Chapter XV #3
The Visigoth captives had not been as easy to track down as he’d hoped.
They’d found a few children sold as kitchen slaves—one of them Alaric’s youngest daughter—and several women who’d been enslaved in brothels, and had paid exorbitant prices for them all.
And they had been worth every sesterce. The small group had set out just yesterday for Moesia with a company of monks for protection and guides. They’d be back home within a month.
Lord, let their return cool Alaric’s thirst for vengeance.
It would not be enough. He knew it would not.
He’d debated holding back their journey until a larger group could be gathered.
This paltry return would likely only fuel the man’s anger.
And yet, when Telemachus had looked into their shattered eyes he could not bear to keep the captives from their loved ones, and he’d sent them home.
Lord, watch over your little ones as they travel.
“Telemachus.” Gaius’s voice in the doorway interrupted his prayers.
“There you are. I thought you’d abandoned me. Did you bring the last stack?” He spoke the last bit as he twisted to look at Gaius over his shoulder. Another man stepped into the room behind him, with tousled hair and sleepless half moons shadowing his eyes.
“Medicus?” Telemachus turned around, disregarding the water trickling from his hands.
“Felix has news for us,” Gaius said in a low voice, and Telemachus couldn’t tell what sort of news it might be. His friend’s face bore equal parts hope and helplessness.
Telemachus looked to the young medicus, whose exhaustion hung on him like a wet cloak. He was about to ask if he was hungry when Felix spoke, his words dropping like blocks of granite.
“The lanista wants me to kill an injured gladiator. Murder him in his bed because he can’t perform.” His hands dangled at his sides, not listless, but ready. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
Telemachus stared at him and Felix kept talking, the words tumbling loose like a confession.
When he explained the upcoming Victory Games, the humiliating reenactment, the air seemed to leave Telemachus’s chest, caving it in like an axe to a barrel.
“How could we have come to this?” He dropped onto a stool at the table and lowered his head into dripping hands, feeling with heavy certainty that life and death rested in his hands as surely as his head did.
Not just for the Visigoth gladiators but for everyone in Rome.
Man and woman, slave and free. Were the games a way for Emperor Honorius to save face for abandoning his subjects?
Did he think he could ride in on a victory parade and win back the loyalty of Rome? And how would Alaric respond?
“Rome has always triumphed over the defeat of its enemies,” Felix said. A flimsy excuse for blood.
“The Visigoths were angry—legitimately so—and yes, they acted wrongly, but they are no enemies,” Telemachus growled, slamming his fist into the table with enough force to make the full bowls of untouched gruel jump and clatter.
“Many of the people meant for the arena are members of my church. Christians. Men and women who simply wanted to feed their families and grew weary of Rome’s broken promises and looks of derision.
” Telemachus pushed to his feet, stool crashing behind him.
He paced, raking his fingers over his scalp and muttering beneath his breath.
“If this is Emperor Honorius’s way of sending a message to Alaric .
. . he will not see this as a warning, but a war cry. ”
Gaius swallowed and spoke in a calming tone that might have worked, had the news been anything other than what it was. “We will continue in our mission, Telemachus. We’ve sent a group of captives home already, and have leads to locate others. We save the ones we can . . .”
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Blood thundered in his limbs, mind racing at the ramifications of Felix’s words, Honorius’s actions. The destructive cycle of pride and anger. The innocents who were trapped and suffering between the two.
“How can we so quickly forget that we were once thrown to the lions?” Telemachus roared, throwing out his hands. “To subject Christians once more to the arena—to murder or be murdered . . . It is vile. God has graciously allowed us freedom, and this is how we use it?”
“Peace, brother.” Gaius reached toward Telemachus. “We will—”
“There will be no peace!” Telemachus shied away from his hand, words tumbling fast and calculated. “Alaric’s blood already runs hot. When he hears of these Victory Games, of the mockery of his people . . . I fear for all of Rome.”
Gaius lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But what can be done? It will be impossible to rescue every captive—especially those in the ludi. But perhaps we can save enough to stay Alaric from destroying the city. I will check our funds. Perhaps we can buy—”
“The day is coming when loving our brothers means picking up a sword in their defense.”
“You cannot mean—” Gaius began.
“No. Not a sword in that sense.” Telemachus shook his head. “But I mean to go to war. Even if we could get every Visigoth gladiator out of the ludi, more slaves will take their places. The violence will continue, and compassion will run cold.”
“What do you suggest?”
Telemachus turned and locked Felix in a fiery gaze. “You said you’d do anything. Do you mean it?”
The medicus did not give an immediate answer and Telemachus sensed it was not hesitation, but contemplation.
As if he knew he would stand by whatever word he gave and was unwilling to make a hasty answer.
What Telemachus proposed was dangerous, to be sure.
A battle. One very easily strewn with casualties, should they fail.
How far was he willing to go to save a group of angry captives?
“I admit, I am concerned for my family,” Felix said at length.
“My pater is gone and I don’t know who will care for my mater and sisters if this plan goes awry.
” He looked up, determination firming his jaw.
“But if you speak true and Alaric will see these games as an invitation to sack Rome, my best efforts will do little to protect my family against an invading army.”
Telemachus gave a nod.
Felix straightened, rolling his shoulders back like a soldier preparing for battle. “I have an idea. But I’ll need a pig heart.”