The Gladiator Prince (23 page)

Hasani scanned the masts. “It will not stay afloat much longer. Get her cargo quickly and give her to the sea.”

He pulled Phaedra to the edge of the railing where a hole had been made. On the other side was a wide wooden plank balanced precariously between the ships, bobbing up and down with the undulation of the waves. There was a man on either side holding it into place.

“My lady,” he said with a mock bow.

Phaedra glared at him, but he pushed her to the plank, and she scurried over it. Almost tipping over head first towards the end, a scrawny toothless sailor grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the deck.

“How about a little kiss?”

Phaedra wrinkled up her nose at his smell and push against him with both hands. Laughing, he let her go, and she watched as Bahar tiptoed over the plank as if it were an avenue in the city.

Bahar shot a glance at Phaedra when another man grabbed her arm. “Which oars?” he called up to Hasani.

“The second tier, I think. Tie him to the gladiator. He can teach the boy how to row. It will do him good to get a little muscle on him.”

“No!” Phaedra screamed and ran to stop them, but another man barred her way, knocking her down to the deck in a heap. In an instant, an arm scooped her up and pulled her away.

“You raise a hand to her again, and I will drop you,” Hasani hissed close to her ear.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The man bowed contritely and scurried to help the men who were passing amphorae hand to hand down a long line, and bringing the captain of the merchant vessel and his men onto the galley.

“Take them below. They can relieve some of the other slaves for other duties.”

Phaedra struggled to get loose from his arm, but Hasani had a good hold. “You do squirm!”

She felt his hot breath against her neck and quacked. When his lips touched her flesh, she tried to turn her head away from him.

“What do you think of my ship?”

He let her go, and she rubbed her wrist, scanning the decks, the elaborate cabin at the back of the ship and the men who scurried to and fro in front of her. Bahar disappeared down a wide set of stairs leading into the belly of the galley.

“What do you intend to do with us?”

“With you?” He came around her, a slick smile forcing the ends of his mustache up. “You will be my honored guest.” With a gallant flourish, he gestured to the cabin. “Unfortunately, I only have one place for a lady of your standing; my own cabin. I will make certain you are comfortable.”

The lilt at the end of that word sent shivers up Phaedra’s back, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. The shift in their fortunes turned her heart to rock. She would not allow this animal and his men to harm Bahar or Thane. Tilting her head, she glared back at him.

“Please, Hasani,” she said as contritely as she could. “You are a man of business. There must be something you desire. What will you take for the release of Bahar and Thane?”

Circling her slowly, Hasani’s eyes sparkled in the morning light as he took her in inch by inch. She watched the furtive glances from the sailors working to get the ship moving again, their unveiled leers disturbing.

“To begin with,” he stated flatly, “you will warm my bed at night.”

The prospect of sex with Hasani now disgusted her. Had it only been a few days since she had been betrothed to him?

“I have been promised to you in marriage. That vow consigns me to you. I tell you earnestly…” She lifted her eyes to him and squared her shoulders. “I will not please you,” she said stiffly, throwing up her chin. “You might as well kill me now if you think I will.”

He stopped in front of her and massaged his palm with a thumb. “That is a very curious response. You are concerned with my pleasure?”

Phaedra licked her lips in irritation. “I did not mean…”

“I am inspired.” He took a step towards her. “I promise pleasing me will come to you sooner than you may imagine. As to marriage, well…”

He lifted his shoulders and eyebrows together then signaled to someone behind her. When he lifted his hand to touch her face, she stepped back from him only to find her shoulders in a pair of strong hands. The ominous sound of chains jingled behind her, and she knew what would come next. Hasani brought his face close to hers and in a sudden move, grabbed the back of her hair, tilting her head back.

“You have nothing to bargain with, my lady. All that is yours is mine now. I will take what I want from you. Thane will be my gift to Nero, Bahar my gift to your father. Both will pay dearly for them. You, my pet, belong to me.” He nodded to whoever held her.

In the next instant, the brute grabbed her wrists and forced them behind her back. When the cold metal circled them, her heart broke. The snap of the lock echoed in her ears. Hasani lifted his hand to the man behind her and clicked his fingers. What he came back with loosened her knees and she fell to the rough deck of the ship in horror.

“Your dowry, my dear.” He bent over and fastened the cold iron collar around her neck. Phaedra thought she would be sick. Standing up, Hasani brushed his hands and spoke to the sailor. “Take her to my cabin and chain her to the end of my bed. Make it quick. It is two days yet to Rome.”

“Rome?” Phaedra cried. “I thought you would take us back to…”

“Take her now,” he said quietly to the sailor.

With the wisp of a smile, he bobbed his chin to her and walked away. The sailor grabbed her upper arm and dragged her to the elaborate cabin at the back of the ship. When Phaedra turned to plead again, Hasani was well out of earshot, laughing with his men.

Chapter XXVI

An earthquake shook him. Noise blossomed in his ears, a high-pitched squeal of swords scraping against each other. The world spun, and he could not get his bearings. Was he in the arena? Instincts tightened the sinews in his shoulders, the muscles in his chest, his legs, his arms. He would fight as he always fought, one opponent at a time. The beat of his heart, the ring of his blade, the hiss of blood charging through him told him to fight, to win. His fingers slipped and all he could feel was cold iron on his wrists.

Things loomed up in front of him. An urgent rumble set off bells behind his eyes. When he got them open a slit, everything changed.

The quake was a strange man shaking him. He could stand it no longer. Catching the wrist, he bent it back until someone screamed at him. He got his eyes open another crack and let go.

Small pale hands rested on his arm, like a white bird, they seemed to be fluttering for attention. He lifted his head and agony charged through him, making him freeze in position. He waited for it to pass.

“What…” It was his voice. He could feel the chords chiming, but it did not sound like him. “Where am I?”

The strange man’s face seemed to dissolve when his eyes opened, then reappeared some paces in front of him. The man was naked except for a loincloth, and he held a small amphora in his hand. When he grinned, his mouth was a blackened hole without teeth. Smacking a cork into the top of the container, the filthy man pushed it into a leather bag tied around his waist.

“He will live.”

The pronouncement sounded fatal to Thane’s ringing ears.

As an experiment, he turned his neck first right then left, closing his eyes. He knew his lips were swollen; he could taste the coppery blood caked on them. One eye would not open more than a slit and it ached. The other opened a little more. When he moved, he was certain there was not an inch of skin that was not bruised or bleeding.

“Are you all right?”

The young voice startled him. He looked down at the fluttering hand on his arm and it took shape swiftly. Following it up the arm, a face finally came into focus. When he frowned, it sent shards of knife pricks through his skull.

“Where are we?”

The girl’s face was battered; one eye had a swollen cut above it that someone had staunched and cleaned, and her right ear was puffed up and bloody. A dark purple bruise ran the length of her jaw, and she had difficulty talking.

“We are at the oars on the galley,
Doctores
.”

Thane pushed back the pain and sat up. He was on the far right side of a long three-tiered wooden bench against the hull of the ship, the fifth of about fifteen in two rows. There were three men on each, all dirty, thin, and destitute. Most had collars of iron and shackles on their wrists. He stared at his own; hammered copper bands were already turning his wrists black. The man who had given him the salve took his place next to Bahar on the outside. He did not say a word, but clicked his bracelets together and showed them how they hooked on an oar.

There were three oars, one for each of them, small for Thane’s hands, but large for the girl. The confusion started to lift from his brain, and he realized where they were: inside the belly of the galley, chained to the benches, expected to row.

A drumbeat sounded, and Thane could barely make out the man stationed at the front of the line of benches.

“Grab your oars!” A sting from a thin whip sent shivers through Thane’s back and a cry from Bahar. When it came a second time, Thane twisted his chest to take the brunt of the bite. The man moved down the line, and Thane wrapped his hands around the smooth wood. It was soft with worn grooves under his fingers.

Bahar did the same, but she could barely get a grip around it.

“Name’s Grunion,” the toothless man stated pulling his oar to his chest. “Pull it hard to your chest, stand when the rest of us do, put your right foot on the footboard there,” he added with a nod. “Push the oars away from your chest and up so they go into the water. When you pull, put your left foot on the bench in front and use both legs to get the oar through the water. The bench will meet your ass; you will rest for a full beat then do it again. Understand?”

Thane could feel Bahar trembling next to him, but her face was focused into hard concentration, listening to every word.

“Do not worry, lad.” Grunion barked a laugh. “I put you in the middle so the Brit here and I can help you.” He glanced up at Thane, but his face was not hopeful. “Keep his oar between ours.”

Thane gave a terse nod and another drumbeat sounded. As one, the men stood up.

Hours went by with nothing but the agony of pushing, standing, pulling and sitting, over and over again, listening to the beat of the drums rumbling through the deck of the ship, the foreman’s whip striking if they lost the rhythm.

Bahar did better than Thane had hoped keeping pace with them through the first few hours. Between each pull, there was a rest for a beat, giving the men enough time to build strength for the next pull. By the end of the third hour, Bahar was barely conscious. The foreman called a halt, and the girl collapsed onto Thane’s side. Another day and she would be dead. He let her sleep.

Squinting, he tried to look through the slats of the oar holes to see what time of day it was, but it was useless. All he could see was the wood of the oars and the blue of the sea. It was still light; fatigue overwhelmed him, and he leaned against the wooden planks. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the oar in his hands and the backs of sixty men. In a moment of quiet, his mind drifted to Phaedra, and his heart ached to help her. He knew Hasani would not kill her. On the contrary, she would be very valuable to him… in many ways.

The thought of her with the Egyptian bastard set his heart on fire. He swore he would escape this and make Hasani pay for every touch he gave her.

Chapter XXVII

How she slept, Phaedra did not know, but the sound of a bell in the distance startled her awake. There was a light somewhere now where before it had been totally dark. The sailor had chained her to the floor next to an elaborate bed bolted to the wooden deck, and she focused on it to get her bearings. It was piled with luxurious woolen blankets and pillows. She was sitting on a woolen mat stuffed with more wool. It was scratchy, but warm and clean.

The cabin was not large; it barely held the bed, a large ornate chest in one corner, a wooden stool covered in leather, and a small table with a papyrus chart held down by black figurines of Horus and Osiris. Several tapestries hung on the wall, some from Egypt and some from Syria. Phaedra assumed they were stolen; they looked very expensive. On a small table next to the bed burned an ornate bronze oil lamp, the patina blackened by years and use.

When she heard the door, she looked around for something to fight with, but the chains would not let her move any further than the ends of the mat. Frustrated, she pulled hard on them, but they only bruised her wrists. She gathered up her knees and curled into a ball on the mat.

The door opened, and Hasani stood in the entrance for a long time leaning against the doorframe staring at her. The night was dark behind him.

“You are awake.” His voice resonated as it had at her house: deep, lyrical. It made her want to listen, but she pushed down the desire. He moved through the door and closed it behind him with his foot. Balancing a brass tray loaded with dried meats and fruit on top of his fingers he crossed to the table. An amphora of wine hung from his belt. The food made Phaedra’s mouth water. She could not remember the last time she had eaten.