The Champion. Carla Capshaw

Since I’ve known him, he’s been somber, angry or outright dreary.”

      “Then it’s a miracle you have any sense of fun in you at all. I suppose I’ll have to make allowances for your shabby upbringing and try to be patient with you.”

      “Thank you so much for understanding.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely chuckled when she tried to look threatening. “What of your family?” she asked as they passed a hunchbacked woman sweeping a flight of steps. “Judging by your disposition, they must have been a troupe of jesters.”

      He grinned. “Actually, no. My father was a poor, illiterate farmer who loved the land second only to my mother. My mama was as beautiful as springtime. They said their first meeting was a lightning strike. Within days they married.”

      “What a wonderful story. Were they always happy?”

      “With each other, yes, but for a time my grandfather caused them endless grief. He was a rich merchant who despised the thought of his daughter married to a man so far beneath her.”

      “What did he do?”

      “He disowned her. She was made dead to him and everyone in his house.”

      “How terrible!” she said, thinking her own father would do the same.

      Alexius frowned at her. “Not so terrible at all. My abba adored her. They had little coin, but there was always a fire in the hearth and our table was never empty. My six older sisters were—”

      “You had six older sisters? That explains much.”

      “How so?”

      “You Greeks are worse for want of sons than even we Romans. After half a dozen girls, I can only imagine how much your parents must have spoiled you.”

      He laughed. “Yes, my sisters used to claim they could smell the stench of my rotten hide for miles.”

      “I don’t doubt it.” Her smile faded. What must have happened for Alexius to lose his loving home and become a gladiator? “They must have been distressed when you left them.”

      His manner shifted imperceptibly. His smile stayed in place, but the light left his eyes. “I hope not, but I imagine so. I never saw them again after I was sold to the slave trader and taken from Iolcos.”

      A band of sadness squeezed her chest. No wonder she’d sensed such turmoil beneath his smooth facade. He’d been stripped from the home and family he adored. The pain must fester within him like an open wound. Aching for his loss, she wanted to wrap him in her arms and hold him until every drop of grief drained away. “What did you do? I mean…why were you sold into slavery?”

      She felt his gaze on her profile as they walked down the shadowed street. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Men who were sold into the gladiatorial trade were usually murderers, traitors or the worst sort of thieves. She didn’t want to think of Alexius in those terms. He owed her nothing, not his patience or protection, but he’d been more than generous with both. True, she’d seen glimpses of the darker side of his nature, but he was also kind. He’d treated her with more respect in a few hours than she’d been shown in a lifetime. Perhaps it was madness to trust a gladiator, but no one made her feel safer or more confident about herself than Alexius did.

      Deciding that the few hours she’d been granted with him were a gift that she loathed to waste, she pushed her doubts to the back of her mind. Tomorrow might find her in the temple, banished to spend the rest of her days serving a goddess who meant the same to her as a block of wood. So far, she’d had few moments worth remembering in her life, but she knew instinctively this day spent with her handsome Greek would be a time to cherish.

      “You don’t want to know,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts.

      She didn’t argue. Instead, they walked in companionable silence until her stomach growled again. A quick glance at Alexius suggested he hadn’t heard.

      “Since I’m not worthy of being kidnapped,” she said, “and I’m fairly sure the ludus is in the opposite direction, where are we going?”

      “I’m taking you to get something to eat. Your stomach makes a great disturbance when it’s hungry.”

      She gasped. “How rude of you to mention it.”

      He laughed. “I’m a lowly gladiator. I can’t be expected to know decent manners.”

      “I don’t think you’re lowly,” she said, her voice infused with sincerity. “Neither did all those other people we left near the amphitheater.”

      His brow furrowed as he studied her with an intensity that made her squirm. She couldn’t think of anything inappropriate she’d said, but then maybe she’d been too forward. Two of her betrothals had been broken because she’d dared to give her opinion. She’d offered Alexius a compliment, but the male mind was a strange thing. On more than one occasion she’d been under the impression that a particular conversation had gone well, only to learn later she’d caused some offense worthy of shaking her already precarious social position.

      “Is the way much farther?” she asked, nervous she’d hit upon yet another one of the subjects that soured his usually pleasant demeanor.

      “Not much.”

      “Do you think we might be able to find some milk there to feed this cub? I’m worried. He must be hungry.”

      “Possibly. My friends who own the thermopolium where we’ll eat have a cat that gave birth a few weeks ago. Maybe she’ll be generous.”

      Relieved and hopeful, Tibi marched on with renewed purpose.

      “It’s this way,” Alexius said. They made a sharp right turn and crossed a small bridge before following yet another winding alley.

      Tibi switched the cub to her right arm and shook the stiffness from her left. “You’d best not leave me. I’ll never find my way out of this maze.”

      “A safe return is your incentive to be good. Your reputation does precede you.”

      “Does it?” She cringed. “Did you learn of my misdeeds from your many admirers? My sister delights in informing me that I’m the cause of much debate and laughter behind closed doors.”

      “It pains me to agree with the shrew, but in this case Tiberia is correct.”

      “What…what have you heard?” she asked, forcing the words through a stranglehold of humiliation.

      “Little I can credit.”

      “No?”

      “From what I can gather, you turn into Medusa once the sun sets.”

      She glared at him, unable to find the smallest kernel of humor in a subject that had caused her years of grief. “Medusa is dead.”

      “Her great-granddaughter then.”

      Her lips tightened into a thin line. “Perhaps I’m innocent of all I’m accused of, and the stories about me have been exaggerated until no matter what I do I’m in the wrong.”

      “That I can believe. The excuses I’ve heard for your ended betrothals are shallow at best. You’re in no way repellent, aloof or argumentative, but there is something about you that scares those spineless Romans to the soles of their sandals. If, as you claim, you’re not Medusa’s progeny, why are you such a pariah?”

      The question made her fidget, completely stealing the pleasure she received from discovering that Alexius didn’t find her ugly or disagreeable. She wanted to tell him the truth, but what if he reacted like other men and labeled her unnatural? To her chagrin, she found his opinion of her mattered more than she cared to admit.

      “You don’t have to tell me, Tibi. We all have secrets to keep.”

      “It’s not that,” she said, instantly consumed with curiosity