The Gladiator Prince (14 page)

He turned his head back to the fire, and the smile faded. “The celebration was merry. We drank to our invincibility and bravery for conquering yet another people then staggered to our tents to sleep until we marched to conquer the rest.

“During the night, the barbarians killed our sentries and torched the woods around our camp.” He shook his head setting the disarrayed tangle of mane and beard flying. “I had a complement of fifty medicos under my command. We were the best in the legion. Men I had served with for years, others I had trained and known for decades. The fires hit our tent first. Only eleven of us got out alive.

“As the legion tried to extinguish the flames, the Brits attacked.” He sat forward and put his elbows on his knees. “They were like ghosts, appearing first here then there, in and out, killing or maiming any they could reach in the thick fog that had churned in from the sea. It was hours before we regained the ground and fought back. The remaining Brits disappeared into the night never to return.”

“The gods helped you,” said Bahar, making a sign.

Adrastos turned the lumbering head towards him and dipped his chin. “The gods are dead, boy, killed by emperors and politicians.”

“You do not believe in the gods?”

“I believe in men and honor; the gods have neither. If they did exist they were not nearby that day.” He adjusted his tunic and pulled on his beard.

“The dawn sun brought with it a soaking rain that flooded the camp,” he continued. “What was left of our medicos spent the next three days without sleep and little food, caring for the wounded and ordering the dead buried. We found what soldiers we could to help, but the days were grueling.

“
Legate
Vespasian, the brother of the praetor Titus, was our commander. His friend, Diasius, saved Vespasian’s life during the melee, but received grave wounds himself protecting the
legate
. He stayed watch over the fallen Vespasian until a dozen wounds brought him down just before they could be rescued.

“I was called to the tent where Diasius lay dying and was ordered to cure him.” His brow furrowed into cavernous folds, and he laced his fingers together. “The man was beyond hope. Four of us attended him, taken off the grounds where hundreds of men were dying, ordered there by the
legate
despite protest from his officers. By midnight his friend was dead.”

Snatching up the small flask from the ground, Adrastos flicked the cork off with his thumb and turned it upside down above his mouth. It was dry. He tossed it aside with a snarl. “Vespasian went mad. Two of my medicos died under his sword before we even knew. He had to be stopped. The next few seconds ruined my career… and my life.” He lowered his head toward the ground, and Phaedra thought she saw a single tear fall from his cheek. “I took the sword from my general, grabbed him around the waist and squeezed him until they finally pulled me away. He lay in a heap on the floor of the tent.

“He did not die, though I was not informed of that until two days later, but he ordered my immediate execution. They bound me in chains and brought me to
Rutupiae
where I spent almost a year imprisoned for my actions.

“On a cold December night in forty-four, I made my escape.” Sitting up, he turned his face to Phaedra and smiled sadly. “With this disguise they know me only as Adrastos. My Roman name, the one I earned with my blood and sweat, Servius Duilius Bibaculus, is now dead…” He spat into the fire and threw on a piece of wood. “Along with the man who wore it. This is all that remains.”

He pulled down his hood to expose the expanse of neck again. The black tattooed rod with a single snake slithering up it looked as if it had been drawn the day before. “It is the rod of Asclepius. •¯½±¹ Ĺ¼® ¼¿Å ½± ÇÁ·Ã¹¼µÍõ¹.”

“It is my honor to serve,” Phaedra repeated, and the Greek scowled at her.

“You speak Greek?”

“A little. My nurse taught me.”

“You are full of surprises, little one,” he said smiling.

Phaedra lifted her fingers to his neck and touched it lightly. A distant heartbeat throbbed against her fingertips. “The god of healing. I have seen the rod,” she whispered.

Adrastos threw back his head, and Phaedra pulled her hand away. He laughed aloud and slapped his leg. “Come now, a girl of your age? You are playing with an old man.”

“No,” she said shaking her head. “My nurse, Althea, had the symbol painted above her station.”

The chortle instantly died on Adrastos’ lips, and he frightened her by grabbing her shoulders. Bahar, who had been nodding off, came awake instantly, pulling his knife and standing.

“Put away your weapon, boy!” the Greek snapped with a command in his voice that he had not used since they met him. He loosened the grip on Phaedra, but did not let her go. Bahar did not move, keeping the knife in his hand. “Look at me, girl,” Adrastos said to Phaedra. She had little other choice. “This nanny of yours; did she practice the arts?”

“I… I do not understand you,” Phaedra stammered, afraid she had already said too much.

With a shake, he pulled her closer. “On your life, girl, tell me now.”

Phaedra looked at Bahar for support, but he only shook his head. Now frightened, she lifted her eyes to the Greek. Her heart hammered inside her chest so fast she could not take in air, but there was something in his face, something that made her trust him.

“Yes,” she breathed, “she practiced the arts. But only medicinals, potions and…” She stopped terrified to go on when his face turned dark.

“Did she teach you?” he asked shaking her with each syllable.

Phaedra closed her eyes unable to look at him, but said nothing.

“Tell me!” he bellowed. Bahar took a step toward him, but stopped when Adrastos rose to his feet with Phaedra still in his hands. “Stay out of this, boy, or your own secret we will reveal.”

Both of them gasped, staring up at the giant. “How… how could…” Phaedra could not get any more words to sound. Her terror suddenly turned to panic, and she struggled against his hands.

“One thing at a time, child,” Adrastos said, calming his voice and holding her more gently. “Did the witch teach you?”

Would he kill her? Would the gladiator? Would they turn her over to the Romans for burning or crucifixion? Her panic turned her blood into vapors, and she could not stop the trembling.

“Yes,” she cried, sinking her fingernails into the skin of his forearms as she grasped them. “Yes, she taught me.” Hot tears ignited her eyes, and her throat closed. “Please,” she begged.

“Poisons? Did she teach you those…?”

Phaedra swallowed to get her words out. “Some, but it was a long time ago. I do not remember…”

For several heartbeats, the Greek stared down into her eyes. At length his face softened and to her surprise, he pulled her into his bear like arms and squeezed her tight.

From behind the wagon, Thane suddenly appeared dressed in only his loincloth, his sword grasped in his right hand. He looked at the three, Phaedra buried in the arms of the Greek who was smiling like an idiot and Bahar with his knife in his hand.

“Are the Romans attacking?” he roared rubbing his eyes.

Adrastos released Phaedra and threw back his head to laugh. “Not tonight, Prince. We practice for when they appear.”

Thane lifted one side of his mouth and rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. “Go to sleep… all of you. Tomorrow will be a dangerous day.” With that, he turned and headed back the way he had come muttering under this breath.

When he was gone, Phaedra grabbed the Greek’s cloak. “I do not practice the arts, Adrastos. I learned when I was very young. Until two years ago, I saw no harm in her teachings, but found when I went to Rome that it was forbidden for women to possess such knowledge.”

Adrastos pinched her chin in his fingers. “I do not share the Roman opinion about women and medicine, little one. To be honest, I have found more skill in the hands of a midwife or healer woman than I have in a dozen ham fisted medicos.” His face got serious. “This is very risky for you. You must not tell anyone of this. Not even the prince,” he whispered, casting his eyes where Thane had been then picking up Bahar’s. “Neither of you should share your secrets with anyone. It would be worth your lives.”

Bahar grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his sister’s face. “So you think you know my secret, old man,” he snarled at him.

“I am not blind, Bahar,” he replied. “Nor am I a dunce. My training may be muddled by wine these days, but I still possess some faculties.”

“What will you do then?” Bahar took a menacing step toward him, lifting his knife. “Will you now betray us for an amphora of wine?” He grabbed the front of Adrastos’ cloak and glared up at him. “I will slit your throat in your sleep if you breathe a word to anyone.”

The Greek clapped Bahar so hard on the arm it sent the boy flying. Bahar landed on his side in the dirt, but got to his feet quickly in ready stance. Adrastos threw back his head again and bellowed a deafening laugh. When it was over, he bowed very low with a grace Phaedra would not have guessed.

“My word, young Bahar. Even if they took away all my wine, I would not utter a sound. You have my oath.” He laughed again, but Phaedra did not appreciate his levity.

“This is a very serious matter,” she snapped rubbing her arms where he had held her.

The Greek pursed his lips to get the humor under control. “That it is. I was just thinking if I had an army of men like Bahar, I could rule the world.” He regarded them each in turn and pulled an acre of air into his lungs. “But now, it is time to sleep. The prince is right, tomorrow we must pass close to the first of three Roman way station and we will all need our wits. Off to sleep, you two.” He lifted both arms up and sauntered to the back of the wagon without another word.

Bahar stood next to Phaedra watching after the giant and put away his knife.

“Do we trust him, sister?” he asked.

For some reason Phaedra had no doubt they could trust the Greek, but had to remind herself that they staggered on unfamiliar ground with very little between them and disaster.

“I do not know, Bahar. I hope so. To keep confidence, perhaps. I do not know otherwise. He is a very troubled man.”

Bahar nodded and bent over to grab his night roll. “Good night, sister.” He headed to the back of the wagon.

Phaedra sat down next to the fire. The rain had subsided and the clouds opened above her to reveal the endless stars and a moonless night. She watched a star streak across the sky and fisted her hand with a thumb between two fingers making the sign against evil, hoping it was not a bad omen. The calm that settled in around her seemed strained somehow, like the center of a gale when the gods promised an end, only to break their word to bring you the worst of the torrents.

She hugged her shoulders, and her tired mind drifted on its own back to Thane’s touch. For the first time since they left the
ludus
, she let her imagination take rein over her thoughts. Closing her eyes, his warm arms enveloped her, promising never to let her go.

Chapter XIV

The next morning, Thane rousted them well before dawn, only letting them eat dried meat and water for breakfast.

He did not pass the night well; roots from the evergreen trees had burrowed into his back and lead weights seemed to hang from his arms and legs. Despite that, the clear cool sky hinted at sunshine later in the day, lightening his mood. It had been a long time since he slept in the woods as a free man.

After they packed, he took hold of the ox’s tack and led him down the narrow trail, the wagon behind, with Bahar and Phaedra on foot next to him. The Greek handled the reins in the wagon.

“Let the young ones ride with me,” he called to Thane.

“They will help me scout the road. There are many ruts and roots along this route. They did not make it for wagons. If you hit one of them, you could break a wheel. And, unless you keep a spare in the back, we do not have the means to repair it.”

Adrastos simply nodded and got comfortable on the bench.

As Thane expected, it took all three of them to spot hazards as they moved down the road.

Thane knew it would take them well away from the
Iter III
where the traveling would be faster and easier, but Romans visited the guard station often, both soldiers and civilians. It had a good tavern, a well-maintained military camp and boarding for officers. They would travel down the Briton path until they came to Londinium where re-building still occupied the attentions of its fine citizens so long after the
Boudiga
revolts. There, they could rest.
Rutupiae
was only two more days away.

There was little talk as they moved along the path. Bahar seemed unusually terse and Phaedra grew tired, though she did not complain. The Greek had an abundance of good humor as he whistled and even sang from time to time.

At the sun’s zenith, Thane allowed them a stop to eat and rest. Bahar sat next to Adrastos on the wagon and Phaedra slid down one of the wheels to eat her lunch. Thane stayed with the ox and ate standing up, watching the road the whole time.