As Sure as the Dawn(33)

“Oh, indeed, she has a baby. You saw it on your last visit. She keeps it wrapped in her shawl and tied to her breast. It’s become like a growth on her.”

“I take it the child is the cause for your disaffection,” Sertes said.

“You might say that,” Atretes said dryly.

Pilia entered the triclinium with a tray of delicacies. Her eyes were aglow as she offered her master the tray first. Atretes knew what she was thinking. Were all women such fools? He took a roll of rich pork and dipped it in some honey sauce, forcing himself to eat despite his lack of appetite. Sertes seemed amused.

“Speaking of women,” Sertes said, helping himself to a handful of dates, “people are saying the great Atretes, never defeated by a man in the arena, has been brought low by a daughter of Rome.” There was no mistaking Atretes’ flash of temper now. Good. Atretes’ pride had always been his greatest weakness.

“Who started the rumors, Sertes? You?”

“And come here to tell you about them? I’m not a fool, Atretes, nor am I eager for an early grave. Perhaps the Lady Julia has spoken of you . . . in less than glowing terms?”

“For all I care, the witch can shout whatever she wishes on any street corner in Ephesus!”

“As long as you are left alone to lick your wounds on this mountaintop?”

Atretes looked at him. “Lick my wounds?” he said softly.

Sertes felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at the look in those blue eyes, but sought to prick the gladiator’s pride still further. “Whatever the truth may be, Atretes, that’s how it appears.”

“Even to you?”

Sertes hesitated deliberately. Atretes’ face hardened. The German took up offense as quickly as he had once taken up a sword. “I must admit, I did wonder. Or have you forgotten, I was the one who arranged the purchase of this villa?”

Atretes hadn’t forgotten, nor the reason why he had wanted it. For Julia Valerian.

“Think no more of the rumors,” Sertes said, fully aware that, as desired, he had planted the seed that would cause a tangle of thoughts to grow in Atretes’ mind. He had a warrior’s heart and wouldn’t like the idea of anyone thinking a woman had defeated him. “Rufus Pumponius Praxus sends his regards.”

“Who in Hades is Praxus?” Atretes growled.

“Nephew of the prefect of Rome. He’s holding a feast in honor of Titus’ birthday. You’re invited.”

“Neatly timed, Sertes,” Atretes said and leaned back against the cushions. “I suppose you see this as an opportunity for me to put an end to the talk about me.” Atretes told him what the nephew to the prefect could do with his invitation.

“Praxus is not a man to insult. He could put you back in chains.”

“I earned my freedom.”

“Then don’t throw it to the winds by offending a man with the ear of the emperor and his brother, Domitian.”

At the mention of Domitian, a muscle jerked in Atretes’ jaw.

“Praxus is sickened by these Christians who sing when they die,” Sertes went on. “He’d like nothing better than to hunt them all down and exterminate them.”

“What have I to do with Christians?” Atretes said, knowing full well why Sertes was dropping this information. “The only one I knew was Hadassah, and she’s dead.”

“Then I suggest you keep your distance from any others with whom you might come in contact.”

Atretes thought of Rizpah in the upstairs chamber. If Sertes knew she was a widow, he very likely knew she was a Christian as well.

Sertes saw his warning had sunk in. “Praxus respects you for your courage. You fight with the heart of a lion and he wants to honor you. Let him.” His mouth curved faintly. “Your less than delicate refusal will be taken as an insult.”

“Then tell him the lion is still licking the wounds Rome inflicted on him.”

Annoyed, Sertes rubbed the date still in his hand. “If Praxus even suspected you were encouraging the spread of this cult, he’d have you back in chains with the snap of his fingers.”

Atretes looked at him coldly. “And who says I am?”

Sertes popped the date into his mouth and ate it. Washing it down with wine, he stood. “I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“When has that ever kept you away?”

Sertes smiled and shook his head. “One day your pride will destroy you, Atretes.”

“Pride is what has kept me alive.” He rose. Draining his goblet, he set it down with a hard thump. “But perhaps you’re right. I’ve been on this mountain too long.” He walked with Sertes through the atrium and into the antechamber. “Say nothing to Praxus for now. I’ll think over his invitation and send you my answer.”