Beast of Caledonia (18 page)

Antoninus turned and studied him. “How?”

“Give me the girl. And let the soldiers or the other
gladiators finish off the tigers. If my fighter lives, I will give him his
freedom. He will probably be of no use to me after this anyway. But I will keep
the girl and you need not see her again. The guards at my villa are very loyal
and will make sure she never gets out.” Septimius didn’t add that the guards
feared for their lives if they disobeyed even one letter of the commands he
gave them.

Antoninus sighed. “All right. I am tired of dealing with
this chit at any rate. She is yours. But do not let me see her face again.” He
signaled to a soldier below his box. “If any of the gladiators want to help
him, they may. And send my physician to tend him.”

“Thank you,
Dominus
, thank you,” Septimius said. With
the emperor’s personal physician attending him, there was a chance the Beast
might survive. And how would the emperor know if he freed the man or not? Even
if he could not use him as a gladiator, Septimius could always find another use
for him. He pictured taking the Beast as the woman he loved watched them. His
shaft began to swell at the very thought, and he shifted in his seat.

Before leaving the box, Antoninus stopped beside Quintus.
“You might not believe me, but I am sorry it has come to this. You must
understand, however, that I had no choice.”

Quintus stood and faced his emperor. “There is always a
choice.”

Quintus turned his back and walked away.

Sara could not take anymore. The man she loved was being
killed right before her eyes. And she had to do something. She could not stand
by and let Annachie die without trying to help him in some way.

She pulled herself up by the bars of the gate and ran back
into the arena, waving her arms and shouting to distract the tigers. Maybe if
she could give Annachie a brief respite, he would be able to rally and still
fight them off. But even as she watched, the third tiger leaped onto him and
knocked him to the ground. The last tiger snarled at her as she ran toward it.
Then it turned its back and ran away from her.

Sara stared in amazement at the big cat. Surely it could not
be afraid of a lone woman with no weapons. But in the next instant, four men
whom she recognized as the gladiators behind the gate ran past her. Two went
straight for Annachie, stabbed the cat repeatedly with their spears, and threw
its body to the ground. The other two men cornered the remaining beast and
quickly killed it too.

Sara ran to where Annachie lay. He was barely conscious and
bleeding everywhere, it seemed. If the men had not helped, he would be dead
now. Yet even as she surveyed his torn flesh, Sara feared the gladiators had
been too late. She knew Annachie’s strength, but it would take more than sheer
physical strength to survive these wounds.

She took his hand and wiped the bloody hair back from his
face. “Annachie? Can-can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes for just a moment. “Sara,” he said, but
so softly she could hardly hear him.

“Stay with me, Annachie, please. You will be all right now.
Just stay with me.”

“I will,” he said, even as his eyes closed and his head
lolled to the side.

The four men positioned themselves around Annachie and
lifted him gently. Then they carried him quickly back toward the gate from
which they had emerged. Sara ran along beside them, holding his hand, nearly
blinded by her tears.

It was not until they were almost at the entrance that she
became aware of the sound that rose from the spectators in the arena. She
looked up at the seats. The entire crowd was on its feet, chanting, “
Beast,
Beast, Beast,
” and all were pumping their fists. And even as she watched,
Antoninus turned his back and left his box.

Chapter Fourteen

The gladiators laid Annachie gently on a raised slab near
the cells. Sara began to tear lengths of cloth from her gown, her only thought
to staunch the flow of blood from his wounds. One of the gladiators stripped
down to his loincloth and followed suit. Together they wrapped the cloths
around Annachie’s deepest wounds and tied them snugly. To Sara’s surprise, the
soldiers stood by but did not interfere.

They had only been working a few moments when Septimius and
a man Sara didn’t recognize entered the room. Behind them stood two guards that
Sara had seen in the gladiator compound when she had gone to the conjugal cell
with Annachie.

The stranger approached her. “I am Paullus, physician to the
emperor Antoninus. He has sent me to tend to this man.”

Sara shook her head, puzzled. “Why? Why would he do that?”

Septimius chuckled. Sara marveled that a sound that should
convey humor could sound so evil. “It is an agreement I have with Antoninus.
Paullus will try to save the life of
my
property
. If possible.”
Septimius added, looking doubtfully at Annachie’s battered body.

“He-he will?” Sara asked. The physician nodded, already
examining Annachie’s wounds. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

“He is gravely injured.” Paullus leaned down and pressed his
ear to Annachie’s chest. Then he straightened and shook his head. “He has lost too
much blood. His heart is failing.”

“No, please, please do something!” But even as she begged,
Sara noted the pallor of Annachie’s skin and his shallow breaths. She threw her
arms around his neck, hugging him close and kissing his cheek. It was already cold.
“No, no, oh blessed Venus, no.”

“Dear me,” said Septimius. “Tsk, what a shame. By the way, I
forgot to tell you the other part of my bargain with Antoninus.”

Sara tried to ignore him. Annachie was dying in her arms and
nothing else mattered to her. She pressed her ear to his chest, but heard no
heartbeat.

“He wants you out of his sight…permanently.”

Another chance to die, Sara thought. She knew their son
would be cared for and Rachel would tell him about his father and mother. There
was no hope she could get back to him. “If you are to kill me,” she said, her
face still pressed to Annachie’s chest, “just get it over with. I tire of
waiting.”

“Oh, I have no plans to kill you, my dear. In fact, quite
the opposite. Antoninus has decreed that you shall live…with me.”

“No!” Sara cried, rising up to look at Septimius. “No. I
will never live with you.”

“But you will. And do not even think of trying to kill
yourself. I will not allow it.”

“Try to stop me.”

“Rest assured that I will.” He extended his hand to her.
“Come along. It is time to leave.”

“No,” Sara said, backing away from him, preparing to run
away. Even though she knew it was futile—she was certainly not familiar with
these corridors and where they led—she had to try. Just as she turned, she saw
Septimius glance back at his guards. They were on her before she could take
five steps. They grabbed her by the arms and dragged her back to where
Septimius stood. She struggled in their grip, but could not break free.
Septimius walked away and the men hauled her after him.

* * * * *

Quintus stood in the shadow of the steps leading down to the
holding cells. He had witnessed the entire scene—Annachie’s death, Sara’s
attempt to flee, and Septimius’ men dragging her away.

You’re a coward, he said to himself. But he could not have
stood to see the look of betrayal on his daughter’s face. Somehow, some day, no
matter how long it took, he would make it up to her, for all her pain, all her
sorrow at losing the only man she had ever loved. In the meantime, the least he
could do was see that Annachie had a proper funeral.

After she and that pig slaver had gone, Quintus stepped
forward. The men surrounding Annachie were instantly on their guard, but he
raised his hand to put them at ease. “I mean no one harm. I am only here to—”

At that moment, he heard such a moan of pain that it almost
brought him to his knees. He rushed forward to see Annachie moving his head
from side to side and whispering, “Sara? Sara?”and trying to raise up to look
around him.

“Easy, Annachie, lie still. You will open your wounds again.
I have always known you to be a strong man, but we all thought you were dead
this time.”

“Where is she?” Annachie asked so softly that Quintus had to
bend close to his mouth to hear the words.

I cannot tell him Septimius has her. That alone would
kill him.
“She is safe. You saved her life. You must rest now. You can see
her when you have gotten your strength back.” Quintus knew there was still a
good chance Annachie wouldn’t survive. He had to give him the hope of seeing
Sara again. It could mean the difference between life and death for him. To the
soldiers he said, “Have him brought to my house. And gently.”

* * * * *

“He is not progressing as he should.”

The emperor’s physician had made regular visits to Quintus’
house to treat Annachie’s wounds. It had cost Quintus dearly to buy the man’s
assurance that he would not tell Antoninus he was helping Quintus. But in the
three weeks he had been there, Annachie had shown little improvement. During
his brief periods of consciousness, he had always asked for Sara. Quintus kept
putting him off, saying only that he would see her soon, but the look in
Annachie’s eyes told Quintus he was starting to doubt that promise.
Occasionally, Annachie would also mumble a word that sounded like “roost”.
Quintus had no idea what was going through the man’s mind. It made no sense to
him.

“I really do not understand it. His wounds are not infected
and they all appear to be healing, but he remains in this state.” Paullus
gestured to Annachie, lying still and wan on the bed, his breathing shallow,
his eyes sunken.

“I think I understand it,” Quintus replied. “He has lost the
will to live.”

“If that is true, and we cannot find something to restore
that will, then I fear he will soon get his wish.”

Quintus escorted the physician to the door, then returned to
sit by Annachie’s bedside. He knew why the man had given up. His baby dead and
Sara lost to him, he now had nothing left to live for.

As the fourth week began, Quintus made yet another visit to
Septimius’ house to beg for his daughter’s release. When his servant called
Septimius to the door, Quintus dropped to his knees. “Septimius, I beg you. Let
me take Sara home. Anything I have is yours, anything you want.”

“I have the only thing of yours that I want, Quintus,”
Septimius told him and laughed in his face.

Quintus had heard rumors of Septimius’ cruelty and sexual
proclivities, and even though he was known to prefer men, Quintus feared what
the man might be doing to Sara.

“Then at least let me see her. Please.”

“No.”

“What have I ever done to you, Septimius, to make you act
toward me this way?”

“You think I did not know how you and your kind laughed at
me behind my back, Quintus? How you sneered at me, a slave trader, so beneath
your status that I was not worthy of your notice? And certainly not worthy of
your daughter, eh? Well, let me tell you, I am rich enough to buy you and sell
you twice. And a lot of that money came from that Pict you
gave
to me.
The best investment I ever made,” Septimius said, then giggled like a girl.
“And now I have your most prized possession, don’t I? It makes up in a small
way for the loss of that other gift from you. Such a shame he had to die. But
no matter, it gives me solace to have his beloved in his place. Now get out of
here and do not come here again with your silly offers and your pleas.”

At this point there was nothing more Quintus could do. He
had lost the goodwill of the emperor and the clout that went along with it. So
he returned home, defeated and sad, and even more determined to see that
Annachie survived. Then he would try again to reunite his daughter with the man
she loved.

As he sat next to Annachie, Quintus went over in his mind
all those meetings with Septimius. Something that man said had jogged a memory
in Quintus, but he was having trouble putting his finger on it. Slave, riches,
status, Pict…
Pict
! That was it.

Quintus got up and went quickly to Sara’s old room. He threw
open her trunk and dug down to the very bottom. There he found a blue silk
scarf, stained with blood, covering a hard object. He unwrapped it and held the
dagger in his hands.

He had been going through her things one day, after he
thought she was dead, and found this. He had only glanced at it before he
buried it deep in the trunk again, knowing instinctively that this was the
knife Sara had used to cut her wrists when he had sent Annachie away. But now,
he studied the dagger more closely.

The grip appeared to be solid silver and was covered in
circles and swirls in patterns he had seen many times while in Caledonia. A
sapphire as big as a pigeon’s egg graced the pommel and the guard was inset
with smaller gems—rubies, pearls and amethysts. Quintus ran his thumb lightly
along the edge of the blade, and a thin line of blood appeared instantly. He
wondered how many Roman soldiers this dagger had killed.

As he sucked the blood from the slight wound, Quintus
thought again of this blade cutting into his daughter’s wrists and shuddered.

He stood and made his way back to Annachie. He lifted the man’s
limp hand and placed the knife in it. “Annachie, it is your dagger. You are
still a great warrior. You have fought all your life, now you must fight to
live. Can you hear me?”

A slight groan was his only answer.

“I make you this promise, Annachie, on my life. Someday you
and Sara will be reunited. Live for my daughter. You are the only man she has
ever loved. You both risked your lives to be together. Do not give up now.”

But this time there was no response…not even a groan.

The next day, Annachie was no better. Quintus continued to
sit by his bed, talking to him, asking him questions, but increasingly
despairing of getting an answer.