The Gladiator (11 page)

“Why, because you're bored with the festivities?”

“No, because I enjoy your company.”

She closed her eyes, afraid she might weaken. God forgive her, she wanted to believe him.

“You're trembling.”

“I'm cold.”

He moved to wrap his arms around her, but she stepped beyond his grasp.

“What's happened here?” He eased her around to face him. “Why are you leery of me again?”

“I can't trust you.”

All hint of softness left his face. “Is it because I'm a
lanista?
Just because I train gladiators, just because I fought as one doesn't mean…”

She waited, holding her breath for him to finish.

“Doesn't mean I have no heart.”

Her lips quivered with unspoken words of comfort. She forced herself to stand her ground when she wanted to smother him with care. “I know you're not heartless. In truth, your kindness to me is more than I expected when I awoke to find I'd been enslaved.”

“Then why do you run hot and cold? Do you think I'm so untried I can't see you have feelings for me? Why not yield and end this yearning between us?”

Fear shot through her. He spoke the truth. She was entirely too susceptible to his charm. Riddled with self-disgust, she despised her weakness. What was wrong with her that she could be tempted by a man whose question proved his sole motive was to conquer her will and seduce her?

How had she grown so weak, so needy to forget she was little more than a game to him? “I should have guessed what you were up to. It's little surprise you were undefeated in the ring. You don't give up.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his tunic. “Should I be ashamed of the fact? I assure
you I'm not, but what does it have to do with the affection between us?”

Affection? Does he suspect I'm falling in love with him?

“How do you fare?” His expression shone with sudden concern. “Even in this dim light, I can see you've paled.”

I don't love him, do I?

She pressed her hand to her queasy stomach, wishing she could deny the truth. She backed away. “I told you I need to retire. I'm too exhausted to match wits with you when I've worked all day with little to eat.”

He followed after her. “Let me help you to your room.”

“No, there's no need.”

“I insist.” He took hold of her arm and coddled her to the gate.

No longer able to bear his unsettling touch, she broke his hold and preceded him back to the house. Somewhere along the orchard's path, her queasiness turned to anger—anger with her own stupidity. They had a bargain. How had she allowed herself to love a man who viewed winning her affections as merely a challenge?

Back inside the domus, the party raged on. The music played louder, wilder. Drunken laughter rang through the house. Pelonia glanced over her shoulder at the same time Adiona latched on to Caros's arm. His intense gaze locked on Pelonia and the look in his eyes guaranteed he would seek her out later.

Chilled by the promised reckoning, she mounted the steps to the second floor. Gaius called her name, but she rushed up the stairs and pretended not to hear him. She'd played the part of a good slave for days, but now she'd had enough.
Let him come and fetch me if he must, but Lord, please prepare him for my ire if he does.

She entered her room and slammed the door. The lamp
light sputtered. The tub was gone. Her wet clothes had been removed as well, replaced by a stack of fresh garments on the chair.

Berating her traitorous heart, she unlaced her sandals and kicked them off. Out of all the men in the empire, Caros was the worst possible choice for her to love. At present, she was his slave and he was her master. When she escaped, and she had to, her family would never accept him or his violent past.

She stopped by the window, choking back her regret. Regardless of her growing affection, she promised to be more guarded, to use wisdom from here on out. No matter her feelings or those of her kin, an even greater wall stood between them. Caros disdained Christ. She had no future with a man who didn't share her faith.

A heavy hand knocked at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Gaius. The master sent me.”

She opened the door, ready for battle. Her protests melted on her tongue when she saw the older man held a tray loaded with several dishes of fragrant food. Her stomach cramped with hunger. Why would Caros send his steward to fetch and carry like a common slave?

Gaius pressed past her and set the tray on the floor by her pallet. When he straightened, his dark eyes studied her from under bushy gray brows. “The master said you're to eat every morsel.”

She glanced at the tray covered with plates of shredded meat, vegetables, fruits and bread. It was more than she'd eat in two days.

“Tomorrow is market day.” He paused at the door. “The master wants you to go with him. He expects you to ready yourself by the seventh hour and meet him in the atrium.”

“Why?”

“Who are you to ask why, girl? You will do as your master instructs.”

She raised her chin. “And if I don't?”

“Then you're a fool and you deserve whatever you get.”

C
aros rose early the next morning and dressed with care. The sun was out and the first nips of autumn blew in through the open window. Despite the abrupt ending of their talk the night before, he anticipated a fine day spent with Pelonia. He left to meet her, a smile curving his mouth.

He entered the courtyard and found Adiona perched on a bench instead. His good mood faltered, but he quickly subdued his disappointment and greeted his friend with a kiss on each cheek.

“You're awake early, Adiona. After last night's entertainments, I figured you'd be abed until well after midday.”

“Shows how little you really know me, my darling. I'm never one to sleep late.” She rose from the bench, her bracelets jangling, her vibrant yellow tunic flowing to her feet. She smiled. “You look delectable this morning. Are you on your way out?”

A quick glance around the atrium revealed no sign of Pelonia. “It's market day. I have supplies to purchase.”

“You?” Her eyebrow lifted with amused disbelief. “In
case you're unaware, you have a capable steward. Why not send him instead?”

“Gaius is resting. You and your cohorts wore him out last night. He's not as young as he used to be and I don't want him to die on me.”

“Of course not. Good slaves are hard to come by.” She linked her arm with his and they began a slow turn around the covered porch. “Yesterday, while I waited for you to return from the baths, I noticed you have several new trainees. One in particular caught my interest. I wonder if you might sell him to me.”

Caros eyed his friend with genuine surprise. He'd never known Adiona to notice any man except to slice him with the sharp edge of her tongue. “Which man?”

“One of your trainers called him Quintus Ambustus. He's a condemned man, one I'm sure you wouldn't miss if—”

“What price are you offering for him?”

Adiona shrugged a slim, silk-draped shoulder. “Whatever you wish, of course.”

Caros clenched his jaw to keep it from falling open in amazement. Clearly Adiona was trying to hide a powerful interest in his slave. “Did the man insult you or commit some other crime against you? Is that why you wish to buy him, to see him punished?”

“No. What did I say to make you think so harshly of me? Am I really such a cruel woman?”

“To most men, yes,” he replied bluntly. “I'm the only man in the city you're civil to.”

Her lashes fluttered down, but not before he saw the flicker of shame in her eyes.

“Let's forget I asked about him, shall we?” Her bracelets jangled as she dismissed the subject with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “It was silly of me. Slaves are as easy to come
by as specks of dust and I already have a house full of them. The last thing I need is another mouth to feed…or back to whip as the case may be.”

“I didn't mean to imply—”

“No, it's quite all right, Caros.” All hints of vulnerability disappeared from her manner, but the bright smile she gave him didn't quite erase the chagrin from her eyes. “Let's discuss another matter, shall we? I know you'll find this a trivial one, but the banquet's success last night was even greater than I hoped for. Of course, I have you to thank. Your reputation is still unmatched in Rome. Most everyone came just to catch a glimpse of you.”

“Relieving me of Lucia's presence is thanks enough.”

“She's waiting outside in a cart as we speak. As I promised, she'll be sent to my country estate tomorrow. If you change your mind and want her returned—”

“I won't want her back. After what she did—”

“What she did was wrong, but understandable. Women can't help but love you.”

If only that were true in Pelonia's case he'd be a contented man. As it was, his slave never failed to perplex him. Each time he thought she might waver in his direction, she slammed the door in his face.

“Even I love you, and as you pointed out I detest men.”

“Not all of us are like your late husband.” He kissed the back of her hand. “One of these days you'll find a good—”

“Don't say it!” She froze to the spot. “If one more
well-meaning
person tells me I'll wed again, I'll scream until the Forum crumbles.”

He struggled to maintain a straight face. “Be warned, those who protest the loudest often fall hardest.”

“Ha! I'll consider marriage as soon as you break your vow and return to the arena.”

His humor evaporated. “I'll never be a slave again.”

“Nor will I.” She flipped her
palla
across her chest and over her left shoulder. “Slavery is all marriage offers a woman and there isn't a man alive worth sacrificing my freedom for.”

Understanding her agitation stemmed from harsh experience and deeply imbedded fear, he plucked a rose from the bush climbing up the column beside them and presented it to her.

Her face softened with a smile that lit her dark eyes. “You're too kind. It's no wonder I can never stay angry with you.”

“Be careful of the thorns.”

“Don't worry.” She lifted the red bloom to the tip of her nose. “I've been pricked so many times in my life, I'm immune to pain.”

A movement at the edge of the porch's double doors drew his notice. Dressed in one of the new tunics he'd bought for her, Pelonia appeared at the bottom of the staircase just beyond the doorway.
Finally.

Adiona followed the direction of his gaze. “Ah, the slave girl awaits.”

He looked into his friend's knowing expression and narrowed his eyes in warning. “Remember what I said about being kind. If you insult her again our ties of friendship will be severed once and for all.”

She raised her hands in surrender. “Who am I to find it strange the great Caros Viriathos is in love with a mouse.”

“Don't make light of what you don't understand, Adiona.”

“I understand all too well, my darling. Now go to the fortunate girl. I can see you're desperate to be near her.”

He nodded and kissed the back of her hand in farewell. The widow murmured something, but with his interest fixed on Pelonia, he heard none of it.

Passing the porch's columns and potted palms, his quick
strides erased the tiled space between them. The closer he came to Pelonia the more distrust he saw in her eyes.

He crossed the threshold and stopped at the base of the steps. This early in the morning, a cooler temperature prevailed in the house. He rested his hand on the banister, his sandaled foot on the first step.

By the gods, she stole his breath. Her skin beckoned his touch. Her mouth was enough to drive him mad.

“Gaius said you ordered me to meet you here this morning.”

He nodded. “You're going to the Forum with me.”

“So he said.”

Why was she acting indifferently when he could see the spark of interest she couldn't quite hide? “Are you ready to leave, then?”

She glanced at Adiona's departing back. “What of your guest?”

“She's leaving in moments. I've already said my goodbyes.”

Pelonia's lips thinned, but she descended the last step. “You're the master. Lead and I will follow.”

Her coolness rankled. “What ails you, Pelonia? Are you not well rested and properly fed? Is a day at the market with me less desirable than hours here scrubbing floors?”

“Nothing is less desirable than scrubbing floors…except perhaps, scrubbing the latrines.”

Was she jesting or insulting him? “It's good to know how high I rank in your estimation.”

“If someone's high regard is what you seek, perhaps you should spend more time with your lady love.”

“My what?”

“Nothing. If you're ready, perhaps we should leave?”

He hid a smile, pleased by her jealousy. He took her by the elbow and led her outside where the morning's comfortable autumn temperature surrounded them. The street in front of
his home was calm with only a few pedestrians and a passing horse cart. A stray dog sat on the corner scratching fleas.

“We're leaving later than I planned,” he said.

“Perhaps you should go alone. I might slow you down.”

And miss spending time with her? “No, it makes no difference.”

He helped her into a waiting chariot and stepped up behind her.

“Your horses are exquisite,” she said. “And this chariot has some of the finest wood carvings I've ever seen. The details of these tigers are superb.”

Her compliment pleased him. “The craftsman was a friend from India.”

“He's a true artist.”

With a wave of his hand, he signaled the slave holding the bridles to move away from the pair of black Spanish stallions. Pelonia gripped the chariot's curved front panel before he flicked the reins. The horses whinnied and ambled down the drive, then entered the street at a steady clop.

As the chariot picked up speed along the stone pavers, the movement stirred a breeze that blew strands of her hair against his cheek. He savored the clean scent and its silken texture against his skin.

Unbidden, he wondered what it might be like to have Pelonia for his wife, to wake up with her soft and warm in his arms every morning.

“I've never ridden in a chariot before.” She cast a glance over her shoulder, her dark eyes bright with excitement. “We always traveled by litter in town and by cart for longer journeys.”

“Where are you from?”

“Iguvium.” Her chest ached with a sharp, sudden pang of homesickness. She looked straight ahead. The dirty streets and multistoried living complexes on either side of the wide lane
were a far cry from the rolling hills and sun-warmed villas of the Umbrian countryside she loved. “It's a small but beautiful place built up the side of a hill about six days north of here.”

“I know of it. I fought there once.”

“Did you? When?”

“About five years ago. I saw much of the amphitheatre, but little of the town.”

He shifted his stance and his chest brushed against her shoulder blades. She gasped at the unexpected tremor that danced down her spine.

“Perhaps you'll visit there again someday and see its finer parts.” Not wanting to encourage more peculiar feelings, she focused on the horses and the expert way Caros maneuvered the chariot through the thickening traffic of horse carts, wagons and other chariots.

“I remember the meadows were abundant with a wealth of red and yellow wildflowers,” he said.

She nodded, once again surprised by the gentle spirit beneath his battle scars. For his sake, she wished she could turn back time and regain the years he'd lost to violence.

“You must have been there in summer,” she said. “It's a beautiful time, but fall is my favorite. The harvest will arrive soon and everyone will be celebrating…”

“What's wrong?”

Her eyes burned with tears. “I no longer have a home there. My father is gone. All the loved ones of my household are dead. My uncle owns all that my father worked for. Our land, our villa…everything.”

“The uncle who sold you?”

She nodded.

His lips brushed her temple. “Again, I'm sorry for your loss, Pelonia. The area seemed a peaceful place. The kind of town where a fortunate man settles to raise a family.”

She cleared her throat and choked back her heartache. “Is it a town where
you
might want to raise a family?”

He slowed the horses to turn down an empty side street. “I never planned to marry. Some gladiators do, but I wanted no wife or children to leave behind unprotected if I died in the arena.”

“Your sentiments are honorable, Caros. I believe my father would have acted the same in your circumstances.” But what of Adiona? Her curiosity got the better of her. “What of these last three years? You've been a free man. Why haven't you wed?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps no one will have me.”

“I can't believe—”

“I'm a
lanista
after all. Wasn't it you who reminded me my profession is the lowest of the low? Tell me, what decent woman ties herself to a barbarian?”

Her cheeks flamed. She knew she'd been wrong to judge him. She eyed him over her shoulder, eager for him to see her sincerity. “I misspoke and I'm sorry for my arrogance. The more I've come to know you, the more I think whoever you choose to wed will be a woman truly blessed.”

Surprise flared in his deep blue eyes, but he said nothing. He flicked the reins, driving the horses into a faster pace while the road remained deserted. Wind whipped at the fringe of hair around her face and ruffled the edges of her tunic. Aware of his muscled arms around her, she allowed herself to brace against the solid column of his body to keep from falling backward.