The Champion. Carla Capshaw

mouth water for a good Greek meal. A gladiator’s typical diet of barley gruel kept him full when he was training, but never satisfied.

      The small room was dimly lit and empty except for the proprietor, his friend, Marcellus, a short, boney man with gray hair at his temples, a hawkish nose and deep-set brown eyes.

      Certain he could trust the older man not to spread news of him or his companion, Alexius introduced Marcellus to Tibi before telling her, “His wife, Aldora, is a fine cook. She prepares all the food here.”

      “My Dora is Greek, like Alexius,” said Marcellus who welcomed Tibi with an elaborate wave of his arm. “He says she cooks like his mama used to do.”

      “Yes, her delicious meals are renowned throughout the city. Where is she?”

      “At the market.” Marcellus cast his gaze toward Tibi’s hooded figure. “She’ll be sorry she missed you and your guest. Do you want your usual table in the garden?”

      “Yes, but first we need to visit Iris.” Alexius indicated the sleeping cub straddled along his forearm. “If she is willing to take in an orphan, we need her help.”

      Marcellus grinned and fussed over the panther cub before fetching an oil lamp and leading them down a narrow flight of steps into the domed cellar. A continuous chorus of meows filled the damp space. In the far corner stood a large wooden crate padded with hay. “Dora made a spot down here when she found Iris birthing her litter. She’s a placid cat. I doubt she’ll object to feeding one more.”

      Thankfully, Marcellus was right. Iris, a gray-and-white ball of fluff, welcomed the cub without fanfare. She sniffed the panther, licked his head and ears, then nudged the little black body into the pile of her own white kittens.

      Alexius watched Tibi. Once Marcellus returned to the main room upstairs, she slipped the cowl off her head, revealing a long braid that appeared a burnished gold in the lantern light. She sank to her knees, her soft hands clenched into anxious fists against her thighs. While she focused on the cub, he concentrated on the delicate shell of her ear and the long, slender curve of her throat. He could still feel the sparks of awareness in his fingertips where he’d touched the creamy smoothness of her cheek. If Ptah hadn’t interrupted, he’d have taken her in his arms and kissed her breathless.

      “There you go, little one,” Tibi encouraged, once the snuffling cub rooted its way to Iris’s warm body and began to nurse. “That’s a good boy.”

      She glanced up at Alexius. Relief lit her large brown eyes. “It’s presumptuous, I know, but do you think we might ask your friends to keep him for a few weeks? Iris seems to have welcomed him. I can offer them coin—”

      He wondered at her constant offers of money, as if no one ever did her a kindness for free. “I’ll pay them if it comes to that, although I doubt they’ll accept it.”

      The panther cub safe and secure with Iris and her brood, Tibi replaced the cowl to cover her hair and followed him up the stairs. Marcellus led them past the half-dozen tripod tables and stools that took up most of the small room. The worn brick floor joined a back wall studded with shelves containing an array of ceramic plates, bowls and platters. A slave pushed aside the curtain concealing the doorway to the kitchen. He took his place on a small stool near the hearth and began to turn a spit laden with chickens over the fire.

      Careful not to bump his head on the low door frame, Alexius followed Marcellus and Tibi outside where a high brick wall, dripping with colorful bougainvillea and wisteria, provided privacy from the adjacent businesses and apartment blocks. Lifelike, plaster statues of satyrs and centaurs guarded the square perimeter.

      Alexius showed Tibi to a table in a secluded corner. Years before, the thermopolium’s water supply had been diverted to create a Grecian fountain in the center of the courtyard. Pots of varied sizes and shapes overflowed with herbs, miniature fruit trees, and a profusion of colorful flowers lent the cool breeze the sweetened scent of spring.

      Like the interior room, the area was empty except for a few slaves sweeping the bricks and scrubbing the tables. He’d timed their arrival well to coincide with the afternoon lull. They had several hours before the rush of evening patrons, limiting the risk of Tibi being discovered in his company.

      “What a lovely place,” Tibi said, leaning in to smell the vase of purple wisteria adorning their table. “Judging by the front door, I never would have guessed there was such an oasis to be found here.”

      A slave poured a mug of water for each of them. “Aldora misses our homeland. She tries to re-create a piece of it here for herself.”

      “Has she succeeded?”

      He nodded. “It’s as close to the glory of Greece as I’ve found in this latrine of a city.”

      She started to speak, but appeared to change course. “Rome is the capital of the world, Alexius. People of every tribe and tongue wish to live here. There must be something about it you consider worthwhile. The training school, your men—?”

      “You.”

      “All of your women,” she added, ignoring him.

      Savoring the sound of his name on her lips, he hoped the tinge of bitterness in her voice stemmed from jealousy. “I wouldn’t want any of them if I had you.”

      Her forehead pleated with disbelief. “For a little while, possibly, though I doubt it. What about after? Once the novelty value of an unsophisticated girl wore off.”

      He sat back in his chair. She doubted his honesty and why should