The Champion. Carla Capshaw
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“I understand you’ve … declined all your potential husbands.”
Tibi froze. Aware that her inability to secure a husband had not only enraged her father but had made her a joke, she was mortified to think of Alexius laughing about her behind her back. “Are you mocking me?”
“No. If anything, I admire your unwillingness to accept just any man for a husband.”
“I haven’t declined all of them,” she admitted, enraptured by his nearness and the intensity of his silver eyes enough to speak without subterfuge. “They don’t want me.”
Tibi tugged free of his grasp, regretting the loss of contact the same instant. To her chagrin, his easy release of her hand when moments before he’d insisted on holding her smacked of rejection.
“Then they must have been deaf and blind, as well as ignorant.”
Startled by the unexpected compliment, she reminded herself that Alexius charmed women with the ease of a cobra mesmerizing prey. And he was just as dangerous. To her, perhaps more so.
Dear Reader,
I’m often asked where I get the inspiration for my characters. Most of the time I don’t even know myself, but The Champion was a little different. Tibi and Alexius’s story is similar to the early relationship between my own parents. My mom was raised in a difficult home, and my father was the baby of a big loving family. When they met and married they were happy, but they knew something was missing.
Through the testimony of their friends and family, they realized they needed Christ to forgive their mistakes and make them complete. Though their journey to faith was quiet, it was genuine. They spent the next forty years planting churches, sharing their faith and inspiring others. This month they’ll have been married fifty-three years and are closer than ever.
Although I may not usually know where my inspiration to create my characters comes from, I always see them in their later years as similar to my parents, having lived long lives of faith, loving each other and surrounded by their happy families. I pray for these same blessings for you and your loved one.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Tibi, Alexius and my two other Roman-set stories, The Gladiator and The Protector.
I love to hear from my readers. Please visit my website, www.carlacapshaw.com, and/or write to me at [email protected]. Be inspired,
Carla Capshaw
The Champion
Carla Capshaw
Blessed are those who hear the word of God, and keep it.
—Luke 11:28
My parents, Kenneth and Patricia Hughes.
Everyone should be as blessed to have parents like you!
Your fifty plus years of marriage and decades of ministerial service have shown me true love and true faith do exist in a world that constantly questions both. I love you with all my heart.
Chapter One
Rome, AD 84
“You’re useless, Tibi. You’ve been nothing but a disappointment since the day you were born.”
Numb to her father’s constant condemnation, Tibi stared out the open window of her family’s Palatine home. Except for a few distant cook fires dotting the nearby hills, darkness covered Rome like a thick, heavy blanket. The night was still and silent as though it waited to learn Tibi’s fate.
“Lepidus was the last man of good family willing to wed you,” Tiberius continued to rant. “If he wanted to sample you before the wedding, who are you to object? Instead of welcoming his advances, as you should have done, you reaffirmed your willful reputation and denied him at every turn. Little wonder he stormed from here with no wish to see you again. No man wants a disobedient wife. Not even when her father is willing to pay a fortune to be rid of her.”
Tibi winced, but remained silent. She’d stopped defending herself years ago when she realized that her father always sided against her.
“Why the gods cursed me with two daughters and took my adopted son is beyond my ken, but at least your sister over there had the decency to bring political connections to this house when she wed Senator Tacitus three years ago. As for you, you’re a disgrace.”
In the face of her father’s condemnation, she’d forgotten that Tiberia, her elder, more winsome sister, sat in an alcove near the inner courtyard. Closing her eyes, Tibi breathed in deep to ward off an onslaught of total humiliation. The sweetness of her perfume mocked her earlier decision to forgo the formless linen tunics and comfortable shoes she preferred in favor of feminine silks and the bejeweled sandals now pinching her toes. Despite her father’s belief that she went out of her way to foil all his plans for her, she’d prepared for tonight with care in an effort to please her family and make a good impression on her intended groom.
Shivering from the cool night air, she rubbed the tender spot on her upper arm where Lepidus had grabbed her. He’d cornered her in the shadows of one of the garden columns, then tried to force himself on her while the other guests cheered the gladiatorial contest her father had arranged for their entertainment. She’d narrowly escaped Lepidus’s mauling by biting his lip and refusing to let go until he released her. Neither he nor her father had considered her self-defense justified. Lepidus had stormed from the house, vowing revenge on her shameless behavior and leaving her to bear the brunt of her father’s wrath.
“Four broken betrothals, Tibi. Four. I’m at the end of my patience with you.”
Tibi tightened her jaw to keep from scoffing. When had he ever been patient with her? As a child she’d wondered why he tolerated her elder sister, Tiberia, yet ignored her. She’d tried to gain his love by being quiet and obedient, two traits her mother assured her would lead to his affection, but he continued to regard her as less important than the rugs he trod upon.
As she’d grown older, she realized that she disappointed her father simply by being a girl. The knowledge killed any hope of winning his affection. Instead, she’d worked to earn his respect and shone in areas traditionally reserved for boys. She’d studied history, astronomy and philosophy. She knew how to read and write Latin, as well as speak Greek. She excelled at archery and practiced athletics at the bath’s gymnasium. But she remained a failure in his eyes.
“Look at me,” Tiberius demanded sharply.
Tibi forced her feet to comply and turned around to face him. Aware of the bitterness oozing from her soul, she avoided looking at him directly and studied the lantern-lit room beyond his shoulder. A whiff of incense was the last trace of the disastrous banquet held earlier. Slaves had cleared the colorful room of dishes and swept the mosaic tiles clean. The low couches the diners reclined on while eating had been restored to their proper places against the frescoed walls.
“Your mother coddled you, insisting I waste coin on tutors that gave you the mistaken impression that your opinion counts the same as a man’s,” he sneered. “However, if you were wise, you’d understand that at eighteen years old, you’re well past a ripe marriage age. A girl is a drain on her family if she doesn’t marry for connections. Since no acceptable man will have you, I’m taking you to the temple of Opis tomorrow—”
Both girls gasped in unison. Tibi’s heart kicked with alarm. Her appalled gaze darted to her father’s angry visage. As she expected, his narrowed eyes radiated his antipathy.
“Father, please.” Tiberia, silent until now, rose elegantly from a bench placed beneath one of the archways leading