“This way,” he said when they came to a choice of direction. “Those steps lead to the arena.”
No one offered Caros resistance when he bypassed the long line waiting outside the editor’s office.
Caros pushed open the office door. The occupant barked, “By the gods! How dare…oh, it’s you, Caros. Come in and take a seat.”
A moment later, a wealthy man, by the looks of his fine white tunic, exited the office and took a place at the front of the line. That he seemed honored to give up his time with the editor spoke volumes of his respect for Caros.
Caros led her inside the dingy office. Large parchments advertising past competitions covered the walls. A barred window near the ceiling allowed noise from inside the amphitheater to filter into the dusty space. She sat on an upended crate in the corner, while Caros took the chair in front of the large wooden desk.
The editor, a rotund, pockmarked individual, lifted a glass and a ceramic jug. “Care for a drink, Bone Grinder?”
“I’ll pass, Spurius. Knowing you, it’s probably laced with hemlock.”
Spurius chuckled. “I admit I’m not above tipping the scales in my favor, but you have no worries from me. As long as there’s a chance I might lure you back to the ring, you’re safe.”
Pelonia tensed. She hadn’t considered the possibility of Caros returning to the games. Fear for his safety rushed to the fore of her mind. Lacing her fingers together in a tight ball, she willed away the image of him hurt and bleeding.
“What’s this about you contracting forty of my men for tomorrow, then amending it to twenty with less than three days notice?” Caros asked in a quick change of subject. “If you need no more than twenty fighters, so be it, but don’t think you won’t pay me for the original count.”
The mob cheered. Feet pounded above them like thunder on the ceiling. Motes of dust danced in the stream of light allowed by the small barred window.
Spurius hefted his girth and reached to close one of the window’s shutters in an effort to muffle the noise. “The executions have gone over long today.”
Caros’s hands fisted on the wooden desktop. “They usually finish long before now.”
“Executions?” Pelonia sat forward on the bench.
Caros turned in his seat. “Thieves and murderers, nothing more.”
“And a few deviants.” Spurius frowned at Pelonia as though she were a dog who’d dared to interrupt. “They rounded up a group of Christians and the traitors have been pitted against a pack of wolves.”
“That’s enough,” Caros warned the other man.
“The crowd has been wild today.” Spurius continued with the undiluted glee of a man who found pleasure in butchery and torture. “The mob loves a good show and I make a fortune when the seats are full.”
Pelonia shuddered at each horrible word. The room began to spin.
“What’s wrong with her,” Spurius griped. “She isn’t one of them, is she?”
“No!” Caros snapped. “She has a tender heart. That’s all.”
“Then why is she here? A tender heart is the first thing to die in this place.”
She launched to her feet and threw open the door before Caros had the chance to stop her. She pushed through the tangle of bodies blocking her path and ran down the hall.
“Pelonia, come back!”
Deaf to Caros’s order, she took the steps he’d pointed out as a passage to the arena. On the first landing, she froze. A strangled cry broke from her lips as her gaze traveled the huge oval theater packed with an ocean of bloodthirsty spectators. The atmosphere writhed with terrible excitement and chants for human death poisoned the air. Never in her life had she seen such horror.
With the floor of the arena out of view, she pressed onward. A guard barred her path. “Woman, you’re not permitted here. You’ll have to find a place to stand with the other slaves in the top rows.”
She ducked under his arm and raced to the rail, ignoring his command to halt.
In the center of the sand a pack of wolves circled a handful of men and one young woman. Terror lined the prisoners’ faces, though their lips moved as if in prayer.
One of the beasts lunged at the woman. Raucous laughter swirled through the crowd.
“No!” Pelonia screamed just as a large gray wolf leaped at one of the men.
“You can do no good here,” Caros said a short distance behind her.
She spun to face him and the guard standing a few paces behind his left shoulder. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Please make it stop,” she begged, knowing even his power didn’t extend far enough to end the suffering below.
Caros’s face creased with pity. He grabbed hold of her arms and drew her against him. “If I could end this for you I would, but those poor wretches are beyond human help.”
The mob’s frenzied cries erupted around them. Pelonia squeezed her eyes shut, horribly aware that each new cheer meant another slaughtered Christian.
Chapter Fourteen
Caros swept Pelonia off her feet, holding her tight while she wept against his chest. He’d witnessed numerous executions over the years. The scene below was no different except this time he observed the fray from above, instead of fighting in the thick of it.
The mob’s wild chants swarmed like locusts as the last two men in the arena struggled to protect the woman—a woman who could easily be Pelonia if the Fates turned against her.
The thought soured his gut. He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. For the first time in years, fear coursed through his veins. Now that he’d found a woman to love, he refused to live without her. But what if someone uncovered Pelonia’s secret and took the choice from his hands? What if someone threatened to throw Pelonia to the wolves for her Christian beliefs?
Bile rose in his throat. Anxious to leave, he sought out the exit. A storm of stomping feet pummeled the marble risers and a blast of wild shouting thundered around the arena.
With a last backward glance, he saw two of the wolves begin to circle the woman. His feet froze. Time faltered and stood still. Riveted by the animals’ cunning, Caros felt each of his muscles tighten with dread. He willed the Christian to deny her beliefs and save her life. A simple retraction of her faith would provide a way of escape.
Why didn’t she grasp the opportunity and see herself freed?
The pack moved like a troop of gladiators, sizing up the weaknesses of their prey and how best to attack. It wouldn’t be long before all of the Christians lay mangled in the sand.
A seasoned predator himself, Caros held his breath as the largest she wolf determined a precise moment to strike. The pack charged as one frenzied unit, downing the last three Christians in a single, simultaneous assault.
An unfamiliar ache took root in his chest. He closed his eyes and pushed the pain away as the mob’s triumphant roar erupted around the arena, freeing him from his momentary trance.
Pelonia writhed in his arms and fought to look over his shoulder, but he tightened his grip, pinning her with his superior strength as he carried her toward the exit. “Don’t look, mea carissima. It’s a gruesome sight and we’ve both seen more than enough.”
Neither of them spoke on the journey home. The senseless butchery in the ring disgusted Caros. He’d never enjoyed the public executions, but he’d grown calloused to them.
No longer.
His love for a Christian made all the difference, destroying his ability to look upon their deaths with the same resignation and complacence.
He stole a glance at Pelonia beside him in the chariot, her eyes red and swollen from tears. His breathing grew difficult. Long ago he’d become accustomed to all manner of physical pain, but her quiet sorrow filled him with helpless agony.
Tender feelings and emotions he’d buried years ago to survive the bleakness of his existence rose up like a tide. Guilt for his part in past executions choked him. None of his usual excuses soothed his conscience. By the gods, how would she see him if she learned of his misdeeds? Af
ter witnessing her people die in the ring, she was certain to despise him. All hope of winning her affection would be forever lost.
He reined the chariot to a stop a few paces from his front door and waited for one of his slaves to lay hold of the bridle. He jumped from the chariot and offered to help Pelonia down. She alighted without touching him, as though she could see the stain of blood on his hands. Stung by her rejection, he closed his fingers and dropped his fist to his side.
He stepped toward her, but she retreated. Frustration gripped him. Was she in shock or had the few gains he’d made in earning her trust fallen by the wayside? “Come, Pelonia, let me help you. As long as there’s breath in my body, I promise you won’t be harmed. You must know by now you have nothing to fear from me.”
Her glassy gaze rested on his face. “You think not, lanista? Why did you bother to stop me from seeing the truth? Do you think I don’t realize all of you Romans are cut from the same bloodthirsty cloth?”
Caros held his tongue. Her bleak expression tore at his heart. If it eased her anguish to lash out at him, so be it. “I didn’t want you to see your people killed. I suffered when I saw my loved ones butchered. The pain has stayed with me all my life. I hoped to spare you from a similar grief.”
“If you wished to spare me grief, you should have thrown me into the ring with those beasts. But then again, you are one of the wolves. Why share me with your kin when you plan to win our bargain and have me all to yourself?”
Her bitterness gutted him. She saw him as an animal, a murderer…and she was right. He may not have been in the arena this afternoon, but he’d been a fixture in countless other fights. He cleared his throat. “You’re upset and with good reason. Let’s go inside before we say something we’ll both regret.”
Pelonia proceeded Caros through the front door. Gaius met them in the dim light of the entryway. “Master, you have a guest. She arrived a short time ago and asked if she could speak with you. She’s waiting in the atrium.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Annia. She claims to be a shopkeeper at the Forum.”
Irritated by Annia’s bad timing, Caros made his way to the courtyard. An older woman with gray at her temples sat in profile on the bench in front of the fountain. She stood and faced him the moment his sandals brushed the mosaic floor. He recognized her cheerful face from the shop where he’d spoken with Cassia.
“Good day to you, Madam.” He gave a slight bow. “My steward says you wish to speak with me.”
“My name is Annia.” A smile crinkled the edges of her friendly brown eyes. “Thank you for seeing me unannounced.”
He motioned for her to return to her seat on the marble bench and offered refreshment, which she declined.
“I know you’re a busy man. I promise not to take much of your time. I met your slave, Pelonia, today in my shop.” She adjusted the voluminous folds of her wine-colored stola. “She reminded me so much of my own daughter I’ve come to ask your permission for her to visit me. That is, if she agrees.”
“Your daughter?”
“She passed on last year.”
“You have my sympathy.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her gaze. “I know my request is an odd one, but grant my appeal and you’ll have my deepest thanks.”
Caros spotted Pelonia half-hidden by the nearest column. Her troubled eyes pleaded with him to give his consent. After the events of the afternoon he wanted to please her. Yet he wasn’t about to create a situation that might aid Pelonia with her plans of escape.
“No. The streets are too dangerous for a beautiful young woman to walk alone and the many claims on my time make it impossible for me to act as her bodyguard.”
“I understand your wish to protect your property, but this is a gladiatorial school. Surely there’s at least one other man capable of seeing to her safety.”
No longer willing to debate the point, he offered Annia one of his most charming smiles. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, Pelonia isn’t free to leave these grounds without me.”
“I see.” Water splashed in the fountain while Annia fiddled with the folds of her stola. “Then may I visit her here on occasion?”
Caros considered the perceptive gleam in the shopkeeper’s eyes. Normally, he’d dismiss an uninvited guest without explaining himself, but his mother had taught him to respect his elders and this woman’s gentle smile reminded him of her. He tried a different tack. “I’ll have to consider—”
“Please allow her to visit.” Pelonia hurried from behind the pillar, making no pretense of her eavesdropping. Her cheeks held a renewed hint of color and her eyes begged for his consent. Further refusal withered on his tongue. How could he say no to such a beguiling plea?
He gave a slow nod. Her face softened with gratitude and the smile she gave Annia sent a jolt of relief through his veins.
He realized he’d feared she might never smile again. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for the training field, in dire need of release from his tension.
Bemused by Caros’s abrupt exit, Pelonia watched him disappear down the corridor that led to the rear of the house.
Anguish weighed heavy on her shoulders. She wished she could bite off her tongue. His shattered expression when she’d compared him to the wolves would torment her for the rest of her days. Her cruelty was inexcusable no matter how much the executions distressed her. Caros wasn’t to blame for the evil she’d witnessed today. That he’d tried to protect her from seeing the worst of it proved once again what a man of compassion he was.
“Pelonia? Pelonia, child, are you all right?”
She blinked several times as if waking from a dream. “I’m better now that you’re here,” she said, striding forward. “Your presence is a lift to my spirit.”
“I’m glad to hear it. At my shop today, I felt as if we’d known each other all our lives.”
“I felt the same.”
“I spoke no lie when I told your master you reminded me of my dear Phoebe.”
Pelonia followed her friend to sit on the bench, careful not to crease the fine cloth of Annia’s stola. She clasped the older woman’s soft, warm fingers. “I’m sorry to hear you lost her last year.”
Pain spread across Annia’s gracefully aged features. “The authorities executed her, her husband and my grandson in the arena.”
“How horrible! I saw the executions today. I—”
Further words failed her. A vision of the wolves made nausea roll in her belly. A jagged pain knotted in her throat. Annia put her arm around Pelonia and drew her close. “Don’t fret, child. They’re with the Lord, dancing at the feet of Jesus.”
“As is my father,” she whispered, resting her cheek against Annia’s shoulder.
“What happened to him? Was he executed as well?”
A tear trickled across the bridge of her nose and onto Annia’s stola. As quickly as she could, she told her friend of the marauders’ attack, her uncle’s treachery and her sale into slavery.
“My dear girl. How much you’ve suffered! No wonder the Lord sent me here to comfort you.”
“You are a comfort. At times, it’s been frightfully easy to think God has discarded me.”
“Never.” Annia patted her hand. “One of the most beautiful traits of our Lord is His ability to create joy from mourning. He always has a plan and it never fails to work for our good. Sometimes we may not like or understand His ways of achieving that good, but in those times our faith is refined and we grow stronger.”
She sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “You speak the truth. My father used to say the same, but I confess I feel my faith is hanging by a thread. I’ve never been angrier with God or so overwhelmed by bitterness. Even when I repent or do my best to accept His will, I say or think things that make me cringe with remorse. Truly, a part of me wants to rail at Him and demand to know why He took everything of value from my life.”
“We must remember our Father never takes what He doesn’t r
eturn with interest when He owes us nothing at all.”
“I know,” she said in a small voice. “But how can He return my father or the loving home that no longer belongs to me? How can He return your daughter and your family?”
“I’ll see my loved ones again when I join them in heaven, just as you will see your father. As for the rest, it’s all part of the mystery that makes His ways a wonder to behold. Wait upon the Lord and let Him renew your strength like an eagle’s.”
Wiping her tears away, Pelonia sat up and nodded. “I never used to cry. In Rome, it seems I cry every few hours.”
“Tears cleanse the soul.”
She sniffed and offered a weak smile. “Then mine must be spotless.”
“And the lanista? What does he think of all this weeping?”
“Caros is ever kind.”
“Kind? There’s a word I didn’t expect to hear when describing a man known for violence.”
“He’s gentle as well. And considerate.”
Annia frowned. “Are you besotted?”
Sadness spread through Pelonia like a growing stain. She plucked a small frond from a potted palm beside the bench. “It matters not if I am. Caros and I have no future together.”
“That’s probably the wisest course of action, but why do you believe so?”
Pelonia wished wisdom could mend a broken heart. “He rejects our faith and I’ll never let go of it. He’s my master and I can’t live as a slave forever. I will have to escape. When I do, he’ll hate me for it.”
“And what if God has planted you here for a specific purpose?”
“He has,” she answered with assurance. “He’s shown me I’m to be a light in this dark place. Why He chose me, I don’t understand. My inner flame is flickering at best. I believe a worse failure would be difficult to find.”
“Don’t listen to the lies the Evil One would force on you.” Annia stroked Pelonia’s hair. “Who, in the midst of trouble, ever feels successful or doesn’t question God’s plan?”
“I suppose no one.”
The Gladiator Page 13
