The Gladiator. Carla CapshawЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Have you ever seen a Caspian tiger?”
She shook her head. “Sketches only. My father took me to a menagerie once. There were lions and a panther, but no tigers. Have you had this one long?”
Caros continued to watch her. “Three years, since he was a cub. He was the runt of his litter. My old lanista, Spurius, refused to feed him since Cat was sickly and he doubted he’d grow large enough for the ring. I fed him part of my rations and when I won my freedom a few months later I took Cat with me. As you can see, proper care has made him as healthy as any of his kind.”
“You were freed? You were a slave once?”
He plucked a sprig of mint from a plant at the path’s edge. “For ten years. From the age of fifteen, I fought as a gladiator.”
She reached for a clump of basil to divide and replant. “Then you’ve lived the horror of having your freedom ripped from you and your life pitched on end?”
His face darkened. He nodded.
“Did you enjoy being a slave?”
“Why ask foolish questions? Who would enjoy being a slave?”
“Perhaps you liked killing for sport in the ring?”
His eyes narrowed. “I killed because I didn’t wish to die.”
Then how could he enslave others? The injustice of his actions soured her stomach with disdain. She tossed the basil into the dirt and rose to her feet, wincing at the twinge of pain in her ribs.
The tiger opened his eyes, instantly alert. Wary of the predator, she stepped away, but her temper burned too strong to completely curb her tongue.
“You’re a hypocrite, Caros Viriathos. How can you buy and sell flesh when you know firsthand of its brutality?”
Dropping the mint leaves, Caros stood, his stance suggesting he was ready for battle. “Think before you insult me, slave. Have I not been kind to you? Perhaps I’ve been too kind if you believe you can question me like an equal when you are not.”
She chafed at the reminder of her degraded status.
“You’re my property,” he continued with confidence. “Remember your place.”
Hot with indignation, she stared at him, silently defying his ownership. Eventually, she admitted, “I’m your prisoner, but once I find my cousin, I will buy back my freedom.”
“You aren’t for sale.” His fists clenched at his side, his eyes turned the color of a stormy sea. “You are my slave and will be until I tire of you. Remember I hold your life in my hand. If I choose to see you dead, it will be so, but you won’t be sold.”
Inwardly, she trembled at the power he held over her. Tension crackled between them like a growing blaze. Cat sprang to his feet and began to pace with restlessness.
She took a step closer to Caros, a part of her wishing for death to end the misery she’d endured since leaving home. “My God alone can grant you the power to take my life. Should He do so, I will rejoice. Not only will I be free from you, but I will see my father in heaven and be face-to-face with my Savior.”
“Your savior?” he scoffed. “You mean Jesus, the Jew the Romans crucified? He’s dead. Even if He weren’t, why would He want a shrew like you to pester Him for all eternity?”
The blood leeched from her face. His barb struck like the sting of a lash. Her father had taught her to live as an example of Christ’s love to others. To trust that God held her in His hand and had a purpose for her life.
Since she’d buried her father, she’d refused to cry. She’d known he would want her to be strong. Shame replaced her anger. She’d tried so hard to please her earthly father, but what had she done thus far to please her Heavenly one?
The gate’s creaking hinges sliced through the weighted silence. Pelonia glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Gaius, Caros’s short, elderly steward approached, his face red from his hurried stride.
“Master.” Gaius held up a roll of parchment. “I have word from Spurius concerning tomorrow’s games.”
Caros raked his hand through his thick, wavy hair. Releasing an exasperated sigh, he met the man halfway. While he and his steward discussed the news, Cat lay down in the shade of a lemon tree.
Pelonia watched the tall, arrogant man in front of her, a war waging within her heart and mind. Resentment battled with the knowledge that Caros was a man in need of God’s love. A lifetime of teaching had impressed her to forgive, to be an example of compassion. But how could she be a light in this gladiator’s brutal world when her own spirit felt cloaked in darkness?
Gaius retreated from the garden. Caros returned to her, his angular face an inscrutable mask. “Where were we?”
“At an impasse,” she reminded him.
“Ah, an impasse.” A devious smile formed about his lips. “Then I believe I have a solution to our dilemma. Apologize for your barbed tongue or I will take your silence to mean you understand your place here and have come to accept your fate.”
Praying for patience, she took a deep breath to fortify herself, then slowly released it. “I’ve accepted nothing. However, I’m an honest woman, so I will be fair and tell you now my plans remain the same as they have been. As soon as I’m able, I will escape from you, find my cousin and see my freedom restored. Until then—”
“Say no more, slave. Perhaps you’re unaware runaways are hunted like dogs and dispatched like rodents?”
“I’m aware of it,” she said, refusing to be intimidated.
He shook his head, clearly bemused by his inability to cow her. “You’re a unique woman, Pelonia. I’ve never met your like.”
She raised her chin. “My father used to say the same.”
Caros moved a few steps to the fountain and dipped his hand into the sparkling water. “What happened to him?”
The question stung like vinegar in a festering cut. Renewed sadness lodged a ball of pain in her throat. “God saw fit to take him home.”
“When?”
Pelonia crossed her arms over her chest. She tried to make her voice emotionless. “On the road to Rome eleven days past. We were attacked by marauders. My father and our servants were killed. Everything of value was stolen. Only my uncle and I were left alive.”
His eyes brimmed with compassion, awakening a desperate need for comfort. “How did you survive?”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She turned her back on him, nearly tripping over the basket of weeds by her feet. “I’d snuck away before dawn to bathe in the river. My father had told me not to go. He said it was too dangerous, that I and the other women could seek out one of the bathhouses once we reached Rome.”
Her voice cracked. “We were so close, you see. Less than a day’s journey to my cousin’s home on the Palatine. But I didn’t listen. I hate feeling unclean. My maid would have come with me, but I didn’t want her to face my father’s displeasure if he discovered my absence, so I went alone. I was in the water when I heard distant screaming. I tried to return with all possible haste. I would have given my life to save any of them. I would have. Honestly, I would have.”
In two steps he was beside her, his arms banding about her shoulders. “I believe you. How did you escape?”
Enveloped in his strength, she allowed herself to forget they were enemies for a moment. She pressed her face to his chest, accepting the comfort she craved. “The thieves were gone by the time I arrived. They struck like lightning, unexpected and gone like a fast-moving storm.”
“Why did your uncle beat you?”
Her eyes slipped closed. She inhaled the hint of spice on his skin. “I insisted he help