The Champion (24 page)

The announcer’s voice carried across the throng of fifty thousand on the arena’s perfect acoustics. Informed of Alexius’s retirement, the mob booed in tandem and jumped to its feet in protest. Sword in hand, Alexius raised his arms, soothing the multitude while he acknowledged their disappointment.

Once the other competitors were named—champions from a rival
ludus
—a door opened in the arena’s floor. Alexius strapped on his helmet and checked the placement of the thick leather greave on his arm.

“Please, Lord,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can ask for Your help in this matter, but if so, let me be victorious this one last time.”

Across the sand, the undertaker, dressed as Charon in a black hood and flowing cape, waited as usual in the shadows of the exit, ready to ferry the dead from the arena.

Amid smoke, blaring trumpets and horns, three heavily armed men appeared. Their swords glinted in the sun. The swarm of buzzing spectators settled in to be entertained.

Without warning, his adversaries attacked. Alexius fended off all three with speed and unmatched skill, although
one blade reached close enough to slice a hole in his tunic.

He looked at the gap in the cloth. His anger finally surfaced. He blocked an attack, throwing himself back into the battle. Blow after blow, he defended his title as Rome’s premiere champion.

The wild drunken masses cheered his every move and gasped or booed when the others came close to wounding him.

For the crowd’s sake, he toyed with his opponents until the ache in his ribs warned him to pick one off. In a single strategic move he sliced an adversary’s upper arm, rendering the limb useless for at least a week. Seeing the wounded man fall, the pleased mob cheered louder.

Alexius swiped up the finished man’s sword and tested its weight. Now armed as a
Dimachaeri,
he grinned and spun the blades like matched wheels on a chariot.

He advanced. His rivals charged. The incited mob roared. Alexius felt the catch and pull of his blade through the flesh of his prey. He carried through with the blow just as his foe’s sword sliced close enough to ruffle his hair.

With a second man down, Alexius faced his last challenger. The day’s rising heat and the throb in his ribs annoyed him. Armed as a
Thracian,
the third gladiator wore shin guards and carried a square shield along with his curved sword. The two men squared off like lions.

“Are you ready to die?” the
Thracian
taunted.

“Not particularly,” Alexius answered, grateful that he had more to live for than ever.

“Neither am I.” The
Thracian
plowed across the
sand. Sword struck sword in a violent clash of sharp, polished steel. Their muscles strained against the power of the other’s. Alexius’s wounded side began to burn. He felt his six-day-old stitches pull.

The crowd began to chant Alexius’s name. His teeth bared as he held back the assault, he saw a
gladius
poised to strike reflected in the
Thracian’
s eyes.

Death’s cold fingers brushed the back of Alexius’s neck. One of the wounded men had awakened. Using all of his reserves to force a turn in their positions, he exposed the
Thracian’
s back to the blade instead of his own.

To his amazement, an arrow came from nowhere, piercing the shoulder of the revived attacker. The mob exploded with excitement. The already wounded man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, screaming. Alexius twisted the
Thracian
back around to use as a shield in case of more arrows. Seeing no archers he used his foot to hook the
Thracian’
s ankle. With a shove he pushed the man backward, tripping him. Alexius pressed the point of his sword against the fallen man’s jugular.

Lusty chants for blood poisoned the air.

“Do it,” the fallen man begged. “Just please be quick!”

Breathing heavily, Alexius stepped back, choosing life instead of death. Ignoring the mixed results of the crowd’s approval, he glanced over his shoulder, more interested in the archer who’d helped him than he was in killing one of his adversaries.

The undertaker remained an eerie presence near the exit, but there was no one else as far as he could see. His work complete, his agreement with Antonius honored and his marriage to Tibi secured, he saluted the
emperor whose nod of approval released him from the field.

With a silent prayer of thanks to God, he stabbed the point of his sword in the sand and turned his back on his old life, satisfied that he no longer needed violence to sustain him.

Ignoring the pain in his side, he stalked to the exit. A glance at the undertaker revealed the thin, wizened face of a man beneath the cowl.

He pushed through the gate, liberated to leave the sand once and for all. He collected Calisto from the stable and headed home, desperate to see Tibi.

When he arrived at the
ludus
the sun was waning. The familiar hint of smoke permeated the air. He climbed the front steps and entered the
domus
. Except for servants cleaning the inner garden, the house seemed empty.

Assuming that Velus had gone to the market or to run some other errand, he took the stairs two at a time and went straight to Tibi’s room.

It was empty.

“Tibi?” he called. No reply. Scowling, he headed back downstairs to the servants in the garden. “Where is my lady?” he asked.

The servants’ chatter died abruptly. They exchanged puzzled glances. “We don’t know, master,” a boy called Scipio said.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Where’s Velus?”

Scipio shrank back. “I don’t know that either, sir.”

Old anxiety rose up to taunt him. “What of my guests?”

“They left for the Forum several hours ago,” he
said, clearly relieved he had at least that one answer to give him.

Alexius turned and left. Tibi
had
to be with Velus. How like her to push herself when she didn’t have to. Her bruises were healing, but to his mind she’d rushed back to walking and now, leaving the house, much sooner than she needed to.

He washed quickly and exchanged his dirty tunic for a clean one.

A commotion on the lower floor sent him running down the stairs. The servants had lit lanterns along the stairwell. In the entry, he found Sergius carrying Tibi in his arms. His first instinct—to break his friend’s neck—he checked, noting that not all of his temper had fled yet. “What have you done to her?”

“Nothing. This is all your doing.”

“How so?” Stricken with worry, he took her light weight from Sergius with the greatest care.

Sergius turned sheepish. “She swore me to silence.”

“Silence? I’ll rip out your tongue if you want to stay silent!”

Sergius glared at him. “She went to the arena and saved your wretched hide. The arrow that saved you was her doing. We bribed the undertaker to change places with her. She watched over you. The pain caused from using the bow was more than the poor girl could stand. She lost consciousness in the litter on the way back here.”

Remorse filled him. He’d wanted so very much to be her champion. In the end, she’d turned out to be his. “What took you so long to return? I’ve been worried. I came home to find her gone. To see her this way again is beyond imagining.”

“She insisted we check on the health of her men.”

How like her. “And?”

“They’ll all live, although each of them has some kind of wound or another.”

Relieved, Alexius kissed her brow and started back up the stairs.

“She’s all right, otherwise,” Serguis called to him. “You’re a lucky a man to have a woman as brave as that one.”

In her room, he placed Tibi on her couch and covered her with the white cotton. He sat down in his usual chair in the dark and waited for her to wake up.

He guessed it was nearly the sixth hour after midday when she began to stir. “Tibi? Can you hear me?”

She nodded gingerly and winced when she turned her head on the pillow to look at him.

“Why did you endanger yourself? Why didn’t you stay here where you’re safe?” he asked.

She blinked. “Help me turn over.”

“No, I rather like you captive if it means you can’t run off to the Coliseum behind my back.”

Seeing her struggle, he relented and helped her onto her side, a pillow in front of her to balance against. “First, if anyone went behind anyone’s back, it was you behind mine. Why didn’t you tell me about your agreement with Antonius or that you planned to risk your life to force my father’s hand?”

He tugged his fingers through his hair, not used to having to answer to anyone. “I didn’t go behind your back. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“By doing so, you left my sister to carry the tale.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I couldn’t find you!”

Seeing her tears made him cringe inside. He couldn’t even comfort her for fear of hurting her back. “Don’t cry, Tibi, please. There was no need for concern.”

“No need…?” She wiped the moisture from her cheeks and scrubbed at her reddened eyes. “My father arranged for your opponents’ blades to be poisoned. One tiny scratch and you could have been lost to me forever.”

Dazed, he sat back in the chair. “Tell me everything.”

She did as he asked. “I had to shoot that man,” she said nearing the end of the story. The lamplight warmed her tear-streaked face as she unconsciously picked at her fingernail. “I only wounded him, and I know I’m probably wrong to say it, but I would have killed him if it meant saving you.”

He slipped to his knees beside the couch and took hold of her nearest hand. “I can’t express how grateful I am that you care for me so much.”

“I do more than care. I
love
you.”

“And I love you. You’re mine and I’m yours, no?”

“Yes.”

“After today, I owe you my life, not that you didn’t own it already.”

She leaned forward on her pillows and softly kissed his lips. “You don’t owe me anything. Look how many times you’ve rescued me in the past few weeks alone.”

“I didn’t mind.” He grinned, his shock all but gone. “You keep me from boredom.”

She stroked his cheek. “At this rate you’ll be the most entertained man alive.”

“And once we wed I’ll be the most blessed.”

Two weeks later, Tibi heard Velus call her name. “I’m here in the garden.” A month since she’d been caned, she was almost completely healed. She was preparing for her wedding in two days’ time. Adiona and Pelonia were helping her fuss over the details of her
first
stola,
what flowers to use and the best meal to serve their wedding guests.

“You have a visitor, my lady,” Velus said.

“My sister?”

“No. One of the master’s friends. A lady by the name of Dora.”

“Dora? Of course, show her in.”

Tibi stood and smoothed down her tunic as she followed the paths between the verdant flowerbeds. An older woman appeared with Velus in the arched doorway.

“Finally, I see you,” Dora said, her Greek accent similar to that of Alexius, but thicker. “I was so sorry when Alexius told me you were ill.”

Tibi welcomed her. She led Dora to a table near the smallest of the garden’s three fountains. “I’ve looked forward to our meeting.”

“Not half as much as I have, I promise you. So many rumors about Alexius and his bevy of women, but not once did he bring a woman to the
thermopolium
to meet us or share a meal with him. The day he does…” She clapped her hands. “I
had
to go to the market. That will teach me to stay home, no?”

“He never brought
anyone
before me?”

“Not one.”

Tibi smiled, remembering that he’d told her he only brought special women to his Greek oasis.

“I have something for you.”

“My panther?”

“Come and see.” Dora smiled.

Tibi followed the small woman into the entryway. A cage made of wood slats sat near the wall with a healthy black panther inside it. “He’s big, no?” asked Dora. “His eyes opened the day after you left. We think he must be
seven or eight weeks old by now. He’s bigger than Iris, but she’s such a good mama she keeps feeding him.”

Tibi sank to her knees on the cool tiles beside the cage. “Is it safe to let him out?”

“Certainly. He’s a good boy. He thinks he’s a little king to be held, fed and played with all the hours of the day.”

Tibi undid the latch and allowed the cub to come to her on his own. “Did you name him?”

“We call him Pest, but you’ll find something better, no doubt.”

“He thinks he’s a little king, you say? Then I think I’ll call him Rex.”

Dora laughed. “Be careful. Alexius is Greek. Greek men think
they
are the only king in their house.”

Dora visited a little longer before having to return to the
thermopolium
to start preparations for the evening guests. Alexius arrived home from the Forum within moments of Dora’s departure. “You just missed her,” Tibi told him. “She is the kindest lady. She even brought Rex back to me.”

“Rex? I’m the only king in my house.”

She laughed.

“I’m serious.

She laughed again and told him what Dora said about Greek men. “Come here and see him.”

She took Rex from his cage, pleasantly surprised he let her hold him. He hissed at Alexius. Unconcerned, Alexius picked up the cub by the scruff of his neck. “She’s mine. Don’t forget it…Rex,” he sneered. “And we’ll get along fine.”

Laughing, Tibi wrapped her arms loosely around Alexius and grinned up at him. “She told me something I think will amuse you.”

He put Rex on the floor and gathered her close. “What is it?”

“She said I’m the only woman you ever brought to meet them.”

He shrugged.

“You said you’d brought a hundred ‘special’ women there.”

“No, you said that.”

“You let me think it was true.”

“You seemed to want to believe it. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

She caressed his cheek. “You’ve never disappointed me yet.”

“Give it time.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you all the days of my life.”

He kissed her softly on the lips. “Good. That’s exactly how long I need.”