The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (7 page)

Valens shook his head. He thought of his mother and all her men. He thought of Phaedra sailing to Pompeii and living her life without him. Not for the first time, Valens wondered about his own father. Did the man even know that he had sired a famous son? “I have no one who cares for me. That is why I attacked.”

“You have Rome. The entire world knows your name. They all love you. Is that not enough?”

“No. It is not. Yet it seems as if that is all I shall have.”

“It is more than most,” said Paullus.

Valens shrugged. He no longer cared to have this discussion. “Am I dismissed?”

Paullus raked his hands through his hair and sighed. “You are.”

Nodding, Valens left the tablinum. In the atrium he met a guard who led him to the locked and barred door that separated ludus from home.

On the other side of the door, they found Baro waiting.

The guard fumbled with the key while working to make it fit into the lock. Valens saw that the guard was nervous and unsure of how to handle a brawl between two gladiators. Finally, the door swung open and Valens stepped through.

“Stop staring at me as if I convinced Jupiter to piss in your porridge,” he said to Baro. “I would hear your complaint.”

“I do not accept the lanista’s reasoning. You did not attack me to teach me a lesson. He said that only to save you from a punishment you richly deserve.”

Valens lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Have you a point?”

Open-mouthed, Baro gaped. “I would have the real reason.”

Valens scratched the side of his ear and tried to find the words to explain such a violent reaction he barely understood himself. “I am the Champion of Rome. I am the most famous gladiator in the world, and yet, I am not one of them.” Valens hitched his chin toward the training ground where the rest of the troupe practiced drills. “As a champion, I am not a normal man.”

“You are angry at me for being the one meant to take your place.”

“Not entirely,” said Valens. He paused. He did not owe this man an explanation. Yet he sensed that Baro sincerely wanted to understand, and Valens longed to be understood. “I do not know how to be a normal man, and you do.”

Baro leaned against the wall. He winced and righted himself, holding his shoulder. “So we are to teach each other more than just swordplay and letters. I will teach you how to be a normal man. Maybe I can even teach you how to be charming. At the same time, you will teach me how to be a champion. So when the time comes, we might switch roles.”

Valens paused, unsure of what to feel or how to react. His first inclination, of course, was to put this equestrian in his place. He was Valens Secundus, the undefeated Champion of Rome. Everyone loved Valens. He did not need to be charming.

And yet, Baro had found the words Valens wanted to speak. “Yes,” he said, “that is it.”

“Good,” said Baro. “We are understood.”

“We are.” Valens knew what he wanted to say this time, although he now lacked the courage. He inhaled fully. “I am sorry for striking you unawares.”

“I accept your apology,” said Baro. He touched his bruised flesh with his fingertips. “Do you think I should visit the medicus?”

Valens shook his head. “Your shoulder is not broken. Besides, if you want to be champion, you must first learn to ignore pain.”

Baro scowled. “If you want to be a normal man, you must forget everything you have taught yourself about being champion.”

“Then it seems we both have many miles to travel together first.”

“So it seems.”

Valens felt the corner of his lips twitch and found that it led to a smile. Baro glared for a moment longer before beginning to laugh quietly. The laugh proved infectious and Valens began to laugh, too. The trainer turned from his drills to watch. Baro nudged Valens, who stopped laughing, but found that a snort of amusement broke free. Baro laughed again and Valens soon followed.

“Both of you,” said the trainer, “get in line for drills.”

Valens did not have to take orders from anyone at the ludus beyond the lanista. Yet this time he obeyed. After retrieving two practice swords, one for himself and the other for Baro, he began to strike, sweep, and thrust, following the order for each. He caught a glance from Baro, who then rolled his eyes skyward. Valens took it as a sign that they were traveling the miles together.

They were not quite friends, and yet Valens felt that he was no longer alone.

Chapter 12

Phaedra

With a heady feeling of indestructibility for having conquered the market, Phaedra returned to the villa. The housekeeper met Phaedra, Terenita, and the guards in the atrium. “My lady, the dominus wishes to see you in his rooms.”

Phaedra’s mouth went dry. Was this the moment? Would her husband now take her and make her a woman? Did he really desire her? The thought of Marcus wanting her was a salve to her wounded pride after her disappointing encounter with Valens. Her pulse sped and blood flowed to each part of her body, leaving her flushed with equal amounts of trepidation and excitement.

She nodded toward Jovita, the only sign that she had registered the invitation to Marcus’s bedchamber. “This way, my lady,” she said, as she gestured to a hallway.

As they walked, Phaedra’s thoughts went to Valens. At the market, he had dismissed her. She had done the same thing hundreds, if not thousands of times before. If the eye contact was withdrawn, then the personal connection ended as well. She wanted to feel furious. Who was this slave, this whore of combat, to reject her?

Yet Phaedra managed only a flicker of anger before misery snuffed it out. Valens’s rebuff should not have come as a shock. In the garden they had developed an affinity, a familiarity. They were not quite friends, but not strangers, either. Allies, perhaps. Yes, they had become allies when they had made a pact to change their individual fates. Except in reality they were not.

The thought was truly humbling.

“Here we are, my lady.” Jovita stopped in front of a closed door and knocked.

A male voice bade them enter. Marcus.

Phaedra vowed to clear her mind of Valens. To her, the gladiator must be nothing. Her mother, she knew, would see Phaedra’s marriage to Marcus as a great success. The connection with the gladiator was a waste of her energies.

Lifting the latch, the housekeeper stepped aside. Phaedra wiped her sweat-damp palms in the folds of her gown, swept clear all thoughts of Valens, and crossed the threshold.

She entered a large chamber that had the well-used look of belonging to a busy and important man. An unmade bed sat against one wall. A latticework of shelves filled another entire wall from floor to ceiling. Stacks of scrolls filled each and every compartment. A desk, larger than the bed, filled the middle of the room. Bundles of papyrus covered the desk. More scrolls tilted drunkenly against the walls, while stacks of waxen tablets huddled in corners. A few loose sheets of papyrus lay about the floor, as if dropped while being read and then not picked up again.

Marcus sat in one of two chairs that flanked an unlit brazier. He wore a dark green tunic with embroidery of gold at the collar and cuffs. The deep hue of the tunic brought out color in his cheeks, and she thought him to look healthy and handsome.

“Come to me, Wife,” Marcus said. Although he did not rise from his seat, he held out his hand to her.

She had longed for her husband’s attention, and now she had it. The victory felt hollow as Valens’s face came to her mind. She swallowed her reservations and walked toward Marcus, holding out her hand. She drew close enough that they might touch, and he moved his hand away, indicating the chair next to him. She sat and a hard kernel of disappointment lodged in her throat. Determined to love her husband, she pushed aside her frustration.

In her mind she listed his attributes, the reasons she might one day love him. He was, of course, wealthy. Very wealthy, in fact, and he would provide her with a life free of want. Marcus was highly respected, learned, and well traveled. Phaedra again reminded herself that as the wife of such an important man, she became important, too.

“Tell me of your adventures at the market,” he said. “Did you find everything you needed?”

“I did,” she said. Then she thought to add, “I thank you for your words of encouragement.”

He nodded. A slight smile drew upon his lips. “You are very young and inexperienced,” he said. “I will not forget that.”

“I turned twenty annums two months past. That is not so young.”

“At your age, twenty is quite worldly, I am sure. At my age it makes you barely old enough to be away from a nursemaid.”

He laughed at his joke. Wanting to please her husband, Phaedra laughed with him, even though she thought his words unkind. They felt all the more callous because Marcus spoke the truth—Terenita had been her nursemaid until just three years ago.

A horrible thought then occurred to Phaedra. The marriage that had been forced on her was one that Marcus had been forced to make as well. He needed her father’s support, not her. She was secondary, interchangeable with anyone else who might have provided him with senatorial votes. She could think of nothing to say beyond, “I had hoped to please you.”

“Many men my age take younger wives,” he said. “It is my belief that they somehow think to reclaim their youth through a young wife. I had no such ridiculous preconceptions when I married you.”

Why was it that no one ever wanted Phaedra? Was there something wrong with her? She imagined herself to have pleasing looks. But was she actually hideous? Or maybe, hopefully, she was not the problem. Perhaps it was that all men were conniving? Acestes wanted her to bear his child so Marcus would think that it was his own, and therefore allow it to inherit. Valens wanted her, but only if the seduction were simple. And now Marcus did not want her at all. Hot tears stung her eyes and spilled over her cheeks before she could blink them away. She broke one of her mother’s only rules—to mind her tears—which made Phaedra’s humiliation complete.

Marcus tut-tutted and held out a cloth to Phaedra. She took it and swiped at each eye. “Dry your tears and calm your emotions. You know why I wed you. Your father has an easy way that draws men to him. He is liked and respected in the Senate and elsewhere. I need his support and wanted more assurances than just a simple exchange of coin provides.”

Phaedra took a long, slow breath in and let it out again. This was the life she had been brought up to expect, but she still had hoped for something different. Something more. “I know,” she said. “I just thought . . .” A single tear slid down her cheek. Marcus caught the teardrop with the side of his finger. They both watched as it trailed around his knuckle and finally dropped onto the folds of his tunic, disappearing forever. “I do not know what I thought.”

“You are young,” Marcus said. “You want to be passionately in love with your husband. You want him to love you in return. I understand, truly I do.”

She doubted Marcus understood anything about love, and yet she dutifully said, “Thank you.”

“Our marriage will not be one of passion, but neither will I expect you to make me something I am not—a young man. This does not mean that our life together will be unsuccessful.”

How could Marcus think that his words might bring her some comfort? The life he described offered nothing that she hoped for. Phaedra wanted love and romance. She wanted children and a husband who cared for and protected them all. Knowing that none of that was to be hers took her to a place beyond despair. Phaedra wanted to scream and beat upon her breast and throw something of value, just to watch it shatter. Yet that would not do. Not now. Not ever.

Sitting taller, she lifted her chin and hoped that by appearing to be aloof she would somehow care less. Phaedra found that she could not help but ask, “What kind of life will we have?”

“I will not live forever,” he said. “But with a child I will live on. Not only will you bear the right kind of child, one with pure patrician blood, you are also a lovely, lovely young woman. My vigor has lessened over the years, but I will be pleased to couple with you.”

At least he planned to show her the sheets of a marital bed at some point. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“My two other marriages failed miserably for many reasons. Let us just say that I have learned that honesty is paramount.”

“I am glad to know what you expect of me,” she said.

Marcus nodded slowly. “In return for what you give me, I can show you things, Phaedra, and take you to every corner of the republic, if you like. It is not the romantic joining I sense you want, but it is a joining nonetheless.”

For the first time since her father had told Phaedra that he planned for her to marry Marcus, she was pleased. No, not pleased, exactly, but relieved. Her marriage would not be what she had hoped for, but life with Marcus would be far from unbearable. He
was
kind and wise and respected. Why had she feared him as a child? He could, as he said, show her things and take her places. For a person who had lived her whole life behind the high walls of a villa, the promise of seeing all parts of the republic held an allure of its own.

As he had pointed out, Marcus would not live forever. With her father’s promise to allow her to choose her next husband still so fresh in her memory, Phaedra relaxed. Her next marriage could be one of love and passion. Her current marriage would be one of friendship, freedom, and exploration.

Still, she could not completely quiet her desire for romantic love. Their marriage was new and perhaps they would come to love one another. Marcus had spoken of a child. Was now the time he intended to make one? Phaedra looked at her husband, who watched her still.

Their gazes held a moment. He cleared his throat, then picked up a scroll and began to read.

Their conversation was at an end. Phaedra stood before he had a chance to send her away. “If you have nothing else, I should let you return to your work while I complete my packing.”

“We set sail tomorrow with the morning tide. You may employ anyone in the villa to make sure you are ready.”

“I will,” she said. “Thank you.”

As she reached the door, Marcus called out to her. “Might I have one more word?”

She turned to face him. “You may have as many words as you like.”

He chuckled, although she had not meant to be humorous. “I hope that by my speaking the truth you have not been injured. That was not my intent. You are a lovely young woman. While you cannot do miracles and change my age, you do make me wish I were a younger man.”

“I understand,” she said, and thought that she might.

Marcus returned his attention to the scroll. She waited for a moment to see if he would say something else. He did not. Without another word, Phaedra slipped from the room.