As Sure as the Dawn (8 page)

Slowing to a fast walk, Atretes shrugged off the weights, tossing them aside as he strode past Sertes into the villa’s barren yard. “What are you doing here, Sertes?” he said without stopping.

Sertes followed at a more leisurely pace. “I came to see how you fare with your freedom,” he said in good humor. He had been dealing in gladiators for twenty years and could see the quiet life was already chafing. Once a man had experienced the excitement and bloodlust of the arena, he couldn’t leave the life without denying an essential part of his nature. He saw that very nature was goading the German, driving him, though Atretes himself didn’t yet know it. Sertes had watched a tiger pace in its cage once. Atretes had the same air about him now.

Entering the baths, Atretes stripped off his tunic and dove into the
frigidarium.
Sertes strolled in and stood on the marble walk against the wall, watching him in admiration. He was the embodiment of power and masculine grace. No wonder women cried out for him. Atretes came up out of the pool at the other end with a single fluid movement of strength, water cascading from his magnificent body. Sertes was proud of him. “They still call your name, you know.”

Atretes took a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “My fighting days are over.”

Sertes smiled slightly, a tinge of mockery entering his black eyes. “No offer of wine for a friend?”

“Lagos,” Atretes said and gestured. Lagos poured wine into a silver goblet and brought it to Sertes.

He lifted the goblet in a toast. “To your return to the arena,” he said and drank, undisturbed by the tight-lipped glance Atretes cast him. He lowered the goblet. “I’ve come with an offer.”

“Save it.”

“Hear me out.”

“Save it!”

Sertes swirled the wine. “Afraid you might change your mind?”

“Nothing could induce me to fight in the arena again.”

“Nothing? You challenge the very gods, Atretes. That’s never wise. Don’t forget it was Artemis who called you to Ephesus.”

Atretes gave a cynical laugh. “You paid Vespasian’s price. That’s what brought me here.”

Sertes was affronted, but thought better than to remark on such blasphemy. “You will welcome the news that Vespasian is dead.”

Atretes glanced at him. “Murdered, I hope.” He snapped his fingers. “Wine, Lagos. Fill the goblet to the brim. I feel like celebrating.”

Sertes laughed softly. “You will be sorry to hear he died of natural causes. Not that there weren’t those, like you, who wished him ill, especially the old aristocracy who found themselves sharing the senate with provincials recruited from Espania. Vespasian’s father was rumored to be a Spanish tax collector, but then, who knows?”

“Who cares?”

“I imagine those in Espania. He did seem to favor them. He granted Latin rights to them as well as Roman citizenship to all the magistrates.” He laughed. “Something that hardly sat well with the old families who considered Vespasian a plebeian.” He raised his goblet again. “Despite his bloodlines, he was a great emperor.”

“Great?” He muttered a foul word and spit on the marble tiles.

“Yes, great. Perhaps the greatest since Julius Caesar. Despite his reputation for avarice, Vespasian’s tax reforms saved Rome from financial ruin. His philosophy was to first restore stability to the tottering state, then adorn it. He accomplished much of that. The Forum and Temple of Peace stand in Rome as tribute to his efforts. A pity he was not able to finish the colossal arena he began building on the foundations of Nero’s Golden House.”

“Yes, what a pity,” Atretes said sarcastically.

“Oh, I know you hated him. With good reason. After all, wasn’t it his cousin that crushed the rebellion in Germania?”

Atretes cast him a dark look. “The rebellion lives.”

“No longer, Atretes. You’ve been away from your homeland a long, long time. Vespasian annexed Agri Decumates in Southern Germania and cut off the reentrant angle formed by the Rhine at Basel. Germans are too fragmented to be of any threat to Rome now. Vespasian was a military genius.” He could see Atretes did not like hearing plaudits for his nemesis. It fanned the hatred within him. Exactly what Sertes wanted. Keep the fire hot.

“You will remember his younger son, Domitian.”

Atretes remembered all too well.

“I believe he arranged your last match in Rome,” Sertes said casually, driving the knife in deeper. “His older brother, Titus, is now emperor.”

Atretes downed the rest of his wine.

“His military career is as illustrious as his father’s,” Sertes said. “It was Titus who crushed the rebellion in Judea and destroyed Jerusalem. Other than his unfortunate attachment to the Jewish princess Berenice, his career is flawless.
Pax Romana
at any price. We can only hope his talents extend to administration as well.”

Atretes set his empty goblet aside and took another towel from the shelf. He dried his hair and upper body, his blue eyes glitter-ing.

Sertes studied him with veiled satisfaction. “Rumors abound that you were in the city a few nights ago,” he said, as though remarking on some casual occurrence. He didn’t add that Gallus had confirmed the rumors, though he had not known the reason for Atretes’ clandestine visit. Something important must have been transacted, and Sertes wanted to know what it was. It might prove useful in getting Atretes back into the arena.

“I went to pay my respects to the goddess and found myself mobbed instead,” Atretes said, the lie coming easily.

Seeing an opportunity, Sertes grasped it. “I know the proconsul very well. I’m sure, with a word, he’ll put a company of legionnaires at your disposal. You can enter the city anytime you want and pay proper homage to our goddess whenever you choose without worrying about whether you’ll live through it.”

Sertes smiled inwardly. Such measures as he was suggesting would draw attention. Once Atretes was recognized, the excitement would spread like a fever, and such a fever could heat Atretes’ cold blood. Let him hear the masses screaming his name. Let him see how they still worshiped him.

“I’d like the mob to forget I ever existed,” Atretes said. He wasn’t fooled by Sertes’ machinations. “And your measures would merely serve to whet their appetite, wouldn’t they?” he said, raising one brow sardonically.

Sertes smiled drolly and shook his head. “Atretes, dear friend, I’m dismayed to find you don’t trust me. Have I not always had your best interests in mind?”

Atretes gave a cold laugh. “As long as they coincided with yours.”

Sertes hid his annoyance. Atretes’ perceptiveness had always been a problem. His success in the arena hadn’t hinged merely on physical prowess and courage. Atretes was surprisingly intelligent for a German barbarian. The combination of hatred and sagacity was dangerous, but made him that much more exciting.

“Perhaps we can make arrangements more suitable to your desires,” Sertes said.

“My desire is to be left alone.”

Sertes was undaunted. He knew Atretes better than the gladiator knew himself. He had observed him in captivity and out. “You have been left alone,” he said, watching Atretes drop the towel from around his waist and pull on a fresh, richly woven tunic. He was the most magnificently built man Sertes had ever seen. “For several months. You seem little satisfied by your solitude.”

Putting on a thick leather belt with brass studs, Atretes looked at him with eyes so cold Sertes knew he had pressed him far enough for today. He wasn’t distressed by his failure to gain Atretes’ agreement to reenter the arena. There would be other opportunities. He would make use of them as they came. He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Very well,” he said with a smile. “We’ll talk of other things.” And he proceeded to do so. Sertes left an hour later, but not before inviting Atretes to one of the banquets before the games. He said the proconsul of Rome was eager to pay his respects. Atretes sensed the undercurrent of warning. One didn’t slight a high official of Rome without consequences. Still, he declined.

Sertes became more direct. “One should be very careful about insulting the wrong Roman.”

“I’ve learned many things during my captivity, Sertes. Even Caesar himself is afraid of the mob. And as you well know, the mob still loves me.”

“You are also wise enough to know that the mob is like a fickle woman. Stay away from her long enough and she’ll forget. Besides, what the mob wants most is to see you fight again.”

Atretes said nothing, but Sertes saw that the words had struck a raw nerve. Good. As he went down the steps with Atretes at his side, he saw a young woman with a baby, walking in the sunshine of the barren courtyard before the villa. At first, he thought it was Julia Valerian and was surprised. His spies had reported the relationship ended some months ago. They’d also informed him that Julia Valerian had been carrying a child rumored to be fathered by Atretes. He had ordered his spies to watch the house until the birth. They reported the child had been cast upon the rocks to die. A pity. Had the child been Atretes’ and lived, it might have proven very useful.

Pausing, Sertes stroked his chin and watched the young woman with open interest. She was small and very nicely curved. She glanced their way. His smile broadened. She turned away again and disappeared around the corner of the building. “You always did have an eye for beauty.” He cast Atretes an amused glance. “Who is she?”

“A household servant.”

Sertes sensed Atretes’ annoyed withdrawal and wondered about it. He glanced in the direction the woman had gone, curious. “And the child? Is it yours?”

“The child is hers.”

Sertes said no more, but a seed of speculation had been planted in his fertile mind.

Rizpah turned and saw Atretes striding toward her. She knew he was angry. Everything about him exuded his foul mood. Shifting Caleb in her arms, she sighed, wondering what she had done to displease him now.

“You’re not to leave the villa unless I order you to do so!”

“You wish to make your son a prisoner, my lord?” she said, striving for calm.

“I wish to protect him!”

“As do I, Atretes. I’m within the walls.”

“You will stay in the
villa!”

“What possible harm can come to Caleb out here? You have guards—”

“Woman, you will do as I say!”

Her hackles rose at his imperious tone. The man was impossible! She had never taken well to being commanded to obedience. Shimei had always dealt with her in a more gentle fashion than this thick-headed German. “If you are reasonable, I will obey. In this case, you aren’t.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Press me, and I’ll throw you right out that gate.”

She looked straight back at him. “No, you will not.”

Hot color flooded his face. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you’re as concerned for Caleb’s good health as I. I don’t know why you’re so incensed, Atretes. You watched me walk Caleb around the yard yesterday and the day before and had no objections. Today you look like a melon ready to burst.”

Atretes struggled to hold his temper. She was right, which only maddened him further. He
had
watched her yesterday and the day before, and he’d found pleasure in doing so, possibly for the same reasons Sertes had just enjoyed watching her. She was beautiful and full of feminine grace. He seethed now. She knew, for the sake of his son, he couldn’t throw her out the gate. His hands sorely itched to throttle her. He had seen the look of speculation in Sertes’ eyes before he left.

Rizpah saw the conflicting emotions in his face, anger overriding everything else. She should have handled things differently. She should have sealed her lips and gone into the villa and chosen a better time to state her opinions. She sat Caleb on her hip. “What’s happened that you think it necessary to keep Caleb in the confines of the villa?”

Atretes watched his son grasp the front of her tunic, pulling it slightly. “It’s enough that I command you.”

“Must we go through this again?” she said with strained patience. “Has it something to do with the friend that was visiting with you?”

“He is no friend! His name is Sertes, and he’s editor of the Ephesian games.”

“Oh,” she said. “He came to talk you into fighting again, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “Did he succeed?”

“No.”

She sensed there was something very serious behind his anger and not just the pique of a man’s pride. “You must tell me where the danger lies. I seem to have blundered and don’t know how.”

He saw no other way to convince the stubborn woman but to tell her the truth. “If Sertes could find a way to force me to fight again, he would do it. He asked who you were. I said you were a servant. He asked about
him.”
He nodded curtly to his son.

Her heart began to race as she sensed the danger. “And?”

“I said the child was yours.”

She let out her breath, her mouth curving ruefully. “That must have choked you.”

“You think the situation amusing?” he said through his teeth.

Rizpah sighed. In another moment, he wouldn’t be able to think clearly through the red haze of his rising temper. “No,” she said calmly. “I don’t think it’s amusing. I think it’s very serious and I’ll do as you say.”