The Champion (6 page)

Alexius muttered something in Greek under his breath. “What happened next? You were discovered, no?”

“Yes, but not until after I’d bested every last boy. I felt triumphant, I assure you.”

He snickered. “I can imagine.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you can. When you win in the arena, do you feel a rush of invincibility? Is that why you continue to fight when you don’t have to?”

“I fight for reasons of my own.”

“One of those secrets you spoke of?” She ignored his glare. “Darius mentioned that you need to fight in the arena to battle your own rage.”

“The boy speaks too much,” he snapped. “He’s not paid to have or give an opinion of me.”

She backed away, a habit from never knowing when her father might turn violent. For the third time today, Alexius’s easy manner had evaporated, reminding her of the volatile side of his nature she didn’t dare trust.

He gathered Calisto’s reins. “We’d best be on our way.”

They left the square with no further words between them. Sunlight filtered through the olive trees, creating a dappled effect on the path in front of them.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“No,” she said. “I’m the one who’s sor—”

“Don’t. You did nothing.”

“My mouth always runs away from me. I pressed too much for something that is none of my business.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.

“You didn’t—”

“Yes.” He stopped in the center of the walkway. “I did.” Still clutching the reins, his strong fingers gripped her upper arm and turned her gently to face him. “You don’t have to deny it. I saw you flinch away from me. I know you live in fear of your father, but I swear I’m not like him. Rest assured, even if I act like a barbarian at times, I promise you have no cause to be afraid of me.”

“I don’t think you’re a barbarian and I’m not frightened of you,” she assured him, sensing again that painful struggle inside him she wished she could ease.

“Good, because I’ll
never
hurt you, Tibi.”

His sincerity was palpable. From out of nowhere, hot tears welled in her eyes. No one ever worried about hurting her. On the contrary, she often thought her family looked for ways to cause her pain. Caught off guard by the force of her reaction, she turned back
to the path and hurried to wipe the moisture from her cheeks.

“Tibi? Are you crying?”

“No, there’s a speck of dust in my eye. I’m fine.”

Alexius allowed her to walk a short distance ahead. He despised the air of sorrow that surrounded her slim, cloaked figure. Worse, he hated that something he’d said or done was responsible for her melancholy.

Usually blessed with the ability to charm even the most hard-shelled of women, he cursed his lack of finesse with the one woman he wanted most to impress. Judging by the way she’d backed away from him as though she expected some form of violence, she either thought of him as a monster or her father’s treatment was even worse than the gossips suggested.

Unwilling to squander the few remaining hours he had left to enjoy her fresh-faced beauty and good nature, he followed her up the path. The fact that he had to relinquish Tibi at all maddened him. From the moment he’d promised Caros to keep his distance three years ago, he’d regretted the foolhardy pact. He wanted her. He always had. The longer he spent with Tibi, the more he knew he always would. He was acutely aware that he was too far beneath her to be considered worthy of anything more than assisting her for an afternoon, but if she belonged to him, he’d cherish her as she deserved.

“The
thermopolium
is around the corner,” he said, catching up to her in a few long strides. “Over there. The one with the blue door.”

Inside the smoky establishment, the aroma of fresh herbs, garlic and roasted fowl made Alexius’s mouth water for a good Greek meal. A gladiator’s typical diet
of barley gruel kept him full when he was training, but never satisfied.

The small room was dimly lit and empty except for the proprietor, his friend, Marcellus, a short, boney man with gray hair at his temples, a hawkish nose and deep-set brown eyes.

Certain he could trust the older man not to spread news of him or his companion, Alexius introduced Marcellus to Tibi before telling her, “His wife, Aldora, is a fine cook. She prepares all the food here.”

“My Dora is Greek, like Alexius,” said Marcellus who welcomed Tibi with an elaborate wave of his arm. “He says she cooks like his mama used to do.”

“Yes, her delicious meals are renowned throughout the city. Where is she?”

“At the market.” Marcellus cast his gaze toward Tibi’s hooded figure. “She’ll be sorry she missed you and your guest. Do you want your usual table in the garden?”

“Yes, but first we need to visit Iris.” Alexius indicated the sleeping cub straddled along his forearm. “If she is willing to take in an orphan, we need her help.”

Marcellus grinned and fussed over the panther cub before fetching an oil lamp and leading them down a narrow flight of steps into the domed cellar. A continuous chorus of meows filled the damp space. In the far corner stood a large wooden crate padded with hay. “Dora made a spot down here when she found Iris birthing her litter. She’s a placid cat. I doubt she’ll object to feeding one more.”

Thankfully, Marcellus was right. Iris, a gray-and-white ball of fluff, welcomed the cub without fanfare. She sniffed the panther, licked his head and ears, then
nudged the little black body into the pile of her own white kittens.

Alexius watched Tibi. Once Marcellus returned to the main room upstairs, she slipped the cowl off her head, revealing a long braid that appeared a burnished gold in the lantern light. She sank to her knees, her soft hands clenched into anxious fists against her thighs. While she focused on the cub, he concentrated on the delicate shell of her ear and the long, slender curve of her throat. He could still feel the sparks of awareness in his fingertips where he’d touched the creamy smoothness of her cheek. If Ptah hadn’t interrupted, he’d have taken her in his arms and kissed her breathless.

“There you go, little one,” Tibi encouraged, once the snuffling cub rooted its way to Iris’s warm body and began to nurse. “That’s a good boy.”

She glanced up at Alexius. Relief lit her large brown eyes. “It’s presumptuous, I know, but do you think we might ask your friends to keep him for a few weeks? Iris seems to have welcomed him. I can offer them coin—”

He wondered at her constant offers of money, as if no one ever did her a kindness for free. “I’ll pay them if it comes to that, although I doubt they’ll accept it.”

The panther cub safe and secure with Iris and her brood, Tibi replaced the cowl to cover her hair and followed him up the stairs. Marcellus led them past the half-dozen tripod tables and stools that took up most of the small room. The worn brick floor joined a back wall studded with shelves containing an array of ceramic plates, bowls and platters. A slave pushed aside the curtain concealing the doorway to the kitchen. He took his place on a small stool near the hearth and began to turn a spit laden with chickens over the fire.

Careful not to bump his head on the low door frame, Alexius followed Marcellus and Tibi outside where a high brick wall, dripping with colorful bougainvillea and wisteria, provided privacy from the adjacent businesses and apartment blocks. Lifelike, plaster statues of satyrs and centaurs guarded the square perimeter.

Alexius showed Tibi to a table in a secluded corner. Years before, the
thermopolium
’s water supply had been diverted to create a Grecian fountain in the center of the courtyard. Pots of varied sizes and shapes overflowed with herbs, miniature fruit trees, and a profusion of colorful flowers lent the cool breeze the sweetened scent of spring.

Like the interior room, the area was empty except for a few slaves sweeping the bricks and scrubbing the tables. He’d timed their arrival well to coincide with the afternoon lull. They had several hours before the rush of evening patrons, limiting the risk of Tibi being discovered in his company.

“What a lovely place,” Tibi said, leaning in to smell the vase of purple wisteria adorning their table. “Judging by the front door, I never would have guessed there was such an oasis to be found here.”

A slave poured a mug of water for each of them. “Aldora misses our homeland. She tries to re-create a piece of it here for herself.”

“Has she succeeded?”

He nodded. “It’s as close to the glory of Greece as I’ve found in this latrine of a city.”

She started to speak, but appeared to change course. “Rome is the capital of the world, Alexius. People of every tribe and tongue wish to live here. There must be
something
about it you consider worthwhile. The training school, your men—?”

“You.”

“
All
of your women,” she added, ignoring him.

Savoring the sound of his name on her lips, he hoped the tinge of bitterness in her voice stemmed from jealousy. “I wouldn’t want any of them if I had you.”

Her forehead pleated with disbelief. “For a little while, possibly, though I doubt it. What about after? Once the novelty value of an unsophisticated girl wore off.”

He sat back in his chair. She doubted his honesty and why
should
she trust him? He was reputed to be many things, but faithful to any one particular woman wasn’t one of them. He lived on the edge of death at all times. He was surrounded by it, threatened by it and controlled by the reality that his life and fortune were a commodity to be bought and sold for the amusement of the mob. Years ago, he’d stopped planning for a future—or even hoping for one. He lived in the moment, chasing whatever fleeting pleasure he might find. But that hadn’t always been his way.

“You don’t understand your appeal, Tibi.”

“No,” she scoffed. “It’s my lack of appeal that I understand quite well.”

“
Lack
of appeal?” Her low opinion of herself sparked his irritation. “Nonsense.”

“You’re right. The reason my father intends to send me to a temple in disgrace is because I’m so fascinating I have an array of suitors clamoring to wed me.”

“Which brings us back to the story you didn’t finish earlier.” He hooked his arm on the back of his chair and studied her tense face over the fragrant wisteria blooms. “We have time and I’m curious. What happened after the archery contest to ruin you for marriage?”

T
ibi took a long drink of water before setting her ceramic mug aside. “I learned a lesson in the evils of pride.”

Alexius waited. She glanced away while another slave brought them a loaf of fresh bread. “As I told you, I was elated that I’d won,” she continued once they were alone again. “The boys were well-trained and represented the best families in society. Had I gone home and kept the victory between me and my father, all might have been different. Instead, I let my childish impulses run away with me. When I was called forward to collect the laurel diadem that proclaimed me the victor, I convinced myself I needed it as proof for my father. The judge insisted I push back my hood and reveal my identity. By then, I’d begun to regret the decision to go in front of the multitude who’d come to witness the contest. I tried to leave, but it was too late. One of our neighbors, my father’s fiercest rival, recognized me.”

“He called you out in front of your father?” “Worse. He understood what I did not and sought to humiliate my entire family by using me. He made a
great show of exposing my identity to everyone in attendance and declared that I was a hoyden whose father wasn’t man enough to control her.”

Alexius’s jaw clenched tight from the effort to remain seated and listen.

“After that day, the gossip about me spread like an infection. At best, I was called unfeminine. At worst, they considered me wild and unnatural for wanting to compete with the males. The taint of that day followed me and grew out of proportion. By the time I reached a marriageable age a few years later, no acceptable family wanted to risk teaming their son with a supposed troublemaker who might seek to best him. As for older men and widowers, they want a placid wife, not a woman with a muddied history like mine.”

“What of your broken engagements?” he asked, disgusted by her ill treatment. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve had, what…three?”

“Four,” she despaired to admit. “My suitors were the dregs of the acceptable families with more status than coin. They considered marriage to any woman with a decent dowry. Unfortunately for my father, the first two broke off with me when I disagreed with them on several political issues. The third took offense for reasons I have yet to fully understand. I took offense at the other.”

“Last night?” he prompted, unable to imagine Tibi capable of offending him in any way.

“Yes.” He heard the mix of pain, embarrassment and bitterness in the whispered word. Her eyes downcast, she shredded a chunk of bread as she spoke. “Lepidus—”

“Catulus Lepidus?”

She nodded. “He accosted me in the garden while the
other guests watched the games. He claimed I should be grateful for his willingness to try me since I’m a…a worthless girl no one wants.”

Alexius burned with white-hot rage. His chair scraped back on the bricks. “I’m going to break the fool’s neck.”

“No!” Tibi lunged forward in her seat and clutched his wrist from across the narrow table. “The betrothal was ended and I’m free of him. You mustn’t involve yourself or resort to violence on my account.”

Her pleading eyes knocked the fire out of him. He sank back into his seat, his breathing heavy. What had he been about to do? Leave her while he followed his anger in pursuit of a vendetta? Shame replaced his rage. Had the monster claimed more of him than he realized?

She held his hand until his breathing returned to normal and he allowed the contact because even that small connection was addictive. “You need someone to champion you,
agape mou
.”

The slight flare of her eyes was the sole indication she’d heard his endearment. “My cousins—”

“Are not here. They might not arrive for days. Besides, they’ll want to pray about the situation. Who knows how long
that
will take.”

She bit her lower lip. “You don’t approve of their ways?”

“I don’t disapprove.” He chose his words with care. “In the past three years, I’ve seen too many miraculous changes in both Caros
and
the lady Adiona to doubt their God exists, but I’ve yet to count myself among His followers.”

“Why is that? Do you need no miracles of your own?”

He flicked a stray bloom off the polished wooden
tabletop. He needed more than a miracle. He needed a cure. For now, fighting was his medicine. His fury was an insidious disease he kept under control by the sheer force of his will. Without the arena and the release of rage the games provided, he feared the disease would soon overpower him. “I’d have to give up too much to be a Christian. I saw what Caros sacrificed because of his convictions. He lost a fortune when he left the gladiatorial trade.”

“Yes, but he already had more wealth than he could spend in a lifetime and look what he gained. A wife who adores him. Fine, healthy sons. A beautiful property in Umbria—”

“And the constant threat of death because of his religion.”

“He faced death anyway, just as you do. At least now he has something worthwhile to die for—or so I’ve heard him claim.”

Alexius grunted, conceding the argument just as he always had to do when he discussed the same topic with Caros. “You plead his case well. Am I to take it you’re a follower of the Nazarene? Is that why you find the prospect of serving in a temple abhorrent?”

Before Tibi had a chance to answer, Marcellus entered the garden, a platter of herb-crusted lamb and roasted vegetables in his hands. Steam rose from the hot food, filling the air with the scents of smoked meat, rosemary and mint.

“Dora prepared this meal before she left for the market,” Marcellus said, serving them each a portion of lamb. “I won’t promise it will be her best since our slave, Carminea, put on the finishing touches.”

Impatient to continue his conversation with Tibi, Alexius thanked his friend and assured him that all
was well. As Marcellus left, Alexius’s gaze swung back to his companion. Her eyes were closed and the sublime expression on her beautiful face as she ate a bite of lamb brought a smile to his lips. Unlike other women of her class who came to him and the other gladiators seeking to add excitement to their mundane lives, Tibi had managed to stay unspoiled. It pleased him that she found satisfaction in simple things. “You like the food?”

“Mmm…it’s perfection.” Tibi opened her eyes and flushed when she found Alexius’s eyes focused on her. “Why haven’t you tried your own?”

“I was watching you. No food can be as delectable as the expression of joy on your face.”

“I was hungry,” she said defensively.

“I know. Your growling stomach proclaimed that fact, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. “How good that you find yourself amusing.”

“One of us has to.”

She took another bite of lamb to stem her laughter. His perverse sense of humor needed no encouragement from her. The tender meat was some of the best she’d ever tasted. The fresh combination of lemon and rosemary complemented both the lamb and root vegetables.

Alexius nudged a light green, odd-shaped ball to the side of his plate. “Have you tried the fennel?”

She did a swift inspection of her plate. “I don’t have any.”

“Here.” He broke the ball in two and handed her one of the pieces.

“I’ve never seen this.” She sniffed the section he’d given her and took a bite. “It’s good. Crunchy and a tad sweet.”

“I notice you’re not eating the cucumbers,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t care for them. The vinegar is too much for my taste.”

“That’s the best part.”

“Would you like mine?”

“Why don’t we trade? Your cucumbers for my fennel.”

“You drive a hard bargain,
lanista
.” Handing over her plate, she found herself ensnared by the male beauty of his face and the unbridled energy he exuded. His startling eyes were a light metallic silver, made brighter by the darkness of his skin and hair as black as polished obsidian. The ease that settled between them was new to her experience. He didn’t sit in judgment of her or take offense when she admitted her true thoughts and feelings. Indeed, he seemed to approve of them.

The unexpected melody of a pan flute drifted across the courtyard from the direction of the fountain. Alexius glanced over his shoulder before returning his attention to his food. “Apparently, Marcellus thinks I need help wooing you.”

Tibi choked on an olive. Alexius thrust her cup toward her. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed some water. Her throat and her surprise back under control, she nodded. “Does your friend always offer assistance when you bring a woman here?”

“What makes you think I’ve brought other women here?”

“Haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “Only the most special ones.”

Her food lost all its appeal. She could only imagine how many “special ones” there’d been in his life. She wished she was special to him, but didn’t delude herself into thinking he’d brought her here for any reason other than he’d needed a place to hide her
and
feed the
cub while they waited to return to the
ludus
. “If we’re counting just the special ones, I assume there have been a hundred at the very least.”

He eyed her thoughtfully. “I don’t keep count.”

“You mean you’ve
lost
count.”

“If you believe so.”

Her brow pleated with indecision. She didn’t know what to believe about Alexius of Iolcos. He was an enigma who confused and fascinated her in equal measure.

Marcellus returned to collect the dirty crockery. She complimented him on the food, then felt inadequate with her praise when Alexius raved about the lamb and even the fennel, which she was sure he’d had no taste for.

“I’ll bring you some figs and more water,” Marcellus said happily, on his way back indoors.

With her stomach full and her view of Alexius unhindered, she listened to the gentle splash of the fountain and the chirping of a pair of birds nesting on top of the wall. When she’d run to the
ludus
before sunrise, she could never have imagined the day turning out as well as it had. Whatever consequences she faced for her actions, at least she’d had these few precious hours of respite with her handsome Greek.

“What are you thinking?” Alexius leaned forward and crossed his arms on the tabletop in front of him.

“That I’m thankful I had this day with you.”

His expression softened. “I’m thankful, too.”

The air became cooler as late afternoon turned to early evening. “I suppose we have to go back soon. I have to face my fate.”

He frowned in apparent rejection of the idea. “We have time. I’m not finished with you.”

“Not finished with me?” Her heart quickened. “How so?”

“I want to know more about you. Before the food arrived, you were telling me your opinion of the Nazarene’s religion. Now that I can hear you over the growl of your stomach—”

“You exaggerate—”

“Tell me your thoughts on the matter. Have you decided to become one of His followers?”