Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) (48 page)

She wanted him, that seemed certain. And she felt great affection for him, too. But love? A woman like her? She could have her pick of the litter anywhere she went. Falling in love with him was a fool’s errand—and even more so now, that he knew he would have to die in his next fight.

It had been smart of him, he rationalized, to tell her that he didn’t love her.

Another part of him circled like a fly, refusing to go away and demanding to be noticed. That if he was to die soon anyway, better to tell her the full amount of his feelings for her. Better to live every moment he could.

Hadn’t he, after all, made that same mistake with Fabiana?

But this time was different. This time, his daughter was alive. Her life was at stake. And even if he did what Porcia said, what guarantee did he have that she would give Fabia back to his sister?

None. None at all.

I win the fight, she kills Fabia. I lose the fight, Fabia lives, but I don’t know to what end. And either way, if I’m not in shape for the fight, she’ll kill Fabia regardless
.

“That’s monstrous,” said Septus.

Caius looked up. A crowd of gladiators had filed into the mess hall with him. Septus, Conall, Ajax, Perseus. All of the thraex gladiators and many more besides. Lucius was next to the doorway, leaning against it with his arm bandaged from end to end. Iunius stood in the corner, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Had Caius been speaking aloud? He must have been. They all looked at him with sympathy in their eyes.

“We’ll help you train,” said Conall. “Whatever you need.”

“That’s right,” said Septus. “Let the gods decide the rest. We can make you into a better fighter than you’ve ever been. Felix is a hard match, but you'll be more than ready for him.”

“Caius.”

The crowd split apart at the sound of Murus’s voice. Tension filled the room suddenly—how would any of them help Caius train without his say-so?

“You have only excelled as a fighter. You have done us honor in the face of being given a terribly dishonorable match. You’ve carried your load with grace, and never once stained this house.” Caius felt as though he were building toward some grand contradiction about duty to the Domina and House Varinius, no matter what. But he pulled Caius up from his seat and took him close in an embrace. “Whatever you need doing, we will do.”

The gathered crowd all voiced their assent, patting Caius on the back and shaking his hand. He had never felt such assurance from a group before. It was gratifying to feel that he had not worked unnoticed.

“Aye, bear shit.” Flamma pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Count me in.”

All the assents and encouragement stopped. All the gladiators stared at Flamma in disbelief.

“What?” asked Lucius.

Septus shook his head. “You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah.” Flamma nodded. This was common knowledge, even to him. “So what?”

“So.” Septus looked at him in disbelief. “We don’t exactly trust you.”

“I fought murmillo for years,” said Flamma. “You want to put on a good show, you’ll need to train against someone who knows what they’re doing. Felix is a hell of a murmillo. I’ve seen him move. And I can fight better than anyone else here in that style, and that’s a fact.”

From the way he puffed out his chest and looked around, he dared the others to disagree. But no one did.

Murus had to agree. “That is a fact, Caius. If he’s half as good as he was before, he’s still the best one here.”

“If he’s so good,” asked Lucius, “why is he fighting as a dimachaerus?”

“It’s a money-maker,” said Murus. “We made the change while you were here. You ought to remember.”

Lucius looked away. It was clear he
didn’t
remember. Drink had a way with memory.

Murus continued. “Crowds love a man with two swords. And he’s better at it, besides.”

There was a long moment, and Caius knew they were all waiting on his word. He didn’t know what to say. It had been one overwhelming moment after another. Place him in an arena full of men trying to kill him, and he was right at home. But in a room full of men wanting to help him, and he felt as lost as a dove in a snowstorm.

“Let him help,” said Conall.

Now everyone looked at
him
in disbelief.

“Are you serious, Conall?” Septus asked. “He tried to kill you the day you got here.”

Conall shrugged. “And he didn’t. And now, he can help. So let him help.”

Whether it was Conall's insistence, Murus's approving nod, or the complete lack of guile on Flamma's face, something shifted in Caius. He could not turn down this many men at once all asking for the same thing.

“Okay,” said Caius. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They had been a good five minutes in the mess hall. Murus swore he would dock it from their time off in the evenings and train them twice as hard to teach them not to abandon their work. The gladiators rushed outside and took up their positions once again.

Flamma stayed behind with Caius for a moment.

“I may be a bastard,” Flamma nodded. “But I’ve got a few bastards too. If their mothers would let me near them, I’d do anything for them.”

Caius clasped his shoulder. “Thank you, Flamma.”

“Don’t thank me.” He cracked a grin. “You’re a dead man, remember? Just put in a good word in Elysium for me. I could use the help.”

––––––––

T
wo days before the games in Puteoli, Rufus finally expired.

The custom for a Roman with money was cremation. Porcia commissioned the gladiators to build his funeral pyre just outside the walls. By the time they finished stacking wood, the structure was tall—coming up nearly to the height of the walls themselves—and burnt quickly when set ablaze in the night. Only the most loyal house slaves were allowed outside to watch. The gladiators stayed within the walls, watching the smoke go up.

A team of guards remained at the ready, watchful of the fire and its spread. Construction had only recently started on rebuilding the estate, and no one wanted to put out another long fire all through the night.

Porcia was outside the walls, along with her personal guards. As such, Aeliana could stand next to Caius, feeling the comforting strength he possessed, without fear of reprisal.

Why Porcia might care about Caius and Aeliana’s relationship at this point in the game was beyond her, but the woman was insane. She and Caius both operated with the silent, understood agreement that the less Porcia saw of the two of them together, the better. Better not to flood a mad woman with excuses.

They held hands, watching the smoke go up. Aeliana had felt no great affection for Rufus, and yet, like most Romans, she had a sincere respect for the dead.

It was that respect that would protect her and Caius in the reading of his will. If Porcia tried to alter his wishes or move against them in any way, then not only would she face legal repercussions from his lawyers in Puteoli, but also the threat of being haunted by his ghost.

Some logical folk insisted strongly there was no such thing as ghosts at all, but the majority of Romans held fast to the clear evidence of their supernatural existence in unexplained tragedies and mysterious ailments. Porcia, ever superstitious as a gambler, would take no chances.

Caius’s hand was as thickly calloused as it ever had been. For the past many weeks, she had watched him train as if his life depended on it. But she knew that wasn’t the case—it was his daughter’s life that depended on it.

Fabia was a remarkable little joy. Porcia mostly ignored the child, which was probably to Fabia’s benefit. A slave was assigned to looking after her; Aeliana could not help but wonder when even that small amount of supervision was deemed too much luxury for the child of a gladiator. Somewhere in Neapolis, Porcia's own child, Marius, was sitting comfortably with family. She had not deigned to bring him to his father's funeral. That boy had a tough lot ahead of him.

Aeliana’s own heart would have burned as the pyre burned if she knew that her own child was mere feet away from her, on the same property, but without the ability to ever see her. She helped Caius how she could, rounding up sweets from the kitchen and visiting Fabia every day. Even at three years old, her intelligence was evident and she soon knew that Aeliana was a woman to trust and expect.

This made her feel strangely gratified. In another world, another way, she might imagine herself as a mother. Certainly that was nothing that had occurred to her before meeting Caius.

She squeezed his hand and looked up at him. His face was distant. Thoughts about parenting melted away from the cold certainty he advertised—his death in just two days time.

When he first told her of the circumstances he was in, the deal he'd made with Porcia, her mind had raced with solutions, none of them coming to bear fruit. And so she had watched him, training day after day. Staying late in the sands with Flamma, the two of them sparring under the watchful eye of Murus long after their work was supposed to be done.

Her heart broke with every stroke of his sword, and she had no idea how to fix it. And yet it kept occurring to her that there was
something
she could do.

She felt useless. She felt weak. As weak as her father had always told her she was.

Even Lucius was helping. He had stopped drinking, at least for the time being. Still injured, he called out notes to Caius as he and Flamma sparred endlessly. Sometimes training sessions between Caius and Flamma passed with only Lucius coaching, and Murus attending other duties. If Lucius were to be a doctore, he would be good at it.

As the fire died down, Caius pulled Aeliana in tighter, one hand on her hips. She wanted him again. She had wanted him every day, but threats from the Domina had kept them apart. At every turn, Porcia wished to spite the two.

Aeliana knew that it was all perfectly justifiable in Porcia’s mind. If the Domina of the House could not sleep with Lucius, why should the two of them be together?

The moment was now, she realized suddenly. While Porcia and her men were outside the walls. Stupid—stupid! She should have thought of it earlier. A flicker of excitement ran through her at the possibility.

But just as soon as the thought struck her, and she leaned up to whisper in Caius’s ear, the gates opened.

It was like Porcia had read her mind.

Right away, as Porcia entered, she sent her guards to Caius.

“The Domina says you’re to be escorted to the arena,” said one. He was younger than Aeliana, but built strong with a heavy torso.

“The games aren’t for another two days,” said Caius. “What are you talking about?”

“You think this is a discussion? You’re going to the arena.”

“Let me gather my things, then. I’ll only be a moment.”

“You’ll go now. Your items will be sent to you.”

The other guard took out a pair of manacles. The chains tinkled in the night air.

Caius turned to Aeliana. In his eyes was all the want in the world. Gods, but he made her feel so valuable. Worthy of him.

“Look to Fabia, if you can.”

She nodded. “Of course, Caius. I—”

I love you
, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. He kissed her, instead, drawing her close into his naked strength with everything he had. Their lips locked only for a few brief, delightful seconds.

Then, the guards roughed him away and clanked the manacles down on his wrists.

Her mind raced with the effort to say something,
anything
. This could be the last time she saw him. Her lips froze and her heart wrenched, and he passed through the gates. There were no more goodbyes than that.

Weak. Helpless. The fighting cries of her childhood. She could have put them on a banner. All her life she had fought against them, insistent that she would never need help. That she would always stand on her own.

But her life was bigger than herself now. Caius was the strongest man she knew, and even he relied totally on the other gladiators for his training, for his safety and well-being of mind.

It did not take long to reach her office. In a small basket underneath the far shelf there was a wealth of ink and paper. She lit a candle so that she could see; she took a breath.

And then she began to write, and did something she swore that she would never do.

I do not ask for much from you. Knowing your thoughts on charity, I understand that you find it a true sign of weakness. But let me tell you something about strength.

Emotions swelled up in her. She had to bite her tongue to distract herself from the pain. And then, with great deliberation, she continued writing the letter.

––––––––

C
aius was given a “private” bedding area in the arena, which meant that he was locked in a cell overnight. He slept uneasily. There was no cot, only the cold stone ground and some hay in the corner.

No doubt Porcia knew he and Aeliana would have risked spending his last night alive with one another. Even having won—with his death as incumbent as the sun's rising on the morrow—the Domina was as petty as ever. No spare happiness for others until her own was satisfied.

Maybe as an outside observer he would have viewed Porcia as a sad creature. But subject to her machinations, the best he could manage for her actions was a quiet, steady rage. When he was not at his best, he let out half-strangled screams and banged the walls.

In the morning, he had a visitor. Caius ran through a small physical routine on the floor, push-ups and squats and the like. Anything to keep his body limber and ready.

Felix leaned against the metal gate of the cell, wrapping his arms through the bars.

“They told me you would be here,” he said.

Caius looked past Felix for a moment. “You just walked away from your ludus?”

“There are guards down the hall. I’ll be training later. But they know I’m not going anywhere. Some of us like the glory of the arena. Some of us wouldn’t leave it for anything.”

“You’re young yet. Give it a few years.”

Felix's frown deepened. “I don’t like you, Caius. I wouldn’t like you even if you hadn’t killed my brother.”