The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (28 page)

Chapter 47

Valens

A shake to his shoulder awakened Valens. Startled, he grabbed the person who touched him with one hand and lifted his other fist, ready to strike.

“It is me, Paullus.”

Valens lowered his raised fist. The lanista held a lone candle, and Valens rubbed his eyes against the glare.

“What time is it?”

“The tenth bell rang not long ago. You know where you are?”

“I remember everything—the fight, my leg, Phaedra, her lies. Your lies.” Valens squeezed the lanista’s wrist once and let go. “I should break your arm. But I expect I will feel guilty later if I do.”

“You are not the first man to lose his love. You will not be the last.” Paullus held out his hand. “Break every bone if you think it will make a difference.”

It would not. Nothing would. Valens folded his arms across his chest. “You woke me for a reason?”

“General Acestes is here. He wants to renegotiate the terms of your agreement. They sound generous and I think you should accept.”

For a moment Valens thought of refusing to see the general. How could he bargain with the man who planned to marry Phaedra? Without her, Valens’s life seemed worthless.

Part of Valens felt there was no use in keeping his commitment to Acestes anyway. His next scheduled fight was the day after tomorrow. By then, Antonice and Leto should be safe with Baro’s family. What else did he have to live for? When he took to the arena for the last time, he could open his arms and expose his chest, giving his opponent an easy target.

But still . . .

“Bring Acestes to me,” he said.

The general came into the infirmary and sat on a stool brought in for him by a slave.

“You fought well,” said Acestes. “All of Rome loves you again.”

Valens nodded toward his broken leg. “I am not sure that I fought well at all.”

“Well, Rome is once again yours.”

Valens shrugged. His infected shoulder ached. “I care little for an entire city.”

“But you do love a single woman.”

Did Acestes know about Phaedra? Well, Valens would not gift the arrogant patrician with a confession. “My sister—of course I love her and would do anything to keep her safe.”

“Let us not play games,” said Acestes. “I do not speak of your sister. I speak of Phaedra.”

Valens let out a long breath. “Paullus said you came to offer different terms for my sister’s pardon.”

“Do you not care about Phaedra?”

Valens did not like being at such a disadvantage. Acestes knew something, or at least suspected something, about Phaedra. To confess was foolish. But being obstinate was a mistake as well. “She is your future wife. Why would I care about her?”

“I will not marry a woman who loves another and has played me for a fool. She loves you and told me as much tonight. I assume the scheme of making you an equestrian was so you might marry. If so, it was very ingenious.”

“Phaedra said all of that to you? What were the circumstances?” Although he was still angry, the idea that Acestes had hurt her in order to get her to speak enraged Valens all the more. Through clenched teeth he said, “If you tortured her, I swear I will kill you and use your rotting skull as a piss pot.” Valens struggled to sit up. He lifted his shoulders but nothing else moved.

“I did not harm her. She told me everything freely. She is no longer my guest. Guards have seen her safely away, and she is, as we speak, healthy and whole.”

What if Phaedra’s engagement to Acestes ended? Well, if he did not live past his next fight, all of his wonderings would be for naught.

Focus.

“I do not want to discuss Phaedra with you anymore,” said Valens. “What terms do you offer for my final fight?”

“On the morrow you will conduct the executions.”

“That is the lowest form of gladiatorial fighting. There is no combat, no resistance from the condemned, just cold-blooded slaughter.”

“The people who must die are guilty of crimes. Thievery, murder, rape. Your mother’s killer died in the arena, did he not?”

“He did.”

“Do you feel he deserved his fate?”

“He did.”

“If the lack of a fight bothers you, kill them as mercifully as you like. Slit their throats.” The general drew his thumb across his neck.

“How many executions are scheduled for tomorrow?” Valens asked.

“I do not know. This is my offer. Conduct tomorrow’s executions and I will consider that you have kept your part of our bargain.”

“You are not a benevolent man, General Acestes. Why offer mercy now?”

“I tire of this all.” He opened his hands as if to take in the entire world. “I wish to be rid of you. At the same time, I cannot be seen as the man who killed Valens Secundus, even if it was by forcing you to keep your word. I wanted to marry Phaedra. But she wanted you. That truth injures me. But I also cannot be the husband of a gladiator’s mistress. Can you imagine how foolish I would look?” Acestes laughed and shook his head.

Valens sensed that the general was truly weary. Could Acestes be telling the truth?

“Who will fight on the last day?” Valens asked.

“Baro has the final fight.”

Valens had few options, given his weakened condition. If he saved his sister by slitting a few more throats, it would be worth it. He would figure out later what to do about Phaedra, if anything.

“I will see you at noon tomorrow,” he said to Acestes.

“Good choice,” said the general, and without another word, he left.

Valens knew there was more to the plan than met the eye. He tried to stay awake and think of the many ways a manipulative man like Acestes might exact his revenge, but Valens was far too tired to catalog them all.

Chapter 48

Phaedra

Phaedra woke on a floor of dirt with the stink of cow dung thick in the air. Her head throbbed with each beat of her heart. A bruise had risen in the middle of her forehead. She brushed it with her fingers. The pain from the slight touch was so great that she gasped.

She lay still for a moment and let the discomfort pass. Sitting up slowly, Phaedra looked around the room. Two windows, high and long, let in the dull gray light of dawn. Stirred up by her movements, bits of hay and dust floated past. The room was empty—just two windows, a bare floor, four walls of stone, and a thick wooden door.

Phaedra stood and steadied herself on a wall before walking to the door. She tried to lift the latch but found that it had been bolted shut from the outside. She pushed upon the door until she began to feel dizzy. After taking a moment to regain her breath, she called out, demanding to be released. No one heard her. Or if they did, they did not answer her call.

She slumped to the floor. Without a powerful father or husband or suitor, she was no one. Acestes had locked her away in a stable. Did anyone know where she was? Did anyone care? Certainly, Terenita cared. Although as a slave, she could do nothing to help.

Why had she not listened to Terenita’s warnings? The maid had clearly seen the misery that Phaedra would bring upon herself. Love for Valens had stolen her judgment. Little good that knowledge would do her now that she was forgotten and alone, perhaps even locked away until she rotted.

From the opposite side of the door, Phaedra heard voices and the sounds of wood on metal as the bolt was disengaged. She moved away, stood, and tried to shake some of the dust from her gown. The door opened and Acestes stepped through.

Her heart began to race. He had come for her, forgiven her. She met Acestes’s flint-hard stare. No. There was no forgiveness. He was a formidable enemy, and she was now at the mercy of a merciless man.

The thought of what he might do terrified Phaedra. Her hands trembled, her pulse raced, and her breath caught in her chest. Yet she refused to let him see her distress. “What do you want?” she asked with as much contempt in her voice as she could muster. A wide-eyed look of surprise registered for the span of a second, and then he smirked. Her bravado fooled no one. She was his captive, and powerless. He would do whatever he wanted, and her desires mattered for naught.

Acestes shut the door and leaned his shoulder into the jamb. He held out his hand and examined his outstretched fingers for a moment. “I have but one question for you. Why is it that you could not love me?”

Of all the questions Acestes might have asked her, Phaedra had not expected it to be that one. She looked away, her eyes trailing to the small windows, high in the wall. The sky beyond had turned from soft gray to pale blue. “I do not know,” she said finally.

“I would have loved you well.”

“Is that why you locked me away in your stable, because you love me?”

“Beautiful Phaedra, you are too naive sometimes. I would find it endearing, were it not so sad. You are in the bowels of the Forum Boarium.”

She lost her breath and her head swam. Reaching out, she held fast to the wall as she was crushed by the truth of the matter. “I am to be executed. What are the charges?”

“Adultery,” he said, “of course.”

The need to remain composed disappeared like the last traces of fog that hung over the Tiber River. “No,” she said as she moved toward Acestes, her hands clasped together in prayer and petition. “No. It is not true.”

“You slept with that brute, the gladiator. Do not lie to me.”

Her head pounded, the rush of her pulse drowning out every other sound. “I was not married to your uncle when we became lovers. You must believe me. I was a widow.”

“I came upon the two of you in the garden on the night of your wedding. I spied you from a distance. For propriety’s sake I gave you a moment to cover your nakedness before I made myself known.”

“No,” she said again, hoping to reason with him, “you are mistaken. We embraced, yes. It was wrong of me to stand so close to a man who was not my husband. But we never made love, not then. We did not even kiss that night.”

“It is not I who am mistaken,” said Acestes. “You are.”

As quickly as the panic that enveloped her had arrived, it left. In its wake were stillness and understanding. “You know the truth but do not care. You plan to level a charge of adultery against me and call for my execution.”

“It seems as though I was wrong to assume that you are naive.”

“Since there is no one who will refute your claim, I will be executed like all women who commit adultery—tied to the back of a bull, thrown about, and gouged until dead.”

“I suppose it will be something like that, yes,” Acestes said.

“But you are a fool, you know. Rome will not elect a man to be her consul who one day announced his engagement to a woman and the next called for her death. Seasons will pass, but this incident will always stain your name.”

Acestes rapped on the door. It opened and he pulled it wide. “That may be,” he said. “But I plan to give them something even more interesting to talk about.”

With that, he slipped through the door and was gone.

Chapter 49

Valens

Slaves fitted Valens into his kit as best they could. He looked ridiculous, asinine, really—helmet but no faceplate, greaves on one leg, the other one set in a cast, all of this with a bandage entirely visible on his shoulder. Holding his sword in one hand and a crutch in the other, he might have been part of a perverse play depicting the dark side of the gladiatorial games.

This was not theater. Valens was not an actor. The death he would mete out would be all too real. He decided to look upon each of the condemned as his mother’s killer. It gave a sense of honor to the slaying of untrained and unarmed people.

With this being the final time he would step into the arena, Valens sent his scant belongings to his villa. He planned to be home not long after noontime. Once his contract was completed, he would send for his sister.

Paullus came to escort Valens to his final fight. “Word has gotten out that you will be in the arena today and that this will be your final time,” he said as they walked toward the gates of the ludus.

“Word always gets out in Rome,” said Valens. But as the door swung open, giving him a view of the Capitoline Market, he found himself speechless. A huge crowd, maybe twenty deep, had gathered. They did not cheer. No one pressed in on Valens. As always, he tried to focus on creating an inner calm and not on the mob. But their eerie silence bothered him more than when they screamed his name.

At the gates of the Forum Boarium, Valens stopped and turned to face the crowd.

One voice called out, “We love you, Valens.”

Then the applause began. Still holding the crutch, Valens raised his good arm. They yelled louder, calling down blessings from every known god and goddess. He pumped his arm once more, this time nearly pitching off-balance. Paullus held him steady.

The love and adoration of the crowd were not the lure for Valens. He had never become entangled in the trap laid by fame. But seeing these people, his people—the plebs and slaves of Rome—moved by his struggles brought out his affection for each person there.

“Gratitude,” he said, “to you all.” He wished he had other eloquent or wise words. “Gratitude,” he said again. He doubted anyone heard him. He could hardly hear himself over the cries of the crowd.

Inside the Forum Boarium, Valens stood at the same door he had on so many other occasions. Often he was nervous before fights, sometimes confident, always focused. Yet today, when called to conduct the executions, a simple task, he trembled. It was not fatigue or pain from his many injuries that caused his shaking. This time, Valens felt fear. The terms Acestes had offered were too generous, too easy. He looked across the raked sands to another door. He knew that the condemned waited behind it. What secrets did it hide?

A lion, perhaps, that had mauled its trainer and needed to die. Perhaps Acestes had lied all along and did know how many executions were to take place that day—there could be a hundred criminals, all armed with swords, who would face Valens at the same time. What if Antonice was one of them? No, he had to believe that she was safely hidden with Baro’s family, lest he go insane.

A slave opened the door and Valens limped into the arena. The crowd, silent for a moment, began screaming when they saw him. For the first time in his life, he understood that the power of a gladiator did not come from the number of men he had killed—it came from how he had chosen to live.

Standing at the rail of his reserved box seats, Acestes lifted his hands for quiet. It took less than a minute. The crowd was also anxious to see what final challenge faced Valens.

“Today you see a titan standing before you.” Again the crowd cheered and Acestes waited for it to die down. “But we must not forget what brought about his return to the arena. It was the death of a man, a great man. My uncle was a titan in his own right. Not of the arena, but of the Senate and the law. It is because we honor Marcus Rullus Servilia that we have gathered.” The crowd cheered this statement as well, but not with the same gusto as when Acestes had named Valens a titan.

“I think it fitting that Valens Secundus is here today, at noon, for the executions rather than fighting tomorrow in the final primus. In fact, I think the gods played a role in making this day a reality as well. Justice lifted her blindfold, and seeing all, brought Valens Secundus to this moment.” Acestes paused.

There were no cheers from the crowd. Instead, the confused murmur of many voices asking the same question over and over:
What does this mean?

Valens strained to see beyond the general and the railing. He stared at each patrician who milled about with a golden goblet in hand. Phaedra was not among them.

“There is only one execution scheduled to take place today.” The crowd groaned. “As I said, the gods played a part in this day. Although it is a single execution, I think this will test Rome’s champion more than any other combat.”

The mob cheered, ecstatic.

Valens tried to yell over their voices. “No. No. No.”

“Bring her out,” Acestes called.

The door from which the criminals came was opened. She stood at the threshold—a little dirty, a little tattered, but whole and safe. To Valens, she was the most beautiful sight in the world. A guard shoved Phaedra from behind, and she toppled into the arena. Valens hobbled to her and helped her to stand. He pressed his lips into her hair, and she clung tight to him.

To hold her close, to feel her skin next to his—this was a reason to live. Yet that was not his task.

“I refuse to kill her,” Valens called out. “She has done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing, you say? I say she is guilty of adultery. You have been her lover for four years. I do not blame you for acting on your desire—no man in here does. She was the one who needed to keep her virtue safe. For if a woman commits adultery, it is she who pays with her life.”

“You lie,” Phaedra said.

“It is the law.”

“This is revenge, not justice,” said Phaedra. “I am here because I do not want you. How can anyone want you? You are a swine.”

“Teach your whore to keep her mouth shut or I will slice out her tongue,” said Acestes.

Valens wrapped his arm around Phaedra’s waist. “I will not execute her. She did nothing wrong. Yes, we have known each other in an intimate way, but after your uncle died. Never did I lie with her before.”

“Of course you answer the charge against Phaedra by claiming her innocence,” said Acestes. “She is, as you claim, your lover.”

“She is innocent. You have no proof. Where is the proof to this charge?” challenged Valens.

“Proof. Proof. Proof,” chanted the crowd.

“I will keep you safe,” he said to Phaedra. He knew not how.

“You want proof?” asked Acestes. “I witnessed it all. Remember the night she wed my uncle? You were hired to fight and later invited to stay and enjoy the banquet. I always found it curious that Senator Scaeva hired gladiators to fight at his daughter’s wedding. It is not so odd if you think of him as a loving father, manipulated by his daughter. She wanted you there so she could seduce you on her wedding night.”

The crowd gasped.

“Untrue,” said Valens.

Acestes smiled. “I found you two in the garden. I saw it all.”

“You saw nothing because there was nothing to see,” said Valens.

The crowd again gasped, not sure whom to believe.

Acestes gripped the rail with fingers that had gone white. “I will make this simple for you. One of you will leave this arena. You choose, Valens Secundus. Will it be her life or yours?”