The Gladiator’s Master (23 page)

It was the sight of survivors being pulled from the wreckage that kept Gaidres from losing his grip on sanity and going mad with grief and fear. People were surviving. Caelius would be one of them. He refused to believe anything else.

“Please, please, please.” He shoved another broken beam aside. “I’m so sorry, Caelius. I was a fool. Please give me the chance to tell you so. Please don’t leave me. I’m coming. Gods, I am coming, hold on. I love you, I love you.” His heart constricted as he continued to dig and whisper to his lover. “I love you. Hold on.”

How long had it been? Gaidres glanced around, surprised to find it had gone fully dark now. The biting cold had set in and the only light was that of torches carried by various people scattered across the rubble.

His arms ached and muscles screamed, thirst scraping his throat. But he did not stop. He couldn’t.

Eventually, he stopped long enough to take the drink of water offered from a passing soldier, who mistook Gaidres for one of his own. Gaidres quenched his thirst, then was swept with guilt knowing Caelius had no such relief, wherever he lay under the stadium. Despite the exhaustion, new energy spurred him and he went back to work, praying with every stone overturned that he would find Caelius beneath it, scraped and bruised, but alive.

Gaidres shuddered as he strained to lift aside a heavy section of wall, cringing and turning away when beneath it he found three women, faces filthy and ashen, long dead. Despair was a constant battle and he resolutely began to move the bodies, trying to be as careful as he could while still moving quickly. It seemed he’d barely made a dent in the pile and with every second that passed he knew Caelius’s chances dwindled.

“You cannot leave me now,” he whispered as he continued to dig. “You’ve gotten what you wanted…maybe you had it all along. Are you going to give up now, when I have finally removed my head from my ass?”

For a brief time during the night his hopelessness and fear had overtaken him and his face now felt tight with the stain of the dried tears that had streaked through the dirt on his face. The hours seemed to have no meaning, while at the same time he was painfully aware of every second that passed.

Gaidres glanced around, squinting in the bright noon sunlight of the next day. In the center of the arena a temporary infirmary had been set up, and though he hated to leave the spot, he forced himself to go down and look. Perhaps Caelius had been thrown away from his seat and been recovered in another area. Anything was worth a chance.

“I’m coming back, my love. Hold on.” He began to make his way down to the ground and hurried toward the group of people and the makeshift pallets on the ground.

Gaidres wandered through the strewn bodies, most moaning and turning in pain, others unconscious. None were Caelius. He was about to head back to his spot to resume digging when it occurred to him that everyone here appeared to be of the lower class. There were no dignitaries or such. His heart began to race and he spun to find someone to speak to, approaching a medicus who rose from where he’d been bandaging a young man.

“Medicus! Where are all the nobles? Surely some have been found!” He caught the man’s arm, his grip insistent.

The medicus frowned at him, gesturing toward the cleared entrance to the fallen amphitheatre. “Did your fellow soldiers not inform you? All those of importance have been transported to Rome to be given care.”

Gaidres’s heart leaped. Rome. If Caelius had been found, he would be in Rome. Gaidres released the man and turned, gaze darting about as he tried to figure out what to do. Go back to his spot and continue digging, or to Rome to see if Caelius had been brought there? The thought of leaving this place when Caelius might still be buried made him sick, though, and he growled under his breath, unsure which was the best course of action.

A small group of soldiers stood to the side and Gaidres made an abrupt, rash decision. He could only pray they would be fooled.

“You there!” He approached with as much authority as he could muster. “How many have been transported to Rome?”

One of the soldiers straightened to attention at his barked tone. “A good handful, sir. Perhaps twenty or thirty so far?”

So small a number. “Are any of them known?”

The soldier frowned, thinking, then shrugged. “I do not know.”

Gaidres cursed under his breath and another soldier spoke up. “You should speak with the general, sir. He has been approving every person sent to Rome. He might know some names.”

Gaidres followed his pointing finger to a man near the entrance. He strode toward him, trying not to shake. He had no choice, for Caelius he would pretend to be anyone or anything. Even a Roman soldier.

“General, a word!” The man gave him an impatient look, but Gaidres rushed to continue. “Know you any of those who’ve been transported to Rome? There was a woman among the dead who spoke her last breath to me. A request to find her husband.” He pointed to the general area where he’d been digging. “From that section?”

The general’s eyes lost some of their impatience and he sighed. “So many dead, it is hard to keep track. Most have only been identified as nobles due to their clothing and baubles. I have no names.”

Gaidres tried to hide his impatience. “A description, then? He wore a blue robe trimmed in gold, dark hair that curled and a ring upon his right hand that bore the image of a phoenix.”

The general frowned. “Perhaps…it is hard to recall them all, but the ring sounds familiar. Wait here.”

Gaidres’s heart leaped and he forced himself not to scream at him to hurry. A moment later he returned with a medicus.

“Tell him about the ring,” the general urged.

Gaidres repeated his description of Caelius and where he would have been found as his heart ached with faint hope. “Has anyone matching that description been transported to Rome?”

The medicus took his time thinking, humming as he scratched his whiskered chin and Gaidres’s fingers curled into fists to keep from throttling him.

Then, the man nodded. “Yes, yes I believe so. He was in dreadful condition, though, it is likely he’s—”

Gaidres didn’t let him finish his sentence as he bolted from the stadium and toward the stables off to the side, mostly undamaged by the collapse. No one stopped him as he raced in and grabbed the reins of the first horse he saw. That was the power of being a Roman, and he for once was glad of it as he swung on to the horse and turned it toward Rome.

Cold air whipped past his face as he raced down the road, every second praying and silently urging Caelius to hold on. He was coming.

How long it took him, Gaidres did not know. His horse was slick and breathing hard by the time he raced through the city gates. Pulling back on the reins, Gaidres swung down off the horse before it came to a full stop, legs almost buckling beneath him as exhaustion and the frantic ride took their toll. He steadied himself and turned in a circle, searching. His eyes lit on the temple and the bustling, anxious activity surrounding it as people came and went through the wide, open doorways. There. They must be there. He bolted, darting around people. He skidded to a halt and forced himself to slow as he entered the temple, not wanting to draw undue attention. The penalty for impersonating a Roman was death for a slave, and he would not die before he found Caelius.

Please, gods, let him be found alive.

Caelius stirred as once again pain racked him, but oh, how he welcomed it. He wasn’t dead yet. Those hadn’t been the souls of the dead dragging him down to Tartarus. As he took in a careful breath, the pain was not as severe as it should have been. Strips of cloth bound his ribs and instead of dust and death in his nostrils he smelled people.

He shifted and moaned, his eyes fluttering open and then closing again as light from torches and oil lamps stabbed at his eyes.

“Be at ease,” a man’s voice murmured. Caelius sensed someone kneeling next to him even as he realized he was lying down on a pallet.

A cold, wet cloth pressed against his mouth, dripping water between his cracked lips and Caelius could have cried as relief washed down his throat. Again and again the cloth was replaced until the worst of his thirst was quenched. Someone cried out in agony and the cloth was pulled away.

“I will return.” And before Caelius could grab the man, he was gone.

Caelius opened his eyes again to narrow slits and turned his head. Pallets were strewn all about him and he shuddered to see both the living and the dying. He was alive. He was alive.

Urgency gripped him and he tried to push himself up so he could signal someone, only there was no more strength in his limbs. He had no idea how long he’d been lying here. What of Gaidres and his son? What of all the other members of his household who must be frantic with fear?

Caelius’s fingers curled together and he tried to summon anyone to his side, but his voice refused to go above a hoarse whisper. Frustration gave him strength and he lifted his arm to wave a medicus to his side only they were all busy, intent on all the other wounded. He had to get word out somehow that he survived. There had to be one person who could be found to go to his villa, to find Gaidres and to give him word of the others who had attended the games with him.

What of the other gladiators in his
ludus?
Or of Felix, who had been standing behind him when the nightmare started? He didn’t want to believe his friend was dead despite what logic, one of the scribe’s favorite subjects, told him was true.

“You must rest.” The medicus knelt beside him again and pressed a cloth to Caelius’s lips before checking another cloth wrapped around his head. “Your strength will return with rest and care, but you must cease fretting. You’ve been tossing and muttering the entire time you’ve been here.”

The medicus’s eyes narrowed and he gestured to a passing helper. “You there, boy, bring me a draught of drugged wine. That should give this man a few hours of sleep.”

Caelius caught his sleeve, trying to mumble past the cloth over his mouth. “You do not understand. I must find him, please. Word must be—”

The medicus’s face went sharp with regret and then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, most did not make it. I’ll see that you get the wine.” And with that he was gone again and Caelius discovered that he still had tears in him. No, Gaidres was alive, but how was he to find him now when no one would listen?

He prayed, eyes closing as he entreated the gods to return Gaidres to him, whole and sound. Some instinct stirred in him, recognizing a familiar presence. Caelius didn’t dare believe it and kept his eyes closed, praying until the call became too urgent. He opened his eyes again and went completely still.

Gaidres stood at the foot of his pallet, his face filthy, but oh so beautiful. For a moment neither of them moved nor spoke a word. He had to be imagining this. All of his dreams since the nightmare started had been of his lover and son at Caere. But he had never dreamt of Gaidres dressed so, and in none of his dreams had Gaidres’s face been bruised and drawn with fatigue.

“Gaidres.” His breath choked on a sob as Gaidres was by his side, kneeling beside the pallet and taking his hand. “You’re alive…”

Gaidres gave him a shaky smile, his own eyes swimming. “I made you a promise, did I not?”

He laughed, unable to believe his eyes. Gaidres in a Roman soldier’s armor…it must be a fever dream or the pain from his injuries making him mad. But Gaidres’s hand was warm around his and his eyes were so blue as they bent close to him. “You did promise.” His eyes searched Gaidres’s face. “I’m not dreaming?”

“No more than I am, Caelius.” Worry darkened his thoughts. “Do you hurt? What did the medicus say?” Gaidres lifted his head and looked around to summon one to his side and demand answers.

Caelius’s fingers closed around his hand and Gaidres looked back at him. Caelius reached for him with his other hand. “He says I will recover, with rest and…” He frowned, as if unable to remember what else had been said. Gaidres’s worry spiked even higher. Then a boy arrived with a goblet of wine and Caelius clutched at Gaidres. “I don’t want it, not yet, don’t make me sleep. Please, Gaidres.”

Gaidres reached out and took the wine from the boy. “I will see that he drinks it.”

Caelius clutched his hand, shaking his head. “No, no I don’t want to sleep…please…”

Gaidres set the wine down beside the pallet and reached out with his free hand to smooth back the short curls that spilled from beneath the bandage around Caelius’s head. “Not yet. But in a bit. You do need rest. But not yet, Caelius, I promise.”

Caelius calmed, his eyes locked on Gaidres’s face. “You’re alive,” he murmured again, his eyes wondering.

“I am.” Gaidres refused to think now of all those who were not. He was and Caelius was. Faustus was safe at the villa and by some mercy of the gods, so was Demos. That was all that mattered in this moment.

Almost all that mattered. He would not wait another moment to say what he had to say. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours sure he’d never be able to say it at all and he would not waste this chance he’d been given.

Gaidres took a deep breath. “Caelius. Tell me again that you love me.”

Caelius’s eyes widened, then his brows knit in confusion. “What?”

“Tell me again that you love me.”

Pain filled his lover’s eyes and Gaidres memorized the sight of it. He would spend his life making up for having caused such pain with his foolishness and hard-headed fear. He knew what Caelius must be thinking, that Gaidres intended to spurn him again.

Still, Caelius spoke, his voice a bare whisper. “I love you.”

Gaidres’s free hand came up to cup Caelius’s cheek, thumb brushing his bruised cheekbone. His heart pounding. “I love you, too. My fear ruined that moment and for that I forever beg your forgiveness. I will not allow my fear to ruin any more.” He gave Caelius’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I am yours.”

“Mine?” Caelius repeated in a daze, as if sure he had not heard correctly. “You love me?”

“I love you, Caelius,” he said again with a smile, still holding his hand. “And I’ll spend my life proving it to you.”