The Gladiator Page 3

  “Then let the games begin,” he said, his voice thick with mockery.

  “Games?” she asked faintly. “You think…this…this is a game?”

  The roughness of her voice reminded him of her body’s weakened condition—a frailty her spirit clearly didn’t share. Crouching beside her, he ran his forefinger over the yellowed bruise on her cheek. She didn’t flinch as he expected. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed as though his touch somehow soothed her.

  Her guileless response unnerved him. The need to protect her enveloped him, a sensation he hadn’t known since the deaths of his mother and sisters. As a slave, he’d been beaten on many occasions in an effort to conquer his will. That no one ever succeeded was a matter of pride for him. Much to his surprise, he had no wish to see this girl broken, either.

  “Of course it’s a game.” He lifted a strand of her dark hair and caressed it between his fingers. “And I will be the victor. I live to win.”

  “It’s true.” Lucia moved from the shadows. “Our master has never been defeated.”

  Defiance flamed in the depths of her large, doe-brown eyes. She didn’t speak and he admired her restraint when he could see she wanted to flay him.

  Challenged to draw a response from her, he trailed his fingers over her full bottom lip. “You might as well give in now, my prize. I have no wish to crush your spirit. I own you whether you will it or not.”

  She turned her head toward the stone wall, but he gripped her chin and forced her to look at him.

  “Admit it,” he said with no pity for her loss of pride. “Then you can return to your sleep.”

  She shook her head. “No. No one owns me…no one but my God.”

  He dropped his hand away as though she’d sprouted leprosy. “And who might your god be? Jupiter? Apollo? Or maybe you worship the god of the sea. Do you think Neptune will leave his watery throne and rescue you?”

  “The Christ.” For the first time, her voice didn’t waver.

  So, she admitted following the criminal sect. Caros studied her, wondering if she were a fool or had a wish for death. “Say that to the wrong person, Pelonia, and you’ll find yourself facing the lions.”

  “I already am.”

  He laughed. “So you think of me as a ferocious beast?”

  Her silence amused him all the more. “Good. It suits me well to know you realize I’m untamed and capable of tearing you limb from limb.”

  Her fingers clutched at the dirt floor. “Then do your worst. Death is better…than being owned.”

  Lucia scoffed under her breath, drawing Caros’s attention to where the healer waited by the window, the noonday sun coursing through the open shutters.

  “What foolishness.” Lucia came to stand by a roughhewn table littered with the bottles and bowls of her medicines. “I warned you the girl would argue, Master. I’d wager she deserved the thrashing she received if all she did was quarrel.”

  “The slave trader did mention she’d been beaten for a disagreement with her uncle.” Caros’s attention slipped back to Pelonia, who’d grown pale and weaker still.

  Concerned by her pallor, he berated himself for baiting her, for depleting her meager strength when he should have been encouraging her to heal. Without pausing to examine his motives, he reached down and lifted her into his arms, prepared for her to protest.

  When she sagged against his chest without a fight, her acquiescence alarmed him. She weighed no more than a laurel leaf and it occurred to him she’d eaten nothing more than tepid broth for the last several days. In her weakened state, had he shoved her to the brink of death?

  Holding her tight against his chest, he whispered near her ear. “Tell me, Pelonia. What can I do to aid you? What can I do to ease your plight?”

  “Find…Tiberia,” she whispered, the dregs of her strength draining away. “And free me.”

  Chapter Three

  I will not weep.

  Pelonia paused in weeding the kitchen’s herb garden and wiped perspiration from her brow. Scents of basil and mint mingled with the sweetness of wild jasmine. A small fountain’s splashing water and the aroma of fresh-baked bread reminded her of home.

  The garden’s rich black dirt stained her fingers, resurrecting painful reminders of her father’s burial less than a fortnight ago. Fangs of betrayal bit deep. How could a loving God allow one of His most kind and humble servants to suffer so heinous a death?

  Why had God delivered her to this gladiatorial training ground, this disgusting den of violence, to serve as a slave? How did He expect her to face Caros Viriathos on a daily basis when each sight of her captor filled her with resentment and simmering rage?

  She ripped a weed from the dirt and flung it into a basket beside her. The lanista didn’t have a right to imprison her here! In the week since Caros carried her from the slave quarters, he’d provided for her needs and seen her cared for, but his vow to rule over her kept him from finding Tiberia. His adamant refusal to contact her cousin, regardless of Tiberia’s certain anxiety, stoked her frustration and her fury.

  She sneered at the garden wall that marked the boundary of her prison. Caros Viriathos had stolen her life and she would see it returned. In a few days, her injuries would be completely healed and the occasional blurring of her vision would disappear the same as the knot on her head.

  She would escape and find Tiberia, who wouldn’t hesitate to buy her freedom. It didn’t matter that a runaway slave faced the penalty of death. She couldn’t abide the abysmal future she faced living as less than someone’s chattel.

  The weeds she’d discarded drew her attention. Bitterness bloomed until she tasted it. That’s what God had done to her. Uprooted her from the flourishing soil of home and cast her aside as if she meant nothing. How could she trust a God who delivered her into such a deep chasm of despair?

  The snap of a twig startled her out of her grim thoughts. A low growl directly behind her raised her hair on end. She froze, her breath lodged in her chest. Why hadn’t she sensed the animal’s approach? She’d heard the roar of big cats and sounds of various game in the training yard, but was the beast here?

  Her heart stopped when warm, moist breath caressed her neck and a large wet nose sniffed her hair. From the corner of her eye, she saw the orange-and-black-striped head of a…tiger.

  “Cat!” Caros’s deep voice boomed across the garden. Pelonia’s heart raced as though it meant to escape her chest.

  “Cat!” he called again, his swift steps crunching dried leaves along the garden’s path. “Come, before you terrify my new slave to death.”

  The tiger sniffed Pelonia’s hair once more before he returned to his master. The animal’s long, curved tail flicked her in the face as it sauntered off.

  An eon seemed to pass before she took an even breath. Her muscles unlocked and she almost pitched forward into the herbs, her hands shaking with latent fear.

  Caros’s long shadow stretched across the herb bed in front of her. From her seat on the ground, he seemed as tall and formidable as a colossus.

  He crouched beside her, his intense blue gaze riveted to her face. “Are you well or did my pet scare you speechless?”

  Not wanting him to see her tremble, she tightened her fists and tried to ignore the tiger’s golden eyes fixed upon her. “Your pet? Are you insane?”

  He shrugged. “Some claim so.”

  “I agree with them.” She pulled another weed. “Only a lunatic would allow a tiger to run loose in his garden.”

  “He wasn’t actually free. He yanked his lead from my hand. It’s your fault. You were in his domain and he wished to inspect you.”

  She gave him a level stare. “It’s not my will that keeps me here. I’ll gladly go to my cousin’s home if I’m making the beast ill at ease.”

  “Beast?” Caros stroked the tiger’s wide head and ignored her statement. “Hardly. He’s as placid as a lamb with people he tolerates. He didn’t kill you, so he must find you acceptable.”

  The pow
erful animal rolled to his side and Caros began to scratch his chin. Pelonia marveled at the sight of the huge contented cat. Sensing the affection between master and pet, she couldn’t help but smile when Cat’s eyelids began to droop and his body relaxed. Within moments he was stretched out in peaceful slumber.

  “See? As placid as a lamb.” Caros grinned. “His snoring will begin any moment.”

  As if on cue, a low rumble emanated from the sleeping creature. She reached out her hand, then drew back. “Can I touch him?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Move closer so you don’t stretch and hurt your ribs.”

  His thoughtfulness continued to perplex her. She brushed the excess dirt from her hands and did as he said. Hesitant at first, she stroked the top of the animal’s head, surprised by the softness of its fur.

  “Have you ever seen a Caspian tiger?”

  She shook her head. “Sketches only. My father took me to a menagerie once. There were lions and a panther, but no tigers. Have you had this one long?”

  Caros continued to watch her. “Three years, since he was a cub. He was the runt of his litter. My old lanista, Spurius, refused to feed him since Cat was sickly and he doubted he’d grow large enough for the ring. I fed him part of my rations and when I won my freedom a few months later I took Cat with me. As you can see, proper care has made him as healthy as any of his kind.”

  “You were freed? You were a slave once?”

  He plucked a sprig of mint from a plant at the path’s edge. “For ten years. From the age of fifteen, I fought as a gladiator.”

  She reached for a clump of basil to divide and replant. “Then you’ve lived the horror of having your freedom ripped from you and your life pitched on end?”

  His face darkened. He nodded.

  “Did you enjoy being a slave?”

  “Why ask foolish questions? Who would enjoy being a slave?”

  “Perhaps you liked killing for sport in the ring?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I killed because I didn’t wish to die.”

  Then how could he enslave others? The injustice of his actions soured her stomach with disdain. She tossed the basil into the dirt and rose to her feet, wincing at the twinge of pain in her ribs.

  The tiger opened his eyes, instantly alert. Wary of the predator, she stepped away, but her temper burned too strong to completely curb her tongue.

  “You’re a hypocrite, Caros Viriathos. How can you buy and sell flesh when you know firsthand of its brutality?”

  Dropping the mint leaves, Caros stood, his stance suggesting he was ready for battle. “Think before you insult me, slave. Have I not been kind to you? Perhaps I’ve been too kind if you believe you can question me like an equal when you are not.”

  She chafed at the reminder of her degraded status.

  “You’re my property,” he continued with confidence. “Remember your place.”

  Hot with indignation, she stared at him, silently defying his ownership. Eventually, she admitted, “I’m your prisoner, but once I find my cousin, I will buy back my freedom.”

  “You aren’t for sale.” His fists clenched at his side, his eyes turned the color of a stormy sea. “You are my slave and will be until I tire of you. Remember I hold your life in my hand. If I choose to see you dead, it will be so, but you won’t be sold.”

  Inwardly, she trembled at the power he held over her. Tension crackled between them like a growing blaze. Cat sprang to his feet and began to pace with restlessness.

  She took a step closer to Caros, a part of her wishing for death to end the misery she’d endured since leaving home. “My God alone can grant you the power to take my life. Should He do so, I will rejoice. Not only will I be free from you, but I will see my father in heaven and be face-to-face with my Savior.”

  “Your savior?” he scoffed. “You mean Jesus, the Jew the Romans crucified? He’s dead. Even if He weren’t, why would He want a shrew like you to pester Him for all eternity?”

  The blood leeched from her face. His barb struck like the sting of a lash. Her father had taught her to live as an example of Christ’s love to others. To trust that God held her in His hand and had a purpose for her life.

  Since she’d buried her father, she’d refused to cry. She’d known he would want her to be strong. Shame replaced her anger. She’d tried so hard to please her earthly father, but what had she done thus far to please her Heavenly one?

  The gate’s creaking hinges sliced through the weighted silence. Pelonia glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Gaius, Caros’s short, elderly steward approached, his face red from his hurried stride.

  “Master.” Gaius held up a roll of parchment. “I have word from Spurius concerning tomorrow’s games.”

  Caros raked his hand through his thick, wavy hair. Releasing an exasperated sigh, he met the man halfway. While he and his steward discussed the news, Cat lay down in the shade of a lemon tree.

  Pelonia watched the tall, arrogant man in front of her, a war waging within her heart and mind. Resentment battled with the knowledge that Caros was a man in need of God’s love. A lifetime of teaching had impressed her to forgive, to be an example of compassion. But how could she be a light in this gladiator’s brutal world when her own spirit felt cloaked in darkness?

  Gaius retreated from the garden. Caros returned to her, his angular face an inscrutable mask. “Where were we?”

  “At an impasse,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, an impasse.” A devious smile formed about his lips. “Then I believe I have a solution to our dilemma. Apologize for your barbed tongue or I will take your silence to mean you understand your place here and have come to accept your fate.”

  Praying for patience, she took a deep breath to fortify herself, then slowly released it. “I’ve accepted nothing. However, I’m an honest woman, so I will be fair and tell you now my plans remain the same as they have been. As soon as I’m able, I will escape from you, find my cousin and see my freedom restored. Until then—”

  “Say no more, slave. Perhaps you’re unaware runaways are hunted like dogs and dispatched like rodents?”

  “I’m aware of it,” she said, refusing to be intimidated.

  He shook his head, clearly bemused by his inability to cow her. “You’re a unique woman, Pelonia. I’ve never met your like.”

  She raised her chin. “My father used to say the same.”

  Caros moved a few steps to the fountain and dipped his hand into the sparkling water. “What happened to him?”

  The question stung like vinegar in a festering cut. Renewed sadness lodged a ball of pain in her throat. “God saw fit to take him home.”

  “When?”

  Pelonia crossed her arms over her chest. She tried to make her voice emotionless. “On the road to Rome eleven days past. We were attacked by marauders. My father and our servants were killed. Everything of value was stolen. Only my uncle and I were left alive.”

  His eyes brimmed with compassion, awakening a desperate need for comfort. “How did you survive?”

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She turned her back on him, nearly tripping over the basket of weeds by her feet. “I’d snuck away before dawn to bathe in the river. My father had told me not to go. He said it was too dangerous, that I and the other women could seek out one of the bathhouses once we reached Rome.”

  Her voice cracked. “We were so close, you see. Less than a day’s journey to my cousin’s home on the Palatine. But I didn’t listen. I hate feeling unclean. My maid would have come with me, but I didn’t want her to face my father’s displeasure if he discovered my absence, so I went alone. I was in the water when I heard distant screaming. I tried to return with all possible haste. I would have given my life to save any of them. I would have. Honestly, I would have.”

  In two steps he was beside her, his arms banding about her shoulders. “I believe you. How did you escape?”

  Enveloped in his strength, she allowed herself to forget they were enemies for a moment. She
pressed her face to his chest, accepting the comfort she craved. “The thieves were gone by the time I arrived. They struck like lightning, unexpected and gone like a fast-moving storm.”

  “Why did your uncle beat you?”

  Her eyes slipped closed. She inhaled the hint of spice on his skin. “I insisted he help bury the dead. He agreed because he’d seen a scout for the slave caravan approaching. When he told me of his plan to sell me, we argued and I tried to flee.”

  Caros’s arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry, mea carissima. No one deserves to know such tragedy. Accept your life here, and I promise you will be treated with nothing but kindness.”

  “Your kindness is no worthy replacement for my freedom.” She pushed his arms away, untangling herself from his embrace. “I can’t accept a life of slavery. I’d shrivel up and die if I did. For whatever reason, God has seen fit I serve you for now. I’ll do my best for His sake, but I won’t promise to stay here forever.”

  Caros’s eyes glittered like chips of blue glass in the sunlight. A nerve ticked in his jaw. “Then I make no assurance either, slave. You shall have neither my protection nor my sympathy and we shall see how well your God defends you.”

  Chapter Four

  Caros snatched up a gladius and pointed the sword’s sharp tip toward his best gladiator. “Alexius, join me on the field. I need to spill blood.”

  Alexius, a Mirmillo specifically trained to fight with a straight, Greek-styled sword, chose his favorite weapon and followed Caros across the sunbaked sand.

  At the center of the elliptical field, Caros rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles.

  Alexius settled into a defensive posture, a hint of his usual humor dancing in his dark eyes. “To what do I owe this honor, Bone Grinder?”

  Caros tensed, his encounter with Pelonia fresh in his mind. All senses fully alert, he could feel her presence in the garden, tugging at him. He almost returned to her until his temper flared. He was a fool. She’d repaid his kindness with constant rejection. His grip tightened on the sword hilt.