Gladiator Heart (20 page)

Valeria tried to pull away, but he held her firm, hurting her. Real, intense fear filled her as she saw his eyes darken with anger.

“Don’t push me,” he grated through clenched teeth. “The more you fight, the more I will punish you for it.”

“Let me go,” she ordered in a voice full of authority. He didn’t dare hurt her while in the palace, right under her cousin’s watchful eye. “We are not wed yet, and until then, I’ll do as I please.”

Gaius crushed his mouth over hers, holding her still while he punished her with his kiss. Valeria slapped his face as hard as she could manage, sending needles of pain tingling across her palm. Gaius grabbed her by the arms and slammed her back against the door, his face twisted with rage.

“For that, you will pay,” he promised.

She thought for a moment he might strike her in return, but instead he shoved himself away from her. They stood a few feet apart, staring maliciously at each other. One scream from her and the guards would come running.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to take you on a tour of my villa,” he said, a wicked light coming to his eyes. “I want to show you where you’ll be living.”

Oh, Gods no!

She couldn’t go with him to his house, alone. He’d surely force himself on her, and no guards would be there to stop him. Their official engagement gave him certain rights, and she was determined to keep him from exercising those rights for as long as possible.

“I shall look forward to it,” she replied in a leering, sarcastic tone. “How ever shall I bear to be parted from you for so long?”

With that, she threw open one of the heavy doors and raced outside, running down the avenue for the shelter of the city. Today, she could lose herself in the streets, among the people, and try not to think of a life with Gaius Cato.

Tomorrow was an entirely different story.

Valeria pulled the hood of her cape lower to hide her face as Crispus came out onto his shaded dais across the arena, looking formal and imperial dressed in his toga of purple with gold trim. Colorful silk curtains blew in the breeze around lush couches and chairs with high backs and comfortable seats.

His guests for the day included Septima, who was highly over-dressed for the games in an elegant deep red gown and matching jewels. Valeria also recognized two of the senators in green togas she often saw at the palace, and behind them entered Gaius. He stood at the rail, his back held straight and proud as he looked down into the arena.

“Isn’t Gaius Cato the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” awoman sitting behind her asked.

“I’ll say,” another woman agreed. “A fine stud that one. I’ll bet he can last all night.”

Valeria swallowed nervously, not wanting to think about it, while the two women behind her snickered and cackled with merriment.

“You know Antonia, the tailor’s daughter, said he not only has stamina, but the girth to go along with it.”

“Oh, that whore has slept with half the men in Rome. How can she keep them all straight?”

“All I can say is, it would be a crime for a man like that to be lacking. The Gods made him perfect.”

Valeria said nothing while she listened to the women and their shameless gossip. If only they knew what a monster Gaius truly was. She watched him standing at the rail, the sunlight glinting off the golden curls of his hair and his immaculate white toga. Anxiety and fear were the only feelings he stirred in her, and she took a deep breath as she tried to turn her mind to other thoughts. Gaius could have his pick of any woman in the city, and she had the unfortunate luck to be the one he’d chosen.

Why did the Gods hate her so much?

“I heard he plans to marry now that he’s back to Rome.”

“Glory to the Gods, there’s liable to be an uprising in the streets with all the women who’ll fight to gain his favor.”

“I should try for him. The Gods know I could use a good tumble after being with my feeble husband this long.”

Their cackles of laughter made the fine hairs on the back of Valeria’s neck rise up. It was impossible for her to think that way about Gaius. Though he may be handsome and virile, she’d never desire such a cruel man. Having been with Tristan, she didn’t think she’d desire another man for as long as she lived.

Gaius left his position at the rail and took a seat with the others. They talked and laughed as the servants flitted about pouring them wine and serving them food. Valeria was glad she wasn’t stuck over there having to entertain her cousin’s guests and pretend she enjoyed such a life.

So much had changed. Where once she’d been able to accept her position and her life such as it was, now she could no longer bear to live a false existence. She thought of leaving Rome, but where would she go? Her cousin and Gaius would come after her and she’d easily be found in any of the cities. The north would not be welcoming, and she wasn’t familiar with the East. As Lucia had told her many times, be grateful for what the Gods have chosen to give you. She was here for a reason. She just didn’t know what that reason was.

The blaring sound of the horns signaled the games were about to start and shocked her out of her thoughts. Across the arena, Crispus raised his hand in a bored gesture to give the blessing. The fights started with the executions of criminals who had committed various atrocities like rape, murder and theft. Others were slaves who’d attempted escape or went against their master’s wishes. The crowd didn’t get too excited about the opening, it was more of a preliminary to the real fights.

A man seated in front of her leaned in close to the man next to him. “How much did you wager on the Gauls?”

“Thirty denarii,” he answered. “I’ll get thrice that if they win today.”

“You take a chance with those fighters. The odds are against them. Atilla is your best bet these days.”

“Not if the Gauls keep winning.”

Their discussion intrigued her and Valeria flirted with the idea of placing a bet on Tristan herself. The fee for her admission to the games had hardly lightened her purse. She vowed to the Gods right then and there that if Tristan won in the arena today, she’d bet the rest of her money on him for next time. She might become a very rich woman if she played the odds right.

Tristan and Angus waited to enter the arena. For today’s games they’d been dressed in short tunics in a shade of pale blue, and provided with armor and swords. With their shackles removed, they’d be much quicker and stronger.

The lanista had told them the crowd was split when it came to their favor and that the odds were against them. It was only because they were new to the arena. The people didn’t know them, but if he and Angus won today, they would choose their gladiator names and all of that would change.

The dead bodies on the battlefield were attached to hooks and dragged in by slaves before Tristan and Angus stepped out from under the heavy iron gate. Above them, the sky was blue and the sun shone bright and warm. Tristan imagined the thousand other ways he’d rather spend a day this beautiful than fighting for his life for the amusement of the crowd. Rolling naked with Valeria in a meadow of green grass became the foremost thought in his mind and his desire mounted. He scanned the crowd in the stands, wondering if she was out there watching him.

When he and Angus turned towards the Caesars’ sheltered section of seats and dutifully bowed their heads as they’d been taught, Tristan recognized Gaius sitting up there, but didn’t see Valeria. The last time he’d seen her, harsh words were spoken between them, and it could be she’d finally stopped caring about what happened to him, just as he’d wanted. Across the arena, a heavy gate was raised up and Tristan shrugged off all thoughts of Valeria as he prepared to meet his opponents.

The crowd cheered when four warriors in heavy armor marched out, each carrying two swords. They stopped in front of Tristan and Angus, waiting for an attack. Without hesitation, Tristan charged forward. The only thought in his mind was to kill. To win.
To live
.

He took on two opponents, and Angus went after the other two. Four swords against one made for interesting odds, but Tristan was possessed by a strength he’d never known. Devoid of all emotion, he fought like a machine, disposing of one opponent, and then the other.

Angus was being driven back by the final warrior, and Tristan ran up behind their opponent and slashed his sword across the backs of his legs, felling him to his knees. He picked up a second sword from the ground and circled around behind the bested warrior. The crowd hissed and jeered, turning their thumbs down.

Tristan gave the crowd what they wanted. He used both of his swords to slice through the neck of the final opponent, severing his head from his body in a spray of blood. Loud cheers rang out and most of the crowd had risen to their feet with excitement.

He and Angus once again stood beside each other and waited for the next attack.

“You’re a better fighter than I am,” Angus divulged, struggling to catch his breath. “That last one almost had me.”

“Show no fear, my friend.” Tristan looked him in the eye and saw the doubt and worry overtaking him. “Stay close to me.”

Through one of the gates, three men on white horses galloped into the arena, circling him and Angus with long spears in their hands. They wore light armor and no helmets and mistakenly believed the horses gave them an advantage.

“Looks like they finally showed up with your weapon of choice,” Tristan commented.

He’d never seen a man wield a spear like Angus.

“Aye,” Angus agreed. “Get me one of those spears and I’ll slay them.”

Keeping true to the established protocol, Tristan didn’t wait for their opponents to attack. He hefted the sword in his right hand and adjusted his grip on the handle, then sent the weapon flying end over end through the air, burying it in the chest of the warrior in the middle. The sharp blade went right through his armor, and with a shocked expression, he fell back from his horse to the ground.

Angus handed off one of his swords to Tristan so his friend again had two. Tossing the other aside, he dashed over to the fallen warrior and took the spear up in his hand. He tossed it up and caught it a few times, testing the weight and balance. The wood was light and the point at the end not so heavy that it would affect the aim. Of one thing there was no doubt: the Romans made good spears.

Angus went after the remaining opponents. It was his turn to get Tristan’s back, and with a spear, he never missed his mark. Tristan was fighting with one of the men already, fending him off with his swords. These warriors didn’t want to part with their spears by throwing them, where Angus had no problem sending a spear out and getting it back.

The second opponent rode up behind Tristan on his horse, aiming to stab him through the back. Angus angled and took aim with his own spear, then released it. It shot straight through the air and into the warrior’s neck, knocking him from the horse.

As the crowd cheered and screamed, the final opponent retreated back from Tristan, prancing around on his horse. Angus ran over to retrieve the fallen warrior’s spear and climbed up on the empty horse. He urged the animal into a fast gallop and charged towards his final opponent. They released their spears at the same time. Angus’s spear flew directly into the warrior’s throat, while the other spear flew past Angus, well off its mark.

He didn’t think the roar of the crowd could get any louder, but as he circled the arena on horseback with his hand curled into a fist and held high in the air, he relived the glory of victory he’d known so many times in the past. Today, he’d won this battle for Tristan.

When one of the empty horses went trotting by Tristan, he grabbed the reins and jumped onto its back. He and Angus rode around the arena, feeling ready for anything that would come out of those gates. Tristan was energized with the thrill of battle and, feeling a little reckless, he tugged at the horse’s reins, making it rear up on its hind legs. He raised his sword in the air. The crowd cheered and applauded with praise and stomped their feet to make all the noise they were able.

Once the lanista came out into the arena, Tristan knew he and Angus had won this day as well. They dismounted from the horses and walked over to their trainer.

“It is time to announce you to the crowd.” The lanista looked at Tristan. “What name have you chosen?”

Tristan had thought long and hard about a gladiator name. In the beginning, he didn’t think he’d live long enough to have one, but his first win had him considering it. He’d thought of keeping his own name, but some of the other gladiators told him the people would relate to him better if he chose a Latin name.

“Decimus,” Tristan replied.

The lanista looked to Angus. “And you?”

“Aye, me?” He raised his furry, yellow brows. “I’m just good old Angus.”

“Behold the winners!” The lanista shouted out. He took Tristan’s hand and raised it in the air. “Decimus!”

The crowd cheered wildly for him.

Next, the lanista raised Angus’s hand in the air. “Angus!”

The crowd went hysterical for Angus, raging and screaming and waving their hands above their heads. Red roses sailed through the air like arrows, falling all around them. Tristan smiled to himself. He was almost certain Angus was going to let his new found fame go to his head, but he’d earned it, and Tristan took great pride in his friend this day.

The arena was a buzz of enthusiasm and excitement. As the people filed out of the stands to return to the city, they talked of nothing but Tristan and Angus. Valeria was filled with her own intoxicating energy and a joyful, inner sparkle she’d never experienced while at the games before. She’d never enjoyed the spectacle of so much blood and death, had never cared about any of the fighters, and now suddenly she did.

She shuffled along with the exiting crowd, packed in tight with their sweaty bodies, and she kept her head covered under the hood of her cape while she listened curiously to what the people were saying.

“They didn’t look like much at first,” a man said, “but they can fight!”

“They fight with honor,” said another.