Why, then, did he miss it?
Turning, he saw Bato standing near another doorway. “You begin to understand,” the lanista said solemnly.
“They took more than my freedom. They took my soul.”
Compassion filled Rizpah at the bleakness in his voice. She went to him. He looked down at her with haunted eyes, and she took his hand. “You have a soul, Atretes,” she said. “Before God, you have a soul. He gave it to you.”
Bato offered no advice or comfort; Atretes was a man to accept neither and resent both. Yet as the woman took Atretes’ hand and placed it on the sleeping child, Bato saw a softening, not when Atretes touched the babe, but when he looked at the woman. He had a feeling this one would prove herself far better than Julia Valerian.
“This way,” Bato said and led the way down another corridor that opened into a large room inside an iron gate that looked out into the arena.
“What is this place?” Rizpah said in a hushed voice, for it oppressed her spirit.
“The dead are brought through those gates,” Atretes said.
“This is the best way out,” Bato said and showed them along the corridor where the bodies were carried to waiting wagons that removed them for burial outside the walls of the city.
Rizpah let go of Atretes’ hand. She could hardly breathe, staring down the long, dark corridor. Atretes put his arm around her shoulders and drew her into the onerous hallway along with him. Her heart beat heavily as they followed the lanista.
Bato set the torch into a mounting at the end of the stone corridor. He took several coins from his belt and held them out to Rizpah. “You’ll find your appetite when you leave this place.” She took them and thanked him for his kindness.
“May her god protect you,” he said to Atretes as he opened the heavy door. Beyond it was a Roman street and sunlight.
18
Pugnax had increased in girth as well as wealth over the three years since Atretes had last seen him. His cropped hair was graying at the temples and the lines in his face had deepened. Atretes took in the grander surroundings, well aware that the largess had come from the mural painted on the front of the inn depicting himself in combat. He couldn’t read the sign, but had a good idea what it said.
“So you earned your freedom,” Pugnax said, noting the ivory chip hanging from the gold chain around Atretes’ neck. He admired Rizpah, if not the babe in her arms, adding with a grin, “And have more to show for it than I.”
Atretes didn’t like the way Pugnax stared at Rizpah. “I need to earn enough money to make the journey back to Germania.”
Pugnax gave a hard laugh. “You carry a vain hope, Atretes. You can’t go back. You’re no more German anymore than I’m a Gaul.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“You think I’m wrong? Like it or not, you aren’t the man the Romans captured ten years ago. Rome has changed you.”
“That may be so, but I’m still Chatti.”
“Whatever you were, your people will know the difference now, even if you don’t.” He gave a slight wave of his hand. “But then, what does it matter? The Chatti are long dead.”
“I’m alive. Others will be also.”
“Scattered and disorganized.” Pugnax felt the silence in the common room and glanced around, noting how his patrons stared at Atretes and whispered among themselves.
Atretes noticed as well, though he liked it less than Pugnax. “How much will you pay me to stay here?”
Pugnax laughed. “You’ve no subtlety at all, have you?”
“There were games enough in the arena.”
“Philo, Atretes and I will have the best wine,” he announced loudly enough to be heard by anyone in the room. A shiver of alarm raced through Rizpah as she felt the ripple of excitement spread. “It is him,” someone whispered as they passed by.
“By the fates, I’d give half of what I own to see him fight again,” said another.
Well satisfied with the stir he had caused, Pugnax gestured grandly. “Come, my friend. Sit and have some wine. We’ll talk of old times.”
Men stared at Atretes and then looked at Rizpah as he took hold of her arm, drawing her alongside him as he followed Pugnax to a table clearly reserved for more affluent patrons. Reclining on the proffered couch of honor, Atretes gestured for her to join him. She sat, Caleb on her lap, his head leaning comfortably against her breasts as he slept. She was uncomfortable being the focus of so much attention.
“They haven’t forgotten you,” Pugnax said with a hint of envy.
“A fact that will bring you benefit. Think how many will come and buy your wine when they know I’m here,” Atretes said dryly.