“There is something you must know. Acestes has two men watching your villa at all times. They have been ordered to follow your sister and arrest her if she tries to leave the city.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
“If it were me, I would try to get my sister from Rome and hidden.”
Valens shrugged and Phaedra took it to mean that he had been thinking the same thing.
Phaedra shifted so their shoulders once more touched. “You are very brave for saving your sister,” she said.
“Antonice,” Valens said, “lived with my mother, a woman who enjoyed the company of many men. I should have been in the apartment more, monitored my sister’s life more, allowed fewer men into my mother’s life. I am the patriarch of my family and never acted like it.”
“So, you blame yourself for not beating your mother’s suitors.”
“Suitors.” He snorted. “None ever presented a suit for marriage, trust me.”
Phaedra laughed. “Your honest confession scandalizes me. So I will shock you with an honest confession of my own. You men think to control us women, but we have ideas and thoughts, and at times we make up our own mind.”
“Like when you decided to marry General Acestes a day after bedding me. Or are you going to blame a man for that as well?”
Chapter 34
Valens
Valens should have kept his mouth closed.
Wide-eyed, Phaedra gaped at him. He swore under his breath and berated himself for his accusation. What could he say now? As impossible as unringing a bell—he knew of no way to take back his words.
Phaedra stood, her hands clenched at her sides. “I should go,” she said.
“Wait.” He held her closed fist with his fingertips.
Slipping from his grip, she walked along the pathway and deeper into the garden. Valens leaned his elbows on his knees, heavy with shame and regret. For a moment he convinced himself that Phaedra had lied to him. Valens even told himself that his stupid comment was for the best if it severed their relationship completely and irrevocably.
As much as he wanted to, Valens could not believe his own lies. Seeing her with Acestes as they greeted guests pained him more than any wound received in the arena. Phaedra and the general were the same type. They attended the same parties, knew the same people. For all his money and fame, Valens would never be one of them. He would never be able to love Phaedra as he wanted. Instead, he needed to pretend that she did not matter.
He could not do it.
He could not cut Phaedra out of his life. He wanted to be with her even if he had a single day left to live. He needed her. Especially if he had a single day to live.
He found her in an alcove, sitting on a bench with her back to the path. An olive tree grew nearby and almost shielded her from view. Her spine lengthened as he approached.
“Apologies,” he said.
She looked over her shoulder, regarding him for an instant, before turning away. “You owe me nothing, Gladiator.”
Valens surveyed the garden. He neither saw nor heard anyone. Thinking they might escape notice in this secluded spot, he sat beside her and rested his chin on her shoulder. Being close to Phaedra was the best place he had ever been. “Do not call me Gladiator. You know my name.”
“But you are a gladiator, are you not? We are all trapped by what we are more than by who we are. I am a daughter of an aristocratic house and cannot escape that any more than you can escape who you are. Sometimes we have to use what we are to help those we love.”
“I must fight to save my sister, and you must marry to save your father.”
“Exactly,” she said.
Her words saddened him. “What happened to the girl I met in the garden who challenged me to change my fate?”
Phaedra shrugged. Her shoulder rose and fell under his chin. “That night she was made to believe that anything was possible. Now she knows better.”
“I attended this banquet to see you, to speak to you, not to argue,” he said. “I am truly sorry for what I said earlier.”
She turned her face to him and her breath tickled his cheek. Valens’s cock stirred and he pressed his chest closer to her back.
“I am glad you came,” she said. “There is much I wanted to tell you.”
“I am here now. I am listening.”
She leaned into him. They fit together perfectly. Valens wanted to keep Phaedra near him until he died. He tried not to think that if he lost in the arena tomorrow, the Fates would have granted his final wish.
“I am a better person for having known you,” she said. “I wanted you to know.”
“In case I die tomorrow,” he said.
“I want you to live forever,” she said.
“If I survive this, I shall leave Rome,” he said. Until that moment Valens had not known he had a plan beyond winning his three fights. “I shall take my sister out of the city and away from all the temptations.”
“Away from Rome means away from me,” she said. “Or am I the temptation?”
“I cannot watch as you live your life with Acestes, or any man, for that matter.”
“I see,” she said.
Perhaps she did, but for now he wanted to sit next to her. Her back rested on his chest, and the long shadows of dusk gave way to darkness of night. A few insects chirped as the air cooled.
“I should return,” she said as she stood. “I have been gone far too long and must be missed by now. May the gods protect you, Valens Secundus. I will think of you always.”
He knew that he should let her go. Yet in letting her leave, he was lost.
“Wait,” he said.
She stopped. Valens moved to stand next to Phaedra and placed his palms on her shoulders. His large, callused hands looked too big and clumsy.
Her breath caught in her throat, the sound light and full of air. She had not rejected him. He traced her cheek down to her neck and back up again. He ran his fingers down her arms. His fingers entwined with hers. He pulled her close.
He needed her. He wanted to lose himself and the world inside of Phaedra.
This was a moment meant to be lived.
Valens brought his mouth down on hers. Her tender lips parted and he breathed her in as she mewed. Yes, she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. His hands traveled to her breasts, and he felt the hard peaks of her nipples through the binding cloth and the silk of her gown. He moved his mouth to her neck, trailing kisses to the point where throat and shoulder met. She wound her fingers through his hair.
Valens’s cock throbbed. He needed release. He needed Phaedra to give him that exquisite pain.
He reached between her legs and pulled up her gown fistful by fistful. Her naked thighs tangled with his, and he felt heat coming from her sex even before he touched her. Holding the gown up between their bodies, Valens rubbed her most tender spot.
She gasped. Valens Secundus, Champion of Rome and lover of Phaedra. The titles fit, did they not?
He drew small circles with the pad of his thumb as she pressed against his hand. The power to make the woman he loved breathless with her release left Valens so hard he thought he might fall over. He leaned into her, trapping his cock near her belly. She wiggled against him, as his sensitive tip shuddered with anticipated pleasure.
“I want you,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Take me here. Take me now.”
For her, he would risk everything, including discovery. At the same time, he did not want to make life harder for either of them. He hated the thought of Phaedra marrying Acestes. But even he, a dumb bastard from the Suburra, saw the obvious advantages of her union with the general.
Valens looked around and saw no windows or doors or any view to the house. A tree shielded them from the rest of the garden. The darkness hid their movements. Maybe they did have enough privacy. In many ways he wanted the world to know that Phaedra belonged to him, no matter whom she wed. But to be caught in the act would be disastrous for them both. Secure
in their limited privacy, Valens lowered his head and kissed her hard, tasting her honeyed breath, taking possession of her for now and always.
Pulling his tunic over his hips, Valens sat on a wall that surrounded a flower bed. He shifted Phaedra onto his lap with her legs on the outside of his own. He entered her all the way in two thrusts. Soft and wet, she surrounded him and massaged his cock with her innermost muscles. Gripping Phaedra’s waist, he slid her up and down. He looked between them to the place where he disappeared inside her.
By all the gods, he loved this woman.
He loved the way she smelled, the feel of her kisses, the softness of her skin. He loved that she believed in him. He loved that she was beautiful but seemed unconscious of it. He loved who he was when he was with her, because Valens saw himself through Phaedra’s eyes.
The Fates were bitches, horrible hags. An odd thought to have while making love to a woman in a not-very-private garden, he knew. But he could not help but curse them as he entered Phaedra a little bit farther. During his life the Fates had been kind, granting him everything—fame, money, prestige. Never did they see fit to give him a woman to love. Now the hags had brought Phaedra to him for a few fleeting moments. Worse yet, both he and she knew their time was temporary and that soon they would be torn apart. That made these moments more precious, and at the same time, empty.
Phaedra wrapped her legs around Valens’s waist, taking his shaft inside her deeper than before. He supported her weight, holding her firm bottom in his hands. Shifting, moving, massaging. He did not want to climax, not yet, but the pressure built and Valens could no longer contain his seed. He spilled inside of her, and his cock throbbed with each beat of his heart.
He promised himself that he would do anything in his power to make her his own. Valens nuzzled his nose into her hair. She smelled of lavender and warmth and their lovemaking. The pounding pulse in his ear slowed and quieted. Far away, but not far enough, he heard Acestes speaking. “You said you saw her come this way.” His tone sounded peevish and his words were clipped.
Phaedra heard him, too. She no longer lay against him, her soft and pliable body forming to his own. She sat upright, her back stiff, not moving, not even bothering to breathe.
“You go,” she said.
“No, I will never leave you.”
“Now is not the time to be stubborn and brave. Acestes has power over us both.”
Phaedra was right, although Valens hated to admit it. He let Phaedra slip off of him and sit on the wall. She smoothed her gown over her lap, the silk wrinkled and crushed beyond repair. Valens sneaked behind a tree and rounded to the other side of the flower bed, crouching as low as possible.
Acestes’s shadow loomed over the stone and gravel path as he approached. “There you are,” he said. His voice changed, growing deeper and slower. Valens imagined that a smile slipped from his face as he spoke. “What happened to you?” he asked. “What happened to my necklace?”
“The clasp broke,” Phaedra said. “I did not realize that it dropped.”
Valens knew nothing of the necklace. Why had he not thought to gift Phaedra with beautiful jewels?
Acestes cursed. “I will get the slaves to bring torches. Where do you recall having it last?”
Phaedra stood and moved into the shadow cast by a wall. “I found it,” she said, “in a flower bed. My father has it now.”
“Odd. He never mentioned anything to me, and I spoke to him not five minutes ago.”
Her next answer came quicker than the first. “He wanted to save you from the embarrassment of having given a faulty gift, I am sure.”
Although Valens greatly disliked the fact that Acestes was gifting Phaedra with anything and that so much attention was being paid to the damned necklace, he could not help but smile. Her last retort would shut the general up, for sure.
“My apologies,” Acestes said stiffly.
“I think I shall go back to my old chamber and dispatch someone to fetch me a new gown,” said Phaedra as she walked away. “I fear this one is near ruined for having to scramble through your flower beds.”
The years had changed Phaedra. She was no longer the innocent bride, easily cowed by Acestes’s questions. In the battle of wits, she had held her own. In fact, he might even pronounce her the winner.
With both Phaedra and Acestes gone, Valens stood. Hot blood flowed into his legs, filling his flesh with tiny stings. Without question, he liked the new Phaedra better. Yet he took note—she was now a powerful woman on her own terms.
Chapter 35
Valens
Valens woke before dawn, bathed, broke his fast, and returned to his cell, waiting to be summoned. His form would not improve with a frantic hour of training. With two hours until his fight, he went to the armory. Slaves tied leather greaves over his thighs, a metal band to one wrist, and a leather manica to the other arm. They also fitted him into his leather skirt and bronze breastplate. Aside from the slaves and Valens, Paullus and Baro also took up space in the cramped room.
“Your opponent today is new,” said Paullus. “He had some success in Capua. People think since he hails from the birthplace of gladiatorial games, he is somehow blessed.”
“I do not want to hear any more,” said Valens.
This went against his long-held rule to know everything he could about an opponent before stepping into the arena. Yet he could not view the other gladiator as anything other than an obstacle, just the first task of three.
Paullus and Baro moved to the corner as slaves finished fitting Valens into his kit. No one spoke. The silence provided time for his thoughts to wander. Valens decided to try Baro’s trick of thinking about the outcome he wanted. In his mind’s eye, he entered the arena and pictured his opponent not as the new gladiator from Capua, but rather a tree. Yes, he much preferred to fight a tree made of bark and wood and sap, not a man of blood and bone and flesh. The loss of one tree is much the same as the loss of another.
With less than one hour until the match, Paullus, Baro, and a contingent of six guards led Valens to the Forum Boarium, now free of cattle. Wooden stands circled the stone wall. A large dais stood up at one end of the arena. Even the width of the market away, Valens saw the bright canvas awning stretched tight over the platform providing shade for Acestes, the sponsor of the games, and his guests. Phaedra would be one of those guests.
A crowd had gathered to watch Valens; they screamed and cheered as he passed. Their faces were just as one continual blur, and their words nothing more than a distant rumble. Valens’s pulse rose and his palms grew damp with sweat.
Focus.
Fight.
He waited in a stall meant to hold more expensive cattle before auctions. Even though someone had swept the floor clean and put out a stool and a jug of water in a corner, the place still held the grassy smell of cow dung. Valens sat on the stool and shook his head when Paullus held out the jug of water.
Focus.
His mind went black. He saw nothing. He heard nothing.
Paullus touched his arm. Valens stood and followed the white-haired lanista toward a door leading to the arena. Sun slanted over the sponsor’s dais, surrounding it with a halo of brilliant white light. Like a lovesick fool, Valens searched for her—one face among many. He squinted under his helmet and tried to make out faces or figures. He saw nothing beyond the shadow of a whole. He turned away, needing to block out everyone but his opponent, his obstacle.
The game’s editor, the man responsible for making sure all the rules of conduct were obeyed, moved to the center of the sand. He motioned for both of the gladiators to approach. The other gladiator entered through a door on the opposite side of the arena.
A short man with wide shoulders and black hair that fell down to the middle of his back walked toward Valens. The helmet covered his entire face, having only two holes for eyes. The back of the helmet fanned out, protecting his neck. He wore a leather cuff on each arm, covering from wrist to elbow. He carried two things with h
im—one hand held a net, and the other a long trident. Could it get any worse? Valens wondered.
Both gladiators stood next to the editor as he explained the rules, which were few in a fight such as this. He drew back the baton held between the gladiators as a signal for the contest to begin.
Valens lifted his sword, which suddenly seemed much too heavy and clumsy. The other gladiator moved much more swiftly than Valens had expected and struck Valens’s shield with the wooden end of his trident. Valens felt the impact all the way to his shoulder and staggered backward. The crowd booed. The other gladiator struck again and again, sending Valens off-balance. He tried to counter the attack and to guess at his opponent’s next move, yet his impulse was to back away in order to remain alive.
Light glinted off the wide visor of the other gladiator’s helmet. Through its eyeholes Valens could see the wide-eyed look of unadulterated glee that came with certain and easy victory.
The other gladiator came in from the right. Valens shifted to counter the movement as the other gladiator spun the trident. Three sharp tines shone. His opponent moved left as Valens stepped right. With a stab the trident pieced Valens’s shoulder. For half a second, the sounds, sights, and smells of the arena became clear and vibrant: the screaming crowd and the hollow noise of feet stomping on the wooden seats, the colorful awning of the sponsor’s box, the dim and dirty tunics of the spectators, the smells of sweat and filth, and the acrid stench of bloodlust.
He saw red as pain rushed from his shoulder to his fingers and echoed back, traveling up his neck. He saw Antonice as a child, her long hair streaming behind her as she raced across a crowded street to greet him. He saw her again as a young woman, laughing in the garden with their housekeeper, Leto, while both women tended the flower beds. Next, he saw his sister being dragged through the same door of the Forum Boarium that Valens had used, tears staining her dirt-covered face. Then he watched as rough slaves tied her to the back of a thick, black bull. His mind could take no more, and his thoughts turned. He saw Phaedra at the door of a villa, a smile of welcome on her lips.
The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) Page 20
