The Gladiator (23 page)

“What other reason is there?”

Her eyes softened. “Until now I…I've had few regrets in life, Caros. I regret that my mother passed away at my birth and I never knew her. I regret not being able to tell my father how much I loved him one last time before he died. But in death tomorrow, I'll be reunited with them because they're waiting for me with the Lord.”

“Then why—”

“Because my deepest regret,” she continued, her bottom lip trembling, “is…is never having the chance to spend a lifetime with you.”

His heart wrenched at her words. “I feel the same, love. Which is why I'm taking your place in the arena tomorrow.”

The blood leeched from her face. “No! I won't allow it!”

He silenced her with a soft kiss. “You will,
mea carissima.
You have no choice in this. Alexius?”

Pelonia watched in horror as his champion entered the cell. “Caros? No!”

He nodded toward the Greek and Pelonia was swept from the cell. Her protests echoed through the pit's dark corridors. Her desperate sobs broke his heart, but for once in his life he was certain he'd done the right thing.

 

Caros couldn't sleep. Thoughts of tomorrow's contest crowded in on him like the cell's damp walls. Though not locked in, he'd promised to stay in the prison as part of the bargain. If he broke any part of the pact, experience had taught Spurius would use it against him. His cell door closed to keep the vermin at bay, he'd settled in for a miserable night of stones poking his back.

“
Lanista?
Where are you?”

“Quintus?” He rose to his feet, almost hitting his head on the ceiling. He pushed open the cell door. “I'm in here.”

“Thank God.” Quintus lifted the sack he held in each hand. “Pelonia sent bedding and food. I would have been here sooner, but I had to bribe the jailer.”

Struck by her thoughtfulness, Caros nodded in understanding. “How is Pelonia?

“She's worried, of course, but clinging to her faith. She's peeved for having to leave you down here. She told me to tell you she and Annia will be in prayer all night, and to assure you she'll return tomorrow.”

“I never doubted her. Pelonia's the most honorable woman I know.”

“Then you two are a good match. You're an honorable man.”

Taken aback by the Christian's unexpected praise, he muttered his thanks, then asked, “Have you heard anything about the contest tomorrow? Spurius always promotes his fights well, but this one is short notice.”

“I think everyone in the city has heard. Criers have been all over town announcing your glorious return from retirement.” Quintus handed him a sack. “There were placards posted near the amphitheater. Seems you're to fight a handful of men at once and a slew of wild beasts.”

“Is that all?”

“From what I can tell.” Quintus tilted his head in the direction of the other cells. “Have they been singing long?”

“Off and on.”

“Are the Psalms bothersome to you?”

“No, I find them peaceful.”

Quintus opened the second sack. “This is the food. There's meat, bread, fruit and skins filled with fresh water. Enough for tonight and tomorrow.”

Seeing the bounty, Caros joked, “Enough for me
and
the rats.”

“Your lady doesn't want you to starve.”

“Apparently.”

“She's concerned about you.”

“She needn't be. I cut my teeth in the games.”

“She's more concerned about your soul than your hide.”

Caros dug into the food and pulled out a loaf of dark bread. He ripped off a piece and chewed it while he eyed his slave. He swallowed. “I'm convinced there's no hope for me.”

Quintus stilled. “You think you'll lose tomorrow?”

He leaned against the doorframe, careful not to bump his head. “No, my body will be fine. It's my soul that's lost.”

“Why are you so convinced you're irredeemable?”

He shook his head. “I've killed many Christians. How could your God forgive me when I've killed so many of His own?”

“Is
that
why you've had difficulty accepting the Way?”

His chest unbearably tight from guilt, Caros nodded.

“Whatever you've done makes no difference. Paul also murdered many believers before he came to the Lord. And yet the Lord used him mightily.”

Stunned by the knowledge Pelonia's great teacher had committed the same sins as he, Caros was afraid to believe his ears.

Quintus grinned. “You've no reason to doubt Jesus loves you. He has His hand on your life. If you believe in Him, He'll be faithful to forgive you no matter what you've done.”

Caros felt buoyed by the hope of forgiveness for the first time. “Thank you, Quintus.”

Quintus clasped him on the shoulder as he turned to go. “Open your heart and accept the love of Jesus. Forgiveness is yours if you'll only believe.”

 

Later, alone, warm and fed, Caros leaned against a stack of pillows contemplating his numerous talks with Pelonia and his latest discussion with Quintus. Except for the occasional rattle of chains and the constant drip of water somewhere beyond his cell, the pit was quiet.

Open your heart and accept the love of Jesus. Forgiveness is yours if you'll only believe.

Quintus's words went round and round in Caros's head. Since the first time Pelonia had told him about Christ's love, he'd wanted to believe in the possibility of forgiveness. But, having killed so many Christians, he'd been convinced there was no help to be found in their God.

After thinking for so long he was beyond salvation, the concept terrified him. What if he accepted, truly accepted Jesus as his God, only to find it was no more than a hoax?

He shook his head to ward off his doubts. Pelonia believed. Quintus believed. So had the many Christians he'd seen die in the ring.

Teetering on the edge between denial and what his heart told him was truth, he took a deep breath and prayed, “Jesus, if You'll have me,
I
believe in You.”

C
aros awoke the next morning, his mind and spirit at peace for the first time—like the shackles had been freed from his soul. Focusing on the contest before him, he accepted the years he'd spent as a gladiator were all part of God's plan for his life—all preparation for today's final battle.

To keep from being distracted, he allowed himself no more than a few moments to think of Pelonia. He looked forward to telling her about his newfound faith. He realized he'd told her everything about himself except how much he loved her. As soon as he saw her again he vowed to correct the matter and tell her every day for the rest of his life.

Hating the slave's garb Spurius sent, he dressed with grim resolve, unrepentant in the decision to break his vow if it meant rescuing Pelonia. Eager to see his mission accomplished, he stoked himself for victory until there was no room in his mind for failure.

Spurius collected him from the pit a short time later. Noticing the stack of pillows and discarded food cloths, the old man quirked an eyebrow. “I see if you lose today it can't be blamed on an uncomfortable night.”

“I won't lose. I have unfinished business to attend to.”

“Concerning your woman, no doubt. She arrived hours ago, in case you were wondering.”

“I knew she'd come.”

“Why? Because she'd be hunted down otherwise?”

“Because she's a woman like no other, Spurius. A woman of honor who lives by her word.” The two men left the row of empty cells and ascended a flight of steps. “Where is she in the stands?” Caros asked.

“How should I know the exact spot?”

“Why do you sound suspicious, old man? Where is she?”

“The last I saw her, she was with her cousin,” the editor grumbled.

“As long as she's safe.”

“She is.”

Unconvinced, Caros warned, “Don't forget our bargain. She's to be waiting for me alive and unharmed when I leave the arena.”

“I've forgotten nothing. I'm hurt you don't trust me.”

He motioned toward a bank of cages. “I trust you like I'd trust one of these predators at my back.” Hearing the first muted cries of the mob, he grew impatient. “How many men do you intend for me to fight?”

“It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you.” Spurius gave a crafty grin. “But I do have a finale to please every Roman's love of drama. You'll go back into retirement a god in their eyes.”

“Don't do me any favors.”

Spurius chuckled. “I'm not. I'm going to use your misery to lure the mob back into their seats tomorrow.”

“You're a contemptible bit of slime, do you know that?”

“I've been called worse…just this morning, in fact.”

Occasional snatches of sunlight began to cut through the
gloom. Slaves tended the cages filled with bears, panthers, tigers and other wildlife from all over the Empire.

He could feel the crowd's excitement pulse through his nerves. The roar of agitated lions mingled with the spectators' cry a level above them. The smell turned from one of moldy decay to the mixed stench of dung, overripe bodies and blood.

“The mob is frenzied today. All fifty thousand seats are filled and the balconies are overflowing.” Pleased with himself, Spurius grinned. “It's all because of you. I told you there was a fortune to be made if you'd come back and fight.”

“I don't expect you to understand, you filthy cur, but I wanted a peaceful life.”

“And you chose to train gladiators?”

“What else was I fit for after you kept me enslaved all those years?”

Spurius shrugged. “Your livelihood wasn't my problem. I had my own mouth to feed.”

They came to one of the platforms used to lift combatants directly into the arena. Sand sifted through the cracks in the floorboards. The impatient chant of the crowd shook the foundation.

Slaves waited nearby with the armor and sword of a Samnite. Caros strapped a leather greave to his left leg before lifting his large visored helmet over his head.

Accepting his shield with his left hand, he gripped a
gladius
in his right. His fingers caressed the leather hilt like the hand of a contentious, but oft relied upon friend.

“No wonder the crowds always loved you, you look like Mars himself.” Spurius motioned for the slaves to lift Caros into the arena. The ropes creaked as one set of pulleys raised the platform, while another set parted the floorboards above his head. “Your woman is truly blessed by Fortuna,” Spurius
shouted up to him. “Who else but you could have saved her from death in the ring?”

Our God,
Caros thought as he rode toward the cloudless blue sky. Tense with the anticipation of battle, he acknowledged Christ could have chosen to use a miracle to save her, but He'd chosen to honor him with the privilege instead.

As the top of his head crested with the floor, the announcer introduced him along with his long list of titles:
Lanista
of the Ludus Maximus, The Bone Grinder, The Undefeated Champion of Rome. The mob's fanatical cheer swept across the expanse like a whirlwind. The platform locked into place. He raised the
gladius
in a salute, drawing even more applause and stamping of feet.

Marveling at the sea of people, he left the platform and anchored his feet in the sand. Eyes focused on the main gate, he watched slaves wrestle it open.

An iron chariot thundered toward him, spewing a cloud of dust in its wake. Behind the driver, two archers flanked his first opponent. Flaming arrows streaked toward him. He blocked them with his shield, extinguishing them in the sand.

The chariot raced past him, so close he jumped back to avoid being hit. Dressed as a beast from the underworld in a horned helmet with snarling teeth, his opponent leaped from the back of the chariot. He swung his long blade with no mercy. Caros met the attack. Blood pumping, he gave himself over to the thrill of the sport.

Blade met blade over and over. Caros swiped the other man in the arm, drawing first blood. The crowd went wild. An arrow pierced the sand near his feet. Blocking his opponent's weapon with his own, he turned just in time to deflect a second arrow with his shield.

The chariot returned, dropping off another set of fighters. Aware he'd promised Spurius to entertain the crowd,
Caros fought all three men at once until a lioness was lifted into the arena.

Released from its binding, the cat launched herself into the fight. Grasping the wounded man from behind, she sank her teeth into his neck. The mob cheered for death and the man cried out in agony, but not for long.

Disgusted, but focused on his other two adversaries, Caros ignored the crack of bone as the lion tore into the dead man's flesh, and launched an offensive attack. Dividing the other two men, he wounded the first, weaker foe with a slice across the thigh and a blow to the chin. The gladiator staggered backward, falling to the sand.

The mob cried for murder. The sound of blood rushing in his ears, Caros ignored them. The sun beat down on him. His sweat flowed in rivulets. Raising the point of his sword, he went after the last man.

A giant from the untamed lands of Germania, Caros recognized the titan from previous contests. An expert with a trident and net, his opponent had only been defeated once, and that was by Alexius.

Eyes intent, he waited for the German to make the first move. The titan lifted the net. Swinging it in a circle above his head, he cast it toward Caros. Caros raised his shield and moved to avoid it, but the knotted rope ensnared him in its web.

Behind him, he heard the floor shift, another platform lift into place. Unable to turn in the jumble of cords and find his newest adversary, Caros expected the worst when the crowd stood and roared.

Slicing through the ropes that bound him, he threw off his helmet and worked free of the net just in time to avoid the trident piercing his chest. With a tactical swing of his
gladius,
he glanced over his shoulder. A rhino, its sharp
horn glistening in the sun, barreled toward him. Reacting by instinct, he dropped his shield.

The mob gasped.

His free hand latched on to the post of the trident just below the prongs. He yanked with all his might and swung his massive foe toward the beast. The rhino's horn caught the German in the ribs. The momentum of the animal's pounding feet dragged the screaming man into the sand where he was trampled.

The mob chanted Caros's name with insane abandon. As he drank in air, he watched the rhino race toward the main gate where slaves angled it into a stall. He cast an eye toward the lioness. Lying in a circle of bloodstained sand, the cat continued to ravage its meal.

Trumpets blared, announcing a shift to the day's final entertainments. The lioness was caught and taken back to her cage. His interest keen, Caros watched a handful of slaves pull a covered wagon across the blood-spattered sands. At the same time, across the arena another hole opened in the floor.

The announcer began to weave a tale of a mighty gladiator whose prowess caught the eye of Venus. A hush fell over the crowd when they learned the warrior rejected the enamored goddess in favor of a human girl.

The crowd shrieked and clapped as the platform slowly lifted Pelonia into the arena. Dressed in a gossamer tunic, her black hair unbound and flowing in the breeze, she was tied to a stake, her hands trussed behind her back.

With dawning horror, Caros realized Spurius had cast him and Pelonia as actual leads in the drama. His feet heavy with fear, he ran toward her, listening keenly to what might unfold next.

The announcer's voice boomed across the theatre. “Fu
rious, the goddess disguised herself as a predator and vowed to kill her rival.”

All at once, the slaves tugged on the sheets covering the wagon. The billowing cloths fell away to reveal a large caged tiger. The cage door opened. The beast roared. Unlike the mob that was too far away, Caros saw the animal had been abused and frothed at the mouth.

The predator hissed and smacked at the slaves poking him with sharpened sticks. He leaped from his prison, landing between Caros and Pelonia. Straining every one of his sore and tired muscles, Caros picked up speed. The beast's golden eyes latched on Pelonia and bounded toward her. Terror kicked through Caros. He'd never get to her in time.

Terrified, Pelonia closed her eyes and gave herself up to prayer. At any moment, she expected the tiger's attack. Frozen, unable even to scream, she asked the Lord to protect Caros and see him safely from the arena. Animal footsteps galloped closer. She braced herself for pain.

Anger shot through her. How could she accept death like a coward? She forced her eyes open and…
“Cat?”

The tiger leaped through the air, his roar sounding to her like a plaintive wail. He careened into her, driving the breath from her body in a groan of agony.

The spectators jumped to their feet, delighted by what at a distance must look like a fatal attack. As he usually did, Cat wallowed against her, rubbing his head and face across her chest.

Weak with relief, she tugged at her bonds, wanting to hug the dear animal. Seeing someone had abused him, her anger burned against the foul soul.
God help him if I ever find out who hurt my pet!

Within the same heartbeat, Caros's shadow fell over her. He raised his
gladius,
intent on a deadly strike. The rage of
battle still clouding his intense blue eyes, she could see he'd had no time to realize the animal was his own tiger.

“Caros, stop!” she cried. “It's Cat.”

His facial muscles contorted with confusion, he managed to digest her warning and stop his weapon's mortal blow just before it sank between Cat's shoulders.

Seeing her love as a gladiator for the first time, she watched him grapple for control of the violence raging through him. Smeared with blood, his tunic torn, his fingers white from the tight grip on his weapon, he heaved in great breaths of air.

“Caros,” she said for his ears only, casting away her fear. “Caros, we're all right.”

Seemingly unaware of how close he came to death at the hand of his master, Cat bumped him with his nose.

Caros buried his fingers in the ruff of fur around Cat's neck. He opened his eyes and stared at her as though she'd just been raised from the grave. “You live?” he said in wonder. “I saw the tiger leap at you. I thought for certain you were dead.”

The wild crowd forgotten, she gave him a gentle smile. “I'm well. We all owe thanks to you.”

With tender care he cut her bonds and swept her into his arms. His quick steps took them to the sidelines, Cat trotting close behind them.

They crossed the threshold into the staging area. Caros buried his face in the curve of her neck. “Thank God you're safe.”

Uncertain if she'd heard him correctly, she tipped her head to look intently into his eyes. “Which God do you thank?”