The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (25 page)

“I will,” she said.

“Will you sit with me as I sleep?”

Phaedra twined her fingers through his. Soon his breathing slowed but remained steady. The fat candle burned out, leaving a puddle of wax dripping to the floor. She heard a cough by the door and turned to see Paullus.

“The physicians have returned, my lady. Might I escort you to the gates?”

Phaedra stood. Her feet had gone numb and she stumbled as she took her first few steps. The lanista offered his arm and she held it. Remembering the stares and the calls of the other gladiators, Phaedra draped the cloak over her head and shoulders as they left Valens sleeping.

Terenita waited by the gates of the ludus. “She stayed in the kitchen,” Paullus said. “My servants and slaves took good care of her.”

“Thank you,” Phaedra said.

“I offer guards to see you home.”

“No, thank you. Guards from your ludus will be recognized, as will I”—she removed the cloak and handed it back to Paullus—“even with this.”

“May the gods bless you, my lady.”

“They did,” she said, “for a short while.”

Phaedra walked as if blind up the Palatine Hill. When the street before her villa came into view, a crowd blocked her way.

One man in the mob turned to her and pointed. “There she is,” he said.

She tensed, ready to run away.

“Let her through,” said the man.

Arms and hands reached out for Phaedra, pulling her gently forward. She saw a multitude of faces, all with the same look of pity in their eyes. People parted as she passed. She approached the door to her villa. A guard she did not recognize knocked twice as Terenita came to stand at her side. Acestes answered the door and wrapped Phaedra in his embrace. He pulled her into the villa and closed the door. With his arm about her shoulder, he led her to the main triclinium. Dozens of candles burned, making the room as bright as day. Her father would not like the expense used to impress no one.

“I am so glad to see you. I have looked everywhere for you.”

“Odd,” she said. “When I left the villa, no one followed. Not my father. Not you. Forgive me if I find your concern now unconvincing.”

“Phaedra, you do not understand. Right after you left, your father felt a severe pain in his arm and a tightening in his chest. He stopped breathing, collapsed, and hit his head.”

“Take me to him.”

“Not yet,” said Acestes. “His body is being cleaned. You may see him once his body is laid out in the atrium.”

The possibility was unbelievable. Only the cruel Acestes would joke of such a thing. “Dead? My father cannot be dead.”

“He is.”

Phaedra slapped Acestes. The pain in her palm transformed her grief into anger. “You killed him for the money he owed you.”

“That makes no sense, Phaedra. He will never be able to repay me now, will he?” Acestes pulled her to him again. “I have killed men for less, but trust me when I say I did not kill your father.”

She saw the reason in his words. “I will see him now,” she said.

Holding her by the hand, Acestes led Phaedra to the atrium. Slaves were situating her father’s body, placing pungent herbs on the sofa where he lay. She kissed her father on the forehead. His skin was already cool under her lips. Yes, she had been justified in her anger at him that evening. He had been manipulative at her expense. But he also had been her only parent for so many years, and now all she could think about were their times of closeness and the way he had made her feel safe. Memories came flooding over her. For a moment she was five and sitting on her father’s lap as they watched the rain fall in the garden, the loamy scent of wet vegetation hanging in the air. Then she was twelve and twirling through her father’s tablinum as she showed him her newest gown. She was seventeen, crying on his shoulder, as her father said he could not allow her to marry a boy she had so fancied at the time, but whose name she could not now recall.

She had kept control of her emotions after Marcus had died, but the death of her father, with Valens ill, was too much. She felt like an urn with thousands of tiny cracks as she collapsed into Acestes’s arms. He continued to hold her—the only thing real was the warmth of his embrace. Wave after wave, the grief washed over her, pushing her down. Finally, she had shed her last tear. Her eyes burned. Her throat was raw from sobbing.

With Phaedra bereft and exhausted, Acestes convinced her to return to his villa. Convinced—no, that was not the right word, for convincing someone assumed she had a will of her own. Phaedra was nothing but shards and dust. She let Acestes make the decision for her, thankful, even, that he took charge.

She went to bed in her old chamber and lay down, staring at nothing.

Terenita entered and stood quietly at the foot of the bed. “Is there anything I can bring to you, Lady Phaedra? Something to eat, perhaps?”

Shaking her head, she patted a space beside her on the bed. “Will you sit with me?”

Terenita hesitated. “I could, I suppose, if it is something you would permit.” She lowered onto the mattress, her back straight and rigid.

“It is an odd relationship we have, is it not?” asked Phaedra. “In the eyes of the law, you are but a possession, much as I was for my father.” Emotions, grief and anger, filled Phaedra, and she sobbed again.

Terenita placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “Cry as much as you need, my lady. It will do you good.”

Phaedra wiped her eyes with the corner of her bedcover. “Another favor—call me Phaedra, only Phaedra. Not my lady, nor Lady Phaedra. For this night I would lose titles.”

“If you wish.” Terenita paused. “Phaedra.”

Phaedra clasped the other woman’s hands with her own. “No matter what happens to me, I will do all that I can to keep you with me. Without you, Terenita, I would be alone.”

“I know,” said Terenita. “I know you are loyal and good-hearted.”

“Even when I am naive,” said Phaedra.

“Even then,” said Terenita, giving Phaedra’s hands a squeeze. “And also when you are stubborn.”

Phaedra smiled. “I am my father’s daughter, am I not?”

“You are the best of him, and through you, your actions, and your memories, he will live on,” she said.

“That thought brings me much comfort,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Try to rest, Phaedra,” said Terenita. “It will help you face tomorrow with more strength.”

Phaedra closed her eyes but did not sleep. She saw only her father. Without him, what would become of her? True, she had been disgusted by his spending. But even at her most exasperated, she loved him.

Who would be her guardian now? As a lone woman in Rome, she had no legal rights. Most likely she would be sent to live with her closest male relative, whoever that might be. What might they do with her? The answer, simple enough, came immediately. It would be another marriage for her. It was with that bleak thought that a black and bottomless sleep claimed her.

Chapter 41

Phaedra

As soon as Phaedra awakened in the morning, the sharp pain of grief sliced through her yet again, laying her soul open. She muffled a sob with a musty pillow. Before her eyes opened, as tears coursed down her cheeks, someone touched her foot. It had to be Terenita, hoping to rouse Phaedra by playing with her toes. It might have worked if she was five annums and her father had not died the night before.

“I am not hungry,” said Phaedra, her head still buried in the pillow. “But do fetch me water.”

Terenita touched her foot again, this time a little more insistently.

“For the love of all the gods, I just need a glass of water.” Phaedra sat up and opened her eyes to look upon a world where her father no longer lived.

Terenita was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the old peacock stood at the foot of her bed, his beady eyes trained on Phaedra’s foot. What tasty morsels did he imagine her toes to be? The obvious joy she read in his stare seemed a crime when she felt such unending sadness. Loss. Loneliness. Grief. These would be Phaedra’s constant companions, now and always.

“I suppose I need to find water myself,” she said to the peacock.

He pecked at her toes again.

She stood up in a whirl of covers and feathers. “You find your own breakfast.”

Phaedra slipped on yesterday’s dress and ran a brush through her hair. She had no appetite for food. But her throat hurt from crying. Phaedra wandered toward the dining room, and the peacock followed. Its dull and tattered tail trailed behind him like the flag of a defeated army.

She stopped to stroke the short, silky feathers on the top of his head. Did he miss Marcus, or had he even noticed that there was a new master? The peacock and Phaedra were linked, both at someone else’s mercy, beholden to them for every kindness and comfort.

She heard male voices coming from the dining room. Her hidden vantage point in the corridor allowed her to see the perfectly dressed Acestes entertaining her father’s cousin, a man she had not seen in years. She stopped and listened to their conversation.

“Then there is the debt owed to me by the late senator,” Acestes said.

“You must know that I do not have that kind of coin,” her father’s cousin replied. As her closest living male relative, he was now Phaedra’s guardian, inheritor of all that belonged to her father, both good and bad. She moved closer to the dining room, hoping that by staying in the shadows she would be close enough to hear what they were saying while remaining unseen. The peacock had other ideas, however. He strutted into the room, letting out his warbling call.

Acestes turned to the peacock and saw Phaedra as well. “I did not know you were there. How fare you this morning?”

As she stepped into the room, she said, “Not well. Of course I am saddened by the death of my father.” She said nothing of the heartbreak over losing her chance at a life with Valens and her worry for his health. “I am also very troubled to know that my father’s debt will be passed on to his cousin.”

“I have no coin,” said her cousin. Sweat dotted his upper lip. “I live on a farm outside of the city. I do not want the Didius family Senate seat. I cannot afford it.”

“You have an obligation,” said Acestes, “to your dead cousin and his living daughter. If you do not accept responsibility for the family and for Phaedra, who will? Am I to throw her out into the street?”

“She is the widow of your uncle. I say that she and her father’s debt are your responsibility.”

Acestes opened and closed his mouth, as if he had planned to say one thing and then decided to say another. He appeared to weigh his options and to think through every eventuality. “I suppose I could become Phaedra’s guardian. We had spoken of marriage on more than one occasion.”

It galled her that her father’s death was playing perfectly into Acestes’s plan to marry her. “I will leave you both to work out the arrangements,” she said. “Good day to you, Cousin. Acestes, might you have someone bring water with lemon to my room?”

“I will send some food as well,” he said.

“Grief steals my appetite. I think today I shall just rest.”

“You will eat and bathe and be ready for the games in an hour.”

“I am in mourning and not going to attend the games today. You cannot ask me to be seen in public.”

“I can ask you. If you refuse, then my request will become an order.”

“I see,” she said. She did see, in so many ways. She was no longer the daughter of an influential senator. She had no personal wealth or family connections. Stripped of her titles, she was no one.

Acestes said, “Do not say, ‘I see,’ as if I am a monster.”

Alone. Vulnerable. Beholden. Phaedra lowered her eyes, taking the stance of the weak and humbled. “As you wish,” she said.

Acestes walked to Phaedra. He placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch, both warm and soft, turned her stomach. “I need the people of Rome to see you with me today. You understand?”

“I do not,” she said, “but I will do as you ask.”

He kissed her on the lips. It took all of her energy to keep from shivering. Phaedra had wanted her first husband, Marcus, to have passion for her, and she had felt keenly disappointed when he had not. With Acestes, lust radiated off him like the heat rising from a noonday street, and his desperate desire left her frightened.

She walked away as soon as the kiss ended, not bothering to say good-bye to her father’s cousin. She kept her pace slow and steady in the dining room. Once she was out of sight, she raced through the rest of the villa, never bothering to turn around. She slammed her chamber door and slid to the floor. From the corridor came a light knocking. She wiped her eyes and moved away so it might be opened.

“Enter.”

No slave came in with a tray of food. She heard the knocking again.

Each movement pained her. Slowly, she stood and opened the heavy door. From the corridor, the peacock regarded her with his shiny black eyes and strutted into the room. Closing the door, she slid once again to the floor. The peacock pranced upon her lap, turning twice, and sat down. Resting his head upon her leg, they regarded one another. In his look she read the undeniable truth:
We lovely captives must remain together.

Chapter 42

Phaedra

Phaedra and Acestes arrived at the forum during the middle of the first match of the morning. The noise and the heat and the dust provided scant distraction from her grief. Without her father, the box seats felt empty and too silent. The other guests kept their voices low and made few comments out of deference to his passing.

How ludicrous to attend games the day after her father died. The urge to slap Acestes, to beat upon his chest and demand that he return her to her home, came upon her with such a force that she had to clench her fists to control herself.

Two large gladiators struck at each other with swords. The clanging of steel on steel reverberated in her chest, changing the rhythm of her heart. Phaedra swallowed a hard lump of grief, and tears clouded her vision. The ashes she had used to darken her lashes melted and stung her eyes. She motioned Terenita to her side. “I need a cloth with water.”

“Yes, my lady. Anything else?”

Phaedra hesitated. Even with all the sadness it would bring, she needed to know about Valens like she needed the air she breathed. She had been reckless with her behavior before, and now had to be careful lest she lose Acestes’s favor. “Find out about my friend,” she said in a whisper.

“Your friend?” asked Acestes from the other side of the box. “What friend?”

For the love of the gods, that man missed nothing.

“It is not a friend, precisely,” she said. “During these games Valens Secundus has become a favorite of mine. He looked ill yesterday—I wonder if he is able to fight today.”

“Ah, yes, you have developed a soft spot for the handsome gladiator, have you not?”

“I never follow the games,” she said. “But having a gladiator to cheer for makes them more enjoyable, or at least less difficult to watch.”

“He did look horrible,” said the former consul, Fimbria. “Shame if old Scaeva and his new equestrian died one day apart.”

Phaedra gasped, unable to hold her tears any longer. They spilled over her cheeks.

“I would thank you to hold your tongue,” said Acestes. “Can you not see how upsetting you are to Scaeva’s daughter?”

“Apologies,” the man said.

Phaedra bit her bottom lip and nodded in his direction. She could not bear to look him, or anyone else, in the eye.

“I can provide you with some happier news,” said Acestes to the Phaedra. He opened his arms and addressed everyone in the private seats. “I heard that Valens, though ill yesterday, recovered enough and will fight again today. Perhaps he can fulfill his contract and save his sister, after all.”

Phaedra wiped her eyes with a wet cloth that Terenita handed to her. The lack of cosmetics left her with nothing to hide behind. Still, she said, “That is happy news.”

Acestes stood beside Phaedra and gripped her palm in his own. Hand to hand, they looked like silver and gold. His skin, burnished from the outdoors, and hers, pale from ever avoiding the sun. “You do look drawn,” he said. “You may return to the villa to rest and then return for the primus. I would hate for you to miss a chance to see your favorite fight.”

It was not a request or suggestion. She had been dismissed and told when to return. A thousand possible responses came to mind, yet there was but one thing for her to say. “Of course.”

Guards escorted Phaedra from the arena. She stood next to the litter and looked across the forum. The roofline of the ludus drew her eye, and his name came with an unbidden breath.
Valens.
At least he had recovered. While she feared he would never forgive her for marrying Acestes, perhaps he, of all people, would understand that she no longer had the freedom of choice.

Terenita touched Phaedra’s arm. “The litter is over here.”

Phaedra paused. If she could just see Valens once more and explain, then maybe he would not hate her. And maybe then she could forgive herself for surrendering to the inevitability of a marriage to Acestes.

“Take me to the villa,” she said, regretting her words the moment she uttered them. To her surprise, she found that all of her belongings, which had been at her father’s villa the day before, were now waiting in her chamber at Acestes’s.
So this is how it is
, she thought.
The cage is filled with beautiful things, and then the door snaps shut.