“Stay out of this,” she warned him in a hostile tone. The argument was between her and Crispus.
“I can see we have much heated debate over these two gladiators,” Crispus said, irritated. “I guess I shall have to decide for myself.”
Crispus stood at the rail and held out his arm, his hand closed in a fist. The crowd cheered louder for Angus to live. Valeria held her breath, waiting to see what Crispus would choose.
He turned his thumb down.
“No!” she shouted out in protest.
He couldn’t do this. How could he go against the crowd?
“I tire of these two,” Crispus said, still standing at the rail, waiting for his order to be carried out.
Valeria ran up to the rail and looked down at Tristan. His expression hardened and he stared back at her with hatred blazing in his eyes. She shook her head and felt the burning start of tears. Tristan couldn’t kill Angus. They were friends, countrymen. He was the kind of man who would take his own life instead.
The crowd hissed and hollered their disapproval, ridiculing the Caesar for his bad call.
“Why does the crowd love them so much?” Crispus complained, his mood turning sullen. “It’s my crowd, and these slaves are taking it from me.”
Down in the arena, Tristan flung his sword to the ground, disobeying the Caesar’s final call. As he stared up at Crispus in defiance, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and cries of joy. Valeria let out her own excited laugh and smiled down at Tristan. He and Angus locked hands and Tristan pulled his friend to his feet. She hadn’t thought the crowd could scream any louder.
Tristan raised his fist in the air in a bold show of resistance.If he didn’t own the crowd before, he did now. It took great courage to openly defy the Caesar of Rome, and as much as the people loved blood, they loved a hero more. But Valeria was afraid Tristan wouldn’t get to enjoy his victory for very long. Not with Crispus out for his blood.
Chapter Twenty-One
The door to his cell swung open and Tristan was sure they were coming to execute him. He’d refused to do as ordered and had embarrassed the Caesar of Rome in front of the people. There was a chance he might be remembered for that act.
The lanista entered his cell, followed by two men dressed in green togas.
“Greetings, Decimus.” The older of the two men stepped forward. His blond hair was starting to show grey at the temples. His skin was tanned from spending years in the hot Roman sun and he had fine wrinkles around his eyes.
As Tristan stood to greet the man, he looked to the lanista for an explanation.
“These men have requested audience with you,” he said. “You might be interested in what they have to say.”
“Your show in the arena today was quite impressive,” the man continued. “You defied the Caesar of Rome, and by insulting him, you have earned the love of the people.”
“Will that be enough to win my freedom?” he wondered.
There would be consequences for his actions, but he doubted freedom would be one of them. Death was a more likely option.
“If it’s freedom you seek, your chance of winning it is rare.” The man paced the floor in front of him, looking down at his feet. “For you, freedom is something that will have to be taken.”
He stopped pacing and looked directly at Tristan. There was a light in this man’s eyes Tristan recognized. It was the same light of rebellion that had always burned in his own soul.
“You know you won’t be getting out of here alive, don’t you?”
Tristan had a good idea. He glanced nervously at the younger man who hadn’t spoken a word. Who were these people?
“I can help you get your freedom,” the man said. “If you can help me with a small matter.”
He didn’t like where this was going. “Nothing in Rome is a small matter.”
“Right you are, but then, neither is freedom a small matter.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” Tristan studied the man sharply, watching for any tell of a lie.
“It’s not just me you have to put your trust in,” he said. “It’s the city of Rome.”
“Of what exactly do you speak?”
“Many of the common people are tired of living under the rule of the aristocracy. Plying them with bloody games in the arena is no longer a distraction for the true degradations they are expected to suffer at the hands of the noble, ruling class.”
Tristan was glad some of these people were coming to their senses. “What do you want from me?”
“Tomorrow you will be put in the arena with Atilla. The Caesar intends to see you and Angus dead. I, however, have another use for you. There are many of us who have been waiting for the right chance to stage an uprising, and you, gladiator, are that chance.”
Tristan held the man’s stare. What he spoke of was mutinous, a treasonable offense. “You place much in the hands of a slave.”
“You are the hero of Rome. If you break free of your bonds and escape the arena, it will be enough to inspire the rest of the citizens to rise up with us and take this city back. You will be the very symbol of freedom and rebellion.”
“I have no wish to be a symbol for your movement. My only wish is to be free.”
“Join with us,” the man entreated, offering his hand. “And you will have your freedom.”
Tristan didn’t take his offered hand. “Will I be free, or merely a slave to a different master?”
“All of us will know freedom, but we need your help.”
Tristan glanced at the lanista. “You support this?”
“I once found honor in my position,” he answered. “Now I find only shame. The Caesar makes a mockery of the arena, and unless he is stopped, many more men like you will meet their unfortunate end.”
Tristan was being presented with the chance to gain his freedom and strike a blow at the heart of his enemy. How could he refuse? If his freedom could not be gained in the arena, this was the only other way he would get it. Putting his trust in a Roman was difficult to do, but he sensed the man was honest, and when the Gods presented one with an opportunity, it was best to take it before it was too late. He accepted the man’s offered hand and they sealed the alliance with a firm handshake.
Angus stepped into his cell, and the other gladiators filled the doorway behind him. “Welcome to the rebellion, my friend.”
“You knew about this?” Tristan didn’t like being kept in the dark. Not by one he called brother.
“They came to me first to see if the hero of Rome could be persuaded.” Angus gave him a wide grin. “I told them you’d bring the entire city to its knees if that’s what they wanted.”
“Shall we all go up to the training yard?” the man asked the lanista. “There is much preparation needed for tomorrow’s games.”
“Indeed,” the lanista agreed, giving the first real smile Tristan had ever seen from him. “Gladiators, choose your weapons. Tonight, we train for the greatest show the arena has ever seen.”
Despite all her attempts, Valeria could not settle her cousin’s nerves. Crispus was screaming mad over Tristan’s disobedience in the arena and he paced around the table in the atrium, refusing to take the evening meal or even a cup of wine.
“You didn’t expect him to kill his friend, did you?” Valeria pointed out the obvious as she sat at the table, watching his nervous steps back and forth. “He only did what he thought was right.”
“He is a slave!” Crispus raged, on the verge of tears. “He does not think. He does as I command.”
“Crispus, please settle yourself.” Septima followed behind him, laying a soothing hand on his arm.
“Do not treat me as a child.” He threw her off. “I will not be calmed until I see his head removed from his body.”
Valeria had a hard task ahead of her if she thought to convince Crispus to spare Tristan’s life. He was inconsolable, and therefore unable to be persuaded. Septima only upset him more with her indulgent coddling. Valeria knew, if le
ft alone, his mood might be improved by morning.
“Cousin, tomorrow the crowd could call for his death and this will all be ended.”
“That will never happen,” he complained, his voice cracking on a choked sob. He stopped his pacing to look at her. “He defied me and the people love him for it. He’s even more of a champion now!”
Valeria had always thought her cousin a coward, but now he looked it. In her heart, she sang a small prayer of praise for Tristan. His courageous action had displaced the Caesar of Rome and made him a hero to the people. It was better than anything she could have done for him.
“That’s why you’ll see him put to an end tomorrow.” Septima stood behind Crispus and snaked her arms around his neck. “Atilla is loyal and will carry out your wishes.”
“Atilla?” Valeria gasped, flooding with fear. “You can’t do that.”
“I can do it!” Crispus yelled. “I have!” One corner of his mouth twisted up in a cold smile, and over his shoulder, Septima wore an evil smirk.
“You play with a man’s life.” Valeria threw back her chair and shot to her feet. “Does nothing hold value for you?”
“The man’s life is mine to play with because it holds no value,” he declared. “Why do you show such interest in the games, cousin? The life of a gladiator never made a difference to you before.”
Septima kept her poisonous stare locked on Valeria as she traced her fingers through his hair. “It’s like you said, she’s been spending so much time with the common people, she’s becoming one.”
Valeria would get nowhere with these two. The world they lived in was so far removed from the one she’d become a part of. Maybe she did act like a common woman, but at least she had a heart. One that would break if Tristan was killed in the arena. She had less than a day to save his life.
On the way out of his cell, Tristan collided with Quintus and his brimming armload of new weapons and armor. The items went crashing to the ground in an angry clatter. Tristan didn’t have time for this foolishness today.
“Send them back,” he barked, stepping around the mess of shiny, new shields and helmets and swords.
“I wouldn’t be so hasty in that decision.” Quintus tossed a letter up in the air and the piece of parchment floated like a feather down to the pile of weapons.
“You know I can’t read it.”
The old man grunted a laugh. “That’s too bad. I think you’ll want to keep this one.”
Tristan made a closer inspection of the weapons. They were of excellent quality and there was enough to be shared with the others. It might be a blessing from the Gods, sending them new weapons for their final battle in the arena. He bent down and snatched up the letter. Only three words in a flowing, feminine script were written upon the parchment.
“What does it say?”
Quintus cleared his throat. “Win your freedom.”
“That’s it?” Tristan turned the note over in his hand, looking for more. There had to be more.
“That’s it,” Quintus echoed. “Will you keep this one? I nearly broke my back carrying it all down here.”
“Who is it from?”
“The man who delivered it wouldn’t say. I guess you have a secret admirer.”
What lady of Rome would send him a gift without asking for anything in return except that he win his freedom?
Valeria.
She’s told him all she wanted was to see him free. This time he would accept her help.
“I’ll accept this one,” Tristan informed Quintus. “Call the others over.”
It seemed fitting to use weapons and armor purchased by Valeria to aid the gladiators in taking her city. Very soon the two of them would be on equal ground with each other, and Tristan would remind her exactly what kind of a man she was dealing with.
The horns sounded and the games for the day were about to begin. People settled into their seats and talked excitedly amongst themselves. Atilla would battle both Tristan and Angus. No one in the city wanted to miss this fight. It would be legendary.
Valeria sat directly behind Crispus and Gaius. She could hardly keep herself together as she watched the executions. Only four today.Three men and one woman. They were all stabbed through with one, clean stroke that ended their lives in an instant.
Would she watch Tristan die today? Grief and despair tore at her heart. Crispus could not be convinced to change his mind, and she was only one woman who didn’t have as much power as she’d thought she did. When she’d gone to place her bet for the day, she’d voiced her fears to Vorenus, and he’d said it would be a better use of her money to buy Tristan new weapons and have them delivered in time for the games. Apparently it was a common practice when a noble fan favored a gladiator.
She’d done all she could to help him. His fate rested in the hands of the Gods.
Please, let him live.
“I don’t think I’ve seen so many fans in attendance recently,” Gaius commented, looking around at the crowd packed into the stands. “It’s like the entire city is here.”
“Today the arena will bring the people a battle they will never forget,” Crispus declared, all smug and pleased with himself. “I plan to show them what happens to those who disrespect my authority.”
Valeria was consumed by a sinking feeling of dread. What did her cousin have planned with Atilla?
It was time to find out. The crowd cheered when the champion entered the arena. Atilla was a huge beast of a man. His long black hair was woven into a number of tiny braids that hung down his back. He was covered by a breastplate of armor and his dark skin stretched over the taut, bulging muscles in his arms and legs. He carried a heavy warrior axe in one hand, and a helmet in the other. Atilla raised the helmet in salute to the cheering crowd, then bowed his head to Crispus before putting the helmet on.
From the other side of the arena, Tristan and Angus were sent out onto the sand. They were both wearing pieces of the armor she had sent to the ludus. Tristan held a sword, Angus the spear, and between them, she could see they were shackled together at the wrist.
Valeria rankled in outrage. “How are they to fight in chains?”
“It’s two against one,” Crispus replied with a casual shrug of his shoulder. “I had to level the odds.”
She looked around in helpless dismay. Gaius wore a satisfied grin, and Septima looked even more pleased by the situation. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as the warriors met in the middle of the arena and began to circle around.
After a few of Atilla’s fierce attacks, anyone could see Tristan and Angus would be no match for him as they were. Tristan was a right-handed fighter, and that was the hand shackled to Angus. He wasn’t nearly as strong with his left hand. Angus appeared to be at a disadvantage as well without being able to use both hands to wield his spear.
Crispus had set them up to die.
Tristan, Angus and Atilla saw the sign given. The lanista stood behind the closed gate, ready to raise it and unleash every fighter from the ludus, along with half the Praetorian Guard and most of the Roman soldiers who called the city home. The lanista held up his fist.
In the stands, those in support of the rebellion all wore something with the color green, whether a toga, a sprig of laurel, or for the women, a green ribbon in their hair or tied around their wrist. That consisted of more than half the people in attendance.
“Go easy on me this time,” Angus mumbled. “I’ve already lost enough face.”
Atilla charged them back in a fierce attack, just like they’d spent all night practicing, then he disarmed Angus of his spear and slashed the sword across his gut in what looked like a mortal wound. It would be if the medicus didn’t get out of those gates fast enough to bandage him up.
Angus collapsed to the ground, weighing Tristan down and making it easy for Atilla to disarm him next. The crowd was a mixture of heckles and cheers as Tristan dropped to his hands and knees. He looked up to Caesar and held out two fingers for the plea of missio. He already kn
ew what the call would be.
Valeria wasn’t prepared for it to happen so fast. Angus lay in a lifeless heap in the sand, and there was Tristan, on his hands and knees beside him, pleading Crispus for mercy. The crowd was in agreement that Tristan should live. They turned thumbs up and chanted their decision in a unified voice.
Valeria’s heart was in her throat as she watched Crispus stand and give his call. He turned his thumb down. The crowd booed and shouted their disapproval, while he motioned for Atilla to lay the final blow on Tristan.
Valeria held a hand over her eyes. She couldn’t watch. Then she pulled her hand away. She had to watch.
Atilla raised his heavy warrior axe and brought it down on Tristan. Valeria screamed and launched out of her seat. She ran to the front of the seating area and braced her hands on the wooden rail while she watched the sharp, gleaming blade fall like it was moving in slow motion. It sliced through the air right between Tristan and Angus and landed in the sand, cutting through the chain of their shackles.
Tristan picked up his sword and leapt to his feet. The severed shackle hung from his wrist as he clasped hands with Atilla. On the ground, Angus rolled onto his back, holding his hands over the bleeding wound in his gut. He was still alive.
Valeria thanked the Gods over and over. They had given her more time to free Tristan.
Crispus shot up from his seat. “What is the meaning of this?”
The stands rumbled and shook as all of the gates around the arena rose up and gladiators and soldiers poured out. The heavily armed warriors went charging to the walls and people in the front rows were helping them climb up into the stands. Some of the people had even brought ropes and flung them down over the sides. As the armed men swarmed into the stands, the crowd transformed into a disorderly mob, with people screaming and trying to flee.
Valeria’s heart leapt into her throat. The one thing the rulers of Rome feared was the mob. There would be chaos in the streets until legions could be sent to restore order to the city. If the legions could get into the city.
She had prayed for a way out of her marriage to Gaius, but she should have been more specific. If the mob turned murderous, Valeria would lose more than an undesirable husband. She would lose her head.
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