“How can you trust anyone in that place?”
“Bato saved my life more than once.”
“A gladiator is worth more alive than dead.”
He took her by the arm and jerked her around, almost propelling her in the direction he intended to go. “We’re wasting time.” He looked at the thick walls as he came round to the heavy iron gate. Four guards were on duty, making sure that no amoratae gained admittance. Only paying customers were allowed in to view the gladiatorial practices or participate in them. He had first seen Julia standing on the spectators’ balcony. She had come with her promiscuous friend to view him in practice.
“Let’s go away from this place while we can,” Rizpah said.
His fingers tightened, silencing her. “Is Bato still lanista?” he said to one of the guards.
“None other,” the man said, glancing from Atretes to Rizpah. He smiled slightly, his gaze moving down over her in open admiration.
“Cover your face,” Atretes commanded her impatiently and stepped in front of her as she did so. “Tell Bato there’s a German at the gate who would speak with him,” he said coldly.
“Should he be impressed?” the guard said.
Another measured him, curious. “He looks familiar.”
“Send the message,” Atretes said.
The guard to whom he spoke gave a piercing whistle. Startled, Caleb began to cry in Rizpah’s arms. A messenger came on the run. “Inform Bato a barbarian wishes to have an audience with him,” the guard said.
Atretes waited until he saw Bato step out onto the balcony over the practice arena and look toward the gate before he removed his turban. The guards stared at his long blonde hair. “By the gods,” one said under his breath. “I know who this man is.”
Bato went back inside. The servant who had been sent with the message came running. “Admit him and escort him to Bato immediately.”
When the gate swung open, Rizpah held back. Atretes put his arm around her shoulders and drew her in alongside him. The gates closed behind them. His hand dropped to the small of her back, pressing her forward.
They crossed the courtyard and entered the building. Two guards escorted them down a long corridor and up marble steps to the second story. They walked along a portico overlooking a barren yard where twenty men, clad in little more than breechcloths, were going through a series of martial exercises. The trainer shouted sharp commands and walked back and forth along the front line, watching their performance. Against one wall, Rizpah saw a man tied to a post, his back showing the bloody stripes of a recent flogging.
Atretes took her arm and drew her along. “Say nothing.”
The two guards stopped outside an open doorway, and Atretes entered. He let go of her as soon as he passed the threshold. A black man stood in the middle of the room. He was as tall and as powerfully built as Atretes. Though he gave Rizpah nothing more than a cursory glance, she felt the impact of acute intelligence and grave dignity.
Without a word, Atretes drew the gold chain from his tunic and let the ivory chip drop against his chest. The African looked at it and smiled. “That answers my first question,” he said in heavily accented Greek. A mere lift of his head and the two guards departed. Rizpah could still hear the voice of the trainer in the compound. A whip cracked as a command was repeated.
“Would you care for some wine?”
“And food,” Atretes said.
Bato nodded once to a servant and the man departed to do his bidding. Bato studied Atretes briefly and then looked at Rizpah again, studying her this time. She was very beautiful and clearly distressed to be in the ludus. A baby was wrapped in a shawl tied around her shoulders, and she put her arms around him and drew him closer as Bato studied her. A whip cracked again, and this time a man gave a cry of pain. Wincing, she glanced toward the door, her face paling.
Atretes closed the door and gave her a light push into the center of the room. “Sit over there,” he told her in a tone that allowed no argument. She did as he commanded.
Bato poured wine. “What brings you back to Rome, Atretes?”
“I need money, lodgings, and a map to show me the way back to Germania.”
“Is that all?”
Ignoring the lanista’s sarcasm, Atretes took the proffered goblet.
Bato poured another and carried it to the woman. She had beautiful dark eyes like Julia Valerian, but it wasn’t her. “Sertes sent a representative about six months ago,” he said, looking at the child. The babe had her coloring. “I was informed you’d earned your freedom in an elimination match and now owned a villa grander than the proconsul.” She took the goblet from his hand and looked up at him. His mouth tipped slightly. He could see quite plainly that she didn’t trust him.