The Gladiator (14 page)

“He has,” she answered with assurance. “He's shown me I'm to be a light in this dark place. Why He chose me, I don't understand. My inner flame is flickering at best. I believe a worse failure would be difficult to find.”

“Don't listen to the lies the Evil One would force on you.” Annia stroked Pelonia's hair. “Who, in the midst of trouble, ever feels successful or doesn't question God's plan?”

“I suppose no one.”

“The important thing to remember is that even when we are weak, our Lord is strong. Just because our prayers haven't come to fruition, doesn't mean the answers aren't already on the way.”

C
aros's third opponent of the afternoon landed on his back in a burst of sand. After years of conditioning himself to fight, he knew of no other way to relieve the tension that plagued him. His attempt to find release from the condemnation in Pelonia's eyes had proven futile. Like the tip of a red-hot poker, her accusations probed the raw sores of his diseased soul.

His lip curled at the unconscious gladiator on the ground. Supposedly a champion of more than a year, the Thracian had been a disappointment, and lasted no time at all. Where was Alexius when he required a challenge?

Fingers flexing around the hilt of a
gladius,
Caros searched the field for another man to bring down. His gaze landed on the trainee he'd purchased the same night as Pelonia. The Christian he was certain she'd find attractive if she learned of his presence here.

His eyes narrowed. Even Adiona, a woman known for her hatred of men, had found this particular trainee worthy of interest.

Unreasonable jealousy fueled his displeasure. He lifted
his weapon and pointed the bloodstained tip toward the slave. “You there. Quintus, is it not? Present yourself.”

Quintus's intelligent eyes darkened with caution, but he made his way from the shadowed sidelines and into the late-afternoon sun.

Caros clapped his iron
gladius
against the slave's wooden sword. “You seem to be taking to a gladiator's life with ease. A few more weeks of training and you might survive a round in the arena.”

The trainee kept up his guard. “Whatever God wills.”

“God?” Caros swung the
gladius
with more force than necessary. “You think your God has a hand in the ring?”

Quintus blocked the blade with notable speed. “Nothing happens that my Lord doesn't allow.”

A vision of the day's execution flashed in Caros's mind. “Then your God is a merciless tyrant.”

“I've thought the same a few times myself.”

“And yet you continue to serve Him? Would endure being made a slave and cast to the beasts rather than deny Him?”

The slave stayed alert, his sword at the ready. He nodded without hesitation. “I'm here in this pit for no other reason.”

The conviction in the slave's green eyes leveled Caros. He stepped back and dropped his weapon to his side. The victims in the ring today had shared the same fervor or they'd have denied their beliefs and saved themselves. Like Pelonia, they believed in an elusive, compelling force Caros wished to comprehend, but couldn't quite grasp.

His thirst for battle drained away. He jabbed the
gladius
point first into the sand and strode toward the sidelines.

Silence fell across the yard. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Quintus and the other trainees gawking in astonishment. No one was more amazed by his undisciplined behavior than Caros himself. He pulled a tunic over his head
and pointed to the gate that led from the training ground. “Come with me, Quintus. I have a few questions for you.”

As he walked to the egress, he ignored the quizzical looks of his assistants and motioned for them to resume training. Crisp orders followed by the clack of wooden swords sounded in his wake. A Nubian opened the gate. Quintus's quick steps trailed him through the arch and onto the stone path.

The gate clicked shut. The tranquility of the peach orchard did nothing to ease Caros's inner upheaval. He raked his fingers through his hair and spun on his heel, pinning Quintus with a terse glare. “I want you to tell me of your God.”

Surprise notched Quintus's features.

“How does He command unwavering devotion among His followers?”

“Loyalty is the least we can give when compared to the gift of salvation Christ offers.”

Caros scowled. “As far as I can see, the only gift you Christians receive is a shameful death in the arena.”

Quintus stood taller. “There's no shame in dying for Christ.”

“Have you been to an execution, slave? There's no glory in it, either.”

“Compared to what?” Quintus asked, unable to conceal his contempt. “A gladiator who spills his lifeblood for mere sport and a drunken mob's amusement?”

“Gladiators don't die for entertainment.” Caros knew he lied. “When one of our kind dies in the ring he does so to exalt the emperor and reaffirm the glory of Rome.”

“Exalt the emperor? A flesh-and-blood man who will return to the dust at his appointed time? I'd rather praise an all-knowing, loving God. One who promises life eternal if I have the courage to live, and if need be, die for Him.”

“If your God is as loving as you claim, why are there times when you think He's cruel?”

Quintus hesitated. The muscles along his jaw worked as he sought to control his inner strife. “The trials of my life of late have caused my faith to falter on occasion. But I'm confident the Lord's forgiven me for those weak moments.”

“You speak of being brought here?”

“Yes, among other things.”

“Yet, you believe your God is good?”

Quintus nodded. “Even when my plight makes me
feel
otherwise, I choose to walk by faith and believe all the trials I face are part of His greater plan for me.”

The dinner bell rang in the distance. A gentle breeze blew through the orchard, rustling the branches and scattering the fallen leaves along the path. Caros's skin prickled despite the warmth of the early evening.

The Christians' sincerity impressed him, persuaded him their beliefs held merit. Both Quintus and Pelonia had suffered tremendous loss, yet they continued to believe their God cared for them in a personal way, that He hadn't abandoned them no matter how dark their circumstances.

He longed to experience that kind of peace, but the jeering faces of those he'd slain stomped through his mind like a barbarian horde. An endless parade of regrets condemned him to a life of turmoil. How he wished life had allowed him to chart a different course than one of constant slaughter. Perhaps then he could cast off his guilt and accept that forgiveness existed.

Convinced he was irredeemable, he tried to brush aside his torment. Pride kept him from asking more questions. It was easier to pretend he didn't care about his place in eternity than reveal his deepest fears. “If I believe in your God, I might find myself tossed in with the wolves. Who needs the aggravation?”

A resigned smile touched the trainee's lips. “If
you
ended up in the arena, I'd pity the wolves.”

Caros forced a laugh, but his guilt weighed heavier than a slab of marble. The reminder of his experience in the ring returned him to the core of his dilemma. Not only did his past actions stand like a yawning chasm between him and the Christians' intriguing God, but Pelonia would despise him even more if she learned of all the believers he'd killed.

He would just have to keep the specifics of his past a secret from her.

Sitting heavily on the nearby bench, he braced his elbows on his spread knees. He may not be able to accept Pelonia's God, but he would do his best to earn her affection. A difference in religion shouldn't stand between them. She was his match. His heart's desire. At the moment, he represented everything she despised, but there had to be a way to change her mind and win her love. He didn't know how to stand aside and let her go without a fight.

He eyed Quintus through the twilight. The trainee shared Pelonia's beliefs, had read the Christian texts. Perhaps he understood something she didn't that would allow her to share her life with a nonbeliever.

He stood and paced several steps before wheeling around to find Quintus beside one of the lantern posts. “I have a slave—a woman I purchased the same night I bought you. She's also a follower of your Jesus. She was with me today and witnessed the executions. Indeed, she blamed me for them.”

The trainee shook his head, his expression a combination of anger and anguish. “Did my brothers and sisters endure much pain?”

“No,” he lied. “They went quickly.”

“God be praised.” Quintus rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. “Is this woman the same girl whose uncle sold her?”

Caros nodded. “What do you know of her?”

“Very little. I heard a man haggle a price for her. A thousand denarii if I remember correctly.”

The slaver had made a tidy profit off him with Pelonia, but Caros felt he'd gotten the better part of the bargain.

“Why did she blame you for the executions?” Quintus asked. “Did you arrange the killing or provide the wolves?”

“No…. Not today.”

The hoot of an owl filled the silence as Quintus absorbed the full implication of the statement. The slave's mouth twisted with unconcealed repugnance. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“I believe so.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“It's simple enough,” Quintus said. “You're in love with a Christian, but you've killed her kind. Now you're laboring with the question of how to win her affection without having to admit your guilt or share her faith.”

Caros flushed at the accuracy of the slave's assessment. Was the trainee some sort of sage? His insight bordered on clairvoyance. “What makes you think I have any affection for Pelonia?”

“I can read the symptoms. A calloused man like you wouldn't be burdened by a woman's bad opinion unless he cared for her.”

Caros flinched, stung by the unpalatable truth. Unable to bear the scrutiny in the other man's gaze, he looked toward the remnant red and gold streaks that stretched across the deep purple sky. In no time at all, total darkness would descend, blanketing the city as completely as the regrets consuming his blackened soul.

Footsteps from the direction of the main house pulled him from of his thoughts. A slave ran to him, gasping for breath. “Master, please come quickly! Gaius collapsed. With Lucia
gone there's no one left in the household who knows how to help him.”

Caros cursed as he ran for the house. What else could go wrong?

 

While other slaves swept the floor and tidied the kitchen, Pelonia finished stacking the last dishes from the evening meal. Her hands scalded from the water she'd used to wash the trainees' mountain of platters and bowls, she toweled perspiration from the back of her neck and tossed the damp cloth into a laundry basket beside the back door.

Her conscience pricked her. Since Annia's departure an hour before dinner, she'd thought of little except how unfairly she'd accused Caros. The Lord had brought her here to share His light, not add to Caros's guilt or burden him with condemnation. She ached for the brothers and sisters she'd lost to the wolves today, but it did no good to blame Caros for the violence, nor did it aid God's purpose to wound him with her spiked tongue.

Leaving the kitchen, she relished the brisk night air against her heated skin. She arched her back, stretching the muscles made stiff from an eternity bent over a steaming bucket of water and admired the clear sky and bright stars overhead.

Where had everyone gone? The sound of insects hummed through the night, but no human voices. Lanterns glowed in the windows of the house. Torches burned along the path that led to the training field, but the whole place seemed eerily deserted, which was nonsense given the number of trainers, gladiators and slaves living within the compound's walls.

Vowing to apologize to Caros the next time she saw him, she wandered through the orchard, careful to stay in the shadows lest anyone see her. There were enough rumors milling about her already.

A gust of air extinguished two of the torches along the walkway. Tree limbs swayed above her like long arms beckoning her deeper into the night.

She made her way to the marble bench she'd shared with Caros the previous day. Her hand lingered on the spot where his had rested. A bittersweet sensation settled over her. She wished she could revisit their time together on the training field and revel in the unique closeness she'd shared with him as they gazed at the stars. Those few hours alone in his company had been some of the sweetest of her life. If she believed in the Roman gods or were prone to superstition, she might think he'd whispered incantations to steal her will.

Sensing she wasn't alone, she left her seat and squinted into the darkness. A mysterious figure approached from the direction of the gate that separated the orchard from the training area. “Caros?”

“No.” A tall stranger stepped from the shifting shadows, his sculpted features strong and handsome in the torchlight. “Don't be frightened. My name is Quintus Ambustus. The
lanista'
s no longer here.”

Recognizing a trainee by the cut and coarseness of his belted tunic, she backed away. “Why are you out here by yourself?”

He motioned toward the field behind him. “The gate is locked and the guards have gone to keep watch at the barracks.”