His brows pinched together. He’d lost sight of Pelonia again. It wasn’t uncommon for drunken guests to claim a comely slave for a night’s use and with many of his visitors swimming deeper in their cups, he worried for her safety.
A well-known soloist began a bawdy song. Cheers and applause filled the room. Revelers reclined on the couches, stuffing themselves with more of the delectable food.
Adiona came up beside him. She tugged on his arm. “Why are you frowning when Rome’s most-sought-after entertainer is performing for your benefit?” She sighed. “Isn’t he wonderful? He was so honored when I sent word you would be here tonight, he cancelled a previous engagement to sing elsewhere.”
Another burst of laughter erupted in the far corner. Pelonia had been gone too long. He started to seek her out, but caught sight of her in the open doorway, on a return trip from the courtyard. His anxiety lessened. She must have gone to refill her pitchers or care for the guests sampling the cooler air outside. Either way it was time for her to leave.
“Excuse me,” he said, withdrawing his arm from Adiona’s grasp.
Pelonia froze when she saw him approach. He smiled and relieved her of the pitchers, handing them to another slave close by. Unmindful of the hush descending around him, he took hold of her hand. “Come with me, mea carissima. I believe we’ve both endured enough for one night.”
Chapter Eleven
Uncomfortably aware of the sudden whispers and keen interest aimed in her direction, Pelonia followed Caros from the dining room and down the corridor.
“Did I displease you?” she asked. “Where are you taking me?”
“You please me,” he said without slowing his pace. “I wish to walk with you.”
“Won’t your company be offended if you leave?”
“If they are, so be it. They’re Adiona’s guests, not mine.”
Bemused, she continued beside him, relishing the heat of his large hand engulfing hers. After hours of torture watching him in the clutches of other women, she was both irked and elated he’d chosen to leave alone with her.
Outside, a few widely spaced torches illuminated the stone path. The party’s music and merriment drifted from the house behind them, becoming fainter the farther they moved away.
The peach trees rustled in the cool breeze as she and Caros reached the training ground. One of the night guards opened the gate. With a curt nod to the Nubian, Caros led Pelonia onto the sidelines. The gate clicked behind them as though enclosing them in a world of their own.
They crossed the sand to a bench at the edge of the moonlit field. “Sit here,” Caros said. “You look like you need to rest. With all the mayhem tonight, this is the quietest place I could think to bring you.”
Her bewilderment deepened. If he had no affection for her as he’d told the widow, why did he treat her with persistent kindness? Where had a man who trained gladiators learned consideration?
Exhausted from a day of labor and a night serving his guests, she eased onto the bench. He towered above her, making her nervous. She craned her neck to see his face in the shadows. “Won’t you sit beside me?”
Their sides touched when he took the space to her right. The heat of his body warmed her bare arm and thigh through her tunic. He laced his fingers with hers. Startled by the frisson of sensation that ran up her arm, she stilled but didn’t move away. Her fingers meshed with his and an unexpected, inexplicable sense of intimacy cocooned them.
“Did the evening go as you planned?” she asked, resisting the urge to rest her head against his shoulder.
“I didn’t plan it. Adiona did. She believes a banquet here amongst my champions will make her the envy of the other city matrons.”
Reminded of her rival, she released his hand, but he held firm. A vision of the widow kissing him not long ago reared its ugly head. A desire to send the woman on an extended stay in the wilds of Germania overwhelmed her. She looked toward the empty field and prayed Caros wouldn’t see the jealousy she struggled to conceal. “Perhaps we should head indoors.”
“Why? Are you cold?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side.
Unused to being held by a man, she stiffened for an instant, then gave into temptation and leaned against him.
“Is that better?” His lips brushed her hair. She nodded against his chest. He pointed to a constellation in the northern sky. “Do you see those three faint stars and the brighter one slightly south of them?”
“Yes, I see them.”
“Now, follow a straight line north from the single star to that bright one just…there. Do you see it?”
She nodded, loving that he shared her interest in the stars. “The picture is called Cygnus the Swan, is it not?”
“You study the patterns? But you’re a woman.”
“And being a woman I should have no interest in the heavens?”
His shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “The women I know are interested in other things—clothes and jewels, and endless adulation.”
“I like clothes and jewels. The adulation—” she wrinkled her nose “—I can do without.”
She felt the heat of his gaze studying her profile. She pointed to another set of stars in an effort to distract his attention. “Do you know Draco the Dragon?”
He leaned closer and looked in the direction she pointed. “No. I’ve only learned The Swan, Orion and the Great Bear.”
She gave him a sideways glance and grinned. “Then perhaps I can teach you a thing or two.”
“By all means, proceed.”
“All right. From those four stars, follow south along his tail.” She moved her finger as if tracing a winding river. “It ends there between the Great Bear and its cub. Do you see?”
“I do. It’s called the Dragon, you say?”
“Draco the Dragon. Don’t forget,” she teased with mock seriousness. “If you do, he might slither from the sky and eat your tough hide.”
His laughter rumbled low and deep. He tugged her back against him. “Am I to take it you wouldn’t protect me?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On how poorly you’d treated me that day.”
He chuckled. “As well as I treat you, you’d have to throw yourself in front of me and beg Draco’s mercy.”
“Ha! So you think.”
“Did I not give you fresh tunics and divert my much needed slaves from the banquet’s preparations to fill you a bath?”
“Yes, you did,” she said, growing serious. “And I appreciate them both.”
“You’re welcome,” he sounded pleased.
“Thank you for bringing me here. The stars are beautiful tonight.”
“Not half as beautiful as you.” The compliment heated her cheeks. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Most people study stars to worship them or predict their own future. I didn’t know your sect—”
“We don’t. Why worship created things when we worship the true Creator?”
“Then why your interest? I can see it’s keen.”
“Yes, it is. It stems from my father. He used to be a deeply superstitious man. He studied astrology and worshipped the stars, the full pantheon, anything to relieve his uncertainty of the future. A few years before my birth, he accepted Christ as his Lord. After that, Creation became a thing of beauty, a testament to God’s loving power and he learned to fear no longer.”
Her mind sifted through cherished memories and she smiled into the dark. “When I was a child, we used to walk through our fields late at night. Father pointed out the constellations and told me stories.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “He told me he loved me as far and wide as the heavens, but even that didn’t compare with the depth of Christ’s devotion.”
“I know you must miss him.”
The compassion in his voice brought the sting of tears to her eyes. “More than I can say.”
“You always will, but after a time the pain will lessen.�
��
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Grief weighed on her chest like a box of iron.
“I lost my entire family in the space of one morning. Believe me, I know of what I speak.”
Stunned speechless, she searched his face, her eyes wide with shocked dismay. “Your entire family? What happened?”
The moonlight revealed his bleak expression, his haunted eyes. “My father served Galba when he was governor of Spain. When Nero discovered Galba planned rebellion against him, he ordered the governor’s execution along with his followers and their families.”
Reminders of Nero sent a shiver of disgust down her spine. Even now, seventeen years later, rumor held the insane emperor set the great fire that burned half of Rome. Later, he’d blamed and persecuted thousands of Christians to mask his own treachery.
“But the plot must have failed,” she said. “Galba became emperor a few months after Nero’s suicide.”
“Yes, the plot failed.” Caros glanced away. “Because my father defended Galba with his life. When the killers realized the governor escaped, they marched to my family’s door and accused us all of being traitors. I fought them. I was fifteen at the time, a youth against four seasoned assassins. Of course, I didn’t stand a chance. They raped my mother and two younger sisters, then crucified them in our atrium, while they forced me to watch.”
“Women and children?” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Dear God, how did you survive?”
A cynical laugh broke from his throat. “My fighting impressed them. They sought to make a few coin and sold me to the local gladiatorial school. They assumed I’d die my first time out. Most gladiators do.”
Words failed her. She shifted on the bench and threw her arms around him. He hesitated, then almost crushed her in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry,” she cried against his shoulder. “I can’t imagine how you must have suffered.”
Caros squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in her soft hair. Never before had he revealed his family’s horrific story. The telling had left him weak and shaken to his core. Pelonia’s love for her father and home reminded him of the one he’d treasured so well and lost. How could he stand by, witness her pain and not do what he could to ease her grief?
In sharing with her, wanting to help her, he hadn’t guessed how much his own wounds would be soothed by her tears. She resented him as her master and distrusted him as a man, yet she wept for him as though her heart bore him the deepest affection.
After years of being surrounded by hate, injustice and violence, he marveled at the depth of her loving spirit. The sound of her tears pierced the inner armor he’d fashioned to protect himself. Some of the anger and despair he’d harbored so long seeped away.
Her sobs eased and quieted. She loosened her steely hold and sagged beside him. His arm curved around the back of her shoulders, he allowed his fingers to caress her upper arm. “Are you well?”
He felt her nod against his chest. She sniffed. “I’m sorry for taking my bitterness out on you the last few days, but you seemed like such a stalwart target. Now, I’m ashamed of myself. As much as I’ve suffered, you’ve suffered three times worse in life.”
“It’s not a competition. Pain is pain. The next time you need solace from yours, come to me. I’m strong, I can bear it. It’s true I failed in my past, but I’m no longer weak nor will I fail again.”
Pelonia looked into his eyes and for the first time saw insecurity there. Did he think by sharing his history, by revealing he hadn’t always been the unconquered champion he was now, he’d altered her opinion of him? Did he think she somehow found him lacking?
May it never be! She cupped his cheek and wished she could replace the lifetime of tenderness he’d lost. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. If I thought it before, after tonight I know it for certain.”
“Pelonia, I—”
The gate creaked, forewarning someone’s arrival. Aware there were too many rumors about her already, she removed herself from Caros’s arms and slid to the far end of the bench.
One of the house slaves ran toward them. “Master, the widow Leonia requests your attention.”
“Have the guests begun a riot?” Caros asked. “Is the domus in flames?”
Panting for breath, the slave shook his bald head, his face pinched with confusion. “No, my master, but she insists—”
“Then tell her she’ll have to wait.”
The slave didn’t argue. He backed away, then ran for the house.
Pelonia stood, disturbed to realize she’d forgotten Adiona’s presence not only in Caros’s home, but in his life.
Remember he’s not yours. “Was that wise? What if the widow ventures out here and finds us?”
“It wouldn’t matter. She has no say over me.”
She searched the shadowed angles of his face. He seemed sincere. “She acts as though she does.”
He shrugged. “Adiona’s concerned about the party, nothing more. I, on the other hand, am bored by the whole affair. I’d much rather spend my time out here with you.”
A lion’s roar echoed from the covered cages in the distance. Arms akimbo, she turned her back to gather her thoughts. Was she being duped? Had the story of his family been the truth? Or was Caros a man like her father often warned about? A charmer who would say whatever worked to bring a woman to heel? Hadn’t Caros already promised to win the bargain between the two of them?
Trying to be fair and not suspicious, she recalled their conversation from earlier in the afternoon. He’d implied he and the widow were more than friends. Their kisses this evening confirmed it. At the banquet, he’d flirted with a gaggle of other beauties and she’d seen how he fanned the heat in their eyes with no effort at all.
She conceded he’d done nothing untoward. The women were responsible for their own actions. But was he a man who could never be satisfied with the attentions of only one female? The evidence wasn’t strong enough to condemn him outright, but with her heart and virtue at stake, she had to be wise. “I’d like to retire now—alone.”
The bench creaked behind her. His footsteps sifted through the sand until she felt his presence at her back. His hands eased around her shoulders as though he feared she might bolt. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Why, because you’re bored with the festivities?”
“No, because I enjoy your company.”
She closed her eyes, afraid she might weaken. God forgive her, she wanted to believe him.
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m cold.”
He moved to wrap his arms around her, but she stepped beyond his grasp.
“What’s happened here?” He eased her around to face him. “Why are you leery of me again?”
“I can’t trust you.”
All hint of softness left his face. “Is it because I’m a lanista? Just because I train gladiators, just because I fought as one doesn’t mean…”
She waited, holding her breath for him to finish.
“Doesn’t mean I have no heart.”
Her lips quivered with unspoken words of comfort. She forced herself to stand her ground when she wanted to smother him with care. “I know you’re not heartless. In truth, your kindness to me is more than I expected when I awoke to find I’d been enslaved.”
“Then why do you run hot and cold? Do you think I’m so untried I can’t see you have feelings for me? Why not yield and end this yearning between us?”
Fear shot through her. He spoke the truth. She was entirely too susceptible to his charm. Riddled with self-disgust, she despised her weakness. What was wrong with her that she could be tempted by a man whose question proved his sole motive was to conquer her will and seduce her?
How had she grown so weak, so needy to forget she was little more than a game to him? “I should have guessed what you were up to. It’s little surprise you were undefeated in the ring. You don’t give up.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his tunic
. “Should I be ashamed of the fact? I assure you I’m not, but what does it have to do with the affection between us?”
Affection? Does he suspect I’m falling in love with him?
“How do you fare?” His expression shone with sudden concern. “Even in this dim light, I can see you’ve paled.”
I don’t love him, do I?
She pressed her hand to her queasy stomach, wishing she could deny the truth. She backed away. “I told you I need to retire. I’m too exhausted to match wits with you when I’ve worked all day with little to eat.”
He followed after her. “Let me help you to your room.”
“No, there’s no need.”
“I insist.” He took hold of her arm and coddled her to the gate.
No longer able to bear his unsettling touch, she broke his hold and preceded him back to the house. Somewhere along the orchard’s path, her queasiness turned to anger—anger with her own stupidity. They had a bargain. How had she allowed herself to love a man who viewed winning her affections as merely a challenge?
Back inside the domus, the party raged on. The music played louder, wilder. Drunken laughter rang through the house. Pelonia glanced over her shoulder at the same time Adiona latched on to Caros’s arm. His intense gaze locked on Pelonia and the look in his eyes guaranteed he would seek her out later.
Chilled by the promised reckoning, she mounted the steps to the second floor. Gaius called her name, but she rushed up the stairs and pretended not to hear him. She’d played the part of a good slave for days, but now she’d had enough. Let him come and fetch me if he must, but Lord, please prepare him for my ire if he does.
She entered her room and slammed the door. The lamplight sputtered. The tub was gone. Her wet clothes had been removed as well, replaced by a stack of fresh garments on the chair.
Berating her traitorous heart, she unlaced her sandals and kicked them off. Out of all the men in the empire, Caros was the worst possible choice for her to love. At present, she was his slave and he was her master. When she escaped, and she had to, her family would never accept him or his violent past.
She stopped by the window, choking back her regret. Regardless of her growing affection, she promised to be more guarded, to use wisdom from here on out. No matter her feelings or those of her kin, an even greater wall stood between them. Caros disdained Christ. She had no future with a man who didn’t share her faith.
The Gladiator Page 10
