“I disagree,” Tibi murmured. “You and Father may see them as mismatched, but Pelonia adores Caros while he practically worships her and their sons. As for their religion, at least they believe in a God of love—”
“Enough.” Tiberia shook her head and eyed Tibi with exasperation. “Why do you have to be so blunt and disagreeable? Not everything has to be a contest of opinions. I realize that Pelonia leads a life charmed by Fortune, but she married a lowly gladiator. Those men are animals—foreigners and criminals who deserve to die in the sand.”
“Tiberia—!”
“And,” Tiberia continued undaunted, “if she doesn’t keep her choice of religion a secret she might find herself sentenced to the arena again. Is that what you want? To shame your family more than you already have? To be pitied everywhere you go because you threw yourself away on an ex-slave?”
Although she’d known Tiberia hated Caros for once enslaving their cousin three years earlier, she was stunned by Tiberia’s vehemence. The former lanista had repented of his ways long ago and proven to be a marvelous husband. No one outside their own family pitied Pelonia. If anything, women from Rome to Umbria secretly envied her.
“Better an ex-slave who’s handsome, rich and adores me,” Tibi said, “than to sacrifice my life serving a goddess I don’t believe in. As for shaming my family, didn’t you hear Father? I’ve been a disappointment since the day I was born. Truly, I’m certain he considers it a shame that I was ever born.”
The silence lingered. Tiberia couldn’t refute a fact they both knew to be true. She turned sharply on her heel and sought out the cushioned chair near the door. Her thoughts in a tumble, Tibi renewed her pacing. Certain she was beyond the reaches of prayer, she fully believed her father planned to be free of her one way or the other.
Somehow she had to escape to the Ludus Maximus before sunrise or her father would have a chance to carry out his threat. Caros had sold the ludus two years earlier to Alexius of Iolcos, but he and Pelonia stayed there when they returned from Umbria for several weeks each spring.
Tibi only hoped her cousin’s plans hadn’t changed without warning. If they had made other arrangements, she’d find herself facing Alexius and the mortification that would smother her if he learned the reason behind her current predicament.
A vision of piercing eyes the color of liquid silver formed in her mind’s eye. She slowed to a stop in the center of the bedchamber. Ever since she’d first met Alexius three years ago, she’d steered clear of the Greek as much as possible when she visited her cousins to avoid the peculiar way he affected her senses. Just the sound of his softly accented voice infused her with warmth.
She shook her head, determined not to dwell on the darkly handsome lanista or the way his quick smile seemed to melt her bones. Although he could have retired from the games when he took over the Ludus Maximus, Alexius preferred to fight. He remained Rome’s premier gladiatorial champion, a titan who stirred rumors as much for his womanizing as for his bloodlust and lack of pity in the arena.
And I’d be a fool to let myself become enamored with a man as callous as Father.
Not that Alexius had ever made the slightest overture toward her, she mused as she exchanged the silk she wore for a tunic of dark gray wool. In truth, the Greek seemed just as intent on evading her as she was determined to avoid him. Which didn’t surprise her, since females all over Rome vied for his attention and she was a woman no man wanted.
At the basin, she cleansed her face, wishing she could wash away the knowledge that she was a failure both to her family and as a woman as easily as she removed the kohl and rouge from her pale skin.
Once Tiberia fell asleep, Tibi quietly packed a small pouch of coins, three fresh tunics, several pieces of jewelry to sell if need be and a few other necessities into a leather satchel. Wondering if her plan to escape was brave or foolhardy, she reminded herself that she had no other option unless she wished to join the temple.
Icy fingers of disgust crept across the back of her neck. She made haste and secured a sheathed knife to her belt for protection before making her way into the dimly lit hall. Downstairs, she slipped past the guard who’d fallen asleep in the courtyard and silently out the door.
Taking a deep breath of crisp night air, she brushed off her fear of the eerily deserted streets and kept to the shadows as she hurried in the direction of the gladiator school.
Alexius of Iolcos set down his chalice of wine, rattled the dice in his hand and cast the ivory pieces onto the scarred wooden table. Seeing the winning roll, the bevy of beauties surrounding him clapped and shrieked like inebriated water nymphs. His opponents’ agonized groans competed with the revelry of his many guests and the wandering musicians whose bawdy songs filled the public rooms of the domus.
Alexius laughed and taunted the other players good-naturedly, although he was less than satisfied with his win. Of late, boredom trailed him without mercy. The endless stream of wine, women and work no longer muted the monstrous rage he constantly fought to keep caged within him. Known for his congenial nature outside the ring, he found it more and more difficult to smile and pretend that his meaningless existence was any more useful than a dry well in a desert.
As lanista of the Ludus Maximus and Rome’s current gladiator champion, he ruled over a kingdom of vice and violence. He had a comfortable life, a better life than a foreigner and once-condemned man had any right to hope for, but he’d known for months that he needed a change for his sanity’s sake.
“Master,” his steward, Velus, said over the music and grousing of the other players, “there’s a woman here to see you.”
“Who is it?” he tossed over his shoulder distractedly as he scooped up his winnings.
The steward’s fidgeting drew Alexius’s full attention. Velus didn’t usually hesitate when he announced the steady stream of female admirers who visited the gladiators on a regular basis. The older man, a dwarf Alexius had saved from certain death as lion fodder in the arena, motioned to come closer and whispered for only his master to hear, “Mistress Pelonia’s cousin, Tiberia the Younger.”
Tibi? Alexius tensed. His smile faltered. He forgot the remaining coins on the tabletop even as his heart began to echo the drums’ frenzied beat. Perhaps—hopefully—he’d misheard.
“Who brought her here?”
“She’s alone.”
He scowled. He usually admired the girl’s untamed spirit, but not when it led her to wander Rome’s dangerous streets at all hours of the night. There was no acceptable reason for a well-born woman to venture out alone a few hours after midnight unless…
“Has there been an accident?” he demanded. “Is she hurt?”
“Not that I know of, master, but she’s adamant to speak with you.”
“Where is she?” Alexius’s gaze circled the smoky room on a quest to find Tibi’s splendid golden hair. He didn’t want her here. The evening may have started out as a coena libera, the solemn last meal for the gladiators scheduled to fight the next afternoon, but had rapidly unraveled into a raucous affair of dancing, games of chance and other debauchery he didn’t want to be responsible for an innocent girl like Tibi to witnessing.
“She’s waiting in your office,” Velus said.
Alexius sent the steward to fetch Tibi something to eat and drink from the banquet table overflowing with fresh fruit, breads, roasted fowl and a variety of fish.
Several of the men and women playing dice with him had wandered over to the food during his exchange with Velus, but a few vultures waited expectantly for any scrap of gossip. Gossip he wasn’t about