The Protector. Carla Capshaw
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for their Christian slave, Quintus was sure to be in attendance. Her attraction to him was over, she vowed, but the sting of his insults still smarted. With no desire to be further humiliated, she planned to avoid him at all costs.
Twisting one of the long curls flowing over her shoulder, Adiona tamped down her melancholy mood and forced her thoughts back to Caros. The fact that her friend was a Christian amazed her. When Caros confessed his belief in the illegal sect and their crucified God, he’d known she would keep his secret, just as he’d kept various secrets for her over the years. But she had trouble understanding why he’d put his life on the line when all gods were the same, and like most people, not to be trusted.
The litter slowed. She sat up. They couldn’t have arrived already. They’d passed through the city gate and turned onto the lonely stretch of road leading to Caros’s gladiator school mere moments ago. They had at least half a mile left to travel.
“Halt!” a commanding voice ordered.
The litter stopped. She reached for the curtain, annoyed by the delay that might squander the good time they’d made since leaving Palatine Hill. “Domina, stay inside,” Titus warned in a low voice meant for her ears alone. “We’ve met with a band of street rats. There may be trouble and you’re easier to defend if you remain hidden.”
“Let us pass,” another of her guards demanded of the thieves. “We’re guests of the lanista, Caros Viriathos. Cause us no trouble and we may allow you to live.”
Tension sizzled through the night. The sound of ominous footsteps penetrated the thin layers of cloth cocooning her. A twinge of anxiety snaked through the darkness and across the back of her neck. She fought a desire to pull the drape aside and survey the situation, but she knew better than to endanger her men by ignoring Titus’s instructions.
Her grip tightened on the scroll in her hand. She’d chosen her guards with care. All were ex-military men and formidable fighters. Along with the four other slaves carrying the litter, there should be plenty of hands to protect her and defend each other.
“Now!” someone barked. Yelling exploded through the blackness from all sides. Fear ripped through her. She screamed Titus’s name.
“Stay inside, my lady!”
The litter swayed violently, tossing her against the poles supporting the transport’s roof. She felt herself falling just before the litter hit the road with a bone-jarring thud. She fell back, the thick stack of pillows saving her from injury.
Outside, metal clashed against metal. “Kill the woman!” an enemy shouted.
Terror raked through her. She scrambled upright, hobbled by the furs and pillows snatching at her feet.
The clang of weapons grew louder. The number of strangers’ voices outnumbered those of her own men. A sickening death cry erupted beside her. Shaking with fright, she bit back a scream.
Titus stuck his head through the drapes; his blood-spattered face increased her terror. “Domina, hurry! It’s you they mean to have!”
Trembling, she rushed to leave the litter just as someone reached inside from behind and seized hold of her palla. A shriek burst from her throat. She cast off the garment and burst through the drapes onto the shadowed street. Titus’s battered form towered over her. The strong odor of his sweat stung her nostrils. Quick, sideways glances told her they were hemmed in on both sides. Dilapidated buildings loomed behind them.
“Domina,” Titus whispered near her ear. “When I say run, follow the alley behind us. Appius and I will buy time, then follow you. Don’t stop until you reach the school.”
“It’s the woman we want.” One of the attackers stepped forward from the pack. “Give her to us and we may allow you to live.”
Hearing their leader mimic her guard’s earlier threat, the pack of rats skittered with laughter.
Titus shoved her behind him, the sword he held in his free hand raised to fight. “What has the lady done to deserve the dishonor of being assaulted in the street?”
Adiona strained to see through the dark. Her other remaining guard, Appius, stood a few paces forward and to her left. Moonlight glinted off her attackers’ knives and the broken glass vessels they’d fashioned into weapons. The bodies of her men littered the barren road. Bile scratched her throat. Her stomach rolled with sickening shock and horror. Pity for her sorely outnumbered guards rose to choke her. Judging by the number of dead assailants that covered the ground, her men had fought with all their might.
Her teeth chattering uncontrollably, she turned back to back with Titus and located the narrow alley that offered her last hope for escape.
Impatient to finish her off, the rats moved closer by degrees like a tightening noose.
Titus’s muscles flexed against her shoulder blades. “Domina,” he hissed, “Run!”
She hiked her tunic to her knees and raced. Mindless with fear, she sped down the alley without thought of what awaited her at the other end. Shouts raged and weapons clashed. Fast footsteps gained ground behind her, drowning her senses with panic.
She slipped on a wet spot and fell, scraping the fingers wrapped around the scroll. The smell of dust and mildew invaded her nose and gagged her. She shot to her feet. Hands clawed her shoulder and the loose curls tumbling to her waist. Her captor yanked her head back, nearly snapping her neck. She wheeled on the man, wincing from the pain of having her hair torn from her scalp. Her tunic ripped. The night air chilled her shoulders.
She raised the scroll and beat her attacker with the hard wooden knob at the end of the rolled parchment. She kicked with furious intent, catching the rat in the shin, the knee, the groin. He doubled over, shrieking with pain. More footsteps. Yelled profanities and insults shot through the night. The pack continued their chase. Her fingers tightened on the scroll now that she realized it made a decent weapon. Lungs burning from the added exertion, she ran ever harder, her bracelets rattling with each step like a frantic tambourine.
At the end of the alley, she turned right, disheartened to find another desolate road. Terror spurred her onward. The shouts of her assailants grew louder, closer. Her mouth dry, she panted for air, her chest tight and aching. Fatigue threatened to claim her.
Up ahead, torchlight glowed in the distance and began to grow brighter. The school! She ran toward the iron gates and the guards’ darkened silhouettes. Spurred on by the sight, she summoned her second wind and pressed onward.
“I’ve got you, wench!”
Rough hands grabbed her around the neck. Her scream died in the vermin’s tight grasp. She felt herself tumble. Pain exploded down her side where she landed, her face scraped the road’s hard pavers.
The fall dislodged her attacker. She lurched upright, kicking the scum in the stomach, the face. The faint voices of Caros’s men filled her with hope. She bolted toward the shelter in the distance.
With a rush of gratitude, she arrived at the gate. The party’s music drifted on the cool night air. Weak with relief, she closed her eyes and sagged against the bars, pleading for help. Her labored breaths shook her whole body, clanking the scroll’s wooden ends against the cold metal bars in her grasp. “My lady!”
Her heart dropped. No gods, please, not Quintus! Her eyes widened with dread even as they roamed over his tall frame and broad shoulders to ascertain his wounds had healed as well as her steward reported.
“Guard, open the gate!” Quintus ordered. “You, there, fetch your master.”
Why did the Fates toy with her? Of all the men in the ludus, why did he have to be the one to find her scorned and disgraced?
In Rome, no decent woman of rank was attacked in the street. People would blame her, judge her, believe she’d done something to deserve the dishonor. Quintus would be no different. How could he be when her shame supported the abysmal opinion he already held of her?
Hot tears burned her eyes.
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