The Champion

  The atmosphere erupted with excitement. The surrounding trainees stopped their practice and cast lots on the winner. Voices cheered from the sidelines.

  His sword flashed in the sunlight and caught Sergius on the leg. He swung again, striking his friend’s shield. Sergius retaliated in a forward rush. His face contorted, his muscles straining against the force of Alexius’s attack. “I have plans with Leta tonight. If you’re going to kill me, do me a favor and wait until after I see her.”

  Swords clashed. With every swing of his weapon, Alexius released a little more anger. He grinned, amused by his friend now that he’d worked off some of his tension. “How is your lovely woman?”

  Sergius struck again. “She’s perfection as always, but she’s a bit worried about your new houseguest.”

  Alexius faltered midswing, but made a swift recovery. “How so?”

  “She says Tibi is in love with you. She thinks you’ll break the poor girl’s heart.”

  Stunned by the announcement, Alexius dropped his guard. Time stopped. His gaze darted across the sand to Tibi on the archery field. The sight of her with her arm wrapped around one of the trainees made him freeze.

  White heat sliced across his ribs, followed by a cracking sound and a pain so sharp it left him winded.

  His sword slipped from his fingers. He fell to his knees, clutching his side. Everything and everyone around him whirled into a sudden flurry of activity.

  Warm blood oozed from the throbbing wound and between his fingers. Its metallic odor filled his nostrils. Sweat broke out on his brow.

  Sergius dropped his sword and sank to the ground in front of him. Light clumps of sand splashed onto Alexius’s dark brown tunic. Between frantic apologies, he yelled for help.

  Remus, one of the physicians always on hand at the ludus, pushed his way through the circle of gawkers surrounding Alexius.

  “It’s not bad,” Alexius said, catching his breath as the older man’s fingers probed the deep gash.

  “It’s not good, either. You may have a cracked rib or two. This cut needs tending right away or it will start to putrefy and poison the blood.”

  The prognosis didn’t bother him. After the number of injuries he’d endured over the past ten years, he was too well acquainted with wounds to care about one more.

  Only Tibi concerned him. Where and how had Leta gotten the notion that Tibi cared for him? Was it possible that her uncertainty matched his own? Had she lied to protect her pride when she said they had no future?

  Hope soared before he could clip its wings. He moved to stand. An arrow of pain shot through his side, forcing him to move more slowly than he liked.

  “It’s bed rest for you, Alexius,” the physician said. “At least a week if not longer.”

  Mentally debating Remus’s advice, Alexius allowed Sergius to help him to his feet. He ordered his men and instructors back to work.

  With as much dignity as his injury allowed, he limped back to the house, refusing to look weak in front of his men. Despite the outcome of the battle, his anger was oddly dormant. If Leta was right and Tibi cared for him in even the smallest way, he had a new, worthwhile reason to live for the first time in a decade.

  Although he and Tibi had had different home lives and come from different backgrounds, he understood her better than she realized. The circumstances of their pasts had taught them both to be wary. Because he had plans to make, he could spare a day or two to recuperate out of necessity, but no more. He refused to let Tibi see him as helpless, not when it would take all his strength to win her confidence and a chance to prove how much he loved her.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Look, a fight!” Silo shouted with more excitement than Tibi thought the event warranted. They were in a gladiator school, after all. Surely more than one brawl erupted every day.

  She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun and looked toward the gladiator field. A crowd had gathered. They moved as one, up and down the sand, along with the fighters. Their cheers were audible from across the open distance.

  Unable to see the challengers, she went back to her work. Now that the trainees were finally shooting, a few of them actually seemed interested in learning the proper techniques to succeed at archery.

  “Move your right foot forward,” she instructed the Thracian, whose name she’d learned was Gaidrēs. “And raise your left arm a bit.” She reached around his brawny back and pushed his elbow up with her fingertips.

  “Impossible!” Silo hissed. A wave of disbelief passed over the other archers intent on the fight. “The master’s wounded!”

  Master? Alexius! Tibi spun around. The crowd parted, giving her a glimpse of Alexius on his knees, before swallowing him up again. She hitched her tunic and broke into a flat-out run in his direction. A change in terrain from soil to sand nearly tripped her. By the time she reached the spot where he’d fallen, he’d left the field.

  She saw him and another man cross through the iron gate that led to the peach orchard and his home beyond. The gladiator trainees had gone back to their practice and a few were beginning to notice her presence on the field.

  Ducking her head, she sprinted after Alexius. As she passed through the orchard, the shade of the peach trees offered a cooler temperature to her overheated skin.

  Inside the house, she saw Velus in the corridor giving orders to a trio of servants.

  “Where is Alexius?” she interrupted, without slowing her pace.

  “In his chamber, my lady, but don’t—”

  She turned a corner, no longer within hearing distance. She chose a diagonal path across the garden. The sweetness of blooming spring flowers was even more pronounced than on the previous day.

  Her heart racing with concern, she took the steps two at a time. On the second floor, she turned in the opposite direction of her own chamber and went straight to Alexius’s room. Male voices spilled into the hall—laughter punctuated by wheezing moans of pain.

  Praying the laughter meant Alexius wasn’t bent on the afterlife, she leaned against the frescoed wall and drew in a deep breath. She was shaking. What if she’d lost him?

  Adopting an air of serenity she was far from feeling, she moved into the doorway. Alexius was stretched out on top of the wolf pelts tossed across his sleeping couch. The dark tunic he wore covered him to just above the knees. His sandals had yet to be removed and the laces crisscrossed the long length of his muscled calves. The sight of him smiling and apparently far from death filled her with an ocean of relief.

  Alexius’s room fit him perfectly. Sky-blue walls and wide, arched windows reflected his open manner. Thick bearskin rugs softened the gold-and-brown mosaic-tiled floor, while heavy furniture carved by a master’s hand mirrored the dark, mysterious hues of his complex and exotic nature.

  The conversation between the men faded as they realized she was there. The man who’d accompanied Alexius from the field sat in a chair beneath the windows. He saw her first. Eyes as black as pitch latched onto her face. His sharp cheekbones were smudged with dirt and spatters of blood.

  Alexius’s dark head swiveled on his pillow. A smile curved his lips and lit his silver eyes with such tenderness that her hearted melted. Struggling to remember her vow to take back her heart, she wondered how she’d ever believed she could withhold her love from him.

  He held out his hand, his fingers curved to beckon her. “Come in.”

  She moved deeper into the room as he continued with introductions. “Tibi, this is Sergius, my friend and one of my finest champions. Sergius, this is Tibi.”

  The warmth in his voice when he said her name brought heat to her cheeks. “She’s the cousin of Caros’s wife, Pelonia. She’s my guest here until they come to Rome sometime next week.”

  Sergius acknowledged her with a nod of his head. “Leta has told me much about you.”

  “She’s told me about you as well.”

  “Good things, I trust.”

  She nodded. “If she’s to be
believed, you are the finest man to ever walk the earth.”

  He grinned. “My darling girl never lies.”

  Alexius snorted. “Except on your account, obviously.”

  Sergius punched Alexius on the shoulder and both of them laughed.

  Tibi moved closer, but kept half the room between her and the two men. Her gaze pinned to Alexius’s face. Other than a slight paleness beneath the natural bronze of his skin, he looked relatively hearty. “I’m glad to see you’re alive, lanista. What happened?”

  “I let this mongrel best me.”

  “Let me?” Sergius scoffed.

  “Of course, I let you. I have to throw you a bone every once in a while or you’ll lose interest in learning new tricks.”

  “You’re wounded, so think what you like if it makes you feel better,” Sergius said, his tone as dry as dust. “But I could have sworn you folded because of something I said.”

  Sudden tension replaced the good-natured ribbing between the two friends. Sergius raked his hand through his hair as though he knew he’d crossed some invisible line he now regretted. Even Alexius was frowning. What had happened?

  “Perhaps I should come back later,” Tibi suggested.

  “No!” Sergius jumped to his feet, the chair banging the wall behind him in his haste. “I have to return to the field…that is, if you wouldn’t mind staying with this bear until the physician gets here.”

  “Physician?” Her gaze swept over Alexius looking for a wound bad enough to require more complex medicine.

  “If a physician’s coming, why isn’t he here already?”

  “He went to fetch supplies.” Sergius sidled past her.

  “For what purpose?” she asked before realizing he’d fled though the open door behind her.

  She moved to the sleeping couch when a slave delivered a bucket of steaming water. Another girl placed a basin on a table close by.

  Able to see Alexius more clearly, she realized that there was a thick cloth pressed against his side farthest from her. His arm lay at an odd angle. “Is something wrong with your shoulder?”

  “No.”

  “Your side?” she asked. His hesitation told her she’d found the wounded area. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “It’s nothing.” He frowned. “Just a scratch. I’ve endured much worse.”

  The thought of him suffering made her want to smother him with sympathy. “If it’s just a scratch, then why won’t you let me see it?”

  “Because when you faint at the sight of all the blood, I won’t be able to catch you.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm, then narrowed. “What are you implying? That I’m weak and—”

  “I knew you were bloodthirsty.” A deep sigh escaped him. “Come here. Look all you like, but don’t say I didn’t warn you first.”

  Tibi skirted around the edge of the sleeping couch, closer to his injured side. She moved past the chair propped against the wall. Sun streamed through the open windows at her back.

  Alexius moved his arm. She leaned over him and reached for the folded linen.

  “Wait!”

  She froze, her hands hung in midair. “What?”

  “Sit beside me.” He patted the space by his hip. “There’s less of a chance you’ll hit the floor when you fall.”

  “I’m not going to faint. A little blood doesn’t bother me.”

  “Define little.”

  Her worry spiked. In the short time she’d been here, he’d grown paler. Where was the physician? “A great deal of blood doesn’t bother me, either.”

  He leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. “Then sit here beside me because I want you to.”

  Alexius kept his eyes closed. Fearing that Tibi would leave if he moved, he resisted his longing to reach for her. Her soft fingertips brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and trailed down his temple, relieving the pain in his skull he hadn’t been aware of. His wound burned and every shallow breath sent a sharp burst of fire through his rib cage, but all the torment was worth it to have her touch him.

  “Alexius, you have to stay awake. Keep talking to me.”

  The urgency in her voice spoke of her concern. He cracked one eye open as she leaned over him. Her soft hair tickled his nose. He didn’t want to worry her, but the loss of blood and her delicious scent were starting to make him light-headed.

  He forced his eyes open. Their gazes locked. Her full lips were a whisper from his. He only had to lift his head to taste them.

  She jerked back. Color high in her cheeks, she looked flustered and that fact pleased him.

  “I’ll sit with you if you like, but over here.” Without taking her eyes off him, she reached behind her to pull the chair closer to the couch. She sat down. “Now tell me what happened. How did your friend beat you?”

  His eyebrow arched. He didn’t like the sound of that question. Sergius hadn’t beaten him. Finding out that Tibi might care for him had been the culprit. “His sword caught me in the ribs.”

  “If you’d been in the Coliseum, you might have been killed.”

  “Most likely.” Seeing her blanch, he decided he could grow used to her concern on his account. “Good thing I was on the practice field instead.”

  Remus knocked on the door frame, a leather satchel filled with medicines in his hand. “How is my patient?”

  Alexius grunted. Tibi took hold of his hand and ran her thumb over the back of his scarred knuckles in a soothing motion.

  “He’s growing surlier by the moment,” she told the physician. “I trust you can fix him.”

  She stood and traded places with Remus at the end of the couch. The old man scooted the chair out of his way and removed the compress. He clucked his tongue in disapproval as he cut away the ruined tunic.

  Tibi moved to Alexius’s side. He watched her lean over him and grimace as she studied the hacked flesh. Her dark eyes flared and the creamy skin of her cheeks drained of color. Her nose wrinkled with distaste. She bit her full lower lip and nervously pushed a long, wayward tendril of blond hair behind her ear. She didn’t fall over in a faint, as he’d predicted.

  Good to know.

  Without warning, Remus pushed on his sore ribs. Alexius bit back a moan, refusing to let Tibi think less of him.

  “Worse than I expected,” Remus said. “I’d say you have a least three cracked ribs instead of two, as I originally thought.”

  Disgusted by the diagnosis, Alexius shook his head until he noticed Tibi’s compassionate gaze. When she gently cupped his cheek, he wasn’t above wallowing in her sympathy.

  “Hand me that bottle of vinegar,” the physician ordered, enlisting Tibi as his aide. “We have to clean the flesh before I stitch it up. If not, the possibility of infection and festering will worsen.”

  Tibi did as she was asked and handed Remus a clean piece of linen along with the bottle she opened. Put off by the strong acidic stench of the fermented juice, Alexius tensed. He’d lived this particular scene too many times in his life not to dread the oncoming torture.

  Remus tipped the bottle. A liquid inferno hit the laceration. Air hissed through Alexius’s teeth. Sweat drenched his face and chest. He swore under his breath.

  Tibi dashed to the basin, dipped a clean cloth in the water and hurried to place it on his clammy brow. The pain eased just as another dose of fire hit his flayed skin.

  Alexius gritted his teeth. Other times he’d been as badly hurt, he’d simply counted through the pain until he passed out. Not today. As Tibi squeezed his hand, mopped his brow and whispered encouragement, he prayed he’d stay wide awake.

  “Will he be all right, Remus?” she asked, a catch in her voice that made Alexius squirm. “Is he going to live?”

  “One never knows in these situations, but he’s survived worse.” The physician sent him a pointed glance. “Of course, he needs to rest, which he fights against.”

  “He’ll rest. Won’t you, Alexius?”

  He didn’t answer. They all understood t
hat she wasn’t really asking him. He didn’t want to commit himself when he knew how fed up with inactivity he’d be in a few short days. But if his resting made her happy…

  “Won’t you, Alexius?”

  “I’ll rest,” he grumbled.

  “Until Remus says you’re well?”

  “I can’t make that promise.”

  “You can’t? Why not?”

  “He gets bored,” said Remus, his arms crossed over his chest. “He’d rather be on the field issuing orders.”

  “What if I keep you entertained?” Tibi asked. “Will you consent to rest then?”

  “Are the entertainments open to negotiation?”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “Whatever you wish.”

  He grinned when she didn’t seem to understand his jest.

  “I’ll read to you, we can play latrunculi—”

  “Board games?” he interrupted. “I’m not a child.”

  “All right,” she said patiently. “We can just talk.”

  “About what?”

  “The choice is yours—politics, philosophy…Greek tragedies.”

  “I understand now,” he grouched. “By rest, you mean to ensure that I fall asleep.”

  Her lips twitched with laughter. He was glad to see he’d reeled her back from the verge of tears.

  “Please say you’ll do as Remus suggests. You have to heal. I don’t want any harm to come to you.”

  “Because you care?”

  She glanced away. “If I say yes, will you do as you’re told?”

  Uneasy with his increasing inability to resist her, he knew then that he was beaten. “All right. But only because you asked.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Four days later, Alexius prowled his chamber, waiting for Tibi. His ribs ached. The sutures holding his side together pulled and itched until he thought he’d go insane.

  An hour earlier, Velus had delivered his midday meal, but the fried clams and mix of boiled vegetables appealed to him as much as a plate of worms.

  Since his injury, he’d rested as he promised, but he longed to get back to the field. The endless inactivity wore him down more than any wound ever could. The empty hours left him with too much time to ponder his past and the underlying blackness of his present.