The Gladiator. Carla Capshaw
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slumped in capitulation. “Since you’ve brought up Alexius, why can’t you be more like him? There’s a man who understands and enjoys his place in the world.”
“He’s a slave by choice. If he wanted his freedom I’d let him have it.”
Spurius frowned. “You’ve condemned me as a villain because I refused to sell you your freedom when you demanded it. But I ask you, what man would happily give up a gold mine? I was a fool to give the mob its way the day they chanted for your release. In the last three years I’ve lost ten fortunes for my drunken error.”
Caros stood and tightened the cloth around his hips. “You’re a fool, old man, drunk or otherwise.”
“True enough, but I’m also determined. One of these days I’ll tempt you out of retirement. You can be sure of it.”
Pelonia sensed Caros’s arrival in the garden before she heard him. Perching on tiptoe, she craned her neck for a better view of the herb-lined path. Caros and another man approached. Both were dark, tall and broad shouldered, but Caros moved with a grace that rivaled his tiger’s. Breathless, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He caught her staring and without warning sent the other man away. Without breaking their gaze, he closed the distance between them. “Why are you out here in the heat of the day?”
“Your steward assigned me to garden duty. I understood I’m to work here every day.”
“I’ll speak with him. There are easier tasks in the house.”
“No, this is fine.” She didn’t want to rile Gaius. The old man could make her life miserable if he chose. “I tended flowers and maintained a large vegetable garden for my father’s household.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. The gold wristbands he wore glinted in the sun. “If you came from a wealthy family, as you claim, why toil like a slave?”
Disliking the accusation in his question, Pelonia plucked a low-hanging leaf from the lemon tree and breathed in the citrus scent. “Simply because I enjoy planting something, caring for it and watching it grow.”
“I see. And how is it you never married? I’d expect a woman of your advanced age to have children of her own to nurture.”
“Advanced age? Are you trying to insult me?” she asked with mock severity.
“By the gods, no.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But most women wed by the age of twelve or thirteen summers. You’ve yet to wrinkle, but…how old are you?”
“Seventeen.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his discomfort. “And you? You have enough wrinkles for both of us, so I’d guess you are…?”
“Twenty-eight.” He fingered the faint lines around his right eye. “Are you saying you find me ugly and withered?”
She laughed for the first time since her father died. “Goodness, no, but all the scars were a bit off-putting at first.”
He sighed with exaggerated relief and led her to a bench beside the fountain. “Were? Does that mean my scars no longer bother you?”
In truth, she no longer noticed them. Not when the uniqueness of his azure eyes and the male beauty of his sculpted lips claimed all of her attention. “No, they don’t bother me.”
“Good.” His gaze dipped to the ground and she saw the beginnings of a smile curve his mouth. He brushed a thick curl of black hair from his forehead. “But you have yet to answer me. What’s wrong with you that you never married?”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with me. My father was an unconventional man. He thought it best I wed the husband of my choosing. I’ve yet to make the fortunate man’s acquaintance.”
Caros’s laughter filled the garden. “Aha! Another woman in search of a perfect man. I doubt you’ll find him.”
Pelonia fought her own grin. “I’ve no wish for a perfect man. Just one who’s perfect for me.”
“Perhaps you’ve met him, but don’t realize it. What if he were…one of my men?”
“He isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
She weighed her words with care. “I mean no disrespect, but…but my father would never have condoned my marriage to a man of your occupation.”
“I see.” His lips firmed into a hard line. “I should have known, but it’s easy to forget we gladiators are the scum of the earth when most of the empire worships our every move.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t. I know the status of my profession. So, what virtues must this god among mortals possess to win your favor?”
“I want no god other than the One I serve. As for a husband, I pray…”
A bird chirped, filling in the late afternoon’s silence while she debated whether or not to share further. Being a pagan, and a man, she doubted he would understand.
“Yes?” Caros persisted.
“There was a man named Paul of Tarsus,” she said before she lost her nerve.
“You wished to marry him?”
“No.” She shook her head, disconcerted by the sudden malice in his expression. “Paul was the first Jew to teach Gentiles the ways of Jesus. In his letters to the various Christian communities, he taught many truths.”
“And for this you admire him? I, for one, would reconsider elevating a teacher who led me down a road to persecution and slaughter.”
“On marriage,” she continued as though he’d said nothing, “Paul taught a husband should love his wife as much as Christ loves his followers. A man should love her so much he would die for her if necessary, just as Christ died for all of us.”
“Little wonder you put such stock in love.” He grimaced. “And what did this Paul say a wife must do in return for her husband?”
“She must respect him.”
Caros frowned. “A man must die for a woman and all she has to do is respect him for it?”
Pelonia grinned.
“Are you certain this Paul wasn’t a female in disguise? It seems he concocted the rules to lean in a woman’s favor.”
She swatted his arm. “Paul was a great man, blessed with vast wisdom.”
“So were Aristotle, Plato and Seneca. Why should I believe your Paul over the natural order—that woman is born to serve her husband, wanting nothing more than to bear his children?”
“Little wonder we Christians are persecuted for our radical ideas. Men rule the Empire and few of them want to purchase a slave when they can wed one.”
“I purchased you, did I not? Though at three thousand denarii you were less than a bargain.”
“Three thousand…?” Her mouth dropped open. “Why would you pay such a high price?”
His face grew serious. His eyes warmed in the space of a blink. He engulfed her hand in his much larger one and leaned closer until their lips almost touched. “The slave trader threatened to sell you to a brothel, but I refused to allow it.”
Shocked to learn of the degradation he’d saved her from, she grappled for something appropriate to say. She wanted to thank him for his generosity, but her enslavement stole all but the smallest portion of gratitude from her heart. “I…why?”
“I mean to have you for myself.”
She eased away from his hold, instantly missing the warmth of his touch. “The slave trader robbed you. He sold you a woman who wasn’t for sale.”