Roman Flames

Chapter Fifteen: Passion

Chapter Fifteen: Passion

Vespera

“I had a family before Decimus. We are not actually brothers,” Sanctius said softly. I immediately knew it was not going to be a good story. “My father was Marcus Aries, and my mother…” he breathed. “Her name was Lucia. I was their only child, their son. My father gave this ring”—he pulled out the ring he kept on a leather cord—“to me, the last time we were together.” He paused for a second, and I wondered if he was regretting his decision to tell me.

“Sanctius, if you don’t want to—”

“I want to tell you,” he said sincerely. “My…my father was taken first. I was…thirteen when this all happened, so I still remember it well. He was arrested for not bowing down at the festival of Jupiter and thrown in a cell. My mother and I weren’t with him, and that’s how they didn’t find us right away. We found out because a friend told us. He was kept there for five days, hardly any food or water.” He stopped, closing his eyes and letting out a frustrated breath. I frowned and swallowed, afraid to speak. I glanced around to the flowers he had left me, and it was difficult to believe that he was blushing only a while ago. He looked at me with a terrifying expression in his eye. “My mother and I left our house one night to see guards parading prisoners down the Via Appia, and among them was my father. He was bloody and beaten… My mother had to keep me back so that I wouldn’t give away our position. They were being taken to be crucified. My mother took me back home, where we hid and prayed for hours. I could hear her crying.” He stopped, and I could see the rage behind his eyes—a passion I hadn’t seen in him before. “We left the house when we knew it was safe. My mother had lost her self-control and we ran down the Appian Way, past the other prisoners hanging on the crosses. There were coughs coming from the dying ones, as they tried to lift themselves up for breath. I heard my father call my mother’s name and my mother screamed. We found his bruised body hanging up on a giant wooden cross. He was wheezing and his head was lolling on his chest. I don’t remember what he said last.” His hand was clenching in anger. “I can still hear my mother’s cries.”

“Sanctius, you don’t—”

He released his hand and did a round of exhaling and inhaling. “I do want to tell you. This is part of who I am and I want you to see me.” His eyes were calm now and his body relaxed. “The officials found us mourning my father. They separated my mother and me and I…I never saw her again. They put me in a prison cell for two days before I saw fires in the Forum, and I knew what Nero was doing.

“I was imprisoned for two years, and then I was given a sword and forced to fight as a gladiator.” He sighed. “I’m sure you’ve wondered about my scars. And now you know. I was fifteen. And maybe I should be grateful that Nero was so merciful that he wouldn’t just slaughter a child—he’d wait for me to be fifteen to fight for my life.” He spat Nero’s name, like Nero was below him.

I…I was beginning to like Nero less and less. How could someone as gentle as Sanctius have deserved such a life? That is what I didn’t understand. What had his father and mother done? What had Sanctius done? The question was…why?

“For a year, I fought hard. Against animals, mostly. Occasionally, it was against men who had fought for years and the arena was their home. I…I refused to take another human life. I never did. It is against my beliefs. After a year, I had enough. I knew there had to be more to my life than fighting and anger. Carefully, one night, I ran away, and I have been with Antonia and her family ever since.”

I sat there and processed his story, my heart pounding sadness. Sanctius, gentle, quiet Sanctius, had been through Tartarus and back. He had lost his family and been forced to fight. He hadn’t deserved any of that. “I’m…oh my gods,” I breathed. “I’m…I’m so sorry.” I bit my lip.