Pandora Gets Greedy (2 page)

“Lucius, you are making absolutely no sense!”

“I tell you now, Varinia … that man is
not
the ruler Rome needs.”

“Hush,” Varinia said, panic in her voice.

“You hush,” Lucius said. “And stop bothering me. I am trying to find someone.”

Pandy had heard her mother and father fight occasionally, but she couldn't conceive of a husband talking to his wife with such disrespect … and certainly not in front of others.

Suddenly, she was aware of a low hum all about her as a new excitement began to build in the crowd. Anticipation was growing; something was about to happen on the field below and she was only catching snippets of conversations:

“I've heard he's quite the fighter … I guess we'll see, won't we?”

“He's performed splendidly in the practice ring, but that's not to the death, now is it?”

“He's a bit young to be a champion; at least that's what some people say.”

“Who's he fighting? Really? Oh, too bad for the boy.”

All at once, Lucius stood up and pointed to someone pacing on the side of the field.

“Fight master!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

A burly man, dressed in heavy fabrics, with many metal cuffs on his arms, turned to stare up at Lucius
and gave a slight but respectful nod of his head. Pandy gasped; even at such distance she could see the man's face was streaked with pink and red scars and one eye was gone. He hadn't even bothered to cover it. She turned to share the horrible sight with Alcie, but Alcie was staring straight ahead and Pandy could tell her thoughts were far away.

Alcie, for her part, was thinking about a plateful of roasted dove hearts and how she would give anything—maybe even her own life thread—if she could just spend one rotation of the sundial popping them into Homer's mouth. Just one rotation.

“Oh, Homie,” Alcie sighed softly.

“I am warning you now,” Lucius said loudly, as Varinia desperately tried to pull him back down into his seat. “He either wins and my wagers are successful, or you will find yourself at the end of my sword!”

“Lucius!” Varinia hissed. “Have you gone
mad
? What is wrong with you to threaten the fight master so?”

The fight master lowered his head, then looked back at Lucius from under heavy eyelids. He knew better than to return the threat, although he could take Lucius in a fight of any kind, without blinking. But Caesar was in attendance and returning a taunt from a silly senator was not going to be tolerated. The fight master bowed low and continued to pace at the side of the field.

“Don't turn your back on me!” Lucius began.

“Lucius Valerius!” came a call. Lucius turned to see Caesar making his way down and over several sections until Caesar was no more than two meters away. “You would kill the poor fight master? He who has trained your would-be champion?”

“Uhhhh …”

“What if everyone took on so? We would have no one left to instruct our gladiators.”

Pandy jerked her head up. For the last several moments, she had again stopped paying any heed to the events around her in the Forum, ignoring the blustering senator, the hot sun … even the imposing new ruler; as Lucius's senate slave, she would be seeing a great deal of him. She had turned her thoughts inward, trying to focus on Greed. She remembered that their first few days in Rome, the three of them—herself, Alcie, and Iole (when they could talk to her)—were spending every moment trying to solve the mystery of where it might be hiding. Pandy had determined that the only time she or any of them could search was at night; they would slip out of the house after everyone had gone to sleep and cover every centimeter of the city. She and Alcie had chosen the following night to begin, and
that
day, a slave girl was brought back to the senator's house and severely punished for sneaking out at
night and trying to escape. Pandy couldn't see the punishment herself, but the girl's pitiful cries were enough to keep Pandy and Alcie from venturing out. Pandy fanned Varinia and thought about what else she could possibly do.

And then she heard the word “gladiator.”

It was as if a rock hit Pandy in the stomach. With that one word, she knew exactly where Homer had gone over two weeks earlier. She tried to get Alcie's attention, but Alcie was still in her daydream.

“Since I have never known you to be so serious about a wager, especially one over a silly human life,” Caesar went on, “and since I have no idea what you might do to others should you owe them money,
and
you know I cannot afford to have you murder the entire senate
just
at the moment …”

Caesar looked at the crowd and waited for the polite laughter at his joke to die away.

“… And since Caesar finds himself in a gracious and generous mood this day, I shall assume responsibility for all wagers you have made. If your fighter is victorious, Caesar himself shall pay you. If he is not, Caesar will pay your debts and the fight master will retain his head. Is that acceptable to all?”

Several voices, those who had bets with Lucius, all called out in agreement.

“Yes,” Lucius said finally, looking down at Varinia, who had her head in her hands, utterly humiliated. “Caesar is very generous.”

“That I am,” Caesar said, returning to his seat. Then he turned toward the field and motioned to the fight master. “Begin!”

From the far end of the Forum, a double line of soldiers marched onto the field. In between them walked two figures in full gladiator dress. One man carried a whip and a shield. The other, a tall blond boy, carried a shield and a sword. Pandy's heart flipped over.

Then, from way across the Forum, high on the roof of the Regia, Rome's first royal palace, a glint of metal caught her eye.

There it was again.

Was somebody signaling something? To her? To someone in the Forum? She looked around at the crowd. Everyone she saw was staring at the procession of the guards and the fighters; no one but her, it seemed, was watching the Regia.

Just then, in silhouette, Pandy saw two figures—men, she was certain—standing atop the building. One was standing with his arms crossed, but the other was fidgeting with a large shield, sunlight bouncing off the metal. Almost at once, there was a familiarity to these two; Pandy was certain she knew them … but how?
She squinted; sometimes narrowing her eyes caused blurry faraway objects to become clearer. At first, she thought both men were bald, but Pandy then realized that both were wearing helmets—and black breastplates—and had huge shields. They appeared identical in every way.

“Helmet? Black breastpla …?” she murmured. “Ares?
Ares?
And …?”

Then, from far away, she heard the echo of both men laughing at the same time and saw one slap the other on the back. Then the slappee slapped the first man back … harder. The first man then threw a punch, which knocked the second over and out of sight. But he was back up in an instant and landed a blow to the other man's midsection. Suddenly, the fight became so fierce that, as Pandy watched, they both knocked each other off the roof.

Pandy's mouth dropped, but there was no more time to think about what she'd just seen; a trumpet call brought her attention back to the field and the blond-haired youth.

“More wine, slave,” Rufina ordered Alcie.

Alcie, still in her reverie, turned to get the wine pitcher from a small bench. A shout went up from the crowd; already they were hungry for the spectacle, the skill … and the blood.

“Alcie!” Pandy said, this time loud enough to shake Alcie from her dream.

“What?”

In that instant, Pandy couldn't decide whether to tell her friend to look or not look; either way, Alcie was going to have to turn around sometime.

“
What?
” she mouthed again.

Pandy tilted her head and Alcie, holding the pitcher, turned and followed Pandy's gaze.

Then she lost her grip on the handle and gasped, spilling the wine on Rufina's head.

“HOMIE!”

Within a heartbeat Rufina leapt up and struck Alcie across the face. Varinia was on her feet immediately and caught her daughter's hand before it could deliver another blow. Although by that time Alcie had balled up her fists and was ready to give as good as she got.

“Sit down!” Varinia said.

“She did it on purpose!”

“I am terribly sorry, mistress,” Alcie said to Varinia, unclenching her hands and not even looking at Rufina. “It slipped. It won't happen again.”

By then, the soldiers on the field had formed a large ring around the two opponents and Homer and the other man were standing, facing each other and waiting
for the signal. Alcie, even though she didn't want to give Rufina the satisfaction, glanced at the field.

“Why did it slip, slave?” Rufina smirked, watching Alcie's face. “Did something startle you? Did you see something surprising?”

“Nope. Not at all,” Alcie said, mustering every ounce of calm that she could. “May I get you some more wine?”

“No. Just fan me!”

Pandy moved in closer, fanning Varinia with her left hand and holding onto Alcie with her right. Alcie was holding Pandy's hand so tightly, Pandy thought her finger bones might be crushed. Every once in a while, Pandy coughed slightly when Alcie was so terrified by the action on the field that she let her fan stop and Rufina began to tense. But then Pandy herself became riveted.

Homer was wearing arm, shoulder, and shin guards along with a breastplate and a loincloth covered by a short cloth skirt. His opponent also wore the guards, loincloth, and fighting skirt, but his shoulders and chest were bare. Pandy—and everyone else—stared in horror at the dozens of scars, gashes, holes, and bruises covering this man's upper body. Why wasn't he bandaged? Why didn't he hide them away? Then, with a start, she realized exactly why: he was using his mangled, scabbed, and bloody body as yet another weapon to instill fear and revulsion in everyone who saw
him—but especially in Homer. And from the look on Homer's face, it was working perfectly.

The scarred man was the first to charge across the field, heading straight for Homer. Homer looked like he'd been dazed or shocked. He was motionless except for his head, which swiveled on his neck taking in the enormous crowd with wide eyes, as the man raced for him and readied his whip. At the last moment, Homer's head cleared and he quickly dodged to the left, but not fast enough. The tip of the whip caught his ankle and Homer went sprawling onto the field.

Alcie shuddered and gripped Pandy's hand tighter. Rufina giggled.

Homer was on his feet fast, but not before the man snapped his whip again and slashed Homer's calf.

“Callus! Callus!” the crowd screamed in praise of the other man's skill.

Pandy felt her heart sink even further. This man, Callus, was too good, she thought. Clearly
he
did not drop out of gladiator school with a desire to be anything else—like a poet. This man was a warrior and would be until the day he died … which was probably not going to be today.

Homer felt the flesh tear away from his lower leg and stumbled back but stayed standing as the crowd booed and cheered. He and Callus circled each other for some
moments, then Callus charged again. This time, however, Homer was ready. He saw the angle of the whip as it whistled through the air and raised his sword, succeeding in batting away its stinging tip. A great cheer went up from certain areas, catcalls and shouts from others.

“Excellent move, boy!” called one man.

“It was luck and nothing more,” countered another.

On the field, Homer heard the cheers and felt slightly better about his chances. He'd hated Whip Basics back at school, but he remembered enough that he thought he might just be successful. Then Callus sent his weapon low and took Homer's legs out from under him a second time. As Homer fell, Callus rushed in, seeing his chance. He sent his whip through the air again, but this time, from the ground, Homer raised his sword and caught the end, winding it around the blade. He jerked his sword quickly, yanking the whip out of Callus's hands. Homer got to his feet and ran, cutting off his opponent, as Callus tried to retrieve his whip. Unable to get to it, Callus simply charged, yelling with all his might, right at Homer's shield. It was a daring move. Callus had no weapon and was trying to beat Homer down into the ground.

And then Homer found his strength. He was actually slightly larger than Callus and he fought back with both
his sword and shield. Slowly, he drove Callus across the field, careful to steer clear of the whip lying on the ground, as the crowd rose to its feet and screamed itself hoarse. Homer's drive was deliberate and he could sense that Callus was beginning to tire. Then, Callus switched his shield to his other hand. Homer, unprepared for this move, sent his sword slashing into the open air. Callus dropped to his knees and smashed his shield into Homer's wounded leg. Homer cried out and fell backward. Now, Callus towered over him. Homer defended himself against Callus's shield as best he could and once succeeded in grazing Callus on his arm. But after several long agonizing moments, Callus knocked Homer's sword out of his hand and raced to pick it up. With his shield and Homer's sword, Callus quickly disarmed Homer, sending his shield spinning like a discus through the air, narrowly missing several guards standing off to the side.

Pandy glanced at Alcie and saw a single tear coursing down her cheek, her mouth hanging open. Rufina clapped her hands wildly, and Pandy became so angry that she momentarily lost control of her power over fire, and the next moment, Rufina fainted from a rush of heat washing over her body and turning her beet red. Nobody noticed. Everyone was too rapt by the scene on the field.

Callus stood over Homer as he lay on his back. He pointed Homer's own sword toward his neck and slowly began to pierce Homer's flesh with the tip. He stared at Homer with the steely gaze of a gladiator whose victory was complete.