The Gladiator's Honor

by Michelle Styles

  Julia looked directly into her father's eyes. 'I have done nothing to be ashamed of or to bring disrepute on this family, you know that. I am willing to swear it on her shade.'

  That much was true. She had not done anything that would disgrace the family, nor did she intend to. She knew her father would misinterpret the answer, but she had no choice. The guilt she felt at the evasion threatened to close her throat and stop her breath. If he asked more directly, she'd have to confess. There was a difference between not answering the questioning and deliberately lying. She had learnt that from her father discussing his legal cases, but the thought held little comfort.

  Her father's eyes assessed her for what seemed to be an eternity. Julia's palms became damp. She fought the urge to wipe them on her gown. Then suddenly his face cleared and he patted her shoulder.

  'You know what your stepmother will say. She is desperate for an alliance with Mettalius. The betrothal should be announced without delay, according to Sabina. She wants to formally consult her augur on the appropriate day and time.'

  Did he guess? Or had she fooled him? His words should make her feel better, but they made the pit in her stomach grow. She sank down on a bench and stared at the bust. Her mother's firm chin and the set to her jaw gave Julia courage. Her father must still have feelings for her mother, even though she had been dead for the past five years. 'If Sabina wants to marry Mettalius, she should do so herself.'

  Her father gave a sharp intake of breath.

  Julia refused to allow herself time to panic. She stood up and pressed her hands together. She had to act. 'Father, I will not be made the scapegoat of some made-up scandal in order to further Sabina's social ambitions.'

  'Mettalius would be useful to the family, that is true, but others may make offers because of Caesar's favour.' Her father squeezed her hand. His smile was tender.

  'Are you saying I don't have to marry Mettalius?'

  A twinkle appeared in her father's eye and he looked more like the man she remembered from her childhood dreams than the stern figure she had encountered over the last few years.

  'Your escapade this morning has changed matters, Julia. I intend to play a waiting game. See which way the wind blows. Other more suitable alliances may appear. Question me about the war with Spartacus? Champion that dictator Sulla! At my own dinner table! Who does Mettalius think he is?'

  Julia sank down into a curtsy. 'Thank you, Father. I will not make you ashamed.'

  The twinkle disappeared and her father looked once more like the man she had faced across the dinner table last night.

  'Mind you, if I hear you have been consorting with gladiators in public again, I may be forced to take stronger measures.'

  Julia went still.

  'What sort of measures?' She pushed the question around the lump in her throat. She had to know.

  'As I am sure you are a respectable matron like your mother, I will have no need. If you'll excuse me, I shall leave you to contemplate your mother while I dress for dinner.'

  Julia ran her fingers over the bust of her mother and placed a smile on to her lips. Her heart felt as if it were breaking. She had no doubt of what her father's threat meant. In exchange for her freedom, she agreed to give up Valens and their growing friendship. It wasn't as if there was anything between them, she argued with her heart. Yesterday, she had been unaware of his existence. But the words did nothing to ease the pain in her heart.

  Valens walked through the shadowy garden at dusk. The clipped bay laurels cast long shadows over the finely raked gravel paths. In a secluded nook, Julia sat by a portrait bust of a woman who shared the same firm chin, and determined mouth. She sat as remote and still as the statue, eyes fixed on a distant spot, seemingly oblivious to his entering the garden.

  'Julia,' he called softly, trying not to startle her, the speech he had decided on forming in his mind. He'd apologise one more time, then leave. He had only sought her out in order to make sure she had arrived back safely and recovered from her fright. That was the end to it. Unemotional uninterest. He was focused solely on the arena. 'Julia, we should speak.'

  She started and turned towards him. In the fading light, he could make out the anguish in her gaze. Valens's stomach twisted as if she had driven a knife into it. He wanted to take away the pain and turn the shadows into smiles.

  All his thoughts about keeping his distance vanished along with the polite speech he had planned. He crossed the garden in ten steps to reach her side, drawing her further back into the shadowy nook.

  'What's wrong?'

  She gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. 'Nothing is the matter. Why should anything be the matter?'

  'You look as if you have lost your last friend, as if all the sadness in the world is about to overwhelm you.'

  Valens reached out to take her in his arms, but she stood up and moved away. Valens allowed his arms to fall to his side.

  'Sometimes I miss my mother. That's her statue.' Julia pointed to the bust.

  Valens looked at the statue and back at Julia. There was more to this than missing her mother.

  'How long has your mother been dead?'

  Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. Her hands twisted the end of her belt. 'Five years. She died when the fever swept through Rome.'

  Valens caught her arm and turned her to face him. This time she didn't move away. She stood rigid. As he moved his hand up her arm slowly towards her shoulder, she laid her head against his chest with a great sigh. Valens stroked her head, the scent of her filling his nostrils and teasing his senses.

  His body responded, hardening to her nearness; the temptation to taste her lips again was overpowering.

  'I've spoken to your father about the incident at the presentation ceremony this afternoon,' he said in an attempt to draw his mind away from the way her body felt against his.

  Immediately she stiffened and drew back. Her eyes flicked towards the entrance to the garden and the colour drained from her face.

  'You've spoken to my father,' she said.

  'Yes, I gather you already discussed the incident with him. I apologised for any embarrassment and explained about discovering your dog on stage. He seemed concerned about you and your reputation, but I explained the course of events.'

  Julia felt another lump form in her throat. For that brief time, resting in Valens's arms, she'd been convinced he was about to kiss her again. How mistaken she'd been! He'd held her like a friend, not like a lover. Silently she cursed her treacherous mind and body.

  She'd promised. She would not get involved with this man. Already the guilt of the small deception was eating away at her insides. But her father had said 'in public', and this garden nook was private. Julius Antonius never said anything without a reason. She pressed her fingertips together, relief building within her. He had not forbidden her to see Valens in private. If he had intended to keep them apart, he would have demanded Caesar remove Valens. She had been worried over nothing.

  In her anxiety, she had managed to loosen the tight knot of hair at the back of her head. If she moved her head even an inch, her hairstyle would crash down around her shoulders. Not the impression she wanted to give Valens. She reached up and began to twist it back into a bun, taking out a hairpin.

  'I've already explained to my father what happened, the truth about what happened,' she said carefully.

  'He informed me before he and your stepmother left for dinner.' Valens's eye bore a distinct shine. 'He was pleased— your story matched with mine.'

  Julia dropped a hairpin and she bent down searching for it. Keeping her eyes firmly trained on the ground, she said 'And why should they not match? I told the truth. The fight had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Bato and his escape plans.'

  She spied the hairpin and reached out to grab it. Valens's hand reached out and closed around hers.

  'Are you going to tell me what is bothering you, Julia? I thought you'd have been pleased your father is taking it so lightly. I heard t
he gossip in the streets.'

  Julia withdrew her hand from his and stood up, jamming the hairpin back into her head so hard she winced from the pain.

  'I have had an upsetting day. That's all. I nearly lose my dog, get in the midst of a violent fight and then, to cap it off, my father accuses me of having an affair with you.' She finished with a dramatic flourish and waited for his response.

  Annoyingly Valens stared in the middle distance for a little while before he began to speak.

  'What bothers you most—that your father accused you of having an affair or the fact that we are not having an affair?' His face wore the same look of yesterday when he accused her of following him from the bath.

  The arrogant—Julia clenched her fist. 'How dare you!'

  'If you desire an affair, it can be arranged, Julia.' His eyes held promises her body wanted to try. 'It might save some time. You know we are both attracted to each other.'

  Julia closed her eyes and tried not to think of this morning and that kiss, the kiss that had sent shivers through her soul. She stiffened her back and stared straight into his face. When she had finished with him…

  'You think, because you stole a kiss this morning,' she said with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, 'then had me sent home in a litter after a fight you engineered, that I should fall into your bed.'

  'It has happened before.' A dimple showed in the corner of his mouth.

  'Why, you—!' Julia reached up and drew her hand back. His hand caught her wrist before she connected with his cheek.

  'Physical violence rarely solves anything outside the arena, Julia.' His voice hardened and his eyes glittered.

  'That is rich coming from a gladiator,' she shot back.

  'I do what I have to do to survive.' His voice was barely above a whisper now.

  'And is this about survival?' she asked, intending to draw her hand back. Her stomach fluttered. She should flee now, but her legs refused to move.

  'No, this is about desire,' he growled. 'Desire between a man and a woman.'

  His voice made her insides leap. She hesitated and wondered what it would be like to feel his mouth against hers again. She ran her tongue over her lips, which seemed to have grown fall and swollen from just a look.

  'You are mistaken,' she lied. 'This has nothing to do with desire. I had enough sense not to scream when a gladiator took me in his arms.'

  She looked away. She ought to leave. The danger was too great. They might not be seen from the house, but a servant could walk down the garden path. Her knees were like water and her feet refused to move.

  'You're lying. Shall I prove it to you?' His voice tickled her ear. 'That sort of challenge is impossible to resist'

  Valens brought her chin up, capturing her face between his hands. She stared at him, watching the banked fires in his eyes grow. Valens reached out and pulled her to him. His lips swooped and held hers. His kiss bore little resemblance to this morning's gentleness. It plundered, took and ravaged her mouth.

  For less than a heartbeat, she thought about pushing him away, but, even as his tongue touched hers for the first time, she knew it was impossible and gave herself to the kiss, returning it measure for measure.

  The nature of the kiss changed and became less punishing and more enquiring, seeking a response from her, a response her body longed to give.

  Her body arched closer, feeling the hardness of him as he ran a hand down her back, passing a hand over her buttocks and pressing her closer. Against her belly, she felt the telltale bulge of his desire and warmth spread throughout her, increasing in its intensity as it neared her centre point. Every muscle, every fibre of her being felt on fire and still he would not let go, would not end the kiss. She moaned in the back of her throat and brought her hands up to his head, running them through his crisp hair and then down his back.

  As abruptly as the kiss began, he stepped back, ending it. She stared at his heaving chest, tousled hair and eyes dark with passion before lifting a hand to release her hair, allowing it to tumble down her back and over her shoulders.

  His lips curved into a heart-stopping smile.

  'I shall take that as an invitation.'

  Julia made an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat. She knew she'd regret it, but, for now, her body demanded to feel his against hers. 'Please,' she whispered, not knowing if she was asking him to continue or to stop.

  She felt his eyes trace the shape of her body. For a heartbeat, she thought he would draw her into his arms again. Then he shook his head, running his hand through his hair.

  'I prefer a soft bed and privacy for seduction, Julia Antonia. Any time you are ready, say the word.'

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back and strode off. Julia grabbed the hairpin and threw it after him. Her breasts tingled with unfulfilled longing. She could feel her nipples straining against the breast band and knew, if he so much as looked back, she'd melt into his arms.

  Valens heard the hairpin drop on the ground behind him, and forced himself not to turn around. The kiss was supposed to teach her a lesson. It was supposed to frighten her. And it was supposed to be the end of it for him. The arena beckoned. He could not afford to let anything distract him from this next bout. Every time he came near her, he could only think about her.

  He'd lied. A breath more and he would have seduced her there, without the benefit of the bed. His loins ached from the feel of her pelvis against his. Why had the gods sent her to torment him?

  He quickened his pace as a second hairpin hit his shoulder. If he turned back now, he'd sling her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bed, refusing to let her out until they were both satiated with passion.

  Chapter Seven

  For the next two days, Julia kept her distance from Valens, checking her bedroom door three times each night before she climbed into bed to ensure there would be no repeat of Bato's escape.

  On the afternoon of the second day, half-hidden by a pillar, and unable to stop herself, she watched him practising with several other gladiators in her father's courtyard. With each parry and thrust, his tunic strained to reveal more of his body, his muscles slick with sweat and gleaming in the sunlight. Julia swallowed hard and tried to force her legs to move on, but they stayed still, rooted to the spot.

  She had been prepared to hate the sport, but she found, to her surprise, that she enjoyed watching the clash of the swords and the ebb and flow of the fight. Each time Valens landed a blow on his opponent, a silent cheer rose within her.

  If one of the other gladiators made a mistake, he stopped and explained what was wrong, demonstrating how that cut or this blow worked better. At the end, when he sent the last of the trainees' swords flying, their eyes met and she drew back to the safety of the house, trying to forget the kiss in the garden that was imprinted on her brain.

  The kiss haunted her dreams and she woke, drenched in sweat, burning with desire for his touch. She threw the blanket off and padded over to the window, throwing open the shudder to breathe in the cool night air.

  The garden was bathed in moonlight. The bay laurel hedges were etched in silver. In the shadows near her mother's secret nook, she thought she saw a couple move, embracing the way she and Valens had embraced. She blinked her eyes and the couple vanished.

  Her hands gripped the window ledge. She stumbled back to bed and stubbed her toe on Bato. Bato raised his nose, looked at her and padded over to the door.

  'Fine, I suppose it is my fault for getting out of bed,' Julia said, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her undertunic before slipping her feet into her house sandals 'And I'll come with you to make sure you get back to the right room with no detours.

  For once, Bato behaved himself, Julia thought with a pang as the early morning dew on the path seeped through her shoes. He showed no sign of wanting to go off and explore as he normally did. Julia heaved a sigh of relief and tiredness bit at her every limb. She tried to summon the energy to climb the stairs back to her bedroom. A muffled shout
from above brought every nerve to attention. Valens! It had to be. Bato gave a sharp bark.

  Julia raced up the stairs behind him. When Bato started whining and scrambling at the guest bedroom door, she threw it open.

  A single oil lamp burnt on the table by Valens's bed. The cotton sheets were tangled about Valens's body as he lay on his carved wooden bed. In one hand, he clutched the heavily embroidered counterpane. His head, slick with sweat, thrashed about on the lamb's-wool-filled mattress.

  He gave a moan and cried out again, pleading for someone's life.

  Julia stepped into the room and closed the door.

  'Valens,' she said softly, going to the bed and shaking his shoulder. 'You're having a dream, a nightmare.'

  Valens's eyes flashed opened and his hand shot out, his fingers curling around her throat.

  The nightmare had come again. Valens had known it would and waited for it, steeled himself for it. Each night as he closed his eyes, he wondered—would it be tonight? Then, when enough nights had gone by without the dream, and he had begun to hope, to consider sleeping without a light, it struck with savage intensity.

  Valens knew how it started—innocently enough, a bright clear day with laughter. Then the ambush by pirates and watching eight of his men fall and the rest held captive. Then came the agony of watching the others perish—two, and finally the last six as Aquila laughed. In the next act, it switched to the arena and the men he had fought and killed. Sometimes he fought back and at others, he was rooted to the spot, defenceless, unable to fight. Always it ended with him fighting a faceless opponent and waking drenched in sweat, gasping for breath with violently trembling hands, his nostrils filled with the stench of blood and rotting flesh, his ears aching from the screams of the dying. All the more terrifying for the repetition.

  'Valens, Valens, you're dreaming. Let go of me.'

  Through the cries of the crowd and screams of the dying,

  Valens heard Julia. His eyes snapped opened and his arm fell back on the bed.

  He stared at the woman before him, feeling the sweat drip down his neck, but uncertain of the vision before him. His hand had encountered solid flesh but was it just another illusion? Here was a Julia unlike he had ever seen before except in his dreams, a Julia with her hair curling softly about her shoulders, and a dark wool blanket around her shoulders.