Читать книгу The Gladiator - Carla Capshaw - Страница 11

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.

Alexius raised his shield. “Hail, Master. Greetings from one about to die,” he said, mocking the adage gladiators chanted to the emperor before battle.

Caros swung his sword and lunged forward, slicing the other man’s upper arm. “Don’t test me today, Alexius. I’m in no mood for your humor.”

Gaping at the stream of blood on his arm, the Greek grew serious, a state he reserved for the ring. He kicked sand in Caros’s face, then thrust his blade with the speed of a whip. “And I’m in no mood to perish.”

Blinking the sand from his eyes, Caros sidestepped the blow and plowed forward, whirling his weapon with the swiftness and force of a storm. Alexius fell back.

The atmosphere erupted with excitement. The other gladiators stopped training and cast lots on the victor. Voices cheered from the sidelines. A few slaves poked their heads from the upstairs windows, eager to witness the entertainment.

Caros’s gladius struck the other man’s shield. “A gladiator is always prepared for death.”

Alexius plowed forward. His face contorted, his muscles straining against the force of Caros’s attack. “I have an appointment with one of my admirers tonight. If I must die in my prime, I’d rather it be tomorrow.”

As his sword sparked against the Greek’s blade, Caros shook his head, almost amused. Unlike him, Alexius had rejected freedom when offered it. The Greek preferred the life of a gladiator, unaffected by its lowly status when women of every social standing practically worshiped him as a god.

The thought of women revived thoughts of Pelonia. Her huge brown eyes and her mouth made his pulse race, even as her defiance enflamed his displeasure. Worse, he disliked how his heart leaped at each new sight of her.

How could so contrary a female wreak such havoc on his senses? Mystified, Caros thought he’d conquered his emotions years ago. A quick temper usually meant a speedy death in the arena. Only cold efficiency kept a fighting man alive.

Why, then, couldn’t he control his reaction to one impudent, albeit beautiful, slave?

With renewed irritation, he focused his energies on the fight at hand. Up and down the training field, the two warriors matched each other blow for blow.

The sun beat down on Caros’s shoulders. Bloodlust pumped through his veins, releasing the aggression Pelonia stoked in him.

His sword flashed in the sunlight and caught Alexius on the leg. He smiled at the other man’s look of disgust and shrugged. “A wound for your lady to tend tonight.”

“I best not mark you, then. One more scar and your horde of beauties will run for Campania. You’re ugly enough as it is.”

“Ha! One of these days, I’m going to tire of your witless tongue and cut it from your insolent mouth.”

Grinning, Alexius swung his shield at Caros’s head. “Then again, the new slave Lucia mentioned this morning has no choice except to serve you. Perhaps you can force her to meet your needs.”

Caros ducked from the shield just before it struck him and rammed his shoulder into the other man’s middle. Frowning, he fumed at Alexius’s suggestive tone. Had Lucia told him of Pelonia’s rebellion?

Caros landed a fist to Alexius’s stomach, then another. The other man groaned as he broke away.

The Greek recovered quickly and jabbed with his sword, catching Caros in the ribs. The cut stunned the breath from his lungs.

A smug expression crossed Alexius’s face. “You’re growing slow, Master. Perhaps you’re getting old for this sort of play?”

“Think again,” he said, his side stinging, “and leave delusions to your women.”

Caros’s free hand shot out. He caught Alexius’s sword hilt and yanked. Alexius stumbled forward and fell to his knees, astonishment etched on his features.

Had they been in the ring, Caros could have delivered a deathblow with ease and been done with the match. But he wasn’t fighting to the death—at least not with Alexius. His instincts warned Pelonia was another matter and he was in danger of losing both his will and his heart.

Caros eyed his fallen champion, dissatisfied with the fight. His sparring with Pelonia had offered far more interesting sport. Her fearlessness impressed him. “I’m not slow or old. I’m bored. I’d hoped you’d provide more of a challenge.”

“I doubt even Mars could have bested you today.” Alexius massaged his jaw and laughed, his good humor returning with ease. “Tell me, Bone Grinder, has your temper been appeased or do you still feel a need for blood?”

Caros glanced over his shoulder toward the garden behind the cookhouse where he’d last seen Pelonia. “I fear what I need most can’t be solved with weapons.”

Alexius’s face twisted with confusion. “What is there if not battle?”

Peace. The thought beckoned him, tempting him with the idea of a different way of life. A way of life he’d known in his youth, but abandoned hope of ever finding again.

His desire to see Pelonia too strong to ignore, he left the field without answering Alexius. Before another hour passed he planned to make amends for how he’d treated her. Why drive a wedge between them when he wanted to know her better?

Pushing through the circle of men offering praise for his victory, he handed his gladius to one of the guards. He swiped a fresh tunic off a bench and pulled it over his head as he walked toward the cookhouse.

Without examining his need for haste, Caros returned to the garden. A breeze rustled the fruit trees and water splashed in the fountain, but there was an unnatural stillness that made him ill at ease.

“Pelonia?” His steps echoed along the walkway. He noticed Pelonia had done a fine job completing her task. Not only were the weeds gone, but the herbs were trimmed and the paths swept clean.

“Pelonia,” he called again, eager to see her face once more.

The gate swung open. A wave of relief died the moment he turned and saw Lucia.

“She’s not here, Master.” The healer shifted a basket from one hip to the other. “I was on my way to find you. I’ve looked everywhere, but she’s gone.”

Tiberia left her plate of uneaten fruit and paced the family quarters of her new husband’s Palatine home. Her fingertips brushed the marble top of a writing desk as she walked from one end of the large room to the other. Even the fragrant scent of incense did little to soothe her.

Marcus entered the chamber from where he’d been relaxing in the courtyard. A breeze followed him, rustling the gossamer drapes at each side of the tall doorway.

Taking a seat on the silk covered couch, he picked up a dish of honeyed almonds from a nearby table and stuffed several into his mouth.

Tiberia pitied him. The horror he’d suffered on his way to Rome was too vile to contemplate. Marcus had arrived the day after her wedding, told her of the attack and his brother’s murder. How Pelonia had been kidnapped.

Tears formed in her eyes when she thought of her cousin. Poor Marcus had reluctantly shared how he’d fought for Pelonia’s freedom, done everything in his power to keep her from being stolen. If not for his injuries, he’d said, he could have saved her.

“Are you well, my dear?” Marcus asked.

“It’s Pelonia. I can’t believe she’s lost to me forever.”

Setting the almonds aside, he cast his gaze to the woven carpet. “We must accept what the gods will. It’s not for us to question.”

She folded into a chair, feeling weak and far from her usually tenacious self. “I know. I’m just grateful I’ve had Antonius to lean on. I don’t think I could have endured this without him.”

“Yes, Fortuna has blessed you.” He knelt before her. “You must remember that and focus on your new life. You’re a senator’s wife now with many responsibilities.”

“How can I when I feel as though a hole has been gouged in my heart?”

“I understand, my dear. Who feels the loss of Pelonia and her father more than I? You and your husband are all the family I have left in this world and even that connection is solely by marriage.”

She chose a linen square from the table beside her and dabbed her eyes. “No, Marcus, you must think of yourself as our true family. I may have been related to Pelonia through her mother, while you claimed paternal ties, but if blood cannot bind us together, surely this shared misfortune makes us kin.”

“You are most kind.” Marcus lowered his head. “If only I’d been able to save my brother and precious niece.”

Her heart broke for the grieving man. Guilt washed over her. Had it not been for her wedding, Pelonia and her household would still be alive.

Vowing to do all she could to help Pelonia’s last paternal relative, she patted Marcus’s shoulder. “I should never have invited our loved ones to see me wed. Iguvium is too far north and the journey is perilous. Had I not, they—”

“No, you mustn’t blame yourself.” Marcus’s hand strayed to her knee. “It’s tragic to be sure, but my brother and his household courted punishment. What other fate could they expect when they turned from our ancestors and forsook our gods? I believe I yet live because the gods protected me.”

Discomfited by his familiar manner and harsh opinion of his brother and Pelonia, Tiberia left the chair and walked to the window where a kestrel balanced on the edge of the sill. For years Pelonia had written about her faith in the crucified Jew, Jesus. She’d often feared her cousin would be found out and sentenced to suffer some heinous punishment. Perhaps the gods had taken matters into their own hands after all.

Marcus came to stand close behind her. His knobby fingers clutched her shoulders. “I apologize if I upset you. Let us speak of it no more and remember my brother’s house with nothing but fondness.”

“Agreed,” she said, oddly alarmed by his nearness.

“Good. You’re very amiable.” He fingered a curl by her temple before moving back to the bowl of almonds. “I can see you will make a fine senator’s wife.”

“Thank you.” A glance over her shoulder revealed the old man’s intense scrutiny. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, willing her husband to return home quickly. “Excuse me, I must see to the evening’s meal.”

“By all means.” He patted the seat beside him on the couch. “Then return soon and we shall reminisce for a time.”

Hurrying from the chamber, Tiberia shuddered and hoped with all her heart she’d only imagined the lust flickering in the old man’s eyes.