The Protector. Carla Capshaw
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Claudia’s sharp eyes probed her face as though searching for buried secrets. “You seem…troubled. Talk is, until Caros and his bride left for Umbria, you’d become quite a regular at the gladiator practices. I assumed you’d come to enjoy the violence—”
“Talk?” Snapped out of her dark thoughts, her patience with the older matron vanished. “You know very well I despise being talked about, Claudia. Or did you seek me out today solely to dig up more dirt for your discussion?”
Claudia wrinkled her nose and reached for a glass bottle of water from the basket beside her feet. “Why are you so sensitive about a little harmless chatter?”
Remembering all the times she’d been maimed by gossip, Adiona snorted. “I’m not convinced there is such a thing as ‘harmless chatter.’”
“Of course there is.” Claudia pulled the cork and sipped from her bottle. “For instance, what’s the harm in wondering aloud if you’re upset about the lanista’s marriage? It’s common knowledge Caros Viriathos is the one man you’re fond of. Rumors say you’re jealous of his pretty new wife.”
She blinked, suddenly understanding why Claudia had sought her out. The other social matrons must be riotous with the hope of her languishing from a broken heart. They lived for gossip, sharpening their words behind her back and spreading their vicious chatter like a disease.
Happy to spoil their amusement at her expense, Adiona turned to the older woman and spoke loud enough to be heard over the excited crowd all around them. “Surely you jest. Caros is my friend. I wish him and Pelonia eternal joy.”
Disappointment flitted across Claudia’s bulbous features before she hid her displeasure behind a sly grin. “But he slighted you for a slave girl? If I were ever abandoned so heinously, I’d—”
“Cease, Claudia. Pelonia is no mere slave girl. She’s cousin by marriage to a senator. And though it’s none of your business, let me be clear. Caros and I are friends, nothing more. As far as I’m concerned, he’s one of the last decent men in the Empire. Even so, I’d slit my wrists before I wed him.”
Claudia patted Adiona’s tense shoulder. “Gods forbid you’d married him. He may be rich at present, but he spent years as a lowly gladiator. They’re fine for trysts, mind you, but marriage? No—at least not for you. You may not have been born of noble blood, but who’s to care when your beauty and riches can buy a royal husband?”
The trumpets’ blast drowned out Adiona’s tart reply. She’d vowed never to wed again. The six years of torture she’d endured in Crassus’s depraved hands had cured her of any childish notions concerning love or marital bliss. She no longer prayed for a happy home filled with children or a husband who cared for her. For whatever reason, the gods had deemed her unlovable and she’d grown almost numb to the sting of loneliness she’d borne for as long as she could remember.
The announcer’s voice echoed across the amphitheater, proclaiming the opponents of the afternoon’s main event. The mob erupted as portals in the arena floor slid open. Lifts deployed gladiators onto the field. Gates at the far end of the amphitheater rose and a dozen war elephants, a beast master on each of their backs, charged onto the sun-drenched sand.
Adiona slid forward on the marble bench. Her lungs locked. Her heart hammered against her breastbone louder than the bellowing mob. Straining to see Quintus, she recognized him instantly. Black hair, square jaw, golden skin. His height, the breadth of his shoulders, his presence drew her attention to him with an immediacy that was both intoxicating and frightening.
The wild crowd jumped up in unison. Adiona surged to her feet. Her every muscle as tight as one of the archer’s bows, she held her breath, promising the gods endless sacrifices if they kept Quintus safe. With her gaze fastened to Quintus on his troupe’s front line, she watched him lead his men across the field toward her where they took up an attack position.
Dressed in a simple brown tunic, his bare feet buried in the sand, he carried a shield and spear, looking woefully unprotected against the war elephants’ massive tusks.
One of the beasts charged toward Quintus and his men. Adiona clamped her hand across her mouth to contain the scream that burned in her throat. The huge animal raged on, tossing its head from side to side, its gold-covered tusks gleaming in the sun as they sliced through human flesh and bone.
Quintus’s troupe attacked. Taking the brunt of the spears, the elephant faltered and fell. As the behemoth struggled to regain its footing, Quintus vaulted onto its back. He tossed the beast master to the ground and took up the reins, just as the animal lurched to its feet.
Another gate lifted. Chariots thundered into battle, deploying more archers. Arrows soared through the sky before finding their targets with horrible accuracy. Dead and wounded gladiators littered the sand.
Seemingly unconcerned for his own safety, Quintus positioned the elephant between the advancing chariots and his men. His muscles straining to control the enormous animal, he was so close she could almost see the green depths of his eyes.
Another wave of arrows pierced the elephant’s hide. One skewered Quintus in the leg, another in his shoulder. A cry erupted from deep inside her, as if the arrows had hit her instead of her man.
The elephant fell to its knees, its trunk trumpeting in one last painful wail. Giddy madness raced through the crowd. Despite the many battles taking place on the field, the mob focused on the drama unfolding around Quintus. Riveted, she watched him struggle to pull the arrow from his thigh.
She begged the gods to save him. Pinned atop the fallen elephant and exposed to the hateful whims of Fate, Quintus made a clear target for the archers taking aim. The sounds of rapid horses’ hooves filled her ears, competing with the spectators’ cries and fist-pumping demands for death.
In desperation she begged every deity she could think of for mercy, even the illegal one Quintus worshipped, “Jesus, please…” she whispered under her breath.
“Viriathos has lost a fortune in gladiators today!” Claudia cackled with amusement. She pointed toward Quintus. “Look at that one struggle. He’ll never get away. The archers have him for certain.”
The glee in Claudia’s voice filled Adiona with rage, horror and a sinking sense of anguish. “Bite your tongue, you vicious crone! Quintus is an honorable man. How dare you delight in his death?”
Adiona’s gaze flew back to the action in the arena. Quintus had disappeared in the mayhem. Panic seized her. She pressed past Claudia, raced down the steps and clung to the barrier, desperate to find him through the black smoke and crush of chariots forming a victorious circle around the few gladiators left alive.
As expected, the charioteers and their team were declared the victors. The mob jeered the decision and the unfair fight, then erupted into cheers as Quintus used the fallen elephant to slowly pull himself to his feet.
The game’s referee dismissed the men who were able to walk. Quintus looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd before limping to the edge of the field. His back to her, she couldn’t see if he’d been able to pull the arrow from his shoulder. The other one remained in his thigh. Blood seeped down his leg and into the sand.
At least he lives. Relief as pure as a mountain stream flowed through Adiona, robbing her of strength. She braced against the barrier for support, promising herself she’d do whatever Caros required to ensure Quintus never entered the games again.
Turning to leave for the gladiator hospital where Quintus would be taken, she bumped into Claudia whom she hadn’t noticed beside her. The spider’s eyes gleamed bright and with dawning horror Adiona realized she’d given herself away.
“What a day!” her rival said with malicious satisfaction. “Not only was the sport amusing, but I learned so much. Little wonder you’re happy for the lanista and his bride when you’re enamored with a slave of your own.”
Quintus Fabius Ambustus eased onto a bench in the gladiator hospital behind the amphitheater. Smoke from the torches lining the concrete walls burned