“It would seem the gods have spared her life.”
“For you, my lord. The gods spared her that you might learn what you need to become a physician.”
“I will not be the one to kill her!”
“Be rational. By command of the proconsul, she is already dead. It’s not your doing. It was not by word of your mouth that she was sent to the lions.”
Alexander took the knife from him and put it back among the other tools in his leather case. “I’ll not risk the wrath of whatever god spared her life by taking it from her now.” He nodded to her. “As you can clearly see, her wounds have damaged no vital organs.”
“You would rather condemn her to die slowly of infection?”
Alexander stiffened. “I would not have her die at all.” His mind was in a fever. He kept seeing her as she walked across the sand, singing, her arms spreading as though to embrace the very sky. “We must get her out of here.”
“Are you mad?” Troas hissed, glancing back to see if the guard had heard him.
“I don’t have what I need to treat her wounds or set her arm,” Alexander muttered. He snapped his fingers, issuing hushed orders.
Forgetting himself, Troas grasped Alexander’s arm. “You cannot do this!” he said in a firm, barely restrained voice. He nodded pointedly toward the guard. “You risk death for us all if you attempt to rescue a condemned prisoner.”
“Then we’d better all pray to her god that he will protect us and help us. Now stop arguing with me and remove her from here immediately. Since you appear afraid of the guard, I’ll handle him and follow as soon as I’m able.”
The Egyptian stared at him, his dark eyes unbelieving.
“Move!”
Troas saw there was no arguing with him and gestured quickly to the others. He whispered commands in a low voice as Alexander rolled the leather carrier. The guard was watching them curiously. Taking up the towel, Alexander wiped the blood from his hands and walked calmly toward him.
“You can’t take her out of here,” the guard said darkly.
“She’s dead,” Alexander lied. “They’re disposing of the body.” He leaned against the iron-grated gate and looked out at the hot sand. “She wasn’t worth six sesterces. She was too far gone.”
The guard smiled coldly. “You picked her.”
Alexander gave a cold laugh and pretended interest in a pair of gladiators. “How long will this match last?”
The guard assessed the opponents. “Thirty minutes, maybe more. But there will be no survivor this time.”
Alexander frowned with feigned impatience and tossed the bloodstained towel aside. “In that case, I’m going to buy myself some wine.”
As he walked past the table, he picked up his leather case. He strode along the torchlit corridors, curbing the desire to hurry. His heart beat more quickly with each step. As he came out into the sunlight, a gentle breeze brushed his face.
“Hurry! Hurry!” Startled, he glanced behind. He had heard the words clearly, as though someone whispered urgently in his ear. But no one was there.
His heart pounding, Alexander turned toward his home and began to run, urged on by a still, small voice in the wind.
1
ONE YEAR LATER
Marcus Lucianus Valerian walked through a maze of streets in the Eternal City, hoping to find a sanctuary of peace within himself. He couldn’t. Rome was depressing. He had forgotten the stench of the polluted Tiber and the oppressive, mingled humanity. Or maybe he had never before noticed, too involved in his own life and activities to care. Over the past few weeks since returning to the city of his birth, he had spent hours wandering the streets, visiting places he had always enjoyed before. Now the laughter of friends was hollow, the frenetic feasting and drinking exhausting rather than satisfying.
Downcast and needing distraction, he agreed to attend the games with Antigonus. His friend was now a powerful senator and held a place of honor on the podium. Marcus tried to still his emotions as he entered the stands and found his seat. But he could not deny he felt uncomfortable when the trumpets began blaring. His chest tightened and his stomach became a hard knot as the procession began.
He hadn’t been to the games since Ephesus. He wondered if he could stomach watching them now. It was painfully clear that Antigonus was more obsessed with them than he had been when Marcus left Rome, and he was betting heavily on a gladiator from Gaul.
Several women joined them beneath the canopy. Beautiful and voluptuous, they made it apparent within moments of their arrival that they were as interested in Marcus as in the games. Something stirred in Marcus as he looked at them, but disappeared as quickly as it came. These women were shallow, tainted water to Hadassah’s pure, heady wine. He found no amusement in their idle, vain conversation. Even Antigonus, who had always amused him, began to shred his nerves with his collection of ribald jokes. Marcus wondered how he had ever thought such obscene stories amusing or felt any pity for Antigonus’ litany of financial woes.