Cassia had explained to me that the usual way for a man to buy cargo was to commission and pay for it beforehand, in an office. When the order arrived, it would be unloaded and taken to the purchaser’s warehouse, or wherever he directed it to go. Cassia was puzzled as to why Priscus hadn’t used an agent in the usual way, or had his son take care of the entire transaction, including its payment. Perhaps, she speculated, it was so valuable that the son hadn’t had enough funds in Halicarnassus for it. The costliness of this cargo was starting to worry me.
The locked chests stored in the tablinium also made me uneasy—they were a good target for a robber. Then again, the caskets were heavy, so a robber would have to bring much help to tote them away. Of course, if a gang broke into the house and killed all the inhabitants, they could take anything they liked.
Priscus grew more agitated as the days passed. He’d been calm enough when we’d arrived, but when his servants returned each afternoon telling him the ship had not yet appeared, he paced the atrium or the garden outside, or climbed to the second floor to stare from the arched window toward the harbor buildings, bright in the December sunshine.
On the third day, it rained, clouds and mist blotting out the view. The apartment was cold, barely heated by braziers Priscus would not go near.
Priscus turned to me from the upstairs window…I’d been watching to make sure no one sent an arrow through it into his brain.
“Do you think I am mad, Leonidas?”
Not a question one wants to answer if one needs to be paid. Priscus studied me as he waited, brown eyes anxious.
“I have not known you long enough to decide,” I said.
Priscus’s quick smile did not erase the worry in his eyes. “I never used to be mad, but I’m being driven to it. A great fortune is a burden, my friend. Everyone wants it, will do anything to obtain it.”
As I’d never owned more than what I’d won as prize money, which had gone very fast, most of it to Aemil, I could only regard him without expression.
“Having what you need and no more is best,” Priscus went on. “An excess of money is cold comfort when those you love are gone.”
His wife, he meant. Priscus must have been very fond of her. I wondered if he’d lavished expense on her tomb, praising her with a long inscription.
“You must be curious as to why I’ve journeyed to Ostia myself to fetch this cargo.” Priscus turned to the window, hands behind his trim back. He wore a tunic only, as usual when he was indoors, not much different from mine except for its costly fabric.
He seemed to want an answer, so I said, “Yes.”
“I’d give my life for what I’m waiting for, though I’d prefer not to.” He made a wry grimace. “Which is why I let Celnus persuade me to hire a guard. I hear your slave drove a hard bargain. Winning against Kephalos is impressive.”
I recalled Cassia haggling like the best moneylender with Priscus’s scribe.
“She is an unusual servant for a former gladiator,” Priscus went on.
“Cassia was given to me.” I hesitated. Most men didn’t want to know the true thoughts of their bodyguards, but I continued, “I’m not sure exactly what to do with her.”
Priscus laughed, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “I am pleased to hear you say so. You are not a brute, which is why I have followed your career so closely. You fight to win but not mercilessly. You use skill, not cruelty.”
I gave him another nod. I’d learned to battle without passion. Regulus let himself succumb to anger, which is why I always bested him.
Priscus returned to studying the rainy harbor. He twitched, bouncing on his toes.
I wondered—he was vastly wealthy, he’d followed my career and seemed to know much about me, and was interested in my past.
Was he the benefactor who’d given me my freedom? He’d asked for me personally when his majordomo had insisted he hire a bodyguard. A man who believed that a person needed only what satisfied basic requirements might have chosen Cassia because she was good with money, and could help me live decently on very little.
I studied the man, a well-muscled former soldier who had enough kindness to let his less-fit servants rest on a journey he could have easily made without halting. A man who mourned his wife, preferring her to the riches she’d left him when she’d died.
It was very possible Priscus had decided to bestow silent generosity on a gladiator who was destined to fight until he was killed on a day he moved too slowly.
I would have to talk it over with Cassia, but I thought it a good possibility.
In the morning, the door slave ran in excitedly to the room in which Priscus took his small breakfast of figs and cheese, to announce that the ship had arrived.
Priscus’s face changed. While he’d been calm but resolute this morning, his expression flickered with terror before settling into that of a stern general.
“I will go in your place,” I said, loosening the short sword Priscus had provided me. “You will be safer here.”
“No.” The word was abrupt. “If I do not attend, it will go wrong.”
“There is too much open space at the harbor,” I argued. “At least let me scout. I will send for you if all is clear. ”
Priscus turned a hard eye on me, the affable man who’d spoken so familiarly with me gone. “You will do as I say, gladiator.”
I had no power here, and he knew it. I bowed my head, but I’d never been submissive. “My fee will be the same whether you live or die.”
Priscus’s hand shot to the dagger at his side as though he’d strike me down in his breakfast chamber. If I fought him off and injured him, I could be condemned to death with no hope of pardon. I waited, letting fate hang in the balance.
Priscus released the dagger’s hilt and deflated. “You are right, Leonidas. It is a terrible risk I take. But I must take it.”
“Tell me why.” It was no business of mine, except that I might die for this man today.
“I wish I could. The burden is great. But spies are everywhere, and I am sworn to secrecy. I do not mind you guarding my life, but some things are more important than existence.”
Priscus strode away from me, squaring his shoulders, and I could only follow.
He declared he would pay for and retrieve his cargo himself, with only me for protection, but I persuaded him to bring a few more servants. It would appear normal for him to have a retinue, plus he’d have witnesses if the deal went sour.
Priscus scowled at me but sharply ordered his valet and his horse’s groom—his most loyal men, he said—to join us. The two looked relieved that I’d talked him into bringing them. I convinced Priscus to include three more of his strongest servants, and we all set off toward the harbor, the caskets of coin strapped to a donkey’s back.
We hadn’t gone half a street when I heard quick footfalls behind us.
A glance back showed me Cassia walking along, a basket on her arm, as though she headed out to do some shopping. I frowned at her, but she ignored me.
“Aren’t slaves supposed to be obedient?” I asked Priscus in attempt to lessen his tension.
Priscus sent me a tight smile. “Theoretically. But when you make slaves of conquered peoples, their defiance remains. Even after generations, the spirits of their ancestors fill them. It is not the best system, but without the labor of slaves, Rome ceases to function.”
I wondered what Cassia would say to this. She was certainly like no other slave I’d encountered, including myself.
Ostia’s harbor spread from the mouth of the Tiber to the sea. The day was fine after yesterday’s rain, high clouds forming shadows on the deep blue water.
A building under construction at the harbor mouth sported a tall crane, with several men walking inside a giant treadwheel to raise a large block of stone into the air. A small man with a pouch of scrolls slung over his shoulder watched, hands on hips, as the block moved higher and swung out over the roof, where more men waited to guide the block into place.
&n
bsp; Additional cranes worked the wharves, hauling goods into and out of the ships docked there.
The number of vessels roaming the harbor astonished me. The high decks teemed with men, and oars lifted and fell in tight precision, flashing in the sunlight.
I would like to come to this place at my leisure, to gawp at the ships and watch them maneuver. The thought that I was free to do so whenever I wished was a jolt. Freedom was difficult to grow used to.
We took a street lined with tall buildings that blocked our view of the harbor. Colonnades formed shaded walkways, though we kept to the middle of the street with Priscus’s horse and the donkey. Ostia did not have the restriction on private vehicles during the day that Rome did, and so we had to move aside for wagons and carriages. Priscus wore his toga with the purple stripe, revealing he was a man of high rank, but he did not insist all give way for him.
He turned his horse abruptly into a side lane, and I was hard-pressed to keep up with him. We hadn’t gone far before Priscus dismounted and moved quickly toward a dark doorway.
I dared to step in front of him and put my hand on his chest to stop him from charging inside the building. Ignoring his glare, I told him to stand still and ducked through the doorway myself, quickly stepping out of the block of light to let my eyes adjust to the gloom.
Six men waited in a large, empty room. Its concrete rubble walls were unadorned, touched by sunlight trickling through tiny windows high above. A dove fluttered in one of the window openings, uncertain it wanted to enter this dusty and cold place.
All the men were armed. Swords glinted at sides, knives rested in belts. They were not soldiers—ordinary sailors, I’d have said, except for the man at their head. He had the thickset body and stance of a fighting man.
“You were to come alone.” His accent put him from outside Rome.
“My bodyguard insisted it was too dangerous,” Priscus said apologetically. He’d entered without waiting for my signal, and he led the casket-laden donkey by its rope. “I have the money. Where is my cargo?”
The man frowned at his bluntness. “We are to take you to it. Alone.” His scowl took in the men who flanked Priscus, and me.
“I go with him,” I said before Priscus could speak.
The lead man peered at me, taking a step forward to squint through the semi-darkness. His eyes widened. “Jupiter. You’re Leonidas the Spartan.”
“Was.” I gripped my sword. “I go with Priscus. He will pay, you will give him the cargo, and we will leave.”
The leader did not appear happy, but he shrugged. “Very well,” he said to me. “You and Decimus Laelius Priscus. No other.”
Priscus nodded. “It shall be done.”
He was a fool. These men would murder Priscus once they cornered him alone, taking the money and fleeing. Or they might kidnap him and hold him for high ransom in order to pry even more cash out of him.
Priscus didn’t seem bothered by either prospect. He quietly told his retainers to remain behind, then stood and waited for the sailors to lead us out.
They headed for a far door, me directly behind them, then Priscus with the donkey. The lead man fell into step with me, saying nothing.
The small door in the back of the empty warehouse opened to a noisome alley, an excellent place for an ambush and assassination. Neither happened. The sailors hurried toward the daylight at the alley’s end, as though they worried about being waylaid here themselves.
We emerged into a much-congested main street. The lead man took a grip on the donkey’s bridle and marched us in a clump toward the harbor.
A figure in a cloak with a basket scuttled behind us, melding with the crowd but easily keeping pace. Neither the sailors nor Priscus noted her.
The lead man turned us onto a long dock that reached into the water. This wharf was lined with old wooden buildings that all seemed to be empty, no one in sight. Unused, probably slated to be torn down and replaced.
The sailors expected Priscus to follow them onto this deserted dock with no outlet, with his money, and only me as bodyguard.
I stepped in front of the lead man. “No. You bring the cargo to us now.”
As my last word fell, a sharp cry sounded down the dock. From one of the many doorways sprang a man, slim-limbed and dressed in a slave’s tunic, running hard at us, knife in hand. Several more men, armed, came after him.
I pushed past the sailors, drawing my sword, and moved to intercept the running man.
“No.” A touch on my arm pulled me to a halt. Cassia had appeared next to me, and she held my sword arm with her light fingers, her eyes wide. “No, do not kill him.”
Chapter 8
The young man tore at us. His eyes were wide, his tunic soiled and tattered. Cassia tried to drag me out of his way, but she could no more move me than she could the construction blocks on the other end of the harbor.
Priscus drew his weapon as the sailors surrounded us. I shoved Cassia toward an empty building and safety, and turned to defend Priscus.
Priscus moved to the donkey and now used his sword to slice through the harness, letting the caskets of gold aurei drop to the ground. He then pushed past me, competently elbowing me in the ribs as I grabbed for him, and he slipped from my grasp.
The sailors surrounded the crazed young man, trying to reach him and disarm him. Priscus shoved his way through, oblivious to danger.
The assailant stilled in confusion when he saw Priscus, then he flung aside his knife and burst into tears. A rope, frayed, dangled from the young man’s slim wrist.
Priscus caught the young man and crushed him in a desperate embrace, kissing his hair, his face, tears raining down his cheeks.
“Son,” Priscus said hoarsely. “My dearest son.”
I stopped in amazement, the events of the past days clicking into place. This was no purchase of expensive goods by a careful patrician—this was a ransom. The precious cargo was Priscus’s son, now weeping in his father’s arms. Priscus’s speech that money meant nothing if one was alone became even more clear now.
I stepped back, my heart pounding, awareness heightening. This wasn’t over. It all still could go wrong, Priscus and his son in no way safe.
The men who’d run out behind Priscus’s son were more of his captors. They now joined the sailors who’d led us here.
I backed up to Priscus and the young man, who were locked in happy reunion, and pointed my sword at the thick gut of the lead man.
Cassia peered fearfully from the shadow of the doorway I’d pushed her through. None of the sailors noticed her, but they could at any time.
“He’s paid you,” I told the lead man. “We leave. Now.”
Hard faces regarded me, a dozen men honed by their profession, none concerned about fighting an enraged gladiator. There was only one of me, after all.
I would teach them to be afraid.
Fighting in the legions, I’d been told, was brutal but precise, each man doing an exact job so that the group fought as one. Melded into a machine that could mow down an enemy army, no matter how powerful that enemy might be. Thus, Rome conquered the world.
Gladiatorial fighting was entirely different. We fought alone, and we fought to win, with no mercy. We threw precision to the wind if we saw another way to be victorious. This was why freed gladiators made poor soldiers. We embraced the unexpected to survive.
I demonstrated this by kicking the lead man swiftly in the chin with my heel, at the same time spinning to plunge my sword into the man on my right.
The lead man stumbled back, grunting in pain. The second man yelped and dodged, taking a graze against his abdomen. The others rushed me.
I heard Cassia shout, and then the sailors ducked and cursed as rocks pelted them, hurled by Cassia.
Priscus lifted his head from his son. Rage flared in his eyes, the determined anger that had once terrified armies in far-flung lands.
He gently pushed his son toward the street end of the dock. The donkey, free of his burden, was already t
rotting that way.
“Kill them all, Leonidas,” Priscus said, his voice hard as he raised his sword. “Leave their bodies to warn others of what happens when they lay hands on my family.”
I couldn’t possibly kill them all myself. I’d fend them off and make them pay dearly, but if the sailors surrounded and tackled me together, they could stab me and shove my body into the murky water.
But the command made them pause, and gave me an opening.
I struck, kicked, stabbed, and whirled, my training making me come alive like a mindless killing beast.
I heard again the roar of the crowds, felt the chanting pulse of my name, the hot sand under my feet. Win, stay alive, and give them a show. The blood of a gladiator was said to heal, but while it beat inside my body, it gave me strength.
The sailors who gained their feet limped down the dock, others crawled from my wrath as quickly as they could. No more death, I’d vowed. But I could make them remember me.
Two of the wiser grabbed a casket of gold and rushed off, balancing the box between them. The others who could run simply did so. At the end of the dock, they leapt over its edge and out of sight, likely to waiting boats.
I feinted with my sword at the final man, the leader, then when he lifted his sword to defend himself, kicked him hard in the ribs. He folded over, arm across his stomach, gasping for breath.
I cleaned my bloody sword on his tunic and resheathed it. If my blood truly healed, he’d be fine, which was more than he deserved.
“Leave Rome,” I advised him. “Your life will be worth nothing now.”
Once Priscus, his son safe, reported the kidnapping, these naval men turned pirates would be hunted and not spared. Pirates were feared and hated, and the powerful in Rome would be merciless.
Without waiting for the man’s response, I turned and strode from him.
“Leonidas.”
The voice was Cassia’s. She’d hurried to the remaining casket and was trying in vain to push it along the dock. It screeched an inch, Cassia panting from her effort.
Blood of a Gladiator Page 7
