The Gladiator Prince (7 page)

Two Nubian women sailed through the water toward Thane as another three distracted the guards.

“My sire,” called the tall one at the lead. She had skin the color of burnt coal and eyes like honey. Thane found the combination compelling. The friend gliding forward with her was equally attractive. He had never been with an
Afrikan
.

When they got nearer, the first one stopped and pulled the second one to her side running her hand under the other woman’s breasts one at a time. “This one, my prince,” she claimed, her accent heavy but arresting. “Her name is Adama, and she desire to pierce herself on your belly. A virgin.” Startling white teeth shone from the younger one as she smiled then covered it up with a shy hand. “She my sister, sire. She take your seed and have a beautiful man child.”

“You are very beautiful,” he said to the sister, “but…”

“She not speak Latin, sire. But I will tell her.”

“Well, tell her she is lovely and will make beautiful children someday with a man. I am not that man.”

“But, sire,” the first one said, “we will both lay with you and give you beautiful sons.”

Delius had managed to disentangle himself from the other women and came over to fulfill his function. “All right, ladies. Off you go. The Prince needs his privacy.”

Just then, a loud voice called for order, and two Roman soldiers appeared on the marble deck above the baths sending the women scattering and diving to cover their nakedness. Thane never understood this habit amongst their own kind. They never dove when the gladiators came to the baths… quite the contrary.

“You ladies will have to leave the bathhouse.” The soldier’s voice shifted through the steamy air echoing loudly against the marble pillars. “By order of the procurator. All of you out.”

A general trumpeting of disappointment or anger drowned out the man’s voice. Thane would not have given the two of them a single chance against that mob. The other soldier pulled his sword and leveled a stern frown at them. “If we have to, your husbands and fathers can be called to get you out.”

That did it. The women, though still protesting, moved swiftly to the edges of the bath and disappeared into the catacombs towards the dressing areas.

Thane was moving to the edge of the pool as well, but the soldier with the sword pointed the tip at the two guards. “You and you may wait outside for the gladiator. We will see to it he does not wander.”

Confused, but not inclined to argue with the tip of the
gladius
, the two guards got out, took up their clothes and scrambled through the door, both shooting glances back at Thane.

Moving to the edge of the pool, Thane called up to one of the soldiers. “What is this about?” A strangling apprehension settled on his shoulders. Something was wrong. “I am the property of Abella.”

The two guards ignored him and went to a dark entrance at the back of the bath. There, standing in the shadows, stood a woman enveloped in a heavy cloak. She spoke with them briefly, and Thane knew there was some argument, but apparently, she won it, for they both turned on their heels and left her alone in the bath.

Another woman
. This had to be yet another of Abella’s
elite
. She must have been wealthy indeed to get him alone in the bath with the fine wives of citizens chased out by two Roman soldiers.

The light was very dim in the bath, so he could not make out her features as she moved to him. Her gait seemed oddly heavy, as if she carried something. The steam now released from all the commotion rose thickly around him, and he could not see her face when she stopped next to him and slid her cloak and tunic to the floor, but he could see why she walked with such a burden. It looked as if the child she carried would be there at any moment.

As she slid down the stairs into the bath, Thane caught a glimpse of auburn hair and bright blue eyes. A Brit? It would have been very unusual for a Briton woman to wish to lay with him even if she was not carrying a child. However, Thane had had enough for one day.

“Forgive me, mistress,” he said as she glided through the water toward him, “but I have fought and trained all day and lain with two women. I am afraid I do not have the strength to satisfy you tonight. Perhaps tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow it will be too late, cousin.” The face that materialized out of the steam smiled at him with mischievous glee. “Besides, I have heard that it would take more than two women to satisfy the great Gladiator Prince. Perhaps six or seven…”

“Your majesty.” Thane immediately lowered his eyes before her, and she lifted her hand to touch his face.

“Quiet now. I have much to tell you, and we have no time. Are those the only guards?”

“Yes,” Thane spouted, “but what are you doing here, Delia. You are in mortal danger. If they knew you had left
Corieltauvi
with Marius gone to Asia, they would take you and hold you ransom… or worse. I have heard the new governor is not a friend to you or Marius. You are risking too much for me,” he added angrily motioning to her swollen belly. “I have told you before this is not your concern. I accepted my fate for the sake of my children. Please do not try to…”

Delia placed her fingers gently on his lips to stop him, and creases marred her smooth brow. She felt warm and comforting. It was the first time a Briton woman had touched him in four years. It was Delia’s hand then as well.

“Shhh,” she hissed, glancing over her shoulder at her two soldiers on the other side of the bath. “Touch me as you would a lover, Thane. They must not know why I have come. As far as they are concerned I am nothing more than another of your…admirers.” She reached up gently and put her slender hands on his shoulders. “A kiss I will give to my cousin.” Pulling his face toward her, Delia laid her lips gently on his with a small kiss then drew him into her arms.

Whispering into his ear, she said, “Would that I was not the one to bring you this news.” When she leaned back to see him, tears danced in her eyes. “Bandit slavers invaded the
Corieltauvi
villages in the east and captured many.” Her voiced stopped as she searched his eyes. “Anwen and Mabyn were among them.”

All the strength went out of Thane’s knees at once and he staggered back, but Delia’s nails dug into his arms, and her glare warned him to be strong.

“When?” he breathed.

“Three days ago. They were loaded into a ship headed for Rome yesterday. We reached them too late.” The regret in her voice was heavy.

“By the gods.” Anger burned away his fleeting moment of weakness, and his blood boiled. “I will make them pay for…”

“Listen to me.” Delia put her face before his. “My people are in Asia, and I cannot travel… the child will be here any moment now.” She touched his arm. “I have found a man, a Greek medico named Adrastos who will help you, but you must be weary. He is a Roman deserter, and I do not trust him, but he is the only one who can get you on that ship.”

“What ship?” Thane asked. His head throbbed to the quickened rhythm of his own heart, making his chest tight. He thought his heart would burst.

“The Opulens sails for Rome in three days. The medico can get you on board and guide you through Rome. He will watch for you tomorrow night on the Iter III road, but you must be alone.”

He grabbed both her arms and squeezed her. “My girls, Delia! Where are they? Who has them?”

When she grimaced in pain, Thane let her go. “I do not know, Thane. I have sent letters to Seneca and Afranius, but I do not think they are still in Rome. It is said Nero is mad; many have fled. Seneca fears for his own life. It may be months before I can reach them.” Spattered tears fell from her lashes. “Once there, only the gods can help you, I am afraid. I can do nothing more for you, save this.” She swayed over to the pile of clothes and pulled out a leather bag. “It is gold, all that I have,” she said pressing the bag into his hand. “Will you be on the road?”

He stood back from her. “Tell this Greek I will meet him tomorrow night outside of Londinium on the
Iter III
.”

Delia leaned in to kiss him again and was out of the water in a flash. She donned her clothes, imparted one last look and disappeared into the steam and out into the night, the soldiers following close behind her.

Thane pulled himself out of the water, numb from the news and called for his guards. Tying the bag inside his loincloth, he strapped the material over his hips. A small sound, like the coo of a bird echoed against the tiles from behind one of the pillars. Now on alert, he sprinted to the pillar and looked behind it. It was as vacant as the rest of the bathhouse. The two guards rushed to him, and he held up his arms to them. They shackled him and led him out to the chill of the night.

Chapter VII

Phaedra had stopped breathing when Thane almost discovered her, but the shadows and steam in the echoing bath had hidden her well. She watched them lead Thane out of the house and counted to one hundred before she dared to move.

Once outside, the cool air sent shivers over her exposed arms, but she did not care. Phaedra rushed towards her father’s compound, glancing back over her shoulder, expecting to see the two Roman soldiers or the mysterious Briton woman who had kissed him.

A kiss I will give to my cousin.

Phaedra knew the woman must be Delia, Queen of the
Corieltauvi
, but it was impossible. Everyone knew she stayed on her land where she was safe from threats to her life, surrounded by her warriors and a Roman century ordered there by Afranius himself.

Phaedra knew the story well; the Briton Queen had dared to marry a Roman Centurion after the Boudiga revolts. The Romans hated her for turning the legendary Marius against them, though no one could prove that she ever did. Phaedra’s father told her that many of the Briton tribes hated Delia for marrying a Roman, though stories of Marius’ courage in helping to liberate the scattered tribes were sung around every Briton fire. They were only stories in Phaedra’s sheltered eyes. How could that oaf Thane know them? Yet she had heard it herself.

To make matters worse, Thane had daughters. No one knew that. He had sworn to Nero himself that he had no offspring. They would crucify him for that lie.

The knowledge of that was overwhelming, and Phaedra’s head began to spin.

The streets were largely deserted, but singing and merriment came out of many doors as she flew pass. The muddy ground slopped up her legs, making them ice cold, and her tunic was little protection when it began to rain.

With this information, she could easily exact her revenge against the man who had humiliated her. It should have thrilled her to the bone and set her dancing in the streets. But it did not.

Golden torchlight flickered through the sparse bushes that outlined her father’s house as she approached. When she spotted them, she slowed down then stopped. What was she going to tell him?

Phaedra made herself move in the darkness toward the lights, taking time to catch her breath and her desires.

She wanted Thane punished, right? Yes, yes she did, her inner voice told her but with little conviction. Why was she not excited at the prospect?

Stopping again, she stared at the compound and knew why. If her father knew what had transpired in the bathhouse, they would hunt down Thane’s children, slay them before his eyes then crucify him.

A deep chill rushed through her neck. Would her father do that?

Down to the very morrow of her bones, Phaedra knew the answer; of course he would. No one betrayed Abella and got away with it. It is why she kept Bahar’s secret so close… it was why he must never know about the vow to her nurse Althea.

Suddenly all the petty reasons, all the childish anger leaked out of her like honey from a comb. She could never betray Thane, not in her wildest imaginings. It confused her, but made the commitment no less compelling.

Setting her jaw, she walked quickly. She decided that she would say nothing to Abella and wished to the gods that Hasani would find her pleasing. In the aftermath of Thane’s seduction, that prospect did not seem as appealing as it had.

When she reached the back wall of the house, music chimed from the banquet room and Phaedra knew the men feasted to the upcoming nuptials. Peaking from behind some bushes, she spotted Agatha, the head slave, outside sweeping out the only entrance. Phaedra watched until the woman disappeared into the house. She then quietly crossed to the door.

Looking both ways, she stepped cautiously into the atrium and found it empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, she dashed up a wide staircase then into her
cubiculum
.

Someone had lit the fire, and several lamps hung along the wall, making it a welcome place. Pulling the curtain tight, she stripped off the thoroughly soiled tunic and scoured her skin from the basin on her vanity. When she hauled her legs up and examined them in the bronze mirror, she saw a disaster of scrapes. Deep bruises marred the delicate white flesh of her arms where the Iberian had squeezed her. It took her forever to get the tangles out of her hair.

Half an hour later, scrubbed, dressed in a warm nightgown and her hair brushed, she sat on a bench next to the balustrade of her balcony, with her head leaning against the wall, listening to the rain pelting down in worn puddles in the gardens. The air smelled of washed foliage and musk. The quiet music from somewhere deep in the house mingled with the spatter of rain lulled her, and she came to a final decision. She would marry Hasani, make him a perfect wife, take Bahar with them to Egypt and there, live as a queen. She would have many happy fat babies, beautiful dresses, servants to grant her deepest wishes, and warm desert nights serenaded by Greek and Egyptian musicians.