A Legate's Pledge

by Tanya Bird

  ‘In three days,’ he said.

  Three days. She tried to draw breath, but her throat seemed to have closed. He stood with his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground between them.

  ‘Marcus will travel with you.’

  She nodded because it was the only response she was capable of.

  ‘I will come by later,’ he said, turning away. He did not even wait for her to reply, just fled like he was late for a dinner party. Maybe he was. Camilla was probably loitering at the house, waiting for him to set a wedding date.

  Brei could not just sit around for three days staring at her packed bag, so she did what she needed to—she fought.

  Gallus had no idea she was leaving. Nerva had insisted she tell him nothing. She continued to show up and train, needing the distraction.

  The day after Nerva broke the news of her departure, Gallus came to her while she was training. ‘I have a good one for you tonight,’ he said, rubbing his greedy little hands together.

  She and Otho exchanged a small smile as she laid down her weapons. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Festus Betitiius wants you for a private party tomorrow night.’

  Brei wandered towards Gallus. ‘Did he ask for me by name?’ It must have been good money, because the sponsor’s cheeks looked like two red saucers, a sign he was excited.

  ‘He did when I pitched “the barbarian”.’

  She winced. ‘What happened to Venus?’

  ‘Oh, I pitched her first, and when he showed little interest, I tried again.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘He is an enormous fan of the games and most definitely misses the spectacle of women at the Flavian Amphitheatre.’

  She just nodded.

  ‘A display like no other. That is what I promised him.’

  ‘In other words, you want me to paint my skin and carry a bow, even though I’m not allowed to use it.’

  ‘Exactly. Otho will accompany you.’

  Brei looked over to where her mother sat watching them. Gallus had been excited at the prospect of a mother-daughter warrior act, but Brei had quickly shut the idea down. The only thing Keelia needed at that time was to gain some weight and strength for the long journey ahead of them.

  ‘All right,’ Brei said. ‘I’ll be there.’

  That evening, she showed up at the grand house and was ushered out back to wait in the cold. Her opponent was already there and looked up in surprise when she arrived. He had clearly not been told he would be fighting a woman. Brei stripped down and covered herself in paint that in no way resembled the pastes she had used during actual warfare. Those pastes enabled her to blend in with the unique landscape of home. Home. She thought about how hard her sister would laugh at this ridiculous version of her people. Perhaps not as hard as she would laugh at learning Brei had fallen into bed with the legate who had torn through their village.

  ‘What were you thinking getting mixed up with a man like that,’ her mother had said when they had finally had a few moments alone.

  ‘You mean the one who saved your life?’

  Keelia knew he was a good man. She was just far too logical to fathom a connection between them. Brei barely understood that connection herself. It was as though they were joined at the heart, and they had no choice but to bleed into one another. Somehow, a few stolen moments here and there had sustained a bond so deep that she had resigned herself to drowning in it.

  She too had been logical once.

  ‘I don’t like fighting girls,’ the man said, pulling her from her thoughts. He was watching her with a look of irritation.

  She turned to look at him. ‘Me neither, so stop whining like one.’

  Otho coughed and handed Brei her weapons. ‘They’re ready for you.’

  Brei had barely found her rhythm when she glanced at the guests and found them all looking in the other direction. What on earth could be more exciting than the fight happening in front of them? She signalled for her opponent to stop. When he continued to fight, she made the gesture of surrender. He wore a confused expression, because it had been clear from the beginning that she was going to beat him. She had just been drawing things out for the sake of their audience.

  They both turned to see what held the attention of the guests, and Brei spotted Paulus Cordius standing beneath the portico with eight soldiers behind him. He was arguing with the host, who stood like a confused lamb. When the legate looked over the heads of the guests, his eyes locked with hers. Her breath caught. One side of his mouth lifted in a grin that was more of a snarl. He turned away then, giving instructions to his men that Brei could not hear.

  Otho looked equally as confused. She realised at that moment that she had more clarity than anyone else there. Looking behind her at the tall wall at the far end of the garden, she wondered whether there was any point in trying to jump it. Running would only make the entire thing more enjoyable for Paulus. Instead, she dropped her sword on the ground, where it clattered loudly, drawing everyone’s attention, and waited for the soldiers to reach her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her opponent slink back into the shadows as the men approached.

  Two of the men took an arm each. Her instinct was always to fight, and she might have broken free of two men—but not eight.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Otho said, rushing forwards.

  Paulus marched over. She wished she had at least one arm free to wipe that smug expression off his face.

  ‘This woman is under arrest for illegal gladiator fighting.’

  ‘This is not an arena, this is a private gathering,’ the host cried, casting apologetic looks in the direction of his guests, who were likely finding this far more entertaining than the fight.

  ‘He is right,’ Otho said, his chest expanding. ‘You can’t dictate what people do in the privacy of their homes.’

  Paulus turned to him. ‘We have evidence that this woman has also been fighting in arenas across the city.’

  ‘What evidence?’ Brei asked.

  Paulus’s gaze snapped back to meet hers. ‘Eyewitnesses.’

  She fought the urge to break his nose with her foot. As if he cared where she fought. He needed her for something, as bait to get to Nerva, perhaps.

  ‘Take her to Mamertine Prison,’ Paulus instructed the men.

  Brei’s eyes were practically burning holes through him. She had heard all about Mamertine Prison from Mila, who was one of the lucky few to have lived to speak of it. Looking at Otho, she said, ‘Tell Gallus. Only Gallus. Understand?’

  He nodded as she was led away.

  ‘You should have died in the highlands with the rest of them,’ Paulus called to her back.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Oh, I plan to.’ The last thing she saw was his jaw tick as she turned away.

  ‘I just adore a summer wedding,’ Aquila said, a brilliant smile etched on her tired face.

  Another dinner party. Another awkward wedding conversation with Camilla attached to his arm. He was running out of excuses, finding himself less and less interested in marrying the woman every time he saw her. There was not a thing wrong with the poor girl, yet he felt constantly distracted and irritated in her presence. Worse than that, his mind tended to wander to Brei whenever he looked at Camilla. How long now until he could slip from the room and go to her? He needed to be crushed between those silky thighs and taste the blood on her lips from the fight. She had become a drug—one he would soon have to survive without.

  ‘The beginning of summer is always a popular time,’ Camilla said. ‘Before everyone leaves the city to go to their villas.’ She turned to Nerva, a delicate hand landing on his bicep. ‘I would love to visit your villa next time we are in Antium.’

  Was there no escape from her? ‘Mother would love that.’ He could tell it was the wrong reply by the way her face fell. Aquila’s smile also wavered.

  ‘The villa belongs to Nerva now,’ his mother said. ‘As Rufus’s only living son, he inherited everything.’

  Camilla
squeezed his arm. ‘I was so sorry to learn of your father’s passing. I had planned to attend the funeral, but my father thought it best I stay away due to… the circumstances surrounding his death.’

  Murder. His murder. No one was brave enough to call it what it was, because that would mean acknowledging the risk to Nerva. Thankfully, he was spared from replying when Nona entered the room and whispered into his ear.

  ‘Gallus Minidius is waiting in the atrium for you.’

  A cold sensation spread through Nerva’s chest. ‘I am afraid you will have to excuse me,’ he said, standing.

  Aquila’s hand drifted to her throat. ‘Whoever it is, tell them you are entertaining and to come back tomorrow.’

  ‘I am afraid it is urgent.’

  Camilla reluctantly retracted her claws. ‘Then you must go.’ She gave the most brilliant version of an understanding smile.

  Nerva nodded and fled the room.

  When he entered the atrium, he could tell something was wrong by Gallus’s expression. The man was usually so jovial. ‘Where is Brei?’ The question was out of his mouth before even a greeting.

  Gallus waited for him to get closer before speaking. ‘I apologise for barging in unannounced—’

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked again.

  Gallus cleared his throat and folded his hands in front of him. ‘Ah, at present, the girl is in Mamertine Prison.’

  Nerva felt his stomach fall at his feet.

  ‘I thought you might want to know.’

  ‘Mamertine?’ Nerva’s hands went into his hair. ‘I saw her just this morning.’

  ‘My source tells me soldiers arrived at the house where she was fighting and arrested her.’

  Nerva took a few steps back, his mind racing. ‘On what grounds?’

  Gallus’s cheeks brightened. ‘Illegal fighting.’

  ‘Of course.’ Nerva exhaled and swore under his breath. ‘And what of her mother?’

  ‘I do not believe anyone knows of her existence—yet.’

  ‘Good.’ He would send word to Mila and ensure it remained that way. ‘Who made the arrest?’

  Gallus thought for a moment. ‘Otho did tell me his name. Cordius, perhaps. Unfortunately, there is little I can do about the matter. While I am rather fond of the girl, I am not prepared to join her in prison.’

  So that was why Gallus had come to him, knowing Nerva would act on his behalf. He was probably fretting over the coin he would lose if she did not return.

  Nerva crossed his arms and stared at the sponsor. ‘Given you are mostly to blame for her ending up in there, I hope I can count on your help getting her out?’ When Gallus did not immediately reply, he added, ‘I have always thought us friends.’ He doubted the man was capable of friendship, but the suggestion had the desired effect.

  Gallus appeared flustered for a moment. ‘Yes, of course. Always happy to help a friend in need.’

  Nerva nodded. ‘Good, because we are going to need to be very careful with how we handle this.’

  ‘I agree wholeheartedly.’ Gallus rubbed his shiny forehead, then looked around to ensure no one else was listening. ‘All right, then. Tell me what you want me to do.’

  Chapter 34

  For the first time since arriving in Rome, Brei felt truly cold. The air in Mamertine Prison was icy and rank with death, and she wore only a breastplate and a loincloth trimmed with fur. It was a costume, and she suddenly felt ridiculous in it. Hungry eyes had been watching her from all corners of the cell, ever since the guards dropped her through the hole above.

  A violent cough made Brei look at the person sharing her section of the wall. She watched as the woman gathered phlegm in her mouth and spat it on the ground between them.

  ‘What’s that on your skin?’ she asked, lifting a tired finger and pointing it at Brei’s arm.

  Brei took in her pinched face. Green eyes shone from two dark sockets. It was difficult to tell her age due to her filthy state. ‘It’s warpaint.’

  A man on the other side of the room, who Brei had assumed asleep or dead, laughed hysterically, then fell silent.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ the woman said. ‘Mad as a meat axe, but harmless enough.’ She smiled, revealing yellow teeth with black spots on them. ‘You a foreign girl, then?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  More coughing ensued. The woman took a moment to catch her breath before speaking. ‘What you doing in here, then? Go to war with the wrong man?’

  Yes, that was exactly what she had done. ‘Illegal fighting.’

  The woman’s eyebrows rose, assessing Brei for a moment. ‘Gladiator? Don’t see ladies fighting these days.’ She wheezed. ‘You look fit enough to take a bear. Though it won’t do you much good. They’ll just send another one to finish the job.’

  ‘Finish the job?’

  ‘To kill you.’

  She said it so matter-of-factly, Brei thought she may have misheard. ‘Is that where we go from here? To die in the arena?’

  ‘Those who live long enough. The rest of us will probably end up in the sewer.’

  Brei shifted on the icy floor. ‘Women fight bears?’

  The woman laughed, then broke into a coughing fit. It was some time before she was able to talk again. ‘Not really a fight. More of a feed. They’ll likely tie you to a post or the tail of a horse. Something will kill you in the end.’

  Brei looked up at the faint light coming through the round grate. So that was how it would end for her.

  Closing her eyes, she thought of her mother. Nerva would still get her out of Rome if he could. He had probably learned of her whereabouts by now. She hoped he stayed away and did not play into Paulus Cordius’s game. She knew that was the reason she was in there—live bait. The legate was counting on Nerva coming to her rescue so he could label him a sympathiser, a traitor, give Caracalla a legal reason to go after him.

  Brei kept her eyes closed and ignored the sting of tears.

  Four days without food. The one time the guards had thrown down bread, prisoners had lurched from dark corners with surprising agility to snatch it up before it had hit the urine-soaked floor.

  Brei could survive without food. Nerva knew that too.

  The water they gave her was bitter but quenched her thirst. Other than that, the only thing that broke up the long days was the arrival and departure of prisoners. Brei wished she could pace to keep warm, to stretch her muscles and stop her bones from setting in place, but there was no energy to be wasted on walks with no destination.

  On day five, the woman with the cough did not rise with the sun. Brei had seen a lot of death in her time, but there was something unsettling about being trapped in a small space with a corpse. All of her experiences of death had either been on a battlefield or surrounded by grieving loved ones in the comfort of someone’s home. In her village, people would sit beside the deceased and hold their hand as they cried. And there was Brei thinking about taking the clothes off the corpse. No one would blame her. It was the sensible thing to do. Instead, she remained shivering against the wall. In the afternoon, when the body was dragged away by a guard, she decided she would not die in that place.

  Somehow damnatio ad bestias seemed like a more fitting end than rotting in the sewer.

  On day six, Brei scurried for the bread with the rest of them. She ate it alone, staring up at the hole it had come through. She could feel her mind beginning to splinter. Where before she had wanted Nerva to stay away, now she began to question why he had abandoned her. He was not the sort of man who did nothing in these situations. He was the type who would find a way to get food to her, a message, something. Perhaps he was already dead. No, if she was alive, he was alive. Perhaps he knew something she did not. It was the only explanation that eased her growing fear and the one thought she kept hold of.

  Rats scurried past her blackened feet, searching for breadcrumbs. But the prisoners were too hungry to leave crumbs. Leaning her head against the stone wall, Brei closed her eyes and slipped in
to a fitful sleep.

  ‘You are doing the right thing,’ Mila assured Nerva for the hundredth time.

  He had barely slept in five days, and his mind was beginning to suffer. Doing nothing had been harder than he anticipated. He knew there were ways to see that she was fed, given clothes, maybe even fresh air. But to what end?

  ‘Cordius will have eyes everywhere,’ Marcus reminded him. ‘You better believe there is a prisoner in that place whose sole purpose is to watch her.’

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Gallus agreed. ‘And you will not be any good to her locked up or dead.’

  Nerva understood the logic, but that did not make it any easier to sit in comfort while she suffered in that cesspool of a prison. He looked around the room at his small team of helpers. Mila, Remus, Felix, Albaus, Gallus, and Marcus. They each had a role to play. ‘So, tomorrow, then.’

  ‘We all know our parts,’ Remus said.

  ‘The Megalenses Ludi,’ Felix said, nostalgia in his voice. ‘You know, I fought at that festival once.’

  ‘Did they celebrate it back in those days?’ Remus asked.

  Felix glanced sideways at him. ‘Have you considered writing your jokes down? That way they can be enjoyed for generations to come.’

  ‘Save that mouth of yours for tomorrow,’ Mila said. ‘We are counting on it.’

  Nerva nodded at his sister. ‘If everyone plays their part well, this time tomorrow, Brei and her mother will be out of the city.’ He swallowed down the thickening feeling in his throat. ‘I cannot tell you how much it means to have your help with this. I shall not forget it—even you, Gallus.’

  The sponsor straightened. ‘As I said right from the beginning, I am always happy to help a friend.’

  Nerva and Mila looked at each other but said nothing.

  ‘You saved Mila from certain death once,’ Remus said to Nerva as he pulled his wife to him. ‘We owe you.’

  Albaus grunted, and Felix drew a breath before speaking.