Carla Capshaw - The Protector

“Adiona!” The General’s icy command froze her to the spot. “Present yourself.”

She swirled around, taking in the faces of the two strangers on either side of the wide desk. The one dressed in an army red tunic was big, his face scarred. The other man was old and withered. He reminded her of a giant pockmarked bullfrog leaning on a gnarled cane. His jaundiced gaze was less than fatherly as it roamed over her in the same way the buyers sized up the heifers at market.

Only he wants a broodmare.

She shrank back.

“Come here, daughter.”

Prisca shoved her forward. Gathering the remains of her courage, Adiona forced her heavy feet toward the huge man whose fisted hands and cold gaze promised retribution if she continued to embarrass him in front of his visitor.

She stopped several paces out of his reach, her chest aching for one kind gesture from him. With a sinking feeling, she realized the General would never be the father she longed for, a father who welcomed her with love and open arms.

“Well?” he demanded. “Have you gone mute since I left?”

She shook her head. Her chest tight, she answered as duty required. “Hello, Father. Wel…welcome home.”

“That’s better.” He turned back to the bullfrog without offering her the slightest show of warmth. “I want you to meet Crassus Scipio. He’s asked to wed you and I’ve decided to agree to his request.”

Anger pierced through her heartbreak and rejection. Her rebellious gaze slid to the old man. The gleam in his eyes repulsed her until she feared she might retch at his feet.

Trembling, she turned to the General, the defender of Rome who did nothing to protect his own daughter. “Please don’t,” she begged him, “please don’t give me to him.”

His face hardened. “Ungrateful whelp. You should be honored that one of the richest men in Rome desires you for a wife.”

Honored? Had years of war addled her father’s wits?

“If Crassus agrees, I’ll arrange your marriage to take place next week when you come of age.”

“But—”

“No more interruptions, girl.” He snapped his fingers, summoning Prisca. “Take her out of my sight and make the necessary preparations. It’s time she set aside her dolls and learned to be a proper wife.”

The Flavian Amphitheater, Rome, 81 AD

“Blood is sure to stain the sand today!”

Adiona Leonia shuddered at Claudia’s gleeful prediction. As insidious as a spider, Claudia rarely approached anyone without nefarious intent. Unfortunately, the older matron had begun to spin her web around Adiona the moment she’d approached the entrance gate.

“The gladiators face war elephants and chariots this afternoon,” Claudia continued. “I can hardly breathe with anticipation!”

Scanning the mob of enthusiastic spectators swarming into the massive arena, Adiona pretended not to hear the other woman over the roar of the crowd and motioned her bodyguards to clear a way to escape. Surrounded by the fragrance of burning pinecones meant to keep the stench of blood and death at bay, Adiona needed no reminder of who faced what in the arena. Her attraction to one particular gladiator both mystified and rattled her. Other than her friend the famed lanista, Caros Viriathos, she neither liked nor trusted men. Yet she’d been inexplicably drawn to Quintus Ambustus since the first time she’d seen him train at the Ludus Maximus five months earlier.

“One of the gladiator troupes is Viriathos’s men.” Claudia spoke louder, refusing to be ignored. “That should make the day more delightfully gruesome.”

“It explains the crowds,” Adiona agreed absently. “Caros trains the best.”

“You would know.”

Claudia’s suggestive tone earned Adiona’s full attention. Had the bloodhound somehow learned her guilty secret? Her pulse quickened with dread. All of Rome knew of her contempt for the opposite sex. She’d be a laughingstock if anyone—especially Claudia and her mindless patrons—discovered her unrequited fascination for one of Caros’s slaves.

Irritated by the woman’s nosiness, Adiona clenched her fists in the weighty folds of her blue stola. “What do you mean, Claudia? Everyone is aware of Caros’s talents. I’m not special in that regard.”

The spider’s eyes gleamed with wicked pleasure. “True, but not all of Rome is on intimate terms with the great lanista.”

“Are you jealous?” Adiona smiled, misleading her adversary on purpose. Eager to disappear before Claudia sniffed a hint of the real scandal clinging to her cloak, Adiona bid the other matron good day before she could be drawn into more uncomfortable conversation.

Glad to be free of Claudia’s web, she relied on her trio of guards to lead her through the mob. At the top of the steps, she located her row. Reserved for senators, their families and other wealthy citizens, the prized seats closest to the arena floor were usually off-limits to women, but she and other rich matrons like Claudia were among the few privileged females whose wealth and social influence guaranteed them the best of everything the city offered.

Squelching the lust-filled glances men cast her way with a disdainful glare of her own, she took her place on the polished marble bench. The scent of cinnamon-roasted almonds infused the cool afternoon breezes, while wine flowed freely, encouraging the wildness that crackled in the air like heat lightning.

Adiona groaned inwardly when Claudia’s rotund form appeared at the top of the steps. An overburdened slave carrying a large basket trailed her.

“We meet again!” Huffing from the exertion of her short climb, Claudia waved the wooden ticket she held. “It seems we’ve been assigned seats next to one another.”

“Who did you bribe?” Adiona asked coolly. “I’d like to know who I should have whipped.”

The spider chuckled as she plopped down on the bench, leaving Adiona no choice but to slide over or be crushed by the woman’s girth. Within moments, Claudia’s poisonous chatter made Adiona’s head throb.

Dreading Quintus’s arrival on the field, Adiona stared at the amphitheater’s sandy floor. In the past few months Quintus had trained long and hard, but today he battled seasoned gladiators for the first time. Thanks to Claudia, she now knew he also faced war elephants and chariots…

A wave of anxiety swept over her. What if he died?

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

“Are you well, Adiona?” Claudia’s sharp eyes probed her face as though searching for buried secrets. “You seem…troubled. Talk is, until Caros and his bride left for Umbria, you’d become quite a regular at the gladiator practices. I assumed you’d come to enjoy the violence—”

“Talk?” Snapped out of her dark thoughts, her patience with the older matron vanished. “You know very well I despise being talked about, Claudia. Or did you seek me out today solely to dig up more dirt for your discussion?”

Claudia wrinkled her nose and reached for a glass bottle of water from the basket beside her feet. “Why are you so sensitive about a little harmless chatter?”

Remembering all the times she’d been maimed by gossip, Adiona snorted. “I’m not convinced there is such a thing as ‘harmless chatter.’”

“Of course there is.” Claudia pulled the cork and sipped from her bottle. “For instance, what’s the harm in wondering aloud if you’re upset about the lanista’s marriage? It’s common knowledge Caros Viriathos is the one man you’re fond of. Rumors say you’re jealous of his pretty new wife.”

She blinked, suddenly understanding why Claudia had sought her out. The other social matrons must be riotous with the hope of her languishing from a broken heart. They lived for gossip, sharpening their words behind her back and spreading their vicious chatter like a disease.