The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (27 page)

Chapter 45

Valens

The physician fitted flat boards around Valens’s broken leg. He applied layers of cloth strips covered in wet plaster that when dried would hold them all in place.

“You must keep the bandage dry,” the physician said.

Baro and Paullus insisted on being present as the ludus physician tended to Valens. The four powerful men made the cramped infirmary seem that much smaller. Three narrow beds stood in a line. Valens lay on the one in the middle, and Baro sat on the one closest to the door. Paullus leaned his shoulder against a corner. A small table sat next to each bed. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars and pots and bundles of herbs tied together.

“No more long soaks in the hot bath for a while,” said Baro.

“He can manage,” said Paullus. “He is alive. I will speak to General Acestes this evening and try to renegotiate terms. You cannot fight again in two days. If you do, you may never fight again. Perhaps you can pay a fine for your sister’s crime. Jupiter knows that you have entertained Rome better than she has been entertained in years.”

Baro grinned. “Should I be offended by your comment?”

“You do not let yourself get beaten half to death and then rise from the River Styx.”

“Why did you not tell me that Phaedra was betrothed to Acestes?” Valens cared little for the lighthearted banter between the other men. “You must have known yet chose not to tell me. Why?”

Baro picked up a bowl filled with white plaster and spun it between his hands.

“That is not a plaything,” said the physician. He took the bowl from Baro and set it on the table. “You need to lie still for four hours and allow the plaster to harden,” he said to Valens. “In a few days you will be able to stand and walk with a crutch. The break was clean, so the bones should knit back together. But your career in the arena is over.”

“It was over two years ago,” said Valens. “And you two”—he pointed at Paullus and Baro—“need to stop ignoring me.”

“Do not blame me,” said Baro. “This is the first I am hearing of your new lady love.”

“Well,
you
knew and you kept quiet,” Valens said to the lanista.

Paullus removed a few coins from a bag he wore around his waist and pressed them into the physician’s palm. “Thank you for your loyal service. You can take your leave now, but come back in a few hours to check on our patient.”

The physician, a good and true servant, refused the coins, but did promise to return. Paullus shut the door as soon as the three men were alone. A square of light from a small window reflected off the floor.

“You will need to learn to hold your tongue, my boy. You may be the strongest of the strong in the arena, but in the ways that matter outside, you are weak.” Paullus raked his hands through his hair and sat next to Baro. “I knew nothing of the engagement. I heard that Phaedra’s father, Senator Scaeva, died last night. I kept the news from you, true. You had enough worries, and I did not want to give you one more thing to think about while fighting.”

Valens snorted. “How very noble of you.”

“Stop blaming others and listen to what I have to say. I am trying to save you. With Phaedra you aimed too high. She loves you, I grant you that.”

“If she loved me, she would not be marrying someone else.”

“Are you really that naive? Phaedra never had a choice in husbands. Fall out of love with her and find someone else. That is the best advice I can give you.”

Fall out of love with her? Paullus made it sound as if Valens had any hand in controlling his emotions. Like he could discard his love in the same fashion he discarded fear before stepping into the arena. Actually, when Valens thought of it that way, he supposed he should be able to will himself to stop loving Phaedra. But he knew that would never happen.

“I do not want to.”

Paullus sighed with resignation. “You are the most stubborn bastard in the world.”

“You do not get to be Champion of Rome twice in a life by being a weakling who is easily dissuaded,” said Baro.

Good old Baro. You could always count on him to cut to the real meat of the matter. “Thank you,” said Valens.

“Do not thank me. I do not care who claims to be your father or why. You are still an idiot for thinking that you were going to steal General Acestes’s bride at the altar.”

You could also always count on Baro to take a solid idea and, in a few words, make a mess of it.

“Leave, both of you. I need to rest.”

Baro opened his mouth and Paullus raised his hand. “Let us leave him alone. Once his head clears, he will see the wisdom in our words.”

“I doubt it,” said Valens.

“Rest. Heal. Live,” said Baro.

“Get out.”

Paullus laid his hand on Baro’s shoulder and nodded toward the door. Once the two men had slipped out and he was alone, Valens lay on the bed, gripped with hatred for them both. Then he turned his hate toward Phaedra. He hated her for making him believe that she loved him. He hated her for making him believe in himself. He hated her for making him believe that he could be more than an uneducated slave. The need to strike someone or something boiled within him. The bowl with the plaster still sat on the table next to his bed. He stretched until his fingertips grazed the side, and he pulled it closer. With true aim, he threw it at the wall. Bits of pottery exploded around the room, and thick white paste oozed down the wall, forming a puddle on the floor. With the evidence of his destruction around him, Valens finally closed his eyes and rested.

Chapter 46

Phaedra

Acestes arrived at the villa an hour after Phaedra. She ordered drinks and olives brought to the small dining room while he settled on a sofa. She poured wine and handed it to him.

“This is an unexpected treat,” he said, taking the offered goblet. He sat up and patted the upholstery next to him. “Join me.”

Phaedra sat with her back so stiff and posture so rigid that her shoulder blades nearly pinched together. He ran his fingers up the side of her neck. She neither moved nor made comment. Had she ever found Acestes appealing? He was handsome, for certain. They were, as he had been quick to point out, the same kind of people. A shared background should count for something toward lifelong happiness, should it not?

“I realize you are being kind to me,” she said after he withdrew his hand. “I have nothing to bring to a union now other than myself. And perhaps a lineage for a child.”

“Children,” said Acestes. “I want you to bear me more than one child. But in truth, you alone are enough for me.”

Oh, where was the Phaedra who had longed to hear those words from a young, wealthy, and handsome patrician? If the girl of her youth could be resurrected, then they would both be happy.

“That pleases me,” she said. And, strangely, it did please her—as much as anything might please her now.

“I am glad that we are becoming friends. Perhaps I should not have forced you to attend the games this afternoon. Nor should I have announced our marriage without telling you beforehand. The first was cruel and the second must have come as quite a shock. Know this—I love you, Phaedra. I always have and always will want you as mine and mine alone.”

Yes, the young Phaedra would have longed to hear Acestes’s words of undying adoration. The Phaedra of today saw things differently, especially when he made her sound more like a possession than a person. She rose from the sofa and filled her own goblet with wine. She finished the drink in one long swallow, happy that the floor underneath swayed a little.

She filled the goblet again and took another long drink, finding that the detached feeling it brought suited her. She reclined on the sofa opposite Acestes and ate an olive. At last she had found a moment of peace, even if it had come thanks to the riches of the vineyard.

“There is a jeweler at the door,” a slave said. “He says you asked for him, General.”

“I did. Show him in.” The slave walked away and Acestes turned to Phaedra. “I hate that we quarreled, so I wanted to do something special for you. I hope you do not mind.”

Phaedra shrugged and took a sip. She was light-headed and her tongue felt cottony in her mouth. Or maybe that was because her lips were a bit numb. “I do not mind anything.” Her voice came out too loudly. “Not at all,” she whispered.

Acestes laughed. “I think you have gotten yourself good and drunk. Not a bad thing, really. You needed the release, what with your father’s passing.” He took the goblet from her. “But let us not make this a habit.”

The jeweler, a tall man with dark hair and a hooked nose, stood at the door to the dining room.

“You may enter.” Acestes waved the jeweler into the room. “Come in.”

Three slaves carrying large wooden boxes followed on the jeweler’s heels. Within a few moments, legs had been screwed into the bottom of the boxes and the lids opened to display a variety of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings.

“Choose anything you like,” said Acestes.

Phaedra examined the jewelry piece by piece, holding up necklaces and draping bracelets across her wrist. Earrings made up of four tiers of tiny diamonds held together with thin golden wire moved, flowed, and sparkled with each step she took. She tried on a bracelet of white pearls, which on closer inspection, shimmered with the iridescence of a thousand different shades of blue and pink. There also were thick collar necklaces of gold and silver with bronze embellishment.

Phaedra tried on a necklace with a chain of rubies that dropped from the throat, each one larger than the one before.

“I have a bracelet that matches,” said the jeweler. “All the loveliest ladies in Alexandria wear necklaces such as these.”

“Egypt,” Acestes spat. “This is Rome. Our ladies set the trends, not follow them. Show her something else.”

“I have one more piece. It is very expensive, very valuable.”

“Let us see it then.” Acestes poured another goblet of wine and settled back on the sofa.

The jeweler produced a key from the folds of his tunic and unlocked a bottom drawer in the smallest of the three wooden boxes. The jeweler held up for all to see—entwined chains of silver and gold holding a single stone, a deep green emerald the size of a grape.

Acestes stood. His hands trembled and wine sloshed over the cup’s rim. “Where did you get this piece?”

“Beautiful, is it not?”

“Where?”

Phaedra tried to speak but could think of nothing to say that would calm the moment.

The jeweler stood taller. “I will not tell you. My clients know of my discretion.”

“You are a thief, and if you do not tell me how you came to possess this necklace, I shall have you executed tomorrow. You will be hanged upside down and your gut opened. Then I will release starving lions into the arena, and they will complete the execution by devouring you, piece by piece.”

“You have no authority.”

“No authority?” Acestes roared. “Who in this city would defy me? You? A peddler?” Acestes threw his drink across the room. Wine, deep and red as blood, came out in an arc as the cup tumbled through the air. It hit the floor with a clang that made Phaedra jump. Suddenly sober, she saw how wrong she had been to underestimate Acestes.

Acestes crossed the room and grabbed the necklace from the jeweler. “Are you willing to trade your life for this?”

“The necklace came to me from a lanista, Paullus Secundus, as a bet on the current games.”

“What was the wager?”

“I know not.” The jeweler held up his hands in surrender. “Honestly.”

Holding the necklace in his hands, Acestes shook his head. “The sneaking and scheming is all too much. I know who placed the bet and why. This came from a senator, did it not?” He pointed to Phaedra. “Your father took this necklace from you, knowing its value, and gave it to the lanista, who then sold it in order to get coin for a wager. Your father was wily, I grant you that, Phaedra.”

“I do not believe that is what happened,” said the jeweler.

“There is no need to lie to me. I shall not punish you if you are honest.”

“My understanding was that the necklace came from a lady,” said the jeweler.

Wine rumbled in her stomach, and Phaedra was overcome with the need to retch on the floor. If Acestes were not her guardian, she could walk out the door and never see him again. If he were not in control of her life, she would tell him that he had given her a gift and she could do whatever she pleased with the cursed necklace. If he were not the god who controlled her life, she would have no need to worry. But he was all of that and more, and now Acestes knew that Phaedra had played him false. Or at least that she had not been honest with him. Either way, he now knew, and she doubted that she would ever have the favor of his forgiveness.

“Leave,” Acestes said to the jeweler.

“You must return the necklace to me. It is valuable and I paid a fair price for it.”

“Leave or I will have you arrested and then executed on the morrow.”

“You can do no such thing. There are no charges to be brought.”

“The charges will be whatever I say they are,” said Acestes, “and by the time anyone has thought to ask questions, the vultures will have long since picked your bones clean.”

Without bothering to remove the legs from his makeshift table, the jeweler repacked his boxes and ushered his slaves from the room.

“Why?” Acestes asked. “I just want to know why. Tell me you did this for your father. Tell me that he asked you to bet this necklace so he could make some money and that you loved him so much you agreed.”

Phaedra wondered if her younger self would have told Acestes what he wanted to hear, saving them all from the hurt and heartache that accompanied an unpleasant truth. No, that Phaedra had held honesty paramount. Why did she consider lying now? Was she so concerned with self-preservation that she had lost her moral strength? In a way, her honesty honored her father’s memory. She could not allow him to be seen as even more manipulative and grasping than he had been.

No, it was finally time for the entire truth.

Phaedra took a deep breath and steadied herself before she spoke. “I used the necklace to bet on Valens Secundus winning all of his fights. I did not do it for the coin or my father, but rather because of my love for the gladiator.”

“Valens? You love the gladiator Valens Secundus?”

Phaedra looked out of the open door. Dark had fallen long before. A cool breeze blew in from the garden. She faced Acestes. “I have loved Valens since I first met him.”

“You lust for him—it is infatuation,” said Acestes. “Not love.”

“You are wrong. I do love him. He changes my world. With Valens anything is possible. Even the daughter of a senator can marry for love and not for political alliances or the purity of her blood.” Phaedra was shocked by her outburst. She stopped speaking as her heart beat quickly beneath her breast. In her mind, telling Acestes the truth had seemed the best thing to do. But as the last traces of her voice faded away, she knew how wrong she had been.

Hurt and anger twisted Acestes’s handsome features into a grimace. His eyes shone with tears that he fought to keep from falling. Phaedra reached out to him, hoping that her touch would offer comfort.

“Do not,” he said through clenched teeth, “put your hand upon me.”

She let her arm fall to her side, and they watched each other for a moment. Finally, she walked back to the door and looked into the darkened garden. She looked heavenward, hoping to find Polaris. Thick clouds obscured the night sky, and Phaedra saw not a single star.

Carrying a torch, a slave walked by. His footfalls crunched softly on the gravel path that wound through the garden. Aside from that, there were no other sounds. Phaedra waited for Acestes to say something. Perhaps he would strike her without warning. She cared little. Her father was dead. Valens was lost to her. And her final thin hope of a contented life with Acestes had been ruined by her honesty. She had no one to love, or to love her in return. The Fates had turned their back on her. Perhaps they had cut the thread tethering her to the world, and it was now Acestes’s fate to end her life. In a way, she longed for the release of death. She tensed, sensing the moment drawing near.

But there was only silence.

She turned to look and found Acestes gone. In his place were three of Acestes’s guards, armed with swords. Phaedra knew they meant to do her harm. For an instant she considered meekly giving in to their plans. But as two of the men grabbed her, she found herself fighting—hitting and kicking—although she knew they barely felt her blows. Her knuckles bled as she continued to punch the stiff leather of their breastplates. Her feet throbbed from landing one too many kicks to the thick greaves that covered their shins. She twisted and turned in their grasp as they pulled her to the door.

She screamed, ordering them to stop at first, and begging them later. There would be no one to help her, save herself. These men had been sent by Acestes to make her sorry for not loving him. By the gods, she was so sorry. Sorry she had ever met him.

Struggling, the guards pulled Phaedra to the atrium. They all stopped as one man unbolted the front door. With everyone’s attention on the door, she grabbed one man by the hair. His grip lessened and she wrenched herself free. She tumbled backward with a handful of bloody hair as the man bent double and held his head. She righted herself and traded the clump of hair for a bowl that sat at the edge of the pool. A second guard came at her. She swung out wildly with the bowl. It connected with the guard, just under his chin, and he fell backward.

Scrambling to her feet, she raced to the open door. A strong arm grabbed her around the middle. She bucked and screamed. Bending over, she tried to bite the arm that held her. Another hand grabbed the back of her head. Pain seared through her scalp, and she reached up, trying to loosen the grip. The frame of the door came in so close and fast that Phaedra had no time to react. The single blow stole her senses and left her dizzy and tired. As her world closed in upon itself, she heard the rumbling of wheels over paving stones and smelled the sickly sweet scent of rotting food.
A cart
, she thought.
They have thrown me into a refuse cart.
Then it all became black.