Gladiator Heart (17 page)

An old man with white, wispy hair and a white beard shuffled up to him. “Quite a batch of northerners the Legatus brought home. Not sure we’ll have room for them all.”

The soldier grunted an incoherent response and left.

Tristan didn’t fight when the old man produced a pair of shears and began to cut his long hair. He cropped it short, then cut and shaved his beard. Next he was taken into a smaller room with a bath and washed and scrubbed from head to toe, breaking the lash wounds on his back open and bringing up the biting sting all over again. The old man rubbed oil into his skin and paused at his back.

“Heard about the lashings you got,” he said. “Some of the older wounds look like they were treated. They’ve healed better than the others. Why would they bother, only to bring the whip down on you again?”

“They didn’t,” Tristan growled.

Why did the old man have to stir up memories of Valeria? He finally thought he was going numb to feeling anything. The pain, the anger, the torment. It all came slamming back into him at once.

“Must be the lady Valeria’s handiwork.” The old man clucked his tongue. “Great healer that one. I heard she made the journey with you. Lucky for you she was there watching over you.”

Luck had nothing to do with it. Valeria had been trouble since the day he’d first set eyes on her. A Roman he loathed, and a woman he couldn’t resist.

The old man helped him tie on a loincloth and led him back to the larger room. He had him sit up on a table, and shortly after Angus and some of the other men were brought in, clean and shaven, just as Tristan was.

“They shaved off my beard.” Angus grunted. He rubbed his hand over his bare chin. “I’ve been growing it forever and—
whack
—it’s gone.”

“It was getting too long anyway,” Tristan teased him, trying to keep the mood light in spite of everything they’d been through. “If they hadn’t cut it, eventually I would have.”

“Bloody devil.” Angus bowed his head and murmured a string of curses. “I hate these Romans. Why clean us up, only to kill us?”

“It makes for a better show,” Tristan said. “Where’s the fun in watching a man on the brink of death get killed? It’s too easy.”

“Welcome to Rome,” the old man addressed their group. “You’re in the Emperor’s ludus to be trained as gladiators for the arena. The healers have arrived to see to you, and I suggest you accept their help. You’ll need your strength for the days ahead.”

With that, the old man left, and a familiar face walked into the room. It was Rufus, followed by two women. The first was matronly, along in her years, but still very beautiful with her brown hair piled on top of her head. The second woman lowered the hood of her dark blue cape, and Tristan froze when he saw Valeria.

What was she doing here, of all the places in Rome?

She somehow managed to get more beautiful with each passing day. To know he’d kissed those pink lips, that he’d once possessed every inch of her naked body, made it hard to look at her without a deep longing. But it was harder not to look at her, and when their gazes met, he saw the same longing reflected in her eyes.

Rufus planted himself in the doorway with his legs wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He had a sword at his waist and wore a breastplate of armor, and when his scrutinizing glare landed on Tristan, he kept it there.

The first woman started moving among the men and talking to them in a low, soothing voice as she inspected their wounds. Valeria hurried right over to him and took a moment to absorb his new appearance with his short hair and no beard. He felt so bare, so different.

“Tristan.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. “I’m so sorry.” Her blue eyes filled with tears.

“Sorry for what?” he asked mildly. “I made it here alive. Now I go to the arena. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Valeria shook her head. “I only want you to be free.”

Tristan believed her words. Why else would she tell him he could win his freedom in the arena?

They gazed at each other for a long moment, as if they were both sharing the same memory of being wrapped up in each other’s arms. Tristan was the first to look away across the room. Just looking at her made him go all hot and hard, and he had to beat back his desire. He might never see her again.

“I see old Quintus has given you a thorough cleansing,” she said, circling around the table where he was perched to inspect his back. “I have salve for your wounds.”

“I don’t need it,” he barked over his shoulder.

He couldn’t bear to feel her hands on him, knowing it might be the last time.

She touched him with gentle fingers, tickling over his skin, and it sent shivers through his body. He tensed, tightening his jaw. He couldn’t stand her light touch. It felt too good. It made him want more.

He took her wrist in a firm grip and shoved her away from him. “I don’t want your help.”

Valeria stared at him with a hurt expression, and it almost killed him to know he was responsible, but she had to let him go. The woman who’d accompanied Valeria came over and stood between them. She gave Tristan a bold looking over, her lips pressed together with displeasure, her eyes sharp and assessing.

“You’ll not handle my girl in such a fashion again,” she said in a calm voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Her imperious tone reminded him of Valeria. Was this her mother? They didn’t look anything alike. In the event that she was, he considered it wise to mind his manners so she wouldn’t be tempted to do some form of permanent damage to his male anatomy. Women were vindictive creatures.

“I’m sorry.” Tristan gave a curt nod in response.

“You’ve made it clear you do not want her help, will you accept mine?”

Tristan glanced at Valeria, then back to the woman. “Yes,” he relented to be agreeable.

“Valeria,” the woman said. “See to the other men. You know what to do.”

“Yes, Lucia.” Valeria lowered her head as she walked away and started moving among the other men to inspect their various injuries.

Tristan studied the woman before him, and she studied him back, narrowing her eyes. “What a fine specimen of a man you are. What is your age? I’d guess you to be around six and twenty.”

“What does my age matter?” he wondered, confused, though she’d been right on.

“I’m just curious.” She walked around behind him and began dressing his wounds with a cool, sticky salve. “As a mother might be.”

So, the woman was Valeria’s mother, and she knew about them. He’d like to know exactly what and how much Valeria had told her about their time together.

Lucia went to her knees in front of Tristan and lathered more salve on his bleeding, blistered feet while his legs dangled off the table. “I can’t imagine how much you suffered on your journey, but Valeria was not responsible for any of it.”

She rose to look him in the eye. He didn’t avoid her gaze, and she respected him all the more for his gallantry. Lucia could appreciate the man who’d introduced Valeria to the ways of love. He was young and handsome and strong, and had pleasured the girl rather than raping her like a savage. Valeria was half in love with the northerner.

And Lucia didn’t see how they could have a future.

“You Romans are all the same,” he bit out harshly. “You take what does not belong to you as if you have some God-given right.”

“What has Valeria taken from you?” Lucia questioned. “Tell me what it is I have taken from you.”

His detached silence was the only answer she needed. This man understood what was at stake. His life, Valeria’s life, any hope for a future rested in the fickle hands of Rome. He doled out anger and spite to avoid feeling anything because the loss would be too great. Lucia understood him perfectly. He reminded her much of her beloved Rufus when he’d been in the same position.

“I think your wounds will heal nicely,” she told him. “With some rest and a few proper meals, you’ll be back to rights in no time. Make sure to drink plenty of water. You’re not used to the heat yet.”

Tristan brooded in silence while Valeria and her mother finished with the rest of the men. When they readied to leave, he didn’t want to see them go. But what good would it do to have Valeria stay? She’d break his heart in the end, and that would be the greatest pain of all.

Once they were gone, Tristan and his men were taken to the dark cells and locked inside. His cell was completely barren with a hard-packed dirt floor. Only a small, high window let in the fresh night air. This would be his home until he was killed in the arena, then some other nameless, faceless prisoner would be thrown in here to await his death as well.

Rufus walked Valeria back to the palace. The night was cool, the air fresh, and she breathed deeply, feeling better now that she’d seen Tristan alive and on the mend. With his new look—short hair and his beard shaved off—she could see just how handsome a man he was, and it made her desire him all the more.

Gods, how she wanted to be held in his arms again.To feel his kiss, to know his touch. Without him, her body was left empty and aching, her newly aroused passions unfulfilled.

“Are you satisfied now that you’ve seen your northerner?” Rufus asked as they walked side by side up the hill.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Now will you stay away from him?”

“Absolutely,” she lied.

Valeria was not going to let Tristan die in the arena. She would help him win the crowd and make him a hero, she just wasn’t sure how she was going to do it yet.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your right mind,” Rufus said.

He worried about the unnatural obsession she had with the Pict. The man had kept her prisoner for days, alone in his tent, and that was a strong temptation for any man. Valeria was so young and beautiful, intelligent, kind. But Rufus knew without a doubt she had not been harmed by Tristan. When a woman was taken by force, against her will, she didn’t disobey orders and risk punishment to sneak away and care for her aggressor.

That could only mean something else had happened between them. Valeria told him Tristan had cared for her. That he’d kept her warm and safe and fed her. But Rufus knew his girl too well. He saw the way she looked at Tristan, and he saw the way Tristan looked at her when she wasn’t watching. Rufus knew what desire looked like. He’d looked at Lucia the same way once. He still did.

“What was it like to be a gladiator?” She changed the subject on him. “Were you afraid the first time you went into the arena?”

Rufus smiled. Valeria had always been interested in his past as a gladiator and had loved hearing him tell her stories of the arena. It touched him that she cared.

“I suppose I was afraid,” he told her. “I didn’t want to die, so the only choice I had was to fight. To live.”

“How do they train gladiators?”

“They’re taught to use weapons and tactics, hand-to-hand combat, kind of like the army.”

“Are they treated badly? Are they tortured and beaten?”

“Once a gladiator becomes a hero to the people, he’s treated very well. He gets the best food, the best weapons, anything he wants. His life has value.”

“So Tristan will have a good chance on his first day? They won’t just throw him in unprepared?”

Rufus now realized where her questions were really headed. He stopped their walk and turned towards her. “You must stop this foolishness and put him from your mind. He’s going to die in the arena and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“You didn’t die.” Her blue eyes pleaded with him to understand.

Rufus would say no more. Tristan was on his own in that arena and he didn’t want to give Valeria false hope, or see her heart get broken. He resumed walking to take her home.

Valeria tried to ply Rufus with more questions, but he stayed stone silent, brooding all the way to the palace. They went around back so she could sneak in through the servants’ entrance in the kitchen. She kissed Rufus on the cheek and rubbed his shaved head for luck, then sent him on his way.

The palace was dark and quiet. Most of the household had retired to their rooms by now, and the servants would be in their quarters. Valeria crept up the stairs and turned down the hallway towards her rooms.

“Where have you been?” Septima stepped out of the shadows and blocked her way.

Valeria cringed when she saw her. Septima Livius was as mean and cold as a viper. With her long red hair and her sharp, dark eyes she looked like a witch. The woman was old enough to be her mother, and therefore too old to be sleeping with Crispus, but she’d managed to work her way into his bed.

Valeria didn’t bother to answer and moved to step around her, but Septima blocked her path. “I wonder what Crispus would have to say about your late-night wanderings,” she mused, raking her scrutinizing gaze over Valeria, and from the haughty look in her eyes, obviously finding her lacking in some fashion.

Valeria threw her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and returned the haughty stare. “I don’t care what he has to say.”

She didn’t appreciate this woman’s threats. Septima might be sleeping with the Caesar of Rome, but she had no power over her, no matter how many airs she put on.

“If it wasn’t for me sharing his bed, Crispus might start to wander the palace at night. He’s sure to discover how many nights you’re absent.”

“I should think you’d love having the whole place to yourself,” Valeria replied, catering to the woman’s ego. “If I were around too much, Crispus might spend more time with me, and I’d hate to see you grow lonely.”

Rage reddened Septima’s sour face. “Crispus is mad about me. He’d never cast me aside. He can’t get enough of me.”

Valeria raised an arrogant brow. “Then why are you standing here bothering me, when he must be dying for the loss of your company?”

“You’d better watch yourself,” Septima warned, narrowing her eyes. She started circling Valeria like a hungry vulture. “I can make life for you very difficult. Crispus and I have grown closer since you pulled your little stunt and took off to the north. He had no one to cling to, and now he has me.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I am his cousin.”

“Your precious mother was nothing but a whore, and you’re just some common man’s get. Be lucky the Emperor claimed you at all.”