The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (11 page)

Chapter 18

Phaedra

Few mourners stayed until the body had cooled enough for the designator to shovel the ashes into a brass urn. Once the funeral was completely over, Acestes announced that he planned to hold a series of gladiatorial games lasting five days in honor of his uncle. According to Acestes, it would be the grandest spectacle in the history of Rome.

Everyone remaining agreed that Marcus deserved such a remembrance. Then each one offered final condolences and left the cemetery. Acestes remained with Phaedra and her father. Terenita stood nearby.

“I think that went well,” Acestes said as he stroked his horse’s neck.

“Very well indeed.” Her father reached out to touch the horse’s nose. It whickered and tossed its mane. Senator Scaeva withdrew his hand and stepped away, clearly frightened by the large warhorse. “Your offer to host gladiatorial games is most generous.”

“My uncle deserves such a tribute.”

Phaedra’s father nodded. “I agree.”

Acestes turned to Phaedra. “I am sure your father will not mind if I ask you to take me to my uncle’s villa.”

“Nothing pleases me more than to have Phaedra show you your new home,” said her father. “But you must make sure she is safely seen to my home later.”

“Of course.” Acestes rummaged in a leather bag hanging from his saddle and pulled out a buff-colored tunic. He shook it twice and hung it from the pommel of his saddle. “I must change out of my uniform.

“I will leave you both, then.” Her father limped away, his foot once again swollen and purple with gout, and from standing too long.

Phaedra’s palms grew clammy. She had not seen Acestes since the day after her wedding, when he had asked her to bear his child and pass it off as Marcus’s in order to secure a family inheritance. Although she had never spoken of the shameful and humiliating incident, she thought of it often. The passage of time had only served to turn Acestes into a monster of sorts in Phaedra’s mind. Yet, as he stood before her now, she saw that he was simply a man. Perhaps the enmity she had harbored toward him was unjust, although it mattered little. He still made her nervous, and Phaedra did not want to be left alone with him, especially as he disrobed. She wondered at her father’s suddenly conciliatory attitude toward Acestes, too.

“Father, wait,” she said and stepped forward.

Her father continued to walk onward, never bothering to turn around. “There is much for you to discuss,” he said with a backward wave.

Had she been so terse with her father after Marcus’s death that he refused to help her now when she needed him? Did he hope that she would return to the villa meek and chastened, only to live mildly by his rules once more? Or was the reason her father had left much simpler? She wondered if her father wanted her to marry Acestes. In leaving them alone, with only Terenita as guard, perhaps he hoped that a romance would develop. A romance with Acestes? Not damned likely.

Acestes moved toward Phaedra and instinctively she tensed.

“I assume that everything is in order in my villa,” he said.

It was then that the gravity of the situation hit Phaedra. Having given everything to Acestes upon his death, Marcus had left Phaedra with nothing. The villas, both in Rome and Pompeii, now belonged to Acestes, as did her dishes, her clothes, and even her cosmetics. Over the years Marcus had gifted Phaedra a small fortune in jewelry alone. She should have been shrewd and sold some of the more expensive items in the days following Marcus’s death. With the profit, she and her father could have lived in relative comfort a little longer. Instead, she had spent eight days cocooned in darkened rooms as grief swirled around her like dead leaves caught in the gale. Now it was too late.

“I assumed you would write to my father and tell him when you planned to arrive. Since we had not heard from you, you were not expected,” she said to Acestes. “Still, you shall find everything as your uncle left it.”

“I traveled faster than any rider with a missive would have,” Acestes said.

“Was your journey long and tiring?”

“Yes to both,” he said while lifting his arm. “Now, be good and help me untie this.”

Phaedra dutifully pushed his scarlet cloak aside to reveal a series of canvas ties at the side that held the molded leather breastplate in place. She worked knots, stiff with dirt and sweat, loose. The muscles in Acestes’s back and shoulders were unmistakable under his fine woolen tunic. Heat radiated from his skin. Far from repelling Phaedra, the warmth drew her in. At the same time, she hated the betrayal of her own flesh’s carnal reaction.

Acestes stepped away from his armor without warning, and Phaedra held the weight alone. She staggered to stay upright. Terenita stepped forward with arms outstretched to accept the load. Phaedra shook her head and continued to hold the armor. Her shoulders ached, yet she refused to hand over the burden and have Acestes view her as weak.

“I usually have men who travel with me,” Acestes said, taking no note that she continued to hold his breastplate. “In order to make it to Rome on time for the funeral, I needed to travel faster than I could with a retinue.”

“Even so, I am glad you made it in time to accept his ashes,” Phaedra said, shifting to balance the armor on her hip. “Certainly, your uncle looks down from Elysium, proud that you arrived looking splendid in your uniform and humbled by how much trouble you took on his behalf.”

“I hope that more people than my uncle saw my efforts. What a small and disappointing crowd. I imagine word will spread. I almost missed my chance to arrive in such grand fashion. The rains actually slowed my travel today.”

Phaedra waited for a moment, unsure if she had heard Acestes correctly. She had, had she not? “You planned your arrival for this moment?”

Acestes wiped a hand across the back of his neck as he shook his head. “You are still so naive. I camped nearby last night. I actually hoped to arrive in time to meet the parade in the streets. Imagine my surprise when a swollen creek delayed me by an hour.”

Yes, when they first met, Phaedra had been a naive girl, and Acestes’s bluntness had intimidated her. Now she was a woman with a mind of her own. Far from being frightened of the powerful general, she was outraged. “You degrade Marcus’s memory with your theatrics.”

“In order to court the plebs for the vote and impress the patricians, one must always remain aware of appearances. I had little love for my uncle, you must recall.” He reached out and traced her jaw with a featherlight finger. Phaedra’s insides tightened and her breath caught in her throat. “Just think. If you had accepted the offer I made to provide you with a child of my loins, I never would have inherited. I thank you for being such a loyal wife.”

Phaedra shoved the armor at Acestes. He flexed backward and gave off a satisfying
oomph
. “Swine,” she said.

“A swine, am I?”

She shrugged.

Acestes easily lifted the breastplate onto his saddle. “I pay you the highest compliment, my dear. A loyal woman is rarely found.”

“I am not your dear, and what know you of loyalty? Nothing. You know nothing.”

“I disagree,” Acestes said. “Since childhood I have been single-minded. I mean to be consul, and I will be. In this life, I have been nothing if not loyal to that goal.”

“I see,” said Phaedra. Acestes’s ambitions were like a knife blade—exacting, pointed, and all the more dangerous because of it. With his lofty goals, she also saw that he was not one with whom she wanted to quarrel. She needed to endure his company only a little while longer, and then she could be rid of him forever.

Acestes pulled the short red tunic worn by all Roman legionnaires over his head and used it to wipe down his arms. Phaedra tried not to stare at his well-muscled chest or his long, strong legs. It took even more willpower to ignore the fact that he wore no loincloth. She looked away, but not quickly enough.

“I have thought of you, you know,” he said.

She refused to look back at him. “You never crossed my mind. Not once.”

“Liar,” he said. “By the way, I am dressed now. You can speak to me instead of to the horse’s ass.”

“Oh, I had not noticed a difference.”

Acestes laughed. “Why so skittish? It is not like you never looked upon a naked man before. Unless you have not, and if that is the case, I should have taken my time in dressing.”

Phaedra knew what he implied, but in fact, during her four years of marriage, Marcus had lain with her sixteen times. Once a season he plowed Phaedra as if she were a field, both hoping that he had planted something fruitful.

“I have,” she said.

“Just not often, I would wager.”

“That is where you would be wrong.”

“That is the second lie you told me today. Do you know how I can tell?” He did not wait for an answer. “You grip the side of your gown.” He held his tunic between thumb and forefinger.

Phaedra eased her right hand from the fabric she held. “My, you have become astute,” she said. “But tell me: Why do you insist on forcing your company upon me? You must realize that I do not want to become reacquainted with you.”

“You are doing it again.”

Phaedra turned to Terenita. “Come, let us take our leave.” Both women began moving from ground that still smoldered and air that still smelled of death.

“Wait,” he called after her. “You cannot walk away from me forever.”

She ignored the delicious desire to yell something horrible at Acestes.

“You cannot leave me to find my way back to the villa,” he said. “What will become of your possessions once the house belongs to me?”

Ah, but she could leave Acestes to enter Rome alone. Her pots of cream be damned.

“Pity if I claimed something you value, like your maid.”

Phaedra stopped. Damn him. Terenita had been given to Marcus as a gift for Phaedra. By rights of the law, she
did
belong to Acestes. For her sake, for Terenita’s sake, she would endure a few more hours of Acestes’s company. She held her hands in front, folding them together lest her twitching fingers betray her thoughts. “Of course,” she said. “We can leave as soon as you are ready.”

He held the horse by the reins and came to stand next to her. “Might we start over? I have often thought about seeing you again. Each time the encounter is different, but this, well, this was never what I envisioned.”

“You should not think of me,” she said.

“But I did. I do still. You unnerve me, Phaedra. With you I speak foolishly. Act rashly.”

“And make improper propositions,” she added.

“Marcus owed me this inheritance. At the time I worried he would not honor his family. Just think about this. If you agreed to my offer, you would not be a barren widow, but the mother of a child everyone assumed to be your husband’s and a very rich woman.”

“I have been used by my father. He saw me wed to your uncle for enough coin to maintain his position in the Senate. Your uncle took the bargain to ensure my father’s support. My father then brought the other moderate senators over to Marcus’s side. Apologies, General Acestes, but when it is my choice, I refuse to be a means to someone else’s end.”

“Well, we all did the right thing. You refused to bear my child and pass it off as my uncle’s. My uncle honored his family and named me heir.”

“Yes, we all behaved very admirably.” She hated Acestes, and at the same time found him inexplicably compelling. The gods save her—she must resist finding him handsome, too.

They walked toward the city and began to climb the Palatine Hill. Soon they stood at the doors to Marcus’s villa. Phaedra knocked and a small flap in the wood opened. A pair of eyes peered out.

“See to the beast,” she said, “and to the general’s belongings.”

The heavy wooden door opened. Two slaves in short brown tunics came out. One wrested the bags from the saddle, and the other led the horse away.

“Alert Jovita that I have arrived with the new dominus,” Phaedra said to another slave. They entered the atrium where Marcus’s body had lain for eight days, the faint scents of death remaining. Pungent herbs mixed with flowers dried and then crushed, and the underlying smell of decay.

Acestes touched her elbow and brought her back to the moment.

“He will see the housekeeper in”—she paused, not sure where to introduce a new master to his staff—“the small dining room. Bring wine and food.”

“Yes, my lady,” the slave said before leaving to do her bidding.

She gave Terenita a few orders about packing their belongings. Tonight Phaedra must return to her father’s home, and she meant to take as many things as possible.

Acestes ran his hand over a table near the door. “I see the villa is as untidy as ever.”

“Marcus never did care much for trivial comforts. Almost sanitary seemed good enough for him.” She shook her head, not quite believing he was gone. She led Acestes through the garden, the shortest way to the family dining room from the front door. “I kept the Pompeii villa in order, but I never came back to Rome the entire time we were married. Marcus came to the city for matters of the Senate. A short stay here, a month there. I doubt he ever noticed the dust.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you love him?”

“In my way.”

“For your loss, I grieve,” he said, “sincerely.” Acestes kept his gaze on the white gravel of the garden path.

“I thank you for your heartfelt sorrow.”

Phaedra had never told Marcus of Acestes’s advances to her. She did not want to upset her husband and cause a rift between the two men, or so she told herself. In those early days she had not known how Marcus might react, and Phaedra had feared her husband would side with his nephew and accuse her of wrongdoing. Sighing, Phaedra realized that if she had told the truth about Acestes, her father might well have inherited Marcus’s fortune. There was nothing to be done about it now, but the knowledge brought back some of her former animosity toward Acestes.

“What will you do now?” he asked.

“Return to my father’s home.”

“Not for long. I imagine that Senator Scaeva is planning another high-profit marriage for you right now.”