“And if I agree to a marriage between you, how would the alliance benefit me?”
Adiona gasped. Would her father send her away without even seeing her first?
Prisca frowned and shushed her to silence. “Stay here. Don’t follow me until I call you.”
A dull ache spread through Adiona. Pressing back against the cool concrete wall, she wished she could disappear.
“Silver is in the bargain for you, General. I understand your last campaign didn’t go well. I’ll take the girl without a dowry and settle your debts, as well as sponsor your legions for the next year. Considering the sum you owe, who else besides the emperor could afford to be as generous?”
“The question is why you’d be so free with your coin?”
“She’s the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen. With an ornament like her on my arm, I’ll be the envy of every man in Rome.”
In the silence that followed, Prisca went to the door way and cleared her throat to make her presence known.
“What is it, woman?”
“The child is waiting in the hall.”
“Bring her in. I’m anxious to see this girl whose face is worth a fortune.”
Prisca poked her head around the door frame and waved her forward. “Come, Adiona, the General’s ready to see you.”
Chilled to the bone by her father’s indifference, she remained frozen in place. “Come here, child.” Her maid walked toward her, extending a hand. “Come greet your sire and his important guest.”
Adiona shook her head. She had no intention of placing herself on display like one of the prized cows her tutor had showed her at market.
Prisca fiddled with one of the curls tumbling over her shoulder. “Don’t shame me. What will your father think of the training I’ve given you if you prove to be willful and disobedient?”
Terrified, Adiona crossed her arms over her chest in a meager display of self-protection. “I won’t go.”
Her maid’s lips thinned. The older woman’s grip tightened on Adiona’s upper arm. “Yes, you will.” Prisca thrust her over the threshold and blocked the portal, Adiona’s sole means of retreat. Caged like one of the beasts at the menagerie, she was flooded by a wave of panic. Too frightened to look at her sire, she turned on her heel and fought to push past the maid.
“Adiona!” The General’s icy command froze her to the spot. “Present yourself.”
She swirled around, taking in the faces of the two strangers on either side of the wide desk. The one dressed in an army red tunic was big, his face scarred. The other man was old and withered. He reminded her of a giant pockmarked bullfrog leaning on a gnarled cane. His jaundiced gaze was less than fatherly as it roamed over her in the same way the buyers sized up the heifers at market.
Only he wants a broodmare.
She shrank back.
“Come here, daughter.”
Prisca shoved her forward. Gathering the remains of her courage, Adiona forced her heavy feet toward the huge man whose fisted hands and cold gaze promised retribution if she continued to embarrass him in front of his visitor.
She stopped several paces out of his reach, her chest aching for one kind gesture from him. With a sinking feeling, she realized the General would never be the father she longed for, a father who welcomed her with love and open arms.
“Well?” he demanded. “Have you gone mute since I left?”
She shook her head. Her chest tight, she answered as duty required. “Hello, Father. Wel…welcome home.”
“That’s better.” He turned back to the bullfrog without offering her the slightest show of warmth. “I want you to meet Crassus Scipio. He’s asked to wed you and I’ve decided to agree to his request.”
Anger pierced through her heartbreak and rejection. Her rebellious gaze slid to the old man. The gleam in his eyes repulsed her until she feared she might retch at his feet.
Trembling, she turned to the General, the defender of Rome who did nothing to protect his own daughter. “Please don’t,” she begged him, “please don’t give me to him.”
His face hardened. “Ungrateful whelp. You should be honored that one of the richest men in Rome desires you for a wife.”
Honored? Had years of war addled her father’s wits?
“If Crassus agrees, I’ll arrange your marriage to take place next week when you come of age.”
“But—”
“No more interruptions, girl.” He snapped his fingers, summoning Prisca. “Take her out of my sight and make the necessary preparations. It’s time she set aside her dolls and learned to be a proper wife.”
Chapter One
The Flavian Amphitheater, Rome, 81 AD
“Blood is sure to stain the sand today!”
Adiona Leonia shuddered at Claudia’s gleeful prediction. As insidious as a spider, Claudia rarely approached anyone without nefarious intent. Unfortunately, the older matron had begun to spin her web around Adiona the moment she’d approached the entrance gate.
“The gladiators face war elephants and chariots this afternoon,” Claudia continued. “I can hardly breathe with anticipation!”
Scanning the mob of enthusiastic spectators swarming into the massive arena, Adiona pretended not to hear the other woman over the roar of the crowd and motioned her bodyguards to clear a way to escape. Surrounded by the fragrance of burning pinecones meant to keep the stench of blood and death at bay, Adiona needed no reminder of who faced what in the arena. Her attraction to one particular gladiator both mystified and rattled her. Other than her friend the famed lanista, Caros Viriathos, she neither liked nor trusted men. Yet she’d been inexplicably drawn to Quintus Ambustus since the first time she’d seen him train at the Ludus Maximus five months earlier.
“One of the gladiator troupes is Viriathos’s men.” Claudia spoke louder, refusing to be ignored. “That should make the day more delightfully gruesome.”
“It explains the crowds,” Adiona agreed absently. “Caros trains the best.”
“You would know.”
Claudia’s suggestive tone earned Adiona’s full attention. Had the bloodhound somehow learned her guilty secret? Her pulse quickened with dread. All of Rome knew of her contempt for the opposite sex. She’d be a laughingstock if anyone—especially Claudia and her mindless patrons—discovered her unrequited fascination for one of Caros’s slaves.
Irritated by the woman’s nosiness, Adiona clenched her fists in the weighty folds of her blue stola. “What do you mean, Claudia? Everyone is aware of Caros’s talents. I’m not special in that regard.”
