The Champion (23 page)

She looked back up at him, smiling. “Someday we’ll have a child of our own.”

“Yes, God willing.”

“Why wouldn’t He be?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll be an ogre of a father.”

“More like a jokester in your family’s finest tradition.”

Against her protests, he led her back to the couch and helped her lie down on her side. He tucked pillows all around her.

He decided that there was no point in telling her about the agreement he’d made with Antonius to fight in the senator’s name at the Coliseum. He’d already decided the event would be his last as a gladiator. He wanted to start afresh with Tibi and put Rome and the empty years of his life far behind him.

Tibi tugged on his hand. “Where are you?”

“Lost in my thoughts.” He sat down in his chair
beside her. “I’d like to leave Rome. What do you think?”

She chewed her bottom lip in contemplation. “I’ve lived here all my life. Where would we go? Umbria?”

“If you recall, I have a farm there. Our friends live nearby. There are plenty of fields, vineyards, orchards…. You can choose wherever you wish to put up an archery target.”

“Well, then, I’m game to go tomorrow.” She lowered her lashes and studied her palm. “I don’t know if I should ask, but what of your anger? I don’t believe you’re like my father, but how will you control your wrath if you have nowhere to set it free?”

He sat forward on the chair and clasped her hand. The lines in his face deeper with stress. “Listen to me,
agape mou
. I’m glad you recognize that I’m
not
like your father. He hurts others because he’s cruel. I’ve never done that and I never will. Even so, things have changed in me since the night I prayed. The anger is there, but I feel it dying. Whether it’s the Lord healing me, as I’ve asked, or because you bring me so much happiness that I have no room for anything else, I’m no longer the man I was.

“That night you were caned, when I sat on the floor by your bed, I planned to murder Tiberius—death is what he deserved for hurting you. There was a time when the anger would have overtaken me. I won out because I didn’t want to hurt you, and he
is
your father. Plus, I have this new faith in me now that I don’t want to dishonor.”

She moved the pillow to prop her head. “I’m truly grateful that you didn’t kill my father, but a part of me thanks you for wanting to.”

“Would you have hated me if I had?”

“No, I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you, no matter what you do. I’m glad you didn’t harm him for your sake, not his.”

“What of your desire to win his approval?”

“I’ve changed, too.” She told him the information her father had given her. “I may not even be his and I’m tired of trying to earn his love. I realized that he’s not capable of caring for anyone. That is
his
flaw—not mine.”

“Agreed. The old goat’s a fool for not treasuring you.”

“You helped me to see that I have value. You make me feel more precious than gold.”

“Gold is jealous of you,
agape mou
.”

She smiled and caressed his knuckles with her thumb. “As for Umbria, I loved the countryside when I visited my cousins there. It will be good to be near them. I think it will be a wonderful place for us to build a family safe in our new faith and filled with love. But, truth to tell, even if it were a barren wasteland, I’d be happy as long as you were there.”

Alexius refused to shed tears in front of her, but he had to choke back the emotion in his throat. “I know other men may think so, but they are wrong.
I
am the luckiest of men because you’re mine.”

She smiled. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re mad at me.”

He chuckled and kissed her palm. “You mentioned our new faith. Have you decided, then, to become a Christian?”

She nodded shyly.

He moved to stand. “Shall I call one of the women to pray with you?”

She shook her head. “If it’s all right, I’d rather you were here instead.”

He sank back down in his chair. He cleared his throat, realizing that, as her man, he wanted to protect not only her heart and body but her soul as well. “I prayed in Greek when I went to the Lord for myself.”

“I can pray in Greek.”

“Not with your atrocious accent. He won’t understand you.”

“Then I’ll pray in Latin. Everyone knows it’s a better language anyway.”

His eyebrow arched and he frowned at her as though she’d committed treason. “Since you’re going to the Lord for forgiveness, I think you should start with that remark.”

Giggling, she settled deeper into her pillows. She closed her eyes and grew more serious. She opened one eye. “I’m going to begin how I’ve always heard Pelonia.” She closed her eye again. “Dear Heavenly Father, my cousin Pelonia assures me that You already know me, but I’m here before You because I want to know You. I’m sorry I put others before You in my life, but from now on I mean for that to change. My friend Adiona told me You want my trust. I give it freely and I ask You to forgive me for anything else I’ve done that doesn’t please You. And I thank You for Alexius, whom I love with all my heart. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

T
ibi sat in the central garden of the
ludus
. Surrounded by fragrant blooms of white, pink, purple and yellow, she rested on her side on one of the blue, padded couches. Her face turned to the warmth of the sun and the cloudless sky, she was thinking of her little black panther. As soon as he came home, she planned to ask Alexius to find out about the cat’s welfare.

In the five days since she’d become a Christian, she’d healed rapidly, according to the physician. Her bruises no longer an ugly purple, they’d mellowed to an uglier swirl of deep yellow. She was slow going up and down the stairs, but she was pleased to be walking. Sitting remained out of the question. Otherwise, she would have gone to the Forum with their friends, if for no other reason than to enjoy leaving the house for a few hours.

A pair of birds chased each other through the garden, flying dangerously close to the peristyle’s columns.

“My lady,” Velus said over the splash of the fountain. He came down the steps, a tray held in his chubby hands. “The day grows warm. I thought you might need some water.”

She thanked the steward as he placed the tray on the
table beside her. Ice clinked in a glass pitcher. “Ice? What is the special occasion?”

“You’re feeling better.”

“How sweet, Velus, thank you.”

The older man colored and added gruffly. “Enjoy it. It’s from the last reasonably priced barrel until next winter.”

Watching him amble back inside the house, she drank deeply, enjoying the cold crispness of the water on her tongue. According to the brass sundial a few flowerbeds away, a half hour passed before Velus returned. “My lady, you have a guest.”

“Who is it?”

“Your sister.”

“Send her in,” she said, intrigued by the unexpected visit. Had she done something that Tiberia felt the need to chastise her?

“Tibi?” Tiberia called from the foot of the garden. “The dwarf said you’re out here somewhere. It’s important I speak with you.”

“I’m here,” she called, waving to draw Tiberia’s notice instead of going to the painful trouble of standing. “Near the largest fountain.”

Tiberia’s long shadow reached Tibi first, but eventually her sister stood before her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Taking in some sun. I’ve been upstairs for the last nine days.”

“May I sit?”

“Of course. You’re my sister. You needn’t be so formal or even have to ask.”

Tiberia sank into a nearby chair, her light yellow
stola
flaring across the gravel path. Tiberia fidgeted with the links of her gold belt. Usually, her self-possessed
sister was a pillar of haughty calm. “My husband says you plan to wed your gladiator.”

“Yes, as soon as I can walk in the procession. I hope you’ll come,” she said.

“Do you love him or…or is this some sort of silly rebellion against Father?”

Resenting the inability to move without pain, Tibi glared at her sister. “I love Alexius with
all
my heart. If you have any affection for me, you’ll be kind to him as well. As for Father, he and I are no longer speaking. He almost crippled me.”

Tiberia closed her eyes and hung her head. “I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you more often. I came the first day, but you were unconscious. Antonius and I have both felt terribly guilty. I didn’t visit…because I didn’t know what to say.”

“Be at ease, Tiberia. You’re not responsible for having me caned.”

“We should have been more protective of you. We should have brought you to live with us… Something. Anything. Father’s always been hurtful but never like this. You’re my little sister. I do love you, even though I haven’t always shown it well enough.”

“I know. I love you, too. I’m sorry you’ve been caught between Father and me so often.”

Tiberia took a deep breath. “That is why I’m here. Father swore me to secrecy this morning, but I can’t stay silent and live with myself.”

“What is it?” Tibi tried to maneuver into a semblance of a sitting position. Her sister’s anxious expression worried her.

Tiberia wrung her hands. She stood, her pacing crunched across the gravel. “Father…he’s planned for your glad… For Alexius to die today.”

“
What?
What do you mean?” Ignoring the pain screaming in her back, she struggled to her feet. “Is this a sick joke, Tiberia?”

“No! I swear. If someone schemed against Antonius, you’d tell me.”

“Yes. Now tell me what’s intended for Alexius!”

“I went to Father’s
domus
this morning and overheard him giving instructions to his steward. It seems there’s to be a large contest at the Coliseum today. Did you know of it?”

“No,” she replied, determined to stop her father’s plans no matter what needed to be done.

“It seems that your gladiator promised to fight in support of my husband’s bid for the consul nomination if Antonius secured Father’s consent for you and Alexius to marry.”

Tears burned the back of Tibi’s eyes. Why hadn’t she forced Alexius to tell her how he’d secured her father’s permission or suspected something sinister when he’d agreed to her marriage with a gladiator?

“Father is against your marriage for several reasons, besides the obvious one that your groom is a former slave. He never would have signed that contract except that Antonius threatened to disavow him publicly if he refused.”

Tibi gasped. Her father prized her brother-in-law’s name, connections, his very existence. To have Antonius threaten to cut him off so completely must have shattered him.

“Naturally, he felt coerced,” Tiberia continued, absently trailing her palm across the top of a fern. “You know that never sits well with him.”

“Am I supposed to feel pity?” Tibi asked. “If so, I
can’t find any in me after the anguish he’s caused. You still haven’t told me how he plans to harm my man.”

“When your Greek fights today, he’ll face three men at once. Nothing too unusual for a champion of his skill, but Father has arranged for poison to be placed on the blades of his opponents. If Alexius gets even one small scratch, he’ll be weakened enough for the others to slay him.”

Shaking with rage and fear, Tibi hobbled from the garden as rapidly as possible. She yelled Velus’s name at the top of her lungs. The steward came running. She quickly told him what Tiberia shared. “Fetch Silo. I’m too slow to go out to the field myself.”

Velus returned, his breathing heavy from his run to the barracks. “No good, my lady. Except for the newest recruits, the archers have all gone to the Coliseum. If today’s show is typical, they’ll participate in group battles. It’s a given that most of the game’s archers will be killed or wounded by each other.”

The faces of Gaidrēs and Ovid filled her mind’s eye. She refused to think about losing any of her friends. “Will Alexius be in this battle?”

“No, he’ll fight later. He’s always the main event.”

“We have to get word to him. Velus, you have to hurry. Fetch one or several of the trainers and bring them to me.”

Weak and trembling from the effort already spent by her sore legs and back, Tibi leaned against a column along the garden’s central path. Afraid to sit down in case she couldn’t get back up again, she concentrated on a plan to keep her mind off the pain cramping he strained muscles. Tiberia sat quietly by the fountain, her face downcast.

To Tibi’s relief, Sergius arrived. She quickly told
him what had happened and what she needed him to do. “You must take word to the Coliseum. Alexius has to be informed not to allow his opponents to use their contaminated weapons.”

“I’ll gladly go, my lady,” Sergius said. “But what if I don’t make it before he enters the field?”

“I considered that. You’ll have to use our archers to help him form a distance.”

“What if none survive the earlier competition? Who will give him the advantage? I’m no good with a bow and arrows for certain.”

“Are
any
of the other men?”

“Those trained have already gone. The new recruits can try, but who knows if they can hit a moving target.”

She took a trembling breath, dreading the agony of what she was about to commit to, but convinced nothing was too great a sacrifice to keep Alexius well. “I need you to take me to the Coliseum. And I’ll need a litter. One I can lie down in. I won’t be able to walk if I have to ride a horse or take a wagon.”

“You can take mine,” Tiberia said. “I’ll have Velus arrange for me to go home another way.”

The harried journey to the Coliseum left Tibi breathless and light-headed from pain. Desperate to find Alexius in time, she hurried as fast as her impaired body allowed. The movement required to cover her head with the cowl almost made her scream.

Sergius took hold of her elbow. He guided her to the gladiator entrance and down into the cavernous world filled with the roar of wild animals and the fetid stench of men’s fear and humiliation.

Tibi tugged her cloak around her and buried her nose in the thick material. The frenzied cheers of the mob
blended with the shouted orders of armed guards herding various troupes of men.

She recognized none of the faces. Her anxiety grew with every unfamiliar set they passed. “Are our men on the field?” she asked Sergius. “I don’t see any of them here.”

Sergius led her to the
editor
’s office to inspect the roster. Forced to wait in the line outside the door, she fought a doomed battle with impatience. Finally their turn, she followed Sergius into the small, dusty hole. Peeling and ripped parchments from past competitions covered the walls.

“Come in, Sergius. Bring the boy.” The
editor
waved them toward a chair and an upturned barrel he used for extra seating. Tibi recognized the rotund man. His name was Spurius, if her memory served from that first day when Alexius spoke with him.

“We’re looking for my master or the archery troupe from the
Ludus Maximus,
” Sergius said. “Do you know where either of them are or when they’re expected to fight?”

A wild cry from the mob filtered through a small window in the upper corner of the office. “The archers are on the field now. They’re part of Caesar’s army recreating the battle of Alesia.”

The crowd exploded with more frenzied shouting. “I haven’t seen Alexius. As usual, when he fights he’s the draw of the day. He’ll go on once Vercingetorix and his Gallic horde fall.”

Spurius led her out into the corridor. The press of men had intensified. She flinched from the jolts of pain the constant pushing and shoving inflicted on her back. The stench of unwashed bodies made her gag. How would they ever find Alexius in this crowd?

A burst of crazed shouting and foot-stomping from the mob made the entire amphitheater tremble. Sergius stopped, his head cocked to one side. The human traffic flowed around them like water. “Listen, my lady.”

Tibi heard nothing but the roar of the drunken mob above them and the ocean of voices surrounding them.

“They’re announcing the master. He begins now!” Sergius started to break into a run. Tibi’s cry of pain when he jerked her forward reminded him of her injured state.

“Go on without me,” she urged. “Try to speak to him before it’s too late.”

“No, he’s already headed to the field. If I leave you, I fear I’ll never find you again.”

Frantic, Tibi tried to rush, but her stiff muscles and the pitiless crowd stymied her efforts to reach the platforms that conveyed the gladiators up to the sandy floor of the arena. The closer they came to the staging area, the clearer she heard the announcements above them. The sound of Alexius’s name caused a riot of reaction throughout the arena. Feet stomped, sounding like thunder a mere story above her head.

“There!” Sergius pointed to a lift in the center of the staging area that was just sliding into place. “He must have been on that one.”

Panic surged through her. “We have to get to him.”

“We’re too late! There’s nothing we can do now.”

Unshed tears burned her eyes. “There has to be some way to warn him!”

Sergius gripped her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Alexius is a great champion. He practically lives in the sand. Three opponents are child’s play to him. He’ll be fine.”

He was trying to help her stay calm, she realized,
but the stress lining his face suggested that concern weighed heavily upon him. Alexius might not be worried about multiple opponents. Most likely he expected injury of one nature or the other, but poisoned blades were a different matter, making it possible for a flesh wound to become a death blow.

Please, God, save him!

“I’ll defend him,” she shouted frantically over the noise. “I’ll need to find a bow and arrows and a way onto the field.”

“No, I can’t let you,” Sergius shouted back. “You’ve never killed anyone. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself afterward.”

“I don’t have to kill,” she said, aware that she was capable of murder if it meant saving Alexius. “I only have to impair.”

Hope lit Sergius’s eyes. “The guards won’t just allow you to walk into the arena and start shooting. Let me think!”

Alexius rode the lift into the middle of the arena amidst the litany of accolades he’d earned over the years. A sea of golden sand and a tempest of crowd affection encircled him. Too familiar with every aspect of his surroundings, he realized that the only thing different today was his lack of anger.

By this point in the battle, he was usually struggling to contain the thrashing beast within him, but this afternoon the creature seemed quiet. Not certain if he should be glad or concerned for his lack of response, he prayed that he didn’t need his fury to propel him to victory.

An expert at most gladiator types, he often chose to fight as a
Mirmillo
. Today, with three opponents to
face at once, he set aside the heavy, fish-crested helmet and shield for lighter weapons that were easier to wield. Out of habit, he tightened his grip on the Greek sword he favored and welcomed the impatient throb of blood in his veins.

He removed his helmet and held it in the crook of his arm. A breeze cooled his skin. To the cheers of the mob, he saluted the emperor before turning to offer a similar gesture to Antonius in the first row of senators. A titter of jeers mingled with the thunder of cheers. The emperor nodded to Antonius in approval.