War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One (17 page)

He stepped to the table, quaffing his cup’s contents in one swallow. Quickly refilling, he drained the cup again.

Fagus was struggling to his feet, watching Guntram and rubbing his neck.

Chayna stepped in front of Guntram. “I see that you have earned the freedom of the town,” she said, trying to smile, her teeth glinting whitely in the dim light, “and you no longer wear your pretty iron collar.”

Shrugging, Guntram confirmed, “The gods have been kind to me since we last met. The collar’s gone and I have some freedom. The freedom of a bird that’s had one cage changed for another. A bigger one, but still a cage.”

“Have...have you killed many men?” Chayna asked, sounding nervous.

“Yes,” said Guntram, dropping his eyes. “I’ve sent men to their graves in order to live.” He took another gulp of wine.

Awkward moments passed before Chayna asked, “Is there anything I can get you? Perhaps some food? The cheese is really quite good, and the bread is fresh.”

“I did not come for food,” Guntram forced out the words. “I came to see you.”

“Why?” the woman asked, looking surprised.

“I thought that you might spend some time with me.”

“I, I don’t know if I could. I am a slave and you are...” She looked away, unable to finish

“Quick! Caetes the gladiator is inside.” Excited cries drifted in from the street. “Hurry! Before he leaves...”

A sizeable crowd was quickly gathering at the inn’s entrance, the hardened drinkers cursing as they were jostled by the admirers clambering to touch Guntram for luck.

“I must go,” said Guntram, seeing the throng swelling. He turned to Chayna, stating hurriedly, “You’ve told me about your mother, but you must let me explain about me, about-”

The noise around him grew louder, drowning out his words. Frustrated, angry, Guntram turned his attention to the remnants of the Falerian, this time drinking from the
amphora
itself. Once empty, he slammed it onto the table, a network of cracks tracing upward from its base and its top breaking off in his hand.

Chayna started, catching her breath.

Guntram pushed his way to the street, past eager, pawing well-wishers. He halted briefly and beckoned Fagus to him. Pressing a leather pouch into his palm, Guntram whispered, “Here is enough to pay for any breakages and for a little loss of face. Enough to buy a new dress for a woman too – understand?”

Trembling, Fagus nodded his head.

“And a warning,” Guntram added. “If you mistreat her in any way after I leave, I swear by all the gods in the heavens and under the earth that I’ll return. Then, neither the watch nor the Emperor himself will stop me from ripping out your tongue and feeding it to you.”

The inn-keeper struggled to answer, but managed only to nod again.

*

In the night air the wine surged to Guntram’s brain, and he had to reach out to steady himself against a wall close by. Looking up, he glimpsed a few stars through the tilting walls and sagging awnings. Then, pushing himself forwards, he headed north, towards the Vesuvio Gate. He made a number of detours, checking that he wasn’t being followed.

Long legs carried him quickly through the quieter streets at the city’s perimeter and he soon arrived at the barrier of the north wall. Keen to avoid the city watch, he carefully scanned the unfamiliar surroundings before moving to the wall at a sheltered spot barely fifty metres from the Gate itself. He knew there’d be a harsh price to pay if he was discovered outside the city. He began his climb

As he neared the lip of the parapet, his mind drifted back...back to a time when he was on a long hunting trip with his father. They were in the snow covered hills, near the end of winter. They’d scrambled up a sheer face, hanging on by finger-nails and toes, bodies pressed to the icy rocks as the freezing wind tried to pluck them off and dash them to their deaths. He remembered being terrified, excited, all at the same time, and later the regret that they’d never repeated the climb, and never would again.

His foot slipped, and he hung for a dizzy moment by one hand. He regained a foothold, cursing himself for losing his concentration and letting his mind wander back to days that were now only ashes. Heaving himself onto the parapet, he saw that it was deserted.

The descent was equally difficult in the dark, and reaching the ground he jogged away from the wall, using the nearby necropolis’s mass of tombs to cover his path. His pace steady, he headed towards the lower slopes of the great Vesuvius.

He reached the mountain’s belt of forest and slowed to a fast walk, the canopy of the trees swallowing him up. When re-emerging, he halted, looking to the east. Searching the dark edge of the bay, he traced the road that twisted away of the city towards the chain of grand villas built along the mountain’s lower slopes. He looked far out, picking out Neapolis; a sprawling place of ships and trading. Further North, at the very tip of the great bay, was the naval port at Misenum, where he could faintly make out the glittering discs of her two harbours. Other towns formed a ribbon along the curve of the bay, and it was difficult to tell where one settlement ended and another began.

Guntram knew that the dog Servannus lived out there somewhere, amongst it all. The death of his family was an ache that never eased, and there was the knowledge that if his brother and Jenell still lived, they could be anywhere in the Empire, and that he might never find them. Servannus would give him some answers and he was determined to find him.

Guntram regarded Pompeii itself, idling in the cool of evening. It had a timeless, lazy air, with him realizing that he’d been in the city a year. It felt much longer.

Unbidden, thoughts of Chayna came to him. He knew he’d have to talk with her again when there were less people around, and try to make her understand that he had no choice but to behave as he did in the arena. He prayed that she would listen, because he was drawn to her in a way that was both new and strange. She affected him unlike any other woman, not even Jenell. He pictured the flame haired beauty, thinking,
Gods! Sometimes it’s wiser not to think, better not to feel.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself think on other things: the
ludus
, his training. As a gladiator there was one purpose to his life, and that was to train to kill, survive. But, one day, when he had fought enough, killed enough, his reward would be the
rudis
and his freedom. The threat of death did not unduly trouble him, as he was confident in his own ability, and, if he feared it at all, it was because it could deny him the chance of finding his brother and Jenell, and cheat him of the chance to settle with Servannus and his Roman masters. He felt a cold, creeping tide in his blood, and his mood grew darker.

The echo of a shout somewhere in the darkness drew his attention, impossible to tell how far. After, the night was quiet again with nothing but moonlight on the mountain, and his anger slowly eased away, replaced by something bleaker. As the chill of night stole up, he shivered, thinking,
time to return to the city.

Lonely, hurting, he sought out the nearest tavern. His search was a brief one.

* * *

Chapter XX

DEMONS

“It is not death that a man

should fear, but rather not beginning to live.”

Marcus Aurelius

The afternoon was cool as straining bodies played out their familiar drills across the expanse of the training ground.

Paired with a veteran
myrmillo
, Guntram forced his opponent backwards under a welter of sword blows. He quickly pierced his flailing defence, striking him a juddering blow to his helmet, which dropped him, stunned, to his knees. It was his second opponent of the day. The first was being revived in the infirmary.

Guntram removed his helmet and moved a water bucket positioned in the shade of the colonnade, where he ladled himself a drink. He was joined by others keen to refresh themselves, Ellios among them.

“Too much wine last night?” The breathless Spaniard joked. “Either that, or you’re possessed by demons today.”

“This isn’t a game,” Guntram replied gruffly.

“Easy my friend, I’m only saying that you’ll soon run out of sparring partners.”

Guntram responded with a grunt.

“And, I don’t want to be the only one left for you to train with,” Ellios added, grinning. “I value my good looks too much.”

“Try not to wet your pants and I’ll promise not to mark that pretty face of yours.” Guntram’s expression lightened a little.

“Caetes! Come here!”

He swivelled his head in the direction of the barked command and recognised Belua watching him with his usual hawk-like vigilance. He was leaning against a colonnade, arms folded business-like across his chest.

Drawing near, Guntram regarded the man that he’d come to know so well; the hard task-master who was only concerned with the practical, with solely that which affected the performance of his charges. He’d also come to realize that Belua never dispensed discipline needlessly or with malice, and was a man true to his word, whether for the good or the bad. It was Belua who constantly reminded him of what he was, and his words, like chains, echoed in his mind. “The crowd loves you, but it’s a fickle love. Remember that you can never become a citizen of Rome, can never be one of them. You are ‘
infamie
’, and the mark of the arena will always be with you.”

It was the same Belua who’d shaped him and taught him all there was to know about winning, and dying. He’d given him success, and hope. These things aside, Guntram recognised that there remained a test of wills between them, and like the way of the wolf with the bear, it would one day need to be decided. It was a day he no longer looked forward to.

“How is the wound?” Belua asked. “Any stiffness when you train?”

“It’s fine when I’ve stretched.” Guntram touched his fingers to the florid scar-tissue. “It won’t hinder me in the arena.”

“Good.”

Guntram began to turn away.

“Wait! I haven’t finished,” Belua growled. “And, I want you to listen carefully to what I say.” He pushed himself off the colonnade. “Firstly, no more split heads today or it’ll cost you a hundred sesterces, and my displeasure. You train with spirit, but your desire to destroy your opponent makes you forget everything else and leaves your guard open. Regain your control or you’ll pay the price on the sand.”

Guntram nodded his head, knowing the trainer too well to argue.

“Also, whatever has wormed its way into your mind and guts to cause this sloppiness...Get rid of it!”

“What do you mean?” Guntram asked, taken aback.

“I’ve seen the look and the wildness more times than I can remember,” growled Belua, “and I was giving the same advice when the best part of you was running down your mother’s leg.”

Guntram shifted his weight, uncomfortable.

“Listen, and listen well.” Belua hawked and spat. “I’d bet my balls there’s a woman at the bottom of it, or perhaps some smooth-cheeked boy if that’s your taste. Whichever it is, fix it. There’s no room for distraction here, no second chances.”

Then, with a sudden wave of his hand, Belua indicated that he had no more to say.

Guntram watched the trainer march off in the direction of the infirmary and wondered if others could see inside him so easily. Chayna was the demon in his skull, and like a rotten tooth his ache for her got worse with each passing day. And, despite his smarting pride when he recalled his visit to that piss-hole of an inn, he knew only that he badly missed her; the sound of her voice, her woman smell and the warmth of her smile.

Guntram’s every fibre urged him to do something, to face this demon that gave him no peace. He’d wracked his brains trying to think about what words he could use to convince her that he was not like the men who killed slaves with a smile in the arena. Like the men who killed her mother.

*

Chayna prayed that Fagus would soon be drunk enough to pass out, to be incapable. The inn was quiet, the company scarce, with him drinking less than usual. She just hoped it would be enough.

She watched him take a swig from his wine–cup then belch, and unwanted, the memory of his body pressing down on her rushed in: his dribbling mouth kissing her breasts, his manhood piercing her, filling her with his stinking seed. She shivered, but too late her mind strayed to that horrible place that wrenched her heart, flayed her soul; the two babies that Fagus had placed in her womb, the two babies she’d glimpsed but never held. And always the memory of the mid-wife’s words,
“The sex doesn’t matter girl, as the neck of the boy and girl child break just as easily. Forget this night, and remember that you’re still young and will bear other children before you dry-up inside.”

Her stomach heaved. Unsettled, she touched her private place.

Struggling to fix her thoughts on the cups she collected, she glimpsed a new customer out of the corner of her eye. Her spirit lifted a little, relieved that Fagus had someone to drink with. The newcomer seemed to fill the inn as he steered a course towards her.

“Caetes!” she said excitedly. “I...I didn’t think you’d come back.” A tenseness edged into her voice as she glanced in Fagus’s direction

“Never mind him,” the gladiator reassured. “I’ve bought your time for the night”.

Shocked, Chayna blurted out, “For the night? What do you plan for me?”

“Hush, I’ve no plans to bed you, if that’s what you think,” he replied quietly. “Though I’ve money enough to pay for it a hundred times over, if that’s what I desired.”

Relief flooded over her, realizing that he’d not paid for her body.

“Come, sit,” he gestured to a nearby table. “Or have you better company to keep?”

Chayna lowered herself onto a chair opposite him, her hands clasped nervously in her lap.

“How have you been treated since I last saw you?” he asked.

“Not badly.” Eager to change the subject, Chayna enquired, “Can I get you a drink, Caetes?” Smiling as she spoke, she saw his expression lighten.