The Gladiator (15 page)

She half turned toward the main house, aware it was a mistake to remain in the man's presence unattended. Not only was the situation dangerous, but her instincts warned of Caros's wrath if he found the two of them alone together. “Do you know where your master is?”

His deep-set eyes narrowed with rejection. “I call no man master, but as for the
lanista,
one of the other slaves called him to the house.”

With a murmur of thanks, she started back the way she came.

“Wait.” He stayed her with a light grasp on the shoulder. “Are you Pelonia?”

She shrugged off his touch. “How do you know my name?”

“The
lanista
said you attended the executions with him today.”

A sharp pain cleaved her chest. “Yes,” she managed in a choked whisper. “I'll never forget the terrible sight or the sound of thousands demanding murder.”

“I'm sorry.” His bright green eyes brimmed with empathy. “I understand you're a Christian.”

Her eyes snapped back to his face.

“Don't be alarmed. I am also.”

His unflinching gaze convinced her of his sincerity. Gratitude flowed through her from the unexpected gift. “Praise be to God. You're the second believer He's placed in my life today.”

The strain eased from his tall frame. “The Lord is good indeed. When the
lanista
mentioned you earlier, I prayed for a way to meet you, and here you've appeared. It seems an age since I spoke with another of our faith.”

“Caros told you of my beliefs?”

“Yes, but you needn't worry. Your secret will stay with me.”

“I wasn't worried. Caros must be aware you're a fellow believer. He's far from careless.”

He nodded. “I've seen little of him in the few weeks I've been here, but I've gleaned the same impression.”

“How did you come to be here in the gladiatorial school?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“You and I arrived the same night, though I had no idea if you'd been kept here or taken to serve elsewhere.”

“The worst day of my life,” she said sourly.

“I've enjoyed better myself.” His dry tone made her laugh. “In all seriousness, I'm sorry to remind you of harsh memories, but believe me, I understand the trials you've faced. I've endured similar circumstances myself in recent months.”

Her brows pinched. “How do you know anything about me? Surely Caros didn't discuss—”

“No, he said very little about you. I was chained in one of the wagons close enough to hear your uncle offer you to the slave trader.”

She frowned, still unable to comprehend Marcus's hatred.

“He told the slaver what happened to your camp. The fresh graves spoke for themselves.”

“I see.” Her throat was tight and scratchy. She didn't want to hear more. She continued to struggle with her loss on a daily basis. Her uncle's betrayal only added to the cauldron of grief and rage that kept her at odds with the life of faith she desired to lead.

“What of you?” She swallowed down her hurt and anger. “How did you come to be here?”

“I was condemned to die because of my faith, but the jailer sold me to the slave caravan.”

“I'm sorry.” Empathy ran through her. “But as you still live, God must have a plan for you yet.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the training field. “At times the Lord's ways are difficult to understand and accept.”

She recognized the pain and thread of ire in his voice. Her fingers tightened around his with sisterly compassion. It was her turn to offer encouragement and comfort, she realized, just as Annia had done for her earlier in the day. How like the Lord to bring each of them a friend to bolster their faith in times of trouble.

“Quintus, believe me, I don't always understand the Lord's ways or means of bringing about His plans, but I do
know He's trustworthy. Our circumstances may make us
feel
alone, but I believe He'll never forsake those who love Him.”

“I know you're right.” He smiled and stood taller. “I said the same to the
lanista
and I believe it in my heart.”

“You spoke with Caros about living by faith?”

He nodded. “He asked me to tell him about God. I have a strong suspicion his interest stems from your example and a desire to understand you. We all have a purpose and I think yours at the moment is to win your gladiator.”

“Yes,” she agreed with growing confidence. “I believe I am, too. I pray for him daily and do my best to share the Good News. I realize some may think I'm an odd choice, but—”

“No, you seem the best choice to me.” He squeezed her hand, offering reassurance and friendship. “Anyone with eyes can see you've made a good impression on the man. He cares for you. It wouldn't surprise me if you're the only person in the world capable of piercing the armor around his heart.”

Hope warmed her like the sun after a frigid rain. “If what you say is true, then it's worth the loss of my freedom. I'll consider myself blessed that the Lord has chosen to use me.”

 

With his elderly steward resting in comfort, Caros went in search of Pelonia. She wasn't in her room, or the slave quarters, the atrium, kitchen or herb garden.

A nagging fear drove him toward the orchard, the last place he could think to look before he called the guards and began a search within the school and beyond the compound's walls.

If he'd trusted her only to learn she'd duped him long enough to escape, he'd…

His feet ground to a halt. His heart slammed against his breastbone. The sight of Pelonia holding hands with the one man he didn't want her to meet caused his stomach to heave
with a violent need to retch. As he stalked forward, his eyes narrowing on Quintus, he regretted leaving Cat in his cage. It had been a long time since his tiger had had a human to toy with.

“Slave,” he snarled at Quintus. “Step away from her unless you wish to find yourself entertaining the lions at first light.”

Pelonia whirled to face him, a look of astonishment, or was it guilt, stamped across her expressive features. A sheen of red clouded Caros's vision when the defiant trainee took his time to back away and put a suitable distance between the two of them.

Jealousy shredding his reason, Caros locked fingers around Pelonia's delicate wrist and pulled her against his side. His hostile gaze flicked back to Quintus. “Leave us, worm. If I see you near her again, I'll slay you where you stand.”

“Caros, please, let me explain!” She thrust herself in front of him, her small hand splayed against his chest. “You're behaving like a lunatic. I won't allow you to harm him.”

Allow?
Icy rage slithered through him. “You aren't strong enough to stop me.”

“I know, but—”

“Why do you care? Is this slave more than a stranger to you? Have you somehow discovered he's your perfect man in so little time?”

Bewilderment scored her features. She eyed him as though he'd gone mad. “No. I'd try to stop you because tomorrow you'd regret your idiocy and the death of an innocent man. You're burdened by enough guilt as it is. I'd want to save you from piling more on yourself.”

Feeling like a cobra in the hands of an expert charmer, he dragged his gaze back to Quintus. “Take this path back to the
domus.
Report to the guard on duty by the back door and have him take you the long way around to the bunkhouse.”

Quintus offered no acknowledgment of the order other than to tip his head in a respectful nod to Pelonia. “Good night, sweet lady. I hope the Lord answers your prayers with all possible haste.”

Seething at the man's audacity, Caros waited until the trainee was out of earshot. “What prayers, Pelonia? Already my slave knows more of your secrets than I do. Share them with me.”

She stroked his chest as if to soothe him. “I can't until you're ready to hear them.”

The heat of her palm reached through the thin fabric of his tunic. He lifted her other hand to his chest and held both tight against him, his heart pounding from the powerful effect of her touch.

His anger began to fade though his jealousy continued to roar like a bonfire. He refused to share her or give her up. Every part of his being longed to draw her against him, to kiss her until she agreed to be his woman for the rest of her life. Their bargain could burn Hades' fires for all he cared.

“I'm ready now, Pelonia. I want no barriers of
any
kind between us.”

She winced at his tight grip on her wrist. “Let go,” she said, softly. “You're holding me too tight.”

He relaxed his fingers without breaking the contact. “Why do you think the idea of you choosing Quintus drives me insane?”

“Quintus? I just met him.”

“He's better suited for you than I am,” he said gruffly. “He shares your faith. His true occupation is one of a learned and respected man, not death. No scars mar his face or form. He's—”

“Not you,” she replied with simple honesty.

His mouth snapped shut. A mix of expressions crossed
his chiseled features—astonishment, uncertainty, and finally…hope.

His vulnerability shattered her remaining defenses. His height and nearness surrounded her. The spicy scent of his skin and the night's peach-infused air robbed her of protest as he gathered her against him.

“There's no man I prefer over you.”

She felt the last traces of hostility drain out of him. His lips brushed the top of her head. Gooseflesh prickled her skin. She snuggled closer, resting her cheek against the center of his chest. Lulled by the solid thud of his heart beneath her ear, she chose not to examine the oddity of finding so much peace in the arms of such a violent man.

“Must I beg or is your silence how you intend to punish me?” he asked against her hair.

“Punish you?”

He leaned back and waited for her to look at him. “Yes. For being a ‘bloodthirsty' Roman.”

She flushed with guilt. “I don't blame you for the executions. I regretted what I said to you even before you left me alone with Annia. Now, once again I find I'm in the wrong and needing to apologize for the meanness of my tongue.”

“No.” His fingers cupped her cheek, then slipped into her hair at the nape. “You did nothing.”

“I said horrible things. I wish it weren't the case but I only seem to lose control of my temper when I'm with you.”

“You were in shock and I'm not the easiest of men.”

“Please don't make excuses for me.” The kinder he became, the worse she felt.

He opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of what he planned to say. “You're right. I shouldn't make excuses for you. Your insults ripped through my heart like flaming arrows, causing more pain than I've ever endured.
Then, when I could bear your scorn no longer, I searched for you to discuss the matter only to find you sharing secrets in the arms of another man.”

Remorse rolled over her in waves. Not for her innocent behavior with Quintus, but for the hurt she'd caused Caros with her angry accusations. Never in her life had she wounded anyone as much as she had him—the one soul she wanted most to see healed.

“Caros, I…” Her voice rasped over the lump in her throat. She lifted her gaze, ready to apologize, to plead for forgiveness and offer a fresh start between them, but amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I…why are you laughing?”

C
aros endeavored to keep a straight face. “I'm not laughing.”

“You lie.” She swatted his chest and tried to break free of his hold. “Tell me why you're laughing at me or I'll have to twist your arm and make you.”

“Vicious woman.” He closed his eyes. At the moment she almost escaped, he tightened his arms, not ready to relinquish the exquisite torture of holding her so close. “All right, I admit it. You have a face as easy to read as an open scroll and it makes me happy to see how concerned you are for me.”

“Happy?”

“You say the word as though you've never heard it before.”

“I've heard it.” She burrowed back against him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his heart as though she meant to stay with him forever. “You just surprised me, but then you always do.”

He stroked her hair, loving the silken tresses that made him grateful he had hands to touch her. “I wouldn't want to bore you.”

She grinned up at him, her doe eyes sparkling like the
stars above them. “You make me feel many things,
lanista,
but boredom has never been one of them.”

He squeezed her until she squealed and merry giggles filled the cool, autumn evening. “If I confessed to the feelings you stir in me, you'd run for the hills in maidenly fright.”

Relaxing back against him, she sighed from what he hoped was contentment. “Then confess nothing, for I'm pleased where I am and too tired to run anywhere.”

“The woman is finally satisfied.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “If exhaustion is the ingredient needed to make you stay with me, I'll have to devote more time to thinking up chores for you.”

She yawned. “You best hurry, then. Our bargain ends in twelve days' time.”

The reminder spiked him in the heart. Despite the tenderness between them, she clung to her plan to escape at the first opportunity. The knowledge hurt more than he cared to admit. “Why do you remain so adamant to leave? Have I not treated you well and shown you as much respect as any man can show a woman?”

She stilled like the night surrounding them. “Let me go.”

Cursing the end of what had become an enjoyable evening, he released her. Her shoulders thrust back, she aimed for the bench several paces away. Already his arms missed holding her.

Never one to admit defeat, he decided to double his efforts to convince her of her place by his side.

“My wish to leave isn't swayed one way or the other by how well or ill you treat me,” she said, her tone as stiff as her small body. “As I've told you before, I want my freedom because to live as a slave is abhorrent to me. This degraded state is not who I am. Would you be willing to change places with me? To take on a mantle of slavery once more?”

“I swore the day I won my freedom, I'd never lose it again.”

“Then how can you expect me to abide the loss of
my
freedom just because you will it to be so?” She kicked a fallen piece of fruit with the toe of her sandal. “It also troubles me greatly to know my cousin must be worried sick…or worse, mourning me if she believes I'm dead. If you felt a tithe of my pain when I think of Tiberia suffering, you'd let me go this instant.”

“And what of
my
pain?” he asked quietly. “What am I to do once you leave here? I'm not naive enough to believe you'd return to me if I released you.”

Distant voices carried through the crisp night from the direction of the house.

“You're wrong,” she said. “I'd come back to you. I want you to know the Lord.”

“Of course.” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why didn't I guess? If not for your absurd need to see me believe in your God, you'd be seeking escape at every possible turn.”

“Most likely,” she agreed. “But then, without my hope for your soul, there'd be no bargain between us in the first place.”

“Without your silly beliefs, you'd already be in my bed and there'd be no
need
for this cursed bargain between us.”

“No. My father taught me to be a woman of honor. Christian or not, I wouldn't share your bed without first being your wife.”

A bitter laugh erupted from his throat. “Wife, slave, what's the difference? Either way I own you.”

Pelonia paled until her luminous skin shone as white as a pearl in the moonlight. “There's a difference, Caros. If you don't realize that simple truth, then regardless of whether or not you believe in my God, there's no hope at all for us.”

 

A rooster crowed, waking Pelonia from a dreamless sleep. Her lashes fluttered open. It was the first day of the week. Three days had passed since the executions, three nights since she and Caros had quarreled in the orchard.

Disheartened by the situation between them, she rose from her pallet, noting the rising sun. The chill in the air reminded her of Caros's attitude toward her. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd argued, but every once in a while she would catch him studying her with a fierce gleam in his eye that turned to ice the moment he realized she'd seen him. She'd offended him greatly and though she was sorry she'd hurt him, she took solace in the fact she'd told him the truth.

Washed and dressed, she made her way to the herb garden. She'd developed a routine over the last few days and found she enjoyed caring for the plants as much or more here than she did at home. Along with pruning the existing plants, she'd marked out a vegetable garden on three sides of the fountain and planted seeds from a variety of root vegetables to see how they'd take in the rich, black soil.

Cat met her inside the gate. No longer afraid of the tiger since the day he almost shoved her into the fountain, she scratched his head and rubbed his ears, laughing when he closed his eyes in contentment and nuzzled her chest with a gratified grunt.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up to find Caros's steward picking his way toward her.

“How is your health, Gaius?” she asked once he stopped a few arm lengths away from her. “The color's returned to your face but should you be up and back to your duties so soon after your collapse?”

The old man offered a grim smile that pleated the wrinkles of his thin face. “I'm well enough thanks to your garlic
concoction. I believe the culprit for making me ill was a poorly prepared joint of mutton. It smelled less than fresh when I ate it. I should have known better.”

“I suspected as much. Who hasn't suffered the consequences of eating bad food from time to time? I believe the mixture I shared is fairly well-known. I was surprised no one here knew how to fix it for you.”

“This is a gladiatorial school. Lucia excelled at gentle remedies, but our physicians are better at binding wounds than mixing potions.”

“I'm sorry the healer is gone because of me.”

“She was wrong to behave as she did,” he said without mercy. “I've found the master to be a wise man who handles situations in the best possible manner. Don't concern yourself any longer. Lucia was sent away because she deserves to be, but she'll be fine.”

Pelonia nodded. “I hope you're right.”

“I am, but I didn't come to fetch you to make small talk about Lucia. You have a guest.”

“Who is it?” she asked, no longer surprised by Gaius's brusque manner.

“Annia, the shop mistress from the Forum.” His mouth turned down in clear disapproval. “The master informed me she might visit, but he said nothing of her bringing a mob along with her.”

She patted Cat on the head in a quick farewell. “Where did you tell them to wait?”

“In the chamber just off the front entrance,” he called as she hurried toward the house.

She found Annia and her companions waiting patiently on the plush couches in the sitting room.

Annia hopped to her feet the moment Pelonia rushed across the threshold. “I trust you don't mind my bringing friends.”

“Of course not,” she assured her. Annia's soft perfume surrounded Pelonia as she gathered the elegant older woman in a hug.

“Then let me introduce you.”

Gaius's “mob” turned out to be two couples—one, a fresh-faced pair of newlyweds dressed in matching shades of yellow, the other a plump middle-aged husband and wife, both with graying hair and dark eyes.

Annia took the older woman by the hand. “You may remember Marcia here from my shop the other day.”

“Yes. I believe you mentioned meeting by the river this morning.”

Annia nodded, her good mood infectious. “The five of us meet to worship God and discuss the texts this time each week. After I told them of your dreadful plight and that you weren't able to join us in our usual spot, I suggested we visit with you here instead.”

“How wonderful.” Pelonia beamed with happiness. “You're all an answer to prayer. It's been over a month since I've gathered with anyone to praise the Lord. I couldn't be more pleased you're here.”

“What of the
lanista?”
Marcia's husband, Festus, asked with marked concern. “Forgive me, but it seems strange to worship in the home of a man known to kill Christians. Is he here? Are we safe?”

Pelonia's smile faded. Her first instinct to defend Caros, she tamped down a forceful reply and kept her voice as mild as possible. “What do you mean
known
to kill Christians? It's true the
lanista
trains gladiators, that he fought and killed for several years but he's been retired from the games for a long time now. He's never even fought in Flavian's amphitheater…”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. The visitors
exchanged uneasy glances. Festus cleared his throat. “Forgive me, dear sister, I spoke out of turn.”

“No, I'm certain you didn't. Please don't treat me like an outsider. What has Caros done?”

Festus shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “You're newly arrived to the capital. There's little chance you know of your master's history before the mob demanded his freedom. He was the best gladiator this city's ever seen. Before I chose to follow the Way, I used to enjoy the games. Back before the Flavians built the arena, the editors set up fights in squares, back alleyways, even the middle of the Forum on feast days. The Bone Grinder, as the
lanista
was called then, never failed to rouse the crowds who gathered just to see him kill.”

“He was known for his speed and tenacity,” Geminius, the other male guest added. “The spectators loved him because no one stood a chance against him, and he rarely showed mercy. He played the crowd and made them dream of being him. Unfortunately the victims included many of our sect who were charged with treason and brought in for execution.”

Trembling, Pelonia sank into the seat behind her. Perhaps she'd been naive, but she hadn't allowed herself to consider just how many Christian lives Caros had ended.

Annia coughed and left the comfort of her pillowed chair. “That's enough, men. Can't you see what you're doing to the poor girl? We didn't come here to add to her distress.”

“No, we didn't,” said Geminius.

“Shall I get you a cup of water, Pelonia?” his young wife, Vergilia, asked.

“No, I'm fine,” she insisted, her head throbbing with tension. Her concern for Caros blotted out all rational thought. A distant part of her admitted she was horrified by the
number of deaths at Caros's hand, but armed with the knowledge of his past, how could she condemn him? He'd once told her he'd learned to survive under the threat of kill or be killed. Loving him as she did, she was only too thankful he'd been strong enough to live.

“Whatever Caros did, it's in the past.” Pelonia met each of the other's uncertain gazes with a direct look of her own. “As far as I'm concerned the past is where it will remain.”

“I agree,” Marcia said. “No one is blameless. The Lord says to forgive. Like Pelonia, I intend to follow His instructions. Now, perhaps we should pray. We've started off badly. Let's begin afresh.”

The others murmured in agreement. Pelonia joined them in prayer even more firmly convinced Caros needed the peace of Christ in his life if he ever hoped to overcome the horrors he'd known.

 

Dripping with sweat from his morning sword practice, Caros toweled his face and bare chest before slipping his favorite old tunic over his head. As he made his way down the hall toward the atrium, he stopped midstride, caught off guard by the chorus coming from somewhere in the house.

It couldn't be Alexius singing. He heard more than one voice. Besides, his friend sounded like a mule with a cold when he sang. Was it the other slaves? He doubted it. As far as he knew they'd never before felt the need to burst into song.

In the sun-drenched courtyard, the voices grew louder, competing with the splash of the fountain. Discernible words caressed his ears and drew him across the covered porch toward the front of the house.