Читать книгу The Gladiator - Carla Capshaw - Страница 14

Anxious, Pelonia paced the shadows of her moonlit room. Lucia should arrive any moment with further instructions. Through her room’s small window she checked the lantern-lit yard for the slightest hint of movement. The trainees had been locked in the barracks at twilight. The guards were nowhere in sight, but her stomach clenched with trepidation. If she were caught, and Caros refused to show mercy, she might lose her life.

A dog howled, lending the blackness an eerie quality that stretched her nerves. A knock on the door made her jump.

Pelonia opened the door to her coconspirator. “I’ve brought you some vegetable broth,” Lucia said once the door was secured. “It was childish of you to skip the evening meal. How do you expect to have strength for tonight if you don’t eat?”

“I didn’t consider—”

“No, I figured as much, but I used your stupidity to aid us. I spread the seed you’re feeling ill. When you don’t come down tomorrow, people will believe you’re unwell and passing the day on your pallet.”

“Who will believe such a tale?” Pelonia accepted the fragrant bowl of stewed tomatoes. “Since when is a slave allowed to shirk labor because of sickness?”

The lamp’s glow highlighted Lucia’s severe features. “Who won’t believe it? Everyone is aware you’re the master’s current favorite.”

Pelonia’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I hate being the subject of gossip.”

“You’ve been nothing else since the moment the master plucked you from the slave quarters and insisted you stay here in the house.”

She cringed with mortification. Thankfully, her father didn’t have to witness her dishonor.

“The entire household has made wagers to see how long before he tires of you.”

Humiliated, she turned away. “When do I go?”

“Soon. First, you must listen and heed everything I’m about to say. When you leave the house tonight follow the street toward the amphitheater. Just before you reach the city gates, you’ll come to a large statue of Caesar driving a chariot with winged horses. Once there, look for a man with two lanterns. He’s the butcher’s son, Pales. I’ve arranged for him to lead you to your cousin’s home.”

“You’re certain he can be trusted?”

Pausing at the door, Lucia nodded. “Watch for me below your window. I’ll give a birdcall to signal when it’s time.”

Several oil lamps bathed Caros’s study with a warm orange glow. His gaze soaked in the wall mural of the setting sun and Iberian mountains. After all these years, he missed his native land and grieved the loss of his cherished kin.

His father, mother, sisters. Each of them held a revered place in his heart. With a fond smile, he lifted the ancestral statue he’d had fashioned to represent his father. Wise, the epitome of fairness, his father was the best man he’d ever known.

He replaced the carving and chose the one of his mother, the heart of his family’s home. When Caros closed his eyes, he saw her wide smile, heard her gentle voice instructing him to be a man of peace, of honor.

How disappointed she would be to see what he’d become.

He put back the statue with care, then eased into one of the blue padded seats facing the inner courtyard. The illuminated fountain returned his thoughts to Pelonia, a subject never far from his mind.

He winced thinking of the disaster he’d spawned in the garden. By the gods, she must think him a rapist the way she’d fled. The horror on her face when he’d tried to kiss her made him cringe. In the future, he’d master his lust and nurture her trust, not her resistance.

Seeing Lucia enter the courtyard, he sat forward. Why wasn’t the healer abed? He surged to his feet when he saw her look of panic.

“Master!” She ran toward him. “You must hurry. Pelonia, that ungrateful sneak, has fled. I was in my room upstairs when I happened to look out my window. There she was, creeping down the road like a common thief. I told you she’d be nothing but trouble.”

Fear gripped him. “Which way?”

“Toward the city gates.”

Quick steps took him to the bowels of the house. He strapped on a gladius and grabbed up a torch, then raced to the side door and into the night.

The torch held high to guide him, he broke into a run. During the day, Rome was dangerous enough, but after dark the streets crawled with every sort of human vermin.

If anything happened to her…He had to find her.

He picked up his pace. Shouting and bawdy laughter echoed from the street up ahead, but it was the woman’s scream that raised the hackles on the back of his neck.

A grimy hand covered Pelonia’s mouth from behind and dragged her head back against a rock-hard shoulder. A knife blade pressed to her throat filled her with terror. “Be quiet, wench! Someone’ll think you don’t like us.”

Raucous laughter rippled through the drunken gang surrounding her like rabid dogs. Paralyzed with fear, she felt a trickle of blood slide down her neck. The stench of sour mead made her gag. She frantically searched the darkness. Shiny, inebriated eyes leered at her from the shadows. How many men were there? Six? Seven?

Dear God, please help me!

“I want her first,” a deep voice slurred somewhere to her left.

“You’ll have to wait your turn,” another said, the words thick and muddled. Jeering laughter combined with lewd suggestions echoed through the street.

The pack grew bolder. Groping hands snatched at her clothes, pinched her, yanked her braid. The cloth of her tunic ripped, exposing her shoulder to the damp night air.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Unable to move or defend herself, she begged God for mercy.

The giant tightened his hand on her mouth. The pressure against her teeth cut her lip. She tasted blood.

He reached forward with the knife, the metal flashing in the moonlight between her face and the other wolves.

“All of you stand back,” the giant ordered. “The woman promised I could have her first. You’ll have to wait ’til I’ve had my taste.”

What woman?

A flurry of drunken curses and outraged complaints littered the night, but the long knife aided the pack’s decision to slink backward.

“Such beautiful skin,” the giant slurred near her ear. His sour breath churned her stomach. She gagged until she thought she might retch. He moved his hand from her mouth and buried his wet lips against the pulse racing in her throat.

She screamed. Her heel stomped his foot. He loosed his hold and the blade clanked on the stone street. Wild with fear, she jerked free from the drunk and ran.

Threats from her pursuing attackers spurred her onward. Was someone calling her name? Without slacking her pace, she turned a corner, then another and another until she was lost. Too scared to stop running, she pressed on, her lungs burning, her heart pounding.

Rapid footsteps gained ground behind her. The glow of a torch grew larger, lighting the narrow alleyway.

“Pelonia!”

Caros? She faltered, tripped on an uneven stone, felt herself falling.

A strong arm swooped around her middle, hauling her up just as her palms brushed the road. In a seamless movement, Caros turned her around, then pulled her against him. “Are you all right?”