As Sure as the Dawn (12 page)

Drawing a calming breath, she walked over to him. He didn’t pause from his exercises, though his powerful body streamed sweat. “Please have my things moved back downstairs.”

“You said the room was
lovely.”

“It is, but that doesn’t mean I want to live in it.”

He shrugged off the beam. It banged loudly on the marble floor, the sound echoing around the walls. Startled from his sleep, Caleb made a soft mewling cry. Rizpah drew the shawl more securely around him as the beam bounced noisily and rolled against the wall. She rubbed Caleb’s back to comfort him.

“I prefer to be downstairs where I was,” she said with more calm than she felt.

“I don’t care what you prefer.” Atretes took a towel and wiped the sweat from his face. “You’ll be upstairs in the room next to mine.”

Her stomach tightened in alarm. “If I’m in such close proximity to you, the servants will assume—”

Atretes tossed the towel angrily onto the floor. “I don’t care what anyone assumes!”

“I care! It’s
my
reputation that’s being bandied about.”

“As it has been from the first day you arrived.”

“For reasons other than the situation you’re creating!”

“Do you think anyone really cares what goes on between us?”

She almost blurted out that Pilia obviously did, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to get the girl in additional difficulty. She wanted to get herself out of it. “It is not proper.”

“But it
is
convenient,” he said with a decided gleam in his eyes.

Her face went hot. “Anytime you wish to see your son, you’ve only to snap your fingers and I’ll bring him to you,” she said, pretending to misunderstand.

Smiling faintly, he approached her. He put his hand over hers on his son’s back. She withdrew hers, heart thudding. He rubbed Caleb’s back slowly, staring into her eyes. She felt the baby relax against her. Atretes lifted his hand and put it lightly around her throat, forcing her chin up with his thumb. “And if it’s you I want, have I also only to snap my fingers and you’ll come to me as well?”

She stepped back and swallowed convulsively, her heart racing. She could still feel the heat where he had touched her. “No!” she said firmly.

His mouth curved. “You think not?” He had felt the pulse hammering in her throat. It matched his own. A few nights with her and the fire in him would burn itself out. “It would be easy to convince you otherwise.”

She stiffened, ashamed of her own response to him. “I’m not one of your amoratae, my lord.”

He walked back and picked up another towel. “I’m not looking for someone to
love
me,” he said. Grinning wryly, he rubbed the perspiration from his chest.

“I asked you not to play with me, Atretes, and this is the sort of playing I meant.”

“You said the other day I
needed
to play.”

“With your son. Not with me.”

“I think you’d be more fun.”

She would take care of moving her things herself. Turning, she started for the doorway with that intention.

Atretes caught her arm and yanked her around to face him again. “Don’t turn your back on me.”

Caleb awakened and started to cry.

Atretes gritted his teeth. “I didn’t call you in here,” he said. “I didn’t summon you.”

“My apologies. If you let go of me, I’ll leave.”

His fingers tightened painfully. “Now that you’re here, you’ll leave when I dismiss you.” His blue eyes were ablaze. “You’re moved into Julia’s room whether you like it or not.” Seeing her wince, he released her.

“I
don’t
like it,” she said succinctly, holding Caleb instinctively closer while stepping back from his father.

“You’ll stay where I put you. Willingly or not,
your
choice. But stay, you will!” His smile turned contemptuous. “And you needn’t look at me like that. I’ve never raped a woman in my life and I don’t intend to start now.” His gaze moved down over her disdainfully. “If you’re as
chaste
as you claim, you won’t have a problem, will you?”

She clenched her teeth.

He walked back to the beam and hefted it onto to his shoulders. Turning, he saw she was still standing in the middle of the room, her eyes fixed on the distant wall. He sensed her discomfort and the reason for it.

“May I go
now,
my lord?” she said tautly.

“Not yet.” He began his exercises again, leaving her to stand for several minutes in silence.

She stood rigid, waiting. He took pleasure looking at her and even greater pleasure in her vexation. Let her grind her teeth as she made him do. He let the moment stretch to two, three, four. Then he dropped the beam.

“You may go. But remember this: The next time you wish to speak to me, send Lagos first to ask my permission!”

Gallus sent word that Sertes had been sighted coming up the road from Ephesus. Atretes swore under his breath, in no mood to deal with him. He almost told Gallus to refuse him entrance to the villa and then thought better of it. Though he cared nothing about giving offense to Roman officials, he knew instinctively that Sertes was one to handle with great caution.

“Admit him and bring him to the triclinium,” he said, and Gallus departed. “Lagos, bring wine and have the cook prepare food for us.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lagos said. “Is there anything else?”

Atretes frowned, his mind working quickly. He remembered all too clearly the interest Sertes had shown toward Rizpah and the baby during his last visit. “Tell the widow to remain in her chambers. Make sure of it. Lock the door!”

“Yes, my lord.” Lagos hurried off to do his bidding.

“And have Pilia serve us!” Atretes shouted after him. The girl was pretty, perhaps pretty enough to divert Sertes from speculating about Rizpah. He would make sure of it.

Sertes clasped Atretes’ hand in greeting, smiling broadly at the warm welcome, shrewdly aware there was some hidden reason for it. “You are looking well, my friend,” he said, gripping Atretes’ upper arm.

“Sit. Enjoy some wine,” Atretes said, gesturing casually toward one of the comfortable cushioned couches while he reclined on one himself.

“After your last greeting, I expected to be turned away at the gate,” Sertes said, accepting the invitation.

“I thought of it, but you’d only persist.”

“You know me too well.” He smiled. “As I know you, Atretes. After months of seclusion, you must be mad for distraction. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so amenable.”

Atretes turned a cynical gaze on him. “Perhaps, but I’m not mad enough to return to the arena.”

“A pity,” Sertes sighed, “but I live in hope.” He watched a pretty slave girl enter the room with wine. She served Atretes first. Sertes observed how Atretes’ gaze moved down over the girl’s lush curves in an intimate, almost fond, perusal. What was this? he wondered in annoyance. The girl’s skin took on a rosy hue. She seemed flustered when Atretes smiled at her. “Don’t forget my guest,” he said softly, running his hand down over her hip and patting her bottom lightly.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she stammered and turned to Sertes.

When she departed, Sertes raised his brow. “A new acquisition?”

“I bought her for Julia.” He grinned roguishly. “She serves me instead.”

Sertes laughed, hiding his displeasure as he sipped his wine. “And what of the pretty widow I saw the last time?”

“Pilia is a better fit,” Atretes said and tried to remember if he’d told Sertes Rizpah was a widow. If he hadn’t, it boded an ill wind that Sertes knew anything about her.

How much more did he know?

Sertes assessed Atretes’ expression. “So you’ve tired of the other already?”

“Her expectations were greater than my intentions.”

“She is very beautiful.”

“Her tongue has the sting of a scorpion.”

“Sell her to me.”

Atretes’ blood went hot. “And waste her on a man who likes fair-skinned women from Britannia?” he said sardonically.

Sertes had seen a flash of fire before Atretes had hidden it. He smiled to himself. Pilia had been a pretty ploy and nothing more. Whatever relationship there had been between Atretes and Rizpah remained. “I can think of a dozen gladiators who would enjoy her company,” he said with a shrug, playing out his game while keeping surreptitious watch on Atretes’ reaction.

“What do you say?” Sertes said, a catlike smile playing on his lips. “Put a price on her.”

The fire within him turned to ice. “Let me think about it,” Atretes said, as though taking Sertes’ offer into consideration. He poured himself more wine. Leaning back, he grinned. “Of course, you’d have to take her squalling brat as well.” He watched Sertes’ eyes carefully and saw them flicker.

Atretes’ mention of the baby startled Sertes. If the child was Atretes’, surely he wouldn’t be so eager to dispose of it? “I forgot she had a baby.”

“Oh, indeed, she has a baby. You saw it on your last visit. She keeps it wrapped in her shawl and tied to her breast. It’s become like a growth on her.”

“I take it the child is the cause for your disaffection,” Sertes said.

“You might say that,” Atretes said dryly.

Pilia entered the triclinium with a tray of delicacies. Her eyes were aglow as she offered her master the tray first. Atretes knew what she was thinking. Were all women such fools? He took a roll of rich pork and dipped it in some honey sauce, forcing himself to eat despite his lack of appetite. Sertes seemed amused.

“Speaking of women,” Sertes said, helping himself to a handful of dates, “people are saying the great Atretes, never defeated by a man in the arena, has been brought low by a daughter of Rome.” There was no mistaking Atretes’ flash of temper now. Good. Atretes’ pride had always been his greatest weakness.

“Who started the rumors, Sertes? You?”

“And come here to tell you about them? I’m not a fool, Atretes, nor am I eager for an early grave. Perhaps the Lady Julia has spoken of you . . . in less than glowing terms?”

“For all I care, the witch can shout whatever she wishes on any street corner in Ephesus!”

“As long as you are left alone to lick your wounds on this mountaintop?”

Atretes looked at him. “Lick my wounds?” he said softly.

Sertes felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at the look in those blue eyes, but sought to prick the gladiator’s pride still further. “Whatever the truth may be, Atretes, that’s how it appears.”

“Even to you?”

Sertes hesitated deliberately. Atretes’ face hardened. The German took up offense as quickly as he had once taken up a sword. “I must admit, I did wonder. Or have you forgotten, I was the one who arranged the purchase of this villa?”

Atretes hadn’t forgotten, nor the reason why he had wanted it. For Julia Valerian.

“Think no more of the rumors,” Sertes said, fully aware that, as desired, he had planted the seed that would cause a tangle of thoughts to grow in Atretes’ mind. He had a warrior’s heart and wouldn’t like the idea of anyone thinking a woman had defeated him. “Rufus Pumponius Praxus sends his regards.”

“Who in Hades is Praxus?” Atretes growled.

“Nephew of the prefect of Rome. He’s holding a feast in honor of Titus’ birthday. You’re invited.”

“Neatly timed, Sertes,” Atretes said and leaned back against the cushions. “I suppose you see this as an opportunity for me to put an end to the talk about me.” Atretes told him what the nephew to the prefect could do with his invitation.

“Praxus is not a man to insult. He could put you back in chains.”

“I
earned
my freedom.”

“Then don’t throw it to the winds by offending a man with the ear of the emperor and his brother, Domitian.”

At the mention of Domitian, a muscle jerked in Atretes’ jaw.

“Praxus is sickened by these Christians who sing when they die,” Sertes went on. “He’d like nothing better than to hunt them all down and exterminate them.”

“What have I to do with Christians?” Atretes said, knowing full well why Sertes was dropping this information. “The only one I knew was Hadassah, and she’s dead.”

“Then I suggest you keep your distance from any others with whom you might come in contact.”

Atretes thought of Rizpah in the upstairs chamber. If Sertes knew she was a widow, he very likely knew she was a Christian as well.

Sertes saw his warning had sunk in. “Praxus respects you for your courage. You fight with the heart of a lion and he wants to honor you. Let him.” His mouth curved faintly. “Your less than delicate refusal will be taken as an insult.”

“Then tell him the lion is still licking the wounds Rome inflicted on him.”

Annoyed, Sertes rubbed the date still in his hand. “If Praxus even suspected you were encouraging the spread of this cult, he’d have you back in chains with the snap of his fingers.”

Atretes looked at him coldly. “And who says I am?”

Sertes popped the date into his mouth and ate it. Washing it down with wine, he stood. “I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“When has that ever kept you away?”

Sertes smiled and shook his head. “One day your pride will destroy you, Atretes.”

“Pride is what has kept me alive.” He rose. Draining his goblet, he set it down with a hard thump. “But perhaps you’re right. I’ve been on this mountain too long.” He walked with Sertes through the atrium and into the
antechamber.
“Say nothing to Praxus for now. I’ll think over his invitation and send you my answer.”

Sertes savored his victory in secret. “Don’t take too long. The feast is in seven days.” A servant opened the front door as they approached. Sertes clasped Atretes’ arm. “You vanquished every foe in the arena, Atretes. It’s time now to know the enemy outside it!”

“I’ll heed your advice,” he said with an enigmatic smile. His eyes grew cold as he watched Sertes walk across the yard, say a few words to Gallus, and go out the gate.