Gladiator Heart (27 page)

Braxus was one of the younger senators, and had been appointed to reason with Crispus when it came to getting along with the people. He was learning the task was a difficult one.

“I don’t have time to play along with the Senate’s games. I’m busy ruling an Empire.”

Senator Braxus assessed him with a speculating look. “I thought it was your father who rules this Empire.”

Crispus had the good sense to appear contrite. “Certainly any final ruling would come from my father, but I find we are in agreement on many things.”

The senator turned his attention back to the games. “Your father wasn’t a real fan of the arena, but in his absence you’ve brought the games back with a frequency many find astounding.” He looked back to Crispus, gauging his reaction to the affront.

Crispus smiled, but his eyes were full of hostility. “In that aspect, I give the people something they want.”

“Or something you want.”

The senator dropped the conversation, leaving Crispus fuming in composed silence.

“It won’t be long before the city has a special wedding to celebrate.” Septima attempted to fill the awkward silence by bringing up the one subject Valeria had no desire to discuss. “How are your plans going, Valeria?”

“Everything is moving along,” she said. With each passing day her dreadful fate drew closer.

“Who did you hire to make your gown?” Septima persisted with her harassment.

What gown?

Valeria was not submitting to her fate willingly. “Lucia and I are making one together. It’s going to be a surprise.”

Septima pursed her lips in a disapproving smile. “I’m sure it will be quite lovely.”

Gaius turned and smiled at Valeria. “My new wife will look lovely in anything.”

Valeria averted her gaze to avoid his threatening stare and scanned the crowd in the stands. There had to be some way to escape her upcoming nuptials.

“Here come those warriors from Gaul,” Crispus announced, sitting forward in his seat with excitement.

“They seem to be well-liked by the crowd,” Senator Braxus said. “It didn’t take long for the odds to turn in their favor.”

Valeria smiled with a sense of pride. She’d been partly responsible for that with her outrageous bets.

“I do admit they’ve gained favor quickly,” Crispus agreed. “And I think they shall fall just as fast.”

Valeria noticed the sinister gleam in his eyes. Her cousin was plotting something. Did he endeavor to be the one who would bring about their fall? He wouldn’t dare go against the crowd and order the gladiators executed. The people would never forgive him. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that time was running short for Tristan.

She had to think of something. She had to find some way to free him.

“I feel today will prove an interesting show,” Crispus said. “I’ve taken it upon myself to bring the people a real battle.”

On one side of the arena, Tristan stood waiting, while from the other side, Angus entered.

Gods, no
.

Crispus meant to have them fight each other.

For the first time, Tristan entered the arena without Angus. He didn’t expect they could continue fighting as a team forever, but he missed his friend’s presence by his side. Seeing him step out from under the opposing gate covered in armor and wearing a helmet, a spear in his hand, set Tristan to worry. Did they intend to pit him and Angus against each other?

One of them was going to die.

And Tristan wouldn’t let it be Angus.

The crowd was silent as they walked out to the middle of the arena to greet each other. They both offered a quick bow of their heads to the Caesar in his sheltered section of seats, dutifully acknowleding him for the honor of letting them fight in his arena, then turned back to face each other.

Angus took off his helmet and tossed it to the sand. “Can you believe they want us to kill each other? What is wrong with these people? I thought they liked us.”

“They like a fight,” Tristan said. “They like blood.”

“What should we do?” Angus raised his brow in question.

“Let’s fight until one of us wins and beg the crowd for missio.”

Angus laughed in understanding. “Are you ready to eat some sand, brother?”

Tristan swept Angus’s feet out from under him and dumped him on the ground. “You first, brother.”

Angus stabbed the end of his spear into the sand and pulled himself to his feet. “You want to play it like that?”

“It’s about time I gave you a lesson on how to fight. You hit like a woman.” Tristan smiled in jest.

He and Angus used to spar like this back home and they were skilled at taking deadly hits without actually hurting each other. Sometimes in camp they’d fight for the men and let them place bets on who would win. He and Angus would give the crowd a good show before ending it with a plea for mercy.

Angus attacked with his long spear, and Tristan used his shield to defend against the blows and his sword to return the attack. The crowd cheered as they moved around the arena in a fighting dance with each other.

Angus drew blood from Tristan’s arm with the sharp head of his spear. Tristan came back and slashed him across the chest with the tip of the sword. The wounds they inflicted on each other looked worse than they actually were, but the crowd would need blood in order to be satisfied.

Angus charged Tristan with the spear, ferociously attacking his shield and trying to disarm him. He paid Tristan his due when he used the end of the spear to sweep his feet out from under him. Tristan dropped his sword when he fell onto his back in the sand, and Angus attacked him from above, stabbing at his shield.

The crowd cheered and roared when Angus went after him on the ground. Then an opening presented itself and Tristan slammed the side of his shield into Angus’s leg. Angus stumbled, allowing Tristan to get to his feet, and they fought shield against spear for the crowd.

“Are you ready to go down?” Angus asked.

Tristan took a crouching stance. “No, but you are.”

He swung the shield and smashed it into Angus’s chest, then caught him under the chin with the hard edge. Angus swiped at the blood pouring from his cut lip.

“Now you’re going to get it.”

“I can’t wait.” Tristan started backing towards the sword on the ground behind him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Angus drove him back with the spear and the hard blows finally sent him to his back on the ground. Angus stabbed the spear through the shield and the sharp point grazed Tristan’s arm. When Angus tugged on the spear to remove it, it stayed stuck in the shield. Tristan took his opportunity and threw the shield aside, sending the spear with it. He reached for the sword on the ground and slashed Angus across the thigh, drawing more blood than he’d wanted to. Angus dropped to his knees, panting heavily.

“Aye, that was a good one.”

Tristan jumped to his feet and held the tip of the sword at Angus’s throat. “Do you yield?”

Angus bit out a curse, then extended his right arm, holding two fingers up to the crowd. The plea for missio.

“Next time, you get to end up on your knees,” he grunted, giving Tristan a taunting, sardonic stare. “This is going to be bad for my image.”

Tristan tried to keep from smiling while he held the sword to Angus’s throat and listened to the chanting crowd, calling for Angus to live. He knew they’d be merciful on Angus, it was his life he wasn’t certain about. The people were on their feet, all thumbs turned upward and one word echoing through the stands.

Live.

Tristan glanced up at the Caesar, the ruler of the games, and awaited his instruction.

Valeria’s heart raced wildly as she scanned the crowd in the stands, looking at all the people of Rome on their feet, calling for Angus to live. He and Tristan had played the crowd well. Everyone knew they were friends and that they wouldn’t kill each other, but the people came to the arena to see a show, and they expected to get one.

It was all up to Crispus now. He could give the thumbs up or thumbs down, and the fate of a man’s life would be decided.

“What shall I call for?” Crispus looked back to Septima.

He’s going to let that bitch decide?

Valeria couldn’t stand for that. “You should call for what the crowd wants!” She jumped up from her seat.

Anger and fear swelled in her, turning her stomach into a bundle of anxious nerves. She looked down into the arena, at Tristan and Angus, both staring up at Crispus, Angus with his two fingers held up for mercy, and Tristan with the sword held at his throat. The tragic picture they made almost stopped her heart. They had to live.

“What care do I have either way?” Septima said. “Atilla is the only gladiator of worth.”

Valeria turned pleading eyes on her cousin. “Let him live.”

Gaius grunted his disapproval. “Those scum were responsible for the attack on the wall, and they held Valeria captive. I see no reason for you to be lenient.”

Valeria wanted to choke the bastard. “Those men have proven themselves in the arena. They deserve a fair chance.”

“They aren’t men,” Gaius argued back. “They’re slaves.”

“Stay out of this,” she warned him in a hostile tone. The argument was between her and Crispus.

“I can see we have much heated debate over these two gladiators,” Crispus said, irritated. “I guess I shall have to decide for myself.”

Crispus stood at the rail and held out his arm, his hand closed in a fist. The crowd cheered louder for Angus to live. Valeria held her breath, waiting to see what Crispus would choose.

He turned his thumb down.

“No!” she shouted out in protest.

He couldn’t do this. How could he go against the crowd?

“I tire of these two,” Crispus said, still standing at the rail, waiting for his order to be carried out.

Valeria ran up to the rail and looked down at Tristan. His expression hardened and he stared back at her with hatred blazing in his eyes. She shook her head and felt the burning start of tears. Tristan couldn’t kill Angus. They were friends, countrymen. He was the kind of man who would take his own life instead.

The crowd hissed and hollered their disapproval, ridiculing the Caesar for his bad call.

“Why does the crowd love them so much?” Crispus complained, his mood turning sullen. “It’s my crowd, and these slaves are taking it from me.”

Down in the arena, Tristan flung his sword to the ground, disobeying the Caesar’s final call. As he stared up at Crispus in defiance, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and cries of joy. Valeria let out her own excited laugh and smiled down at Tristan. He and Angus locked hands and Tristan pulled his friend to his feet. She hadn’t thought the crowd could scream any louder.

Tristan raised his fist in the air in a bold show of resistance.If he didn’t own the crowd before, he did now. It took great courage to openly defy the Caesar of Rome, and as much as the people loved blood, they loved a hero more. But Valeria was afraid Tristan wouldn’t get to enjoy his victory for very long. Not with Crispus out for his blood.

The door to his cell swung open and Tristan was sure they were coming to execute him. He’d refused to do as ordered and had embarrassed the Caesar of Rome in front of the people. There was a chance he might be remembered for that act.

The lanista entered his cell, followed by two men dressed in green togas.

“Greetings, Decimus.” The older of the two men stepped forward. His blond hair was starting to show grey at the temples. His skin was tanned from spending years in the hot Roman sun and he had fine wrinkles around his eyes.

As Tristan stood to greet the man, he looked to the lanista for an explanation.

“These men have requested audience with you,” he said. “You might be interested in what they have to say.”

“Your show in the arena today was quite impressive,” the man continued. “You defied the Caesar of Rome, and by insulting him, you have earned the love of the people.”

“Will that be enough to win my freedom?” he wondered.

There would be consequences for his actions, but he doubted freedom would be one of them. Death was a more likely option.

“If it’s freedom you seek, your chance of winning it is rare.” The man paced the floor in front of him, looking down at his feet. “For you, freedom is something that will have to be taken.”

He stopped pacing and looked directly at Tristan. There was a light in this man’s eyes Tristan recognized. It was the same light of rebellion that had always burned in his own soul.

“You know you won’t be getting out of here alive, don’t you?”

Tristan had a good idea. He glanced nervously at the younger man who hadn’t spoken a word. Who were these people?

“I can help you get your freedom,” the man said. “If you can help me with a small matter.”

He didn’t like where this was going. “Nothing in Rome is a small matter.”

“Right you are, but then, neither is freedom a small matter.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Tristan studied the man sharply, watching for any tell of a lie.

“It’s not just me you have to put your trust in,” he said. “It’s the city of Rome.”

“Of what exactly do you speak?”

“Many of the common people are tired of living under the rule of the aristocracy. Plying them with bloody games in the arena is no longer a distraction for the true degradations they are expected to suffer at the hands of the noble, ruling class.”

Tristan was glad some of these people were coming to their senses. “What do you want from me?”

“Tomorrow you will be put in the arena with Atilla. The Caesar intends to see you and Angus dead. I, however, have another use for you. There are many of us who have been waiting for the right chance to stage an uprising, and you, gladiator, are that chance.”

Tristan held the man’s stare. What he spoke of was mutinous, a treasonable offense. “You place much in the hands of a slave.”

“You are the hero of Rome. If you break free of your bonds and escape the arena, it will be enough to inspire the rest of the citizens to rise up with us and take this city back. You will be the very symbol of freedom and rebellion.”