Adjusting her coarse tunic, she remembered the fine silk of the widow’s ensemble, garments similar to the ones she used to wear every day and took for granted. She washed her hands in a bucket of tepid water, ignoring a pang of envy. She joined the other four slaves kneading dough by the window. Deep in debate about which gladiator they found most handsome, the girls didn’t acknowledge her greeting.
Pelonia’s fingers worked the sticky, wheat-colored mass atop the table. The girls’ chatter faded as her thoughts drifted back to Adiona. Little wonder Caros found the woman attractive. She was too beautiful by half. Not only was she stunning, but her vibrant energy infused the air around her. She smelled fresh, too, clean with a hint of cinnamon and other fragrant spices.
Pelonia wrinkled her nose, disgusted by the smell of smoked pork clinging to her own body. She hoped Cat didn’t mistake her in the dark for his evening snack. With the back of her hand, she brushed the sweat from her brow and, knowing it would make it worse, resisted the urge to scratch the chafed area on her shoulder beneath her tunic.
Her fingers grew idle in the dough as she stared out the window. In less than a month, her life had changed beyond recognition. Her chest ached from holding in her grief. A well of loneliness opened inside her, dragging her into its darkness. She missed her father, her home, her friends. She missed being herself.
With all her heart, she wished Caros had met her as she used to be, not the bedraggled slave she’d become. Perhaps then he would respect her and view winning her affections as something more than a game.
“Stop dawdling!” The girl beside her jabbed an elbow in Pelonia’s ribs. “Word is more guests are coming tonight. We have to hurry and get more loaves of bread in the oven.”
Rubbing her side, Pelonia bit back a retort and finished kneading her portion of dough, then several others. Heat from the fire made her perspire until the itchy cloth she wore stuck to her back and chest.
What she wouldn’t do for a bath. She longed for the soothing comfort of the water, the cleansing ointments on her skin—
“Pelonia?” A male slave called from the doorway. “Are you in here?”
She brushed the flour and bits of dough from her hands before wiping them on a towel. “Yes, here I am.”
“The master wishes to see you. He’s waiting in the atrium.”
She left the kitchen, but didn’t rush to find Caros. After all, he had Adiona to amuse him. Bending to pick a sprig of jasmine along the path, she tucked the flower behind her right ear. She breathed in the sweetness, shamefully aware that one small bloom could not hide the odor of her unwashed clothes and person.
Once she entered the house, she straightened her shoulders and held her head high. As she made her way into the courtyard, she noticed the lack of Adiona’s presence and breathed a sigh of thanks.
Caros met her beneath the columned porch. The sight of him stole her breath. He’d had his hair trimmed and was freshly shaven. The thick black waves of his hair curled around his ears and brushed his forehead. His white tunic looked new, as did his leather sandals. She’d never seen him more handsome. Had he gone to such trouble with his appearance to impress his beautiful guest?
He grasped her elbow in a light grip. “Where have you been? I sent a messenger for you almost half an hour ago.”
“Half an hour?” She glanced at the sundial, then schooled her features in an innocent expression. “I’m surprised you noticed the time with such pleasant company to entertain you.”
He looked startled. “You met Adiona?”
“I didn’t meet her. I saw her when she arrived.”
His lips spread in a slow smile. “She is pleasant, is she not? And beautiful enough to rival Venus, don’t you agree?”
“She’s remarkable,” she answered, determined to sound congenial. Why, she couldn’t pinpoint, but she waited for him to refute any serious involvement with the woman.
No denial came and she restrained herself from shaking one out of him. Jealousy buzzed in her head like an irritating fly beside her ear. She pasted on a smile to save her pride. “I hope the two of you are most happy together.”
“Oh, we are,” he assured her. “Adiona and I have known one another for years. Unlike you and me, she and I are of similar minds. Our relationship is everything I desire it to be.”
She swallowed her heartache and reached up to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. The jasmine fell to the mosaic floor. Having forgotten she’d placed it there, she realized how pathetic she must seem compared to the luminous widow. With her hair unwashed and lusterless, the feed sack of a tunic she wore and dirt embedded under her fingernails, she was a broken stem next to an artfully arranged bouquet.
Caros bent to retrieve the sprig and handed it to her. “Is all well with you, Pelonia? You seem a bit disheartened.”
Careful not to touch him, she took the flower. “If I seem down, it’s because I’m confused.”
“By what?”
“By you,” she admitted. “If you belong to your widow friend, why did you attempt to woo me?”
He shrugged. “Why do you care? You’re the one who claimed we’re ill-suited. You should be delighted I’ve taken you at your word.”
The flow of the fountain filled the silence. A reply froze in her throat. She searched his face, captivated by the deep blue of his eyes, the strength of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
Her vision blurred with unshed tears. How much loss could she endure? First her father and household, now Caros when she was just beginning to understand how much she cared for him. It was cold comfort to realize she’d been right to withhold her heart since his had proven fickle.
She bowed her head. Please, God, hold me together. Don’t let him witness my despair.
His warm fingers slid around the back of her neck. With a gentle tug, he pulled her toward him, but she refused to budge.
Voices carried from the direction of the guest rooms. Caros released her the moment Adiona entered the courtyard.
“There you are, my darling.” The widow’s bright smile curved her painted mouth. She linked arms with Caros and her amber gaze scanned Pelonia from head to foot. She frowned. “This isn’t the one you suggested earlier, is it? She’ll never do as a maid of mine. She looks like she hasn’t bathed in a week. I might get fleas.”
Pelonia’s cheeks burned and with as much dignity as she could muster she walked away. Her vanity wounded, her feminine pride shattered, she clutched at the hollow ache in her chest.
“Where are you off to?” Caros called before she could escape indoors. “I didn’t dismiss you.”
Her steps slowed to a stop. Her mortification fresh in her mouth, she couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
Caros watched her intently. Would she carry out a test of wills in front of his guest? He hoped not. It would be an affront he couldn’t let pass. He counted to three, then commanded, “Come here, slave.”
He saw her wince and regretted the order. He’d meant to make her jealous, not earn her hatred for all eternity.
She turned, her entire manner as stiff as an iron blade. Her dark eyes shimmered with anger…or was it injured pride?
“Yes, Master?” she said, her tone so cold, he suspected he’d catch a chill.
Easing from the widow’s grasp, he moved halfway to Pelonia. This close he could see the emotion wasn’t anger or injured pride in her troubled eyes. It was raw humiliation.
He released a sharp breath. What a fool he was. The one woman he wanted most in life and he was certain he’d just lost her.
Chapter Ten
Pelonia struggled to hide her embarrassment behind a mask of indifference. Aware of the widow’s scrutinizing gaze, she couldn’t bear for the arrogant gorgon to see how deep her insult cut.
She crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable with Caros’s probing stare. “If that will be all, Master, may I go? There’s work to be done in the kitchen.”
He raked his fingers through his hair and gave a
terse nod of consent. “Go, then. I’ll speak with you later.”
Her back as straight as a pike, she fled indoors. Once out of Caros’s sight she pressed against a wall for support, waiting for her trembling to ease. Her anger burned against Caros and his icy paramour. The woman in her wished for a way to teach the malicious beauty a lesson in humility.
Adiona’s husky laughter rippled through the garden. “Amazing!” she exclaimed. “I do believe our undefeated champion has finally met his match.”
“Adiona, don’t—”
“And a slave girl no less. How delicious!”
Fascinated, Pelonia stilled though she knew she should walk away.
“Leave it.” He sounded exasperated.
“No, you must tell me,” the widow said with glee. “I’m intrigued beyond bearing. How did you, with women all over Rome vying for your favor, fall for such a scruffy little mouse?”
Pelonia bristled, her dislike of the widow and her mockery growing more intense with each passing moment. She held her breath waiting for Caros’s response.
“I’ve never struck a woman before,” he said darkly, “but you’re tempting me.”
The widow gasped. “There’s no need to be cruel. I was jesting.”
After a long, tense moment, his heavy footsteps sounded on the tile. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice strained. “In my bad temper, I forgot your past misfortune. After all these years, you must know you’re safe regardless of my threats.”
Pelonia’s brow furrowed. Had Adiona been abused once? Perhaps the widow’s brusque exterior hid a core of inner pain? If so, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for the woman.
“I do know,” Adiona murmured, almost too softly to reach Pelonia’s ears. “I’m sorry I teased you. Love is an affliction. I’ve seen the various ways the malady affects its victims and I know you’re not the giddy sort.”
He grunted. “Leave it, Adiona. I’m not in love with her. The girl’s a slave. No more, no less.”
A chill settled in Pelonia’s bones. The widow spoke, but she didn’t hear over the rush of recriminations swirling through her head. What did you expect of him, you silly idiota? A declaration of undying devotion?
She bowed her head, distraught to realize some sort of acknowledgment was exactly what she’d hoped for. Brainless, stupid, foolish…
Heavy with disappointment, she climbed the stairs to lick her wounds in the solitude of her chamber. With Caros otherwise engaged and dinner preparations reaching their zenith, she suspected no one would notice her absence.
An hour later, a small oil lamp illuminated Pelonia’s room. The sun had said farewell and darkness enshrouded the city. She stood at the window. Every fiber of her being urged her to run, to escape the prison of her despair. Yet, she was trapped as much by the guards at every gate as her promise not to flee.
Her fingers gripped the sill until her nails made marks in the wood. She must have been deranged to make the bargain last night. Yes, she wanted to tell Caros about Jesus, but if she were honest with herself she had to admit her capitulation stemmed from other reasons as well. Had it been the tenderness she imagined in Caros’s eyes or her own gullibility? Perhaps both had conspired to trick her into believing something more, something precious yet unexplored, existed between her and the lanista.
Not that it mattered what she thought. This afternoon he’d been clear in his denial of any affection for her.
The girl’s a slave. No more, no less.
His words circled over and over in her mind, scalding her with each relentless pass.
The smell of roasted meats carried on the cool night air. She hadn’t eaten since morning. Her stomach grumbled. The banquet would begin soon. She tensed, aware that if anyone noticed her absence it would be during the meal’s first few courses. Once the guests were immersed in the party’s merriment, no one would care if there were too few servants or not.
Lying down on her pallet, she tried to reach out for God’s guidance, an inkling of peace. Instead, her mind tormented her with visions of Caros and his lady love. Jealousy hounded her. How had she come to care for him in such a short time? When had he wormed into her heart so completely?
Lord, how do I pluck him out?
She rolled to her side. The shadows on the walls flickered like evil specters laughing at her misery. She stood and began to pace.
Shuffling footsteps drew her attention. Someone knocked on the door. If she ignored them perhaps they’d leave her be? Another knock, this one more insistent.
“Open up!” a gruff voice demanded. “I have word from the master.”
She glared at the portal and the harsh male concealed behind it. She might as well answer; there was no lock. She wrenched open the door…and stared in astonishment.
“The master sent this for you.” The short, burly slave nodded to a wooden tub held by two other slaves behind him. Confused, she backed up and let them deposit the large, barrel-shaped container in the corner.
“They’ll be back with water,” the gruff slave informed as he tossed her a folded bundle of cloth. “You have instructions to ready yourself. The master’s guests will be arriving within the hour. You’re expected to help serve the meal.”
Moments later, the slaves brought water, filled the tub and left. She closed the door and undid the bundle she held. Inside, she found a fresh tunic, a bottle of cleansing oils and two rough cloths to dry herself with. Delighted by the items, she placed the oils and cloths by the tub and draped the tunic over the room’s lone chair.
With a sigh, she slipped into the steaming water. It was almost too hot after weeks of bathing in cold, but the glorious sensation of being immersed in sweet bliss relaxed her muscles and lifted her spirits.
Tipping her head back against the rim, she closed her eyes. Why had Caros sent her the gifts? Had Adiona’s scorn shamed him enough to be generous? Or did he simply wish to avoid embarrassment in front of his guests? No doubt, his displeasure would soar if she entered his banquet as odorous as a “scruffy little mouse.”
She refused to rile her temper with thoughts of the widow or her insults. Whatever Caros’s reason for the bath and other gifts, she was grateful.
The water cooled. She reached for one of the cloths and spread it on the floor. Stepping out of the tub, she applied a thick layer of spice-scented oil over her skin and through her wet hair. At the bath complex, an attendant would use a strigil to scrape the dirt and moisture from her body, but in the absence of both helper and implement, she used one of the rough cloths to buff her skin until it shone with cleanliness.
By the time she heard Caros’s first visitors arrive, she was rinsing her hair. Clean and refreshed, she wrapped the strands in one of the dry linens and, stalling for time, washed her other garments.
Faint chatter and the muted melody of a panpipe filtered through the open windows, signaling the start of the evening’s entertainments.
She’d best hurry. Her hair finger-combed and braided, her teeth cleaned, she finished dressing, thankful for the new tunic and the softness brushing her body. She slipped on her sandals, tied the laces around her ankles, and headed for the first floor.
Caros noticed Pelonia the moment she walked into the dining room, a pitcher held in each hand. He willed her to glance his way, but she denied him even the slightest acknowledgment. The oil lamps provided a clear view as she made her way toward the low-lying couches surrounding the banquet table.
His longing for her so strong he could taste the bitter sweetness of it, he admired the sway of her hips and her supple, honey-toned skin. In different garments, no one would suspect her slave status. She possessed the bearing of a goddess and her natural beauty put every other woman in the room to shame.
The music shifted tempo. A kithara and lyre joined the panpipe. Had she enjoyed her bath? He wished he’d thought of her needs sooner, before Adiona’s mockery had a chance to hurt her. Had his wits been quicker, he might have saved Pelonia a healthy dose of embarrassment.<
br />
His gaze followed her as she mingled with his guests. Filling empty glass goblets with fresh water or honeyed wine, she smiled often, speaking when spoken to. The easy laughter that followed her comments added to the party’s jovial mood.
She conversed with Alexius, unaware of her effect on many of the males in attendance. Noticing how the eyes of the men lingered on his woman, Caros struggled to contain his temper. Perhaps he should have overcome his need to see her and left her upstairs away from lust-filled eyes.
Adiona moved beside him, her sweet perfume surrounding him like a thick cloud. She linked her arm with his. “It’s going well, don’t you agree? Marius Brocchus and his mistress are eating all the honeyed figs, but other than that everyone seems happy enough.”
He looked down into his friend’s kohl-rimmed eyes. “The evening’s going as you planned. I’m glad we could help one another.”
She rose on tiptoe and kissed his mouth. “You’re the last man in the world worth a denarius. I would have sent Lucia to my country villa even if you hadn’t agreed to this fete.”
He groaned. “You might have told me sooner.”
Squeezing his arm, she laughed. “You can admit you’re enjoying yourself.”
He located Pelonia near the banquet table. As long as she remained in the room he managed to be content. “You know I’m not one for parties.”
“Indeed, I do. Everyone knows you’ve been a recluse this last year. I’ve defended you, but…”
Adiona chatted on. Caros listened with half an ear. He’d stopped his wild socializing when he realized how empty it left him. Without Pelonia’s presence even this fine gathering would soon bore him.
He barely noticed when Adiona went to make conversation with Alexius. As the night progressed, he did his duty and spoke with a number of couples and a small group of senators debating the consequences of Emperor Domitian’s new policies.
Throughout the night, his female admirers approached him, but with his attention focused on his slave, he dispatched the women with ease.
The Gladiator Page 9