“I did,” Atretes said. He said nothing about Rizpah, though Bato was looking her over with open interest and unveiled question. The less he knew about her, the better. Women were of little value in this place.
“What happened?” Bato said, turning to him and leaving his perusal of the woman and child.
“I left Ephesus in a hurry.”
“Did you murder Sertes?”
Atretes gave a brittle laugh and drained the goblet of wine. “Had I time and opportunity, it would’ve been my pleasure.”
Rizpah looked at him and saw he meant it.
“So why did you leave in such a hurry?”
“He’d found a way to force me back into the arena.” His gaze flickered pointedly to the woman and child.
“And you think it’ll be different here?”
Her heart began beating wildly.
“Meaning?” Atretes said coldly, setting the goblet on the table.
“Meaning you haven’t been gone long enough for certain people to forget you. Domitian, for one. Or have you forgotten the emperor’s brother?”
“I earned my freedom.”
“Freedom is easily revoked. You deliberately humiliated one of his closest friends during an exercise match.”
“That was a long time ago, and Domitian took his revenge when he matched me with one of my own tribesmen.”
“Small revenge by his standards, Atretes. Domitian won’t consider the score settled until you’re dead. It’s your good fortune that you haven’t been gone long enough for the mob to forget you as well.”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting Atretes fight again.”
Bato was surprised she had spoken. She had seemed a beautiful but meek little thing when she entered the room. Now, he wondered. There was fire in her eyes. “He may have no choice.”
She left the couch and stood in front of Atretes. “Let’s leave this place, now. Please.”
Atretes might have been deaf for all the attention he paid her.
“If Domitian finds out you’re here, you may not get out alive again,” Bato said frankly.
“Do you plan to tell him?” Atretes said, eyes narrowing.
“No, but he has friends among the guards. One was at the gate when you arrived.” He looked pointedly at the woman. “This is the last place you should’ve brought her and the child.”
Atretes’ eyes darkened. “If Pugnax is trustworthy, I’ll take lodgings there.”
“So be it. Your presence at the inn will guarantee him additional business. Make sure he pays you well. Do you remember how to get there?”
“No. It was in the middle of the night when you took me. Remember?”
Bato laughed. “I remember that night very well.” The servant entered. As the platter was put on the table, Bato dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Eat while I give you instructions,” he told Atretes and Rizpah.
Rizpah had no appetite. She listened carefully to Bato’s instructions while studying the lanista. Could he be trusted? Or was he another of Gallus’ bent, pretending to be a friend while plotting ways to use Atretes?
Atretes ate a hearty portion of meat, bread, and fruit and downed two more goblets of wine before his hunger was satisfied.
“We’ll go through the tunnels,” Bato said. “The guards won’t see you leave and will assume you’re still here.”
He led them down the portico overlooking the training grounds. The gladiators were going through exercises with wooden swords. Atretes didn’t pause or even turn his head. Now that she had seen a glimpse of the brutal life of the ludus, Rizpah ached for him.
They went down steps to the baths and then down another corridor. Bato took a burning torch from a wall mounting as he opened a heavy door. “Through here.”
Rizpah imagined the men who had gone down this long, darkened corridor knowing they would face death at the other end. Bato and Atretes said nothing as they walked ahead of her. Their silence was respectful and full of the grim history that lay between them. A door stood open at the far end, giving entry into more corridors that led to holding cells beneath the arena itself. They followed the granite steps up into a large room with benches against the stone walls. Rizpah saw the arena through the iron gate.
Atretes paused and looked out at the wide expanse of freshly raked sand and the tiers of marble rows where thousands of spectators sat during the ludi. There were moments, as now, when the excited fury of the mob still rang in his ears like a strong heartbeat quickening his blood.
How many times had he stood in this room, armor polished, sword sharpened, greave in place, waiting to step out into the glaring sunlight and face death and the impassioned throng crying out his name over and over? He had hated it, hated them. At times, he had even hated himself.