The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (13 page)

“There is one thing more. Antonice’s part in all of this must be kept secret.” Accusations such as this had the power to ruin her reputation, her life.

Acestes withdrew his hand. “That is a stipulation to which I cannot agree. In order to make this arrangement work for me, I must appear benevolent and shrewd.”

“But Antonice will suffer her entire life from this stain.”

“I have but two things to say to you. First, she should have thought of the consequences before committing the crime. Second, I sincerely do not care what happens to your sister. If you want to save her life, this will be public. If you do not, the reason why she is executed will be known as well.”

Valens could not recall hating a person more than he hated Acestes at that moment. Yet all of the sordid details being made public could work to Valens’s advantage. If all of Rome knew their bargain, then Acestes would be forced to keep his word and set Antonice free if Valens, indeed, won.

“We are agreed, then?” asked Acestes.

The two men grabbed each other’s wrists.

“We are agreed,” said Valens.

Chapter 20

Phaedra

Phaedra sat at her cosmetics table and listened as the bells marking the hour rang out ten times. The morning, not half-gone, and already she was weary of the day. Phaedra had spent the last four years as a wife and the domina of her own villa in Pompeii. She loved that city with its clean, fresh air and waves that lapped the shoreline. Here, in her father’s villa and in Rome, nothing interested her. Most of her girlhood friends had a child or two, making their lives very different from hers. Besides, Phaedra felt her own lack of offspring keenly enough without spending time with living, breathing reminders.

“Excuse me, my lady,” said Terenita. “You have a visitor. General Acestes is here to see you.”

Like a thick gray fog, melancholia swirled around Phaedra. She had done little with her day and was still overtired. If Acestes asked her for anything, would she have the strength to refuse? “Tell him I am unwell.”

“Your father sends me, my lady, and requires you meet the general in the garden.”

“I suppose it would do no good to tell Father that I am unwell, also,” she said.

“I think not, my lady,” said Terenita. “It is a beautiful day. The sunshine might help to improve your mood.”

“It might,” she said, although Phaedra doubted it very much.

A patio of white stone and mortar spread out from the villa’s garden door to its dining room, a new addition since she had lived in her father’s villa last. In the middle of the patio, as if it sprang from the rock itself, stood a fragrant tree. Acestes sat on a bench, also new, in the shade of the tree. He made room for Phaedra as she approached.

Once settled, she looked around the garden. No servant stood nearby waiting to bring them a chalice of water or a plate of bread. No slave trimmed the roses back so they might bloom again this year. Her father had arranged this moment of privacy, no doubt. Yet she spied him inside the villa, resting on a reclining sofa that sat near an open set of doors. So Phaedra and Acestes were not exactly alone.

“I spent my morning arranging the games I am sponsoring to honor my uncle. They begin in less than a week,” Acestes said as a way of greeting.

Marcus had cared little for the games. Still, she said, “He would be pleased.”

“Do the games please you?”

“I have not seen a fight since my wedding day. Watching men bludgeon each other for sport clouds my conscience.”

“Then perhaps I have something you might find more pleasing.” Acestes retrieved a small wooden box from the folds of his tunic. “Open it,” Acestes said. “I bought it for you.”

“I should not.”

“I insist,” said Acestes. He held the box toward her.

Phaedra kept her hands in her lap.

“May I?” he asked after they had sat a moment too long. He opened the lid.

Inside the box lay a necklace on a silk cushion. An emerald the size of a grape hung from several entwined chains. The thick strands of gold and silver captured the morning sun, projecting it throughout her father’s garden, its refraction leaving her all but blind. It was stunning and yet Phaedra knew that by accepting the gift, she also accepted Acestes as her next husband.

“I first saw this emerald in a North African market,” said Acestes, “and I wondered which was the more beautiful, you or the stone.”

“It is lovely,” she said. “Thank you for the compliment and for bringing the necklace here for me to see.”

Acestes undid the pins that held the necklace in place and held it up. “This is yours, Phaedra, if you would have it.”

“You do me great honor, but I cannot accept such a generous gift.”

His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his cheek flexed. Phaedra felt rage rolling off him like heat from a fire, and yet when he spoke, his voice was without enmity. “I hate to think that you would refuse a gift from me. I might take the rejection personally.”

A spurned suitor made the worst kind of enemy. Phaedra, who cared little for politics and intrigue, still knew enough to handle him with care. He clasped his large hand around hers. Both of them held the jewel, and Phaedra no longer saw her own fingers. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight. A sparrow fluttered above her head, taking shelter in a gap between two broken roof tiles. Ah, to be the bird and fly away or take refuge in a small, hidden place.

Her father rose from his reclining sofa and limped toward them, dragging his swollen left foot. Gout stretched the flesh, turning it yellow and then purple as the sandal’s thongs bit into his skin. “What have you, my dear?”

His question fooled no one. He had heard every word and had watched every moment. Her father had come to intervene before the conversation became a quarrel. And most likely to lend his support to Acestes.

Acestes let go and Phaedra found herself holding the necklace.

“Nothing, Father,” she said. “Acestes has shown me a piece of jewelry.”

“Senator Scaeva, I am actually trying to give this necklace to your daughter as a gift. I hope she will agree to wear it at the gladiatorial games I am sponsoring in my uncle’s honor.”

“It has been so long since I have seen any decent gladiators,” said her father. “Valens Secundus—now there is a true man of the sword.”

Phaedra’s pulse resonated at the base of her throat, and her stomach tightened at the mention of Valens’s name.

“Funny you should mention him,” Acestes said. “I am planning a surprise that you might very well like, then.”

“What kind of surprise?” she asked, although she knew better than to show any interest in Valens when Acestes might notice.

Acestes lifted one eyebrow. “You need to attend if you want to find out.”

“There is no way we could miss the games, is there, my dear? Especially ones which honor Marcus,” said her father.

The thought of Valens wavered and vanished. As she feared, her father had chosen Acestes’s side over hers. She bristled at his disloyalty to family. But Phaedra could not fight her father, Acestes, and the laws of Rome all at once. Forcing a pleasant smile on to her face, Phaedra responded, “If it is for my late husband’s memory, then I must attend.”

“Good. And you will accept my gift?”

“I simply could not.” She held it out again, offering it to Acestes. He drew his brows together and took the necklace.

Her father moved closer and sniffed as if the jewel gave off a scent. “It is beautiful, Phaedra, my dear. I am sure it cost Acestes a good bit of coin. The least you can do is to let him see it on you.”

“Father, I should not.”

“No argument. Turn.” He drew a circle in the air with his finger.

Phaedra twisted in her seat, leaving her unprotected back to Acestes. He slipped the necklace around her neck. Somehow it felt heavier than it had in her hand, and colder, too.

Acestes clasped the ends together and rested his palms on her shoulders. “You are the more beautiful of the two.”

“To whom do you speak?” She asked as she turned to face him, “Me or the emerald?”

“You must know that I am fond of you, Phaedra.” Acestes reached for her hand. She did not pull away. He stroked her wrist with the tips of his fingers. “Marry me.”

This man was a master of manipulation. By proposing in front of her father, Acestes was certain to secure her agreement. Both men stared at Phaedra as they waited for her answer. She knew what they expected her to say, and yet she found that she could not.

“My official eight days of mourning ended only yesterday. I cannot make such a decision. Not now.”

“I understand,” said Acestes. “But nothing prevents your father from deciding for you.”

Her father nodded in approval. “You are used to being in charge of your own home. Besides, it is time that you have a husband with whom you can have a child.”

“Is it done, then?” she asked. “Have you accepted a proposal without consulting me?”

“Do not cast your father into the fires of Tarsus,” said Acestes. “I had spoken to him about my offer of marriage. He explained that you have the right to choose your next husband, just as you told me last night.”

At least her father had remembered his promise.

“But I urge you to take this proposal very seriously,” her father said. “This marriage is to your advantage.”

Her advantage? Being forced into marriage was never to a woman’s advantage. Having a powerful general for a son-in-law, being related to the consul, would certainly benefit her father.

True, as the wife of a consul, Phaedra would be one of the most celebrated women in Rome. Still, if she were to have that life, it would be of her own choosing.

Phaedra shook her head. “I cannot.”

“Cannot marry me, or cannot decide?” Acestes asked.

“I am not sure.”

Acestes stood, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. “I should go. The preparations for the games are pressing.”

Her father held up his hands and stepped in front of Acestes. “Be patient, please. Let me talk to her. My daughter became fond of your uncle, and she still grieves.”

“Patience may be considered a virtue, but it is not one I value.”

Phaedra unclasped the necklace. “Here, this is yours.”

“Keep it. I will never let the silly emotions of women keep me from what I want. You will be my wife, Phaedra. I expect you to attend the games. Wear the necklace then.”

“She will,” said her father. “And will be honored to do so.”

“At least one of you shows some sense.” Acestes’s tone was cold as he walked out of the garden. The golden embroidery edging his tunic shimmered as he departed.

Her father eased down onto the bench. “That could have gone better.”

“You should have warned me.”

“I thought you would be pleased to accept him. You get to keep your house, your servants, and your money. Acestes is a handsome man. He is much younger than Marcus.”

“He is my nephew.”

“Phaedra, be reasonable. He is not your nephew. You did not watch him grow from babe to boy to man. He is not your kin. You need to marry someone again, and soon. The Senate needs proof that I have a million sesterces before the sessions begin next year. If I do not have it, then they will take my seat from me.”

Phaedra closed her eyes against the sun and the sky and the reality of her life. “I understand that it is my duty to remarry in order to see to your comforts, Father. But if I must remarry now, then at least let me pick one of the other men to whom you have spoken.”

“No one else is interested, my dear. Four years without a child is a long time. They fear you are barren, or worse, frigid.”

Phaedra bristled at the notion. “I am neither barren nor frigid. My husband had two wives before me, and none of them ever gave him a child. We cannot all be barren. Therefore, the problem lies with the common factor.”

“People have forgotten the others and see you.”

“What if I know of a man whom I want to marry?”

“Can he afford to allow you to live in comfort?”

At least her father had not asked the real question:
Can he afford to pay for my Senate seat?

“I have not met him, not yet. But if I do?”

Her father laughed. “Marriage to Marcus turned you into quite the deal maker. It is to be expected, I suppose. He was a rare politician.”

“You are changing the subject, Father. I need you to give your word.”

“I promise to consider all suitors,” he said with a sigh.

“Thank you.”

Holding up his hand, her father said, “Do not thank me too much. Acestes is a powerful man, and someone I think neither of us wants to displease.”

Phaedra sighed. “He plans to be consul one day, when he is old enough to take his family’s seat in the Senate. He will be powerful one day, Father. It is just not today.”

“I know you care little for politics and power, my dear,” her father said. The fact that he spoke the words slowly, as if she could not understand these deep subjects, set her teeth on edge. “But Acestes was wealthy even before he inherited Marcus’s money. Acestes also has an army to ensure that his will is done, and a ruthlessness that shows how little he cares for those who get in his way. You would be wise to remember that.”

“His army is in Germania,” said Phaedra, although as she spoke, she understood that mattered little. People would do what Acestes wanted because having an army gave him power, and having money brought him influence. Everyone would want to befriend Acestes. She tried another tactic. “You do not plan to keep your word, do you, Father?”

He sat taller, his chest expanding with indignation. “I told the great general that you were allowed to choose your own husband. You yourself heard him say as much.”

“That you did, Father. I am sorry,” she said, although she did not feel entirely in the wrong for her question.

“We shall strike another bargain,” he said. “Acestes will be busy with these funeral games. They will not start for several days. You must find another husband before they end or be ready to accept Acestes’s proposal.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. You have one week to find another suitable husband.”

One week. It was all she had to change her fate.