by Sandi Rog
David’s eyes narrowed and he leaned his elbow on his knee. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Alexander shook his head, still reeling with the fact that he was holding a conversation with the man he loved and thought was dead. It was like talking to a ghost. “I just think that you’re being too hard on Aulus.” There. He said it. Would David fly into a rage?
Surprisingly, David remained silent, so he pushed on. “What I mean is, yes, he did a horrible thing, but that was before he was a Christian. Everyone has to be forgiven of something before they’re saved, and even after they’re saved. Whether this mess you’re in has to do with Aulus or not, I can’t say.” He waited for David’s reaction. When Alexander glanced in his direction, David was studying the wall in front of them, his mouth closed as if tasting his words. A part of Alexander wanted to run from the chamber, but another part of him wanted to stay, needed to stay for David, despite the sensation of the walls closing in around them.
“How is Elianna?” David asked, changing the subject.
Alexander nodded, ashamed to admit that even he was relieved to change the subject. “Good.” Then he sighed. “She doesn’t recognize me, so she refuses to believe I’m her husband.”
David chuckled, this time with mirth. “Well, I’m not surprised. Doesn’t Galen recognize you? It might help if you’d cut your hair and shave off that barbaric-looking beard.”
Alexander rubbed his beard. “But it’s not that thick, it’s hardly even there.” He always kept it neatly trimmed.
David shrugged, grinning. It was good to see him smile. He then motioned to his clothes. “And what in the world do you have on? Did you find your mother’s people or something?”
“You knew my family was Bedouin?”
“Alethea told me.” David nodded. “Bahiti told her about it when you were asking questions. It was painful for your mother to talk about.”
“What do you know?” Alexander leaned closer to him.
David took in a deep breath and slowly released it. “She said a sister helped her escape. Her father threatened war, but Bahiti begged him not to. Said she wanted to remain with Demetri. She loved him. She gave herself to him, believing he would marry her. But when she was soiled, she was no longer worthy, despite the fact that he was the one who soiled her.” David shook his head and looked away from Alexander. “Apparently, Demetri convinced your mother that he would marry her if she ran away with him, but he didn’t keep his word.” He looked at him again, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Didn’t your people tell you?”
“No.” Alexander looked down at the dingy floor. “Maybe they were too ashamed, or maybe they truly believed she was kidnapped. Or maybe they didn’t say anything because it would mean I’m truly a bastard and wasn’t just born a slave.” He cocked his head at David. “My grandfather loved me so much that I think he wanted to ignore the truth. It’s good that I didn’t stay there. I didn’t deserve to be the next sheik of his people.”
David stared at him.
Again, Alexander could see his thoughts brewing. “Now what are you thinking?”
A subtle grin crossed David’s face. “You’re a good man. Better than me.”
Alexander shook his head, stunned by his words. “No, I’m not.” He wanted to spit. “Do you know how often I’ve wanted to kill my own father?” The desire was certainly fresh now. “I understand your death wish for Aulus. I understand it more than you know.” He shook his fist in the air. “Demetri not only put his hands on my mother, but he murdered her, when all she ever did was love him.”
Where was this coming from? Was it because of the news David just relayed? It made the memories of his mother’s suffering fresh again, like reopening a wound. “I fight it all the time. And when the urge strikes, even though he’s far away, I pray. It’s the only thing that gets me through this.” Trembling with rage, Alexander raked a hand through his hair. “You have no idea how often I’ve wanted him dead,” he said between clenched teeth. Shaking his head, he blew out a gush of pent-up air, focusing on the gray wall. “But then I have to remind myself that my mother is in a better place. She’s no longer suffering, no longer being abused, while Demetri still lives in the hell he’s created for himself.” Alexander clenched his fists, aching to pummel the wall, something, someone—Demetri. “Do you know how often I’ve asked myself why that swine is still alive walking on this earth and my mother is dead? And what’s most frustrating is I know why. It’s because Elohim wants his soul.” Alexander pressed his palms on his forehead. “Elohim wants him to be saved.” He groaned. “If he were to die before repenting, he’d go straight to hell, and oh how I’ve wished that on him. I know his guilt eats at him, and that’s the only place I can draw comfort. I know that’s why he left, to hide from his sins, but one day … his sins are going to catch up to him. If not through me, then through someone else, and if it’s through Elohim, it’ll be too late.”
Alexander took in a long deep breath. He’d never voiced those thoughts aloud to anyone before. Why did he now? Maybe because he knew David would understand, and he didn’t want David thinking better of him than he should. And maybe … just maybe it would help David.
Ω
Inside his tent that evening, Alexander leaned on the table, looking at his reflection in the polished silver. His hair hung nearly to his shoulders. Yes. It was a bit long, but nothing that would make a huge difference if he trimmed it to the typical Roman length. He rubbed his beard. If he shaved it off, he’d look like a Roman. Even worse, he’d be the laughingstock of his servants, and even his friends. It’d be like stripping naked before them all. There had to be another way for Elianna to realize it was him. There had to be! He wouldn’t shave.
He walked to Elianna’s tent, looking forward to seeing her, talking to her, despite the conflict between them. She had spunk, the same spunk he remembered her having when she was a child. And being around her, despite their disagreements, made him feel at home. Like he’d returned home from a long trip. Hopefully, she would see something about him to make her know he was Alexander.
With the nod of a slave woman, he peeked into her tent, but it was empty. “Where is she?” he asked.
“She went for a walk.”
“What?” Alexander’s narrowed gaze caused the slave woman to back away.
“Mohar is with her, my lord. I thought … ” She lifted her hands. “Haru allowed it.”
Everything around him shuddered as Alexander pivoted and headed for Haru’s tent. He found him walking toward him. “What’s the meaning of this?” Alexander asked. “She’s not to leave the grounds!”
“She wanted to go for a walk, so Mohar joined her. She’s under guard.”
“The same protection as when I was fighting Titus.” He whistled for Nefer. “Where did they go?”
“Town, of course.”
He clenched his teeth. Why was Haru so calm about this? “She could try to escape.”
Haru shrugged. “Mohar knows not to let her out of his sight this time. All will be well. She’s also with one of the maidservants.” He looked down at the ground, lifting only his eyes to him. “Remember, if you hold on too tightly to that beautiful jewel, you might get cut.”
Nefer came up beside Alexander, bobbing his head.
Alexander petted Nefer’s flank and eyed Haru. Nothing good could come from this. Yes, he kept her locked up, but it was for her own good, at least until she recognized him. It was already getting late. There wouldn’t be many people out and the market would be closed. What could there be to do in town? Even if the shops were open, she didn’t have money.
He swung his leg over Nefer and mounted. As he turned, he noticed the guards outside her tent straighten. He looked in the direction of their gazes toward town and saw Elianna’s feminine figure approach. He then looked at his men and caught one of his guard’s gazes raking from her head to the hem of her dress. Two other guards eyed Elianna the same way. Alexander gritted his teeth, urged Nefer toward them, a
nd motioned at the goggling guards. “You three. Leave!”
The guards looked from Alexander to Elianna then back at Alexander again. Without question, they nodded and walked away.
Alexander figured after all these years of surrounding themselves with Greek and Roman women, that they’d be used to seeing females in the Roman style of dress. Bedouin women tended to be more covered. Not that Elianna wasn’t covered. But she didn’t wear the head coverings that most Bedouin and even Greek women were expected to wear, nor did she don the Bedouin robes that tended to hide feminine curves. Instead, the stola he purchased for her hugged her curves just enough to emphasize their existence.
As he watched Elianna nearing the tent, only one word came to mind. Beautiful. With her darkened curls cascading over her shoulders like the deep red of a setting sun, tossing like waves in the slight breeze to below her hips, how could a man be expected to keep his eyes off her?
Elianna lifted her chin with a regal air, her eyes narrowed at his horse, clearly not daring to meet his gaze, as she walked by him and disappeared into her tent.
Mohar cleared his throat as he straightened nearby. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”
Alexander shook his head, awakening from his trance. Leave it to Mohar to say aloud what everyone was thinking.
Perhaps he should take on more female servants and slaves now that Elianna was with them? He didn’t like the way his men stared at her, as if they contemplated their next meal. He dismounted and stood over Mohar, eyeing him.
Mohar simply nodded at Elianna’s tent then at Alexander. “She’s a fine one. Yes, indeed.”
Alexander’s fist met Mohar’s jaw and he toppled over.
Picking himself up off the ground and holding his face, he scowled at Alexander.
“The sooner you marry this woman, the better!” Mohar shouted. “If not for our own sanity, for yours!” With that, he stormed away, kicking at the dust on the ground and grumbling as he made his way toward his tent.
Taking a deep breath, Alexander marched toward Elianna’s tent, determined to touch her, to steal one kiss from those soft, sumptuous lips. To claim her as his, and only his. But until she realized who he was, he knew she wouldn’t want it. Which meant fighting her for it. Perhaps even forcing himself on her. Just outside her door, he stopped. Aching with need and yearning, he raked a hand through his hair. He turned around, mounted Nefer, and rode into the mountains as if the devil himself were chasing him.
Later that evening, Alexander went to his tent. Exhaustion had settled into his bones as he pondered the new revelations of the day. He dropped onto his bed, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, thoughts of Elianna danced through his mind, making him dizzy and crazed. He tossed and turned, until finally, teetering on the edge of a dreamful haze, Elianna hovered over him, her lips inches from his, and she kissed him. Her hair draped over him like flames, burning his skin with desire, while her lips probed against his, tasting sweet as honey.
All too soon, she pulled away, drifting from him. He reached for her, but like the elusive maiden she was, she disappeared from his grasp and his fingers touched only air.
But the air turned sharp, cutting into his palm as a scream carried through his mind. A woman’s scream. His eyes shot open, heavy from sleep. “Elianna.” He leaped out of bed. The sun barely shone over the horizon, casting a pink glow over the white mountains.
Wearing his waist tunic, he rushed to Elianna’s tent and burst through the flap, propriety completely disregarded. He found one of the maidservants standing inside, pointing at a tear in the side of one of the tent walls. The fabric had been ripped about four feet from the ground. He looked around the chamber. Empty. No Elianna. Did she escape? Then he saw a sack of grain on her bed, covers half pulled over it. And her bag on the floor next to the bed. He went to it. It was still full of her things. He rushed to the gash in the tent and peered out of it. One of his men—a guard—lay gasping, with a stab wound to his chest.
Alexander knelt over him. This man had served him for the past three years. He looked up. No one else was around. Where were his men? The other guards? Then he remembered shooing three of them away. Was this the only guard he’d left to protect her tent? He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts last night, he hadn’t replaced the guards.
“A man came,” the guard said, struggling to talk, “with a sack of grain. Asked where to deliver it. Then … he stabbed me.”
Alexander motioned for the female servant to sit by him. The wound was fatal.
Why hadn’t Alexander heard anything?
Suddenly, Mohar and Haru jogged around the corner.
“The horses were in a panic,” Mohar said, breathless, motioning to the horses’ tent. “Several dogs were loose. I’ve no idea where they came from. Haven’t seen many dogs around here. Didn’t think it was necessary to wake you.”
Another guard arrived and stopped when he saw the man lying on the ground, dying. He dropped to his knees. “No!”
Alexander got up and strode around the tent. On each side, he’d appointed a guard. But like a jealous fool, he’d sent half of them away. The rest had gone to help with the horses. Now, one of his men lay dead. He said a man came to deliver a sack of grain, which now lay on Elianna’s bed, half buried under the covers.
One of the guards approached him. “We had the maidservant look in on Mistress Elianna and she was sleeping.”
“It wasn’t her,” Alexander said, his voice deadly calm. Whoever did this clearly had a plan to take Elianna.
He whistled for Nefer. One of the slaves held out his tunic, and he slipped into it. Another sprinted toward them with Alexander’s sword and put the belt on him while he marched to his stallion.
Haru was ready, as well as several other men, and Mohar rushed to join them.
“Who would do this?” Haru asked as Alexander mounted.
“I can only think of one person.” He kicked his heels into Nefer’s flanks. He thought Elianna was being paranoid about her uncle Paulus. Didn’t she say he’d been following them for two years? “Paulus.” He hadn’t seen him, hadn’t suspected anything.
Alexander ordered his men to cover the perimeter of the city, to branch out to check all the roads, while he charged into town.
How often had he stood in this very spot? And now, here he was again. Standing in the sand pit for the first fight of the day. David had stood there so often, he’d forgotten what it felt like to know fear. All he knew was survival. But now, after talking to Alexander the day before, a familiar sensation crept over him. It worked its way over his shoulders, down his arms, and into his hands. Something he used to know. And he feared it because it made him soft. Made him less capable of defending himself, of being the violent warrior he’d become.
His opponent entered the arena, the hot sun gleaming off the man’s dark, smooth skin. They hadn’t met, but David had heard about him, heard that he might actually be a challenge for him. All bets were made, and whether for or against David, he didn’t care.
The man walked toward him, helmet on his head and a large shield in his hands. Since moving further east, the gladiator costumes diminished to what was on hand, and playing a part in the game was no longer of any importance. The tall, dark man stopped and cocked his head as he looked at David, as if studying him.
David held up his shield. They hadn’t blown the horns to start the game, but he knew of gladiators who played dirty, and by the way this one studied him, he definitely couldn’t be trusted. The man was too confident. He’d seen that confident stride before, but usually it was all a farce, or if it wasn’t, it soon became so after David slaughtered him.
But right now, David didn’t feel confident. After talking to Alexander, David felt again. He felt. No emotion in particular, other than fear right now. But so much more than that. He questioned what he was doing, how he’d gone about doing it, and whether or not he could change. But how could he change? How could he give in to what was right when the only way out was deat
h? He forced the thoughts away, stuffed them deep down where they wouldn’t rise to the surface. If he held on to anything, it would torment him, and he’d go crazy like he did those first two years in Rome.
The horns blew, and David raised his blade. The man just stood there, so David circled him as he did all his opponents. The man turned and followed. Amazing he could see out of those small eye holes in his helmet. Still, the man made no attempt to strike. He barely even held up his giant shield. David shrugged. He’d just do what he had to do. He faked right, then left, and dove under, sweeping the man’s legs with his sword, but to David’s shock, the man jumped as if he expected it. Dust came up from under the man’s feet as he landed, his knees bent, his sword and shield ready.
David rolled and got to his feet, surprised the man didn’t pin him when he had the chance. David charged after him, but the man ducked and swept David’s legs out from under him. He slammed on his belly, eating sand as he skidded to a stop. Again, David rolled and got to his feet, spitting sand out of his mouth, the grit sticking between his teeth.
The man was taunting him. The lanista was right. This gladiator knew something about fighting. David would have to recall some of the strategic moves Titus had taught him, and his mind flashed back to those long-ago lessons as it often did when he came up against a formidable opponent.
David lunged, and the man blocked his swing. Swords and shields clashed as David attacked, doing all in his power to take him down.
To beat him.
To survive.
But the man anticipated David’s every move. He swung, and the man blocked. He swung around and kicked, but the man ducked. He punched and the man caught his fist.
They stood, David’s fist still in the man’s hand, as their gazes met. Something familiar glinted in the man’s shadowed eyes, and David expected him to crush his fist, but he didn’t. He just held it. David twisted his fist free and yanked away.
He paced, fury igniting within him. The man watched him, not striking, not attempting to go in for the kill. Finally, David stopped and raised his hands. “Fight!” Again, faking left, then right, David lunged forward, but knowing the man would anticipate his move, David dropped into the splits and cut upward into his opponent’s inner thigh with his blade. The man tried to block with his sword, missing David’s blade, and pierced David deep in the side. A mortal wound. David felt it. He’d seen it before. It’d be a slow, painful death, but not for his opponent. The man would bleed to death—fast.