“And Wulfula.” Felix blurted the name as if he had a sudden burst of remembrance.
Telemachus wished he hadn’t. God forgive him. There was grace for everyone, was there not? God had extended it to him, of all people, so why should he withhold it from the most vile human being he’d ever laid eyes on?Second most vile, he amended, and remorse burned like acid in his throat.
He’d spent his years as a gladiator dreaming of the day he would return home and redeem his enslaved mother from the monster who’d fathered him. Imagining that moment of revenge and redemption had fueled the strength and stamina to keep fighting, even though he hated how the violence tried to shape him into a cruel man like his father. But when he’d finally returned, his mother was already dead. And vengeance had only landed him in a tavern gutter.
“Wulfula is in the Ludus Gallicus?” The words emerged stiff and careful.
Felix nodded.
“With Adel?”
Understanding shifted across Felix’s face followed by an expression that mirrored Telemachus’s own feelings for the man. “The gladiators are usually kept separate from the gladiatrices unless they’re under supervision.”
Usually.A thin word of assurance. His prayers for Adel and the other women would grow more specific after today. And his rescue efforts would double.
“If I got you a heart, could you rescue another?”
“I don’t know.” Felix bit the side of his lip, considering. “Perhaps. But the pig heart only worked because Sergius was too drunk to help me.”
“I don’t know that I should praise the Lord for that, but part of me wants to.”
Felix chuckled and sobered as quickly. “If I can get more, conjure a plague or something, what is your capacity?”
Telemachus shrugged. “Many of the monks here have been rescuing abused slaves for years. They’ve set up a network to ensure they cannot be found and brought back. But we’ve only recently started using it for the Visigoth captives. How many more could we expect from you?”
“All ludi face off in the Ludus Magnus soon. Numbers will all depend upon the injuries.” Felix squinted in thought. “I have a gladiatrix with a head injury now. Perhaps I can convince her to leave. If the run-ins with the trident continue, Gaiseric may be ready. Ruso is ready in heart, but he has no injuries to justify seeing me.”
“Adel?”
A flimsy hope, confirmed when Felix shook his head.
“I don’t know that she would leave. Though the harder thing might be gaining her trust.”
He’d feared as much. “Be patient with her. The sharpness of her tongue disguises a shattered heart.”
Felix said nothing. But it was the kind of silence that said he’d known this already. “What happens if we can’t free enough captives to stop Alaric?”
That was a question he and Gaius had debated late and long. What good would it be to risk their lives rescuing a handful of slaves if they still lost the city to a Visigoth revenge campaign?
“I don’t know if he can be swayed,” Telemachus admitted. “But we have to try.”
But perhaps it was not Alaric they should set their sights on. There were two men playing at power here, and if they could not convince the one to relent, perhaps they might influence the other. He’d been mulling over the option for a while now; each time he thought it through, it became more solid. More viable. He’d met Honorius on several occasions. Had been brought in to fight for a birthday celebration when the boy couldn’t have been more than five. It had been one of Telemachus’s last fights. He could still recall the slack-jawed wonder on the boy’s face as he’d watched and mimed Telemachus’s every move in the ring.
“I think... I must go to Ravenna.” Telemachus closed the book of names with a resolute thump, his voice growing in volume and certainty as he spoke. “To seek an audience with Emperor Honorius, convince him to see reason, if not mercy. If he will not release the captives to Alaric, he must relent this public humiliation of them.” The more he spoke, the more clearly he saw the mission.
“Will he see you?” Felix frowned and raised a palm. “I mean no disrespect but you are...”
Telemachus lifted a shoulder with an understanding nod. “You are right. He may not meet with an unknown monk, but hewillallow an audience with the Battering Ram of the East. Perhaps my old life was preparation for such a time as this.”
Not even he could question that. Scripture proved time and again that God had used broken lives to save His people. But it also proved that the hearts of rulers could be stubborn and hard.
“And if he will not listen?” Felix dared to question.
“Then we will adjust our position, and attack accordingly.”
XIX
5 DECEMBER, AD 403
