The Patrician (37 page)

Jared frowned. Gladiatorial school? There were a few scattered out among the Roman provinces. Most were run by disreputable sorts who managed only to make a meager living from the local arenas. The real profit resided in Rome and the larger contests. It was a sport steeped not in competition but in blood and gore and loss of life. He had no stomach for it and less regard. “His venture failed, then.”

“Oh no, it did not.” Damon read from the documents again. “Hapu’s school did flounder initially. He lost most of the funds from the sale of the land and was in danger of losing the property. Two of the male slaves died in poorly matched contests.”

Jared tightened his jaw. “And how did his fortunes change?”

“A new influx of silver from the sale of goods as mentioned previously. That and the success of one of his gladiators, a barbarian who has never lost a match and who, in fact, has not only brought great wealth to his master, but to himself as well. He won his freedom six months ago, though he still fights for Hapu.”

If this scoundrel had indeed been the one responsible for Jared’s lost merchandise, then he would come to regret it—with his life.

But what of Jared’s lost freedom? The precious year lost in a living hell? What responsibility did Hapu bear in that situation? And for what reason? There were still too many questions. Jared rose from his chair. “I think we will pay Hapu a visit and congratulate him on his successful endeavors.”

***

Jared swung off the back of his horse. The stallion, a pewter gray, trembled with energy, skittering sideways until he felt his master’s hand rubbing his neck. He nickered softly and nuzzled Jared’s hand. Jared smiled. “Be at ease, royal one.”

Damon dismounted from his more docile steed and rubbed his posterior. “Why didn’t we just walk?”

Jared glanced at his friend. “Riding is faster.”

“Riding may be faster, but it certainly is not more comfortable.” Damon grumbled. “And why do you call the beast royal?”

A smile curved Jared’s lips. “Because his bloodlines are long and revered for their strength and beauty. I bought him from an Arabian prince.” The humor slipped from his voice as he eyed the stark facade of the house before them. “Exactly two weeks before I was taken.”

Damon’s expression sobered as he followed Jared’s gaze, and his darkening train of thought. “Accusations must be backed by proof.”

“I accuse no one.”  Jared looped the reins in his hands around one of the palm trees lining the walled entry. “But seek only what proof our friend Hapu may have.”

In three long strides they were standing at the main entrance to Hapu’s residence. It was a modest sized dwelling, rising one story above the level of an unusually high stone wall. That wall Jared noted was topped with iron spikes streaked with rust. A necessary precaution he supposed when dealing with gladiators. Setting his jaw, he raised his fist to the dried, cracked wooden door.

Several minutes later and just as many knocks, the door was opened by a reed thin man, his tunic as worn as the expression on his creased face.

“This is the house of Hapu?” asked Damon.

The man bobbed his head.

“Tell your master that Antonius Septimus Lucien of Rome wishes to speak to him.” The servant’s dull eyes widened the least bit, leading Jared to believe that such visits were an uncommon occurrence to this humble school.

The man ushered them into a small atrium. It too was an odd mix of opulence and dilapidation. The walls were made of the same expensive marble as the facade. A mosaic floor depicted a scene of two gladiators fighting to the death. But even the elaborate design could not hide hairline cracks disrupting the tiles. Odd for a man as prosperous as Damon’s sources claimed.

He took note of the faded designs gracing a row of pottery jars lined against the wall. The decorative foliage planted in the dried dirt sported limp leaves, lifeless edges brown and brittle. The very air was hot and stale and smelled of, Jared rubbed the scar at his temple, blood. Death.

“Honored guests!”

They turned  at the greeting of a diminutive, nut brown man. He hurried toward them, his wide grin showing two prominent front teeth that reminded Jared of a camel. Dark eyes, set close together behind a large hawkish nose made him appear cross-eyed. Even so there was a keen calculating look in those eyes that missed nothing. Dressed in a tunic of bright orange with a robe of equally brilliant red, Hapu the Egyptian was hardly the image of a prosperous man.

More like a buffoon, Jared thought. How could a man such as he manage to steal so much and sell him into slavery. More importantly, why? Schooling his features into a congenial mask, Jared acknowledged Hapu’s greeting.

Hapu stopped a few feet away, his head tilted back to meet theirs. There was no sign of recognition as he ran an appraising eye over Jared’s quality garments. A spark of disdain flashed briefly behind those shrewd eyes before it was hidden by a wide, ingratiating smile and respectful bow.

“I am Hapu, master of this humble school. I am indeed blessed by the gods to be visited by two distinguished citizens of Rome.” He clasped his hands at his waist. “Master. . .”

“Septimus,” answered Jared.

Hapu inclined his head, apparently feeling no unease at forgetting his servant’s message.

“You may call me unimpressed,” Damon said out of the corner of his mouth as Hapu squinted at Damon.

Jared sent his friend a stern look. “His name is Damon.”

Hapu looked down his nose and sniffed. “Master Septimus, how may I be of service to you?”

“I am interested in purchasing a matched pair. I understand your gladiators are of the finest quality, renowned for their skill.”

A strangled cough from Damon did not keep Hapu from thrusting his chest out with inflated pride.

“Ah, master, you have been rightly informed. I have the finest stable of gladiators in all of the Roman provinces.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Forgive me, but I cannot say that I have heard of you, or men fighting under your name.”

From the corner of his eye, Jared saw Damon arch an eyebrow, clearly wondering how he would explain away that small detail.

“I am building my own stock.” He glanced around the shabby entrance. “There are plenty of able fighters available in the markets, but I have need of instructors. Men who can teach the trident and net and other assorted techniques. Forgive me for my high aspirations, but I hope to build an academy as well known as
ludas
of Rome—with your help of course.”

Hapu rubbed his thinning beard as he calculated the advantages of selling prime gladiators to a potential rival.

Greedy men were so easy to manipulate. “I am prepared to pay top price.”

The little man’s eyes lit up at the mention of money as Jared knew they would. “Then follow me my lords.”

Damon sidled up next to Jared as they followed him down a narrow hallway. “Gladiator school?” he whispered. “A bit overdone don’t you think? I thought we came to ask questions?”
“Oh, I intend to ask the good Hapu many questions.” answered Jared beneath his breath. “I just do not intend for him to realize he is giving me the answers I need.”

B
right sunshine blinded Jared as they entered a narrow, outdoor corridor that circled a large sand arena. He blinked several times to adjust his vision. When it cleared enough, he inhaled sharply.

The corridor was ringed with thick iron bars exactly like the ones that had imprisoned him at Gaius’ villa. For the briefest of moments he again felt the heaviness of the iron cuffs fettering him, the crushing despair. His hands clenched into fists around invisible chains. He tilted his head and took a deep, cleansing breath. He opened his hands and wiped moist palms against the sides of his tunic. Damon laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, we are in time for a demonstration of the short sword,” Hapu said.

In the center of the practice arena stood two men. One was of average height, arms trim, but well-muscled. He wore nothing save a loincloth and a thick leather collar, giving a full view of an assortment of bruises and cuts. His knuckles were white around the handle of a wooden sword and he held a small round shield, its leather covering torn, against him for dear life. Terror played across his features as his gaze darted back and forth, watching his opponent
.
Jared’s gaze slid to the other man
and understood his fear.

The other gladiator was tall, taller than Jared by at least three hands. Shaggy black hair brushed against wide shoulders. Every inch of his body was hard and muscled, honed to deadly perfection. Scars laid a white pattern across his body, a stark testament to his survival in the arena. With legs braced apart, shoulders squared, attention riveted on the other man, he looked every bit the aggressor, a gladiator trained to be a lethal weapon. There was no doubt in Jared’s mind that this slave was a killing machine.

The smaller man swallowed convulsively, a slight tremble in his hands. 

“Watch the skill with which Albion disarms the poor sot,” whispered Hapu almost reverently.

Albion the gladiator stood still, his wooden blade hanging loosely in his right hand, waiting. The shorter gladiator twitched, raised his sword, aiming his weapon straight at Albion’s midsection. The roar he let loose sounded more like a squeak than war cry, as he pushed all of his weight behind the weapon.

It was over in an instant. Albion moved his arm with the speed of lightening, catching the other man’s blade with his own. He flung it upward, sending the weapon to land several feet away in the sand and spinning the hapless student away from him. Albion lifted one foot, planted it in the man’s back and sent him sprawling face down in the sand. Falling to his knees, he straddled his opponent who was choking on his own fear. Albion lifted the slave’s head by the hair and pressed the tip of his blade to his exposed throat.

“Isn’t he magnificent?” said Hapu.

Jared nodded absently, his eyes trained on the dark haired gladiator, who shook his head in disgust and released the defeated man’s head so suddenly that his face burrowed into the sand. He turned back to the line of men who stood observing and swung his sword in a blocking action, pulling another man from the ranks to demonstrate several defensive feints. While the others paired up and began to practice, Albion turned to aid the hapless student to his feet.

“He has been in over fifty matches and remains undefeated.” said Hapu, leading the way around the ring.

Fifty matches. Fifty men dead. Oh, one or two might have been spared depending on the capriciousness of the spectators. It was a cruel game. Jared, though sickened by such senseless loss of life, could not help but admire the gladiator’s skill. The man was a survivor.

“Is this the renowned Albion the Fierce? The barbarian?” Damon asked.

Barbarian? That certainly accounted for his ruthlessness. Who else could kill with such efficiency? Jared’s thoughts drifted to another fierce barbarian. Bryna would be the first to set him straight on his preconceived notions. A smile tugged at his lips as he envisioned those green eyes sparking fire. He followed Hapu to the staging area, where he motioned for Albion to join them.

“Yes, the very same,” answered Hapu with pride. “The best investment I’ve ever made.”

Investments. Now they were headed in the right direction. Jared was very interested in Hapu and his investments; with his money. “I imagine it took quite a bit of capital to start a fine school such as this.” Jared commented.

The little man just laughed and waved his hand. “Not so much. I had to make reinforcements to the gladiator training quarters, hire two good overseers and purchase a few slaves to train. I’ve gradually built up my stable with the revenue.” He puffed out his chest. “My gladiators are famed throughout the provinces.”

“Yes, your slaves are quite talented,” Jared admitted.

“Free.”

All three men turned at the single, thickly accented word. Albion stood at the side of the enclosure where they waited. The iron bars separated them, but looking at the muscled giant, Jared knew they would not keep the gladiator contained should he choose otherwise.

Feet planted firmly apart, fists propped on his hips, Albion regarded them, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. Challenge flared hot in his green eyes.

Warning prickled up Jared’s spine. Green eyes? It didn’t mean anything. It was not such an uncommon hue. Perhaps all barbarians possessed them. He studied the man’s face. There was no likeness to Bryna in Albion’s dark, fearsome countenance save the intensity of those eyes. Yes, surely, such a color was common among the barbarian tribes.

“I am free,” Albion repeated.

Hapu laughed nervously. “Of course you are, Albion. I was about to tell our visitors just that.” He turned back toward Jared, contempt dripping from his voice. “It is true. Albion is a freeman, given the wooden sword and palm by the governor himself.” He shot Albion a dark look. “Fortunately he agreed to stay and train my fighters.”

Jared saw the gladiator sneer, then quickly school his features into an impassive mask. There was no missing the depth of enmity between the two men. Jared sincerely doubted any man could be this one’s master for long. “Still,” he continued, hoping to keep the conversation on track, “the amount of money needed must have been hard to come by.”

“I had, shall we say, a benefactor,” replied the Egyptian evasively. “Modifying the buildings was the main expense.” He glared at Albion. “Barbarians come cheap.” The gladiator did not blink an eye at the insult.

A benefactor? Jared mentally sorted out the pieces. Great quantities of merchandise had been stolen in the months before his abduction. The value of which could have easily funded Hapu’s grandiose plans for a school. The Egyptian appeared ambitious, but hardly capable of planning and executing such a large scale theft.

And what of his kidnapping? Jared knew the two events were related and yet he had never heard of or met Hapu in any of his business transactions. There could be no reason for this stunted little man to want him out of the way.