The Gladiator (8 page)

Once Caros disappeared beyond her sight, she approached the other woman as though Lucia were a wounded animal. Seeing the guards move closer, she knelt beside the healer, unsure of the welcome she'd receive. When Lucia continued to weep, Pelonia eased her into an embrace.

Lucia didn't fight. She cried harder. Her tears soaked Pelonia's shoulder. A hard lump formed in her throat as she stroked Lucia's hair, silent in her attempt at solace.

When the tears subsided, Lucia pulled away, her cheeks
blotchy, her eyes lifeless. She wiped the damp rivulets from her face. “Can you imagine the pain I've endured since you came here? I've had to tend your wounds, ensure you lived, while knowing every day the man I worship is falling deeper and deeper under your spell.”

Before Pelonia could reply, the guards seized Lucia and shuffled her from the garden, ignoring Pelonia's entreaties to stop. Distressed by the woman's treatment, she tried to imagine the hardship of Lucia's life, the harshness of an existence without affection.

She recalled her own history, the blessing of being raised by a father who cared for her and taught her of Christ's love. Her strength came from the truth she'd learned, the certainty that came from being nurtured in faith even when circumstances made her question God's fairness.

But what of Lucia? A slave from birth, she'd been denied familial attachment and weaned on the uncertainty of their society's fear and superstition. Who could blame her for dreaming of a life with a man of Caros's strength or for fighting for her place when she felt threatened?

Pelonia filled the buckets and carried them to an untended corner of the garden. Somehow she would have to sway Caros from the punishment he'd chosen. But how did she ask for mercy from a man who'd never known compassion? Why would he listen to her when, despite what Lucia claimed, she was nothing more to him than a challenge?

A guard approached and gave orders for her to meet Caros in the house. Eager to speak with him, she washed her hands and made her way to the cool interior courtyard where the smell of fresh bread and a table laden with delicacies awaited her.

Caros wasn't to be found, but the tall stranger she'd seen with him yesterday entered the open air space from the di
rection of the living quarters. With his hair rumpled and his short tunic wrinkled, he looked as though he'd just risen from a deep sleep. Not wanting to disturb one of Caros's guests, she turned to leave.

“Wait,” he said, a Greek accent edging his Latin, “I'm Alexius, Caros's champion. You must be Pelonia, his newest paramour.”

“I'm no such thing,” she denied hotly.

“Of course you're not.” A grin parted his lips, creating a long dimple in each of his lean cheeks. “That's why Caros woke me in the middle of the night ranting about you. It seems you're more trouble than you're worth.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that what he told you?”

He shook his head, the sunlight glinting off his dark hair. “No, my opinion only. Is it true Lucia's to be whipped and sold today?”

“Not if I can stop it.”

He moved to the table and chose an oatcake glistening with honey. “You think you can change Caros's mind?”

“I have to try.”

“By all means, do. I'd hate to see Lucia sent away. She's an intelligent woman and there are few enough of those.”

Pelonia arched a brow. “Perhaps you think so because only dim women will tolerate you.”

He laughed, clearly not offended. “Lucia's talented with herbs and other medicines. Whether Caros admits it or not, she'll be difficult to replace.”

“Thank you, Alexius. I believe you've given me the solution I need.”

“I have? How so?”

“I'll explain later. Do you know where Caros is? A guard told me to meet him here, but…”

“I imagine he's on the field. If you were told to wait here, do so. The sand is no place for a dainty woman like you.”

“But I must find him. He may have Lucia whipped at any moment.”

“No, the men are occupied. He won't interrupt them with frivolity. The punishment won't begin until after the midday meal when the men are resting and it can serve as both a warning and entertainment.”

Pelonia's stomach flipped. “Is Caros always so cruel?”

The Greek chewed a bite of peach and swallowed. “Why do you think he's cruel?”

“Don't
you
think it's harsh to have Lucia whipped for the men's amusement?”

“No. She disobeyed and betrayed him. A cruel
lanista
would use her for target practice.”

She shuddered. “I tried to escape. What punishment do you think he has in store for me?”

“Ask him yourself.” Alexius tipped his head toward the corridor and stood to leave. “There he is now.”

 

In a few brisk steps, Caros joined Pelonia beside the table. For several long moments before Alexius announced his arrival he'd taken the chance to watch her unhindered. Her tart replies to the Greek amused him as much as her concern for Lucia amazed him.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No, but Alexius seemed to enjoy the fruit.”

“Why didn't you sample it? I doubt you've eaten since last night.”

“It's not mine and I'm neither a thief nor a guest.”

“You can't steal this. It's all yours.”

“For me?” She glanced at the arrangement of breads and sweet cream, fresh berries, peaches, and oatcakes
glistening with honey. “I don't understand. Aren't you angry with me?”

Her pulse ticked beneath the red gash on her neck. The reminder of the rapist's knife held against her throat stoked his ire toward Lucia. “I'm furious, but not with you.”

She wrung her hands, her deep brown eyes widened with uncertainty. “How can you not be? I tried to escape.”

He shrugged. “Every slave runs for freedom at least once.”

“Did you?”

“More than once,” he admitted.

“What happened?”

“I was flogged.”

Tears formed in her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

Why the tears? Did she fear he'd have her disciplined in a similar manner? “As you should be. I'll be lenient with you this time, but don't test me again.”

“I'm not apologizing for my attempted escape. I'm sorry you were ever abused.”

His heart beat faster. It seemed eons since anyone bothered to care if he lived or died, let alone whether or not he'd endured a mere whipping.

He cupped her face, her cheeks smooth and soft beneath his calloused palms. Aware of their bargain, that he was breaking his promise not to touch her, he crushed the urge to gather her in his arms. “Then your apology is unnecessary,
mea carissima.
My back no longer pains me. Unlike my heart, if you seek to leave me again.”

Her gaze softened. “Our bargain,” she reminded him softly. “I've given my word not to leave for a fortnight.”

He brushed his thumb along her full bottom lip, comparing its rich color to the ripe peaches on the table. “By then you'll be mine and leaving me will be the last thing you want.”

She stepped away as if rejecting the worst sort of tempta
tion. “I doubt it, Caros. You speak of making me yours, but I'll never willingly give myself to a man who's not my husband.”

He smiled, aware he never failed to claim what he set his mind to. “We'll see.”

“Yes, we will.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and moved a few paces deeper into the shade. “Now, about Lucia.”

He dropped his arms to his side and his hands balled into fists. “What about the cursed wench? If I hadn't been looking for you in the garden, I might not have heard her confess her crimes. As it is, I've already arranged to have her punished after the noonday meal.”

“Please don't,” she said, her eyes pleading. “Alexius told me your plans. Consider what it will mean for you and your men if she's gone.”

“How can you, of all people, not wish to see her punished? Have you forgotten the course of sorrow and disgrace she charted for you?”

“I haven't forgotten, but I have chosen to forgive.”

Astounded, he grasped for words. “You've forgiven her? Why? How?”

“How can I not? None of us has lived a blameless life.”

He'd never met anyone with half her generous nature. Forgiveness was foreign to him. In his world, a man lived and died by the sword where one mistake might forfeit his life. There were no second chances. Once again, her strange way of thinking intrigued him. “Tell me why I should forgive her when she's earned the severest punishment?”

Pelonia prayed for wisdom before she spoke. If she ever hoped to impart the heart of the Gospel to this warrior, now might be her last chance. “I can't truthfully say she doesn't deserve what you intend for her.”

He snorted. “I knew it.”

“But Christ has pardoned me for the wrongs I've committed. I owe it to Him to follow His example and forgive others when they wound me.”

“You should have told me we were discussing religion.” He waved his hand to dismiss the subject.

“No, Caros, we're not.” She gripped his forearm to stop him from leaving. “We're talking about love and kindness, generosity of spirit. The act of extending mercy, because…because you understand how much you need it for yourself.”

For one unguarded moment, she saw through his hardened exterior to the place deep inside him that was raw with need.

Her heart nearly burst with want of comforting him. She could barely refrain from throwing her arms around him and holding him until the torment in his eyes disappeared for good.

He glanced skyward. “Few people ever receive mercy, Pelonia. Fewer still deserve it.”

“True, but Christ taught He has enough mercy and forgiveness for anyone who asks Him for it. You must only believe in Him.”

“You can't fathom the things I've done,” he said so quietly she strained to hear.

She could imagine. A man of his skill in the ring had probably killed countless people over the years. “It doesn't matter what you've done, Caros. Christ's forgiveness is a gift. One none of us deserves, but His grace is extended to all just the same.”

“How much will this ‘gift' cost me? I used to visit the temples until the priests kept demanding more coin to fatten their coffers.”

“It's free. You can't buy it or earn it. You must only believe.”

He closed his eyes. An expression of pain marred his features. He shook his head. “I can't believe in grace or
forgiveness when everything in my life has taught me there is none.”

Her heart sank with disappointment. “You don't have to believe in Him this moment, Caros, but I pray one day you will.”

M
arcus Valerius contemplated his nephew by marriage, Senator Antonius Tacitus, with a healthy dose of respect. Shrewd beyond his thirty years, the senator would be difficult to dupe. Antonius's young wife, Tiberia, might be a beauteous and spirited woman, but her brain rivaled the size of a lentil. Not so her husband.

“Why do you need such a large sum of money, Marcus?” The senator tossed a parchment onto his bronze-plated desk. “As I understand it, you inherited your brother's holdings when the marauders killed him a fortnight ago.”

“Yes, but the property is far from the delights and advantages one can find here in the capital. Besides—” Marcus spread his hands and schooled his lips into a cajoling smile “—is it really so large a sum between family?”

The senator's lips thinned. “Five thousand denarii is a large amount between anyone—especially family. What assurance do I have you'll repay me?”

“I'm willing to use the Umbrian estate as collateral,” Marcus said, determined to risk all if necessary in his goal of establishing himself as an influential man of Rome. “The
vineyards alone are worth ten times as much as I'm asking to borrow. When you consider the additional orchards, wheat fields, livestock, the villa and outbuildings…do you think I'd be foolish enough to risk the place if I weren't convinced of my plans?”

“A good business strategy doesn't ensure success, Marcus. Importing wine from your own estate and selling it here in the city without the expense of an importer sounds profitable, but there are innumerable wine merchants in Rome.” Antonius adjusted the lantern light. “According to my wife, your brother opted against this sort of venture, claiming it was too risky.”

Marcus gritted his teeth. Opening the wine shop was the first step in a larger scheme to obtain the recognition he craved. Years spent in the shadow of his twice-blessed older brother had left him virtually forgotten, his talents dismissed and his life almost wasted. With Pelonius dead and his troublesome niece sold into slavery, he finally had the means to fulfill his ambitions.

“From what my wife tells me,” Antonius continued, “Pelonius turned your father's small farm into a thriving enterprise within a short time of his inheritance. Tiberia's high regard for your late brother and his undisputed financial acumen make me hesitant to go against his judgment.”

Marcus hid his contempt for the younger man's lack of vision beneath a placid smile. No man worth his salt let a woman sway his decisions, but whether he liked it or not, he needed Antonius's influence. Once he'd made his own connections, Tiberia and her myopic husband could rot for all the care he gave. Until then, he planned to smile and nod in agreement when necessary, and when the time came, collect apologies from those who'd doubted his talents and superior intellect.

“It's true, my brother was favored by Mercury with his gift of commerce, but I'm equally gifted. It isn't my fault Pelonius inherited before me. If I'd been the elder son and the land passed down to me who knows how great our family's fortune might be.”

Elated to find he held the senator's full attention, Marcus pressed on. “You'd be a fool not to loan me the funds. I promise you there's no need to fear you'll lose a single piece of silver. I'll pay you back with interest, of course. If I'm unsuccessful, which I won't be, you'll have the estate. Either way you're bound to profit.”

“By the gods, it's a tempting offer.” The senator picked up the parchment and studied the proposal with renewed interest. He eyed Marcus over the top of the page like a cat about to pounce on a wounded squirrel. “Very tempting. In fact, maybe I
should
loan you the money, then devise a scheme to make you fail. What better place to escape Rome's summer heat than to my own estate in the Umbrian hills?”

Marcus laughed nervously. Perhaps he'd been
too
persuasive. “As we're kin of sorts, Senator, feel free to enjoy my hospitality whenever you wish.”

“That's good of you,
kin,
considering you've been a guest in my home for how many weeks?”

Marcus folded his hands in his lap, irritated by his host's subtle gibe. Adopting a wounded air, he straightened in his seat. “I apologize, Senator, if I've overstayed my welcome. Your dear wife was the first to embrace me as a relative since mine were taken so tragically on the way to your wedding. If, in my gratitude toward her, I've somehow offended you by claiming your people as my own, I—”

“Enough, Marcus. If you'd offended me, you'd be out on the street, not here in my study trying to wheedle me out of five thousand denarii.”

Reminding himself to bide his time, Marcus cloaked his scorn beneath a reverential manner. “I'm glad to hear I remain in your good graces.”

Antonius left his desk and went to a cabinet painted with a lush scene of Venus rising from the sea's foam. He opened one of its front panels and removed a bottle of wine. “I'll have an agreement prepared for us to sign by tomorrow's dinner hour.”

Marcus fidgeted with excitement. He was on his way. “What rate of interest will you charge me?”

“Only twenty percent. It's fair enough considering the money lenders' price.” The senator lifted the bottle of red wine. “Shall I pour you a glass of your family's finest to celebrate?”

Marcus accepted with his first genuine smile in weeks. Without a doubt he'd been right to sell Pelonia and cleanse the family of her Christian defilement. The gods must be pleased with his loyalty to them, for they'd been smiling on him ever since that fateful day.

He stood and accepted the glass Antonius held out to him. “Indeed, Senator, I'm happy to drink with you. There is much to celebrate and I'm confident there is even more excitement to come.”

 

Pelonia had just finished weeding the vegetable garden when Caros's steward found her in the courtyard and delivered new orders.

“Make haste for the kitchen,” Gaius said. “The master has invited a special guest to dine with him this evening. You're needed to help with the preparations.”

A ruckus outside the front of the house caught his attention before she could reply.

“She's here!” Gaius bumped into a large potted palm on his swift retreat to the main door. A handful of house slaves
scurried after him. Pelonia followed to the edge of the atrium, curious to see who'd set the household on fire.

Positioning herself behind one of the tiled columns lining the covered porch, she had a clear view of the proceedings without being seen.

Near the door, Gaius lined up the slaves in a tight row. The steward took a deep breath, forced a smile and swept open the portal.

Pelonia gasped. The woman who breezed across the threshold was easily the most beautiful vision she'd ever seen. Her unblemished, alabaster skin provided an elegant contrast with her black hair and exotic, kohl-rimmed eyes. Perfectly dressed in a flowing tunic of rare blue silk, she wore a matching
palla
around her shoulders. The shawl, in the same blue as the tunic, was shot through with gold thread that shimmered in the light.

An elaborate gold headpiece held her fashionable, upswept curls in place. Bejeweled baubles, rings and necklaces adorned her slender form from her tiny ears to her rich, blue-dyed leather sandals.

As the guest moved deeper into the house, she gave Pelonia a glimpse of the expensively crafted litter she'd arrived on and the four muscular slaves who'd carried it.

Perhaps the lady was royalty.

“Where is my favorite
lanista?”
the woman asked, quizzing Gaius on Caros's whereabouts. “I rushed here from across the city as soon as I received his message late this morning. Is it too much to expect he greet me at the door?”

Pelonia's interest heightened. Why had Caros invited this stunning woman to meet with him?

“He's due from the baths at any moment, my lady.” Gaius helped her remove the shawl, revealing the guest's gold, sapphire studded belt. “He told me to make you comfortable if you arrived before he returned.”

The guest seemed unimpressed. “Typical man. Issue a summons, then expect a woman to wait. Normally, I wouldn't tolerate such rudeness. If it were anyone besides my dear Caros, I'd leave this instant.”

Pelonia stifled a laugh. She liked the new arrival's spirited manner.

“I'm sure he appreciates your patience, my lady.” Gaius handed the
palla
to the first slave before ushering the woman past Pelonia and into a sitting room. The other slaves trailed in their wake.

“May I fetch you a drink?” Pelonia heard the steward ask. “Or would you prefer something to eat? What can I do to provide for your comfort?”

Pelonia peered around the corner. The woman perched on the sofa. Her head tilted at a regal angle, she contemplated the offer. “I suppose a glass of new wine will do. And a selection of those special rolls your cook bakes would also please me. Just make certain he doesn't skimp on the honey.”

Gaius clapped and two of the slaves ran to do the visitor's bidding. The remaining two slaves gathered large peacock feather fans from the corner and began to wave them over the woman. Bracelets jangling, the new arrival folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward slightly for Gaius to fluff her pillows.

“How long before Caros returns?” she asked, tapping her fingers on her knee. “You know I bore easily, Gaius. Perhaps I'll venture to the training yard and take stock of the newest men.” She sprang to her feet.

“My lady…” Gaius threw up his hands in defeat as she disappeared down the corridor in the direction of the training field. The steward shook his head and slanted a glance at Pelonia. “That fireball is Adiona Leonia. She's one of the
richest widows in Rome and was among the master's first admirers. She's loved him for years.”

Her favor toward the widow dimmed and a twinge of jealousy unsettled her.

Gaius waved his hand as if to erase his last statement from the air. “Forget my rash words. I'm not one to spread gossip about our master and you're needed in the kitchen. Widow Leonia will expect her meal prepared on time and to perfection. The master will be furious if she's disappointed.”

Pelonia headed to the cookhouse. Her brow pleated with troubling questions. What did Caros want with Adiona Leonia? Was the vivacious beauty really in love with him? Most likely, but how did he feel about his admirer in return? Worst of all, had Caros been toying with
her
emotions when his heart already belonged to the widow?

Pelonia entered the kitchen, drowning in uncertainty. Heat blasted her. The aroma of cooked meat enveloped her and she noticed a trio of pigs roasting on a spit above the flames.

Adjusting her coarse tunic, she remembered the fine silk of the widow's ensemble, garments similar to the ones she used to wear every day and took for granted. She washed her hands in a bucket of tepid water, ignoring a pang of envy. She joined the other four slaves kneading dough by the window. Deep in debate about which gladiator they found most handsome, the girls didn't acknowledge her greeting.

Pelonia's fingers worked the sticky, wheat-colored mass atop the table. The girls' chatter faded as her thoughts drifted back to Adiona. Little wonder Caros found the woman attractive. She was too beautiful by half. Not only was she stunning, but her vibrant energy infused the air around her. She smelled fresh, too, clean with a hint of cinnamon and other fragrant spices.

Pelonia wrinkled her nose, disgusted by the smell of
smoked pork clinging to her own body. She hoped Cat didn't mistake her in the dark for his evening snack. With the back of her hand, she brushed the sweat from her brow and, knowing it would make it worse, resisted the urge to scratch the chafed area on her shoulder beneath her tunic.

Her fingers grew idle in the dough as she stared out the window. In less than a month, her life had changed beyond recognition. Her chest ached from holding in her grief. A well of loneliness opened inside her, dragging her into its darkness. She missed her father, her home, her friends. She missed being herself.

With all her heart, she wished Caros had met her as she used to be, not the bedraggled slave she'd become. Perhaps then he would respect her and view winning her affections as something more than a game.

“Stop dawdling!” The girl beside her jabbed an elbow in Pelonia's ribs. “Word is more guests are coming tonight. We have to hurry and get more loaves of bread in the oven.”

Rubbing her side, Pelonia bit back a retort and finished kneading her portion of dough, then several others. Heat from the fire made her perspire until the itchy cloth she wore stuck to her back and chest.

What she wouldn't do for a bath. She longed for the soothing comfort of the water, the cleansing ointments on her skin—

“Pelonia?” A male slave called from the doorway. “Are you in here?”

She brushed the flour and bits of dough from her hands before wiping them on a towel. “Yes, here I am.”

“The master wishes to see you. He's waiting in the atrium.”