Michelle Styles - The Gladiator's Honor

As the first course of small pastries stuffed with dates and meat was passed around, she tried to concentrate on the ebb and flow of the conversation and ignore the movement of Valens's body, mere inches from her own. There had to be a way of making her father see beyond Valens's status to the good and honourable man she had begun to discover.

'What are dear Julia's prospects for remarriage?' Livia's voice boomed out as the servants wiped the marble table in preparation for the next course. 'I have been waiting for weeks for this fabulous announcement you have been promising, Sabina.'

'Go on, Sabina, you may tell our friends,' Julius Antonius said in a measured voice as he finished washing his hands in the perfumed water. 'You may tell our friends what we have decided to do…about Julia's marriage.'

Julia's hand trembled as she lifted her cup of honey-sweetened wine. She found it difficult to credit that her father would contract a marriage without consulting her. He had promised. All her happiness at this afternoon seemed to taste like ashes in her mouth. She wanted to weep. It took all of her willpower not to throw the napkin down and storm out of the room. She felt the gentle pressure of Valens's hand on her elbow, steadying her. It was difficult to believe this was happening to her. Her father had promised to wait.

'You know what men are like, Livia.' Sabina paused and theatrically rolled her eyes to the ceiling. 'It all depends on the augur and the omens apparently. Julius Antonius wants to consult the very best as we have no desire to have a repeat of the last time. You all know what a disaster for the family that was.'

Sabina's eyes narrowed as she stared directly at Julia. She was left in no doubt whom Sabina blamed for the breakdown of the marriage.

'When are you consulting the augur?'

Julia's breath caught in her throat. She stared at the centrepiece of fruit.

'Tomorrow morning at three hours,' Sabina replied, patting her hair and pointedly turning away from Julia. 'Julius Antonius arranged it all without asking me. This augur, Apius, at the Temple of Venus, comes highly recommended by no less than Caesar himself.'

Julia felt her winecup begin to slip out of her grasp. The sound of Sabina's words echoed in her brain—tomorrow.

Valens eased her fingers away from the cup and placed it on the table. She gave him a grateful glance and he inclined his head very slightly. He had spoken of protecting her, but he could not protect her from this fate. Did he even want to? And what happened when she was married? She knew her sense of duty would never let her betray her husband.

The rest of the meal and the evening's entertainment passed in a blur. Each time she risked a glance at Valens, his face seemed to grow more remote and stone-like until it looked like it was chiselled out of granite. The warmth in his eyes seemed to have disappeared entirely by the third course, leaving only chips of black glass.

Julia picked at her cakes soaked in sweet wine, unable to concentrate as her thoughts kept circling back to one fact. Tomorrow her fate would be decided and she faced a future without Valens. She had to confront the stark truth. Their encounter had only been a brief interlude in her life.

Chapter Ten

Valens slammed the door to his bedroom shut with a satisfyingly loud bang. The dinner had been a mistake. He should have ignored the blandishments of Julius Antonius and had supper in his room as he had done every day since he had arrived in this household. But the desire to see Julia again had been too strong.

Reclining on the couch, he had been reminded that a Roman dinner party was very different from the parties he attended as a gladiator. He also remembered how his mother had lived for dinner parties, how she enjoyed supervising the cooks and fussing over the food. She had enjoyed the speeches after the food, the entertainment.

Even after five years, he heard echoes of her laughter in some of the stories. One or two jokes were ones he knew she would have smiled at. He also knew how she wilted whenever his father forbade the parties. She had been a pale imitation of herself on their estates in northern Italy, only coming to life when they returned to Rome.

From her flushed cheeks, and bright eyes, Valens knew Julia had enjoyed the dinner. What would it mean to her if such things were forbidden? If former friends walked on the other side of the road rather than greet her, as he knew must happen if their liaison became public currency?

The hardest part of the whole evening was listening to Julius Antonius calmly announce that his daughter's future was to be decided in the morning. In that bald statement, Valens knew he did not want to see her become a bride to another man. It had taken all of his willpower to refrain from asking for more time. All he wanted was the chance to compete for her, but that could not happen until he had won the radius.

Or could it? There was a way he had not tried. He had refused to try.

Valens strode over to his iron-bound trunk and searched through his belongings for the cloak he wore to the opening ceremony. His fingers closed around the brooch pinned to the right-hand shoulder, the floodgates of his memory opening.

He should act now. Confront his father. Attempt to regain his birthright that way, an insistent voice whispered in his brain. It would be so easy. He stood to gain much. Once his father saw him in the flesh, he'd throw his arms wide and welcome him back, ignoring the past. Valens allowed the brooch to slip from his grip as he remembered his father's sneering remarks about gladiators. If he had been unwilling to ransom his son from a pirate's hold, why would he be willing to help now when his son had risen to the top of his disreputable profession?

To acknowledge him as his son, his father would have to admit that his own flesh and blood, a member of one of Rome's oldest families, was an infamis . The one consistent refrain of his childhood was that members of his family died before they disgraced the family name.

Valens bowed his head, hating what he had become, yet he knew he was a far more honourable man than the junior tribune who had left Rome on the troopship bound for North Africa, despite whatever Roman society might think.

His hand closed around the brooch. It was tempting, but he had to stick to his original plan. When he confronted his father, he wanted not to be in a position of having to beg. His father had left him to die once. Why should his father help him now?

Valens bent down and pushed the brooch and cloak to the bottom of his trunk. It had been a lapse to even think about such things. He had come this far without any help. He had found a way to solve his problems on his own and he would not seek help now.

He would try to buy time for Julia, but he could not look beyond the games. He would have to trust the gods, something he had found impossible to do. But what if they had a gentle nudge?

Julia entered the dank Temple of Venus the next morning with a heavy heart. She knew Juno and Minerva had ignored her prayers. The white rose on her dressing table had wilted. The smell of incense and roasted lamb assaulted her nose. Her father, dressed in his best white toga with its narrow purple stripe proclaiming his equestrian status, led the way towards the main altar. Sabina, the very picture of a pious Roman matron, followed closely on his heels. Behind her, Julia could hear the soft bleating of the newborn lamb her father intended to offer to the temple as a sacrifice.

Despite the number of layers she wore, Julia shivered as they waited for the augur to arrive. When a door beside the high altar finally opened and a bald-headed man dressed in priestly robes appeared, the only thing Julia wanted was for the ordeal to be over.