IX
A night seems endless when you cannot sleep, thought Quintus. He continued to stare at the dark ceiling of his slave quarters, waiting for the first streams of sunlight to find their way through the small window. The plan was set in his mind. All he needed was light. He thought back to the end of the gladiatorial match at Aquae Sulis, when his future had suddenly laid out before him like a voyage track on a sea chart. It had been a sacred vision. He saw his new purpose, his new life, his new family. The gladiator school in Glevum. That was where he belonged. A part of Familia Gladiatoria Petra. The games he loved all his life would now give him back the life that had been taken from him.
He had considered leaving right after the bout, in the confusion of the crowd, catching a ride to Glevum on the gladiator carts. But that was not the time to approach the lanista, Petra. Besides, the Viators would have raised an alarm immediately. They would have spread the word of a runaway slave right there among their friends. The image of his crucifixion had flashed in his mind more than once throughout the night. But he had pushed it aside and plotted the details of his plan carefully. Now, he was ready. He needed only the morning sun.
He closed his eyes as he waited and another, more pleasing, image came back to him. He remembered watching Julia fan Lucius with her handkerchief as the games came to a close. The blood gush from the final death blow had proved too much for Lucius. He had passed out in his seat. Quintus smiled in the darkness as he replayed the scene over and over in his mind.
His next recollection was of being shaken awake, just like every morning, by one of the three slaves in his room. He sat up with a start and saw that the room was bright with sunlight. He couldn’t believe he had actually fallen asleep just before sunrise. The most important day of his life and he had fallen asleep! He cursed himself as he threw on his work tunic and bounded down the hallway for breakfast. There were more people milling about now than his plan had anticipated. The thought crossed his mind that he should postpone his plans until tomorrow, but he quickly pushed it aside. Just one more day of the status quo would be unbearable now that he had seen a whole new life before him.
He deliberately slowed his eating so he could be alone in the meal room for just a few minutes. Once the last slave left, he tossed the leftover bread, cheese, and fruit into the small bag he had fashioned from a fragment of horse blanket. The bag’s only other occupant was the small terra-cotta statue of the ship captain. He tucked the bag under his arm and casually walked to the stables as he did every morning.
He was glad to see no activity at the third stable building. He filled a bucket with grain, poured some into his cloth bag, and walked directly to Saturnia’s stall. The mare welcomed him with a grunt and a shake of her head.
“Good morning, girl,” he said quietly as he scratched at her nose. “We’re both going to have an adventure today. I hope you’re ready.”
He placed the oats on a stool in front of her, then stopped as a new thought came to him. Although taking Saturnia was part of his plan, it suddenly occurred to him that he could lessen the chance of Sextus ordering a pursuit if he took one of the older, well-worn horses rather than a prized mare like Saturnia. He knew the value of a strong, well-trained draft horse far outweighed that of a common slave, especially when the horse was half of a matched pair.
He turned and dug in the corner of the stall until he retrieved his handcrafted knife, which he placed in the bag with his food. He pushed Saturnia’s head out of the way and grabbed the bucket of oats. She snorted loudly at the interruption.
“Sorry, girl. Change of plans. Keep well.”
Quintus moved a few feet down the walkway and entered the stall of Ceres, one of the older mares used to pull the farming equipment. He placed the oat bucket on her stool and began gathering her bridle and riding blanket. The horse whinnied at the unexpected early breakfast and her nose disappeared inside the bucket. Quintus worked quickly and quietly as he tossed the blanket up on her back.
“Why is this old nag going out first this morning?”
The sudden voice startled Quintus, but he kept working to present a picture of normalcy. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the tall foreman watching him from the passageway.
Quintus thought quickly. “Well, I figured since some of the others had a long pull into town yesterday, I’d give them a day off from exercise.” The foreman watched as Quintus slipped the bridle onto the horse’s head.
Quintus kept up his cheerful façade. “You’re ready to go, aren’t you, girl? You’re up for a little trot around the pasture, aren’t you?”
As he turned to lead the horse from her stall, he saw that the foreman was gone. It was a safe bet he went to discuss the change in the workout schedule with Dida, the head groom. Quintus would need to move fast.
He secured his small bag around his waist, then walked Ceres a few feet down the bridle path. He scanned the surroundings to see who might be in the area with further questions about his actions. Deceiving a fellow slave or even an overseer uneducated in the keeping of horses was one thing. But he knew he would not be able to lie his way past the head groom or one of the senior stable hands. He also harbored a more personal reason to avoid the head groom. He had grown to like Dida, who was more easygoing than any of the other overseers at the villa. It was he who unknowingly gave Quintus the push to make this bold move by allowing him to go to the games. He felt he was betraying the old man’s trust and benevolence. And he knew Dida would be seriously reprimanded for this escape, since Quintus worked under his dominion. The concerns weighed on Quintus’s mind, but not heavily enough to alter his course.
Seeing no one in the area to challenge him, he grabbed a tuft of Ceres’s mane and swung himself up onto the black riding blanket. He took the reins and nudged her gently with his heels. He wanted to keep the mare at a walk for the first few minutes so he did not arouse suspicion.
He thought back to the first day he had volunteered to exercise the horses and used it as an excuse to learn to ride. He knew someday the skill would help him with his dream of escape. As he kicked Ceres up to a trot, he realized that day was finally at hand.
He kept his gaze straight ahead to avoid eye contact with the few workers he passed. His peripheral vision told him that most never glanced up. The few that did went back to work without a question. Up the first hill he rode, past the barley field, and down into the small glen by the stream. He kept his ears open for the raising of any alarm. He heard none. Around the bend they moved, past the fenced cattle pasture. He was now into an area of the grounds he never used to exercise the horses. In fact, Quintus had been on this entranceway only once before, but Ceres knew the path well. She seemed happy not to be pulling heavy equipment and trotted along briskly. Quintus recognized the small bridge over the stream from yesterday. He realized he had only a few hundred more feet to the paved regional road. The horse’s hoofs on the wooden bridge seemed excessively loud. He worked up the courage to look behind to see if anyone was following. He was alone.
The horse and rider cleared the tall poplar trees that lined the first three hundred feet of the villa’s entrance path, and suddenly they were on the paved road. He pulled the mare to a stop. He listened again for any sign of alarm at the villa. He heard only the sound of birds and water rushing in the small stream.
“It’s done,” he said to his unwitting accomplice. “I’m free. We’re both free. I can’t believe it.”
It all seemed too easy. The regional road was clear and he tugged the reins to the right. They stood for a moment facing north.
“Alright, girl. Once again the die is cast. I ask Minerva to grant me wisdom along this path.”
He leaned forward and dug his heels into Ceres’s side with a whoop. She bolted into a gallop. He wanted to howl with joy as the wind brushed his face and drove back his dark shoulder-length hair. He couldn’t decide if it was the early morning sunlight or his euphoria that made the road ahead look paved in gold. As they galloped on, Quintus never looked back, for behind him lay a lost, dark year of his life, one of submission and servitude. Ahead of him lay the bright promise of a new family and a life of adulation and glory in the arena. His only hope was that Minerva had heard his prayer. Together he and Ceres disappeared over the first of a hundred hills between them and Glevum.
They reached the valley of Aquae Sulis after traveling for only a half hour. Without the cumbersome carriages and the road congestion from the games, they were able to make good time, much better than the day before. Although Quintus wanted to reach Glevum by nightfall, he slowed Ceres to a trot. He did not want to attract attention in this area where Sextus and Julia had so many acquaintances. The sight of a slave boy noisily galloping past the town gates would be too vivid a recollection once the questions and searching began. He passed the length of the town wall and continued north at the intersection, keeping Ceres at a slow trot, striving to look like a slave on an important errand.
In another few minutes they passed the arena. Workers were still piling and burning the refuse left behind by the previous day’s crowd. He cast a proud eye on the structure and the large oak tree alongside. This was the place where his life had taken yet another unexpected turn. From here on, it was uncharted territory.
The surroundings soon changed from an open valley to a sparse forest. The road twisted and turned to follow the natural path cut by thousands of years of animal migrations. They passed a variety of intersections, some branching to smaller paved roads, others to dirt trails, but Quintus stuck to the main road. About ten miles north of Aquae Sulis, they stopped at an isolated stream for water and a quick lunch, then pressed on along the dark forest road until they came to another wide valley. In the center was the small town of Corinium. As he passed through the outer reaches of the town, Quintus again noted that the settlement had been established at a crossroads. Unfortunately for travelers unfamiliar with the area, none of the six roads were marked. There was a fair amount of horse and cart traffic at the junction, and Quintus shouted to two men riding side by side toward Corinium’s town center.
“Can you tell me which road leads to Glevum?”
The men eyed Quintus suspiciously. “What would a slave boy traveling alone want in Glevum?” asked the larger man with a gruff voice.
“I have a message from my master to deliver to a ship’s captain there. Now, which road do I take?” Quintus tried to appear annoyed that these men were impeding his important mission.
The two riders looked at each other and pulled their horses to a stop.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to interfere with your vital duties, now would we? Keep heading north on that road there. But even if you hurry, I doubt you’ll make it before nightfall.”
The second rider began to laugh. “Yeah, you’d better watch yourself around here after dark, boy. Especially with a horse.”
Ceres snorted, as if addressing the man’s warning. Quintus leaned forward and scratched at her mane. “Let’s go, girl.” He gave the men a quick nod of thanks, then kicked the mare into a trot toward the northern road. Behind him, he heard the laughter of the two men fade away as they continued their ride into Corinium.
The pink sunset was a welcome relief from the summer heat and humidity. Quintus had plodded north for another two hours with no sign of Glevum. He began to wonder if the men had deliberately misguided him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so curt, he thought. The combination of the ten-hour ride and the lack of sleep the night before was taking its toll on him. Ceres, too, was showing signs of weariness.
The next clearing revealed a small lake. Quintus decided it was a good place to spend the night. He rationed out some of the oats in his bag for Ceres. Once the mare was fed and watered, he cut a few slices of cheese for himself. The two shared an apple for dessert. He laid back in the tall grass, listening to the night creatures, and stared up at the starry sky.
“We may not have a roof over our heads, Ceres, but tonight we both sleep free. No chores, no overseers, and no cleaning up after you and Saturnia and your other friends. Go ahead. Shit all you want. I don’t have to clean it up!”
Quintus laughed out loud at himself. It seemed like years since he had heard the sound of his own laughter. Ceres’s ears twitched and she neighed. With a clear mind and high spirits, sleep came easily for Quintus. His dreams put him in the center of the Arena of Taurus in Rome where he did battle with gladiator after gladiator, vanquishing each with his mighty gladius of gold.
The sound of rustling came to Quintus’s ears a split second before the sharp pain in his side.
“Come on! Get up, kid.”
His eyes sprang open to see the shadowy figure rear back for another kick. He rolled quickly and avoided the second blow. Jumping to his feet, he reached behind and was relieved to feel his homemade knife still in his belt. Even in his drowsy state, Quintus had the presence of mind not to reveal the weapon. It might give him the advantage of surprise.
It took a moment to focus on the two figures in the dark. The smaller man, whose greasy pointed nose reminded Quintus of a weasel, stood laughing in front of him. The burly one held tight to Ceres’s bridle a few feet behind.
“Settle down, kid. I just wanted to see if you had anything else of value before we rode off with your horse.”
“I know you. You’re the two from the crossroads at Corinium.”
“The same,” said the larger bandit holding Ceres. “You should watch who you take directions from. We couldn’t help noticing your lovely mare here. She’ll fetch us a few sesterces in Glevum.”
The weasel reached for Quintus’s bag, which lay where he had been sleeping. In a blur of motion, Quintus pulled the knife from his belt and flipped it end over end directly into the man’s left hand, pinning it to the ground. The man let out a howl that startled the other bandit.
“What happened? What is it?” The burly thug had not seen the blade fly.
Quintus dove at the weasel. In a single fluid motion, he wrenched the weapon from the back of the man’s hand, sliced upward, and came up facing the large man holding Ceres. He scanned the two bandits, waiting for another attack. But the weasel was preoccupied watching the thin red line that ran the length of his forearm slowly split open, revealing the tendons and bone underneath.
“He cut me! The son of a bitch cut me!”
In a frenzy, the weasel charged Quintus, who spun and prepared for the impact. A large hand grabbed Quintus’s right wrist, yanked him out of the weasel’s path, and twisted his arm up behind his back. Quintus hollered in pain. As the weasel’s charge ended in the lake, the large bandit held Quintus tightly and used his free hand to pry the knife from the boy’s fingers.
“Well, you’re quite the fighter, aren’t you?” he said menacingly into Quintus’s ear.
The weasel’s arms flailed as he tried to disengage himself from the sticky brown mud in the shallow lake. “Did you see that? He sliced my arm wide open. I never even saw the blade move!”
Quintus struggled to get out of the bandit’s arm lock. Although he was strong for a boy of sixteen, the large bandit had him at a severe disadvantage.
“You won’t get away with this. When my master finds his horse, you’ll both be thrown to the lions. Better still, I hope they sentence you to the gladiator school. I’d love to meet you both again, face-to-face in the arena.”
“Ohhh, I see. We have a gladiator on our hands here.”
Quintus realized too late that he should not have mentioned the gladiator school.
The weasel, dripping wet with a vine draped over his shoulder, approached Quintus. He used his right hand to hold together the skin of his left forearm, but released it just long enough to deliver a hard blow to Quintus’s stomach.
“Well, I say we turn our thumbs down and sentence our little gladiator here to death. How about you?” the weasel asked.
Quintus was doubled over in pain and gasping for air. Above him the thieves debated his fate.
“Hold on,” the larger bandit said. “I wonder how much the gladiator school at Glevum pays for slaves with good fight in them.”
“He’s not big enough for gladiator school. I say we stick his head in that mud for a little while.”
“Every gladiator isn’t a giant, you know. And based on that slice he put in your arm with this little homemade knife, I’d say he can handle weapons pretty well.”
The weasel jerked Quintus’s head up by a handful of hair. Although still wheezing heavily, Quintus stared him down. An evil grin crossed the weasel’s face.
“Yeah, alright. There’s nothing I’d like to see more than this little asshole getting his prick sliced off in the arena by some barbarian.”