Studying the scroll, he realized the vast territory it represented. How many rivers and mountains lay between him and home?
Rizpah stood looking at him, Caleb in her arms. The question he was asking himself shone in her eyes. Could he find his way back to his people?
“Are you still going?” Bato said, fully aware of the monumental task ahead if Atretes should choose to do so.
“Yes.”
“You could name your price in the arena,” he said and earned a hard look from Atretes. “As you will it, my friend, but I suggest you leave soon. Domitian knows you’re here. He sent for me yesterday and told me to make you an offer.”
“Save it.”
Bato wished him well and left.
“We’ll leave at first light,” Atretes said and saw relief flood Rizpah’s face.
“Thank God,” she murmured.
“Pugnax owes me for the last two days. It will be enough for our purposes.” He left the room to collect it.
A hum of excitement filled the banquet room as he entered. People greeted him, some staring at him in awe while others spoke to him with an unearned familiarity as he passed. Atretes spotted Pugnax across the elaborately decorated chamber. He was speaking to a man dressed in a fine white toga trimmed richly in red and gold.
“A word with you, Pugnax,” Atretes said, jerking his head.
Pugnax’s guest turned to face him, and Atretes recognized him immediately. He had changed little in the four years since he had seen him and Atretes was in no doubt of why he had come.
“Ephorbus Timalchio Callistus,” Pugnax said with the respect due a man of power and position. Atretes ignored his look of warning as well as the proffered wine goblet.
“Atretes,” Callistus said with a catlike smile. He lifted a goblet in mock salute. “We met once before, though I doubt you remember my face.”
Indeed, he remembered. The son of a senator had come to the ludus for the fashionable exercise of sparring with a gladiator. Bato had tried to warn Callistus away from Atretes, but the supercilious little aristocrat insisted. With no choice, Bato spelled out the rules to Atretes. He followed them to a point and then cast them to the wind. He had toyed with the arrogant young man, intending to kill him in the end. It would have given him great satisfaction to cut down the Roman aristocrat who thought he was better than a German slave. Had Bato not stayed his hand, Callistus wouldn’t be standing here with only a scar on his cheek and another hidden beneath his expensive embroidered toga. He’d be entombed along the Appian Way.
Atretes smiled coldly. “Do you still go to the ludus to spar with gladiators?”
Callistus’ eyes narrowed at the challenge. “Indeed. I’ve thirteen kills to my credit since my match with you.”
A war cry echoed in Atretes’ head. “Match?” he said, contemptuous. “Is that what you call it?” He sneered. “I imagine your opponents were given the same command I was. Don’t draw the boy’s blood.”
Callistus’ expression changed. His eyes flickered to those around him, feeling the hush and then the whispers as Atretes’ words were spread around the room.
Atretes smiled as he watched the scar he had put on Callistus’ face whiten.
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the results of your last insult,” Callistus said quietly.
“Results?” Atretes said sardonically. “I know what you hoped to see. Me, crucified. I was told Vespasian felt that was a sorry waste of money already spent on my conditioning and training. So he sent me into the arena a few months earlier than scheduled. As you can see, I survived. And earned my freedom.”
“Only a fool would speak to me in such a manner.”
“Or a man who knows who and what you are,” Atretes said with disdain.
Pugnax grasped his arm in warning. “Enough,” he said under his breath.
“You’re asking to die,” Callistus said, shaking with rage.
Atretes looked straight into his eyes and laughed contemptuously. “Do you really think you could kill me?” He stepped forward and saw fear pour into Callistus’ eyes. “Do you think you’d come out alive in a match against me? You know what I think? I think you’re still the same spoiled boy who tucked tail and ran to Domitian.”
Several spectators drew in their breath at his words, moving back to whisper among themselves.
Red-faced, Callistus turned away. Halfway across the room, he turned back, face mottled with rage. “Enjoy your freedom while you can, barbarian! It’s about to end!”
Atretes took a step forward, but Pugnax blocked his way. He tried to shove past him, but the ex-gladiator had the help of two bodyguards. “Running to Domitian again, you coward?” Atretes shouted.