Silk and Steel (Siren Publishing Classic) (5 page)

Her queer beliefs troubled him not at all. Rome was filled by strange cults. Christianity seemed harmless enough, a woman
’
s indulgence. There could even be something in it. He had followed the gladiator code of bravery and loyalty for years, but lately even that had not seemed enough. In truth he was weary of killing.

Silvinus Cato
’
s beliefs were another matter. Decimus breathed in deeply, his mind becoming cold and focused as he considered the Roman. Silvinus Cato had wanted him dead, or at least injured or distracted. The question was, why?

I fight in the great Flavian amphitheatre in two weeks.

I am the favorite.

If I am hurt or off-form, my opponents may win. Whoever bets on them will make a great deal of money
.

The more he dwelled on it, the more likely it seemed. Ambitious Silvinus Cato wanted a career in politics and for that he needed money. What better way than to rig the outcome and bet on the outsiders to win?

Cato would assume he had won twice: first by selling Corinna to him for a large sum of gold and then by using her in his twisted plot.

But Silvinus Cato had over-reached himself. Corinna was everything a man could want but not in the least distracting—if anything, she made him more determined to stay alive.

Cato assumed I would lose myself in rutting, not practice, become sloppy. When he learned from his spy Julius Tertellus that I was unchanged, he tried to take more drastic action.

How had the man ever thought that Corinna would kill anyone? Not that she wasn
’
t capable, but it was clear that Silvinus Cato had never understood her. She would never deliberately hurt anyone. She was too sympathetic. And—this was a strange word to use for a slave but it fit—she was too queenly. To kill in secret would never be her style.

But Silvinus Cato had underestimated her intelligence, assumed he could wind her up tight like a catapult and set her against him, to let her make her own, doubtless blundering, attempt at murder. Cato had gambled that her feelings for Joseph would overwhelm her scruples, and even, so far as Decimus understood it, her faith.

She must have really loved the priest.

Futile to be jealous. Decimus bunched his hands into fists, striving to be rational. Tactics were needed here, not temper.

Think of Corinna. What will happen to her if you get yourself killed?

He closed his eyes, thinking of her, and now he slept.

* * * *

Corinna woke at daybreak. A cup of watered wine and a plate of figs and bread were on the tiles by the bed, left for her by Decimus. He was nowhere to be seen, but she could hear between the distant tinkling of the fountain, and the rhythmic, relentless swish of a moving blade. He was training in the garden.

Knowing he disliked being interrupted or watched when he practiced—an odd quirk in a gladiator who 'performed' before thousands—Corinna ate her breakfast and tried to dress. Her long tunics now were of linen or even the rare and costly silk instead of the rough wool she wore in the service of Silvinus Cato, but she quickly discovered she could almost bear no cloth against her swollen hindquarters. She was twisting around in front of her wash-basin water, trying to see her rear-reflection and assess the damage, when Decimus prowled into the room.

She let down her saffron-colored tunic and nodded a greeting. 'Master.'

He strode across the room and took her in his arms. 'A new start?' he asked softly, hugging her across her waist and shoulders.

'I would be happy with that.'

'As would I.' Decimus kissed her, running a strand of her hair through his fingers. 'Will you come with me to the catacombs?' he asked.

‘
Not a suggestion the goddess Venus would admire, master,
’
Corinna quipped, although in truth his sudden question alarmed her. Most Romans feared ghosts and spirits and avoided the catacombs, where the dead were laid to rest, but she and other Christians worshipped in that maze of underground passages—the Romans' superstition made it a safe place for them to meet. 'You wish to visit the dead?'

He smiled. 'You cannot hope to frighten me, Corinna. I do not dread the dead.'

She blushed, realizing her attempt at dissuading her master had been clumsy.
‘
There is...there is nothing to see.
’
She tried again.

‘
Only a few bones and some live Christians? Hey! Don
’
t look so startled. You did say that your group is meeting this evening and I already knew where.
’

‘
And whom did you threaten to extract that information?
’

This time he laughed outright.
‘
No one, Corinna, truly. I asked around at the barracks. For money or favors there is always someone eager to talk, even about supposedly secret meetings.
’

Faced with the casual discovery of her own congregation, Corinna
’
s head swam. She started for the door, muttering an excuse about needing fresh water from the fountain.

Decimus barred her way at the door threshold.
‘
You do not need to come,
’
he said, his voice gentler than it had been.
‘
I thought you might wish to, but in truth I would prefer you stay at the barracks, in greater comfort and safety. I can easily warn the others.
’

‘
Warn?
’
Corinna gave him a quick look and then understood.
‘
Silvinus Cato! You think he means to turn us in to the guards tonight!
’

‘
Seems more than likely to me,
’
came back the grim answer.
‘
So your people need to be told.
’

Corinna raised her chin.
‘
Then I must come.
’

He glanced at her through narrowed eyes, making Corinna abruptly reconsider her tone. 'Letting that pass, for the moment,' he said—and she breathed again—'I think we should leave now. If Silvinus Cato is plotting to betray your group to the Imperial guard, he may begin with you.' Decimus' grim face darkened further. 'At the very least, he may wish to check which of us is still alive this morning.'

Everything he said made sense, but Corinna found herself overwhelmed by hopelessness. Knowing her fellow Christians, remembering the times they had worshipped together, broken bread together, made a betrayal by one of their own truly terrible.

'Judas!' she muttered, making the sign with her fingers against the evil eye.

'We should hurry.' Decimus caught her hand and stalked across the threshold, striding so quickly that Corinna was forced to jog to keep pace.

* * * *

Out in the narrow Roman streets and, rather to Corinna's surprise, they were able to move swiftly. She had heard of gladiators being so popular that they were mobbed by crowds wherever they went. To her chagrin, her master Decimus seemed to be unrecognized. He was a head taller than most. He could barge through the tightest knot of street sellers like a battering ram through rotten timber. He looked like a painting of a hero come to life—yet no one tried to shake his hands, or clap him on the shoulder, or bawl out his name.

As they stopped to allow a laden wine cart to lurch down-hill past an awkward series of mid-street stepping stones, Decimus caught her look and released his bark of a laugh.

‘
We live on the street of the wheel-wrights. They follow chariot racing here with a passion, the teams of reds or whites. Gladiators are rarely considered worth watching.
’

It was how he wanted it, she realized, as he ducked closer to her and, under cover of the rattling wine amphorae, added,
'
I fight in a helmet. Few see my face.
'
He drew back.
'
They call me
“
Thracian Ghost
”
on the graffiti around the city. Watch yourself!
'

He picked her up as easily as she might do a pail and carried her for several paces, plucking her from the path of a falling roof-tile that shattered on the cobbles where she had been standing.

‘
Wait!
’
Corinna seized his hair in warning before he set her down and jerked her head at the approaching body of guards clumping up the steep street. Decimus drew back with her still in his arms and they melted into the strong day-time shadows of the surrounding high-rise apartments. From the window of one, Corinna caught the acrid stench of scorching chickpeas.

'You pulled my hair, wretch,' Decimus breathed by her ear.

'You prefer that the guards spot you?' Corinna hissed back, too anxious to be deferential. She felt laughter rumbling in her master's massive chest but he swung her down behind him and studied the approaching armed figures.

Corinna did the same. Their commander, a Praetorian by his fancy plumes and armor, rode behind the marching guards, and behind him, also on horseback—

Corinna squatted, covering her head and especially her distinctive hair with her arms, rocking on the spot as if she were a simple-minded beggar. Decimus remained perfectly still, one with the shadows, alert and ready to strike. His wary brown eyes tracked the one man she dare not look at directly—her former master and fellow Christian, Silvinus Cato.

She heard and sensed the column of men pass close by and when Decimus tapped her shoulder she rose. 'You were right that we moved out when we did, Master.'

'Threat is my trade,' he replied, turning to her and taking her hand in his. 'We must get further away than this. That bastard knows us both.'

'They were coming for us, weren't they?' Corinna whispered.

'For you, girl,' came the harsh answer. 'And to finish me off, if they could.'

They were walking again, slipping into a narrow street where a lounging, acne-scarred youth glanced at Decimus and took off. Corinna trembled, caught between amusement and alarm, although she felt she could have taken on the thief herself—she had learned some tricks as to how to deal with men in the bath-house. What clung to her more, as she and Decimus wove into darker, refuse-filled, rat-infested alleys, was the cold horror of Silvinus Cato's final act.

He would have those guards murder Decimus! Then he would have me blamed and doubtless crucified. How could he do that to anyone, and he a Christian? He is not. He is not.

‘
He has done all this for what?
’
she said aloud.

‘
Money and power,
’
Decimus replied, stepping round a rotting pile of refuse.
‘
Money the more urgent need, I guess. The emperor has put a bounty on any Christians found and captured for the games.
’

‘
Money?
’
The thought sickened her. She ran forward, dragging on Decimus
’
hand, rushing ahead of him.
‘
The others!
’

‘
I know. Do you know where any of them live?
’
He was jogging beside her in the slightly wider alleyway, not even out of breath.

Corinna shook her head. The whereabouts and even the circumstances of her fellow Christians were unknown to her. At least that was true also for Silvinus Cato—there would be no more early raids on innocent houses, as was about to happen at her master
’
s small house.

‘
Your home,
’
she gasped, imagining the wrecking that the guards would cause.

'Things can be replaced,' Decimus observed, with a shrug. 'So, the catacombs at sunset it must be.'

'We often arrive earlier,' Corinna pointed out.

He grinned at her. 'That was exactly what I was hoping.'

By now they had reached a part of the city Corinna did not know. As they both slowed to a walk, she ignored the now-persistent stitch in her side, and said, 'A pity we cannot stop Silvinus Cato, instead.'

Decimus stopped and she almost collided into him.

'Master?'

'Why did I not see that before?' he smacked his palms together. 'I've not been thinking! You're right, that is the way. Come on!'

* * * *

An hour later, Corinna felt as if she had been walked around the entire seven hills of Rome. She and her master were on the Palatine hill, overlooking the city. At one of these high-walled villas the handsome Nubian doorman was inclined to look through her, but Decimus' height and sheer animal charisma were more difficult to ignore. And when her master mentioned his name, the Nubian widened his dark eyes and decisively opened the gate.

They stepped through into a courtyard with many fountains. As the Nubian whispered to a handsome Germanic house-slave, Decimus drew her aside into the shade of an ancient olive tree.