Surrender to the Roman (17 page)

Lucia took hold of Drusilla’s hands. “Where is your husband now?”

Before she could open her mouth to answer, the door slammed open and Marcus marched down the hall, Lilah scurrying in his wake.

Ademeni ran to embrace her sister just as Drusilla rushed to Marcus. She wished she could do the same, to let him know how much she missed him and feared for him, how glad she was to see him again…

Marcus glanced at her over his shoulder. His jaw worked in silent rage, and the glint of determination shone in his eyes. She would not want to be Tertullian today, and held her breath as he asked the question again.

“Where is Tertullian?”

Drusilla’s answer tore Ademeni’s heart to shreds. “He has an audience with Trajan.”

The words hung in the air like the stench of the sewer. Ademeni’s hopes sank to the stones. The first to tell a story often had the upper hand.

Marcus cradled his sister’s anguished face, then kissed both her cheeks. “You must go home now, pretend you have not seen or spoken to me. Watch and listen.”

“But Marcus—” she argued.

“You must play things out, and you are more help to me there than here. Keep your ears sharp and send a messenger if you have news.”

Drusilla acquiesced and left the house with Lilah in tow as the shadows stretched toward a darkening sky. Ademeni released a held breath. This meant nothing. Perhaps Marcus had done the right thing. Drastic measures took time, after all, and Trajan did not seem to be a hasty man. If he wanted to display his power to the people, this provided the perfect opportunity for drama.

“Come.” Marcus held out his hand, and she reached for him without shame. She buried her face against his chest and listened to the thundering of his heart between her ragged breaths. Safe for now, she counted the moments they might have left together.

That soothing sound was replaced by a knock on the doors that echoed through the house. No one moved.

Then the sharp command shook the foundations. “Open in the name of the emperor!”

Those few words descended upon Ademeni like stones falling from the sky. Blood froze in her veins, and her hands and feet turned to ice. This kind of visitation was never a good omen. They did not come to apologize for a misunderstanding.

Marcus grabbed her and squeezed, bringing her focus back to him. She took several quick breaths as the warmth in his eyes slowed the fearful gallop of her heart. She offered a small smile, hoping to provide confidence.

A fist struck the door again, and Marcus marched forward, back straight and shoulders squared, to answer the summons.

Ademeni held her breath as the door swung wide and the black-clad detachment from the emperor’s personal guard launched into the house. They formed a square around Marcus and stood at attention while one man, wearing an ornate silver helmet, stepped forward.

Extending his arm, he handed Marcus a sealed parchment. “By order of His Excellency, the Emperor Trajan.”

Marcus took the papers and broke the red wax seal with a swipe of his thumb. Too far away to see the written words, Ademeni strained to read her lover’s blank expression. Not a twitch or blink gave away his thoughts.

He turned to Flora. “See to it that these men have food and that their horses are watered. They will be camped outside the house until morning.”

With no small relief, Ademeni deciphered his command. They would not take him tonight, in secret. Trajan played this game in a more patient, but public manner. Marcus was to go willingly with the guard in the morning.

They would have one more night together.

While the Praetorian detail left the house to position themselves at discreet locations around the grounds, Ademeni wondered at Marcus. A more generous soul than she, he saw to their needs so that he might be above reproach.

She didn’t care what they thought of her.

Once the clamor died down and the anxious household calmed, Ademeni escaped to Marcus’s room to wait for him, whether he wanted her there or not.

He did not seem surprised to see her, offering the same warm smile to which she’d grown accustomed. As though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

He lowered the curtain to block the doorway and raised his eyebrows. “Interesting evening, don’t you think?”

Unable to restrain herself, she dashed across the room and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close, lifting her off the floor and whispering words meant to provide comfort.

They did little to ease her fears. She knew what Trajan expected of Marcus—why he’d granted his favorite general a reprieve.

She pushed away from him and blurted, “They mean to give you the opportunity to fall on your sword.”

Without blinking, Marcus nodded. “Of course they do. And if I have truly betrayed Rome, I would do that noble thing and save them the trouble. Yet, since I have not, I will go with them in the morning to face my accuser.”

Ademeni sank onto the bed, head in her hands. She knew plenty of innocent men who would rather die by their own hand than face their king. When he sat down beside her, she suppressed her tears and hoped the truth would be enough to see him through.

Marcus smoothed the hair from her face, and she closed her eyes. Rome was far crueler than she could have imagined, even in those first days as a prisoner. To make her fall in love with her enemy and then take him away.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered.

“No.”

Even as he silenced her with kisses, she flagged under a burden of guilt, misplaced though it might be. She wished she could have known Marcus in a more convenient time and place.

Gentle caresses washed away her anxiety and allowed her to forget for a while what they faced. Indeed, she responded to him in a more fervent and passionate connection because of what they faced.

As their bodies worked in unison, using the urgency of the moment to climax, Ademeni cried out her love for him, so that anyone who might listen could understand that, at least for tonight, this was their reality.

* * *

Marcus watched his princess sleep, imprinting her lovely visage on his memory. If he died tomorrow or a thousand years from now, he would carry the memory of her with him always.

He was a better man for having known her.

Fear did not assail him. Not for himself. Even if Trajan chose to believe a lie, the afterlife would welcome him as a champion and he would one day be vindicated in this life or the next.

Tertullian was not a smart enough man to carry the charade for very long.

But thoughts of Callia, Lucia and Ademeni weighed on his heart. He prayed this episode would not bleed through to his daughter, and that Trajan would spare his own cousin, Lucia. As for Ademeni…

She was the only one he could truly protect, and even then her safety would depend on the strength of her mind and body.

Beside him, she stirred and stretched. Her eyes opened wide, as if she’d not planned to fall asleep. He stroked her cheek, then rose from the bed and rummaged through his pack near the door.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice urgent. He smiled. She thought he still might harm himself.

He returned to her side, a packet of papers tight in his fist. “Do you remember trying to kill me in this room?”

She lifted her chin. “Of course.”

Drawing a deep breath, he captured her hand and locked his gaze on hers in the milky darkness. Dawn was not far away, and he needed to act quickly.

“I loved you even then. Your spirit, your pride, your intelligence. You will need all those things in the coming days.”

He pressed the papers against her palm. Her fingers shook as she opened and read them. When her brow furrowed, he thought she did not understand the message.

“You are free.”

“These may say so,” she argued, “but I am not free.”

Now his anger rose. He understood her attachment to him, but… “Is this not what you asked for a day ago?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “But you know I am not truly free regardless of what these papers say. I am bound by something greater than law.”

“It’s not that I expect to die, or that I don’t love you.” He knelt before her. “This is how much I love you. You may choose your own path. If I die, you are free of Rome. And if I return and you are not here, I will understand.”

“Do you not believe you will return?”

Sadness tinged his answer. “Only the gods know. My fate is in their hands, but your fate is now up to you.”

* * *

Ademeni sat across from Marcus at the table as he ate a hearty meal. The same food sat on her plate but tasted like dust on her tongue.

She sat amazed. His hands did not tremble. He smiled and laughed at Lucia as she hovered around him like a wounded bird. Every fiber of Ademeni’s being wanted to engage the enemy, yet circumstances muted her and made her little more than a bystander while this tragedy unfolded.

Marcus rose from the table and the household followed him to the atrium, where he strapped on his armor and ceremonial sword.

He refused to look her in the eye until he finished his preparations. Stepping forward, he clasped her hands between his. His gaze swept over her and bolstered her.

The time for words had passed. Lifting her hands, he kissed each one. Tears welled in her eyes. She was not ready. He could not go. Not now. Not yet.

And then he turned, opened the door and was ushered into the company of the Praetorian Guard.

As horses’ hooves struck the ground, Ademeni bolted outside, catching only a glimpse of him in a cloud of dust.

Lucia and Flora caught her before she fell, heartbroken, into the road. Hurrying her back inside, they tried and failed to get her to eat.

Finally, Lucia waved Flora away, and the two women sat alone in the large kitchen. Lucia’s first words pierced the fog of loss that shrouded Ademeni.

“I know Marcus has freed you.”

That gift seemed such a trivial matter now that his life lay in the balance. At least she lived. Now, she had no home to return to, no family to commiserate with.

“Drusilla has freed Lilah as well—or she will this very morning.”

This small spark of comfort and hope made Ademeni ask, “What should I do?”

Lucia shook her head. “Your duties and mine are now divergent. I must go into Rome and offer my testimony to help Marcus. Drusilla is going with me. If you hurry and pack a few things, you may come with me and collect your sister. She may give you better advice than an old woman like me.”

“Who will stay with Callia?”

With a wry smile, Lucia patted her hand. “Callia has already been sent to a safer place. She will survive no matter what occurs today. As will you.”

Fresh anguish washed over her at the thought of never seeing the laughing little girl again. Callia had been first into her heart. She did not know how she would survive another round of loss.

Lucia spurred her on. “Hurry now, we must leave soon or we will lose our chance.”

Ademeni rushed to dress, and placed what few possessions she cherished in a pack she could sling over her shoulder. She met Lucia at the door, and the matron pressed a small purse of coins into her hand along with a small dagger, made for a woman’s hand. With no further words, the pair slid like shadows into the morning bustle with their heads covered. Darting through the side streets, they entered Drusilla’s home by the servant’s entrance, in case Tertullian had not yet left.

With one foot over the threshold, Ademeni found herself wrapped in her sister’s embrace. The two women wept and comforted each other while Lucia slipped away to find Drusilla.

“We are free.” Lilah held up her papers. “We can go home.”

As much as the thought of home pulled on Ademeni, she’d accepted that they could never return to the same world from which they’d been torn. She frowned and slipped away from her sister, hesitant to point out how much things had changed.

“What is it?” Lilah asked, her tone more timid.

“Don’t you understand what’s happening?”

“Of course, but it is nothing to me. If Tertullian wins his case, I do not want to be here when he comes home and finds out what his wife has done. He will destroy my papers and I will never be free.”

Ademeni groaned, pulled again in two directions. Lilah needed to leave Rome. Perhaps she could convince her sister to watch and wait in a safe place. If fate swung in Tertullian’s favor, they could leave at a moment’s notice.

Lilah blanched at the idea. “The rumors are true—you are in love with him!”

“Yes,” Ademeni admitted. “He is not like Tertullian. You were not there with me to know his heart. I will not make you stay, but do not ask me to leave.”

She gasped. “You’re the only family I have.”

“Then don’t make me choose.”

The statement settled between them. Lilah spoke after long moments of silent thought. “You truly love this man? How can such a thing be?”

“I’ve often wished he and I had been placed together in a different situation, but this is where we were led. He is a good man, a victim of Tertullian’s crude ambition, just as you. He has treated me well.”

“And he loves you?”

“Yes.” Ademeni breathed her answer, certain for the first time that he did. “I must wait and see whether he will live or die.”

“And then what?”

“Either way, I am free to do as I please,” she appeased her sister. “But I must know what happens to him tomorrow.”

Another long pause blanketed the room while Ademeni waited for Lilah’s answer. One day, nothing more.

“I will stay with you, but I promise nothing.”

Ademeni smiled. Her sister had become stronger for her pain, more willful. “Agreed. But we must not stay in this place, no matter which way the wind blows.”

“Then where?” Lilah asked.

Ademeni had but one answer. “Into Rome.”

Marcus paced the length of Trajan’s antechamber at the Circus Maximus under the watchful eye of a young member of the Praetorian Guard. Every few moments, a cheer rose from the crowd that had flooded the stadium at dawn for the opening of the day’s games.

The noise buffeted his thoughts. Soon, he might find himself center-stage, the focus of spectacle.

And where was his accuser at this moment? Did he wait in another room much like this? Did he feel confident that the gods would bless his deceit? Or did his breath become shallow and his hands clammy? How far back did Tertullian’s treachery reach?

Marcus wished for a weapon. He’d protected this bastard. Too many times to count, he’d allowed Tertullian to hide in his long shadow, or bask in his glory.

He now felt certain he’d been played all along. Even the marriage to Drusilla seemed contrived in light of recent events. They’d had no children, for which his sister took the blame, yet if she was an expendable asset, children would only hinder Tertullian’s upward movement.

Such speculation left a bitter taste in his mouth. At the next cheer from the crowd, Marcus paused and stared through the only small opening in the room.

He grimaced at the scene. Rome had become unrecognizable. As a boy, he’d learned about the nobleness of Rome, had been shaped for service in his lessons. The history of strong, fearless leaders fueled his desire to become like them.

But he did not like what his eyes beheld. A different side of history. The story of a people who had built an empire on the backs of others. Men who had turned on one another to gain power—only to do nothing good with that power. Did the deeds of a few good men truly extinguish the stench of the useless?

The crowd roared as Trajan entered the stadium and took his seat. He looked different to Marcus. More human and weak. Only the gods knew if he was smart enough to see through lies to the true threat in his army.

Trajan offered a few choice words, waved his hands and declared the games open. The trumpet blasted and the mob surged in their seats. Marcus’s stomach lurched. The clamor about gladiatorial games had never interested Marcus, but these one hundred days of death and dismemberment actually repelled him.

Marcus forced the tension from his posture as he turned from the window. No amount of worry could make time pass more quickly or change the slant of fate. Hours would pass before he gained an audience with the emperor. He didn’t want to spend those moments focused on things over which he had no control.

Instead, he thought of Callia, recalled her contagious laughter as she would run through the house. If this storm passed by, he would see that his daughter was well schooled. He would see that his days away from his family were few. He’d already missed too much.

Next, he thought of Ademeni, how she’d made her mark on him from the first, and how deep that mark had cut. How ironic that she would be both the tool to bring him to this moment of judgment, and his inspiration for seeing his way clear of this trial.

He had to return to her. He needed her in his life, in Callia’s life. The gods had forced his hand to let her go, but he would have freed her regardless. To cage a spirit such as hers did a disservice to the world.

Finding his way to the uncomfortable bench that served as both chair and bed, Marcus sat and readied for the long wait. A smile lingered on his lips, and calm stole over his soul. No matter what happened today, he had done the right things. He had lived well, served Rome and its emperor, and fulfilled his duties to the best of his abilities. And he had loved well. If that love cost him his life, it was but a small price to pay.

* * *

Ademeni and Lilah, hands linked, ebbed and flowed through the snarled streets of Rome. The level of noise made conversation impossible, and the sheer number of people raised the stench to an almost unbearable level.

As they jostled from one side of the street to the other, Ademeni paid careful attention to the landmarks. Lilah had never been allowed into the city. It would not serve them well to get lost today. They could not become separated.

“Look.” Lilah squeezed her fingers, and Ademeni turned to see where she pointed.

A large venue stretched before them. They’d been carried through the maze by the throng coming to the Circus Maximus. This place had been empty every time Ademeni had passed by, but now the population flowed inside like a river. The scene stole her breath. The venue had come alive, full of movement and noise and color, leaving her immobile.

Lilah pressed against her shoulder. “Should we go inside?”

A shiver passed over Ademeni despite the oppressive heat. Inside, her countrymen died. Surely Trajan would not make a public display of the issue between Marcus and Tertullian. But, if he did, she did not want to hide from it.

She gave a quick nod, and the women headed for the nearest entrance. As they stepped forward, a scowling soldier barred them with his spear.

“Women’s entrance is on the other side.”

Averting her eyes, Ademeni dragged her sister around the perimeter of the great stadium. The flow of humanity did not cease to amaze her as they weaved through the masses and arrived at the proper entrance.

They had no problem entering through the correct gate and were directed upward, toward the empty seats for commoners. As they climbed, a huge cheer erupted from the crowd.

“Hail Caesar!”

Ademeni pulled Lilah forward and they claimed two seats, nearer the top than the bottom. Ademeni took in the scene, spotted Trajan in his royal box over the main entrance and squeezed Lilah’s hand so hard that she yelped and pulled away.

“What is it?”

Ademeni shook her head, unable until now to grasp the full scale and might of Rome. “Our father was a brave man, but he could never have defeated an enemy with such resources.”

Wide-eyed, Lilah nodded, and they fell silent as a large man wearing a wig and purple toga stepped forward and began to speak. The crowd fell silent, and his proclamation echoed around the enclosure.

“We declare day five of the Dacian Games, hosted by our most gracious and prolific emperor, Trajan, to be open.”

Ademeni gasped. Only day five of one hundred days of celebration to mark the victory in Dacia and the relegation of her people. Nausea swept over her as she realized that most of the Dacian prisoners would be sacrificed here, where she, the daughter of the slain king, sat of her own volition.

Lilah grabbed her arm while a group of men paraded around the perimeter of the floor, tossing loaves of bread into the crowd. “Do you still want to stay where they put our people to the sword for sport?” she demanded.

As much as Ademeni did not want to stay, she could not move or close her eyes to the spectacle that followed. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of such lopsided combat. One after another, her countrymen were pulled into the spectacle to lose their lives for the glory of Rome. Some had more fight than others, but the end result did not vary.

Even through the frenzied bloodlust, Ademeni longed for Marcus. She scoured the crowd, her gaze finding one soldier after another only to realize that she was mistaken.

He could explain this carnage. He could make things right just by looking into her eyes. Surely he did not approve or participate in such mindless games.

Her frown strengthened. Tertullian did participate and had dragged Marcus into this putrid mix of dirt and blood. Even if that dog won his case, he’d be covered with the stench of innocent blood.

“How long must we sit and wait?” Lilah squeezed her sister’s arm. “I knew that man’s wife and children.”

Ademeni bit her lip. She understood the urge to flee. Her nerves sat ready to push her from the arena, but she forced herself to breathe, and to wait. If Trajan had already rendered his judgment, Marcus could be brought through the gate next. Or he could be held until the end of the day for maximum effect.

She turned to Lilah and pressed the bag of gold coins into her hands. “I understand if you must go. You can take all I have with you, and I will tell you the best way to leave the city.”

Her sister’s eyes widened. “You’re not coming with me?”

Shaking her head, Ademeni answered, “I can’t. Not yet.”

With her countenance hardening, Lilah let loose of Ademeni. “You have forgotten who you are.”

But Ademeni didn’t think so, and slid the dagger into Lilah’s hand. “I do not have to be in Dacia to be Dacian. If you must see for yourself that nothing remains, then go and see. But I can look around me and know there is nothing to go back to.”

Lilah rose from her seat, anger flashing in her eyes. “At least I’m willing to try.”

When Ademeni did not follow suit, Lilah shook her head and stepped away. “May the gods forgive you, sister.”

Ademeni blessed her in return, through a flood of tears. “May the gods go with you. May we find one another again, in this life or the next.”

Once decided, Lilah did not turn back. Ademeni’s heart sank. She hoped her sister had enough smarts—and gold—to reach the destination she had in mind. She followed Lilah’s shadow until it disappeared into a swarm of others.

As she forced her attention back to the games, guilt and pride for her country battled her love for Marcus. She understood that, by the end of the day, she might well follow in her sister’s footsteps. In the event Marcus was killed, nothing in Rome could compel her to stay.

Only one man meant anything to her future, and if she could will him to fight for his life—a life with her—she would stay to the very end.

* * *

“The emperor is ready to see you.”

The clipped announcement jarred Marcus from a state of worried half-slumber. How had he fallen asleep? A glance into the stadium showed a declining sun.

He’d been in this room all day.

Blood rushing through his veins, he pulled himself to his feet. Straightening his uniform, he took a deep breath in an attempt to pull his scattered thoughts together.

Nodding to his guard, he stepped forward and followed the soldier through the doorway into a narrow, darkening hallway. The smell of death, blood and sweat from the arena permeated the close quarters.

As they edged toward Trajan’s receiving room, Marcus heard bits of conversation. From soft whispers that skittered up his spine to louder, more boisterous outbursts that seemed out of place for the business at hand.

They stopped outside a set of ornate, gold-gilded doors. Panic produced an acidic taste in the back of his throat akin to waking the morning of a battle. Except he felt unprepared for this battle, his arguments and logic fleeing his mind when he needed to grasp them most.

The guard hammered on the door with the hilt of his sword. Brought to attention, Marcus swallowed, clenching and opening his fists. He willed his mind to work with whatever fate handed him next.

Gods give me a quick mind to go with the love with which they have blessed my house.

The doors swung wide in unison, revealing a blinding gold splendor rivaled by few in the known world. Marcus saw through it to the man on the throne at the opposite end of the room.

Just a man, not a god. He’d seen Trajan bleed, once upon a time.

“General Marcus Decimas Cordovis.”

The announcement of his presence gave Marcus a jolt of confidence. No matter who he might be after this meeting, for now, he was one of the best military men in the mightiest empire the world had ever known.

As the guard backed away, Marcus got a better look at his emperor. He seemed tired. Perhaps, with the games, it had been too long a day. Trajan lifted heavy-lidded eyes and narrowed them on his once-favored general. A smile played over his lips.

“Come.” He motioned Marcus forward with a motion of his bejeweled right hand.

While walking the center aisle, Marcus scanned the room. Had Tertullian already been here, or was he yet to tell his side of the story? They were virtually alone—only a handful of robed advisors sat nearby.

When Marcus reached Trajan’s throne, he knelt on one knee and lowered his head, as protocol dictated.

After an elongated moment, Trajan said, “Rise, and face your emperor.”

Marcus did so and found the face of Trajan to be unreadable. This did not bode well. He’d always been able to discern where he stood in moments like these. Perhaps because he’d never given Trajan any cause to doubt his loyalty.

Marcus lifted his chin. He had given no cause for offense.

“I have heard the case against you,” Trajan began in a soft voice, void of expression as well. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Marcus frowned. “What, exactly, is the case against me, my lord? Let the matter be clear, so I may rightly defend myself.”

Trajan raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “There are assertions that you have become a separatist. That your loyalty to Rome has been turned.”

“Assertions by whom? And turned by what?” he pressed.

Trajan paused, as if these things should already be clear. “These accusations are made by your second in command, Tertullian. Is he not also married to your sister?”

Marcus nodded, the thought now making him ill. “And why does he say I am no longer your loyal servant?”

“He says you took a Dacian slave—a headstrong girl who was the daughter of the defeated king.”

Again, Marcus nodded. “Tertullian himself gifted me with this slave, my lord, and took also her sister for a slave in his own house.”

“Did he?” Trajan straightened. “And did he fall in love with his princess as well?”

“No.” Marcus winced. “To the contrary. He seemed to rather enjoy her pain.”

“Do you deny your feelings for this…slave?”

“No,” Marcus answered, freed by hearing the sentiment said aloud. “Should I?”

Trajan did not respond.

“Tertullian has been on a short leash with me since the midpoint of the campaign. He is unwise in his decisions and acts impulsively, as my recent petition for change of rank indicates. I believe him responsible for the death of King Decebalus when we might well have captured him alive. I did not ask Tertullian to leave this woman in my house.”