The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (17 page)

Chapter 29

Phaedra

Phaedra lay in bed and looked out at the garden. A bird hopped along the stones of the patio. Picking up seeds, it cracked them between its beak and rocks.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Val-ens. Val-ens.

Last night Phaedra had not been ill used—after all, she had invited Valens to her villa. Her one night with him had given her more pleasure, more connection, more passion than four years of marriage ever had. Then why was she so melancholy? Was it because she would never hold Valens again, or because another undesirable marriage awaited her?

Her father knocked on her chamber door. “You look dreadful,” he said as he entered the room. “I missed you at breakfast.”

She ignored his first comment. For in truth Phaedra felt much more than dreadful. “I have no appetite.”

“Maybe you should go out.”

“There is nowhere I wish to go.”

“Visit Fortunada. I heard her brother left for the army.”

“Damian? He is far too soft to join the legions.”

“I thought that, too. Word in the Senate is that he left under suspicious circumstances. I would be interested to know why.”

“You want me to attend my best friend and spy?”

“Not spy, visit. Talk like you ladies do. Just let me know if you learn anything useful.”

“Why do you care, Father?” Phaedra asked.

“The two most valuable things in Rome are coin and information. Since I have little of the first, I need an abundance of the latter. Do not make me order you.”

Once again, Phaedra knew better than to fight her role as a dutiful daughter. Standing tall, she stretched her arms overhead. “I suppose a visit never hurt anyone.”

“A litter is waiting outside, as are guards.” Her father paused. “Unlike yesterday, you may leave the villa only with an escort and my permission.”

Blood cooled in her veins. Her father knew of her trip to the market with Terenita. Did he also know that Valens had come to her bed last night? And what if he did? As a widow a certain amount of freedom was allowed, unless he did not care to give her any. Phaedra lowered her eyes. “Yes, Father.”

After bathing and dressing, Phaedra was carried in a litter from her home to Fortunada’s. As girls, the two had shared everything and played together almost every day. They had sworn, as many fast friends do, to be together always and live inseparable lives. Neither had known at the time the truth in their vow. Now both Phaedra and Fortunada were women without husbands, living once again under their parents’ roofs.

The litter stopped in front of Fortunada’s home. One of the guards announced Phaedra. The villa door opened and all six slaves who carried the litter set it down in a single, fluid motion. From the side of the litter, a slave folded down a set of steps, and Phaedra alighted. Terenita, who had walked beside the litter, followed Phaedra into the villa. In the atrium Phaedra was bidden welcome by a female slave who then led her to the smallest triclinium in the villa, where Fortunada waited with her children.

“Kiss your auntie,” Fortunada told her son, an active boy of six, and his little sister, a three-year-old blonde who toddled on chubby legs.

Phaedra bent down to accept the wet and sticky kisses from both children. Fortunada then sent them off with a nursemaid after promising that they could join her for the midday meal.

Fortunada’s eyes gleamed with pride, love, and regret as the children left the room.

“You are a good mother,” Phaedra said as she settled onto a sofa and accepted a goblet of wine.

“I do not know what I would do without them.” Fortunada took a seat on a sofa near Phaedra and reclined. She arranged the slightly frayed hem of her deep purple gown over the straps of her sandals. “When my husband first divorced me, I missed him. Now I just miss having a man whom I can love.”

Phaedra nodded—she understood. Even though she had made love to Valens last night, she still missed Marcus. She might always miss him. Yet her lips tingled with last night’s kisses, and she knew that there always would be a part of her hoping for Valens to return.

“Have you heard the news?” asked Fortunada.

Phaedra sipped her wine, which was surprisingly weak and sour, and shook her head.

“Damian left for Germania. He joined the legions.”

“Since the law forbids men from the aristocracy from doing any kind of business, his only opportunities lay in the military,” Phaedra said, “or politics. But Rome likes the first to precede the second.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Nothing is ever simple.”

“I cannot believe what happened.” Fortunada began to weep. “Father arranged for Damian to serve with the army’s quartermaster here in the city. They caught him stealing. To save himself from death in the arena, Damian agreed to join the legions for seven years.”

Phaedra moved to Fortunada’s side and held her friend’s shoulders as she wept.

“Your brother can regain his honor and return home as a hero.”

“That was what Father said.” Fortunada wiped her eyes. “If it were not for that stupid cow Antonice Secundus, Damian never would have taken anything.”

“Secundus? Like the gladiator, Valens Secundus?”

“His sister,” Fortunada said. “And what do you think her punishment will be for leading my brother astray? Not execution like the law dictates. Your husband’s nephew is allowing her brother to fight thrice to the death in the funeral games honoring your late husband. The great General Acestes, who dealt with the Sicilian uprising so harshly, is letting the former Champion of Rome take his sister’s place.”

Phaedra tried not to react to the news, but found that she sat taller and leaned forward. Now she knew why Valens could not spend any more time with her. He had volunteered to fight in the games sponsored by Acestes to save his sister’s life. Why would Acestes trade a justified execution for the Champion of Rome returning from retirement? The answer, so simple, came to Phaedra, and she spoke it aloud to Fortunada.

“Acestes wants votes. He plans to run for consul. The mob will vote for him if he entertains them with the return of Valens Secundus. By letting your brother serve Rome in the legions and Valens’s sister go free, he also appears merciful. He might be a swine, but he is a brilliant swine.”

Fortunada sipped her wine. “A brilliant swine that looks handsome on horseback. I noticed the way he watched you as he arrived at Marcus’s funeral.”

“Father wants me to marry Acestes. He presented his suit already.”

“Aside from the fact that I hate him for taking away my brother, he would be a fine husband. Better to be the wife of the consul than an aged senator.”

“I cannot love Acestes,” Phaedra said firmly. “I do not want to marry him.”

“Sometimes you love your husband, and in the end it does not matter much.” Fortunada sighed. “It is not like you love someone else.”

“Of course not,” said Phaedra. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

Fortunada pursed her lips into an
O
of surprise. “You
are
in love. With whom? Where did you meet him? You must tell me everything.”

“I did not say that I love anyone. All I have done is to tell you whom I do not love.”

“You are a horrible liar,” said Fortunada. “When you lie, you grip the side of your gown. Now give me some good news. Give me the name of the man who earned your love.”

“I would rather not,” said Phaedra. She and Valens had only the one night to share. Telling others, even her best friend, of their single tryst would complicate both their lives further. “It is not all that simple.”

“Nothing is ever simple—is that not what you said to me about Damian?”

“I hate it when I have to listen to my own advice.”

Fortunada laughed. “At least I can tell when you are not lying.”

Phaedra laughed with her. It felt better than regret or grief or nothingness.

“He came to the villa last night after everyone went to bed,” Phaedra said, knowing she told some important information while keeping the true secret hidden.

“He did? You need not be ashamed, you know. You are a widow and a little tryst now and then is expected. Does he love you?”

“I think he might.”

“So, what is his name?”

“It matters not. I doubt we will ever see each other again. He is a pleb, so there can never be anything more than a night or two, especially if I marry soon.”

“Pity.”

Fortunada held up her goblet and a slave filled it with murky red wine. Phaedra looked into her cup and saw silt and bits of unfiltered grape floating near the bottom of the glass. Perhaps money was tighter for Fortunada’s family than she had guessed.

Phaedra spent the rest of the visit reliving childhood memories and learning different tidbits about the lives of the other girls, now women, with whom she had grown up. As the litter took her home, Phaedra prayed her father would not ask too many questions. He might want information to barter for power, but if Phaedra said anything, she would betray her friend and their friendship.

Aside from the reason Damian had left Rome, she had learned another important truth—Valens had not used Phaedra for one night of unrestrained but unfeeling sex. Rather, he had spent his last free night with her when he could have been anyplace else.

Chapter 30

Valens

Sweat trickled down Valens’s brow and stung his eyes. His arms throbbed, his back ached, and his hand had all but gone numb. When had wielding a sword become so difficult?

Block, block, thrust, cross, block.

The movements, once instinctual, now were slow and laborious. He had lost not only his physical edge but his mental one as well. His trainer was a large red-haired man called the German. Over the years he had sparred with this trainer many times. Valens always had been able to predict the German’s next move. Now the fighting style of someone he had known so well was a mystery to him.

At noon the gladiators stopped to rest and eat. Valens sat on the ground with his back against a wall, in much the same place and in the same way he had done for over a decade. The uneven mud wall and the sunbaked earth felt welcoming. He wondered if Phaedra had heard of his return to the arena yet. Again, he chastised himself for not having told her when they were together. What might she think when she heard? Would she be proud that he fought to save his sister? Or did it simply demonstrate to her that his lone skill was to fight, and therefore not a skill at all?

“Greetings,” said Baro. He stood above Valens and held out a bowl. “Care for some porridge with a little pork? Its taste depends on your hunger.”

Valens took the bowl and scooped out a large bite. “Delicious,” he said.

“You must be starving.”

Valens ate three more bites before saying, “Famished.”

“Your training appears to be going well.”

Valens waved his spoon at Baro. “Do not lie to your friends. I am old. I am tired. If I do not win, my sister will die.”

With the toe of his sandal, Baro drew a square in the dirt. “Defending,” he said, “is all you need to do.”

Valens recalled that he had drawn a similar square on Baro’s first day as a gladiator. “How do I win by defending and nothing else?”

Baro scratched his cheek and chuckled. “I think I asked the same of you.”

“And what did I say?”

“That I will never win if I am run through in the first few minutes of a match.”

“Sound advice,” said Valens. “Did I have any other words of wisdom for you?”

“Lots, but I ignored most of them.”

Valens laughed. The muscles of his stomach contracted, and he groaned.

“You also said to know my strengths.”

Valens took a bite of the porridge, now tepid and too salty. “I have no strengths. I am the weaker gladiator.”

“You are a legend,” said Baro. “No other person who steps into the arena will be a god, a titan, except you. Use the legend you created. The crowd will love you no matter what.”

“Unless I lose. Then I am dead and so is Antonice.”

Baro sat beside Valens and rested his back on the wall. “Might I share with you a trick of mine? Before I fight, I prepare here”—he gripped his bicep—“and here.” He touched his temple. “Breathe. Imagine the editor of the game lifting your arm in victory. Believe you will win and you will.”

Valens snorted. “You think I can wish myself to three victories?”

“Believing is the first step. How it happens is immaterial. Also, if you believe that the task is too difficult and victory is impossible, then you have already ensured your loss.”

“I like to know the
how
of things.”

“Then imagine each and every thing you must do in order to win. It matters little what works for me. What works for you is all that is important.”

Valens closed his eyes and tilted his head back. In his mind he pictured the German as he brought his sword in close. Valens blocked the blow. Again the German attacked, and again Valens defended. This went on until Valens found an unprotected side he struck with the wooden sword. “Victory,” he said aloud. “Can it be that easy?”

“Nothing is ever that easy, but if you prepare in all ways, you give yourself a better chance.”

Valens nodded, understanding the truth in the other man’s words. “Costmary,” he said. “I mix leaves of costmary with olive oil for bathing. That is my secret and I now share it with you.”

Baro stood and dusted the seat of his tunic. “I am honored.”

“Have you heard from your aunt in Padua?”

“Not yet, but I shall let you know the moment I do.”

They clasped wrists. “Thank you, my friend.”

The German approached with two wooden swords in hand.

“Rest time is over,” he said in his thick accent.

Valens took a sword and they walked to the middle of the practice arena. Valens inhaled, capturing a breath in his lungs. He played the winning moves in his head once more. Exhaling, he lifted the sword and nodded to the trainer.

The German attacked; Valens defended. Again and again. The sun beat down, scorching the earth and drying the sweat on Valens’s brow. In his periphery he saw the other gladiators who gathered to watch. Valens turned his mind from their faces and their cheers and looked for the open side he knew would appear. The German whirled to the right, startling Valens with his change in direction. Yet the movement opened up the trainer from armpit to waist. Valens struck with his sword.

“Victory to Valens Secundus, still the Champion of Rome,” said Baro, who had been among those watching from the sidelines.

Valens lifted his arms and cheered with his fellow gladiators. For all his years in the ludus, he had kept himself apart from the other gladiators. But now they were with him. For them, for his sister, he would win. Perhaps in winning he could find a way to claim Phaedra as his prize.