The Champion

Tibi tugged her cloak around her and buried her nose in a clean patch of itchy wool. The frenzied cheers of the mob blended with the tempest of activity clashing all around her. Doing her best to fade into a darkened corner, she studied the scarred, fierce-looking men. Some of them laughed and joked as though they were boys awaiting a romp while they played dice on the hay-strewn floor. Others were solemn, melancholy even. She wondered at the difference. Unlike most gladiators who were sold or sentenced into the profession, the men of the Ludus Maximus were volunteers who’d sworn their loyalty to Alexius, a tradition Caros began a few years earlier when, she suspected, he became a Christian and no longer wished to keep slaves.

The crowd’s muffled chant of “iugula, iugula,” demanding a fallen man’s death, chilled her. The gladiator games were a pillar of the Empire, but she’d never been allowed this close to the carnage before. Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach. “How many men do you expect to lose today?” she asked Darius when he sat down beside her.

The edges of his mouth turned downward as he mentally took a head count. “Ten. Maybe twenty,” he answered prosaically. “The sponsor arranged battle re-enactments instead of a single man-against-man. The group fights are more expensive in lives and coin, but priceless in terms of buying the mob’s goodwill.”

Cringing, Tibi nodded. Everyone knew authority in the capital depended on keeping the public amused and satisfied. The emperor and other rich men who wished to influence or keep power did so by providing food and sponsoring an endless array of entertainments. The chariot races and gladiator games—the bloodier the better—were by far Rome’s favorite sports.

“What drew you to this life, Darius? Why did you volunteer?”

His dark eyes questioned her sanity. “The money’s good. So is the acclaim. Where else can slaves, foreigners, the condemned or poverty-stricken men like me go to earn freedom or fortune if not in the arena? We gladiators embody Romans’ worst fears. Because of that fear, most people look on us with a mix of repugnance and awe. But train a man with weapons, teach him how to entertain the crowd and in return the mob will give him a godlike reverence few men can ever hope to attain.”

“I know, but—” Another loud cheer signaled that the fallen gladiator was dead. She swallowed and wiped the sheen of perspiration from her upper lip with a shaky hand. “Some of you have wives and children. What good is fame and fortune if you’re dead? Why not be farmers or blacksmiths or—”

“It takes coin to set up a farm or a shop, mistress. Except for a few men like the master who fight their own rage in the arena, a volunteer does so because his plans require funds to prosper.”

Tibi frowned. She’d always sensed an underlying danger in Alexius and assumed his hardened life was the cause, but his charming smiles and easy humor made it difficult to imagine he possessed true menace in his heart. Now, she saw that her instincts had been correct. She’d been right to keep her distance from a man filled with anger.

“What are your plans, Darius?” she said, realizing she’d allowed the conversation to dwindle.

The hard angles of his narrow face softened. “My son is two years old and my wife is with child again. We want to leave Rome, to give our children a better life.”

“Where do you plan to go?” she asked, touched by the gladiator’s affection for his family.

“The master has a farm in Umbria.”

“Umbria? My cousins and their friends live there also.”

He nodded. “When Alexius speaks of the place with its green hills and rich soil, it’s as though he’s gone to Elysium. We want our children to grow up in such a place.”

She fiddled with the muddied edge of her cloak, unable to imagine a battle-hardened killer like Alexius enraptured by any type of earth except the sand of the arena. “I can’t see your lanista as a farmer,” she admitted. “The image of him trailing a beast of burden with a plow is too foreign to contemplate.”

“He does like his comforts.” Darius chuckled. “I’m certain he’ll have plenty of slaves to do his bidding, but you might be surprised. He’s the son of a farmer and I believe Alexius is still a farmer at heart.”

Intrigued by the idea of Alexius as a farmer, his chiseled features softened by talk of his land, she suddenly regretted the differences between them that made it impossible for her to know him better.

Without warning, Darius launched to his feet. “Wait here, my lady. I see the editor. I have to speak with him about today’s roster.”

Tibi watched the young trainer go, uncomfortably aware of the eyes of the other men upon her. Trying to appear nonchalant, she turned on the bench to watch the mock fights in the staging area. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a huge gladiator stoop and rummage through a small pile of hay near an empty cage. The giant laughed as he straightened and lifted something small, black and squirming in one hand above his head. He pitched the bundle to one of his practice partners who then tossed it to a third man close enough to her position for her to see it was a tiny panther cub.

“Toss the runt over here,” the first man ordered in a thick accent as he lifted his sword. “I’ll wager five sesterii I can skewer it in one go.”

Tibi surged from the bench. Thanks to the violence going on above them, she’d had her fill of brutality for one afternoon. Unable to digest their cruel play, she dashed to the low dividing wall and planted her palms on the rough concrete. “No!” she shouted. “Wait!”

The outburst silenced the talk within the small area encircling her, but worked to draw the trio’s attention. Three sets of fearsome eyes locked on her like arrows seeking a target. She froze, her mind registering the long, jagged scar that ran across the leader’s blunt nose and weathered left cheek.

Clearly undaunted by her command, the gladiator swaggered toward her, inciting her entire body to tremble from fear. He swiped the cub from his comrade and stopped a sword’s length away from Tibi. Too proud to do the intelligent thing and turn coward, she lifted her chin and met his sharp gaze.

“Who’s going to stop me, little girl?” He dangled the frightened cub by the scruff of the neck, its tiny paws clawing the air. “You? I think not.”

Chapter Three

His blood pumping, Alexius raced down the steps of the Coliseum, his sole concern to find Tibi. The frantic ride from the ludus had been a torment. The potential dangers of the arena were legion. Imagining all the ways Tibi might be harmed—wild animal attack, rogue gladiators, an accident with any number of weapons—had his mind playing tricks on him. Memories of his last weeks in Greece a decade ago merged with the present, pitching up images of the beloved sister who’d died because he’d failed to protect her.

If it took his last breath to keep her from harm, he refused to allow Tibi to suffer the same fate.

Used to the noise and stench in the staging area, Alexius stormed past stacked cages and gladiators from the other ludi donning helmets in preparation for battle. He looked forward to his own fight later in the afternoon when he’d have the chance to release some of the pent-up aggression churning in his gut.

His relief began to rise once he located the familiar faces of his men beyond the central system of lifts, then quickly plummeted when he saw Tibi’s trim, cloaked figure engaged in what appeared to be a disagreement with his champion, Gerlach, an ill-tempered Germanian who loved nothing more than to wager and brawl.

He picked up his pace.

Gerlach cast a small object to one of his cohorts, Kester. He leaned over Tibi and placed his thick hands on her slim shoulders. The way he leered at her and his mistaken belief that he was allowed to touch the girl in any way infuriated Alexius. The fear shining in Tibi’s face before she was able to hide it filled his vision with a red haze. The monster inside him rattled its cage. Hay crunched under his sandals just as he imagined how Gerlach’s jaw would do beneath the force of his fist.

The cheers and greetings of his men faded to murmurs and questions of concern the closer he drew near. Ignoring them all, he swept past the game pen that housed the majority of his troupe and continued on his course toward Gerlach.

Alexius’s presence drew the Germanian’s attention. Seeing him, Gerlach switched focus. His arrogance fled. His hands dropped away from Tibi, the bully’s game of intimidation forgotten in light of his lanista’s arrival.

“Greetings, mas—”

Alexius swung. The satisfying sound of a bone cracking rent the air at the same time a bolt of pain traveled through Alexius’s hand and up his arm. Gerlach hit the ground. His cohorts, Laelius and Kester, jumped back. Breathing heavily, he ignored the men’s harried explanations, his main concern to comfort Tibi.

“Are you all right?” he asked. That she appeared unharmed soothed some of the bloodlust coursing through his veins.

Wide-eyed and pale, she nodded. “Are you?”

The breathy quality of her voice rippled over his skin like the finest silk. With trembling fingers she reached out to take his hand in hers. The knuckles were bloodied, but unbroken.

“It’s no more than a scratch.” Resisting the urge to take her in his arms and carry her back to the ludus, he slipped his hand from hers. His men were close by and watching them with interest. She was scandal-ridden enough. He didn’t want to add to her woes.

“It doesn’t look like a scratch.”

A rapid tattoo at the base of her throat snagged his attention and a sudden, irrational need to brush his thumb over the creamy spot consumed him. Frowning, he clenched his fists at his sides, confused by her singular effect on his self-control.

“What happened here? Where’s Darius?” he demanded more roughly than he intended. “Why aren’t you in his care as you ought to be?”

“He’s speaking with the editor. These men—”

“We were going through today’s stances,” Laelius interrupted in a quick bid to gain Alexius’s notice. “Gerlach found this runt and thought to have a little fun before we make for the ring. The girl interrupted.”

“They were torturing the poor cub.” Tibi moved to Alexius’s side. “Throwing it in the air and laughing at its cries of terror…”

He looked down only to find her pleading eyes were twin pools of misery. His heart twisted. Whatever it took, he’d see her made happy.

“When…when Gerlach told this other man to toss him the cub with the intent to skewer the poor animal, I could take no more. I realize we’re surrounded by cruelty in this place, that you gladiators are numb to barbarity, but that cub, it’s so small…so defenseless.”

Gerlach groaned. The hay rustled as he struggled to sit up. Alexius ignored him. He ignored everything except Tibi. She’d always had an unfair hold on him. He’d promised Caros to keep his distance from her, but that didn’t make him blind to her beauty or immune to her innate charm. She was kind and lively, intelligent without being crafty. But in this instance her earnest concern and deep well of compassion impressed him most. She had serious worries of her own to mull over, yet she possessed the rare ability to look beyond herself, to care for something as insignificant as a panther’s runt.

“Give her the cub,” he ordered Laelius without taking his eyes off Tibi.

Her relief evident, Tibi reached for the quivering animal. Cooing softly to calm its mewling cries, she cuddled the black ball of fur close to her chest and stroked its sleek head. “It’s not a runt,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. “It’s newly born. Its eyes have yet to open. Where do you think his mother is? This little one will starve without her.”

“She was killed in the venatio this morning. By now, the beast is on the butcher block with the street orphans already waiting in line for the carcass,” Laelius sneered as he extended a hand to help Gerlach to his feet.

“How do you know?” Alexius demanded.

“The cub was found half-covered by hay near those empty cages over there.”

Alexius watched Tibi’s face leech of color as she realized the empty cages had housed the animals killed in the game hunts earlier that morning. “I didn’t consider… What can we do?”

Hearing the we, Alexius groaned inwardly. The catch in her voice was his undoing. The only way to save the wretch was to buy it. He’d have to look for the editor and work out an acceptable price. He smiled ruefully to himself. If the negotiations went as well as the day had gone thus far, it was going to cost him a fortune to a save a worthless animal he didn’t want or need. To his surprise, he was willing to pay almost any price to ease Tibi’s distress.

As he watched Laelius help Gerlach toward the underground tunnel that linked the Coliseum to the gladiator hospital, he caught sight of Darius and Spurius, the editor of the games, walking toward him. He reached for the cub, but Tibi held firm. “What are you going to do?” she asked suspiciously. “You won’t hurt him, will you?”

Alexius almost laughed. She seemed to think she could stop him from taking the little beast if he chose. “I won’t hurt him. I’m going to buy him for you.”

“For me? But—”

“You want him, no?”

“Of course, but that isn’t the issue. I have nowhere to keep him. I only wanted your gladiators to stop hurting him.”

The hopeful light in her eyes encouraged him. “We’ll work out the arrangements later. For now, the editor is coming this way. Let me negotiate with him while I have the chance. He’s a cur who’s quick to take advantage of any situation. If you want to help this animal and keep your identity a secret, hide your face and stand behind me. Try not to draw undue attention to yourself.”

Tibi’s mouth twisted with unasked questions, but she hurried to hand him the cub. Her cowl had slipped and she made quick work of readjusting the gray wool to completely conceal her distinctive hair and features.

“Greetings, Alexius,” Spurius called, his legendary girth making for slow progress down the hay-strewn path. “I’ve gone over the day’s proceedings with Darius. Your troupe is scheduled for battle within the hour. I’ll leave it to him to fill you in on the details.”

“They’re ready,” he said with a confidence born from experience.

“They always are,” agreed Spurius, as he came to a stop an arm’s length away. “Of course, it’s you the mob comes to see. What do you have there?”

“A runt Gerlach found in the hay. Apparently, its mother died in the ring this morning. How much do you want for it?”

“No,” Spurius said, gasping to catch his breath. “I mean, who do you have there?” He pointed a knobby finger over Alexius’s shoulder.

Alexius grinned to hide his rising tension. “No one of importance.”

“What a pity. She’s tall enough to be an Amazone. I let myself hope you’d trained a gladiatrix to fight as a gift for the crowd.”

“No, but I might consider it,” he said, careful to sound intrigued, since women were a favored spectacle in the arena, although they were few and far between. “About the runt—”

“If she’s not here to fight, is she your new woman or just a slave…or both? From what I saw of her at a distance, she’s a beauty. Let me have a better look.”

“There’s no need for that,” he said amicably. The whoosh of the bellows nearby filled Spurius’s surprised silence.

“Come now,” the editor cajoled. “Perhaps we can make a bargain. I’ll trade you the runt for the girl.”

“Another day and I might take you up on the offer.”

Tibi gasped and thumped him on the back. He coughed to smother his laugh at her reaction, pleased that she wasn’t cowed by the situation. “Unfortunately, she’s not mine to trade. Besides, you wouldn’t want this particular wench. She’s nothing but sass and vinegar.”

“A saucy one, eh? That’s often the best kind.” The editor eyed him. “If she’s not yours, then who does she belong to?”

“She’s a freewoman brought here by mistake.”

“Her father?”

Alexius shrugged.

“Let me guess,” continued Spurius. “You’ve convinced the poor girl you’ll protect her honor.”

Alexius’s eyes narrowed at the underlying insinuation that no woman was safe with him. “Indeed I have. How perceptive of you.”

The editor burst out laughing, as though the idea was one of pure comedy. “She must be a foreigner and unaware of your…colorful reputation, then.” He strained sideways as though to speak directly to Tibi. “Be warned, girl. If the gossips see you with this great Greek bull, they’ll make certain you have no honor left to worry about.”

Bitterness welled up inside Alexius. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. Tibi gripped the back of his tunic between his shoulder blades. “Don’t,” she whispered for his ears only. “Please don’t. He’s not worth your anger.”

“Perhaps I’m such a prize she doesn’t care,” he said, his tone rich with irony. He reached into the leather pouch attached to his belt and tossed Spurius a handful of copper as. “For the cub.”

The editor’s laughter subsided as he did a quick count of the coins. “I didn’t name a price.”

“I chose it for you.” He gripped Tibi’s wrist behind him, eager to leave when each moment added to the chance of her discovery. “Darius will lead the men of the Ludus Maximus this afternoon. I have business elsewhere.”

“What do you mean Darius will lead the men?” Spurius sobered in an instant. “You’re on the roster. You never miss a fight. The mob comes to see you. They’ll riot if you don’t appear.”

Alexius shrugged. All of Rome could be sacked today and he wouldn’t leave Tibi’s side again. “Then let them.” His full lips quirked. “I have a new…cub to look after.”

Tibi resisted the impulse to glance over her shoulder as Alexius propelled her toward the exit. Amazed that he’d left as important a man as the editor to sputter like a clogged drain, she kept her head down and shielded the cub that squirmed in her hand and licked her thumb with its rough tongue.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they entered a torch-lit corridor that had been chiseled from the earth and edged with flat stones.

“To the stables to fetch my horse.”

“And then?”

“Back to the ludus.”

“What if Tiberia is still looking for me?”

“It’s doubtful. Velus views strangers as though they’re hornets come to sting. I expect he’s sent the whole lot of them on their way by now.”

His lack of complete certainty renewed her anxiety, but she accepted the situation without further comment. She’d done all she could to buy herself time when she fled her father’s home. Either Tiberia was at the ludus or she was not, but given her sister’s tenacity, it wouldn’t surprise her if Tiberia decided to wait at the Ludus Maximus all afternoon. There was no way to know until they arrived and learned the truth one way or the other. Her future belonged to the Fates.

Considering the circumstances, the fact that she’d enjoyed even the smallest respite from her worries was a wonder due entirely to Alexius, she acknowledged with a frown. Whenever he was near, she had difficulty thinking of anything but him. Troubled by such an unwelcome reality, she took a deep breath to clear her head.

The mustiness of the tunnel mixed with the faint smell of hay the closer they climbed to the surface and the stable at ground level. “If I were to guess,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere between them. “I’d say you have a black stallion—maybe one of Caros’s Iberian champions—with a gleaming saddle and—”

“Wings?”

“You are Greek.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t it be a delight to have a pterippus like the Pegasus?” she added fancifully. “If I had a winged horse to do my bidding, I’d have it take me far from Rome.”

“Rome? Or just your father?”

She stroked the top of the cub’s smooth head and pretended a keen interest in the path’s dirt-packed floor. “Mostly my father. Although, I must admit, a fresh start far from the city’s gossips and expectations holds almost as much appeal.”

“You must visit your cousins in Umbria someday,” he said, leading her up the final stretch of stairs.

“I have. Once, two years ago I was invited to join the party when Tiberia and her husband sojourned with them in Iguvium for the summer. Truthfully, I’ve never seen a more beauteous place. It’s no surprise their friends Quintus and Adiona bought their own villa and vineyards nearby. I understand you have a farm there as well.”

He nodded.

“Your trainer, Darius, said your description of the area has given him the hope of settling his family there someday.”

“Yes, on its worst day Iguvium is far better than Rome on its best.”

“Then why do you stay here when it’s clear your heart is elsewhere?”

He opened the door without answering and waited for her to precede him through what appeared to be the back entrance of the busy stable. The strong odors of horseflesh and leather overpowered the rectangular space constructed of stone and rough-hewn timbers. Stable hands filled troughs with buckets of water. Horses, crowded into stalls lining both walls and the center of the long hay-covered floor, ate from feed bags or flipped their tails to clear the air of flies.

“Wait here,” Alexius said tersely.

As she idly petted the drowsing panther cub in her arms, she watched Alexius from beneath lowered lashes while he conversed with one of the Egyptian stable hands. It was widely known that women flocked to Alexius and after less than a day with him she understood why. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was not only physically arresting but possessed an inborn strength that was both undeniable and irresistible.

She leaned against the wall of the tack room and closed her tired eyes. Judging by his sharp tone when he left to seek out the groom, she’d somehow offended him with her chatter. Leave it to her to annoy a male renowned for his tolerance and good humor—at least outside of a fight. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time she was deemed too inquisitive when she was simply trying to make conversation, but it was the first time she wished she’d learned the art of acting serene and mysterious like her sister. If her experience with men held true, Alexius would want nothing else to do with her or, as it must seem to him, her talent for asking inappropriate questions.

In all likelihood, he regretted his decision to help her. Who wouldn’t? In less than a day, he’d been forced to deceive her family, fight his own men to protect her, spend coin on an animal he considered useless and break a contract to fight in the arena. Once Pelonia and Caros returned to Rome, he’d hand her over, glad to be finished with her and the trouble that constantly plagued her.

Unexpectedly bereft, she cursed the foolish delight she experienced only in Alexius’s presence. Somehow she had to resist the numerous ways she found him appealing. Her father would never accept a gladiator for a son-in-law, nor would Alexius ever consent to marry her. His respect for Caros had prompted him to assist her, nothing more. There could be no other reason. Alexius was a wealthy, handsome man of the world known to have any woman he wanted, whereas she was a reviled second daughter without even beauty to offer.

A horse in the closest stall whinnied near her ear, startling her out of her musings. Alexius paid the stable boy then motioned for her to join him halfway up the aisle.

“Is all well?” she asked.

He reached out and ran a gentle index finger along the cub’s silky back. “We’re to meet Ptah near the entrance. If the need arises we’ll have to share my mount, Calisto. I sought to hire a mare for you, but the games’ crowd is considerable today and there are no extra horses on hand.”