Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

LUCIUS

Sweat trickled down Lucius’s back, snaking between his shoulder
blades and pooling along the crease of his belt. The steel sword Tullio had
thrust into his hand felt like a hundred knives, heavy and dangerous. Across
from him was Felix, his stance uncertain, his blue eyes narrow and runny.

A crowd had gathered—the men of the school, old and new, and
spectators from neighboring towns grouping together in the stands—a primal
instinct drawing them, sensing that blood was about to be shed. They began to
chant, fight-fight-fight!

Lucius moved his feet circling Felix in an awkward dance. He’d
never killed a man. He remembered the beast he’d stabbed the day before, how it
felt to thrust his spear into its flesh— the sickly gurgle as air oozed from
its lungs, its final shudder.

Could he do that to this man?

Even if he did, he wouldn’t be safe. He’d just be called to
fight again. To kill again. And again. Someone’s death in exchange for his
life.

A blistering pain seared his shoulders—he arched back, crying
out in pain.

“Fight you imbecile!” Cedric shouted, his face red with fury.
His arm held the whip that was raised as a threat. “Or I will beat you to a
pulp and you’ll wish to the gods you had.”

The crowds roared with approval. Young blood with the benefit
of agility and vitality versus the strength and experience of an old work
horse.

Felix raised his sword. Lucius countered, the clash of the
steel blades rang in his ears.

“Kill him, Felix!” Titus shouted, even as he struggled to free
himself from the guards. “Kill him!”

Another strike. The energy of the blow vibrated through
Lucius’s whole body. The sun baked down mercilessly; Lucius used his free arm
to wipe his brow.

Perhaps he should let this old man kill him. Should he give
himself over to the underworld now, and let the man live?

Until Felix was called on to fight another man, someone more
ruthless than he.

Death was every man’s destiny.

The tip of the old man’s sword was at his throat so fast. How
did that happen? The sharpened tip poked the skin of his neck. He felt the
prick of pain and the flow of blood trickling down. So this was it; this was
his day to die.

Felix leaned his head in and whispered fiercely, “Fight me!”

“Why? We are all bound to die.”

“But not all of us today. I am old, I’ve lived my days. I’m
begging you, Lucius. It’s my turn.”

He stepped back, leaving Lucius gasping. The crowd booed. The
chant switched from fight, fight, fight to kill him, kill him, kill him!

Cedric whipped the ground, sending up a dust cloud of sand.
“The crowd is waiting! Entertain them!”

And as if to provide incentive, he added, “The winner will
accompany my team to Carthage to participate in the games given by the emperor
in honor of his son’s birthday!”

The cheer of the crowd was deafening, but Lucius only heard one
word. Carthage. An opportunity to see his home one last time before he died
serving the emperor. And if the gods would show him a small mercy, a final
chance to see Helena before passing to the underworld.

“Felix!” he called out. “I’ll do as you wish.”

The old man nodded and raised his sword. Though they knew how
it would end, they would give these people a show.

Chapter Twenty-Three

HELENA

Helena and Felicity moved surreptitiously through the throng in
the Forum, pausing to examine the wares in the market. Their objective was to
reach the back door of the produce vendor’s home undetected. Antonius was wrapped
to Helena’s chest, and she was grateful that the motion of walking had lulled
him to sleep.

Everywhere they heard the people talking: The Emperor is coming
to Carthage! The Emperor is coming to Carthage! The news filtered down through
the ranks; from General Hilarianus to his highest-ranking officials to the
Senate, to the business community to the plebeians, rich and poor.

There was new work for everyone—the arena was to be cleaned and
prepared, animals were to be brought in from the far reaches of the kingdom,
vendors preparing enough clothing and pots and sculptured images of the deities
to sell to thousands, and food was being imported, prepared and sold to hungry
participants and observers of the games.

Posters and paintings were created to announce the holy Emperor’s
arrival, and not just Severus but his wife Julia and son Caesar Geta whose
birthday was to be celebrated in Carthage. In Carthage, bless the gods! Their
good fortune was too good to be true. Roman denarii would flow abundantly and
there would be plenty for everyone who worked hard.

Carthage would sparkle, a worthy rival to Rome.

Celebration and gaiety throbbed through the heart of the city,
pumping through her streets like blood to all her vital organs. The sensual
high was contagious and all were inflicted with anticipation for the city’s
most prestigious event in decades. Hardly a soul could wait for the day they
could venerate the royal family, and earn their favor.

“Bless the gods,” declared a familiar voice, “Is that you,
Helena?”

“Tatiana!” Helena hardly recognized her childhood friend. She
was completely transformed from their last meeting. Her naturally dark locks
were now blond and formed a small tower on her head, but curls still framed a
young and pretty face. “How are you?”

Tatiana’s eyes darted from Helena’s face to the round head of
the babe in her arms, “Well enough,” she said. “Isn’t it all so terribly
exciting, the emperor coming to Carthage. Can you image how fun the games will
be?”

“Not at all,” replied Helena.

“And this,” she said with a conspiring whisper, moving closer,
and pointing to her head, “is real hair, right from the barbarians’ heads. Can
you see all these blond wigs?” She motioned to the crowd. “They are the rage
since Julia Augusta started wearing them.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Helena. Tatiana’s attention had
reverted back to Antonius who’d begun to squirm. “You’re looking better,
Tatiana. Happier?”

“Sure.” Tatiana was transfixed, her eyes locked onto the soft
face of the child.

“Would you like to hold him?” Helena said gently.

“No!” Tatiana spat the word out like bad lard had gotten in her
the mouth.

Helena cringed. She no longer knew her friend or how to show
kindness to her.

“I’m sorry,” Helena said. “I just thought, since you were
looking at him.”

Tatiana stroked her wig. “Just a curiosity. Nothing more. I
must be off now. Can’t keep Ursus waiting,” she said mockingly. “Keep well,
Helena.”

“Keep well.”

Finally, with her shawl wrapped and tucked under her arm,
Helena and Felicity slipped through the doorway of Saturus’s home unnoticed.

Those who had arrived before them were speaking in urgent
whispers.

“Hilarianus has his men scouting the streets.”

“What are they looking for?”

“There is a shortage of victims for the games. They are after
thieves and criminals.”

“They are also looking for Christians.”

“Are you sure?”

Cassius noticed his sister’s arrival. “Oh, Helena, good, you
are here.”

“Is it true?” Helena asked. A cold fear coiled in her chest.
“We are being sought out?”

“There is talk. These are the most important games Hilarianus
has sponsored so far. He will do everything he can to impress the emperor.”

Priscilla spoke up. “What should we do?”

“We must split up,” answered her father, Saturus, “I don’t
believe it is safe to meet here anymore. It’s too central. The other house
groups in the city are planning to do the same.”

“There are a couple of abandoned buildings on the southern
border of my father’s property,” Cassius said. “It’s not much, but I think we
would be safe there. I doubt that anyone would trouble Brutus.”

“There’s also Father’s villa in Thurbo Minor,” Helena said.
“Some of us could go there.”

“Yes,” added Cassius. “Thurbo Minor would be a more comfortable
place for you and Felicity and the baby.”

“Won’t you come with me, brother?” Helena asked.

“Perhaps it is not so good for us to stay together,” he said,
hesitantly glancing at Priscilla as he spoke. “Just in case, you know, for
Brutus’s sake.”

“I see,” Helena said. She knew it was because of Priscilla and
not Brutus that Cassius wished to remain. It was no secret that Cassius and
Priscilla loved each other, and they would have been betrothed by now if it had
not been for this crisis.

“Will you send two women to Thurbo Minor alone?” Helena said.

“We will come with you,” Secundus said, “I and Revocatus.”

 “It is decided then,” Helena said. “We will leave early in the
morning, to avoid detection if possible.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

LUCIUS

It was no secret that Lucius had gained Titus’s wrath when he’d
killed Felix and it was a testament to the sadistic mind of Tullio, that he had
bound the two of them together, wrist to wrist, with iron shackles for the
voyage to Carthage.

Each gladiator in training was bound to one other, and all of
them were currently locked to special hooks attached to the circumference of
the vessel.

Less than a year had passed since Lucius had vomited his way to
Italia in his effort to rip away his affections for Helena Vibius and to find
adventure.

He scoffed inwardly. He hadn’t found freedom in adventure or
from his broken heart. When he’d come to Rome, the merchant ship’s cargo had a
belly full of amphoria filled with olive oil.

Now he and the rest of the men from the ludis were the cargo.

Lucius was glad to have retained his sea legs, hard fought for
on his original journey to Rome. He stood at the rail, with the wind on his
face, breathing comfortably of the salty air. Sea birds squalled overhead, and
the sun poked through the fog, erasing the early morning chill. He braced
himself as the ship struck the waves, riding the rolling motions effortlessly.

Titus wasn’t so fortunate. Again he hung his red head over the
rail to hurl his dinner into the sea. Lucius was grateful for his partner’s
weakened state. His life probably depended on it.

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” Lucius said.

Titus groaned. “And when I do I’m going to kill you.”

Not that he and the others hadn’t tried.

As Felix’s blood seeped into the sand, Titus raged like a wild
lion, cursing Lucius and the gods as well.

At least they had that in common.

The guards had wrestled Titus to the ground, tying his arms
firmly behind his back before escorting him to his cell.

Lucius had been left to stare at the body laying at his feet,
his sword still firmly in the man’s heart.

Cedric had ordered the other men to take the body away, but a
challenge had been served. Since that day, every man did what they could during
their training sessions to try to maim Lucius, anything short of killing him,
which Cedric had forbidden. Lucius would get his promised journey to Carthage.

Titus experienced a reprieve from his seasickness, though his
legs trembled with weakness. Their shackled condition allowed seating on the
deck only if both men sat, but their joined arms remained in the air. Lucius
had no reason to resist Titus’s inclination to sit.

Though none of the men spoke, it was noisy. The wind slapped at
the sails, sea birds squawked as they circled above the ship and the sea sloshed
loudly against the hull as the vessel sliced through the waves.

“He asked me to do it,” Lucius said. Titus tilted his head but
his eyes remained shut.

“I didn’t want to kill your uncle. I wanted him to kill me. I
wanted to die.”

Titus’s eye’s opened to slivers. “Why didn’t you?”

“Felix said he was old and had lived his life, and I was young
and could live another day. I wasn’t convinced until Cedric mentioned Carthage.
I thought I would like to see it one more time before I embrace death.”

“Is your heart sick for your home?”

Lucius allowed a soft moan. “Yes. And a girl.”

Titus smirked. “Of course. Our problems always lead back to a
woman. What’s she like?”

Lucius rubbed his eyes with his free hand allowing an image to
float to his consciousness. “She’s beautiful of course. She has long chestnut
colored hair that waves down her back and over her soft shoulders. Her eyes are
like sapphires, her skin creamy like goats milk.”

Titus burst out in hearty laughter, frightening the birds that
had landed on the deck by their feet. “You sound like a poet! I can see why you
need to see her again before you die.”

He stared at Lucius. “So why did you leave?”

Lucius let out a heavy breath. “She was my master’s daughter,
and recently betrothed to be married.”

“Oh to the gods,” Titus said. “Why do all the beautiful
enticing women belong to another? I’m sorry for your sad tale. Do you think you
will see her? Now that she is another man’s wife?”

“I don’t know,” Lucius said.

After a moment of quiet Titus muttered, “It’s my fault Felix
died.”

Lucius remembered their story about Titus’s ill-fated affair.

“If I hadn’t gotten involved with a senator’s wife…” Titus
choked on his words, swallowing hard. Lucius looked away. There was something
disturbing about seeing a grown man turned gladiator on the brink of tears.

“My arm is sleeping,” Lucius said, changing the subject. “We
need to stand.”

Though not overtly friendly, Titus had stopped threatening to
kill Lucius and the next two days were relatively uneventful. On the third day,
while chained to the rail, Lucius spotted land.

He hadn’t guessed how seeing Carthage would affect him. The
rolling terracotta hills dotted with rows of dark green olive trees, the
hundreds of ships in the cove, the majestic brightness of Byrsa Hill. He
imagined the spices of the Forum, and the sweet taste of grapes plucked from
the vine.