Читать книгу The Gladiator - Carla Capshaw - Страница 12

Pelonia pulled open the door of the storage room she’d been ordered to clean. Dim light filtered through the slats in the closed shutters, exposing a mountain of dirt and clutter.

Stepping into the narrow cell, she leaned her broom against the wall and set down her bucket of water. She stretched the tight muscles of her back, her ribs burning from the day’s strenuous labor. This room was her last. As soon as she finished, she planned to seek out her pallet before Lucia concocted more aimless chores for her to do.

With a fortifying breath, she adjusted her tunic, detesting the coarse brown material scratching her skin from her neck to her ankles. She longed for the soft linen and brightly colored silks she’d always worn at home. Hoping a breeze would alleviate the itching discomfort of her slave’s garb, she went to the window and threw open the shutters.

Positioned on the upper story, the storage room provided a lofty view of the training field. Below, Caros shouted at the men gathered around him. His sharp hand motions and livid countenance testified to his fury though the distance between them kept her from discerning his words.

Had some calamitous misfortune befallen them or did Caros Viriathos entertain a perpetually black mood?

No, that wasn’t fair. Over the previous week, he’d shown his capacity for kindness by having her cared for while she recuperated. He hadn’t turned vicious until she’d refused to accept his ownership.

As the group of gladiators disbanded, she rejected all benevolent thoughts of the lanista. She couldn’t afford to soften toward him. Caros had declared war against her in the garden. He’d threatened her, frightened her, ridiculed her.

Hate, an emotion she’d never sampled before coming to Rome, crept into her heart. In that moment, all the lessons she’d learned about faith and compassion rang hollow. How could anyone possibly follow all of Christ’s commands? Would she ever be able to forgive and love her enemy?

She watched Caros return indoors. As though a violent tempest had passed, an atmosphere of calm descended. The gladiators returned their weapons to the guards and filed into their quarters.

She picked up a rag she’d brought with her and began to dust. A vision of Caros plagued her. No one had ever affected her quite like the gladiator. When she looked at him, she saw a compelling, world-weary man, too proud for his own good. Worse, the sense of helpless fascination she experienced in his presence mortified her.

If she were the righteous person she ought to be, she’d pray for him, but the faith to pray eluded her for the first time in her memory. Never before had God seemed so distant. The wrath marking Caros’s face when he’d mocked God’s ability to protect her filled her with fear. What if Caros were right? What if her heavenly Father could no longer protect her? What if He simply chose not to?

Exhausted from wrestling with unanswered questions, she finished cleaning and headed downstairs. At the end of a long corridor, she came to a partially opened door. She knocked hard enough to push it wider. The room was empty, but something about the restful space drew her inside.

A wooden sword hung prominently on one wall. Small ancestral statues, three women and a man, sat atop a shelf beneath it. A couch and two chairs crafted of rich wood and the finest, deep blue coverings partially hid the mosaic masterworks of various animals and lush vegetation that covered the floor. On the wall opposite the sword, a fresco of mountains against the backdrop of a fiery setting sun, lent the space a haunting, solitary air.

Crossing to the window, she admired the house’s inner atrium with its decorative columns and trio of fountains. Climbing red roses perfumed the air with a sweet scent that reminded her of her own flower garden at home.

An older man shuffled into the courtyard carrying a hoe and woven basket. When he saw her, she waved in greeting. A toothless grin flashed across his aged features before he tottered back the way he’d come.

How odd for him to retreat without a single word to her. She shrugged. What did she know of Caros’s servants? Perhaps they were all as strange as their master.

She began to leave a moment before Lucia raced across the threshold. “Where have you been and what are you doing in the master’s private room?” she demanded an octave higher than necessary. “If Servius hadn’t seen you from the garden, the entire household would still be in an uproar searching for you.”

“What game are you playing?” Pelonia asked. “You know I was cleaning the storage rooms as you ordered.”

“You lie. I looked for you there. You were nowhere to be found.”

“How dare you call me a liar? I…” Her words trailed away when Caros appeared in the doorway. The room seemed to shrink and her pulse began to race like a stallion set free.

“Master.” Lucia looked to Caros with an eager smile. “I found her.”

“So I see.” His gaze scorched Pelonia from head to foot. “You may leave us, Lucia.”

The young healer looked stricken, then resigned before she turned to go. “Beware of this one, Master. She has the face of Venus, but she’s even more deceitful.”

Caros didn’t comment, leaving Pelonia with the uneasy feeling he agreed with Lucia’s poison. Once they were alone, he stepped deeper into the room. “Where have you been?” he asked, his tone as emotionless as stone.

“Upstairs.” Her gaze roamed over the large bruise on his cheek, the multiple gashes marring the sinew of his arms and exposed collarbone. How much more damage did his tunic conceal? He must be in pain. She resisted a tug of concern and the desire to tend his injuries.

“What were you doing there?”

“Lucia sent me to clean.”

“I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t assign hard labor when you’ve yet to fully heal.”

“She said you meant to punish me.”

“Now I’m certain you lie. I said nothing to Lucia about you.”

She looked away from his icy blue stare, irritated enough at being called a liar again to dismiss her concern for his wounds. “Your thoughts are your own. Believe what you will. But if you meant to show me how harsh life here will be without your protection, consider your point well made.”

“If you were cleaning upstairs why are you here in my private room? Did you plan to rob me before attempting the escape you threatened?”

“First I’m a liar, now I’m a thief?” she asked, unreasonably hurt by his low opinion of her. “If you knew me better, you’d realize you have no need to question my honesty. What have I done to give you the impression I’d steal from you?”

Caros contemplated the question while he steadied his breathing. How dare she stand before him acting as though she was in the right? By the gods, she’d given him the scare of his life. Once he’d discovered her gone, he’d turned the domus upside down looking for her. Visions of her fleeing into the wrong spot and encountering his men had him locking them up in the middle of the day.

Unwilling to examine the fear he’d experienced when he thought she’d run away, he hugged his anger to him like a protective coat of mail.

“Well?” she demanded. “What have I done?”

He stepped toward her.

She jumped back, her palms outstretched as though to ward off an attack. “Don’t come any closer.”

He moved forward, within easy reach of her. “Why should I not?”

She dashed away, positioning herself behind a piece of furniture.

“Do you think a chair will offer protection if I choose to lay my hands on you?”

“Some protection is better than none.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Even gladiators gird themselves before a match.”

“True, but no amount of armor can compare with experience. I’ve fought for almost half my life. You’re as battle hardened as a kitten.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I admit you’re a better fighter than I—”

“Yet I’m not the one who usually begins our skirmishes.”

“You blame me for the difficulties between us? I’ve done nothing—”

“But argue.” Most of the anxiety she’d caused him began to melt away now that the shock of her disappearance had begun to wear off.

“I’ve done no more than defended myself. You’re just unreasonable. Your high-handedness begs to be brought down a peg.”

“Is that so?” He shoved the chair out of his way and gripped her upper arms before she realized his intent to strike. “If we were equals you might be the woman to chastise me. As it is, you’re a slave who’d be wise to keep her opinions to herself.”

“And you’re a pompous…gladiator!”

Caros almost congratulated her. She’d held her ground, though he could see fear lurked in the depths of her soulful brown eyes.

“Why are you smiling?” Her distrust was unconcealed. “Have you devised some new punishment for me?”

He caressed her arms, enjoying the smoothness of her skin. “I thought I might train you to fight in the arena. A woman in the games is a novelty. If this display of temper is any indication, you certainly have the mettle for it.”

She escaped from his hold and fled to the window. “Your humor is misplaced, lanista. If you trained me with a weapon, you’d be wise to refrain from sleep.”

He laughed outright. “So, you’d kill me, would you? Doesn’t your God frown on murder?”

With a defiant toss of her head, she glared at him. Glad to see her bruises all but gone, he admired the way the window framed her beautiful face and delicate stature. Even the ragged tunic did nothing to hide her appeal.

“Blasphemy is a sin the same as murder,” she said. “God might not pardon you for mocking Him, but given your contrary nature, I’m sure He’d understand my actions and forgive me without reservation.”

“Perhaps,” he said flatly. “But you might be surprised to find how difficult it is to forgive yourself.”

Mollified by the horror in her eyes, he turned to leave. “Be warned, slave. Disappear again and you won’t like the consequences. If you think dusting storage rooms is punishment, you’ll realize it’s child’s play compared to the tasks I’ll drop at your feet.”

Outside, the sun beat down on him. He sensed Pelonia was jesting when she spoke of murdering him and her God’s forgiveness for such an act, but what if it were true? What if her God were powerful enough to forgive the vilest crime and erase the guilt crippling his soul?

Hope flickered like an elusive flame inside him, then burned out just as quickly. He’d done too much evil to think of receiving mercy. He’d killed countless men, many of them Christians. Why would their God embrace an enemy?

He shook his head, his spirit bleak. He was lost with no way to be found. He should accept his fate and stop longing for redemption. Deep in his heart he accepted he wasn’t worthy.