The Champion (3 page)

“Which order?”

She hesitated. “Opis.”

All humor left Alexius with a swiftness that shocked Tibi. Except for the arena where Alexius was purported to be as solemn as the grave he fought to avoid, he was known for his carefree manner and unique ability to laugh off almost any situation. “Why a priestess?” he asked with deadly calm. “There must be a legion of
men in Rome willing to marry a girl with your dowry and family’s connections to Senator Tacitus.”

“He wants to be rid of me.” A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed the pain.

“You think Caros and Pelonia will protect you.” It wasn’t a question. His mood had not lightened. If anything he’d grown more intent, more furious beneath his inscrutable veneer.

“Yes…no.” Her head throbbed with tension. She began to pace the tiles again. Why was Alexius angry? Did he think she’d implicated him in her scheme by coming here? “I don’t know what I thought exactly, just that I had nowhere else to go. My friends will never defy my father. My sister agrees with him as well.”

“I’d expect no less from her,” he scoffed under his breath.

She paused. It was no secret that Tiberia disliked the lower classes, especially gladiators and their trade, but as far as Tibi knew no one ever found fault with her sister. Tiberia was the epitome of what a Roman woman should be—beautiful, graceful and well-connected in her happy marriage. For the first time she noticed Alexius was aware of her sister’s prejudice and that he bore Tiberia no fondness, either. “I suppose I hoped Pelonia and Caros might have a way to hide me or suggest a safe place for me to go outside of Rome until my father forgives me. I realize now that I was—”

“Desperate?”

“Imprudent.”

A half smile curved his lips, but failed to hide the flintiness of his gaze. “I’ll keep you until they return. Then the three of you can decide what to do.”

“No. My father might make trouble for you if he learns you’ve helped me thwart him.”

“You don’t worry he’ll cause problems for Caros and Pelonia if they do the same? They’re Christians—easy targets for anyone who knows their secret and wishes to take aim at them.”

“I’m certain they’re safe or I’d never have come here. Father wants to punish me. He has no wish to shame anyone else in the family—or his good name by association.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to kill your father for harming my friends.” Alexius sat on the edge of his desk and gripped the carved edge on either side of his narrow hips.

“You wouldn’t really murder him, would you?” she asked, frightened by the depth of his calm, yet aware that he was entirely capable of killing and with great ease.

“I’m very protective of my loved ones.”

She thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes, but it might have been a flicker of the candlelight. “I didn’t intend to cause trouble for you by coming here. I think it’s best that I go.”

“No. Stay until Caros and Pelonia arrive. They’d never forgive me if I allowed you to leave and harm came to you.”

“My family knows they’re on the way. What if my father or sister suspects that I’ve sought them out and comes to search for me here?”

“I won’t let them find you.”

She bit her lower lip, confused by his willingness to help her. The sound of servants performing their morning chores filtered in from the hallway. She was running out of time. If her circumstances were any less dire, she’d never contemplate his offer. As it was… “My family can be very adamant.”

“I’m very convincing.”

She caught her breath, momentarily stunned by his smile, yet encouraged by his confidence. “They may insist on searching the
ludus
for me.”

He shrugged. “Let them. I’ll enjoy holding them off. I’m in need of a challenge.”

She frowned. “You don’t find battling for your life in the arena enough of a challenge?”

His silver eyes glittered with dangerous amusement. “It’s adequate, but not half as much fun as toying with your unreasonable relatives.”

A
lexius woke to a fist pounding on his chamber door. “Who is it?” He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of his sleeping couch. Usually up before first light, he noted the angle of the sun outside his window and judged it to be midmorning. He and his men were expected at the amphitheater within hours.

“Velus, master.”

“Come in,” he said, pulling a fresh tunic over his head.

The steward entered carrying a tray of food that filled the large room with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted pork. The dwarf kicked the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.

“What ails you, Velus? You look as though you’ve downed a bucket of vinegar.”

“Tiberia the Elder is downstairs.”

Alexius frowned. “The shrew has arrived already?”

“She asked to see master Caros’s wife. When I told her Pelonia wasn’t here, she demanded to speak with you.”

“Demanded?”
Few people rubbed his skin raw the
way Tibi’s self-important sister did. “Have her wait in the entryway.”

“She won’t like that,
dominus
.”

“I don’t like her,” he said simply.

Velus grunted and set the tray on a side table. “The lady wishes to see her sister.”

“How should I know where Tibi is?” he asked, filling a basin with hot water from an
amphora
. “I haven’t seen her for—”

“Hours?”

He grinned. “I don’t remember when.”

Velus’s weathered features pinched with confusion. “She’s down the hall—”

“Even if I did know where to find Tibi, I wouldn’t tell Tiberia—or anyone else for that matter. I promised the girl I’d keep her hidden until Caros and Pelonia arrive later today.”

“I understand,” Velus said. “But if you lie to his wife, senator Tacitus might take offense on her behalf and strive to make trouble for you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied, unconcerned. Conditioning his face with a mixture of oils and herbs, he picked up a small, straight-edged razor and began to scrape the bristles from his cheeks.

The
Ludus Maximus
supplied the games with the best gladiators and the senator’s popularity was down. Tacitus was too canny to risk his reelection by tampering with the mob’s favorite source of entertainment. “It’s not as though he can force me to close my doors because his wife is in a snit.”

“Yes, but if someone took Tibi away without your knowledge you’d be telling the truth when you said you didn’t know her whereabouts.”

“True.” Alexius finished shaving and rinsed the
razor in the basin. A slow smile spread across his face as he dried his throat with a square of linen. “Tibi seems to think her sister will insist on searching the
ludus
for her. If she’s not here, I’ll have no trouble allowing the shrew to look until her heart’s content. When Tibi’s nowhere to be found, Tiberia will look elsewhere and we’ll have bought some time and peace for a while.”

“I’ll find a safe place to take her and report to you once the sister is gone,” Velus assured him.

Alexius laced up his sandals and slid on a pair of silver wristbands before heading toward the door. “Wherever you take Tibi, make certain she’s well-guarded and dressed to go unnoticed. I imagine all that blond hair and creamy skin attracts admirers by the score.”

Velus nodded and followed Alexius into the corridor. The shutters had been folded back from the row of arched windows to allow a bird’s-eye view of the peach orchard. Clear morning light filled the vaulted path to the stairwell. On the first floor, the two men parted company.

Alexius took his time walking to the reception hall. In order to give Velus more of an opportunity to leave with Tibi by way of the back door, he meandered along the inner peristyle, surrounded by the soothing cascade of the fountains and the sweet fragrance of orange blossoms.

“So you’ve finally deigned to arrive,” Tiberia screeched the moment he entered the brightly painted room. “You took long enough, gladiator.”

“I saw no reason to hurry.”

Tiberia’s dark eyes narrowed. She rose from the plush blue cushions of her chair, the voluminous folds
of her white
stola
pooling at her feet. “Your dwarf informed me that my cousin hasn’t yet returned to Rome. However, I believe my sister, Tibi, came here to look for her last night. Fetch her for me. My father insists I bring her home.”

Hackles rose on the back of Alexius’s neck. His gaze slid to the display of weapons hanging on the wall above the hearth. He didn’t take orders well, but he controlled his irritation and maintained a tolerant expression. “Then why didn’t he bother to come here himself?”

“I offered, in hopes that he’d calm down before we returned. He’s furious enough to do her serious bodily harm.”

“Then she was wise to leave.”

“It’s no concern of yours, gladiator.”

“That may be. Either way, you’ve wasted your time. Your sister isn’t here, mistress. If I see her, I’ll convey the message.”

“You lie. I know she’s here. Only Pelonia is kind-hearted enough to take her in.”

“It seems to me a sister should be just as kind.”

Her expression soured. “Why would I risk my father’s good opinion of me for a bumbler like Tibi?”

“A bumbler?” Raised with a gaggle of close but competitive sisters, Alexius recognized the jealous comment for what it was. Few women were as graceful as Tibi. “How so?”

“What I mean is…she’s brought the situation upon herself.”

“What situation?” Alexius asked, pretending ignorance in an attempt to learn the details Tibi declined to confide in him. “Does it have anything to do with the reason my men were sent home untested last night?”

Tiberia flushed, but said no more to enlighten him. A citrus-scented breeze carried in from the central garden, rustling the potted palms near the open doorway. “You’ll have to discuss the use of your men with my father. Now, call Tibi for me. You’ve delayed me long enough.”

“I told you she isn’t here. And I suggest you tread lightly before calling me a liar again.”

Tiberia had the wit to put distance between them. “You do grasp that my husband has the power to order a search of this villainous den?”

“There’s no need for the senator to trouble himself. Ask nicely and you’re free to look for your sister now as long as you wish.”

Tiberia moved behind the chair and glared at him. With her haughty expression—as hard as one of the marble columns supporting the painted ceiling—she made it clear that she considered him less than human. To ask him for anything was an affront to her kind’s belief in her own superiority. He recognized the signs well. Other than his loving family, people had always looked down on him. First for being a poor farmer’s son, then for his life as a slave-turned-gladiator. He waited, his expression placid and betraying none of his desire to toss her into the street. If not for his esteem for her cousins, he wouldn’t hesitate.

“What will it be?” he asked, losing patience when she remained silent. “I’m expected at the arena. I have business to attend to.”

She raised her chin and attempted to look down her sharp nose at him. “I have several trusted slaves waiting for me outside. I’ll have them search the house and grounds.”

“I’ll inform my steward,” he said, pleased she’d
taken the bait. Once she left to gather her people, Velus appeared in the doorway, his round face flushed, his breathing labored. “Is all well with you, Velus? You look as though you’ve run the marathon.”

The steward ambled into the room and closed the door behind him. “Everything is as it should be, master.”

“Excellent. Where did you take Tibi?”

“I’ve sent her to the arena.”

Alexius’s heart stopped. “You did
what
?”

Velus blanched, obviously realizing he’d made a rare misstep. “I thought she’d be well-protected with your men. I gave her slave’s garb and made Darius responsible for keeping her safe. No one in her family will suspect she’s there.”

“How could you possibly think that beautiful girl would be safe surrounded by men who plan to face death within hours?” Alexius grabbed a
gladius
from the display of weapons on the far wall and ran for the back of the house. He was shaking with fury and a sickening, unfamiliar sensation he could only equate to fear.

Outside in the courtyard, he called for his horse and vaulted into the saddle the moment his slave delivered the gray stallion.

Velus arrived on the doorstep, wringing his stubby hands.

“See to the shrew,” Alexius ordered over his shoulder as he spurred the horse through the gates.
And if the gods have any mercy, I’ll see to her sister before my men do.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Darius, the young, ginger-haired gladiator trainer Velus had charged to ensure
Tibi’s protection. Rather than calming her, Darius’s warning served to raise her anxiety as she followed Alexius’s troupe through the torch-lit path leading into the dank underbelly of the Coliseum.

“The competitors from the other
ludi
are slaves for the most part,” Darius continued. “They’re shackled and weaponless until moments before they’re armed and released to fight in the arena. If one of them escapes and
happens
to notice you’re a woman he wishes to molest, we’ll keep you safe.”

His dubious tone suggested such an event was as likely as the arena crumbling around them. Convinced that any slave given the option of running for freedom or ravishing her meager charms would choose freedom every time, Tibi tried to relax and reminded herself that she was here by choice. Although the circumstances were less than ideal, a few hours in the protective custody of gladiators were preferable to a lifetime of servitude to a goddess she didn’t believe in.

Unable to see through the wall of burly warriors encircling her, Tibi tugged the cowl of her dark wool cloak more tightly around her face. The distant roar of lions and the clang of metal against metal echoed in the passageway, competing with the thunderous din of the crowd that bled down the stairwells from the upper levels.

In the staging area, pandemonium reigned. The noise of hundreds of men and beasts reverberated through the cavernous space. Air whooshed through huge bellows, stoking fires used not only for light but for blacksmiths forging hasty repairs on a variety of iron weapons. Big cats—lions, tigers, spotted leopards—prowled in cages stacked against the pitted concrete walls. Bears,
horses, boars with huge twisted tusks and even elephants awaited the ring in iron-barred stalls.

Sickened by the sharp stench of fetid hay and human degradation, Tibi watched the maelstrom of activity in awe. Life beneath the amphitheater spun like a well-oiled mechanism. Guards shouted orders to various troupes. Pulleys groaned as multiple lifts filled with dead warriors and animals were lowered from the arena’s sandy floor above them. Tibi cringed when the bodies were kicked aside. Just as Darius had said, trainers from the various gladiator schools unshackled their men. The fresh combatants lined up and traded their wooden practice weapons for polished shields, swords and tridents made of iron before being loaded onto the platforms that were raised back to the field.

“We’ll wait in here.” Darius waved her into a side room divided from the staging area by a low wall. Flanked by stone benches, the converted game pen held a large, chipped ceramic pot filled with water at the far end. The bulk of Alexius’s gladiators filed in behind her, while the rest remained beyond the wall to practice their battle stances.

Tibi tugged her cloak around her and buried her nose in a clean patch of itchy wool. The frenzied cheers of the mob blended with the tempest of activity clashing all around her. Doing her best to fade into a darkened corner, she studied the scarred, fierce-looking men. Some of them laughed and joked as though they were boys awaiting a romp while they played dice on the hay-strewn floor. Others were solemn, melancholy even. She wondered at the difference. Unlike most gladiators who were sold or sentenced into the profession, the men of the
Ludus Maximus
were volunteers who’d sworn their loyalty to Alexius, a tradition Caros began
a few years earlier when, she suspected, he became a Christian and no longer wished to keep slaves.

The crowd’s muffled chant of
“iugula, iugula,”
demanding a fallen man’s death, chilled her. The gladiator games were a pillar of the Empire, but she’d never been allowed this close to the carnage before. Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach. “How many men do you expect to lose today?” she asked Darius when he sat down beside her.

The edges of his mouth turned downward as he mentally took a head count. “Ten. Maybe twenty,” he answered prosaically. “The sponsor arranged battle re-enactments instead of a single man-against-man. The group fights are more expensive in lives and coin, but priceless in terms of buying the mob’s goodwill.”

Cringing, Tibi nodded. Everyone knew authority in the capital depended on keeping the public amused and satisfied. The emperor and other rich men who wished to influence or keep power did so by providing food and sponsoring an endless array of entertainments. The chariot races and gladiator games—the bloodier the better—were by far Rome’s favorite sports.

“What drew you to this life, Darius? Why did you volunteer?”

His dark eyes questioned her sanity. “The money’s good. So is the acclaim. Where else can slaves, foreigners, the condemned or poverty-stricken men like me go to earn freedom or fortune if not in the arena? We gladiators embody Romans’ worst fears. Because of that fear, most people look on us with a mix of repugnance and awe. But train a man with weapons, teach him how to entertain the crowd and in return the mob will give him a godlike reverence few men can ever hope to attain.”

“I know, but—” Another loud cheer signaled that the fallen gladiator was dead. She swallowed and wiped the sheen of perspiration from her upper lip with a shaky hand. “Some of you have wives and children. What good is fame and fortune if you’re dead? Why not be farmers or blacksmiths or—”

“It takes coin to set up a farm or a shop, mistress. Except for a few men like the master who fight their own rage in the arena, a volunteer does so because his plans require funds to prosper.”