Gladiator Heart (38 page)

Felix’s eyes widened. “You weave quite an outrageous tale, but it’s just not possible. Some of the guards are legionaries and loyal to Rome. It could only work if they were replaced by other members of the Guard.”

“Can’t you replace them?”

“No.”

Valeria knew she would not be able to bribe the Guard. Twenty thousand denarii had to be a small amount compared to what the Emperor was able to pay them for their services.

She would just have to find another way.

Walking through the streets, she couldn’t think of one. Rufus assured her if the Guard was under heat from the legions they would not be swayed. Tristan was doomed.

When they passed by the great white temple of Venus, Valeria paused. Was this a sign? Venus was the Goddess of Love. Did Valeria dare pray to the Gods one last time?

“I’d like to go inside,” she said over her shoulder to Rufus, unable to pull her gaze from the white columns stretching high over the east entrance.

“Take your time.” Rufus braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest.

It was his waiting stance. She imagined he’d done quite a lot of waiting looking after two women, but he never complained.

She lowered the hood of her cape as she entered the temple and let it fall around her shoulders, happy to see she was alone with the Goddess. The room had high ceilings made of shining glass and the bright afternoon sun shone down to the white tiles on the floor. In the middle of the room was a raised altar and the statue of Venus stood upon it, looking blankly back at her.

Valeria walked up to the altar and studied the ivory marble statue. She’d been here many times before and Venus never changed. She stood with her hips tilted seductively to one side, the angle accentuating the female curves of her body. Her stola hung loosely from her shoulders, sweeping down so low one of her high, round breasts was exposed. Her hair was piled on top of her head in the Roman fashion, and a slight smile was carved on her lips. Valeria had always wondered what secret she had to smile about, and now she knew.

What did she say to the Goddess of Love?

Her first instinct was to run up to the statue and try to stick her dagger in it, or push it off the altar and send it smashing to pieces on the ground. Why did she have to meet Tristan, fall in love with him, and then lose him?

She swiped at her blurry eyes and refused to cry.

“Why do you hate me?” she asked the statue.

For a moment she thought she saw the eyes flicker, felt as if they had spared her a momentary glance, but she knew that wasn’t possible. The statue couldn’t see her any more than it could hear her.

“I’ve prayed to the Gods my whole life, just as Lucia taught me to do. I’ve never asked for much.”

But she also hadn’t been very dutiful by running straight into possible danger, getting herself in trouble, and then praying for help to get her out of the inevitable situations she managed to land herself in.

Maybe that was her problem.

Maybe she needed a new prayer.

She reverently got to her knees in front of the statue and folded her hands over her heart. She closed her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Tristan’s face. His smile.His smoldering grey gaze. She prayed for that miracle she needed so badly.

“To all the Gods in the Heavens, and those below the Earth, I ask you to listen to me, and listen well, for this will be the last prayer I ever offer to you.” She took a deep breath, feeling a surge of energy rise up in her, and wondered if it was wise to threaten the Gods when she was beseeching them to grant her a miracle. “If you do not do everything in your powers to free Tristan, to spare his life, then I will never forgive you. I will never pray to you again. I will hate you for the rest of my days.”

A warm breeze blew through the temple, tossing the ends of her hair around her face. It felt like the whisper of a thousand voices had gone silent as soon as the breeze passed. The Gods were here. They were listening to her. She could feel the mystical vibrations in the air.

Valeria needed an offering, but she had nothing. Remembering the dagger hidden in the folds of her cloak, she drew it out and brought the sharp, gleaming blade against the tender skin of her palm. She drew it across her skin, wincing at the sharp pain. Blood welled up from the wound and dripped down her arm.

She clasped her hand over the bare foot of the statue and let her blood stain the white marble red. “I have nothing else to offer you but my blood.”

Thinking of Tristan, feeling the depths of her love for him, mournful tears spilled from her eyes and fell upon her hand.

“And my tears.”

It was time to make her request. Best not to keep the Gods waiting.

“Please save Tristan’s life. Don’t let him be killed. I don’t care what happens to me.” She choked on a sob when she realized it was true.

She didn’t care what happened to her. She would trade her happiness and freedom, her life, for his. He had to live. As long as Tristan lived, she could live.

She tilted her head back and gazed up at the unflinching statue. “I’ll marry Gaius, I’ll be a good Roman, and I’ll pray to you every day if you let him live.”

The temple went eerily still and silent.

There it was. Her prayer. The Gods had once told her she’d send them a prayer they would choose to answer one day, and this had to be that day, because if it wasn’t, she’d never pray again. She couldn’t believe in the Gods if they didn’t believe in her.

She tore away a strip from the hem of her tunic and first wiped her eyes before she wrapped it around her bleeding hand to cover the wound.

On their way back through the city, Rufus said nothing to her, and asked her no questions, and she was grateful that he recognized she needed quiet. To be alone with her dreary thoughts. There was nothing more she could say or do to save Tristan. Not being able to help him made her feel so useless. She couldn’t bear to think he’d be dead by morning and she’d done nothing but try to bribe the Praetorian Guard and offer up a worthless prayer.

They passed by Lena and her cart of colorful fruits and vegetables in the street, and Valeria tried to go by unnoticed, but the woman spotted her and called her over.

“Valeria! Come and talk with me.”

Valeria did not feel like talking. She sulked over anyway and plopped down on Lucia’s stool.

“Have an apple, dearie.” She held a red apple out to her.

Valeria shook her head, fighting her tears and the trembling of her chin. “I’m not hungry.”

“An offering for the Gods then?”

Valeria laughed at the irony of her suggestion, running her fingers over the shred of tunic wrapped around her bleeding hand. “We’re not really on speaking terms.”

“Why not?”

“Tristan is going to be executed tomorrow morning.” She almost choked on the suffocating words. “And no one will help me save him.”

Lena’s eyes narrowed as she furrowed her brow. “Who won’t help you? The whole city loves that one.”

“I’ve tried everyone,” she cried. “Rufus and Lucia can’t help, the Gods won’t help. I even tried to bribe the Praetorian Guard to help me. And I can pay them to do it. I have a lot of money. A small fortune. I have all this money, and it’s no good because no one will help me.” She dropped her head in her hands and cried all over Lena’s fruits and vegetables.

“Don’t fret, lady. Don’t fret.” Lena patted her gently on the back. “You go home now, and stay there. This will all be over with soon.”

Valeria felt the strangling weight of hopelessness dragging her down to the depths of misery and suffering. No help was coming. Tristan was going to die.

Just beneath the city of Rome ran a maze of underground sewers. It was a dark, dank place, with a smell so bad it cannot be described. The rats couldn’t even stand living there, but it was the safest place for them to hide during the day. At night, their beady red eyes could be seen scavenging the back alleys and sneaking into homes to steal scraps of food.

Back in the sewer, a cloaked figure hugged the brick walls, slightly stooped with the signs of age and holding a lit torch in one of her hands.

Lena Agrippa would not be welcome where she was headed, but she was not afraid. Her reason for being down here was more important than any reason any of those men could offer. She’d kept her thoughts to herself and remained silent and obedient for the last thirty years. She’d never questioned her husband on anything, but tonight that was going to change. Tonight she had something to say.

This whole rebellion had him snapping and snarling at her, complaining about what should have been, getting lost in the past when he remembered Rome as the glorious city it once was. This was not the Rome either of them had come to love. The city had veered off course, justice had truly become blind, but there were those in the city who could still remind the people of the dream that had been lost.

And she was coming upon their secret meeting.

The group of men numbered at least fifty. All of them members of the Praetorian Guard. Her husband was the fearless leader of this stray band of warriors.

He was the first to see her, and a deep frown etched his hard face. Others turned to look at her, clearly perturbed by her presence. Lena’s hands were shaking, her knees trembling, but these men would not hurt her. It was her fear of saying what she believed in that shook her. She had to make them listen.

“Be gone, wife.” Her husband waved her away with an errant hand. “You don’t belong here.”

This was it. Her time to speak her mind.

“Be gone? Pah!” She spat on the ground. “Not after I heard what you did today.”

Her husband looked convincingly shocked. “What have I done, woman?”

“That girl came to you, begging you to free the gladiator, willing to pay you a small fortune, and you turned her away.” Lena had lost a small amount of respect for her husband because of that action.

“What are you going on about? I never refused a thing.” Felix Agrippa did not know what strange spirit possessed his wife to intrude on a secret Guard meeting, and it worried him, because she’d never dared such a thing before.

“You listen to me, husband.” She pointed a scolding finger at him. “For thirty years I have raised your children and worked your farm and loved you as any wife loves her dear husband. I believe you are a good man, a man who will do the right thing.”

Felix was starting to wonder what this right thing he was going to do was supposed to be. By the crazed look in his wife’s eyes, he thought he’d better come up with something quick.

“All these years I have never argued with you and I have never questioned you, nor have I ever asked you for anything, but today, you made me question your good sense for the first time. If you cannot see that those two young people are in love, then I think you are a cold man who doesn’t have any idea what love is. It’s a shame, it is, and if you can’t find it in your heart to fight for the sake of saving love, then I am no longer proud to call you husband.”

Lena tilted her chin with a hint of daring. She wasn’t finished yet.

“Her true love lies waiting to die, and you could stop it, yet you do nothing. If you don’t help that girl tonight, if you don’t free the gladiator, don’t bother coming home. There will never be another meal on your table or a wife keeping you warm in your bed. If you love me at all, you’ll prove it and do this thing for me. You’ll choose love.”

Felix actually blushed like a young boy. It had been years since his wife had talked of love, or romance, or passion. She was so busy being a wife, a mother and a farmer, she had little energy left for such things. But their children were grown. They had their own children. For as long as he could remember, he and his wife lay beside each other in bed every night, but they didn’t love each other. Not the way they once had. The way they should again.

“Relax, my Lena.” Felix smiled, realizing how attractive and full of life his wife still was. “I have no wish to lose my wife. Not after I’ve just found her again after all these long years. Tell us where to set up the meeting point, and have the girl bring the money. We can break him out.”

“I think it fits well.” Lucia flounced the long white sleeves of the dress.

Valeria scowled at her reflection in the mirror. The wedding dress Gaius had ordered for her was beautiful, with a low-cut in back and thousands of strands of tiny pearls woven into the material. And she looked beautiful wearing it.

She wanted to rip it to shreds.

When she thought of her upcoming marriage, it was with revulsion, and thoughts of her own death brought her comfort.

Gaius had known he was going to win all along. Had she and Tristan ever stood a chance?

“How shall we arrange your hair?” Lucia ran her fingers through the long, soft blonde locks of Valeria’s hair.

Valeria watched her movements in the mirror, getting entranced by the vision of her fingers sweeping gently through her hair. She wouldn’t rip the dress to shreds. She had a better idea.

A pair of shears rested on top of her dressing table, and she reached for the handle. She wound the long strands of her hair around her hand until it was held short to the back of her neck. Bringing the shears up, she meant to cut her hair shorter than a man’s.

“Don’t do it!” Lucia pried the shears from her hand. “You’d regret it, and he’d be sure to punish you.”

“How can I do this, Lucia?” Valeria let her tears fall. It had become a natural reaction for her of late. One she was beginning to hate because she couldn’t control her emotions.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t I?” Valeria spun around to face the woman who was like her mother. “Must I submit to this fate? Why can’t I run away?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Lucia said. “A woman cannot survive in the world alone.”

“You’ve survived.”

“I have Rufus. We may not be husband and wife, but I rely on his strength.”

Valeria was not accepting that as a good enough answer. Lucia had failed her this time. She’d filled her head with a yearning for independence and dreams of love and romantic illusions, and she was finding out it was all nonsense. Dreams didn’t come true. Life was cruel and unfair, and people just had to learn to make the best of what they were given.