Pompeii. Part 11

Jeremiah came to touch her face, like a rabbi's blessing. "Do not let them conquer your spirit, child. The evil one toils to keep these people oppressed, obsessed with violence and l.u.s.t. Do not let him pull you into the gutter."

In the morning, when she was able to prepare for the day alone, in her private cell, she nearly did give thanks to the Creator, so grateful was she for the respite.

But the break was short-lived, for she was expected on the training field by sun up. Remembering her renewed plan yesterday, she determined to train hard today, to better prepare for the next fighter she would face.

Today's partner, however, could not have been more daunting. When Drusus called out the pairs and she found herself faced with Paris, her heart pounded in a rhythm that matched the fighters who beat against the wooden palus.

She expected amus.e.m.e.nt, mockery, from Paris as he circled her and strapped leather around his hands, his perfect body gleaming with oil. Instead he appeared angry.

"What did I tell you about stealing my glory, runt?"

Ariella swallowed and readjusted the sword in her hand.

"Did you think I would not find out that you've been running around the city, painting your name next to mine?"

What a fool she was! He had warned her already that an attempt to draw attention to her status as the smallest fighter would not be welcomed. She licked her lips. "There is room on the walls of Pompeii for two fighters, Paris."

"Not when you are one of them." He slashed at her with his wooden sword, and she jumped back.

The fight was quick and dirty. Paris had her on the ground in seconds. Ariella sensed the other fighters break off their training to watch. Paris grabbed her by the leather vest and yanked her upward, off-balance and held upright only by his hand wrapped around her buckles.

Ariella's breath came quick. She took in with sharp clarity the tan leather of his own vest, the acrid smell of his body, the roughness of his hands.

He used the flat side of his sword to swat at the side of her head, as though she were an annoying insect.

Shouts erupted from the rest of the fighters, but Ariella could not tell if they encouraged Paris to free her or to beat her until she were dead. Another slap with his sword. Her face stung and her eyes watered. She tasted blood in her mouth. He jabbed his sword into her side. The wood was too dull to pierce skin, but would her ribs give way?

She fought to pull away and regain her footing. Fear coursed through her and made her desperate. She dropped her own sword and reached to claw at his eyes. Her fear merged into hatred and anger.

A shout from the side of the training yard turned Paris's attention away from her. She used the moment to break his hold and shuffle backward.

"Is this the kind of training I have instructed?" The lanista's eyes flashed as he stalked across the gra.s.s. He came up close to Paris, jutting a finger into the fighter's chest. "You have a chance to run your own school someday, Paris. But not if you let your emotions rule. Understand?"

Paris grunted and turned away.

Ariella leaned over, her hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.

Drusus flicked a hand at her. "Take a break, little boy."

She stumbled back to her private cell, and was unsurprised to find Jeremiah waiting for her. He probed her ribs with gentle fingers, but she winced with even the slight pressure. "No breaks." He took her face in his hands and turned her head left and right. "You will live. This time." His disapproval angered her.

He laid her down on her mat. "You are like a strong horse, but one with no leads. You run wild."

"And I will continue to do so!"

He shook his head in silence. She tried to soften her harsh words. "I must."

"You are a mighty warrior, Ari. Ah, what the Lord could do with that fighter's heart."

He left her then, left her to her thoughts which at once grew dark.

She had been a fool. It did not matter how hard she trained, how skilled she grew. She could never survive a match with a fighter like Paris. She was destined to always be a prelude to the real entertainment, always to fight dwarves and animals. Or else she would be pitted against real gladiators and she would lose. Would the crowd have mercy? Would the editores of the games let her live?

The dwarf had gained the crowd yesterday and saved his own life. Dwarves were a curiosity, and no one wished to see them dead. Were not women gladiators also a curiosity?

How long would it take for Scorpion Fish to make a name well-known amongst the townspeople? And when Scorpion Fish revealed that he was in fact a woman . . . . She smiled at the plan. Paris had said that he would win his freedom by earning the favor of the people. If a stupid beast like him could do it, then so could she.

A few more fights, a little more attention, and then she would be ready to amaze the town of Pompeii with something they had never seen.

A woman in the sand of the arena.

CHAPTER 16.

Cato's declaration at the games, though made only to himself, still occupied his thoughts in the new day. He would bring Maius down.

Taurus would have him run for election as duovir against Maius, but running was only a fraction of the battle. It is winning that means something. And winning was far from guaranteed, with Maius owning most of the town's loyalty for one fraudulent reason or another.

And so he entered the Forum once more, to put a finger to the political winds and see if they might blow favorably in his direction.

His first stop was the Eumachia, where Emeritus, head of the Fuller's Guild, had dealt unspoken threats the other day. He would rather have avoided the beak-nosed man, but it would seem that strong support could come from this group, and it would be invaluable.

Emeritus was deep in conversation at the back of the building under the roofed colonnade when Cato entered, so he strolled through the working slaves, as though interested in their work. The chalk they used to whiten the togas given to them for was.h.i.+ng smelled as foul as the urine, but some of the slaves hummed or sang while they worked, and seemed immune to the odor. He lifted the corner of a silk, half-submerged in a dye pot, then replaced it at the look of a slave who frowned at him like he was a meddling child.

Emeritus turned his dark eyes on Cato, arrested his conversation seemingly in midthought, and stared. Cato dipped his head, and Emeritus indicated that he should approach.

"I did not wish to interrupt-"

Emeritus brushed away his apology. "You are not interrupting. You are the very subject of our discourse."

Cato inclined his head. "I am sorry, then, that you do not have more interesting topics to discuss."

"On the contrary, your arrival makes the topic that much more interesting. You are reconsidering?"

Cato sniffed and looked out over the slaves in the courtyard once more. "I am asking questions, that is all."

Emeritus seemed to remember himself and introduced his a.s.sociate. "Otho, another of the city's fullers."

The man was as young as Cato, and looked as though he had worked his way into the upper cla.s.s from a poorer beginning. Cato bowed in acknowledgment. "And are the fullers united in their-dissatisfaction-with the current leaders.h.i.+p?"

Otho snorted. "The man is a-"

Emeritus laid a hand on the younger man's arm. "Careful, Otho. We are, above all things, discreet." He turned back to Cato. "You can be a.s.sured that the Fuller's Guild would support a change." He leaned in close, confidentially. "Especially one that would place a man of integrity on the seat of duovir."

Cato pulled back and lifted an eyebrow. "And where would you find such a man?"

Emeritus smiled. "Your modesty becomes you, but is unnecessary. Rome is not so far away."

"Then you have heard of more than my integrity."

"We must not expect to always be successful in our attempts to quash corruption, Portius Cato. Failure is part of the battle. We are looking for a man who will fight. That is enough."

The commendation was like soothing oil on an old wound, and Cato bowed in appreciation. "I thank you for your wisdom. I shall inform you of my decision." He turned to leave, but Emeritus called him back.

"Do not tarry too long, Cato. Evil has a way of multiplying when left unchecked."

Cato returned to the Forum's main square, fortified that at least there was support from somewhere. But it would take more, much more, to make him believe he could be successful.

Were there others he could approach and try to read? The danger was in Maius's loyal supporters getting word back to him about Cato's inquiries. He mused over the possibilities of the fruitsellers, the goldsmiths, the carpenters. Each industry had its own guild, not so powerful as the Fullers, but still able to deliver votes in a block that would be important.

He decided to search out the jewelers, as Taurus, who had worked so hard to convince him to run, was part of that guild. He crossed the Forum's central pavement at a diagonal, to the opposite corner where the shops might yield the man.

Indeed, he had not even reached the other side when Taurus appeared, spotted him, and strode toward him, his face pinched. "What is this, Cato? Do you attempt to disqualify yourself before you have even begun?"

Cato held up his palms and grinned. "I did not think a visit to the jewelers would be such a black mark-"

"Cato, be serious for once. I am speaking of your sister! It is all over the city."

Cato waved away Taurus's concerns. "She has done nothing to welcome his advances-"

"His advances? It is everywhere that she is after Maius to give her the son that her husband cannot."

Cato's blood surged. "You cannot believe-"

"It matters not what I believe! Perception is everything, my boy, and right now your family is cast in a very ill light. Adultery by a woman of standing is nothing to be ignored."

"She has done nothing!"

Taurus shook his head and held up his hands. "Understand me, Cato. I do not care if your sister is as pure as lamb's wool or as tainted as the foul sewage that runs the streets. I only care about your reputation, and how this situation makes you look."

"And I care more for my sister than your cursed election!"

Taurus opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again and snorted. When he spoke, it was quieter, the tone soothing. "Listen, Cato. You could do much good in this town, and that includes helping your sister, and your mother with her endeavors, and any other women you wish to help." His voice held amus.e.m.e.nt, but Cato's thoughts jumped to Ariella. He had already done a bit of good for her in the past day, but she was still in danger.

"You must be reasonable about your priorities," Taurus was saying. "First things first."

Cato looked off to the mountain, so solid. Unlike the wavering allegiances of a town that put its own needs above all else. "Do I have the support of the jewelers, or is it only you?"

A slow smile spread across Taurus's face, like a satisfied cat after a bowl of milk. "The jewelers are united behind me. You will be our man for duovir."

Cato nodded, pivoted, and left before he could say something about the man's "priorities" that would not be favorable.

Enough politicking for one day, however quiet it had been. He headed home, past the thermopolium where the smell of onions and garlic made his mouth water, and he stopped to purchase a bowl of meaty stew. He stood at the marble slab with others enjoying hot food from the sunken pots, and scooped the stew with two fingers, savoring the flavors and thinking over the two encounters and the rumors that were spreading about his sister. A beggar came to the counter, asking for food, and Cato started to chase him off, but the shop owner held out a bowl to the man with a few quiet words-"in the name of Jesus." A chill ran over him at the statement, the third time in as many days he had heard that name. They seemed to be everywhere, these mysterious followers.

He crossed the threshold of his house some time later, still debating whether to tell Octavia and Portia about the gossip, but one look through the atrium answered his question. Portia clung to her mother, her face buried in Octavia's shoulder.

Cato hesitated, but Octavia waved him in. "They are saying awful things about your sister." She patted Portia's back.

"I have heard."

At the sight of him, Portia pulled away from her mother and came to grip Cato's toga. The fabric fell away in her hands, but she seemed not to notice. "Lucius is furious." Her face was tear-streaked. "He had already heard about my being at the games with Maius, and now he says he is unsure whether to trust me. Can you believe that?"

Cato wiped her tears with his thumbs, then held her face. "Give him a little time, sister. He knows you, knows your love for him. He will come around."

"I hate him!" She sobbed once. "Maius! Not Lucius." And then more tears. Cato returned her to their mother, unwrapped his toga, and tossed it across the stone half-wall of the atrium. "There is nothing to be done except to stand and insist upon your innocence. He has no proof, and everyone in this town knows what he is. They have no reason to doubt you."

Her temper flared. "You are a fool, Quintus! Even Lucius doubts me! How can I expect-"

Octavia intervened. "Lucius is hurt, dear. His emotions cloud his judgment. Others will not be so harsh."

Portia's hands fisted at her sides. "Oh, you two. You are both naive." She spun and ran for the interior of the house.

Octavia watched her go in silence, then spoke without turning back to Cato. "She may be right. There may be no recovery from this."

"There is only one way for this town, for us all, to recover. It is for Gnaeus Nigidius Maius to be no more."

Octavia's eyes slid to his face and she read him well. "You have decided, then."

He rocked forward on his toes. "I am still considering."

She nodded, as though content to give him the time he needed. They both knew her expectations.

CHAPTER 17.

It had taken less effort than even Maius expected to begin the campaign of untruth against the sister of Portius Cato. He had more in his employ than he sometimes remembered, and a few well-placed whispers soon spread to jokes told in the baths, to glances in the market. Within a day Maius saw the fruit of his efforts himself when he conversed with several in the Forum, and the dalliance was referred to by more than one acquaintance.

He smiled and looked away from the merchant, as though embarra.s.sed. "Ah, well." He shrugged one shoulder. "I am a fool for beauty, I will admit."

That evening, he again reclined in his atrium, satisfied that the situation was ready for him to bring his threats against Cato. The moon rose and still he lay there, thinking through his plan, and the way in which he would bring Portia to his house. His eyelids grew heavy with scheming, and though the dampness of the night fell on him, he was too weighted to move.

A scratching beside his couch half-roused him and he opened one eye, thinking to have a slave a.s.sist him to his bedchamber. But the flames in the brazier nearby did not illuminate a slave.

He must be dreaming, and the lovely Portia had come to him in his dreams as she sometimes did, leaning over him with whispered words of admiration.