Beast of Caledonia (15 page)

Annachie was silent for a moment. That had not occurred to
him either, she thought. Then he said, “That will not happen,
nighean.
Someone
will come.”

To Sara, it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself
as well as her.

“Until then, I am with you. I will protect you, you know
that. I have always protected you.”

She nodded against his chest. “You have. You saved my life
twice. But I fear Antoninus will not stop until I am well and truly dead. And
you and our baby will die with me.” She muffled a sob in his tunic.

“Hush,
nighean
.”

Suddenly, Sara heard stomping feet above them. She felt rather
than saw Annachie look up; he had heard them, too. Sara whimpered and hugged
Annachie tighter. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, warming and soothing
her. Between them, the baby kicked as if to protest being crushed between the
two larger bodies. If Sara hadn’t been so frightened, she might have found it
amusing.

“Annachie,” she whispered. “They are going to find us.” She
felt the tears running down her cheeks. “What are we—”

She had meant to ask him what they were going to do, but she
knew there was nothing they could do. They would be caught and they would die.

But before she could finish her sentence, Annachie’s mouth
came down on hers.

He kissed her deeply and fiercely. He held her face between
his strong hands—hands that could be so cruel in the arena, yet so gentle with
her. With his tongue, he explored the depths of her mouth. His lips closed
around her tongue, sucking gently. She followed his lead and did the same to
him and was rewarded with his whispered moan of pleasure. They parted only long
enough to take a breath.

He combed his fingers through her hair and cupped the back
of her head, and still his mouth ravaged hers. Sara knew what he was doing; if
he kept her mouth occupied, she would not cry out and give their hideout away.
That was all right with her—she felt on the verge of losing her sanity, and
only Annachie’s kisses kept her from screaming and clawing at the dirt walls,
just as she had done in her grave.

A sound above their heads abruptly separated them. Light
poured into the darkness of the hole. They had been discovered.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Sara cried, and clung to Annachie. She
turned her head away from the light and buried her face in his tunic again. She
could not bear to look at her captors yet; she wanted only a moment longer to
pretend that it was just the two of them and they were safe.

“I am sorry,
nighean
,” Annachie whispered in her ear.
“I—”

“Sara. Annachie.” A man’s voice called down to them…and Sara
knew their time together was over.

Then she heard Annachie laughing. She looked up to see
Jacob, smiling, above them. Rebekah, Rachel and Micah peered over her shoulder.

“They are gone. You can come out now.”

Sara’s relief was so great she sank to her knees. She shook
so badly that Annachie had to lift her out of the hiding place into Jacob’s
arms. She began to cry again, on the verge of hysteria. She cried with relief
and she cried with fear…a bone deep fear that never left her, no matter how
safe they had been up until tonight.

“Surely Septimius did not persuade the emperor to send
soldiers to look for me,” Annachie said.

“He didn’t,” Jacob said, not smiling now. “They were looking
for Sara. They know you escaped.”

Sara screamed…then her world went black.

Her labor started the next morning…a month too early.

Sara tried not to scream. She gripped Annachie’s hand so
hard, she was afraid she would break his fingers.

Rebekah must have read her mind for she said, “Go ahead and
scream. We all do it.”

So with the next contraction, Sara did. She glanced at
Annachie when the pain subsided. He looked pale and she felt sorry for him. She
vowed to try not to scream again.

But with the next pain, her resolve failed. The midwife
peeked under the sheet covering her legs. “I can see the head crowning. It won’t
be long now. You are doing fine, Sara. With the next contraction, push as hard
as you can.” The woman had no sooner finished speaking than the pain hit Sara
again, a wrenching, squeezing pain that felt as if her insides were being
crushed. She bore down and pushed as hard as she could. “That’s it, Sara, your
baby is almost here. Once more should do it.” Sara tensed as the next
contraction started; they were so close together she could not recover between
them anymore. She strained and pushed and suddenly it was if the pressure had
been released. Then she heard a cry, weak at first, then louder and louder
until the baby’s first wail filled the room.

“You have a beautiful boy, Sara. Annachie, here is your
son.” The midwife held the baby up for them to see.

Exhausted Sara fell back onto the bed and looked up at
Annachie. The look of worry had left his face and he stared at the red-faced,
squealing infant. Then he smiled and it was like the sun coming out from behind
the clouds on a gray day. He turned to her and whispered, “Thank you, my love.”

Sara smiled. “Thank you, too, my love.”

* * * * *

The patrol rode through the forests of Gaul on their way
back to camp. Deer and small animals darted out of their path as they passed,
but the men did not stop to hunt them. They had been out for a week and were
weary, cold, dirty and irritable.

Suddenly one of the men called out, “Hey, did you see that?”

The rest of the column slowed but did not stop. Their
leader, a centurion asked, “See what?”

“Something was moving over there,” he said, pointing to a
huge tree about a hundred yards away from where they rode.

“Ah, only an animal,” the centurion said.

“No, it looked like a man. When he saw us, he ducked behind
that tree.” The soldier pointed to a large oak several yards away.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go see why this man feels he needs to hide from
us.” With the centurion leading the way, they left the road and crashed through
the thick underbrush. They had only gone a few yards when the man darted out
from behind the tree and began to run away. He was no match for the horses and
they caught up to him quickly. They surrounded him and hemmed him in with their
steeds.

“What’s the hurry, friend?” the centurion asked.

“No hurry.”

“Then why were you running away from us?”

The man forced a laugh. “You frightened me. I thought you
were bandits.”

“Not likely,” the leader said. “How many bandits have you
seen wearing the uniform of a Roman soldier?”

The man appeared more and more nervous. “It is getting dark,
I couldn’t tell what you looked like.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Going home, sir, just heading for my home.”

“Which is where?”

“Nearby,” the man said, clearly deliberately evasive.

“How near?” The centurion was losing his patience and
becoming quite suspicious.

“Hey, I know you,” one of the other soldiers cried out. “You’re
a gladiator.”

“Ha, me? No, you’ve got the wrong man, not me.”

For the first time, the centurion noted the muscles clearly
visible beneath the man’s tunic. “What’s your name?”

Before he could answer, the soldier who had recognized him said,
“You’re the one called ‘The Terror of Gaul’, aren’t you?”

“No,” he scoffed, “that’s not me.” The man started to inch
backward slowly and the centurion knew he was going to bolt any minute.

“I remember you now. You were one of those three gladiators
who escaped back in the autumn. Septimius has been looking for you.”

“Yeah, and there’s quite a reward on your head.”

“Tie him up and throw him over your saddle,” the centurion
directed one of the cohort. “We’ll divide the reward among us.”

* * * * *

Bato brought the whip down on Cephus’ back for the fifth
time. The man twisted, trying to evade the lash, and his voice sounded hoarse
already from his cries. Bato could not fathom why Septimius insisted that he
give Cephus one hundred strokes. It served no purpose but to weaken him and
make him no good for anything for weeks until the stripes healed—if Cephus
could survive the punishment.
If he is screaming like this at only five
strokes, what will he be like at twenty, fifty, seventy-five?

“Stop, stop, please stop,” Cephus begged.

“I’ll tell him to stop when you tell me where the others
are,” Septimius said.

Bato looked to his left where Septimius sat in an enormous
chair, not watching but studying his nails as if unconcerned. I’ll bet the
emperor’s throne is not that big, Bato thought, but then again, Antoninus is
not as fat as Septimius.

Septimius had almost danced for joy when the soldiers
brought Cephus back to the gladiator compound. Bato still remembered the temper
tantrum the man threw when he discovered three of his gladiators and a slave
had escaped and disappeared without a trace. Bato had found no sign of the
slave or the missing gladiators when he went to Castrum Novum, where the boy
had lived before his capture, and Septimius obsessed almost daily about where
they could have gone.

The loss of the Beast of Caledonia had angered the slaver most
of all. Bato knew what Septimius did with his slaves, but he usually left the
fighters alone…except for the Beast. Then there was the money Septimius had
lost by not having the Beast to fight in the arena. The man had been in a foul
mood all winter and he took it out on those who were still around him.

Now he had one of his gladiators back. And he was determined
to find the others by taking it out of Cephus’ hide.

“I don’t know where they are, I told you. We split up. They
didn’t come with me.”

“You must have heard them say where they were going.”

“I didn’t, I swear it.”

Septimius nodded at Bato, who brought the whip down on
Cephus’ back again. “No, stop, please. I don’t know anything.”

Bato couldn’t help but wonder how a man could fight in the
arena and not tolerate a few stripes. Then he thought back to some of the
contests and practice sessions where Cephus had danced around his opponents,
dodging blows and running away. A saying came to Bato’s mind,
He who fights
and runs away lives to fight another day.
He couldn’t remember where he had
heard that, but it certainly fit Cephus. He struck the sniveling man again.

“Stop. I’ll tell you if you stop.”

Bato looked to Septimius again, who nodded. “Tell us,” he
said.

“I only know that they said something about going with the
boy, the lame one.”

“We have already been to the boy’s home. We didn’t find any
of them there.”

“That’s all I know, I swear by all the gods. I told them I
would help them move the cover, but I didn’t. I knew I was in enough trouble by
escaping. I was not about to add that crime to the list.”

“You are making no sense. What crime? What cover?” Septimius
asked.

“The tomb. They were going to Castrum Novum after they got
the Vestal out.”

Septimius sat up straighter in his chair and Bato almost
dropped the whip. “What?” cried Septimius. “What are you talking about?”

“They went to try to save the Vestal, the one they buried
last autumn. The Beast wouldn’t leave without her.”

Septimius cackled. “You can stop, Bato. I must go and see
the emperor.” The man stopped and seemed to ponder something for a moment. “On
second thought, slit his throat. He never was that good in the arena…and no fun
at all in bed.”

* * * * *

“
But where have they gone?”
Antoninus demanded. “I
know they all escaped, you dolt, but where did they go?”

Quintus had never heard the emperor so angry.

“I do not know,” Septimius said. “My men went to Castrum
Novum where the boy lived, and they were not there. But Cephus says they are
together. It should not be difficult to find them.”

“If it is not difficult, why haven’t you found them yet?”

Septimius had the grace to look shamefaced.

Antoninus cast a jaundiced look at Quintus. He had just
returned from Sicilia when Antoninus sent for him. He thought it was because
the emperor was anxious to hear his report. He never dreamed he would get the
news he did when he went before Antoninus.
This man had my daughter buried
alive!
His next thought was that he could guess now who one of Septimius’
escaped gladiators was. Though faded by the weather, announcements of games in
the arena starring “The Beast of Caledonia”, one of Septimius’ fighters, still
adorned the walls around the city. It was not hard for Quintus to put the
pieces together.

I tried so hard to keep them apart, yet they found a way
to be together.
And at what a cost!
Quintus knew that if he had just
not overreacted that night he found them together, if he had trusted his
daughter and let her explain, let them be together, none of this would have
happened. Quintus had come to regret his actions that night, but never so much
as he did now.

“Pavo,” the emperor called to his adjutant standing nearby.
“Send some men to Castrum Novum and find her. Tear every house apart if you
have to. I want that Vestal.” Antoninus started to turn away, then seemed to
have another thought. “Oh, and Pavo—”

The soldier slapped his upper left chest with his right
fist. “Sire?”

“Tell them to wear something other than their uniforms.”

Pavo looked puzzled. “But, Sire, why?”

“Think, man,” Antoninus replied. “They will be watching for
soldiers. No uniforms, no caution on their part.”

Pavo saluted again and left the room.

“But,
Dominus
, what about my gladiators?” Septimius
whined.

“To hell with your gladiators, man. Because that girl didn’t
die, the fortune of the Empire is at stake.”