“It won’t be long before you have enough silver to buy your life back.”
“We’ll see.” Weakness began to creep through him and his vision blurred. His eyes drifted closed.
“Stay with me, friend.” Alexius gave him a light shake. “Widow Leonia attended the games this afternoon. She came to see you fight.”
He opened his eyes, his focus hazy.
“I thought the mention of her might revive you.” Smirking, Alexius leaned forward on the stool and braced his wrists on his knees. “You know you might consider Adiona as a source of additional coin.”
“I’ve nothing to offer as collateral.”
“You could offer yourself. Everyone knows it’s you she came to watch at training practice these last several months. Judging by her constant attempts to gain your notice, she’d pay a fortune to have you.”
He doubted it. Rumor among his troupe said her true prey was Caros. That she flirted with Quintus to make the lanista jealous. Quintus had begun to suspect the gossip held merit when she stopped visiting the school the same day Caros and Pelonia left for Umbria. His brow arched with irritation. “You mean sell myself?”
“It’s widely done. Wealthy matrons are known to offer a huge price for the attentions of a well-known gladiator. And there’s no woman in Rome wealthier than the widow.”
The thought of Adiona paying men for their favors hit him with the unexpected force of a blow to the chest. Rage and pain washed through him. He struggled to stand.
“Easy, Quintus.” Alexius pressed him back onto the bench. “I meant to enliven you, not make you foolish. If you don’t like women—”
“I like women fine,” he said through gritted teeth, fighting the weakness that threatened to engulf him.
“All right, you like women. I believe you.” Alexius shrugged. “I take it, then, it’s only Adiona who leaves you cold? Why? She’s exquisite to look upon. Most men would sacrifice their sword arm for a single smile from her luscious lips.”
His eyelids heavy as bricks, he struggled to focus on Alexius. He couldn’t deny Adiona Leonia affected him like no other woman he’d ever met, but she also reminded him of his wife. Not in looks, but in manner and her priorities in life. A decade of marriage to a faithless, self-centered woman who chased social recognition and vain pleasure had taught him much. Outward beauty meant little when the inner being was ugly. If God answered his prayers for deliverance from his current situation, he hoped one day to find a wife who possessed faith, kindness and honor.
“Widow Leonia is not for me.” Too exhausted to frame his words with care, he answered honestly. “I don’t want a woman whose sharp tongue resembles a knife blade and whose morals mimic a she-cat in heat.”
A sharp gasp drew his attention to the edge of the alcove behind Alexius. Adiona stood in the arched doorway. Torchlight glimmered off her elaborately braided hair and the gold threads woven through the cloak she’d draped around her slender shoulders. To his blurred vision and pain-steeped brain she seemed like a bright morning star—just as beguiling and, for him, even more out of reach.
Words failed. He simply stared, grappling for an apology. He had no right to insult her. Never had he spoken of a woman with such disrespect. No matter if he believed he told the truth, he’d never intentionally hurt her.
Gutted by her stricken amber gaze and ashen complexion, he wished the arrow had missed his shoulder and skewered his heart.
And judging by the storm gathering on her flawless face, she agreed he deserved no less.
Chapter Two
He despises me.
Savaged by Quintus’s brutal assessment, Adiona swallowed the hard lump of rejection in her throat. Determined he would never know how deep his derision cut, she refused to march off in a display of wounded pride.
“My lady—” Quintus said, his voice reed thin.
“Why are you here?” Alexius jumped to his feet, his expression sheepish.
Careful to avoid the slightest glance at Quintus, she masked her humiliation behind the haughty facade she’d perfected long ago to protect herself. “Have you called a physician, Alexius? Or did you think a long chat would dislodge the arrow from his thigh?”
“I asked for help when I came in,” the Greek giant said defensively. “Quintus hasn’t been here long and he’s not the worst of the wounded.”
“Then I’ll fetch someone myself.” Grabbing the excuse to leave, she rushed down the busy corridor. She’d arrived to hear Alexius prompting Quintus to seek her out for coin and Quintus’s quick rejection of the idea. That he preferred to risk his life in the arena rather than spend time with her pierced like a gladius to the heart.
Angry with Quintus, and furious with her own naïveté, she berated herself for the foolish compulsion to see about his welfare. She should have guessed he was no better than all the other men who forever misjudged her, yet she couldn’t deny she had desperately wished he might be.
…Whose morals mimic a she-cat in heat.
The accusation went through her like a poisoned dart. If only he knew the truth. Every day was a struggle for her survival. All her life she’d fought off men who sought to use her, claim her, abuse her. Never had one looked past her outward appearance, fortune or social position to want her for herself.
Men are swine. She hated them. They could all rot for all she cared. Why did she think Quintus would be any different? What was it about him that made her forget she wanted nothing to do with any man?
She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her stola, blaming the torch smoke for the sudden sheen that blurred her vision. Idiota. Why did you let yourself hope?
In the main surgery, dust motes danced in the light pouring through a series of arched windows along the concrete walls. Herbal scents mixed with the harsh odors of vinegar and blood. Several physicians bent over drugged patients who’d been laid out on flat couches. Except for the murmur of voiced instructions, soft moans and the occasional ping of metal surgical instruments, the room was surprisingly quiet, the opposite of the chaos in the halls.
She stepped deeper into the light. “You, there.” She pointed to a balding man she’d seen several times at Caros’s compound. “Your name is Petronius, is it not?”
Petronius looked up from bandaging his unconscious patient. His eyes widened with recognition. “My lady Leonia, what are you doing here?”
“One of the gladiators from the Ludus Maximus needs your attention. He’s been shot by arrows and continues to bleed. Finish quickly with your work here and I’ll take you to him.”
The physician wiped his hands on a bloodied towel and surveyed his patient with an air of uncertainty. “I’ve done all I can for this one. Fate will do the rest.”
An assistant took over bandaging the unconscious gladiator while Petronius gathered a needle, stitching, a roll of clean linen and an arrow extractor. “I’m ready, my lady. Please lead the way.”
Adiona
