The Gladiator (6 page)

“How do you know?”

She weighed her words with care. “I mean no disrespect, but…but my father would never have condoned my marriage to a man of your occupation.”

“I see.” His lips firmed into a hard line. “I should have
known, but it's easy to forget we gladiators are the scum of the earth when most of the empire worships our every move.”

“I didn't mean to offend you.”

“You didn't. I know the status of my profession. So, what virtues must this god among mortals possess to win your favor?”

“I want no god other than the One I serve. As for a husband, I pray…”

A bird chirped, filling in the late afternoon's silence while she debated whether or not to share further. Being a pagan, and a man, she doubted he would understand.

“Yes?” Caros persisted.

“There was a man named Paul of Tarsus,” she said before she lost her nerve.

“You wished to marry him?”

“No.” She shook her head, disconcerted by the sudden malice in his expression. “Paul was the first Jew to teach Gentiles the ways of Jesus. In his letters to the various Christian communities, he taught many truths.”

“And for this you admire him? I, for one, would reconsider elevating a teacher who led me down a road to persecution and slaughter.”

“On marriage,” she continued as though he'd said nothing, “Paul taught a husband should love his wife as much as Christ loves his followers. A man should love her so much he would die for her if necessary, just as Christ died for all of us.”

“Little wonder you put such stock in love.” He grimaced. “And what did this Paul say a wife must do in return for her husband?”

“She must respect him.”

Caros frowned. “A man must die for a woman and all she has to do is
respect
him for it?”

Pelonia grinned.

“Are you certain this Paul wasn't a female in disguise? It seems he concocted the rules to lean in a woman's favor.”

She swatted his arm. “Paul was a great man, blessed with vast wisdom.”

“So were Aristotle, Plato and Seneca. Why should I believe your Paul over the natural order—that woman is born to serve her husband, wanting nothing more than to bear his children?”

“Little wonder we Christians are persecuted for our radical ideas. Men rule the Empire and few of them want to purchase a slave when they can wed one.”

“I purchased you, did I not? Though at three thousand denarii you were less than a bargain.”

“Three
thousand…?
” Her mouth dropped open. “Why would you pay such a high price?”

His face grew serious. His eyes warmed in the space of a blink. He engulfed her hand in his much larger one and leaned closer until their lips almost touched. “The slave trader threatened to sell you to a brothel, but I refused to allow it.”

Shocked to learn of the degradation he'd saved her from, she grappled for something appropriate to say. She wanted to thank him for his generosity, but her enslavement stole all but the smallest portion of gratitude from her heart. “I…why?”

“I mean to have you for myself.”

She eased away from his hold, instantly missing the warmth of his touch. “The slave trader robbed you. He sold you a woman who wasn't for sale.”

“My receipt and your presence in my home say otherwise.”

“You confuse me. I'm certain you'd find a more willing female if you applied yourself to the task of looking for one.”

His lips twitched. “I want only you.”

Lucia's cold warning rang in her ears. “Because I'm a challenge? Or because I'm an innocent?”

The crisp air hummed with tension between them. “Neither and both. Truthfully…because there's a peace I feel in your presence that I've felt with no one else.”

Mystified, Pelonia studied his angular features. His sincerity touched a chord deep inside her, but she found it impossible to trust him. She stood, eager to find the calm that eluded her in his presence. “After these last weeks, Caros, if you sense any peace left in me it's Christ and Him alone.”

“Nonsense. I'm drawn to
you,
Pelonia, no other. From the first moment I saw you I wanted you for my own.” His long fingers locked around her wrist, preventing her flight. “I won't relent until I've made you mine.”

The quiet declaration confirmed Lucia's warning. She shook off his hold and rushed from the garden, his command to return chasing her down the path toward the house. Once in her room upstairs, she shut the door and flung herself on her pallet. Her whole body trembled from the shock of his admission. Her thoughts whirled as she tried to sort out the revelations in the garden. One moment she and Caros had been conversing, the next…

Her skin crawled when she thought of how close she'd come to waking in a brothel. Her father had shielded her, but she wasn't unaware of the harsh realities a female faced on her own. Shorn of a man's protection, most women fell into prostitution, or like her, were sold into slavery.

Neither was an acceptable choice, but for the moment slavery seemed the lesser of both evils. Had she been sold to a brothel, she would still be a slave, shamed with no hope of returning to her family. As it was, at least she had her virtue and the dream of freedom.

She curled into a ball. Her mind raced. Caros planned to make her his paramour. What had she done to draw his attention? He couldn't possibly be drawn to her disheveled and
filthy appearance. She'd fought him at every turn. Surely he wasn't attracted to her less-than-servile nature?

Clasping her knees, she lowered her head. “Lord, where
are
You?” Straining to hear even the faintest whisper of guidance, she almost wept when she met with more silence. She'd already lost her father and freedom, would God allow her virtue to be stolen as well?

Lucia's offer rang in her ears. Any hesitation she'd harbored about the timing of her escape vanished. She'd been given the opportunity to flee and she must seek out Tiberia. If Caros sought to claim her, she had no ability or legal right to stop him. Every moment she lingered in his domain brought her closer to ruin.

She had no choice. She must leave tonight.

A
nxious, Pelonia paced the shadows of her moonlit room. Lucia should arrive any moment with further instructions. Through her room's small window she checked the lantern-lit yard for the slightest hint of movement. The trainees had been locked in the barracks at twilight. The guards were nowhere in sight, but her stomach clenched with trepidation. If she were caught, and Caros refused to show mercy, she might lose her life.

A dog howled, lending the blackness an eerie quality that stretched her nerves. A knock on the door made her jump.

Pelonia opened the door to her coconspirator. “I've brought you some vegetable broth,” Lucia said once the door was secured. “It was childish of you to skip the evening meal. How do you expect to have strength for tonight if you don't eat?”

“I didn't consider—”

“No, I figured as much, but I used your stupidity to aid us. I spread the seed you're feeling ill. When you don't come down tomorrow, people will believe you're unwell and passing the day on your pallet.”

“Who will believe such a tale?” Pelonia accepted the
fragrant bowl of stewed tomatoes. “Since when is a slave allowed to shirk labor because of sickness?”

The lamp's glow highlighted Lucia's severe features. “Who
won't
believe it? Everyone is aware you're the master's current favorite.”

Pelonia's cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I hate being the subject of gossip.”

“You've been nothing else since the moment the master plucked you from the slave quarters and insisted you stay here in the house.”

She cringed with mortification. Thankfully, her father didn't have to witness her dishonor.

“The entire household has made wagers to see how long before he tires of you.”

Humiliated, she turned away. “When do I go?”

“Soon. First, you must listen and heed everything I'm about to say. When you leave the house tonight follow the street toward the amphitheater. Just before you reach the city gates, you'll come to a large statue of Caesar driving a chariot with winged horses. Once there, look for a man with two lanterns. He's the butcher's son, Pales. I've arranged for him to lead you to your cousin's home.”

“You're certain he can be trusted?”

Pausing at the door, Lucia nodded. “Watch for me below your window. I'll give a birdcall to signal when it's time.”

 

Several oil lamps bathed Caros's study with a warm orange glow. His gaze soaked in the wall mural of the setting sun and Iberian mountains. After all these years, he missed his native land and grieved the loss of his cherished kin.

His father, mother, sisters. Each of them held a revered place in his heart. With a fond smile, he lifted the ancestral statue he'd had fashioned to represent his father. Wise,
the epitome of fairness, his father was the best man he'd ever known.

He replaced the carving and chose the one of his mother, the heart of his family's home. When Caros closed his eyes, he saw her wide smile, heard her gentle voice instructing him to be a man of peace, of honor.

How disappointed she would be to see what he'd become.

He put back the statue with care, then eased into one of the blue padded seats facing the inner courtyard. The illuminated fountain returned his thoughts to Pelonia, a subject never far from his mind.

He winced thinking of the disaster he'd spawned in the garden. By the gods, she must think him a rapist the way she'd fled. The horror on her face when he'd tried to kiss her made him cringe. In the future, he'd master his lust and nurture her trust, not her resistance.

Seeing Lucia enter the courtyard, he sat forward. Why wasn't the healer abed? He surged to his feet when he saw her look of panic.

“Master!” She ran toward him. “You must hurry. Pelonia, that ungrateful sneak, has fled. I was in my room upstairs when I happened to look out my window. There she was, creeping down the road like a common thief. I told you she'd be nothing but trouble.”

Fear gripped him. “Which way?”

“Toward the city gates.”

Quick steps took him to the bowels of the house. He strapped on a
gladius
and grabbed up a torch, then raced to the side door and into the night.

The torch held high to guide him, he broke into a run. During the day, Rome was dangerous enough, but after dark the streets crawled with every sort of human vermin.

If anything happened to her…He had to find her.

He picked up his pace. Shouting and bawdy laughter echoed from the street up ahead, but it was the woman's scream that raised the hackles on the back of his neck.

 

A grimy hand covered Pelonia's mouth from behind and dragged her head back against a rock-hard shoulder. A knife blade pressed to her throat filled her with terror. “Be quiet, wench! Someone'll think you don't like us.”

Raucous laughter rippled through the drunken gang surrounding her like rabid dogs. Paralyzed with fear, she felt a trickle of blood slide down her neck. The stench of sour mead made her gag. She frantically searched the darkness. Shiny, inebriated eyes leered at her from the shadows. How many men were there? Six? Seven?

Dear God, please help me!

“I want her first,” a deep voice slurred somewhere to her left.

“You'll have to wait your turn,” another said, the words thick and muddled. Jeering laughter combined with lewd suggestions echoed through the street.

The pack grew bolder. Groping hands snatched at her clothes, pinched her, yanked her braid. The cloth of her tunic ripped, exposing her shoulder to the damp night air.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Unable to move or defend herself, she begged God for mercy.

The giant tightened his hand on her mouth. The pressure against her teeth cut her lip. She tasted blood.

He reached forward with the knife, the metal flashing in the moonlight between her face and the other wolves.

“All of you stand back,” the giant ordered. “The woman promised I could have her first. You'll have to wait 'til I've had my taste.”

What woman?

A flurry of drunken curses and outraged complaints
littered the night, but the long knife aided the pack's decision to slink backward.

“Such beautiful skin,” the giant slurred near her ear. His sour breath churned her stomach. She gagged until she thought she might retch. He moved his hand from her mouth and buried his wet lips against the pulse racing in her throat.

She screamed. Her heel stomped his foot. He loosed his hold and the blade clanked on the stone street. Wild with fear, she jerked free from the drunk and ran.

Threats from her pursuing attackers spurred her onward. Was someone calling her name? Without slacking her pace, she turned a corner, then another and another until she was lost. Too scared to stop running, she pressed on, her lungs burning, her heart pounding.

Rapid footsteps gained ground behind her. The glow of a torch grew larger, lighting the narrow alleyway.

“Pelonia!”

Caros? She faltered, tripped on an uneven stone, felt herself falling.

A strong arm swooped around her middle, hauling her up just as her palms brushed the road. In a seamless movement, Caros turned her around, then pulled her against him. “Are you all right?”

She locked her arms around his waist and buried her cheek against his chest. Like an angel sent from God, he'd come to save her.

The heat of his torch warmed her skin, but did nothing to ease her chilling terror. He held her while she shivered and shook against him. For timeless moments, he rubbed her back until the tremors subsided.

Caros cupped her face with his free hand and tipped her head back to search for injuries. He ran the pad of his thumb over the shallow cut on her throat. Thankfully, the blood had
dried and the wound no longer bled. The image of his woman, a blade held against her jugular, would never leave him. If she hadn't escaped those mongrels, he would have slaughtered them all.

He angled the torch for a better view of her ashen face. His gaze roamed over her, accessed the shock stamped across her shattered expression. “It's over now. They won't find us. Can you walk or shall I carry you home?”

“Home?” Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes filled with tears. “I have no home.”

His chest constricted with pity. He tugged her against him, holding her close while sobs ravaged her tiny form. A promise to free her and help find her cousin sprang to the tip of his tongue.

No.
His arms tightened around her. She was his. He couldn't let her go.

Once she quieted, he took her hand and began to lead her from the alley. “Come, Pelonia, you'll catch a cold. We must get you indoors.”

She tugged free. “Why? So you can finish what those jackals started?”

A brow arched in question, he faced her. Illuminated by a pool of torchlight, her creamy cheeks smudged with tears, her lower lip swollen, she held her head high, daring him to deny her suspicion.

He narrowed the gap between them. “Are you crazed, woman? Haven't you realized by now I'm not going to rape you?”

She lifted her chin. “How can I trust such a claim? You said you meant to have me no matter what and there are rumors—”

“Rumors never cease. This is Rome. There's as much gossip here as there is air to breathe.”

“You're a man. And I am your slave, or so you keep informing me.”

He frowned, disliking the bitter accusation in her eyes. “Pelonia, if I meant to abuse your body, I would have done so already. You've been in my house, tempting me since the first time I saw you in the slaver's wagon.”

Confusion furrowed her brow. She crossed her arms over her chest, as though to protect herself. “And what of tonight? Do you plan to punish me for my escape?”

He clasped her hand, tightening his grip when she tried to break the contact. “I haven't had time to consider it, though the gods know you deserve to be whipped.”

“No, I do not. What did you expect after today in the garden?”

“I tried to kiss you, nothing more.”

“Where I'm from, a man doesn't kiss a woman unless she's his wife. I've heard—”

“Rumors. Yes, I know. Who is this liar who's filled your head with poison against me?”

She glanced away, feigning a sudden interest in the cracked concrete wall of the building beside them.

He switched the torch to his other hand and flexed his fist, working the stiffness from his forearm. “Was it Servius? I know you worked with him this afternoon.”

“No! He's a kind old man. Other than telling me where to find compost, he's barely spoken three words to me.”

He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. The culprit couldn't be one of his other gladiators, not when he'd been careful to keep her separate from them. “Was it another slave? Was it Lucia?”

“I'm cold.” She avoided his eyes. “Can we go back to the house?”

So, it
was
Lucia. He heard the guilt in her voice. It was
a harsh disappointment to find the person he relied on most among his servants had become a viper. “Tell me the truth. Was it Lucia?”

“She's in love with you,” she admitted after a long pause.

“Her actions speak otherwise. How can a person claim to love someone, then turn around and spread lies about him?”

“She was afraid of losing her place.”

“She's done a fine job of it.” He took her hand and compelled her to follow. “She'll be sold tomorrow.”

“No!” She grabbed hold of his arm. “She helped me and—”

He slowed his pace and stabbed her with a harsh glare. “You mean she helped you escape?”

“I didn't say that.”

“She did, didn't she?”

“I—”

“Tell me, woman!”

“Yes, but—”

“Did she send you in this direction on purpose?”

She looked pained, but nodded.

“Then not only will I sell her, I'll have her whipped first.”

“Please, Caros, don't.” Pelonia refused to walk further. “Why must you always threaten violence?”

“I'm a gladiator, remember? Violence is what I do best.”

“I find that hard to believe after the gentle way you held me while I cried and soothed away my fear tonight.”

The pity in her eyes was more than he could stomach. “It would be wiser if you did.”

“I believe you'd prefer to be a man of peace.”

Laughter gurgled in his tight throat. “You believe in a dead God, too.”

“Don't blaspheme just because you know I speak the truth. Christ has done nothing to earn your scorn.”