Atretes spent the last of his money on food on their way into the heart of the Empire. When he asked directions to the arena, Rizpah spoke for the first time all morning.
“Why are we going there?” He had been so determined to avoid it in Ephesus. Why was he seeking the place out in Rome?
“The Ludus Magnus is close by. I know a man there who can help me.” Just beyond the bustling construction of the colossal Flavian amphitheater was the ludus where he had spent the darkest years of his life.
“We can’t go there, Atretes.”
“There’s no other place we can go. You were right about Gallus,” he said grimly, “but there’s one man I can trust, and he’s at the ludus.”
“How can you trust anyone in that place?”
“Bato saved my life more than once.”
“A gladiator is worth more alive than dead.”
He took her by the arm and jerked her around, almost propelling her in the direction he intended to go. “We’re wasting time.” He looked at the thick walls as he came round to the heavy iron gate. Four guards were on duty, making sure that no amoratae gained admittance. Only paying customers were allowed in to view the gladiatorial practices or participate in them. He had first seen Julia standing on the spectators’ balcony. She had come with her promiscuous friend to view him in practice.
“Let’s go away from this place while we can,” Rizpah said.
His fingers tightened, silencing her. “Is Bato still lanista?” he said to one of the guards.
“None other,” the man said, glancing from Atretes to Rizpah. He smiled slightly, his gaze moving down over her in open admiration.
“Cover your face,” Atretes commanded her impatiently and stepped in front of her as she did so. “Tell Bato there’s a German at the gate who would speak with him,” he said coldly.
“Should he be impressed?” the guard said.
Another measured him, curious. “He looks familiar.”
“Send the message,” Atretes said.
The guard to whom he spoke gave a piercing whistle. Startled, Caleb began to cry in Rizpah’s arms. A messenger came on the run. “Inform Bato a barbarian wishes to have an audience with him,” the guard said.
Atretes waited until he saw Bato step out onto the balcony over the practice arena and look toward the gate before he removed his turban. The guards stared at his long blonde hair. “By the gods,” one said under his breath. “I know who this man is.”
Bato went back inside. The servant who had been sent with the message came running. “Admit him and escort him to Bato immediately.”
When the gate swung open, Rizpah held back. Atretes put his arm around her shoulders and drew her in alongside him. The gates closed behind them. His hand dropped to the small of her back, pressing her forward.
They crossed the courtyard and entered the building. Two guards escorted them down a long corridor and up marble steps to the second story. They walked along a portico overlooking a barren yard where twenty men, clad in little more than breechcloths, were going through a series of martial exercises. The trainer shouted sharp commands and walked back and forth along the front line, watching their performance. Against one wall, Rizpah saw a man tied to a post, his back showing the bloody stripes of a recent flogging.
Atretes took her arm and drew her along. “Say nothing.”
The two guards stopped outside an open doorway, and Atretes entered. He let go of her as soon as he passed the threshold. A black man stood in the middle of the room. He was as tall and as powerfully built as Atretes. Though he gave Rizpah nothing more than a cursory glance, she felt the impact of acute intelligence and grave dignity.
Without a word, Atretes drew the gold chain from his tunic and let the ivory chip drop against his chest. The African looked at it and smiled. “That answers my first question,” he said in heavily accented Greek. A mere lift of his head and the two guards departed. Rizpah could still hear the voice of the trainer in the compound. A whip cracked as a command was repeated.
“Would you care for some wine?”
“And food,” Atretes said.
Bato nodded once to a servant and the man departed to do his bidding. Bato studied Atretes briefly and then looked at Rizpah again, studying her this time. She was very beautiful and clearly distressed to be in the ludus. A baby was wrapped in a shawl tied around her shoulders, and she put her arms around him and drew him closer as Bato studied her. A whip cracked again, and this time a man gave a cry of pain. Wincing, she glanced toward the door, her face paling.
Atretes closed the door and gave her a light push into the center of the room. “Sit over there,” he told her in a tone that allowed no argument. She did as he commanded.
Bato poured wine. “What brings you back to Rome, Atretes?”
“I need money, lodgings, and a map to show me the way back to Germania.”
“Is that all?”
Ignoring the lanista’s sarcasm, Atretes took the proffered goblet.
Bato poured another and carried it to the woman. She had beautiful dark eyes like Julia Valerian, but it wasn’t her. “Sertes sent a representative about six months ago,” he said, looking at the child. The babe had her coloring. “I was informed you’d earned your freedom in an elimination match and now owned a villa grander than the proconsul.” She took the goblet from his hand and looked up at him. His mouth tipped slightly. He could see quite plainly that she didn’t trust him.
“I did,” Atretes said. He said nothing about Rizpah, though Bato was looking her over with open interest and unveiled question. The less he knew about her, the better. Women were of little value in this place.
“What happened?” Bato said, turning to him and leaving his perusal of the woman and child.
“I left Ephesus in a hurry.”
“Did you murder Sertes?”
Atretes gave a brittle laugh and drained the goblet of wine. “Had I time and opportunity, it would’ve been my pleasure.”
Rizpah looked at him and saw he meant it.
“So why did you leave in such a hurry?”
“He’d found a way to force me back into the arena.” His gaze flickered pointedly to the woman and child.
“And you think it’ll be different here?”
Her heart began beating wildly.
“Meaning?” Atretes said coldly, setting the goblet on the table.
“Meaning you haven’t been gone long enough for certain people to forget you. Domitian, for one. Or have you forgotten the emperor’s brother?”
“I earned my freedom.”
“Freedom is easily revoked. You deliberately humiliated one of his closest friends during an exercise match.”
“That was a long time ago, and Domitian took his revenge when he matched me with one of my own tribesmen.”
“Small revenge by his standards, Atretes. Domitian won’t consider the score settled until you’re dead. It’s your good fortune that you haven’t been gone long enough for the mob to forget you as well.”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting Atretes fight again.”
Bato was surprised she had spoken. She had seemed a beautiful but meek little thing when she entered the room. Now, he wondered. There was fire in her eyes. “He may have no choice.”
She left the couch and stood in front of Atretes. “Let’s leave this place, now. Please.”
Atretes might have been deaf for all the attention he paid her.
“If Domitian finds out you’re here, you may not get out alive again,” Bato said frankly.
“Do you plan to tell him?” Atretes said, eyes narrowing.
“No, but he has friends among the guards. One was at the gate when you arrived.” He looked pointedly at the woman. “This is the last place you should’ve brought her and the child.”
Atretes’ eyes darkened. “If Pugnax is trustworthy, I’ll take lodgings there.”
“So be it. Your presence at the inn will guarantee him additional business. Make sure he pays you w
ell. Do you remember how to get there?”
“No. It was in the middle of the night when you took me. Remember?”
Bato laughed. “I remember that night very well.” The servant entered. As the platter was put on the table, Bato dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Eat while I give you instructions,” he told Atretes and Rizpah.
Rizpah had no appetite. She listened carefully to Bato’s instructions while studying the lanista. Could he be trusted? Or was he another of Gallus’ bent, pretending to be a friend while plotting ways to use Atretes?
Atretes ate a hearty portion of meat, bread, and fruit and downed two more goblets of wine before his hunger was satisfied.
“We’ll go through the tunnels,” Bato said. “The guards won’t see you leave and will assume you’re still here.”
He led them down the portico overlooking the training grounds. The gladiators were going through exercises with wooden swords. Atretes didn’t pause or even turn his head. Now that she had seen a glimpse of the brutal life of the ludus, Rizpah ached for him.
They went down steps to the baths and then down another corridor. Bato took a burning torch from a wall mounting as he opened a heavy door. “Through here.”
Rizpah imagined the men who had gone down this long, darkened corridor knowing they would face death at the other end. Bato and Atretes said nothing as they walked ahead of her. Their silence was respectful and full of the grim history that lay between them. A door stood open at the far end, giving entry into more corridors that led to holding cells beneath the arena itself. They followed the granite steps up into a large room with benches against the stone walls. Rizpah saw the arena through the iron gate.
Atretes paused and looked out at the wide expanse of freshly raked sand and the tiers of marble rows where thousands of spectators sat during the ludi. There were moments, as now, when the excited fury of the mob still rang in his ears like a strong heartbeat quickening his blood.
How many times had he stood in this room, armor polished, sword sharpened, greave in place, waiting to step out into the glaring sunlight and face death and the impassioned throng crying out his name over and over? He had hated it, hated them. At times, he had even hated himself.
Why, then, did he miss it?
Turning, he saw Bato standing near another doorway. “You begin to understand,” the lanista said solemnly.
“They took more than my freedom. They took my soul.”
Compassion filled Rizpah at the bleakness in his voice. She went to him. He looked down at her with haunted eyes, and she took his hand. “You have a soul, Atretes,” she said. “Before God, you have a soul. He gave it to you.”
Bato offered no advice or comfort; Atretes was a man to accept neither and resent both. Yet as the woman took Atretes’ hand and placed it on the sleeping child, Bato saw a softening, not when Atretes touched the babe, but when he looked at the woman. He had a feeling this one would prove herself far better than Julia Valerian.
“This way,” Bato said and led the way down another corridor that opened into a large room inside an iron gate that looked out into the arena.
“What is this place?” Rizpah said in a hushed voice, for it oppressed her spirit.
“The dead are brought through those gates,” Atretes said.
“This is the best way out,” Bato said and showed them along the corridor where the bodies were carried to waiting wagons that removed them for burial outside the walls of the city.
Rizpah let go of Atretes’ hand. She could hardly breathe, staring down the long, dark corridor. Atretes put his arm around her shoulders and drew her into the onerous hallway along with him. Her heart beat heavily as they followed the lanista.
Bato set the torch into a mounting at the end of the stone corridor. He took several coins from his belt and held them out to Rizpah. “You’ll find your appetite when you leave this place.” She took them and thanked him for his kindness.
“May her god protect you,” he said to Atretes as he opened the heavy door. Beyond it was a Roman street and sunlight.
18
Pugnax had increased in girth as well as wealth over the three years since Atretes had last seen him. His cropped hair was graying at the temples and the lines in his face had deepened. Atretes took in the grander surroundings, well aware that the largess had come from the mural painted on the front of the inn depicting himself in combat. He couldn’t read the sign, but had a good idea what it said.
“So you earned your freedom,” Pugnax said, noting the ivory chip hanging from the gold chain around Atretes’ neck. He admired Rizpah, if not the babe in her arms, adding with a grin, “And have more to show for it than I.”
Atretes didn’t like the way Pugnax stared at Rizpah. “I need to earn enough money to make the journey back to Germania.”
Pugnax gave a hard laugh. “You carry a vain hope, Atretes. You can’t go back. You’re no more German anymore than I’m a Gaul.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“You think I’m wrong? Like it or not, you aren’t the man the Romans captured ten years ago. Rome has changed you.”
“That may be so, but I’m still Chatti.”
“Whatever you were, your people will know the difference now, even if you don’t.” He gave a slight wave of his hand. “But then, what does it matter? The Chatti are long dead.”
“I’m alive. Others will be also.”
“Scattered and disorganized.” Pugnax felt the silence in the common room and glanced around, noting how his patrons stared at Atretes and whispered among themselves.
Atretes noticed as well, though he liked it less than Pugnax. “How much will you pay me to stay here?”
Pugnax laughed. “You’ve no subtlety at all, have you?”
“There were games enough in the arena.”
“Philo, Atretes and I will have the best wine,” he announced loudly enough to be heard by anyone in the room. A shiver of alarm raced through Rizpah as she felt the ripple of excitement spread. “It is him,” someone whispered as they passed by.
“By the fates, I’d give half of what I own to see him fight again,” said another.
Well satisfied with the stir he had caused, Pugnax gestured grandly. “Come, my friend. Sit and have some wine. We’ll talk of old times.”
Men stared at Atretes and then looked at Rizpah as he took hold of her arm, drawing her alongside him as he followed Pugnax to a table clearly reserved for more affluent patrons. Reclining on the proffered couch of honor, Atretes gestured for her to join him. She sat, Caleb on her lap, his head leaning comfortably against her breasts as he slept. She was uncomfortable being the focus of so much attention.
“They haven’t forgotten you,” Pugnax said with a hint of envy.
“A fact that will bring you benefit. Think how many will come and buy your wine when they know I’m here,” Atretes said dryly.
“They will bring gifts to lay at the feet of their idol.”
Atretes’ eyes narrowed. “Do you mock me, Pugnax?”
“No more than I mock myself. The light of glory doesn’t shine long on any man. Make the most of it while you can.”
“All I want is enough gold to get me home.”
Pugnax’s mouth curved. “One match in the games scheduled for next week and you’d have that. You could name your price, and Titus would pay it.”
Rizpah glanced at Atretes, concerned that he might consider fighting again. His expression was veiled.
Atretes smiled without warmth. “I prefer that you pay it,” he replied. “My terms are simple: an equal share of your profits for as long as I remain in this inn.” When Pugnax started to protest, he added, “If you prefer, I’ll go down the street and make the same offer to your competitor.”
“No need to do that. I agree to your terms.”
“One hundred denarii . . .”
“One hundred!”
“. . . in advance, and arrange for guards, enough of them to prevent a repeat of my last visit he
re. I don’t want my clothes torn off by a mob of women.” He ignored Rizpah’s raised eyebrow. “And see that the woman and her child have comfortable, secure lodgings,” he added, jerking his head toward Rizpah almost as though an afterthought.
Pugnax took the opportunity to look her over again. “On the premises, or would you prefer her elsewhere?” Pugnax cast him a knowing smile. “You may wish to entertain admirers.”
Atretes understood his meaning and was unaccountably annoyed by it. “I want her close at hand, but not so close she’s in my bed.” Color filled Rizpah’s cheeks, and she cast him an annoyed glance. “Unless I want her there,” he added.
“Consider it done,” Pugnax said and rose to make the arrangements.
Atretes looked at Rizpah, his mouth tipping in amusement. “You look disturbed, my lady. Was it something I said?”
“You know very well what you said and what you were implying to your friend.”
“He’s not my friend, and I thought it best to let him know you belong to me.”
“The fact of my coming here with you said enough.”
“It needed stating.”
She could feel people staring at them and felt intensely uncomfortable. “Are you sure we’ll be safe here?” His mouth tightened as she looked around. “I never realized how well known you would be here.”
He turned his head slowly. His hard, challenging stare made most patrons look away. “There are certain advantages to being recognized,” he said coolly, all trace of his earlier amusement gone.
“What advantages? Bato warned us about Domitian. You’re placing your life in the hands of Pugnax, who will no doubt hire criers to go about the city announcing your presence here.”
“I don’t intend to stay long.”
“You may be in Rome forever if the brother of the emperor wants you in chains.”
His eyes blazed. “Woman, why must you always try my patience?” He sat up and leaned toward her.
Impossible man! “Why must you grow angry at everything that’s said to you? You’re deliberately putting yourself in danger here, and you’ve put Caleb in danger with you. Don’t expect me to be happy about it.”