The Gladiator. Carla Capshaw

dropped his hand away as though she’d sprouted leprosy. “And who might your god be? Jupiter? Apollo? Or maybe you worship the god of the sea. Do you think Neptune will leave his watery throne and rescue you?”

      “The Christ.” For the first time, her voice didn’t waver.

      So, she admitted following the criminal sect. Caros studied her, wondering if she were a fool or had a wish for death. “Say that to the wrong person, Pelonia, and you’ll find yourself facing the lions.”

      “I already am.”

      He laughed. “So you think of me as a ferocious beast?”

      Her silence amused him all the more. “Good. It suits me well to know you realize I’m untamed and capable of tearing you limb from limb.”

      Her fingers clutched at the dirt floor. “Then do your worst. Death is better…than being owned.”

      Lucia scoffed under her breath, drawing Caros’s attention to where the healer waited by the window, the noonday sun coursing through the open shutters.

      “What foolishness.” Lucia came to stand by a roughhewn table littered with the bottles and bowls of her medicines. “I warned you the girl would argue, Master. I’d wager she deserved the thrashing she received if all she did was quarrel.”

      “The slave trader did mention she’d been beaten for a disagreement with her uncle.” Caros’s attention slipped back to Pelonia, who’d grown pale and weaker still.

      Concerned by her pallor, he berated himself for baiting her, for depleting her meager strength when he should have been encouraging her to heal. Without pausing to examine his motives, he reached down and lifted her into his arms, prepared for her to protest.

      When she sagged against his chest without a fight, her acquiescence alarmed him. She weighed no more than a laurel leaf and it occurred to him she’d eaten nothing more than tepid broth for the last several days. In her weakened state, had he shoved her to the brink of death?

      Holding her tight against his chest, he whispered near her ear. “Tell me, Pelonia. What can I do to aid you? What can I do to ease your plight?”

      “Find…Tiberia,” she whispered, the dregs of her strength draining away. “And free me.”

      Chapter Three

      I will not weep.

      Pelonia paused in weeding the kitchen’s herb garden and wiped perspiration from her brow. Scents of basil and mint mingled with the sweetness of wild jasmine. A small fountain’s splashing water and the aroma of fresh-baked bread reminded her of home.

      The garden’s rich black dirt stained her fingers, resurrecting painful reminders of her father’s burial less than a fortnight ago. Fangs of betrayal bit deep. How could a loving God allow one of His most kind and humble servants to suffer so heinous a death?

      Why had God delivered her to this gladiatorial training ground, this disgusting den of violence, to serve as a slave? How did He expect her to face Caros Viriathos on a daily basis when each sight of her captor filled her with resentment and simmering rage?

      She ripped a weed from the dirt and flung it into a basket beside her. The lanista didn’t have a right to imprison her here! In the week since Caros carried her from the slave quarters, he’d provided for her needs and seen her cared for, but his vow to rule over her kept him from finding Tiberia. His adamant refusal to contact her cousin, regardless of Tiberia’s certain anxiety, stoked her frustration and her fury.

      She sneered at the garden wall that marked the boundary of her prison. Caros Viriathos had stolen her life and she would see it returned. In a few days, her injuries would be completely healed and the occasional blurring of her vision would disappear the same as the knot on her head.

      She would escape and find Tiberia, who wouldn’t hesitate to buy her freedom. It didn’t matter that a runaway slave faced the penalty of death. She couldn’t abide the abysmal future she faced living as less than someone’s chattel.

      The weeds she’d discarded drew her attention. Bitterness bloomed until she tasted it. That’s what God had done to her. Uprooted her from the flourishing soil of home and cast her aside as if she meant nothing. How could she trust a God who delivered her into such a deep chasm of despair?

      The snap of a twig startled her out of her grim thoughts. A low growl directly behind her raised her hair on end. She froze, her breath lodged in her chest. Why hadn’t she sensed the animal’s approach? She’d heard the roar of big cats and sounds of various game in the training yard, but was the beast here?

      Her heart stopped when warm, moist breath caressed her neck and a large wet nose sniffed her hair. From the corner of her eye, she saw the orange-and-black-striped head of a…tiger.

      “Cat!” Caros’s deep voice boomed across the garden. Pelonia’s heart raced as though it meant to escape her chest.

      “Cat!” he called again, his swift steps crunching dried leaves along the garden’s path. “Come, before you terrify my new slave to death.”

      The tiger sniffed Pelonia’s hair once more before he returned to his master. The animal’s long, curved tail flicked her in the face as it sauntered off.

      An eon seemed to pass before she took an even breath. Her muscles unlocked and she almost pitched forward into the herbs, her hands shaking with latent fear.

      Caros’s long shadow stretched across the herb bed in front of her. From her seat on the ground, he seemed as tall and formidable as a colossus.

      He crouched beside her, his intense blue gaze riveted to her face. “Are you well or did my pet scare you speechless?”

      Not wanting him to see her tremble, she tightened her fists and tried to ignore the tiger’s golden eyes fixed upon her. “Your pet? Are you insane?”

      He shrugged. “Some claim so.”

      “I agree with them.” She pulled another weed. “Only a lunatic would allow a tiger to run loose in his garden.”

      “He wasn’t actually free. He yanked his lead from my hand. It’s your fault. You were in his domain and he wished to inspect you.”

      She gave him a level stare. “It’s not my will that keeps me here. I’ll gladly go to my cousin’s home if I’m making the beast ill at ease.”

      “Beast?” Caros stroked the tiger’s wide head and ignored her statement. “Hardly. He’s as placid as a lamb with people he tolerates. He didn’t kill you, so he must find you acceptable.”

      The powerful animal rolled to his side and Caros began to scratch his chin. Pelonia marveled at the sight of the huge contented cat. Sensing the affection between master and pet, she couldn’t help but smile when Cat’s eyelids began to droop and his body relaxed. Within moments he was stretched out in peaceful slumber.

      “See? As placid as a lamb.” Caros grinned. “His snoring will begin any moment.”

      As if on cue, a low rumble emanated from the sleeping creature. She reached out her hand, then drew back. “Can I touch him?”

      “Of course,” he said. “Move closer so you don’t stretch and hurt your ribs.”

      His thoughtfulness continued to perplex her. She brushed the excess dirt from her hands and did as he said. Hesitant at first, she stroked the top of the animal’s head, surprised by the softness of its fur.

      “Have you ever seen a Caspian tiger?”

      She shook her head. “Sketches only. My father took me to a menagerie once. There were lions and a panther, but no tigers. Have you had this one long?”

      Caros continued to watch her. “Three years, since he was a cub. He was the runt of his litter. My old lanista, Spurius, refused to feed him since Cat was sickly and he doubted he’d grow large enough for the ring. I fed him part of my rations