you are, Caros.” Spurius’s jowls bobbled as he spoke. “Gaius informed me I might find you here.”
“What do you want? I’m on my way to the frigidarium. I’m in need of a cold swim before I head home.”
“Leaving already?” Spurius hefted himself onto one of the marble ledges, adjusting his loincloth to accommodate his massive girth and stubby legs. “Isn’t it too soon in the day?”
Caros closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “Not since you arrived.”
Spurius chuckled. “Then I’ll go straight to the point. I want you to fight again.”
Caros lifted his head, battling his annoyance. “Why do you insist on vexing me with your endless attempts to drag me back to the arena? I’ve told you no a hundred times.”
“I’m persistent. Besides, it’s been a fortnight since you last turned me down.”
“And I believe I told you if you asked me again I’d feed you to Cat.”
Spurius shrugged. “I’m tough as old leather. He’d just spit me out.”
“But he might enjoy gnawing on you first.”
“If we were in your home, I might be frightened. But here—” Spurius motioned to the rising steam “—I’m safe.”
“Not with me in the chamber.”
Spurius used the edge of a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I know you hate me, but we both know you won’t harm me no matter how much you’d like to see me dead. You were a condemned man once. I doubt you’d allow yourself to return to that lowly state.”
Caros grunted, unable to argue with the truth. Ending the worm’s life would please him to no end, but it wasn’t worth sacrificing all he’d achieved. “Exactly. Neither will I return to the games. Entering the arena requires me to place myself back in bondage. Rome itself will fall before I’ll forfeit my freedom or be forced to acknowledge another master.”
“You’re too proud, Caros.” Spurius sighed. “The truth is the mob is easily bored. Every day, it grows more difficult to arrange the grand events the crowd demands. The mob wants you, their champion, and the games’ sponsors are willing to pay any price for the spectators’ continued enjoyment.”
Caros tossed another ladle of water on the coals. “I’m retired, old man. If you wish to do business with me, speak to Gaius about Alexius or one of my other champions. Otherwise, distance yourself from my presence. My patience with you is over.”
“But think of the riches you’d win,” Spurius cajoled one last time. “You’re still the best gladiator alive.”
“I’m already rich. On the other hand, Alexius’s talents are for sale.”
Taking the hint, Spurius’s shoulders slumped in capitulation. “Since you’ve brought up Alexius, why can’t you be more like him? There’s a man who understands and enjoys his place in the world.”
“He’s a slave by choice. If he wanted his freedom I’d let him have it.”
Spurius frowned. “You’ve condemned me as a villain because I refused to sell you your freedom when you demanded it. But I ask you, what man would happily give up a gold mine? I was a fool to give the mob its way the day they chanted for your release. In the last three years I’ve lost ten fortunes for my drunken error.”
Caros stood and tightened the cloth around his hips. “You’re a fool, old man, drunk or otherwise.”
“True enough, but I’m also determined. One of these days I’ll tempt you out of retirement. You can be sure of it.”
Pelonia sensed Caros’s arrival in the garden before she heard him. Perching on tiptoe, she craned her neck for a better view of the herb-lined path. Caros and another man approached. Both were dark, tall and broad shouldered, but Caros moved with a grace that rivaled his tiger’s. Breathless, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He caught her staring and without warning sent the other man away. Without breaking their gaze, he closed the distance between them. “Why are you out here in the heat of the day?”
“Your steward assigned me to garden duty. I understood I’m to work here every day.”
“I’ll speak with him. There are easier tasks in the house.”
“No, this is fine.” She didn’t want to rile Gaius. The old man could make her life miserable if he chose. “I tended flowers and maintained a large vegetable garden for my father’s household.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. The gold wristbands he wore glinted in the sun. “If you came from a wealthy family, as you claim, why toil like a slave?”
Disliking the accusation in his question, Pelonia plucked a low-hanging leaf from the lemon tree and breathed in the citrus scent. “Simply because I enjoy planting something, caring for it and watching it grow.”
“I see. And how is it you never married? I’d expect a woman of your advanced age to have children of her own to nurture.”
“Advanced age? Are you trying to insult me?” she asked with mock severity.
“By the gods, no.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But most women wed by the age of twelve or thirteen summers. You’ve yet to wrinkle, but…how old are you?”
“Seventeen.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his discomfort. “And you? You have enough wrinkles for both of us, so I’d guess you are…?”
“Twenty-eight.” He fingered the faint lines around his right eye. “Are you saying you find me ugly and withered?”
She laughed for the first time since her father died. “Goodness, no, but all the scars were a bit off-putting at first.”
He sighed with exaggerated relief and led her to a bench beside the fountain. “Were? Does that mean my scars no longer bother you?”
In truth, she no longer noticed them. Not when the uniqueness of his azure eyes and the male beauty of his sculpted lips claimed all of her attention. “No, they don’t bother me.”
“Good.” His gaze dipped to the ground and she saw the beginnings of a smile curve his mouth. He brushed a thick curl of black hair from his forehead. “But you have yet to answer me. What’s wrong with you that you never married?”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with me. My father was an unconventional man. He thought it best I wed the husband of my choosing. I’ve yet to make the fortunate man’s acquaintance.”
Caros’s laughter filled the garden. “Aha! Another woman in search of a perfect man. I doubt you’ll find him.”
Pelonia fought her own grin. “I’ve no wish for a perfect man. Just one who’s perfect for me.”
“Perhaps you’ve met him, but don’t realize it. What if he were…one of my men?”
“He isn’t.”
