The Protector (3 page)

Quintus shrank away from thoughts of Fabius. His son had been his reason to wake each morning. Every detail from his mischievous smile to his boundless energy had been a wonder. Now all Quintus had left was an eternally broken heart.

“Quintus? Did you hear me?”

He blinked and focused on Alexius who watched him with intense silver eyes. “No. What did you say?”

“I said you might be interested to know the widow Leonia will be a guest at the master’s fete Friday.”

Quintus’s heart kicked against his chest and his pulse quickened. He clawed his fingers through his hair, schooling his features to hide his reaction. “What does she have to do with me?”

“After what she overheard in the hospital, I’d wager you’re not her favorite person.”

“Most likely not. If I’m able to speak with her at the party, I’ll apologize.”

“I’ve known her a number of years,” the Greek continued. “So take this as a friendly warning. Say nothing to her and stay clear of her presence. When she’s riled, Adiona Leonia resembles one of the lions her family is named for.”

Quintus ignored his sudden impatience for the party’s arrival. Adiona may be a lioness, but he’d meet her at the gate when she arrived, before she had time to join the festivities and he, as a slave, lost the chance to speak with her. Despite the countless rumors among the men in his barracks, Quintus didn’t believe the widow’s heart was made of marble. He had no excuse for the cruel things he’d said about her and after all the mistakes he’d made
in his own life, who was he to criticize her manner or her morals?

Alexius laughed suddenly. “But then, given the odd connection between you two, perhaps you’re just the man to tame her.”

“H
urry with my hair, Nidia. I’m late for Caros’s marriage fete. I must be on my way.”

Her nerves stretched taut, Adiona fidgeted with the alabaster cosmetic jars and jewel-encrusted bottles lined across her dressing table. She should have left half an hour ago. She and Pelonia hadn’t started out on the best of terms. If she were unreasonably tardy for the celebration, Caros would never believe she hadn’t intended the slight against his new bride.

And Quintus will think you’re more vain and rude than he already does…

“Hurry, Nidia. I
must
leave.”

The glow of oil lamps in the polished silver mirror allowed her critical, kohl-rimmed eyes to study her blurry reflection and keep track of the maid’s slow progress with the curling rod.

Thanks to the cosmetics, Adiona’s skin was fashionably pale. A light dusting of rouge across her cheeks and a berry stain on her lips went well with the deep rose color of her embroidered
stola.
Long gold earrings set with pearls and garnets brushed her shoulders. A matching necklace, rings and bracelets glittered in the
firelight. As always, she looked the part of a wealthy matron, deserving both honor and respect.

But you deserve neither, you fraud.

She dabbed scented oil behind her ears and across her inner wrists, but the cinnamon perfume failed to soothe her agitation.

Nidia pinned the last curl in place. “I’m finished,
domina.
You look beautiful.”

Adiona jumped to her feet, as eager to escape the accusations in her own eyes as she was to be on her way. The quick movement jostled the dressing table. One of the perfume bottles crashed to the floor, spreading shards of glass and sweetly scented oil across the colorful tiles. With an uttered oath, she ordered Nidia to clean up the mess and raced into the hall.

Her steward, Felix, snapped to attention from where he’d been leaning against the frescoed wall. “Salonius Roscius awaits you in the inner courtyard, my lady. I told him you were on your way out for the evening, but he insists he has important news.”

“He’ll have to return tomorrow,” she said without pausing her rapid pace toward the front of the palace. “The meeting with my property manager has made me late.”

“But
domina…
” Her steward’s steps gained ground behind her. “He says it’s urgent.”

“When is it not urgent, Felix?” she tossed over her shoulder. “And yet, when is it ever?”

“He brings word from your heir.”

“Most likely Drusus means to beg more coin.” She plucked a white silk
palla
from her maid’s outstretched fingers and swirled the bejeweled shawl around her shoulders without missing a step. “If not for my cousin’s sweet wife and lovely daughters, I swear on Jupiter’s
stone, I’d never send that worthless leech another copper
as.
”

Without warning, the beaded curtain separating the corridor from the inner courtyard parted. Salonius’s large frame filled the doorway. The epitome of a Roman upper-class male, he was freshly shaven and clothed in white linen. Dark curls were cropped close to his head and his manicured nails suggested many hours of leisure spent at the baths.

“My lady.” He bowed and gave her one of the quick smiles she was certain he practiced in any reflective surface he came across. Why so many women found his studied seduction attractive, she couldn’t guess.

“Salonius,” she acknowledged with a quick nod. “You’ll have to excuse me. I must be on my way.”

His hand snaked out and caught her wrist in a light but unbreakable grip. “Surely you can take a few moments to see an old friend, my sweet?”

She tried to shake off his touch, but he held firm. “Unhand me,” she said loftily.

“In a moment.” He brushed his wet lips over her knuckles.

Repulsed, she yanked free of his hold and wiped the back of her hand on her
stola.

Torchlight lent him the feral, yet amused, appearance of a hyena. “When are you going to stop this charade and admit you wish to wed me as much I want you to?”

“I suppose when the River Styx runs dry and Vulcan’s forging fires extinguish.”

His laughter echoed through the domed corridor. “Don’t lie, precious. Everyone knows you’re just waiting until I fall to my knees and beg for your hand.”

“I’ve no doubt everyone
and
the little wife you keep
hidden away in the country would find that most amusing. As for me, I’d think you quite foolish.”

His laughter faded, replaced by an ardent seriousness that caught her off guard. “You know I’d divorce her like this—” he snapped his fingers “—if you’d agree to be my wife.”

“Then your wife has nothing to fear from me.”

His expression soured as he slowly circled her. “You’re off to the Viriathos reception, I imagine.”

“Yes.” Aware that wealthy, yet idle, men like Salonius both revered and despised the gladiators, she hid a smirk at his disgruntled tone and turned to leave.

“Wait.” He held out a scroll as if it were a treat meant for an eager puppy. “I returned from Paestum by way of Neopolis this afternoon. You’ll want to read this.”

“Leave it with Felix. I’ll see to it when I return.”

“No, Drusus has important news. It can’t wait.”

Resigned and conscious of the passing time, she swiped the scroll from his outstretched hand and hurried away before he delayed her further. Outside, she cringed at the late hour. The sun had already set, its red-and-gold streaks fading into a deep purple sky.

A brisk breeze ruffled the curls piled high on her head and flowing over her shoulders as she crossed the columned portico to the litter awaiting her. Titus, her lead guard, drew the transport’s heavy drapes aside. Her gold bracelets jangled as she climbed inside and breathed the scent of cloves her slaves had used to freshen the luxurious cushions. “Let’s be on our way, Titus. Caros will never speak to me again if I don’t show my face soon.”

The litter lurched as four burly slaves lifted the conveyance and prepared for travel. Titus gave orders for her three other guards to take their positions surrounding the group.

The light dimmed as they carried her from her palace’s torch-lit courtyard and into the dark streets of the Palatine Hill. With no lantern to read Drusus’s message, she adjusted the heavy silk of her embroidered
stola
and reclined against the fringed feather pillows and mountain of furs.

“Gods below, I hate weddings.” Only for Caros could she be swayed within a league of a marriage fete. She despised all reminders of her own marriage. Even now, eleven years later, she remembered the terror and helplessness she’d suffered that hideous day. And worse, later that night when Crassus ordered his guards to beat her for failing him.

A shudder of disgust rippled through her. Her fingers tightened on the scroll and she squeezed her eyes shut, glad the wicked old toad was dead. Reminding herself she was no longer that helpless twelve-year-old girl, but an independent woman in charge of her own life, she pushed the hateful memories to the back of her mind.

As the litter passed deeper into the maze of city streets, the sound of her slaves’ swift steps mingled with the aroma of cook fires and the local inhabitants’ bursts of laughter or occasional arguments.

Pleased by the litter’s quick pace, she willed herself to relax. She’d spent the last several days dreading tonight. Given Caros and Pelonia’s fondness for their Christian slave, Quintus was sure to be in attendance. Her attraction to him was over, she vowed, but the sting of his insults still smarted. With no desire to be further humiliated, she planned to avoid him at all costs.

Twisting one of the long curls flowing over her shoulder, Adiona tamped down her melancholy mood and forced her thoughts back to Caros. The fact that her friend was a Christian amazed her. When Caros
confessed his belief in the illegal sect and their crucified God, he’d known she would keep his secret, just as he’d kept various secrets for her over the years. But she had trouble understanding why he’d put his life on the line when all gods were the same, and like most people, not to be trusted.

The litter slowed. She sat up. They couldn’t have arrived already. They’d passed through the city gate and turned onto the lonely stretch of road leading to Caros’s gladiator school mere moments ago. They had at least half a mile left to travel.

“Halt!” a commanding voice ordered.

The litter stopped. She reached for the curtain, annoyed by the delay that might squander the good time they’d made since leaving Palatine Hill. “
Domina,
stay inside,” Titus warned in a low voice meant for her ears alone. “We’ve met with a band of street rats. There may be trouble and you’re easier to defend if you remain hidden.”

“Let us pass,” another of her guards demanded of the thieves. “We’re guests of the
lanista,
Caros Viriathos. Cause us no trouble and we may allow you to live.”

Tension sizzled through the night. The sound of ominous footsteps penetrated the thin layers of cloth cocooning her. A twinge of anxiety snaked through the darkness and across the back of her neck. She fought a desire to pull the drape aside and survey the situation, but she knew better than to endanger her men by ignoring Titus’s instructions.

Her grip tightened on the scroll in her hand. She’d chosen her guards with care. All were ex-military men and formidable fighters. Along with the four other slaves carrying the litter, there should be plenty of hands to protect her and defend each other.

“Now!” someone barked. Yelling exploded through the blackness from all sides. Fear ripped through her. She screamed Titus’s name.

“Stay inside, my lady!”

The litter swayed violently, tossing her against the poles supporting the transport’s roof. She felt herself falling just before the litter hit the road with a bone-jarring thud. She fell back, the thick stack of pillows saving her from injury.

Outside, metal clashed against metal. “Kill the woman!” an enemy shouted.

Terror raked through her. She scrambled upright, hobbled by the furs and pillows snatching at her feet.

The clang of weapons grew louder. The number of strangers’ voices outnumbered those of her own men. A sickening death cry erupted beside her. Shaking with fright, she bit back a scream.

Titus stuck his head through the drapes; his blood-spattered face increased her terror. “
Domina,
hurry! It’s you they mean to have!”

Trembling, she rushed to leave the litter just as someone reached inside from behind and seized hold of her
palla.
A shriek burst from her throat. She cast off the garment and burst through the drapes onto the shadowed street. Titus’s battered form towered over her. The strong odor of his sweat stung her nostrils. Quick, sideways glances told her they were hemmed in on both sides. Dilapidated buildings loomed behind them.

“Domina,”
Titus whispered near her ear. “When I say run, follow the alley behind us. Appius and I will buy time, then follow you. Don’t stop until you reach the school.”

“It’s the woman we want.” One of the attackers
stepped forward from the pack. “Give her to us and we may allow
you
to live.”

Hearing their leader mimic her guard’s earlier threat, the pack of rats skittered with laughter.

Titus shoved her behind him, the sword he held in his free hand raised to fight. “What has the lady done to deserve the dishonor of being assaulted in the street?”

Adiona strained to see through the dark. Her other remaining guard, Appius, stood a few paces forward and to her left. Moonlight glinted off her attackers’ knives and the broken glass vessels they’d fashioned into weapons. The bodies of her men littered the barren road. Bile scratched her throat. Her stomach rolled with sickening shock and horror. Pity for her sorely outnumbered guards rose to choke her. Judging by the number of dead assailants that covered the ground, her men had fought with all their might.

Her teeth chattering uncontrollably, she turned back to back with Titus and located the narrow alley that offered her last hope for escape.

Impatient to finish her off, the rats moved closer by degrees like a tightening noose.

Titus’s muscles flexed against her shoulder blades.
“Domina,”
he hissed, “Run!”

She hiked her tunic to her knees and raced. Mindless with fear, she sped down the alley without thought of what awaited her at the other end. Shouts raged and weapons clashed. Fast footsteps gained ground behind her, drowning her senses with panic.

She slipped on a wet spot and fell, scraping the fingers wrapped around the scroll. The smell of dust and mildew invaded her nose and gagged her. She shot to her feet. Hands clawed her shoulder and the loose curls tumbling to her waist. Her captor yanked her head back, nearly
snapping her neck. She wheeled on the man, wincing from the pain of having her hair torn from her scalp. Her tunic ripped. The night air chilled her shoulders.

She raised the scroll and beat her attacker with the hard wooden knob at the end of the rolled parchment. She kicked with furious intent, catching the rat in the shin, the knee, the groin. He doubled over, shrieking with pain. More footsteps. Yelled profanities and insults shot through the night. The pack continued their chase. Her fingers tightened on the scroll now that she realized it made a decent weapon. Lungs burning from the added exertion, she ran ever harder, her bracelets rattling with each step like a frantic tambourine.

At the end of the alley, she turned right, disheartened to find another desolate road. Terror spurred her onward. The shouts of her assailants grew louder, closer. Her mouth dry, she panted for air, her chest tight and aching. Fatigue threatened to claim her.

Up ahead, torchlight glowed in the distance and began to grow brighter. The school! She ran toward the iron gates and the guards’ darkened silhouettes. Spurred on by the sight, she summoned her second wind and pressed onward.

“I’ve got you, wench!”

Rough hands grabbed her around the neck. Her scream died in the vermin’s tight grasp. She felt herself tumble. Pain exploded down her side where she landed, her face scraped the road’s hard pavers.