The Gladiator Prince (13 page)

He had himself so worked up he did not see Thane coming behind him, choosing instead to swing the staff from his sitting position wildly over his head. The ox was braying loudly, and both Phaedra and Bahar added their own shouts into the confusion.

Thane barreled into the melee and raised both hands. “Quiet!” he bellowed and every sound came to a crashing halt. The Greek turned quickly, the staff still twirling haphazardly above his head. Without warning the heavy end caught Thane squarely on the scrotum.

The world faded instantly into a blackened fit of torture. Thane could feel his knees sinking irresistibly to the road, could hear the groaning exclaimed, “Ooo…” from Adrastos. He had not thought to put on the
balteus
he always wore in the
ludus
and in the arena. He had endured worse pain, but just.

In the midst of his anguish, Phaedra’s soothing warm hands touched his face, taking his mind off the throbbing misery in his groin. When he opened his eyes to slits, wondering if the pain would ever go away, her deep gaze framed by a knitted brow cut into his pride.

He pushed her hands away, taking a deep breath and forced himself to rise. It took him a while to get to full stance. Squeezing his hips with his hands, he stared down at the road, willing the tears back into his eyes. Heat suffused his face from the strain. As the pain subsided, he glared at the Greek who was still sitting. The strange fat man with the farcical face had put the staff behind his back. It was scarcely hidden.

Something came over Thane then that he had not experienced since before his portentous journey to
Boudiga’s
battlefield four years before. Laughter crawled up his throat, as foreign to his body as freedom was to his mind. He fought the desire, but it bested him.

A great blasting sound came out of his mouth and they all jumped, which only added fire to the volley. Another laugh joined the first, giving it depth and desire, then more tumbled out into the pre-dawn Roman road until Thane double over in mirth. Contagious, the others began to laugh as well. He had never passed from pain to pleasure so quickly.

When it subsided, he grabbed the staff out of the Greek’s hands and threw it to Bahar, who fumbled with it before getting it under control.

The chatter of birds heralded the light of day peaking over the trees to the east, brightening the road. It caught Adrastos’ grimace when he shot a frown at Phaedra and Bahar. “You should have come alone,” he whined. “Who are these…people you bring?” He swung his head back to Thane and struggled to get up. “A woman! You brought a woman.”

Thane grabbed the Greek’s hand and pulled him to his feet. He was surprised at his size; Adrastos seemed several inches taller and broader than the night before.

“It cannot be helped,” Thane said and brushed his hands.

The Greek turned his good eye toward Phaedra and Bahar, adjusting his robes. “They are children, Prince. They will hinder us. Send them back home.”

A muscle tightened under Thane’s jaw. “They go with us and that is final!” he said, unable to hold back his irritation.

“Final, is it?” Adrastos bellowed raising his hands. “You were instructed to come alone, yet you bring others, strangers, children! You throw out my wine, deny me my one pleasure, and now you propose to order me around in my own wagon?” He balled his hands into fists and Thane snorted a laugh.

“Are you going to fight me, old man?”

“I have fought better than you, Brit!” He crouched down low and circled with his fists tense at this chest.

Thane put his hands on his hips, lost as to what to do. He did not want to fight the man; indeed, he was angry with himself for provoking the Greek, knowing that lack of sleep had made him testy, losing his control. “Adrastos, I am…”

“Save the banter, Brit! Are you man enough to take me?”

“I do not wish to…”

“Coward!” he chortled. “Like all Brits.”

That sent a spark of anger through Thane as he watched the man circle around him. Perhaps a good beating would teach the Greek humility and respect. “It is the Greeks who are the cowards,” he shot back. “Otherwise, they would have repelled the Romans. Are you a slave like most Greeks?”

Adrastos pulled a bushel of air into his lungs and straightened his shoulders. “You will pay for those words!” He lunged forward, and Thane jumped out of the way easily sending the Greek stumbling across the road. He whirled around, and his one good eye gleamed in the brightening dawn. “Hold still, mongrel prince,” he growled. “You fight like a dog.”

Thane had had enough and charged at the Greek. Before he reached him, there was suddenly something small and soft between them. He could not stop in time and barreled ahead, pushing her into the waiting arms of Adrastos, where she smacked against his chest.

“Stop!” Phaedra stiffened her arms until she was wedged between them. “Stop it now!”

Both men gave up the battle and took a step back. Throwing an angry glance first at Thane then at Adrastos, she lowered his arms and softened her face.

“Forgive us, Grandfather,” she said to the Greek. “We do not travel with the prince willingly; our lives are in grave danger, and we had no one else we could turn to.” She glanced at Bahar who was, wisely, staying out of the way. “My name is Phaedra, and this is my brother Bahar. We travel only to the docks then need no further escort.” She folded her hands together and turned to Adrastos. Thane had not seen penitence in her face before, and it pulled at his heart. “We beg you; please do not abandon us. The gladiator had no other choice… and neither have we.”

Adrastos pursed his lips and pushed out his chest, a small smile starting at the corners of his mouth. “A more gracious plea I have not heard in many long years. Forgive me, young lady,” he added with a bow that seemed a strain on his broad middle. “I have misjudged the prince, apparently.” He narrowed his eye and stroked the long beard. “I will take you both for a fee.”

“I have your fee here, Adrastos,” Thane growled angrily, getting between them.

“And I will take it, gladiator,” he snapped back. “However, this is one fee that only the lady can pay.”

Fury charged through Thane, and he lifted his arm protectively to shield Phaedra. “You will get no other fee.”

“I think that is for me to decide, gladiator,” Phaedra said at his back, her voice stringent. He turned around to glare at her, but she ignored it and crossed to the Greek.

Lifting her chin to the man that towered over her head, she dared him with her eyes. “Name your price.”

Thane opened his mouth, but clamped off the irate words, folding his arms instead, releasing her to her own fate.

The Greek’s one eye sparkled and the wrinkles in his face widened beneath the bushy beard. “A kiss,” he said quietly.

Thane and Phaedra both stared at him. “What?” Phaedra asked.

The giant nodded slowly. “A simple kiss. That is all. Without it, you will turn around and go back to wherever you came.”

Bahar joined his sister and put his body in front of her protectively. “You will have my sword instead,” he growled up at him.

“Bahar,” Phaedra said softly, “please.” He tightened his lips, and Phaedra took a step closer to the Greek. “A kiss? Only this?”

“Yes, my lady. Only that.” He smiled down at her, and she glanced back at Bahar and Thane. Thane could not read the expression on her face, a mix of fear, sadness and yet a quiet surrender. He had never wanted to protect her more.

When she gave Adrastos a small nod, Thane found himself moving to her rescue. Lifting a small hand, she stopped him, shaking her head. He stopped next to Bahar.

With a loud laugh, Adrastos swept her up in his arms and squeezed her to his chest. She seemed no larger than a child next to him, and Thane watched her close her eyes. Her delicate white hands peeked from the cloak to touch the massive arms surrounding her waist and she tilted her head back to receive his lips. Thane’s heart pounded in his chest, and his throat tightened as jealousy consumed him, but he did not move.

The Greek bent down to her fragile face and placed his thick lips tenderly on her forehead, where he placed a fatherly kiss then let her go. Phaedra’s mouth opened, and her eyes widened.

“A kiss I requested,” he said gently to the girl, “and a kiss I received.” The smile broadened. “I have not seen such courage in soldiers on the field, my lady.” He bowed again and lowered his head. “I would be delighted to escort you wherever you wish.” While still bowed, he glanced up at Thane. “Unlike some, I know bravery when I see it.”

Thane turned away from them and crossed to the wagon. “We will stay in the woods until nightfall,” he mumbled. “Bahar, gather the packs and follow me.”

Without another word, he strode into the woods, not caring if they followed.

Chapter XIII

Phaedra sat on one of the horse blankets, her arms around her tucked up knees, listening to the insects buzzing through the dark air around her. They had made camp; thrown together bed rolls behind Adrastos’ wagon with a small fire to heat a meager meal. Thane had said less than ten words since they found the clearing next to a trail. He told them Brits often used it since the Romans were not aware of its existence. They would travel it the next day as the
Iter III
went by a large way station with a Roman guardhouse and a public tavern, where their identity would be questioned. In Londinium, they could bunk at the house owned by a Gaul he knew. Then he had grabbed his blanket and stomped from the fire to go on the other side of the wagon, staying in front, he said, in case of problems.

Watching the fire, Phaedra’s eyes became heavy, and she must have dozed off because the next thing she knew Bahar was touching her shoulder. She woke up to stare at Adrastos sitting across the fire from her.

Bahar handed her a wooden bowl filled with such amazing aromas she had to breath deep. Taking a spoonful, she touched it carefully to her tongue. A rich savory explosion went off in her mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She lifted her eyes to the Greek who was smiling.

“It is one thing I do very well,” he bellowed light heartedly lifting an index finger. “A lifetime living out of doors and an intimate knowledge of herbs has taught me much about cooking.” When he reached over to fill his own bowl from the pot that rested next to the fire, Phaedra saw something on his neck when his tunic moved. It startled her, and she stopped eating.

“You have something on your neck,” she whispered. Bahar lowered his own spoon and stared when Adrastos pulled the cloth down to give both of them a good look.

“Yes,” he said lightly, “the mark of the medico legion.”

Apprehension made a knot in Phaedra’s belly. “Are you… are you a deserter then?”

A great thunder of laughter rolled from his massive chest, and he banged a hand against one knee, almost tipping over the bowl. “Me? A deserter?” he said when he had control of his chortles. “Perhaps, my lady… and more.” He gave her a sparkling eye and spooned another bite into his mouth. “Have you never heard of me?”

She furrowed her brow and glanced at Bahar. “No,” she said shaking her head. “Should I have?”

“Perhaps you have lived a sheltered life. I thought everyone had heard of the traitor medico.”

Her mouth opened, and Bahar gasped at her side. “You?” she said incredulously.

“Yes, my lady. Me.”

“But, he died,” exclaimed Bahar. “Two years ago… killed by the elite of the ninth.”

Another peel of laughter trumpeted from his mouth. “Or so it is said. Would you two like to hear the story?”

They both nodded, and he put down his bowl. Lifting his hands he said, “Do you imagine these swollen hams could thread an Egyptian needle without fumbling?”

Phaedra and Bahar looked at each other then back to him.

“Well they could,” he said. “I was the finest surgeon in the Roman legions when I was a young man.” His smile melted from his face, and Phaedra watched a kind of sadness fill his eyes and sink his cheeks. Letting his hands drop into his lap, he stared at the fire. “It is true. A medico five times honored for his skill, twice by Claudius himself and once by Nero at the gates of Rome to the cheers of thousands.” He rubbed his lips and pulled on his beard. “That was a long time ago.”

Thane had given him a small decanter of wine earlier, and he tilted it back to his face, drinking the last of the contents. Putting it on the ground with a sigh, he laced his fingers on top of his belly and closed his eyes. With a rumble, he cleared his throat and continued.

“It was the summer of forty-three. We had braved the rough seas to land on this island, but when we arrived, the Chieftain Caratacus resisted our advance,” he stated in a low bass thunder. “Most of us had never seen men fight as the Brits do; attacking in small skirmishes then disappearing and taking stragglers from behind as we marched. It was maddening, and we could not get purchase against them.

“Then, two weeks into the island, we had finally faced the Brits in the light of day.” He opened his eyes and turned the good one to Bahar, curling the heavy lips up. “They were in the thousands, naked except for blue paint and an unmatched assortment of weapons, outnumbering us at least ten to one. Despite that, the warrior Brits were no match for the phalanx. We brought them down within an hour of dawn, sending the ragtag few that remained off in all directions.”