Brei was shoved backwards and smashed across the head with a shield. It was enough to stun her, and three swift moves later, Brei lay disarmed with Fausta’s foot over her neck and a blade pressed to her throat.

  Applause broke out, and Fausta stepped back, panting and bleeding from one ear. Brei slapped the ground before sitting up, coughing violently. She was not a good loser either, but at least she could breathe again. Fausta offered a hand, and Brei stared at it for a moment before taking hold of it and being hoisted up. This started off another round of cheers as the audience acknowledged the good sportsmanship being displayed. Brei kept hold of Fausta’s hand and surprised Nerva by lifting it into the air, declaring her the victor.

  Nerva joined in the applause, Camilla’s claws tightening on his arm as he did so. Brei chose that moment to glance in his direction, her gaze flicking to Camilla before falling away. Then, letting go of Fausta’s hand, she disappeared into the shadows.

  Chapter 21

  ‘Oh, please,’ Camilla said, a pout in her tone. ‘I only want to meet the gladiators, not fight them. There is no need for you to be all protective.’

  Nerva was not being protective—not of Camilla. ‘I do not think it is a good idea.’

  Mila looked between them. ‘Perhaps I could take her to meet them. I am sure you have business to finish up here.’

  Nerva wanted to speak with Brei, but he wanted to do it alone. The thought of her disappearing again made up his mind. ‘I will take you.’

  ‘We will all go,’ Mila said, standing. She gave him a sympathetic look as she rose.

  Albaus and Felix joined them also, and the small party made their way through the house, their hosts none the wiser. They arrived at the laundry much sooner than Nerva would have liked. He still had no idea what he was going to say, and at some point during their walk, Camilla had reattached herself to him. A man stood in the doorway, blocking their entry. He appeared to recognise Nerva.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  Nerva looked past him to where Fausta was having a wash. Brei was leaning against the opposite wall, foot tapping. She looked over in his direction, and her foot stilled. The man was waiting for an answer.

  ‘We are friends of Fausta,’ Mila said, speaking up on his behalf.

  The gladiator turned at the mention of her name, grinning when she caught sight of them. Naked from the waist up, she slipped a tunic on before heading over to them.

  ‘Let them in,’ she said. />
  The man stepped aside and went to stand with Brei, who had not taken her eyes off Nerva. His feet seemed to be anchored in the doorway.

  ‘Are we going in?’ Camilla asked, her tone too high for the situation.

  Mila looked over her shoulder and stopped walking. ‘Lady Camilla, come meet the victor.’

  Camilla looked up at Nerva, waiting for his reaction.

  ‘Good idea,’ Nerva said, pulling his arm free.

  Camilla reluctantly went to join Mila. Brei was as far away from the others as possible, and now she had her back to him. The man remained close to her, which annoyed Nerva more than it should have. Of course Gallus would send someone with her, but did he have to hover? Finally, she turned and looked in his direction. Pieces of hair clung to her face and neck, her bottom lip was swollen, and there was a bruise already appearing above her eye. She wore a loincloth, her middle covered by a leather breastplate that was more of a harness. It was similar to what he had seen Maeatae women wear in battle.

  ‘You are alive,’ he said, stepping inside.

  The man looked between them, remaining at her side. Brei reached for the cloth floating in a basin of water, wrung it out, and began washing herself. ‘As are you, General.’

  Nerva looked at the man. ‘Can you give us a moment?’

  Clearing his throat, the man nodded and left. Nerva had no idea where to begin. She had turned her back to him again. ‘You are fighting for Gallus?’ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Camilla glance back in their direction. Mila was doing her best to keep her busy.

  ‘He bought me from the market.’ She ran the cloth over her face and arms, then dropped it back in the water and turned to him. ‘And now I fight.’

  ‘I see that.’ He swallowed. ‘I am sorry I was not around to… help you.’

  ‘I do just fine without help.’

  He nodded. ‘Your Latin is much improved.’

  Now it was her turn to nod. ‘So is your leg.’ A pause. ‘I thought you might lose it.’

  ‘Me too.’ He was standing about four feet from her and took another step forwards to close some of the distance. ‘Are you all right?’ Such an inadequate question.

  Brei searched his face. ‘This is the first time I’ve lost a fight, you know.’

  ‘My fault. I surprised you.’

  ‘You did. Though judging by your face, I surprised you also.’

  He glanced over at the others. ‘I had no idea what happened to you.’

  ‘Exactly what you said would happen. I was taken to the Graecostadium, and then I was sold.’ She continued to watch him. ‘Not many of us made it off that ship.’

  ‘I know.’ She turned away, and he noticed silver lines on her back, scars from the day Paulus Cordius had lashed her. They were only a few, and they were faint, but the reminder made his stomach turn. She reached behind her, fingers working expertly over the buckles. The breastplate had left deep indents in her skin where the straps had sat.

  ‘There was no food or water in the end. Or at least no one healthy enough to bring it.’

  Nerva had an urge to get the cloth and wash her back but did not move. She slipped a tunic on before facing him again. ‘I am very sorry about that,’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Reaching for the belt that lay next to her sandals, she wrapped it around her middle and fastened it. ‘Anyway, you would be surprised how long a Maeatae warrior can survive without water.’ She spoke with bravado, and yet she was barely able to look at him.

  There were patches of paint on her face that she had missed. Stepping forwards, Nerva reached past her for the cloth and brought it to her face. ‘May I?’

  Brei looked at him a moment before nodding. She wore her usual defiant expression as he wiped gently. He realised that some of the marks were in fact old bruises. She never flinched when he touched them. ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered so only she could hear.

  She shook her head. ‘I told you, it doesn’t matter.’

  His hand stilled, and he stared at her. ‘I am sorry,’ he repeated, his throat closing. He had been holding the apology inside for so long. ‘For everything.’

  She swallowed, nodded. The war was still there between them, all of the pain, the violence, the heartbreak, the small moments of reprieve and acts of kindness. It flowed like water between them.

  Before he could say any more, Camilla broke free from the other group and glided over to join them. ‘Are you going to introduce me?’ she sang, looking between them with a smile that was too large for the space.

  Brei took a step back, bumping into the bench. Nerva reached out to steady her, then immediately let go. The three of them stood in awkward silence.

  ‘This is Lady Camilla,’ Nerva finally said. ‘She was rather keen to meet the fighters.’

  Brei’s eyes followed Camilla’s movements as she threaded her arm through Nerva’s.

  ‘So exotic with all that paint and fancy dress,’ Camilla said. ‘Yet now, seeing you in plain clothes, I might mistake you for a slave in my own household.’

  Brei did not respond, and Nerva looked down at his feet.

  ‘You probably do not understand most of what I am saying.’ Camilla laughed, then, speaking louder, said, ‘You fight good.’

  Brei’s eyebrows rose. ‘Thank you,’ she replied before turning away and picking up her sandals.

  Nerva closed his eyes. ‘Do you mind giving me a minute?’ he asked Camilla. ‘I will be along soon.’

  Her smile faltered, and she looked between them. ‘Of course.’ She stepped away and left the room.

  Nerva drew a breath. ‘Sorry about that.’

  Brei shook her head. ‘Why? She seems nice.’

  ‘She is very… pleasant.’ He really did not want to spend the few moments he had left with Brei talking about Camilla. ‘Before I go, tell me what you need.’

  She straightened and looked at him. ‘I don’t need anything.’

  ‘Just name it.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t need anything from you.’

  He drew a breath. ‘I have known Gallus a long time. He means to exploit you.’

  A hint of a smile surfaced. ‘I know that.’

  ‘I want to help you.’

  She studied his face for a moment. ‘Do you know they put slaves in cages at the market? I could hardly believe it.’

  Nerva looked confused. ‘Yes.’

  She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘You knew all the suffering that lay ahead, and yet you marched us north anyway. Instead of watching my people die at your hand, I was forced to watch them be killed by their own people.’

  ‘I think the conversation has gone off track.’ Or rather, it was not the conversation he wanted to have. ‘What point are you trying to make?’

  She crossed her arms. ‘You should have let me die that day in my village.’

  ‘I was saving your life.’

  ‘To what end?’ She reached for the bag containing her belongings. ‘You can’t fix this. Nothing you do now will erase any of it.’

  ‘I am not trying to erase anything, I want to help you.’

  She sniffed. ‘I’m not sure I can stomach any more of your help.’ Stepping past him, she exited the laundry.

  Nerva turned and stared at the doorway where she had disappeared, drowning in the heaviness in his chest. Perhaps she was right. Guilt was a powerful motivator for him—always had been.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mila asked, coming up beside to him. The pity in her eyes suggested she had overheard at least part of the conversation.

  ‘Not really.’

  Mila nodded. ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

  He exhaled and straightened. ‘Yes.’

  Chapter 22

  Brei was still thinking about Nerva two days after her fight with Fausta. If she was being honest, she had thought of nothing else since. While relieved to see him up and about, with colour back in his face, she also had an odd realisation that he was not the same rugged man she had met on the
battlefield. That white toga, the smooth face, and neatly combed hair, the beautiful lady hanging from his arm—it was laughable. What a contrast Brei was. The prisoner of war, the slave, the prop at one of his fancy dinner parties. Running into him had left her embarrassed and feeling oddly betrayed by his other life. It was not logical, as he was only living the life he was born into. He could not be expected to put that life on hold because of a few fleeting moments they had shared on a ship when he was delirious with fever.

  But he had been healthy the last time they met, when he had stood too close and told her he was sorry. She had felt the power of those words as they passed his lips and felt a flutter in the pit of her belly as he dragged the cool cloth over her face. She must have looked an absolute mess.

  What she concluded with some clarity was that Nerva was at the top of Rome’s class system, and she was at the very bottom. Any liaising between them was not only laughable but inappropriate. The best thing they could do for one another was stay far away.

  ‘Brei,’ Gallus called to her. ‘A word.’

  She was collecting the weapons when she turned to see him marching across the sand. A bad feeling came over her.

  ‘Yes?’

  He was puffing by the time he reached her, as if he had run two miles instead of walking ten feet. She waited for him to catch his breath.

  ‘Why did you not tell me you spoke with Nerva Papias the other night?’ He was looking at her as though it was a big deal. ‘Otho tells me the two of you had a private conversation.’

  She was going to have words with Otho. ‘So?’ She adjusted her grip on the weapons. ‘Are slaves not allowed to have conversations?’

  Gallus huffed and crossed his arms over his belly. ‘When those conversations involve a Papias, I expect to be informed of every word exchanged.’

  ‘Is that an actual rule, or are you just being nosey?’

  His face hardened. ‘Nerva came to see me last night.’

  ‘All right.’ She knew there was no point asking what had been said. Gallus would either tell her or not.