Carla Capshaw - The Gladiator

“Then their bodies are of no consequence.” His upper lip curled with ill-concealed scorn. “According to your religion, your God will give them new ones.”

Pelonia winced. Marcus clung to his pagan beliefs, despite her father’s years of prayer and good example. She lifted her gaze and squinted at the sun glinting over his shoulder. “How can you be so cruel? Except for me, Father was your last remaining kin.”

His hawkish eyes narrowed. “Pelonius is dead, but I continue to breathe. Soon scavengers will see the smoke. We won’t be safe once they come to investigate. Unless you wish to join these unfortunate wretches, we must leave now.”

“No!” She eased her father’s head to the damp earth and stood, bristling with defiance. “I won’t abandon him or our servants. It’s indecent and disrespectful. I won’t do it.”

His hand jerked up to strike her, but she didn’t flinch. Jaw flexing with unconcealed rage, he dropped his fist back to his side.

As though he couldn’t bear the sight of her, Marcus glanced to a point down the road. Her instincts warned her to look, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off her uncle. He’d proven on many occasions to be as crafty as the Evil One himself.

After a long moment, his mood shifted and much of his hostility seemed to evaporate. He gave her an odd smile. “Then you’re a fool, but I’ll help you bury them.”

Surprised by his capitulation, she swayed on her feet, light-headed with relief. She glanced down the cypress-lined road. A single horse and rider traveled in their direction, but remained at a distance. He didn’t look threatening, but wariness pricked her, instilling a new need for haste. She hoped the newcomer proved to be a friend, but after the events of the morning, strangers weren’t to be trusted.

Her attention returned to Marcus. “Thank you, Uncle. I couldn’t finish this sad task without you.”

He grunted. “You speak the truth for certain. You’re even smaller than your mother, and she was tiny as a fawn.”

“I wish I’d known her.” Pelonia hurried toward the charred remains of their camp. Her mother had died giving birth to her seventeen winters past. With her father taken from her, she was an orphan. The thought penetrated her mind like the point of a sword. Her head ached. Loneliness crushed her. She and her father had always been close. He’d treated her as well as any might treat a favored son, let alone a daughter.

Her steps slowed near a destroyed tent. Using a tree branch, she poked through the smoldering ruins, searching for anything that might aid with the burials.

Finally, she found the iron head of a spade, its wooden handle nothing but ashes among the scorched stones and broken shards of pottery. With the end of the branch, she pushed the tool from the embers.

Once the metal cooled enough to touch, she picked it up and headed to the shade of an olive tree. She knelt and began to dig, breathing in the pungent aroma of rich, black earth. Here she would bury her father, her dearest friend and protector. Her chest constricted with the thought of leaving him all alone along this barren stretch of road. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, despite her best efforts to contain them.

She licked the salty moisture from her lips and dabbed her eyes with the back of her hands. Knees sore, her lower back aching, she finished the shallow grave at last and returned to her father’s body. She grasped him under his arms. He was so heavy. Her muscles strained to drag him toward the tree and place him in the grave.

As she straightened his limbs, she thanked God for blessing her with a loving parent, even as she questioned why he’d been ripped from her so brutally.

She caressed his cheek one last time, then tore away the cleanest piece of her tunic’s hem. Covering his face with the linen, she choked back sobs. Her entire body shook with sorrow as she placed the dirt over his remains.

“Pelonia, are you not yet finished?”

She patted down the last handful of soil. “Yes, Uncle, I’m done.”

Not far away, Marcus waited beside a shallow grave he’d dug with a second, larger shovelhead. She covered the short distance and joined him. “I’ll try to be quicker and be of more help. Perhaps if you dig, I can move the bodies and cover them.”

The jingle of metal and distant voices carried on the morning breeze. She glanced down the road, brushing her dark hair from her eyes to get a better view. Much closer than before, but still at a distance, the rider continued his path toward them. A large caravan followed several paces in his wake.

From her vantage point, she saw the wagons were too close for comfort. Some covered, some exposed, many were rolling cages filled with people or exotic beasts. Near-naked men, most bound in chains, walked listlessly in the glaring sun.

“A slave caravan, Uncle! We must hide until it passes.”

“They won’t pester me. I’m too old to be of value and my tunic verifies my rank. You, on the other hand, are a prize.”

Pelonia blinked in disbelief. Her heart throbbed with fear. She knew slave traders legally bought and sold men, women and children at markets throughout the empire. Ravenous for profit, they often preyed on the weak, prowling the byways in search of free stock.

The morning’s events had made her one of the weak. She was the daughter of a prosperous Roman citizen, but this far from home she held no proof of her status. None of her wealth remained to buy protection. Her household had been destroyed. Even her luxurious clothes had been stolen or burned, leaving her with nothing but the simple linen tunic she’d worn to the river.

The feral gleam in her uncle’s eyes spread a chill across her skin. “You cannot mean to sell me.”

“Why not? You’re cursed. I have no wish to invoke the gods’ displeasure by protecting you. Besides, I’m your guardian now that your father is gone. I have a legal right to do with you as I wish. After the robbery this morning, I need funds to see me home. You’re a comely maiden and will fetch a fair price.”

“You’re mad!” She darted away, panic pumping through her veins.

His fingers curled around her long hair. He yanked her back, almost snapping her neck and ripping out some of the strands.

His thick arm banded about her throat, pressing the back of her head against his shoulder and exerting enough pressure for her to hold still or choke. “The gods have sealed your fate, Pelonia. I knew it the moment I saw the scout riding this way. I only had to keep you here until he came close enough to claim you.”

Terror exploded in her chest. She kicked and twisted, realizing she should have suspected treachery when he agreed to help her bury the dead. Reaching above and behind her, she clawed at his face. Warm blood tainted her fingers. She bit his arm.

Marcus howled and let go. She ran, but he grabbed her elbow and spun her to face him, striking her hard across the side of the head. Her ears rang. Her jaw stung with pain.

Another blow. White specks of light burst behind her eyes. She tasted blood. He backhanded her left cheek. She fell to the ground, jarring her bones. The back of her head bounced against a rock. Agony lanced through her skull. Marcus’s enraged countenance blurred above her. The edges of her vision dimmed, began to turn black.

“Please, Lord, help me,” she whispered, just before the life she’d known ceased to exist.

As the orange glow of early evening settled over Rome, Caros Viriathos stood at the arched second story window of his bedchamber. His battle-scarred fingers stroked the smooth head of his pet tiger.

Torches lit the large walled yard below where a dozen of his best gladiators trained with a variety of weapons, perfecting their skills with each other and several wild animals.